Greg in ROK

No one needs big things

2011-08-24T19:52:00.004+09:00

Upon the renewal of my second-year contract here in Daegu, I took the opportunity to upgrade my apartment to a 14th-floor deluxe apartment, presumably, in the sky. Of course, I share it with two other fine gentlemen, as not even a man with the greatest of bowel movements has a need for two bathrooms. For the past week or so, I've been alone in said apartment while the Los Angelian and Saffa are on their respective vacations, leaving me to share the apartment with nothing more than a meowbox with a foot fetish whose owner is also away on vacation.

Tonight, as I sat in front of the futon I've been sleeping on in our living room watching shows from my laptop connected to my TV from the table I've moved from the kitchen to eat my dinner while I watched, it became evident that I have taken a some 12000sq. foot apartment and smashed it back down to everything I was so eager to get away from in the first place.

If I never moved, however, I wouldn't be signing autographs for the local children and parents who think I'm an athlete from the World Athletic Games, whom are being housed just down the road.

"Shoot for the stars!" I wrote to them.

Singapore and Indonesia

2011-08-17T14:50:00.006+09:00

Singapore is expensive.

Bill Gates has to wait .000435 seconds before he can afford a beer, that's how!

A Singaporean man yelled at us for bringing a dog into the park with monkeys everywhere. "It upsets them," he said. We left right before the alpha-monkey made the first strike. The sign had a dog within a circle. We thought that meant allowed. There was no cross-through.

I ate at a hawker run by a single mom, a blind guy, a metal-challenged teenager, and an autistic girl. Dignity Diner, it was called. It was the only hawker cart open at 11am.

I murdered two Subway subs. In Subways in Singapore, the drink refill machine is easily accessible to the patrons seated in the restaurant area. In Subways in Singapore, refills cost $1.

The subway warned me that it would be a challenge in enter the car from one specific door. Easiest thing I'd ever done.

I ate a durian. Including the part I probably wasn't supposed to eat. It was vile.

In Indonesia I didn't do anything.

I got a suit tailored to my abnormally shaped body. Donnie Osmond bought a suit at the very same place. Bill Clinton perused.

Right after that, a chili crab craw slipped out of my hand and rocketed towards my clean blue shirt at a very high velocity and, upon impact, splattered all over to make a very clear "I just vomited on myself" statement.

Don't worry. I wasn't wearing the suit yet.

Please, don't ask me about my camps.

2011-07-19T15:36:00.008+09:00

There is an unspoken agreement amongst fellow Native English Teachers here in Korea. It is quickly realized within the first few weeks of employment and will steadily continue throughout your entire time here. This agreement entails writing a facebook status every time your school does something very negative towards you, or something very positive towards you. You may not, I repeat, may not, write about average things. These mundane occurrences may include a fairly delicious lunch, a reasonable and understanding co-teacher, a fair contract negotiation, or, as is my topic today, a run-of-the-mill camp experience.

Camps are what the schools have to continue English classes in the summer/winter off months to keep the native teachers working and to keep bragging about how great their English program is. Essentially they are extra work for everyone. Except me. I don't have camps. Ever. My school ha had their plan in action long before I got here and must think that any Greg involved will jeopardize their flawless work. I don't complain because I don't complain about not having to do anything until August.

I write this now from Andrea's apartment, waiting for her to be released from her substantial work day. I am eager because she wants to throw a frisbee around. My school has been closed for two weekdays after the final exams finished. Closed as in if I try to go in and deskwarm, as per my contract requirements, I will have to curbwarm instead.

I got lost in her area of Daegu, because it's not the east end and thus not the back of my hand, looking for Homeplus. I was looking for a voltage converter so I could play MarioKart on her Wii that she, oddly, hasn't used yet. I was unsuccessful and later confused at the layout of the streets, so I went back and read a book while watching a movie piece by piece while it loaded on her slow internet.

At one point I bought a slice of pizza. I was asked for my phone number to buy it. I was texted a coupon of some sort, then later an escort service ad.

I have recently dismissed the idea of refreshing her milk reserve that I have exhausted because of my hunger for Cheerios.

Yesterday I took a four, non-sequential, hour nap during "Good Morning Vietnam," which was on my on-demand for free. I then placed a chair near the window, made a cup of tea, and listened to the piano-playing of the person in the apartment across from me.

I will be happy to talk about summer camps and/or work with you. But please don't hate me when I answer. It usually seems to be the first choice of words. You started it, after all.

Tomorrow I have to go to work again and will continue going in for the summer days, but I think I can leave at noon.

I think I'll grow a beard. No one at my school will see it anyway.

Great Idea

2011-06-27T12:48:00.001+09:00

I thought this was a great idea...

...until the first time I used it.

Bus Battle '11

2011-06-15T08:40:00.003+09:00

Every Monday and Thursday evening I am very far from my apartment. Three other almost-men and myself gather at our shanty little studio space nestled deep in Daegu's industrial district to make noise and backsweat together. I have to take two buses to get there, which isn't really a problem, unless antics ensue. Which happens. It happened on Monday.

My first bus back to the far stretches of eastern Daegu is hassle free. I have my choice of not one, not two, but three buses that stop immediately in front of our door. I mosey over the the stop while Kyle and Daniel make mad dashes to their respective points of departure (Kyle runs when he sees his bus, Daniel crosses the street at the same point where I got nailed by a scooter. Both mad, you see). I have such a low regard for the first ride that I don't even sit down. It's a time for my shirt to dry.

The second bus, however, is a fifty minute ride. Luckily for me only the foolyish of the foolish live as far away from anything substantial as I do so I am always guaranteed not just a seat, but a seat where my knees are not at my own personal eye level. This is typically the second seat from the front on either side of the bus. Here is where I park myself, turn on some soothing tunes, and doze until I am blasted awake by the two immediate stops made by the driver before my stop.

On this Monday, however, a few stops after departure, our bus community was joined by two very drunken adjosshi. They stumble onto the bus and one of them immediately empties his coin purse onto the ground. Baek wons everywhere. As the second man faceplants to the floor in a futile attempt to pick up the coins I decide it would be best to help him collect as to shorten the length of the scene happening. In hindsight I wouldn't have done this. If there's one thing a drunk adjosshi loves to do, it's harrass a male foreigner. Let alone a tall male foreigner. Helping this man to clean up his mess only made him aware of my presence, and as his friend lifted himself up from his earlier tumble, they appeared to be in total glee of their new discovery.

These two are immediately hung over me shouting, and I do mean shouting, and waving their arms. My first thought is that they want my seat, which is bizarre because there are two of them and also because there are open seats in the back meant for two people to sit next to each other. But I suppose they never made it that far back, anyway.

I moved to another seat, eliminating my legroom but, alas, they followed. Man-wearing-hat begins to light a cigarette. This is where the bus driver has no more and began shouting at the men. This greatly upset man-in-hat and he shoots forward to the glass box that encases the driver and begins pounding on it and shouting. Suddenly the bus is stopped and the bus driver is out of his cubicle, face-to-face with man-in-hat. He motions at me two levers near his steering wheel. I'm not going to lie. I know exactly what the levers do. My typical second-row seat gives me direct vision into a bus driver's cockpit and I study that area. I imagine that someday I'll be in a Speed 2-esque situation, except with a bus instead of a boat. I'm obviously not the ideal candidate in his eyes, but I'm the closest, and this is a matter of urgency.

He points to me, points to the exit door, points to the man, points to the lever, points to the exit door again, rolls up his sleeves and charges forward like a soldier in the Civil War. He grabs man-in-hat and drags him to the door. My instinct kicks in and I flip that lever like it were the switch to turn on the god damn sun in the morning. The driver, quite literally, throws the man off of the bus and shouts at me. I hit the lever again and the door closes. The bus became eerily quiet as the driver walked calmly back to the driver's seat. Can I give him a high five? We were just a team. A damn good one at that. But it's all too late. He's already driving again.

What happened to the other man? He fell asleep on the floor in the back of the bus during this fiasco, and that's where he remained as I got off at my stop.

I'll ask for the video footage the next time I'm on the 618.

Tuesdays are Death

2011-05-31T08:59:00.002+09:00

I'm not a big fan of Tuesdays. I consider Tuesday the Red Sox of the days of the week. Unfortunate scheduling mixed with unfortunate student combinations makes for a homerun of misery, if you'll allow me to continue with baseball analogies. I don't have a first class on Tuesday, which I hate. The silent wait. It's like being sent to your room to think about what you've done, but all you can think about is how you've done nothing and are still about to get beat down by a miserable day. Sometimes I tell myself that I'll just come in late. Sleep in a bit. Strafe my way into my office at 9am unnoticed. I never do it, though. I'm what the Koreans would call a pussy.

I do stop by the Paris Baguette on Tuesdays, though. It makes me slightly late. Just enough to feel like a real rebel risking deportation on the grounds of teaching incompetence. I get a muffin or sandwich, depending on my mood, and more often than not a coffee. I've noticed that when I get the muffin, which is wrapped in plastic, they will not offer me a bag. However, when I get the sandwich, which is in a clear plastic box, the clerk will begin to bag it. Regardless of my purchase I decline the bag because it will go into the one I'm already carrying anyway.

The first time I bought a sandwich, and only a sandwich, she began to bag it. I told her "Gwenchanayo," which means "That's OK," or more contextually "Don't worry about it." She gave me the same look she would probably give a dog that just said hello to her and immediately gave me a free coffee.

I still say gwenchanayo but I get no more coffee.

Life as of Late

2011-05-25T15:49:00.005+09:00

The students needed to translate 게포크 to English recently. General consensus: Fork for eating crap easily.

Here are some photos from a three-day school trip to Tanyang, where I was assigned my official Korean name - 한태평(Han Tae-Pyeong) Han is the closest family name they could coordinate with Henny and Tae-Pyeong means "calm man." Or, more literally, "Pacific Ocean."

Here are five more photos from various Korean places.

Until next time, who will bell the cat?

Teachers Day

2011-05-16T08:46:00.002+09:00

I came to school late on Teachers Day. I have been making a bad habit of that lately. Coming to school late, that is - Teacher's Day isn't so frequent. Late is perspective, though. I'm still on time but on late days I can't thumb through the Korea Herald's doomsday North Korea articles. I like those articles. I got a carnation pinned to my shirt by Kim Min-Ji. She was the fastest in the mad dash towards me as I rounded the corner at the gateway of our school. Her hand was shaking. I say "pinned" in the sense that there was a pin on the flower and that was its intended use. Instead the carnation was shoved into my shirt pocket leaving behind bits of foliage that will likely remain in there for a few weeks, eluding the washer's spin cycle. Much like the sand in my jean pockets right now.

I got some rice cakes, too. I hate rice cakes. I gave them to the students that clean my room every afternoon at 4:10 precisely. "Very delicious," they claimed. Everything is delicious to them, I've learned.

Students throw a huge (again, perspective) party for their homeroom teachers showering them with love and small gifts. I don't have a homeroom. I sit in my office quietly reading e-books on my Kindle. A student enters.

"Party here," she says.

My first reaction of "You shouldn't have!" is quickly shattered upon hearing,

"Our homeroom teacher party here."

"Oh, that's OK," I reply.

I continued reading in my office while the party I wasn't invited to raged next door. In my classroom.

"Happy birthday," said another student.

Look to the Bus Drivers

2011-05-01T21:43:00.005+09:00

No matter how bad my day is

No matter how much I woe about my Korean abilities

No matter how much I fear a scooter will end my life as I stroll on the sidewalk

No matter how much I weep at the won in my wallet

No matter how many times I needlessly choke down another octopus tentacle

No matter how many adjumma shove me aside as I wait patiently in line

No matter how many hapless hours I spend trying to converse with the regular Korean citizen

No matter how many banana milks I drink

I will always smile

When I see the bus driver wave

At the bus driver of the same number bus

Going the opposite direction.

Four New Enemies

2011-04-12T10:31:00.004+09:00

Nam HeeJin, first grade.

A new student to Gangdong High School this year, HeeJin entered the classroom with the same wide eyes that everyone else sported, as was the style at the time. Forcibly earning her seat at the front of the class, she raised her hand to answer every question regardless of th relevance of her answer. Binder in one hand and a pen in the other, she is the first one to come and the last to leave, much like that rice cooker box I had in my apartment last year. Maybe the new tenant got rid of it.

Jang WoonHyung, first grade.

The things he would do for a stamp. Backflips I'd imagine. Telling his tale at the front of the class for all to hear, it doesn't matter who is listening - he continues. Lending a helping hand to his struggling neighbors with the same tact as Ewan McGregor, because I imagine he's probably a really nice guy.

Kim KiHoon, second grade.

A maestro with the guitar, an architect with the Jenga. KiHoon's head can be seen most frequently peeking over my cubicle's wall. "Oh. There is teacher," he says.

Sung HyeRim, second grade.

Statistically the best English speaker in the school, HyeRim puts deep thought into every word that comes out of her mouth. God help me if I smudge a stamp on her paper. That thing better come out in HD or all hell breaks loose. And by all hell I mean a really drawn out sentence voicing an obvious grievance about my stamping ability.

