Hello everyone and welcome to the long awaited Foley in Korea Blog #24. There's no time to hesitate as we delve into another poignant examination of Korean society, including Korean baseball, socially acceptable physical punishment, and of course, Korean Thanksgiving (among other random factoids).
But...perhaps I am getting a little ahead of myself. I have to bracket all of this with (for those of you who don't know): I am currently unemployed and living in this country under legally ambiguous circumstances. How did this happen? Well, sports fans, it turns out, my bosses are insane. On a warm Monday in early August, I came into work. Now, several times, my bosses had promised to extend my contract to November. So wasn't my face red when they dropped this cataclysmic bomb:
"Daniel, (they love calling me Daniel) you must leave in September. We hired a new teacher. We will fly you back home September 7th. If you don't you will be arrested as an illegal alien."
Now, I pride myself on my ability to not lose my mind when someone sticks a dagger in my back and then twists it. But, seeing as though I had made plans for September and October to take tests, vacations, and you know, live in Korea for another two months, this did not settle well with me. So, I took a deep breath and excused myself for a walk outside. Then I calmly and tactfully returned to raise holy hell on them. I told them I was the best teacher they had and how dare they betray me like this. This was not how human beings behave to one another. My boss looked like she was going to cry. And then things started to look up.
That day my replacement teacher (that usurping bastard) came in. He's a Vietnamese-American from San Francisco area. As it was his first day, his only job to shadow me, you know, watch a master at work. I was weary all day of this, to make sure I was on top of my teaching game. I didn't want to give them any excuse to fire me. So you'll understand why my stomach started doing jumping jacks when my boss interrupted my class to pull out the replacement teacher. I thought they were gonna screw me good and use something ridiculous the replacement said to justify it. Man, was I mistaken.
After class, my boss took me aside. Her eyes get serious, and she looks embarrassed. "The new teacher," she says, and nothing more. Her eyes keep dodging mine.
"Yeah?" I say.
"What do you think of him?"
"I dunno. I just met him. Seems like an alright guy."
"Daniel," she says, looking over her shoulder to make sure we're alone. "He's a homosexual."
"He's...he's what?"
"We think he's a homosexual. Is he?"
"I uh....what?"
"A homosexual."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well his haircut. And his bag. He is kind of like a girl." (He did have longer hair and did use one of those leather bags. You know the kind - it's not a purse, it's European).
"Well, he's from California. Lots of people out there have hair and bags like that."
My boss contemplated that for a minute and says: "But, he's in love with you."
"He is?"
"Yes, he brought you in coffee this morning."
"No he didn't. He got two coffees for himself."
"Oh," she said, again thinking. "But he brought you pizza!"
"No he didn't. That would have been nice though."
"Oh. But he follows you around everywhere!"
"That's because you told him to watch me teach today."
"Oh."
I can't get over the enormous lawsuit that this conversation would have led to in America. Long story short, they fired him and offered me my job back. When I told them to shove it, they hired him back. But, feeling remorse for all the stress they caused me, offered me a bogus year long contract in order for me to get another year long visa in Korea. What does that mean? It means I can come in go in this country for the for the next year because of this deliciously illegal transaction. Victory? Dan.
So yes, I'm unemployed. But don't you go feeling bad for me. As my father, the Great Jim Foley once told me of his days after being laid off from Wang Computers. "Being unemployed is awesome." Truer words were never spoken. Since the idea of shopping detests me and I learned how to cook tofu this past year, I've saved a fair amount of money, so I'm not worried about falling into debt. My days are spent applying for PhD programs in the States, drinking beer with friends, and sleeping whenever the hell I want. The only thing I miss is the kids (and I really, really do), a few of who are staying in touch with me. One eleven-year-old boy named Austin (the drummer in the band) drew me this the other day and emailed it to me.
But enough about me, let's get into some Korean culture. A lot of these stories involve my Korean brother Alex, so this blog's is dedicated to him. He's been my ace in the hole since getting canned, even hooking me up with tutoring his crazy doctor friend (cha-CHING!). Alright, let's talk some baseball.
While the rules are the same, pro baseball in Korea is truly different than pro baseball in America (at least different than Boston, I can't speak on behalf of all the ballparks in America or...Canada). The only really bad difference is the talent. You're not seeing Manny and Poppy out here (remember, this is the nation who gave us Byung Hyun Kim, Boston's sucky submariner). In all honesty, the skill isn't that bad, though I do think an American college team could give them a run for their money. But you probably could have guessed that.
While the skills are slightly lacking in Korean ball clubs, I think America could take a lesson in sheer fun from Korean pro ball. Visiting the ballpark of Gwangju's team, the Kia Tigers (yes, like the car), I came out with a laundry list of problems with American ballparks. For starters, baseball in America doesn't have cheerleaders. Korea asks the existential question: "Why?"