How did I lose these students? The same way I'll lose 40 more over the course of the next year - rewarding them and making it visibly clear that they are temporarily superior to their fellow students.

No I can't photoshop your face.

A Few Questions Arise

2011-03-22T08:21:00.003+09:00

I'm not quite sure where it came from, but as I ascended the stairs and rounded the corner, there it was. Where did it come from? Are they offering it to me? Am I supposed to move it somewhere? Are they constructing an English Center waiting room? If so, will there be English magazines or just those ones with English on the cover so foreigners buy it only to see that it's not really in their native language at all? Why was the vice principal asleep on it?

The Times They Are A-Doin' Something

2011-03-09T12:48:00.006+09:00

Things are settling down in the warzone that is a new semester at Gangdong High School. Students have learned how to empty the food waste without it ending up all over their heads. The relaxation zone built specifically for boys right next to my English Zone has been reclaimed in the name of Venus. My new first graders have settled the week-long "What Should We Call Greg" debate of '11 by bringing the debut of Fashion Terrorist. I should have noticed the hole in my sock before they did.

I was given the lovely privilege of following my old first-year students to second grade where I'm able to see the complete opposite of any hint of excitement at all. I think they were hoping the principal would make a new trip to the foreigner teacher store. LJ and I still crash and burn with those hooligans 10 times a week.

I have acquired a new co-teacher this year whom will assist me with the first-year geniuses. Meet Nam Yoo-Kyung, or Michelle.

Photo stolen from her "All About Michelle" lesson.

Michelle was born in New York City. Crawling about the Big Apple proved to have its benefits forfuture foreigner teachers she had yet to meet. After picking up her English from, presumably, Arab cabbies, Italian pizza-tossers, Irish pub-owners, Indian tech-supporters, Spanish office-cleaners, and various American jerkoffs (NYC sucked in the 80s), she developed complete fluency, an ideal understanding of sarcasm, and moved to Korea when she was 7. Years 7 to 25 in her life are neither here nor there. I bet Seoul's in there somewhere. Probably a hagwon or two. She's probably eaten a bunch of kimchi. All that matters is that she's here now with fashion terrorist Grack.

To the sewing machine.

Co-Teacher Warning Signs

2011-03-02T15:55:00.004+09:00

They coral screaming kids into poorly ventilated rooms armed only with a beating stick.

They listen to foreign teachers complain about five minutes of lost vacation time.

They happily agree to translate everything we shove in their faces.

They work twice as long, twice as hard, and, quite often, make less money than their Native Speaker counterparts.

God help them if they are the youngest teacher in their grade.

They are our co-teachers, and we should pay close attention to any warning signs they may exhibit in this highly stressful beginning of the semester.

Scenario: Welcome back lesson.

Materials: Cards with pictures on them used for organizing the class into new groups.

The cards:

Basic items. Good work.

A bit more outlandish. But hey, build that vocabulary.

Have you hugged your co-teacher today?

Update your Address Book

2011-02-16T14:24:00.006+09:00

I wish I had a story to tell, but it was quick, easy, painless, and damn fun to watch.

"Ride-uh? No no no."

Sure I've seen it happening before, but never from that angle.

Although brick walls are tough competition in the arena of views, I'm glad to now awake to this fine scene every morning.

The mountains are much more visible and gorgeous on clearer days.

Here it is folks, acknowledge my existence.

Republic of Korea, Daegu City
Dong-Gu, Yulha-dong
1412 Humansia, 11 Dan-shi
1110-dong, 1403-ho

Greg in USA

2011-02-02T15:22:00.013+09:00

A sand dune along the coast of Manila? How about a snow pile in northern New Jersey?

A rickshaw ride through the markets of Hanoi? I'll take the F-train to Chinatown, thanks.

A night clubbing through the vast labyrinths of Hong Kong? This Four Loco in Toledo should do me fine.

A game of billiards with the locals in Tokyo? Dice-throwing and incoherent screaming in Dayton for me.

A riverboat ride through the Mekong River? Nothing compared to a drive on I-40 through Arkansas.

Haggling with the cunning entrepreneurs of Shanghai? I'd rather talk with this homeless man deodorizing his shoe in Austin.

A dingy hostel packed with well-traveled 20-somethings thirsting for social interaction with their kind in Phuket? I take mine in Mississippi with 50-something truckers whom thirst for something a bit...different.

A sunset over the palm trees of Florida? Check.

These were my options as contrasted with my realities. Please enjoy these photos from my trapezoidal trip around the United States.

Beginning point: New York City/Northern New Jersey.

Destination #1: Toledo, Ohio. Total distance driven - 561 miles.

I did not photograph Toledo, Ohio. Please click here for the most accurate representation I can find.

Destination #2: Dayton, Ohio. Total distance driven - 712 miles.

Equally as visually despairing as Toledo, I chose not to photograph this city. Please click here for a near identical look through the eyes of anyone currently in Dayton.

Destination #3: Austin, Texas. Total distance driven - 1,894 miles.

Three Lovely Tour Guides.

Destination #4: Ormond Beach, Florida. Total distance driven - 3,007 miles.

Destination #5, Final Destination: Allendale, New Jersey. Total distance driven - 4,046 miles.

See "Beginning Point" for similar photos. Add 12 inches of snow and 3 inches of solid ice over everything.

A wonderful trip around a wonderful country. A list of thanks to the people that went out of their way to see, accommodate, and entertain me. In order of appearance:

Mom, Dad, Taryn, Joey, Martini, Terry, Peter, Peter's young girlfriend, Nick, The entire Henny/Gaspard/Clark/Basso/Ranado clan, those who don't possess one of those last names but for all intents and purposes...do, Grace, Jeff, April, TCC Bear, April's husband, TCC Bear's wife, Steph, A-Sol, Bella, The wonderful workers of the TCC, The Liberty-Benton school community, Zoni, Zoni's nursing friends, Beth, Chris, Harmon, Willy P, Keel, Keel's brother, Keel's brother's girlfriend, Zoni's other nursing friends, Leyna, Amanda, Sarah, Lenny, J&J Towing (as requested from my car), Bouffy, and finally the rest of the Henny/Basso clan unable to participate in the aforementioned thanks.

How fitting to see this towards the end of my journey:

If I may? USA! USA! USA!

Gangdongstock '10

2011-01-12T23:56:00.011+09:00

I write this entry from a snow-enclosed house in Northern New Jersey. One hour after laboriously digging a small Ford automobile out from an overnight blanket, one day after telling the cellphone man that I am fluent in Korean, two days after a 5-hour layover in Chicago spent drinking with a man named Lou, and three days after sitting on a runway in Tokyo for 2 hours because of a leaky faucet in the executive-class lavatory that caused a 5-hour drinking session in Chicago with Lou.

But let's take it back even further to the year 2010 where the greatest festival known to eastern Daegu rocked the small and scarcely populated district.

Gangdongstock took place over the course of two days. For two kickin' days the students set up their homerooms with various money-making endeavors, including cafes, bakeries, carnival-esque gamerooms, haunted houses, shooting ranges, and open-flame-no-adult-supervision funhouses. As the Native English Teacher at the school it was my job to be pulled from room to room and not have to pay the outrageous prices set by the students for their various capitalist ventures. W100 for a coffee? I'll steal it from the teacher's room, thanks.

Any capitalist-stricken society must of course be overrun with suffocating advertisements.

Next the rooms need to be properly identified, naturally.

"Greg recommends" followed by a forced signature. Pure genius.

An English-loathing student with a projectile weapon. Perfect.

Bouncer.

Can't forget the noraebang.

The traditional Korean game of running towards a line of lit candles and trying to extinguish them by diving right before you hit them and waving a blanket downwards with all of your body strength. Don't forget to keep parental supervision out of the picture. A classic.

Haunted House, two days before Christmas.

The peace signs aren't very frightening.

Can't forget about the hippie jam band blasting American 80's power ballads in the hallway non-stop for 6 hours.

By nightfall, the big shows begin.

Make sure those smoke machines are running smooth.

Do the fire machines work? Maybe. Let's test them out on the foreigner teacher's band while they stand dangerously close.

That is rock and/or roll.

Out in the Cold

2010-12-13T23:16:00.005+09:00

Let's get right to it tonight, folks. I've been evicted.

Stories like these usually have some deep-rooted backgrounds in the forms of zaney antics taking place at Victorian-style mansions with three Greek letters on the front, but my version is a lot more boring, although equal amounts of racism may be present.

My building was bought by the government, and the government does not want English teachers in their new building. The argument will remain that maybe they don't want Korean English teachers either, but I like it better my way for the sake of having a neat story to tell. My theory is that a "No Gregs" club will be formed and I will be disillusioned to find my arch nemesis Greg B now lives in my apartment. You know why.

Clearly my school will not let me be homeless, it just kinda sucks having to leave my current apartment. It's really nice. My co-teacher has even admitted that the only available apartments in the area are of lesser niceness than my place and I'll have to downgrade.

I have chosen to opt out of the school-provided housing and will now take an extra 400,000 won per month as a living stipend added to my salary. A friend of mine, who has chosen to leave his current apartment, found a place in the form of a super-cheap-no-deposit-three-bedroom palace in the sky. We will live there and star in a sitcom that will be played on Fox Life in a different time slot right when you've adjusted to seeing it at a certain time.

I've got to hand it to my school in informing me of this and the END of a six-day weekend they gave me. They must feel really bad. Or they're incredibly diabolic.

Maybe evicted is the wrong word to use, but it's definitely the most interesting one.

Korean English Teachers must hate Native English Teachers

2010-12-06T10:35:00.007+09:00

Last week I received an email from the DMOE. DMOE means Daegu Metropolitan Office of Education. They are my boss. They send lots of emails and most of them remain unread in my inbox because I can get the general idea of every message based on other native English teachers' angry hate-filled status updates on facebook almost immediately after they are sent. It was another slow day at Gangdong so I opened this one up and studied the contents. They were willing to pay me 50,000 won for three hours of my time on Saturday afternoon between 3 and 6pm at a local Daegu public middle school. My normal Saturday afternoons between 3 and 6pm are nothing of great importance to me, usually spent making aimless laps around my apartment or staring helplessly at all those Korean books I got when my hopes were so high. I quickly replied an affirmative response as to not be beaten by all those other money-hungry foreigners and come 2:15 Saturday I was en-route to my appointment.

My job was, naturally, unclear upon arrival and I didn't learn about what I needed to do until five minutes before I needed to do it, so the first hour at the school was spent chatting with the other foreigners there whom I have never seen before in my life. I don't know how many people I was expecting to be there, but I was expecting at least one person I knew to attend. Surely I'm not the only loser with nothing to do on Saturday afternoon.

"Yeah I've been here for five years," I hear as I invade an in-progress conversation.

"I won an award for outstanding English education twice at my school," says another.

Sensing my presence I am asked the question which lead to the conversation taking place.

"Why were you invited?"

"Invited? Here? I don't know. I have white skin, two thumbs, an American passport, and a pulse?"

The uncomfortable conversation was one of the gloating persuasion. Who was the most qualified person in the room. I was clearly not up to par. I soon learned that, yes, I was chosen by the DMOE to be at this event. I still didn't know what exactly it was but I overheard someone say it was a contest of sorts, judging Korean English teachers' elementary school lessons. Before I'm able to discover my purpose of invitation, or before I'm able to talk with the one familiar face that walked in, I'm shoved adjumma-style to a table and given instruction on what to do.

"Teachers teach five minute. You grade. A, B, C. English level. You grade. A, B, C. Let's go."

Now I'm at the back of a classroom sitting next to a principal and vice principal behind rows of empty seats as fifteen Korean English teachers nervously scuffle their way into the room, present five minutes of one of their lessons to an imaginary class, and run like a bat out of hell back into the hallway. I have a paper in front of me and I do what I'm told. Listen to their English, give them a grade, smile. It takes about an hour to get through all of the teachers and at the end, when I finally have time, I have a short conversation with the principal next to me.

"What do they win?" I ask.

"Win?"

"Yeah. Isn't this some sort of contest?"

"Ummm..." She seems a bit perplexed. "I guess they win teacher's certificate."

These 15 Korean English teachers were not yet Korean English teachers. They were going through the final step of their long and hard licensure procedure. They received three grades and could not get a 'C' in any of them or else they had to do what they did today again until they passed. These three grades came from a 30-year veteran Korean English teacher now a principal, and 20-year veteran Korean English teacher now at vice principal, and a nearly one-year experienced native English teacher that still bribes his students with candy in exchange for classroom order.

Speaking of productive people working hard to deserve what they earn, and mildly of gloating, I have every intention to do something productive with my ever-growing weekend. Extended from five days to six this morning, I hope to learn more about the lifestyles of the elusive hagwon teacher. Staying awake past 10pm, sleeping past 7am, and enjoying what Daegu has to offer on various weekday nights. I will have much information to share, fellow public teachers.

Thanksgiving

2010-12-01T09:39:00.008+09:00

Living in Korea and want to celebrate Thanksgiving**? Easy. Do nothing and wait for someone you know to do all of the work for you. Confirm your attendance on the Facebook event, show up with moderately priced wine and some bread you picked up en-route to the soiree, and enjoy the food and company of the wonderful people you have met on your Korean adventure. You'll forget you even have a family back home. Sorry everyone, I'm just not a cook. My cheapness was for your own good. Pictures are stolen from Gina, as per usual, and Christo.

Maybe next to can convince everyone to go to a bar to see a really good band that your band convinced to come to Daegu from Seoul where you met them as the other-band-that-didn't-fit-in-to-the-heavy-metal-punk-rock battle that you were both competing in.

Fantastic people travel in packs.

Like a Fox.

Levine. Experimenting with toy instruments since 2010.

It was a wonderful Thanksgiving. Thank you to everyone that made it possible.

**These steps will work equally as well for both Canadian and American Thanksgivings.

The Fall of the English Zone

2010-11-19T15:28:00.008+09:00

The Gangdong High School English Zone was once a thriving civilization of peace and happiness progressing forward on the ideology of English education and positive Korean/Waygooken relations. Unfortunately, like all great civilizations, the time of downfall has arrived. The once thought top-of-the-line technology has aged and faded. The students have torn through the walls in a Pepero-enfused rage. The touch screen smart board seems to have declined in IQ. The dysfunctional dry-erase markers have left the dry-erase boards permanently tattooed. The microphone has an incurable case of bronchitis. The computer speakers have gone deaf in their left ear. The great English Sucks student revolt of 2010 has left its mark on the English Zone and its only inhabitant: Teacher Grack.

The regime change begins.

The walls begin to crumble.

The teacher's throne dismantled.

But there is a small glimmer of hope in an otherwise hopeless cause. So long as the leaves of the Great English Tree remain green, an unstoppable force of English energy will continue to flow within the walls of this school.

We shall rise again.

Finding Inner Peace Leads to Sore Knees

2010-11-15T10:33:00.007+09:00

Doing a Temple stay is one of those things I have been meaning to do, but would completely expect to not do until it was too late, then complain that I never did it. So this past weekend I did one. Outnumbered 3 to 1 by hagwoners Hannah, Heather, and Chris (who, oddly enough, went to the same university as me in the US. Don't you tell me about small worlds) bundled up and ventured out to 해 인 사, the largest temple in Korea. Although my only reference to that is something I overheard while there.

At a temple stay you dress like a monk-in-training and live like they do for two days and one night. This means near complete silence, very early mornings (3am), lots of bowing, and meditation time. Although I very much dug the digs, it's safe to say I'm not monk material. It's hard enough for me to sit cross-legged on the floor normally, let alone the full lotus style with a straight back. Master Monk said that it takes five years just for the body to become comfortable in this position. Only then can you really focus on meditation and not the searing pain emanating from your kneecaps.

Not pictured: Scowls of discomfort.

To be fair, the meditation time for us fell between 5am and 6:10am (scheduled, they cut it shorter upon noticing that no one was in meditation) after waking up at 3am to watch a giant drum-hitting ceremony in the freezing weather, doing approx. 30 bows in the new day ceremony, and doing 108 bows while listening to a tape tell us about our human flaws right after that. The creaking of the old knees in the room was not a pretty sound.

All in all it was very peaceful, educational, yet painful and awkward at times. Master Monk had no problem simply staring at us from the head of the room during tea time with everyone still unsure of whether we were allowed to talk or not. But the monks were very friendly and happy people. One of them gave me a hearty belly jiggle upon our departure and said I was a very fashionable New Yorker.

Very fashionable indeed.

Although my inner peace was found and sustained for a brief time, it was quickly ripped apart by Kyle in the form of an online Catan beat down the likes of which have never been seen. I may never find it again.

My students and I will watch Lost all week until I find it again. It will probably happen right before the island starts traveling through time.

Novembers are for Resting

2010-11-02T20:39:00.005+09:00

Let's take a look back. A list of October accomplishments. Gloating intentional.

1) Successfully completed two full weeks of school without a single substantial lesson.

2) Re-signed my contract with my school for one more year albeit their understanding that I successfully completed two weeks of school without a single substantial lesson.

3) Received a shirt from my school that I wore the next week and everyone laughed at me for wearing the shirt that the school gave me.

4) Performed to a crowd of 1200. Of Kyle's middle school students.

Hello Beomul Middle School!

5) Played in a band that took part in a national coast to coast tour. Learned that there were five weekends in October and we played four of them in three different cities.

6) Knocked my average sleep hours per night from a comfortable 7-8 to a more eye-twitching 4-5.

7) Lost only slightly less than half of students I was responsible for on a school field trip.

8) Currently watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on Korea's Fox Life channel, thus assuring the positive ratings that will keep it on air.

9) Successfully (my interpretation) completed editing an English newspaper, awarding first prize to the best English writer at Gangdong High School, and the crowning the first annual winner of "The Gangdong High School First Annual Speaking Contest for Future Leaders of Korea." Even if I did have to stay late a multitude of times.

10) Regretted missing the meeting to name the speaking competition.

The Koreans say it best, even if it is immediately after telling me as politely as they can that I look like total shit. "Take a rest."

Korea Hurts...

2010-10-28T15:32:00.004+09:00

...sometimes.

In other non-you-have-no-idea-how-much-it-sucks-that-I-can't-sleep-on-my-right-side related news, I have decided to re-sign (not resign, I already made that typo a few too many times) my contract for the DMOE. I have requested to remain at my school and, pending my evaluation and the principal's famous stamp, I will stick around right where I am.

Naturally, I use this information to my benefit in the classroom. It's good when the students know that your contract is year by year and is fast approaching its completion. Be good or teacher Grack is leaving and NEVER coming back.

I have also used it to benefit the band, which needs lots of online votes to get some sort of sexy photos put in a magazine I've never heard of in Seoul. (pssst...vote Levine) The students have hit their cyworlds like teacher Grack was actually serious when he said that he would stay in Korea only if Levine won the most votes. One band found a clever way to gain one vote per second, throwing them in a 14,000-vote lead in a period of 6 hours (I think they've fixed the bug). A student of mine, after rushing in this morning to tell me about her vote, after jumping and screaming that we were in the lead by a hundred votes last night, began fighting back tears as she saw the gargantuan deficit. She whipped out her cellphone and said to me, "POLICE!"

Can you be a bigger fan than a seventeen year-old Korean girl?

Note: They don't really think I'll leave Korea if we lose, I just told them I'd join cyworld if we win. I still don't know which one would influence them more, though.

Some emails I got in return from students, separated by "-----" as to avoid confusion: (I sent them a mass email with the link to the voting site so they could vote for homework. I'm ready for these kinds of emails for the rest of my life.)

Hihihihihihi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Greg :D

my name is Kim Su Jin

I'm Kang Dong highschool 1-2student!

remember me! ok?

ah!!

http://www.hiexpat.com/korea-blog/stompers-battle-of-the-bands-vote-today.html
↑here Levine the first!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

hahahah, Say thanks to me~

Greg I'm getting sleepy..

see you tomorrow~

-----

Hi ~

hahaha..

today !

I helped you !

My friends all vote "Levine"!!!

Now "Levine" 400 !!!

best of best !!!!

My opinion ~ I'm kind..

sorry........

.........☞☜

either off or on Good night Greg Teacher!

-----

Seven E"Levine"!!

The best?

Of Course "Levine"!!

p.s. I'm not movie star :D

-----

"Levine" forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

rRock spirit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- big sound ^^

----

And, my personal favorite, as if he was simply following another order...

Yes.teacher

Free Whale

2010-10-18T12:39:00.007+09:00

I get into the habit of remembering things long after they happened. I have quite a bit of time to kill during work. The school has gotten into the habit of assigning me with duties minutes before I get to go home, thus prolonging my day. English newspaper, English writing contest, English speaking contest all in one week. Being that I'm arguably the best English speaker at the school, my evenings between 4:30 and 7PM have turned into reading overly-dramatic articles about the Kimchi shortage, reading more essays about what the students think about the new English teacher (consensus: "Handsome, but he not my teacher."), all while the rest of the students shout questions at me in what they interpret as "practicing conversation." Some teacher also gave the students video cameras for an unknown reason with the apparent assignment of "Get Grack to dance on film."

During one of my someone-please-give-me-something-to-do-right-now-so-I-can-go-home-when-I'm-supposed-to-so breaks, I was flipping through the recent images I have taken on my ice cream hand phone and came across this one.

A few weeks ago I was out to dinner with a nice English fellow at one of those places you will go to only if your local nice English fellow is fluent in Korean. Next to us were two Korean businessmen doing what Korean businessmen do best - drink soju. Nice English fellow and myself were also indulging the the pastime, which is probably why I only discovered this photo now. Pictured above is what the Korean businessmen had brought into the restaurant with them and didn't finish all of. The nice lady that owned the restaurant had no reason to keep what they had left, so offered nice English fellow and myself an extra plate of "service," quite the common act in restaurants here. Said service was whale meat, which you may or may not know is a favorite among Asian businessmen that think they are way cool. Don't hate me. I'm just curious.

A student has just left my office after some brief conversation practice. "What did you do on the weekend?" She asks. I told her about my band that just played in Busan and how we topped the evening as the best of five bands that night. I said that we could win a million won if we win when we go back this weekend. I also told her of how I ran into three students from this very high school on the streets of Busan randomly. A very interesting weekend, I thought.

Her response - "Oh. You are very boring."

I can't give enough thanks to everyone in Daegu (and Busan) that supported us this weekend. You are the kimchi to my every Korean meal.

Solely Responsible

2010-10-13T19:47:00.007+09:00

A few weeks ago I was presented with a choice. Each class was embarking on a field trip. I was told that I could go with any one of them. Ten classes, ten choices. Well, nine choices. There was no way I was going to Busan with the grade's absolute worst class. Obviously, I put off the decision until the day before the trips so I just stuck with my co-teacher's homeroom class. They were going to stay in Daegu and go to a farm to learn about pulling sweet potatoes and peanuts out of the ground. Sounds fantastic. Plus, another class was joining in, so that's double the Korean teachers and half the communicating I need to do with anyone.

I asked a basic question to my co-teacher. "How will we get there?"

"Well," he responds, "That's sort of the issue. The school isn't allowed to rent buses that are more than ten years old, and we don't have enough money to afford the newer buses. I think everyone will take public transportation."

"Aren't the city buses older than ten years?"

"Yes."

"..."

"We'll take public transportation to the farm."

So it's settled. The only issue is that I have no idea where the place is or how to get there. My co-teacher simply resolves this issue. He says that four girls from his homeroom will meet me at the high school. Kim Min-Ji, the class leader, knows how to get there. I just have to follow them. My co-teacher says that he'll meet us there because his apartment is not near the high school. The only catch is that I have to carry the box with the lunches for the 30 students.

Mission: Get 4 students and lunch for 30 to a farm near Mt. Palgong.

I arrive at the school at 8:10AM as instructed. I turn the corner into the parking lot, and what do I see? 30 high school students. My co-teacher's entire homeroom. 25 girls, 5 boys. Over the night the word spread that Teacher Grack was going to ride the subway and buses with some students, so the rest wanted in on it.

New mission: Get 30 students and their lunches to a farm near Mt. Palgong using Daegu's public transportation during rush hour.

The first hurdle is finding Kim Min-Ji, who may or may not be the only student that knows how to get there.

"EVERYONE! SHUT UP! (added for dramatic effect) WHERE IS KIM MIN-JI?!"

"MY NAME IS KIM MIN-JI!" say four students.

I'm not good with Korean names, and never will be, but I do know that Kim is the most popular last name and Min-Ji is quite a popular girl's name. Now I've seen evidence in action, right when I need it not to be. Eventually, after a quick Q&A with the Min-Jis, I find the class leader and she says we need to take the subway first. So off we go.

We're walking to the subway, a ten minute walk, and after five minutes I instantly lose five students that forgot to bring snacks so they ran off to a corner store to fill up their sugar needs. Needless to say those snacks are consumed immediately to make my life more of a living hell. When we get to the subway, I'm trying to herd everyone together so we can get on the same car and stay together. I taught in the US before I came here and if there is one rule for field trips there, it's that if you lose a kid on a field trip you'll lose your job. Tensions arise as the train approaches.

It's something close to 9AM now - rush hour. The train is pretty full. The doors open and, being the adult in this group, I push the students in first. The doors have been open too long, the train is full, so the doors close, leaving me with about fifteen students. Less than an hour in and I've lost half the class.

Luckily, I'm with Kim Min-Ji (the one I need to be with). At least I know that I'll get to the farm. I get in touch with the other half of the class via cellphone. Thank god every teenager in this country has a cellphone. Not much is accomplished however, all I can hear from their end is sugar-induced screaming every so often making out a TEACHA GRACK. I tell Min-Ji to tell them to wait at the subway station until we get there. She shouts some Korean several times and hangs up.

"Maybe they don't hear me."

"Does one of them know how to get to them farm?"

"Maybe only I know where farm is."

We get to the subway stop where we need to transfer to the bus, and there are some of the students that were in the group that went ahead of us.