They're swell.
But aside from smoking hotties pumping up the crowd, Korea improves on the formula of hot dogs and beer but substituting fresh-made delectable fried chicken and...well, still beer. But, unlike Fenway park where a Budweiser costs you six bucks and a fraction of your soul, out here, it's BYOB. Sure, they've got vendors outside who jack up the price a little (two bucks for a beer, if that's jacking it up) but when you have friends like Alex, who show up with a backpack cooler teeming to the brim with mek-ju (Korean beer), there are no worries. I spent maybe thirty bucks that day, for my ticket, a bucket of fried chicken for me and my friends, a six pack of beer, and some squid jerky. That's how baseball should be.
What else is better? Everyone's into the game. Like, everyone. I mean, Kia was walloping SK like 8 to 1 by like the third inning and everyone was still cheering and smashing their inflatable clappers together. None of this talking on cell phones nonsense or falling asleep or leaving in the seventh inning. People are there to watch some serious baseball.
I think a lot of this comes from how uncorporate Korean baseball is. It's cheap and the players are real Gwangju people. Sure the game is a little rough around the edges but it's pure and fun and sometimes you even see some of the ballplayers downtown drinking. You're not fueling some pretentious A-Rod character to make twenty grand for an at-bat where he strikes out. You're paying to be entertained and cheer on your team. You gotta dig it.
To shift gears completely, let's talk beating children. Yeah, that still totally flies out here. Although on a legal level it's been phased out of schools after some kid was brutalized in class, it still exists off the radar. "Discipline" teachers employ bizarre forms of punishment, from the Catholic Nun ideology of smashing student's knuckles with a piece of wood, to the sinister 'Hold both of your arms in the air above your head and keep them there for the next hour (or until I tell you that you can stop)."
It happens at home, too. Now, I'm not quite sure how I stand on the idea of beating in general. I don't think I would ever beat my kids, but I can understand the train of thought that, in extreme cases, a backhand could be deemed necessary to set some brat straight. However, with the sheer amount of competition and pressure that exists in this country, that's not always the case. I have heard horror stories out here of parents giving the following threat:
"On this test, for every point less than100% you earn, I will beat you ten times. But if you get a perfect score, I will buy you a present."
Thanks Mom and Dad. Now granted, there are a lot of parents who don't hit, or just spank a little bit, but it is a disturbing trend in many senses. Part of me hopes this next generation will phase it out. At the same time, Korea is also the safest country in the world. Is it because everyone has a fear of God from getting the crap beaten out of them as a kid? Who knows? For this author, the jury is still out.
On a less violent note, my Korean skills are officially intermediate (at least based of the class I now take). What does that mean? Well the other day, I met my Korean tutor for the first time (who oddly, doesn't speak any English) and spoke with her in Korean for two hours. Now, before you think I'm some sort of language prodigy, cell phone dictionaries and drawings were implemented regularly to buffer the conversation, but still, I think I have some validation to toot my own horn.
This has led me to be able to understand certain situational things around my Korean friends and in Kumdo, tidbits of conversations, and of course, impress pretty girls by being able to speak their language. It also kept me from being too out of the loop during Korean Thanksgiving, known as 추석 (Chuseok). I recently celebrated this holiday Alex's (read: "my") family.
This November I will be home for Thanksgiving, but it will be the first one in three years. I mean, I've had plenty of occasions to stuff my face, but none where it was actually encouraged. Thus brings us to Chuseok. It was a great honor to be invited to this occasion as I don't know any foreigners (barring those with Korean spouses) who have experienced this holiday. And this is the big one. Way bigger than our Thanksgiving. This is their Christmas (or if you don't believe in Santa, insert your biggest holiday), though perhaps bigger than that. The term marathon-holiday gets thrown around all too often these days, but Chuseok really brings it home. I don't know the last time I took part in a three day holiday. That's right, three days with the Kim family. And they don't believe in sobriety.
For this occasion, I wore a 한복 (hanbok) which is the Korean Traditional Dress for both men and women. Although I do not have any actual pictures as of yet (they're coming), I've provided this simulation in order to give you an idea.
That's right, I looked fine.
But this mega-holiday had some interesting features that were similar, although not exactly, like our Thanksgiving. For instance, whereas we give thanks before we eat, they have an elaborate ceremony for their relatives that have gone before them. It was reminiscent of what I had learned about Mexico's el Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). We served our ancestors (both theirs and mine) a meticulously organized feast. No red food could be present. All fish had to face west. There could not be four of any dish, only three or five, as four is the number associated with death. We prayed in both the Korean traditional way and the Catholic way, as the Kim family is both, and poured a healthy amount of mokali (Korean rice wine) for our ancestors to drink. Later we also prayed in the cemetery.