"Where is everyone else?"

"They took bus."

"What bus?"

"401."

"Is that the right bus?"

"Maybe."

"Min-Ji, do we take 401?"

"Yes."

Success! They're not with me, but they're heading in the right direction. I put the box down, and we wait for the next 401.

"What stop do we need to go to?"

"Nan-deong."

"Do they know that?"

"Maybe they don't know."

She calls them. More screaming.

"Maybe they didn't hear me."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the other class shows up. The TEACHA GRACKs ensue. I've lost about six students and gained another twenty. The 401 bus comes a few more times, each time more full than the last. I'm able to shove a few students on each one, telling them the bus stop the need to get off at, then waiting for the next one. Min-Ji decides that it will probably be a good idea to walk to a station before this one so we can get on a less-full bus. That's why she's the leader. We walk two stops and the 401 comes and it's only partially full. We're able to nearly squeeze on. Only leaving four behind. At this point, that's a victory in my book.

Of course we miss the stop because I'm busy trying to keep the lunches from being crushed and everyone is having a blast looking at how much taller I am than everyone else on the bus. We simply enough turn around, and make it to the bus stop we need to be at. It's now 11AM. Nearly lunch time.

15 out of 50 ain't bad. But remember, I wasn't technically responsible for the other class.

I make it seem like I'm a terrible teacher and group controller, but they all made it there eventually, and it was quite a nice little day. Except the end, when I had to do it all over again.

Almost all of my co-teacher's homeroom.

I taught them SPUD.

Sure it was stressful getting them all there, but on Monday some students brought me their diaries and showed me the entry they wrote about the trip (in English!) and how traveling with Teacher Greg was the most fun they've had all year. Good students. Real good students.

Center: Kim Min-Ji.

North Korea: Days 5 & 6

2010-10-06T08:17:00.014+09:00

September 22, 1:40PM

The day was spent mostly outside of Pyongyang in a little mountain village. I awoke to a greatly stiffened back from the wooden plank that I was so privileged to be sleeping on and, although I was well within the one hour time frame for hot water, had a low-pressure lukewarm washing. Also, the shower was most likely built for the average North Korean that stands around two feet shorter than me. I could continue complaining about the breakfast of which all I had was seven slices of buttered bread in lieu of the God knows what, but that would make this country seem less than third world.

First on the agenda was heading over to the faux temple, where we could see actual evidence of freedom of religion in this country. It was a very nice temple. Very well preserved, as a place would be when no one goes anywhere near it unless foreigners are around. There was even a soldier participating in an early Halloween in full-blown monk attire.

Catch 22: If every North Korean has to be wearing a Kim Il-Sung pin, how do you do it when wearing a monk costume?

Now I'm not one to run around a country pointing out their obvious failed attempts at things, but even North Korea did a terrible job here. For example, in the room where the monk above was located there was also a big golden Buddha statue, which is the same for every Buddhist temple in South Korea. In said room, there were also 20 foreigners with their cameras snapping photos of the statue mimicking his hand gesture, etc. If you so much as reached for a camera in front of one of these statues in South Korea while a monk was around he would throw you off the mountain faster than an ajumma could shove you from a line waiting for a bus. Of course everyone knew anyway that freedom of religion is non-existent in this country, but come on North Korea, do some research. You'll fool someone some day. I promise.

We then headed over to the International Friendship Exhibition, which are two buildings where gifts that have been given to the leaders are kept. Each leader has their own building. From the outside, they look like any normal-sized (maybe above average) building, but they are actually gigantic underground mazes that would probably take days to navigate by one's self. These guys get lots of presents.

Kim Il-Sung's.

Complete with shiny guns.

We were not permitted to take cameras inside of here and we also had to put little slippers on over our shoes as to not bring in filth from the outside world. We have had to do this sort of thing a lot. Don't they realize that they are calling their own country filthy by making us do this? We are led through the underground corridors every so often popping in a room to see what sort of gifts Kim Il-Sung has received. A giant ceramic vase from China, an intricately sewn carpet from Russia, a taxidermied crocodile from Nigeria, a bullet-proof Soviet sedan from Stalin, a cuckoo clock from Cambodia, a painting of Kim Il-Sung riding a flying robot horse alongside Videl Castro from Cuba, a cereal bowl from the United States, an Apple computer from Samsung. The things just get stranger as you go along. The British chaps in our group were having a good time pointing out all of the British gifts that could be bought for less than a pound at a highway rest stop. There was even a hallway with pictures of animals that the leaders of other countries have given to him that are still in their home country's natural habitat. Sort of like when someone gives you a Christmas card saying that a tree has been planted in your name in a rain forest somewhere in Brazil. The only thing about these pictures was that they were completely and obviously photoshopped. Unless Finland really gave a polar bear that could walk on water.

We went to Kim Jong-il's present house next, but no one was really impressed by it. Same old same old for a less interesting person. Why does this guy deserve anything? His father did all of the work, he's just riding the coattails. It's very interesting to see the North Korean's view of Kim Jong-il, because it's almost just as negative as ours. Of course they could never say the things we can say, but it's obvious when you hear them compare the two. Kim Il-Sung is like the epitome of greatness, while Kim Jong-il is just...eh.

The balcony of the building gave us a very nice view of the river beneath us and the mountains surrounding us. We sat an enjoyed some coffee.

The highway back to Pyongyang. One bicycle rider.

Some countryside scenery. It was very beautiful.

September 23, 10:50AM

Richard and I have gone our separate ways. He has gone to take the 23-hour train ride from Pyongyang to Beijing, while I, along with the rest of the Americans, are here on the 1-hour flight. North Korea does not let any citizens of a country without diplomatic relations with them on that train. Because that would not make sense.

Good morning and goodbye, Pyongyang.

Yesterday we went to look around the captured US spy vessel, the USS Pueblo, captured by the DPRK in 1968. Also captured were 80-plus Americans aboard the ship. They were kept in the DPRK and almost put to trial (which they would have lost and been killed) until the United States issued a written apology. As said by our latest brainwashing film, "The world hailed the DPRK for standing up to the imperialist Americans and cheered alongside us as the United States was publicly humiliated."

"Here is where your coward American brothers died."

The US apology. Not pictured, nor present: The slip of paper attached to the apology that contradicted everything written on this paper. It was removed by the North Koreans and presumably tossed away.

Last night we were supposed to go to some sort of fun fair where we could ride rides that implemented the natural fear of death every time they are switched on, but it was closed because of a Korean holiday. Our guides instead took us for a relaxing night time stroll down one of the more aesthetically pleasing avenues in Pyongyang. We frightened lots of North Korean couples our for a late night holding-hands session.

We were then taken to a local brewery where the tour was omitted and we went right to the bar to drink free North Korean beer for about an hour. North Korean beer, by the way, is phenomenal. It really beats the hell out of any beer available in South Korea. When we did buy it, it costs only about 50 cents a bottle, and the bottle is 640mL. We went back to the hotel per usual and spent the remainder of the night watching the lights go out over Pyongyang from the rotating restaurant at the top of our hotel. Which, inevitably, stopped rotating.

The plane has now begun to taxi and the safety video has finished, which in no way holds back from the propaganda itself. "Welcome aboard this flight, made possible by our Great Leader and his innovation in the technology of flight...In case of a water landing, praise the Great Leader for his safety advancements, and reach for the life vest beneath your seat." Etc, etc, etc.

As always, thanks for reading. If you ever get the chance to take a trip to North Korea, I absolutely implore you to do so. The country is opening its doors more than ever right now, but that may not last long with the upcoming regime change. Get in while you can. It's a truly fascinating experience.

North Korea: Day 4

2010-10-04T08:34:00.016+09:00

September 21, 6:00PM

Here we are on another 2-plus hour bus ride to somewhere outside of Pyongyang. Last night we got to live like true DPRK elite and go bowling at the Pyongyang Gold Lane bowling alley. They were nice enough to open the building and staff it for us. Usually they are closed. One game of bowling costs more than most North Koreans can make in a month. But we were able to flash our Euros, Dollars, and Yuans to get the star treatment.

The only money accepted in North Korea.

The bowling alley was straight out of 1972, fully equipped with bowling balls that ripped the skin off our thumbs, computers that didn't keep score right, and strike animations that featured a stick man apparently having a stroke. I was able to entertain the staff with my enormous feet that couldn't fit into any sort of shoe they had, so watching me bowl in the indoor sandal-esque shoes drew quite the crowd of spectators. It happens in South Korea, too.

Of course, no North Korean building is complete without a picture of Kim Il-Sung checking things out for himself.

And in case you really want to get deep into what happened on that great day in 1994, you need only look to the right of this photo to see...

The exact path he took during his visit. I believe the stars indicate where he humbly shifted his weight to his left side and let out a silent pass of gas. I hear his smelled of lavender.

We wrapped up after a quick game as a few of us were trying to gauge our real scores since we attempted to "make it interesting." The computers, however, decided our ultimate fates so we ditched the idea of losing a Euro to random chance. We had a sort of gross duck dinner and went back to the hotel, per usual. We kept ourselves entertained by going to the hotel's noraebang and had a nice time singing with some of our guides as well as the Middlesboro women's soccer team from England. They were in the country playing a few games against some Korean women's teams to celebrate 10 years of diplomatic relations between the UK and the DPRK. We even went to one of their games to watch them get slaughtered by the Korean women's B team.

In Middleboro's defense, they weren't playing for their lives.

The song choices were slim and the sound qualities questionable, but our North Korean guides stunned everyone with their gorgeous voices. I think this was the night where many of the men on the tour fell in love with Ms. Kim.

Today we went to the big statue of Kim Il-Sung. It is a 20-odd-meter high massive bronze behemoth on top of a hill towering over the entire city. We were to pay our respects in the form of flowers and a bow before we were free to get our photos of the thing. There was one rule that the guides were pretty stern on, and that was that we had to take a photo of the ENTIRE STATUE. They said this many times. Do not just take a picture of his head. Don't cut out his feet. The ENTIRE BODY must be in the frame. So we get out and wander around the plaza looking up at this guy and getting our pictures done. "Hey Richard," I say. "Get a shot of me in front of this thing."

Richard had made his intentions of my fate on this trip obvious from the start.

Next we had a visit to the Grand Peoples' Study House where we were able to see some North Korean education in action. Reading books, learning English, listening to music, surfing the Intranet, you name it. We were guided around and told how great the education system is here; that people could learn whatever they wanted, so long as it was from North Korea. I didn't say Internet before, I said Intranet.

The desks were adjustable to make them higher or lower or slightly angled for ease of study. Kim Il-Sung's idea of course. Great Leader, Great Modifier.

Keeping the most important books behind glass.

If you can't find your answer in text, come ask this Juche Philosopher. He'll tell you that Kim Il-sung did it.

Checking their Juche-mail.

I was able to snag a few more videos as well.

Learning English: The North Korean way.

Enjoying the Beatles.

From the top of this building, we got a great view of a lot of people practicing whatever it is they're going to do on October 10th in the big Commie Plaza beneath us. Here is a video.

We took a quick swing by Kim Il-Sung's alleged birthplace, which looks surprisingly new considering he was born there in 1912, and also that people were most likely living there for many years before that.

WiFi available here.

The agenda then called on us to go to the Korean War museum, where we were to hear the "real" story on how the war started, played out, and ended. We had a nice little soldier guiding through the museum. She spoke English so there was no need for our guides to translate. I was getting sick of them translating, anyway. When the North Koreans would say "American imperialist invaders" our guides would just say "Americans" to keep our feelings unharmed. And there I was starting to think that the US didn't invade the unprepared North in 1950 for no good reason other to spread their imperialist capitalism empire before being embarrassed and slaughtered by the much courageous North.

Getting our daily fix of brainwash.

The tank that helped to liberate Seoul. Hear about it here.

Captured American weapons.

Shot-down American plane. Ego much?

This Australian guy was in the Korean War and helped construct the DMZ. He had a blast in here. Specifically pointing out which American captured weapons and vehicles weren't American.

The evening plans brought us to make a decision. We could either go see the Middleboro soccer team get even more slaughtered by an even better team, or watch children drones perform music, dance, and artistic ability for us to absolute perfection. I chose the latter.

We were lead around in this "Children's Palace" from room to room seeing various performances on accordions, guitars, pianos, or just singing, as well as artistic things like sewing pictures or Korean character drawing. We then sat in a big theater to watch all of the students perform one hour-long show together. To say that these children were anything short of perfection is an understatement. Their mass performance at the end, in which they performed various kinds of song and dance, put the Beijing Olympic ceremony to shame.

Here are some videos.

Accordion performance.

Guitar performance.

Song. There are three girls singing in this video. The other three looking into the mirror went next. They sang a completely different song. In this video they are practicing their song. A bit creepy.

I had a very cool experience after we left the Children's Palace. We were sitting on the bus waiting for everyone to mosey their ways back on. I was sitting there staring blankly out the window watching the students march away in perfect formation when I noticed one lone little girl, probably about 10 years old, standing outside our bus staring in at us. I smiled and waved to her and she ran up closer to the bus. I opened the window and said "Annyong!" and she held out four pieces of gum in motion for me to take one. I did. "Quick! Give me something to give her!" Someone tossed a box of Chinese candy at me and I gave it to her and she started jumping up and down in absolute joy before running back into her formation. I enjoyed those five minutes. The people living in North Korea live terrible lives under their repressive government, but still show such unity and solidarity. It's quite amazing.

11:45PM

We're at a different hotel now. A rustic fixer-upper two hours either north-northwest or south-southeast of Pyongyang. Welcomed by another huge mural of the Kims, we're told not to be shocked when the power goes out without warning (which is ironic because we still can't figure out how to turn our room light off), and also that hot water will be available between 7 and 8AM tomorrow morning. The shower keeps turning on by itself.

Calling for a waiter's attention in North Korea translates to "Over here my comrade brother!"

North Korea: Days 2 and 3

2010-09-29T18:11:00.018+09:00

September 20, 8:15AM

I write this entry on our bus en route to Kaesong, which is approximately 2.5 hours south of Pyongyang, just north of the DMZ. The bus rides from place to place have been the most interesting part of the trip so far. This is when we have seen the real North Korea with its natural citizens around town, doing menial tasks (such as cleaning the sidewalk with toothbrushes), and generally working unnecessarily hard. The people in Pyongyang are of the core class of citizens, and thus have the best lifestyle, if it can even be classified as good.

It's probably rush hour right now, because people are all over the sidewalks and streets (walking of course). The trams, which are probably 50+ years old are stuffed full of people, and some even have riders hanging out of the windows or doors. We are flying down the poorly-paved roads only needing to avoid the occasional army vehicles stuffed with armed soldiers that stare vehemently into the coach. Every twenty meters or so there is another huge propaganda painting or an inspiring picture of one of two Kims doing something patriotic, such as standing in a cornfield pointing to the distance with an arm around a smiling citizen.

Or just a simple smiling face.

As we drive, our guides tell us various facts about Korea, such as population, major exports, that it's surrounded by three oceans and borders two countries - China and Russia, you know, the basic things you would learn in any personality cult-run governments. Our guides are two young North Koreans, between 25 and 35 years old I would guess. They are well educated and are very open to dealing with foreigners on a constant basis. I doubt they are soldiers, although they probably were at one point. I could tell that, probably they constantly deal with tourists, they know their country is a bit backwards. However, they do a great job of avoiding tough questions and carefully choosing their words because they are still loyal to their government and way of life. Each group also had a minder, who spent his time on the back of the bus making sure no one took pictures out of the windows. Sounds scary, but he was the nicest of the bunch. His time was mostly spent drinking our alcohol and listening to our iPods while the bus is cruising along.

A guide and me on our departure day.

Pictured on the right, Mr. Lee. Probably the tallest North Korean ever.

Our group's guide, Ms. Kim.

Naturally, she dominated.

The minder, believe it or not, was not keen on getting his photo taken.

But I digress. Back to yesterday (September 19, day 2). We had to check out of our hotel because the Worker's Party was coming into town for their big meeting. They wanted to stay in the hotel we were in and one wise soul somewhere out there thought that the highest ranking North Korean officials, Americans, other westerners, and alcohol probably wouldn't mix well. The DPRKers got the first dibs. Our hotel had a casino.

I am dressed in my best shirt and mismatched borrowed tie to visit the mausoleum of Kim Il-Sung, although I look for suited for playing bass in an early 90s punk rock band. The bus is a bit delayed as the guides try to find out who stole a towel from the hotel. I break into a fast sweat sitting next to the tiny shampoo bottles I swiped from my room. Richard considered lifting the calendar from the room but voted against it thinking we would be back at that hotel so he would take it then.

It was quite the calendar.

The mystery is soon solved and we are on our way. I'm not sure how it ended, but I'll just assume someone was taken to the gulag. Off to see the dead body of the current president of the country.

At the mausoleum we are lined up in fours, forfeit our cameras, and march our way through long and unnecessary underground hallways. We go through corridor after corridor, riding along on slow conveyor belts, and give dumbass smiles to the North Korean soldiers going the opposite way. I suppose it was in poor taste being that these people just saw the dead body of their God. We finally reach a more heavily guarded dark red room. We walk through a doorway where the "dirt and outside filth" is blown off of us using high-powered fans. We enter the room and there he is, lying in a glass box with a red flag draped over him up to his neck. The true embalmed commie dictator way. We go around to each side, making a bow (excluding the back), and exit to a room where we get to see all of the awards he's ever received. Most of them are from North Korea or countries that don't exist any more, but some of them are quite entertaining. There is a "Honorary Genius" award from one of the psycho rebel leaders in one of those psycho rebel-led African countries as well as an "Honorary Doctorate" from a university in the United States that doesn't exist.

Not pictured: The drummer.

Next we are supposed to go look at Juche Tower, but it is raining, so the guides pull an audible. Instead of standing outside at that monument we go stand outside at another. We check out a cemetery where the most loyal Party revolutionists are buried. They get the luxury of sitting high up on a hill so they can see the entire city bustling beneath them.

Stunning view.

Mrs. Kim Il-Sung

We do the bowing game again, and it's off to yet another monument.

Yawn...another massive impressive monument.

We were here only a short time when the guides and minders quickly noticed that the group was more interested in taking their first-time shots of the city, not the monument. I, of course, was in that accusation.

In Pyongyang's defense, all cities look awful when it's raining.

Now that we are hilariously wet enough in our nicest clothes, we get to go eat a delicious North Korean lunch, which was surprisingly similar to a lunch in South Korea. Cook your meat and vegetables, eat your kimchi, drink your beer, depart.

We then descend deep into the earth beneath Pyongyang to take a quick one-station ride on the metro. It is the deepest in the world at over 110 meters. North Koreans and their tunnels, am I right!? The subway is depressingly dark and overly decorated (at least these two stops, which are clearly their showcase stations). We putz around the station as trains come way too frequently. I'm talking one train a minute. There's no way it's efficient. Some people get on and off as if they are naturals at this, but keep their heads down and lines straight as they jet past us.

Can't escape those Kims.

Anywho, we then retire to the hotel where we have a nice dinner and the night was spent with Richard and one of his British brethren trying to find the Man U/Liverpool match. They were able to get the hotel employee on the phone talking with, from what it appeared, the master mechanic of Pyongyang, who would come rewire the hotel so the match would be aired in their room. I thought that these two Brits would think that too much of a task and politely decline, but apparently Manchester United/Liverpool is an important game. After inevitably failing, the hotel bar it was with the rest of the travelers to spend the remainder of the evening telling boring stories about our pasts as the Koryo Tour leader passes around some Russian snuff he found in his bag. An Australian in a bow-tie passes out.

We now approach the first of many checkpoints near the DMZ (remember how I am transcribing this from my journal? Me neither.) so now I will put this journal away at the risk of ending up like so many journalists before me that were in this country. They probably had bigger notebooks, though.

5:36PM

We are now back on the baron highway pointed away from the puppet government of the south towards the opening arms of Pyongyang. The DMZ was everything I wanted. Soldiers, guns, cameras, meeting tables, concrete borderlines, the list goes on. They lined us up again, this time in twos. But, much like last time, we couldn't manage the slightly curved road and the ranks quickly broke. No one has practiced lining-up since kindergarten. I've never been to the DMZ from the south's side, but I'm going out on a limb and saying that the north's side is a bit looser on restrictions. All our guide said was "You can take photos, but don't cross the line." Line is of course referring to the most hostile border currently on the planet. There was not a soul to see on the south side, but apparently that's pretty normal. They only come out to shout things across the border, such as, "Pick up the phone! We have to talk about something!" Most of us were really hoping for a tour group to be right on the other side, but we could only dream.

Doesn't seem very photogenic.

The two guards facing each other are making sure the other doesn't run over. The third is making sure no citizens run from the North into the South. And also is, most likely, directing his farts straightly southbound.

We get to go into the blue buildings that stratal the border, so we technically get the chance to be immature and jump back and forth over the border laughing and dancing as the guards only stare at us as they reaffirm their belief of national superiority.

Henny-Larose relations are at an all-time high.

We then get the chance to get a view from the second story of the north's building and the guards encourage us to shout anti-American slurs across the border. A few Canadians jump on this opportunity and have a good laugh while the Americans stand awkwardly in the corner. It's interesting to see a gigantic South Korean flag to the left and an even more gigantic (biggest in the world) North Korean flag just on the right. It's the ultimate flag battle.

After some good old militarized fun, we are back on the bus heading toward Kaesong, the closest big(ge) city that once was property of the South, but was lost right before the end of the Korean war. Poor Kaesongonians. Driving through these streets was far more depressing than Pyongyang. The buildings are even more run-down and the people look even worse, pulling carts of wood through dirt streets or really just lying there. Our minder was busy listening to Method Man on someone's iPod so I snapped a couple of shots.

Just missed the ox.

We get to a high point in the city where there is the mandatory statue of the Great Leader looking down on his wonderful utopia. We couldn't get close to the statue because we had no gifts to present it, but we are going to see a bigger one anyway.

Rush hour.

On the way back to Pyongyang we stopped at a highway rest stop, which was a building that they set up tables on the outside of with two nice Korean ladies selling us more propaganda, worthless junk, beer, and stale chips. It was quite nice though, they sang a song for us. You don't think that everything could be so intricately planned, but they set up a rest stop on the highway and sat there anticipating our arrival. The entire country must know that foreigners are in the country. The ride back is smooth, passing the occasional bicyclist on the highway probably riding the 200km between any major city, or another army jeep or truck loaded with more soldiers.

That wraps up the next two days. I apologize if I am changing tenses too much while writing. I am reading and remembering at the same time. In the next installment - Richard begins to lose his sanity. He mumbles communist slogans in his sleep. How will he fare?

North Korea: Beijing and Arrival

2010-09-27T23:11:00.019+09:00

September 17, 6:30PM.

I write this entry on the beginnings of our travels. Somewhere in the air above the Yellow Sea between Seoul and Beijing, simply to end up 40 miles north of our city of departure. I sit intently between a Chinese couple that, for some reason, refused to sit next to each other, which would allow one gangly American a window or aisle seat. Oh well. We're next to the wing. I'm always next to the wing.

My long-time travel companion, Richard, who has accompanied me on many cross-sea ventures, sits behind me on this flight, kicking my seat like an impatient 10-year old awaiting his oversized lollipop. Just to complete the stereotypes, let's throw a screaming baby in front of me. We fly to Beijing for the purposes of obtaining our North Korean visas as well as attending a meeting with our tour group, run by Koryo Tours. You see, to travel to the DPRK, you must do it in a group. No loners in the most isolated country in the world. That would be too ironic.

We will sleep tonight in Beijing's Capital Airport, pop into the city for a few hours, then return to the same airport faster than our bodies can absorb the pollution. Here's to hoping my small notebook is not confiscated on the trip. I don't think writing about North Korea is encouraged.

Richard enjoys many ice creams.

September 18, 12:35PM

Now sitting at the airport gate amongst 50-odd other foreigners, all equally skeptical about boarding the 60's era Koryo airplane sporting the DPRK on the tail wing, I meet some new and interesting people. No one here wants to be on a group tour so the self-mockeries have begun over already-opened duty-free alcohol.

Richard and I arrived at the company's HQ in downtown Beijing this morning met by one flustered Englishman whose demeanor only became scarier when he learned that I had no travel insurance. No one said I needed travel insurance. What could possibly happen? I break my leg and the doctors chop it off in North Korea since they don't have any proper medical equipment anyway? I assumed in advance that any injury is an instant death sentence. A few hastily-made phone calls later and I was hooked up with a week's worth of travel insurance for 25 Euros.

Matthew, a friendly American from Dallas, has just sat next to me with his duty-free scotch, which has already been poured into a small paper cup for me. It seems that buying a big bottle of alcohol is an unspoken obligation, so I'll go get a bottle of vodka. ***Matthew was the US government fellow I mentioned in the previous post. Never would have guessed it!

10:58PM

Richard and I have just settled into our 33rd-floor hotel room on an island hotel in Pyongyang, but I'm already ahead of myself. I sit with a warm drink of vodka watching the BBC as if I'm in a hotel where I would see something...anything...if I looked out the window. Instead I see darkness. Well, darkness and a bridge. But it's also quite foggy.

Let's take it back to the plane. This Soviet-era craft was loaded with westerners, Chinese, and North Koreans. I could tell they were North Koreans because they are all wearing badges on their shirts of Kim Il-Sung. Like how American politicians always wear flags on their suits, this is just a bit more communist. Like when Obama does it. (zing!) I believe they were on the flight to show that, yes, DPRKers do leave the country.

My first North Korean sighting! Also, the fattest!

And let's not forget the in-flight reading material. Ooooh how great it was.

Oh hey there. I'll see you a lot this week.

Flash forward about two hours and I'm staring up at my first Kim Il-Sung picture. He smiles down over us from high atop the two-story, lone, old airport terminal. It appears as if the building was ready to crumble under the next rainfall. Little Korean girls wave at us from the top floor as we take the unnecessary airport shuttle 50 meters to the door of the building.