The cuisine was a mismatch of savory delights (slow cooked top grade beef ribs with potatoes) to "holy-crap-what-is-that?" type food. Eating fish eyes was no where near as bad as I thought it would be (actually kind of squishy and fun) but the truly wild fare was something I'd been looking forward to for a long time. It's called 홍어(hung-oh) and I remember having a conversation with my Uncle Bishy about it. He had seen it on one of those bizarre food shows, and from that moment on, I knew I had to experience it. It was once the food of kings, and to this day, it's still super expensive. The highest quality go for a thousand bucks a pop. But most people really, really don't like it.
Oh, I forgot to tell you what it is. Hung-oh is fermented stingray.
But honestly, kind just looks like sushi right? Nope. They make this the same way they make kimchi. They take a stingray, throw it in a pot, close it off from the world, and then, when it's nice and rotted, they eat it. I can your stomach growling. Now, at the table, I sat around with Alex, his wife, Helena, his father, mother, brother Steve, and his brother's wife. His father took down the stingray like a champion, and offered a piece to me. Alex told me I did not have to (he can't stand it), but my curiousness and inability to turn down food prohibited me from saying "no."
The way in which one eats this composted fish is by stacking it with a slice of pork and sliding a nice piece of kimchi in the middle. They call it the holy trinity of food. I like kimchi sandwich better. When I first bit into this, it was great. A little crunchy, a little salty, but complex and interesting to say the least. Then I understood the natural aversion to this delicacy. It came quickly, suddenly, like a thief in the night. It overtook my sense. Some claim it's the pungent and overwhelming smell of ammonia, but that's selling the experience a little short. It's more like rubbing ammonia in your inner nostrils til they start to burn. It consumes your nasal passages in a way I can only liken to wasabi, but with that sweet ammonia odor all the way through. As I swallowed it, they all waited and watched my reaction. What would I do? Start crying? Sprint to the bathroom? Throw up a little in my mouth? None of the above.
I picked up another piece. Because I dig the stingray.
This was the start of Alex's father's respect for me. And he is a truly great man. He was the superintendent of schools in Suncheon (the area where we were) and also a published poet. His subject? The disputed island of Dokdo - currently occupied by Japan but was originally Korea territory. A sore spot for Koreans everywhere. Though we often needed Alex to translate for us, much of our conversations came from the sharing of food and drink, which is often times the best kind of conversation.
And speaking of drinking, it just didn't stop. Ever. When we got there, the men (Alex, his Dad, Steve, and me) sat down and began gulping down rice wine at a rate that brought back college memories. Meanwhile, the women worked in the kitchen (a phenomenon I refuse to comment on). And then we drank more. Occasionally, we mixed in beer and spirits. And then we drank more until the point I was sufficiently trashed. Not uncomfortably so, but to the point where I knew more drinking would be troublesome. This was seven o'clock, and it was dinner time. I thanked God.
To Alex I said: "Man, we did some good drinking today."
To which he responded: "The drinking is just beginning."
He wasn't kidding. The beer and rice wine didn't stop. We drank all through the evening and into the night. And then, when I thought I could takes no mores, he pulled out a liter of Jim Beam.
"We're drinking that?" I asked.
To which Alex responded. "It is only a liter."
I have fond memories of those nights. We stayed up late discussing world events and slugging bourbon. His parents insisted I called them 아빠 "a-pa" and 엄마 "eom-ma" (Dad and Mom), to which they responded, in English "my son." Alex, Steve, and I stayed up late laughing in the living room til four in the morning when Mom came in to yell at us. We felt like real brothers. The next night we went out to pray to the moon after crushing half a dozen beers, only to find some high school punks playing basketball on our court. We challenged them to a game and took back our turf with a victory. Not bad for a team whose average age was 31.
All and all, it was one of the best times I had in Korea. It truly felt like a family, and, when so far away from my blood family, it gave me something I truly needed. For those three days, I was a Kim.
Also - in a very surreal experience that happened to me this evening - I was at my Korean artist friend (Donkyu's) studio, and he said "I want to show you this documentary." He turned on his computer. We started watching "Young at Heart" about a group of eldery singers in North Hampton, Mass (with Korean subtitles). That's one silly kind of coincidence and makes this world feel very small.
Life is so interesting now, as time winds down. I have but one month left in this great land. Then it is off to Thailand for some truly wacky adventures for another month, and then, finally, I'm coming home. I miss and love you all.
AND, before you - check this out. I was on the Korean News.
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=269182526437514
And yes, I was hungover as all hell that morning. Keep rockin people. I'll see you all soon.
-News Man