Customs was not as difficult or strange as I thought it would be. It was easier than going through the USA. In fact, I didn't even open my bag for them. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, for some reason, people that checked their bags had to wait for a really long time for the bags to move a few feet into a building right next to the plane where it landed, so I had lots of time to stand outside. I was able to watch the "happy" families meet their relatives coming in on the plane and they all laughed, hugged, talked on their cellphones, and drove away in their Mercedes, Fords, Volkswagens, Chryslers, and Audis. I looked over to a guy that appeared to be confused by the cellphone he was holding. He was sort of inspecting it, as if another North Korean undercover soldier said, "Take this! And talk into it when the foreigners get here dammit!"

We then met our guides, all of whom are wonderful. Funny, handsome and beautiful, fluent English speakers. We take one last look at the airport as the North Koreans text and chat away, apparently waiting for us to go so they could get rid of this damn device, and we drive off in our buses.

We drive through the "suburbs of Pyongyang," which is nothing more than old, old buildings dropped on dirt lots with an occasional Korean poking their head out a window. We drive for about 25 minutes and, seemingly out of nowhere, we are right in Pyongyang. Like, we went over a hill and the city was RIGHT THERE. People are now upgraded to wandering aimlessly on bikes as well as on foot, although the buildings show no sign of improvement. There are trams that are nearly rusting apart as showers of sparks rain down on them from the cables they are connected to overhead.

Ride baby ride.

We make a quick stop at the Arc of Triumph, which yes, is exactly like the Arc de Triumph in Paris. Except this one is bigger. Six meters bigger to be exact. We are made sure to know that. And it's also loaded with Communist stuff. We get five minutes to stand in the middle of the road, since no one drives on them, to get our perfect shots and we're off to the Arirang Mass Games.

OK, two cars. But I was still a baby and wouldn't stand in the middle of the street.

We arrive at May Day Stadium, which is apparently one of (if not the) biggest stadiums in the world, able to seat 150,000. We got some nice shots on the outside, watched the thousands of Pyongyangers stare curiously at us as they went in, got our tickets, and went in ourselves. Now, the performance itself. I really can't explain it. At the risk of sounding like an emo kid explaining his favorite album of all time, you have to experience it yourself. Over 100,000 performers executing perfect gymnastics and synchronized dancing and other physical feats all while thousands of school children flip pages in books in the seats opposite us creating a huge mural.

Kids. Lots of kids.

Oh, just some 6-year olds jump-roping on unicycles.

BFFs

The phone in our room looks bugged. If we leave the hotel we'll probably get shot. Hear hear!

Oh, what's that? You want to see some illegal videos taken by me while I was at the games?

Here's one.

And here's another.

A third.

And please enjoy one more. Notice that their outfits change after the lights go out for merely five seconds.

Stay tuned for day two. And, as always, thanks for reading.

North Korea, An Introduction

2010-09-25T16:56:00.002+09:00

I recently returned from my Chuseok holiday vacation from North Korea. Impossible! Some might say, but some might be wrong. There is a tour group based in Beijing, called Koryo Tours, that specializes in taking tours into Pyongyang and the neighboring areas of the DPRK. The North Korean government has been opening its doors to more tourists every year. As of now, more than 1,000 westerners visit the country each year. The tour was 5 days spent mainly in Pyongyang, but also ventured out to the DMZ, Kaesong, and a small village that I don't remember the name of. The tour group itself was an interesting group of people. All independent travelers that hate being in group tours. There were about 50 people total on the trip broken into three smaller groups. There were people from everywhere in the world - England, Canada, Ireland, Germany, France, USA, Australia, you name it. Aside from one cocky Brit and and overly-talkative Canadian, the group of people was quite alright. I even met one guy that was actually there undercover working for the United States government. No joke. This group was full of some interesting folk.

North Korea obviously does some terrible things to its people. They are starving, over-worked, heavily policed, and the slightest negative remark about the Kims has them, along with their entire family, in a prison camp faster than they can even imagine. On our tour, we had North Korean guides and minders. The guides were to show us around and explain the North Korean views on things (because everything else we've learned was wrong) while the minders literally watched us. The guides and minders were truly fantastic people. Fluent in English, funny, outgoing, and very educated (for a North Korean, that is). They seemed a bit skeptical about the state of their country since they interact with foreigners on an almost daily basis, but they are still clearly loyal to their Great and Dear Leaders. They do a great job of avoiding answering controversial questions asked by curious tourists.

For those of you that don't know, the people in North Korea are divided into three classes - The core, the wavering, and the hostile. The hostile class are deemed as threats to the Worker's Party and are most likely in a prison camp if not en route to one. The wavering class are basically not good, but not bad. They live in any city that isn't Pyongyang. And any city that isn't Pyongyang is a dump. And by dump I mean sporadic electricity, crumbling buildings, and very rarely running water (if any at all). The core class have a family history of being loyal to the party and are the elite of the population. They live in Pyongyang. I wouldn't doubt that every single person in Pyongyang knew that we were there, because they put on a hell of a show trying to look happy. The city is pretty much a run-down over-sized village with no building (other than monuments) built post-1960. The people wander around on empty streets (cars are reserved for the best of the best) or ride their bicycles past buildings that look like they've been on fire five or six times and countless murals of the Kims looking majestic and heroic on their propaganda signs. It really is like traveling back in time.

Now, obviously I have a lot to say about this trip. However, I knew this going in. So I took with me a small notebook, in which I kept various notes and writings about what was going on in this bizarre country. Because, believe me, it was bizarre. To best write about as much of the trip as humanly possible, I will do it on a day-by-day basis, looking back on my notes for what exactly we did each day.

So, here's to a long-winded journal of my five-day vacation to Pyongyang, DPRK.

Sex Ed Korea

2010-09-14T14:22:00.007+09:00

I guess I just thought that sex education in Korea was nearly identical to that of the United States' school systems. Never crossed my mind. Separate boys from girls, show them pictures of people's wahoos, then let the hilarious immature jokes ensue. It wasn't until today when I INADVERTENELY (I can't stress that enough) picked up a custom-made one of these today off of a student's desk when I got a general idea of how it goes down.

Things were a little off in my typically girl-dominated class this afternoon when I noticed little bags of something-or-another in front of every student. Brushing it off as another krazy Korean kraft I went about the lesson. The students were working quite well on their "Build Greg a Sandwich" activity and one group of girls asked for help. I nonchalantly leaned on their desk dropping my hand down on one of their "crafts." It's now my gut instinct to inspect the foreign object because I just touched it. I pick it up and instantly the group of girls start laughing hysterically. "What's so funny?" I ask, closer inspecting the object. I then dropped the object on the floor upon realizing what it was.

The class had just come from their sex education class, where apparently today's lesson was "Make a Pad." Looking around the room, I see pads with hearts, pads with smileys, pads with rustic countryside scenes, you name it. By this point, everyone in the class is screaming wildly because Teacher Greg touched Yuri's pad.

I was shocked. Embarrassed. Alone.

"Not so funny," says a quiet voice from the back of the room. It's one of the four boys (in a class of 31) in the room! He's come to my rescue!

"Yes!" I say. "Not funny at all!" As I'm backing further into the corner.

"I know," responds Chal-Su. "Look at mine. I don't know either."

He then shows his, what I'm calling valiant, attempt at creating a pad. He put little effort into it compared to the females of the class. But in his defense, he has a penis. This encourages more uproar from the girls.

"Chal-Su has ugly pad!" One girl screams.

"You had to make one too? All of you?" I ask to the boys.

"Yes. We learn about cycles today."

Upon the end of the class, I clearly had a few questions for my co-teacher. The school does not separate boys and girls sex education classes. They, apparently, also make the boys do very feminine things. My school is mostly girls. Each class I have is about 30 students with only 4 or 5 boys. I'm calling unfair. It seems sort of lazy on the school's part. Will the girls have to make jock-straps next semester? Maybe they're saving a few extra bucks on the class they aren't teaching. In that case, kudos.

No wonder the teachers are concerned about the already overly-underpopulated boy students becoming too effeminate, they have them making female hygienic products.

To their credit, they're putting the men back in menstration.

Smoking Unites

2010-09-10T08:25:00.001+09:00

This morning I saw a teacher and one of my students enjoying a cigarette together on a bench alongside the road I walk across to get to school. I was both shocked and saddened. Why not invite me? I walk past that bench every day. I can sit for a bit. Sure I don't smoke, and I don't have a tennis racquet to carry, pretending to get a quick volley in before school. But I do have a swiffer. I can make it into a lacrosse stick if you want. I won't smoke, but you can mock me to my face in Korean. It happens daily anyway. Was I not just voted best teacher at the school? Sure, your reasoning was "Teacher Greg doesn't hit us. Teacher Greg doesn't curse at us," but if I knew I was allowed to hit you, or if I knew how to curse, I would.

Just let me into your early morning ritual. It looks so nice.

A Vacation Approaches

2010-09-08T09:39:00.010+09:00

I will go to Emart today to pick up my Chinese visa, which was the one last hurdle to jump before my trip to Pyongyang next Friday. It was supposed to be ready yesterday, but they told me to return today at "ten baek twenty baek," which my loose grasp on the Korean language translates to between 10:00 and 20:00, because what travel agency gives you a 20 minute window to acquire what's rightfully yours? Probably the one in Emart, where the man next to me last week was booking his wonderful trip to Daejeon through them. I would have done it for half what he paid. We'll see.

As a special treat to my mother, I will post a section of the United States' recently posted travel warning for the DPRK, updated on August 27th. I'll spare the parts about entering the country without proper documentation because I'm not ready to right a book yet. That's why they do it, right?

Even if you are a U.S. citizen entering North Korea with a valid passport and a valid visa for North Korea, you may be expelled, arrested, or imprisoned for knowingly or unknowingly violating the laws of North Korea. Foreign visitors to North Korea may be arrested, detained, or expelled for activities that would not be considered criminal in the United States, including involvement in unsanctioned religious and political activities, engaging in unauthorized travel, or interaction with the local population. If you travel unescorted inside North Korea without explicit official authorization, North Korean security personnel may view your actions as espionage. Security personnel may also view any unauthorized attempt you make to talk to a North Korean citizen as espionage. North Korean authorities may fine or arrest you for unauthorized currency transactions or for shopping at stores not designated for foreigners.

North Korean authorities have detained foreign nationals who questioned the policies, public statements, or the actions of the current or former leadership of North Korea. North Korean authorities may also view taking unauthorized pictures as espionage, confiscate cameras and film, and/or detain the photographer. North Korean border officials routinely confiscate visitors’ cell phones upon arrival, returning the phone only upon departure.

Have fun on your warm, sunny beaches, intelligent travelers. Back-breaking manual labor is the new lounging in the sand. Gulags are the new beach huts. Recycled urine is the new pina colada.

Things I Should Probably Do

2010-08-31T06:38:00.008+09:00

I have been in Korea for over 6 months now, and yet there are still some things I have somehow avoided doing since arriving. I could say that I've been so busy with work and lesson planning, but that would be an obvious lie, and there are many people that could probably call me out on it. All English teachers here have basically the same job, same pay, same lives, same everything. I think Kyle put it best this past weekend at a fundraising show we played by saying (something along the lines of) "You'd better donate, because we know exactly how much you make and exactly how you spend it."

I should buy a desk chair. This is an unfair accusation at my school, which was required to get me a chair, but the chair they bought me was destroying my floor. As people with Korean apartment floor experience realize, floors here are made of a rubber-like substance. I had to exile it to the laundry room.

I should buy food. A basic necessity, yes, but also so far away. And I hate going to E-Mart. Just another run-of-the-mill thing I refuse to do unless absolutely necessary.

I should buy toilet paper. I was able to get a 6-month supply from E-Mart when I first arrived, but like I said, I hate going to E-Mart. I bought two rolls of paper towels from the local Dream Mart thinking they were four rolls of toilet paper. The only toilet paper Dream Mart sells will last me probably two years. Decision time is soon.

I should dispose of garbage I've had since I moved in. See those boxes on the left? They haven't moved in 6 months. I already have an irrational fear of trash disposal. I also always see little old ladies carting away boxes around the neighborhood. Why won't I approach them with my treasures? Why? Also, a trashcan would probably be an investment.

I should buy a safer TV stand. "I'll get you the same TV I would get for myself," said my videogame-loving co-teacher when I arrived. His fluency in English, he claims, is mostly thanks to playing English videogames. So here I am with a giant TV I barely use still balancing on a small folding table meant for the overflow of side dishes from the dinner table.

I should probably not post Skype pictures of my parents when they specifically tell me not to.

I could spend more time doing these things rather than sharing them with the internet, but I woke up really early this morning, which is why I won't. I need to take a shower. Also, I got a Chinese visa finally. Believe the rumors of the difficulty level in this, they are true. Tenfold for Americans. Twentyfold for Americans that don't speak Korean. Thirtyfold for lazy wait-till-the-last-minute Americans that don't speak Korean.

Here is a snippet of the conversation I had with a teacher that came with me to the travel agency to translate that really shows how friendly Koreans can be. We had this conversation while the travel agent was frantically typing away trying to pull strings for me, which is an entirely different example in itself.

"How is your semester going so far?"

"Bad. I got hit by car in the morning. I spent lunch at hospital."

"What? Really? Are you OK?"

"No. I will go back to hospital after I help you."

You're a real asshole, Greg.

A Typical Mundane Day in Korea

2010-08-27T09:58:00.005+09:00

Now that vacation is over and the first week of school is just about finished, there is not much to look forward to. Sure, in less than a month I'll be imprisoned in a North Korean gulag hopefully awaiting my rescue from an ex-president (come onnnn Willy), but until then it's just another day after day in the office. If I'm going to be bored, you will be to. So in the spirit of mundanity (google says it's a word), here is a typical weekday in Korea in the perspective of Greg.

6:40am: Alarm goes off.

6:48am: Alarm goes off again.

6:56am: Alarm goes off again.

7:04am: Alarm goes off, I get up. I think about resetting my alarm for a later time, but quickly dismiss the idea because tomorrow I'm going to have a nice long morning at home catching up on the news from home.

7:15am: Stare at my face in the mirror. Do I need to shave today?

7:20-7:49am: Enjoy reading the bad things I read on the internet because they are blocked at my school.

7:50am: Depart for school.

7:54am: Arrive at school walking up the stairs with groups of students as the practice their pronunciation of 'morning.' When I see a teacher that doesn't speak English, bow, not forgetting to make an awkward grunt noise in place of 안녕하세요.

7:55am: Turn the air conditioning to a chilling 22C. Bask. Immediately being to worry that the principal will make a random visit and be angry that I'm the only one in the building using air conditioning regularly.

8:30am: First class. "Teacher! Beard!" Continue ongoing clapping experiment. I can say anything I want and so long as I clap afterwards, the students will clap and say "Yaaaayyyyy."

Typically I'll have two classes in the morning, except Wednesdays and Thursdays, when I'll have three.

12:20pm: Lunch. Hope that either my co-teacher, or at least some teachers from grade 1 will also be eating, so I won't have to answer the same food-related questions I've been answering every day since I arrived.

12:45pm: Badminton and/or ping pong, but only if I ate lunch with the physical education teachers.

1:20pm: First class after lunch. "Lincoln lunch!"

Typically I'll have two classes after lunch, except Wednesdays and Thursdays, when I'll have one. Four classes totaling 200 minutes per day. I used to have teacher training classes placed sporadically in my schedule, but because of my [rigorous?] classes they have dimished to one teacher coming after school on Wednesdays. We now just go get coffee and discuss our lives.

4:10pm: Classes over. Students come in to clean my office and classroom. Students come in to stare at me briefly, then run away. Students come in to steal pens. Students come in to scream and generally be insane.

4:30pm: Go home.

Special note: There are ten minutes break between each class. This time consists of students swarming my office/English Zone to play Halli Galli, which is Satan reincarnated into a game. I've hidden all the games that annoy me, but Halli Galli always finds its way back into the arms of the students.

4:34pm: Arrive home, put on pajamas, make tea, read. This is my absolute favorite part of the day.

5:45pm: Probably fall asleep.

6:30pm: Go to school's gym. Free gym membership! Of course, I could run outside, but I stopped when the largest colony of gnats ever claimed ownership of the sidewalk along the river.

6:30-7:30pm: Students will come in during their dinner break to watch me exercise. Vice principal is also a regular spectator.

7:45pm: Bathe. While showering, rice is cooking. Multi-task!

8:10pm: Mix tuna with rice. Flavoring varies. Mercury poisoning imminent.

8:15pm: Eat. Watch Daily Show from yesterday. Watch Colbert Report from yesterday.

9:00pm: Go to local Dream Mart to pick up any necessities. Tuna, rice, ice cream, orange juice, milkis, coffee, et cetera. Practice my Korean numbers. Let the store-owner bag everything I buy regardless if I need the bag or not. Get yelled at if I attempt otherwise.

9:15-11:00pm: Maybe I walk around town a bit. This is, however, dangerous. The students leave school at this time so I will see them everywhere. Sometimes with their parents, at which case I'm forced to a late-night coffee.

Of course there are exceptions to this daily routine. I do things, I swear. I occasionally leave my bubble of rural east Daegu. Sometimes I almost buy a new pair of shorts downtown only to realize that I probably don't need new shorts, and the shorts' lengths here average halfway between knee and naval. Yet I still hold hope for next time.

Enjoy Japan

2010-08-18T09:29:00.008+09:00

Tonsil update: They're still here. In fact, they're getting the start tonight.

Yesterday I sent a text message to my co-teacher from the KTX train on my way back to Daegu from Busan from Japan. "i made it back, see you tomorrow." I said. "welcome back!" he writes. "U can stay at home and rlx, the 2nd semester srts nxt week." My co-teacher has such a strong grasp on the English language that he even uses text slang that I've never seen before. Since I was on an early train, I took this message to mean "You don't need to come in today, I'll see you tomorrow, when you agreed to return from your vacation." However, as I sit in my office, I am beginning to suspect that I am the only one in the building right now. A short walk downstairs to my co-teacher's shared office only informed me that I'm probably right. Dark and locked. I saw one teacher outside this morning, but I think he's a janitor. So as you could may gather, I have some time to share some pictures of my Japan adventure. I'm a bit peeved that I had to leave earlier that my travel companions because I was told I needed to be back on the 18th. Apparently they must have meant that if I come back on the 18th I'm retarded because no one will be here. Sometimes things get lost in translation. Anywho, enjoy this small sampling of photos taken from my massive facebook album.

We slept mostly in PC rooms. Cheap cheap!

You heard the man. Break it down.

Daybreak on the summit of Mt. Fuji.

Top o'Fuji

Capsule Hotel.

Ferry back to Korea.

Japan in the books for August. Next up, Pyongyang in September for Chuseok. I may not be so lucky in getting back to South Korea that time around. Keep Clinton in your speed dials for me.

Now I'm going to see if the vice principal is here. If he's not, I'm out.

As always, thanks for reading/looking.

Sick Expats are the Grossest Expats

2010-08-04T21:48:00.015+09:00

As of today, I have been in Korea for about 5.5 months. All other expats have told me their horror stories of getting deathly ill, being on their deathbeds for weeks, and crying in brutal foreign-disease pain. Being the gentlemanly type I am, I laugh at their weak immune systems and continue my life of drinking too much soju and Hite, crowd controlling wild Korean students, and barely sleeping. This week, things turned sour...very quickly. I immediately regretted my lack of concern of others' illnesses as I now needed sympathy myself more than ever. I woke up on Monday morning feeling like small Koreans started a samgyupsal restaurant inside my face and it was full of drunk Koreans yelling and pounding the walls while they cooked up their meat at full heat. And they also poured acid down my throat. And were beating every muscle in my body with a bat. And they were using the energy from my power plant to charge all of their cellphones simultaneously. I am able to write this now because my current pain has been decreased to simply the acid.

I toughed it through a day at work, sweating clear through the shirt I was wearing while the Koreans in the building did what they do best - point out that I am clearly ill.

"Teacha you sick!"

"Teacher did you sleep with fan on?"

"Teacher face red. Drink soju today?"

I went home after drifting in and out of consciousness 8 hours later and tried to sleep, only to wake up every 40 minutes with a fresh coat of sweat. "Hospital time," I thought to myself.

I'm not one who likes to go to the doctor. In fact, I hate it. If it were up to me, I would have waited this thing out until I went completely unconscious and someone started looking for me 4 weeks later when they noticed I've been missing and found me dead. There are negatives to having your own office, you see. But I'm going to Japan on Friday, and I'm not missing it. Since my co-teacher works until 9 and he's the only Korean-speaking person obligated to help me in these situations, I was on my own. A quick Google search of "English speaking hospitals in Daegu" yields positive results. Yeongnam! Kyungpook! Dongsam! Take your pick! I suspect Yeongnam is the best choice (Because I'm young...man). Getting there is the problem. My Mega Man-related energy level would be on one notch. And you all know that the weakest little robot Dr. Wily could make knocked off at least four. I've never had a fever in the summer, and Daegu doesn't count as summer. It counts as the sun's equator. Yes, the point where the sun is closest to itself. It also doesn't help that I need to make a 10 minute walk to where taxis would consider driving near my apartment. They must not like the burning trash smell.

Flash forward twenty minutes and I'm trying to apologize for the small swimming pool I have just left on this poor taxi driver's seat. I don't go to hospitals much, but I imagine this one is like the downtown Tokyo of hospitals in Daegu. There are people running everywhere. Flat out running. Maybe there was a plane crash recently that I missed, but it was like, oh, crossing the street in Korea, except with sick people on beds instead of cars. I soon enough found the International Clinic, International most likely meaning they speak English. Because International in this country means speaking English.

The next hour or so was a rather pleasant experience. A nice little old lady speaking perfect English escorted me from room to room where they did the various tests, paperwork, payments, etc.

"Ooooh your blood pressure very high."

"True, but then again so is my temperature, my head pain, my body pain, my tonsils' size, and my intolerance for obvious things."

So I'm now sitting in an office with a nice doctor who also speaks English fairly well. She is going over my symptoms and tells me that my tonsils are hideously huge. I tell her that I knew that already because eating and drinking has been quite difficult for the past day or so. A brief Korean-conversation-with-the-nurse later, she tells me that my tonsils are too big and they may need to come out. "But I'm going to Japan on Friday!" I whine. After another incomprehensible conversation, they change their mind. Who knew! Now I'm prescribed two days worth of Korean wonder drugs (which I can account for now, are absolutely wonderful) and to come back in two days to see if I will need the surgery, or if I will be OK with more wonder drugs to take with me to Japan.

I say my kamsahamnida to the doctor and the nurse takes me for a quick spin around the building once more. I pay my fees (16000 won) and she takes me out the door and points across the street to the pharmacy I can go to to pick up my drugs. Silly me in thinking that I'm now outside means that I'm finished. I start to walk away, but nurse drags me back inside for what appears to be a tour of the hospital. We walk through the nursery, some offices, the emergency room, and finally end up in the injection room. "Do I need an injection?" I'm thinking. I've heard of other expats getting shots in the ass but I couldn't remember if that was for more extreme diseases. In my senseless nodding and smiling earlier with the doctor I agreed to have an IV attached to me for three hours because I have been unable to eat for about a day. Now I am sitting on a bed next to the oldest Korean woman in the world, waiting for this IV to drain into my blood. It was delicious, says my left arm.

I'm sitting there for thirty minutes when a different nurse comes up to inform me that I needed to leave because the injection room closes at 5:30. I ask her where to go, but she found it more appropriate to lead me out of the room, close the door, lock it, and wave at me from the other side. I still have two and a half hours to kill, not to mention that I don't know how to properly remove this thing from my arm without killing myself. Where do I go? Whenever I have walked past a hospital on the street in the past, I noticed that the patients are mostly outside the hospital with their IVs attached usually smoking a cigarette or enjoying a bottle of soju between their major surgeries, so why not go mingle with them?

Halfway through a very interesting game of checkers (at least I thought it was checkers), the same nurse that locked me out of the injection room comes out and comes towards me very angrily. She's waving her arms around like a mother would at a child that wandered off from the family picnic and started playing checkers with a pedophile. I suspect she was trying to tell me that I shouldn't have left her sight, but I've given up trying to comprehend the backwards gestures of this society, such as that locking someone out of a room and waving means goodbye in most places.

She takes me back inside to the emergency room, where I am to wait for my bag to drain. Now instead of the fresh air and pleasant games with the elders, I can listen to the spine-curling screams, agonizing moans, and watch the blood splattering against the floor in this lovely place.

I'll spare you the details of how many people I think died in the same room as me as well as how many times I passed out for a short period, but soon enough my bag was empty and I was frantically pounding the HELP HELP HELP GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE button so I could run faster than I ever had in my life.

All in all, a pleasant hospital experience for the hospital rookie, right? Every has to sit in a terrifying room for over 2 hours? I return tomorrow for my final diagnosis. Come on tonsils! Don't quit on Team Greg just yet!

Phone Photos

2010-08-01T23:11:00.007+09:00

Here are some pictures from my ice cream handphone. Dates range from March until July. Enjoy.

The hottest studio in the world.

I looked elsewhere but failed.

I could have helped them if they asked.

Farewell Nils.

The city-crushing sale. In poor taste?

A bit of Daegu.

The view from Bennigans. Dance dance in public.

She refuses to share the information of where she found them.

I'll be in Japan on Friday until (?). I only got a one-way ticket. Mistake?

Lovely Summer Camp

2010-07-26T08:19:00.007+09:00

The internet ran away from my apartment last week. I've put up flyers around the neighborhood, but they're in English, so I expect no call-backs. Even my fingertips are sunburned from an extreme camping weekend so I'll take this one slow. You won't be able to tell, though.

Let me tell you about my summer camp last week. It was absolutely wonderful. A five-day vacation if you ask me. The nice man running the camp told me to not worry about lesson plans and to simply show up, and that I did. We were provided with lessons, and although quite thin on material, work out well when you just play hangman and scattergories (in a somewhat educational sense) with students that think winning hangman and scattergories are equally as important as winning the World Cup.

"Snack Bar" Lesson Plan, as provided to me:

(Insert overly flattering picture of Lotteria)

A: "I would like a Big Mac meal, please."

B: "For here or to go?"

You have 80 minutes, start now.

My brilliant campers were able to hammer down this dialog in less than five minutes, so the rest of the 75 minutes was hangman, guess the number, ask Greg how tall he is, try to figure out air conditioning, run in fear and blood-curling screams from a fist-sized mosquito, OH MY GOD TEACHER YOU JUST STEPPED ON THAT SNAIL, figure out where the snail came from, etc.

The school itself was gorgeous. Nowhere near the city part of Daegu, it was quite literally built into the side of a mountain. There was quite an intense hike from the bus stop at the main road to the actual building itself. Think Camp Anawanna, Korea. Three "lessons" a day (unless I, well, didn't teach at all), cook with the kids for lunch, eat lunch, and I'm done. And to show their appreciation, they took us out for a wonderful galbi/beer/soju dinner. I've also recently received a text message telling me that they will also be taking me to Spa Valley (spa/water park) on Saturday in further showing of their appreciation on, as J. Peterman once said, "a job....done."

I have another three-day camp this week, but I suspect they'll want me to work.

Weather update. Please note that I don't like to curse unless I am providing a strong point. Daegu is fucking hot.

A Failing Success

2010-07-16T07:10:00.006+09:00

I've pleasantly misunderstood my coteacher again. I was under the assumption that I had to make my appearance at work Thursday and Friday of this week. Before leaving on Wednesday, I went down to the teachers office to find out if lunch was being served that day. Upon my exit, LJ shouted a "Have fun at your camp next week!" If there's one thing to learn about Korea, it's that typical goodbyes, such as that one, that have really no meaning outside of being simple pleasantries in the US, have meanings in Korea. I quickly turn around and say, "You mean tomorrow right? See you tomorrow?" All of the other teachers, who have a newly vested interest in eaves dropping on my conversations when I'm in that room, stop working and start laughing at me. At her apparent first attempt at mocking someone in English, one teacher says, "Yes! If you want to work on sidewalk!" Followed by more laughter. Long story short, save more embarrassment, I have another long weekend!

So yesterday I decided I would wake up super early and catch a bus to this place,

Cloud Bride. This place isn't in Daegu. From what I gathered, it is about four hours from. I woke up at 7am, armed only with a backpack full of nothing I really need and a Korea guidebook I received as a gift from LJ, circa 1999 (Did you know there's a rumored second subway line in the works for Daegu?). Apparently, bus times and destinations change over the course of a decade, as do my abilities to think that out-dated books will probably provide inaccurate information. So now I'm sitting at a bus station on the complete opposite side of the city from the bus station I need to be at. Knowing that the bridge is at least 4 hours away, and the proper bus station is another hour, I decide to quit. Most people probably wouldn't and would argue it's like opening a strategy guide upon entering the second room of the Water Temple, but I had no desire to arrive at the bridge at the late hour waiting would incur.

I was already wearing my hiking shoes, so I decided to do a Daegu mountain, Apsan. I got there really early, so there was virtually no one on the paths. It was still overcast and quite cool, so a very pleasant journey to the top was my reward. Upon getting to the top, I met with a group of old Korean men and women who immediately took me under their wing (one of them speaking English) and we all hopped and skipped down together and had a delicious galbi/soju lunch. They laughed at how much I sweat, I laughed at how little they do. A rather uncomfortable tear-filled goodbye ensued, and the rest of my day was spent discovering where random city buses end up, when not at my apartment. I found lovely markets on the outskirts of town, a huge department store that seemed eerily misplaced in a more slummish part of town, even a children's performance of what I could gather as being 'Fiddler on the Roof' outside of a school. I wasn't aiming to go to this, but a newly acquired Korean friend thought it would be the perfect thing for me to see following our awkward conversation on the bus.

I hope I fail as successfully as today in the future.

RIP Boss. What a week for the Yanks.

End on a High Note

2010-07-12T10:10:00.004+09:00

There are lots of teachers in my school. Other than my coteacher, there are three that can hold a solid English conversation with me. We can talk about anything in the world: Korean food, Korean music, Korean culture, Korean politics, Korean international relations, Korean education, you name it. The rest of the teachers, however, can not do this. They want to, they have proven that, but they can't. These conversations start off nicely just like they would in the States. Playful bantering about the weather and whatnot. They do, unfortunately, unintentionally turn sour after fifteen seconds. I offer you some examples from the past (the first a low blow from today).

"Greg are you sad because Netherlands lost?"
"Yeah, tough loss."
"Spain had more points so Netherlands lost."

"Greg are you tired today?"
"A bit, yes."
"I say that because you do not look handsome today."

"Greg is that a new shirt?"
"Yeah, I bought it at E-Mart."
"It is more nice than other shirt you wear. Sometimes you have ugly shirt."

"Greg it is raining."
"Yes I know. I was just outside."
"You are very wet. It is raining outside."

"Greg you like rice."
"I do."
"I say that because there is heaping mound of rice on your tray."

"Greg do you hate school?"
"Of course not."
"You leave more early than us. We think you hate us."

Granted, I am the only core-subject teacher that gets to leave at 4:30, it's simply in my contract. No self-respecting American with a heart full of underachievement would teach until 9pm, and the Korean government knows it.

---

As of next week, summer camps begin. I get the pleasure of attending one of said camps at a middle school that is in Odessa, Ukraine. I say that because it might as well be that far away. In actuality, it's nestled comfortably between the mountains on the southern-most tip of the city limits. The subway is 20 minutes, the bus is an hour, the wakeup call will probably be 5am in order to arrive by a time that will guarantee my employment there. I'm thinking of buddying up with the school's night watchman. Slumber party!

RIP Bob Sheppard.

Thanks Waygooks

2010-07-08T21:06:00.008+09:00

I would like to offer an impolite late thanks to the 80% English teacher/20% Korean crowd that attended the mediocre first show of four other English teachers that think the overly-common ability to somewhat play an instrument constitutes the justification of forming a band. Pictures compliments of Daegu's official paparazzi. Forgotten chords, missed cues, and terrible cover selection provided by Levine.

Plenty of time to buy earplugs before next time. Eye masks might also help.

Things Driving Me Mildly Insane

2010-06-27T18:15:00.004+09:00

This is a list.

1) My shower drain is getting slower by the wash. I tried Draino. I later learned it was laundry detergent.

2) Any time I do laundry, I wash one more shirt than my dryer rack can hold.

3) I'm still afraid to take out my trash/recycling. Many other expats have outgrown this. I have not.

4) There is always one fruit fly in my apartment. Right before I am able to eliminate him, he calls a friend.

5) Despite my overly-convincing English debates, Dream Mart still does not carry pre-made sandwiches.

6) There is a huge uncomfortable difference between 23 and 24 degrees Celsius on my air conditioner.

7) The combination of one Korean student and one ocarina.

8) My alarm clock decides a different snooze time every morning.

9) Dust breeds on my floor.

10) I'm getting pretty tired of the only two cereals Dream Mart carries.

11) Steven Segal movies are cool and all, but one per day, per channel should suffice.

Like I said, mildly insane. My upcoming "five-day weekend" will cure this. I quote my time off because it's unofficial. I'm supposed to go to school. Luckily, my co-teacher sees no point in this so he says he'll cover for me. We get along well. Cloud Bridge here I come.

I'm a Photo Thief

2010-06-15T16:42:00.007+09:00

But if I wasn't, you wouldn't get to see what it's like to be in a country that not only is in the World Cup, but also cares that it's in the World Cup. My thanks to Adam, Gina, and Joel. I stole your pictures.

Duryu Park. The red horns are for both ROK spirit as well as appeasing DPRK propaganda.

It's Korean tradition to shoot off fireworks over Queen's "We are the Champions" before the game, which isn't a championship game, commences.

Remember 1776.

The USA/England match ended at 6am local time. Here are two Canadians and a Korean that remained loyal to the queen. Bollocks.

In other news, school has me doing work now, and lots of it. Gone are the "Costanza Days" where I could show up to work with little knowledge of why I was hired, sit at a desk for eight hours, and go home. A shame too. I got really good at this. Unfortunately for Korean high school students, June exists. Their portfolios are due, they have a group presentation, and an individual interview, all just in my class. Their week-long suicide-inducing exams are at the end of this month as well. Now I actually have to take things home with me to finish. It's definitely far away from rigging-office-door-to-emit-subtle-noise-to-wake-me-when-someone-opens-it on the workload spectrum.

They Took Everything I Had

2010-06-07T12:29:00.006+09:00

Korean graffiti. It is all over the school. It is on the hallway walls, on the lockers, on the desks, scribbled on the board after every class. Most of it is done in pencil and thus easily washed away with the simple stroke of a washcloth. I turn my attention away from the young Picassos for one minute and immediately regret it upon the dismissal jingle. I tell myself it is harmless. "Greg" with a few Korean letters following it most often in a heart. "Just showing their love" I tell myself. The hallways, lockers, and bathrooms are a different story. The bathroom I have been using at school is a battlefield of Hangul and penises sprawlingly covering an off-white backdrop. I could not escape it, so I began to accept it. Smiling as I wash away the seemlingly harmless graffiti and pictures from the desk. Smirking as I attempt to decipher the meanings while I take a leak. High-fiving a student immediately after she defaces her freshly-cleaned locker whilst tossing her uneaten lunch aside on the grimy floor.

But a few weeks ago I found a haven. The bathroom in the Science Lab area of the school. An ominous area that I rarely ventured into - protected by it's own glass entrance door, dark as night, not a student ever in sight, always a faint odor of sulfur. The English-written "Science Lab" most likely deters students from entering. If there's one thing worse than science, it's science in English. There is, however, a bathroom. A bathroom that no student has appeared to ever enter. Walls as white as Jesus's teeth, floors as shiny as a polished cueball, fake flowers as bright as the sun itself. Not a single scratch of graffiti in sight. For the next few weeks I am gulping water by the gallons in order to have the privilege to relieve myself in these quarters.

That is, until today. My sanctuary has been defiled.

Not only is it graffiti, but it's graffiti directly targeted at me. English graffiti. Someone has caught on to my safe place. If third-floor Science Lab bathroom isn't safe from Korean vandals, I don't know what is anymore.

My name is Lincoln

2010-06-04T09:33:00.005+09:00

Meet Lincoln.

Lincoln is my nemesis. Lincoln says "Nice to meet you" every time we talk. Lincoln doesn't appear to own any pens or pencils. Lincoln proudly announces to the class when my socks don't match my shoes. Lincoln makes small aircrafts out of the papers from the textbook. Lincoln most likely has a Korean name, but still refers to himself in the third-person with his English name, which he chose after following the trend of the other boys sitting at his table when we chose English names. Lincoln deliberates with Obama, Jefferson, Adam(s) [sic], Washington, and Steve. Steve missed the memo.

"How are you today?"

"Lincoln hungry!"

"Did you eat lunch?"

"Lincoln lunch!"

"Good talking to you."

"Nice to meet you!"

We're a few classes away from a Korean Hulk remake.

Our Samcheok Dad

2010-05-24T19:46:00.004+09:00

This is the story of a man. Particularly, this man:

Who is this man? This is Dad. Samcheok Dad. He was responsible for safely transporting a group of 10 foreigners from this place,

to this place,

to a place with a lot of these,

over the course of three days in this:

Just like any other dad, Dad had some demons. And as the scenario in any television drama, these demons are not released and displayed until midway through the show. Things start off normally. He happily drives his bus aggressively around narrow curvy roads at 120km/hr just as well as he puts up with Paul's rendition of "Kiss the Girl." Aside from a few shouts, which we can loosely translate to "GOD HELP ME I WILL PULL THIS BUS OVER!" things are going great.

That is until the second night, when he comes knocking on our cabin door at 7:20pm shouting that we are late for our 7:30pm pick-up time. At first we are a bit surprised, but figure what the hell, we could eat now anyway. A few of us, however, are concerned about Dad's appearance. His normally booming 5 foot 6 presence is somewhat disconcerting tonight as he haphazardly sucks on a cigarette while leaning dangerously over the balcony railing. Apparently Dad was sitting in the bus outside for quite some time gleefully downing a few bottles of soju I later discovered he probably found under the stairs in the office of the cabin. Hoping that he acquired them in an honest fashion, I brush it aside. The cab drivers in Daegu talk on their cellphones while watching a TV on their dashboard while shouting things at me while smoking a cigarette and eating kimchi. Probably all while drunk too. But Dad isn't from Daegu, and I'm quite certain he doesn't drive a huge bus all too often.

After a very awkward walk to the bus, we notice that there is another man on the bus. Uncle. Dad was too drunk, so he had Uncle come over to take the duties from him. All is well. Except now we have an old, drunk, peppy, horny Korean man sitting on the bus with us shouting for Uncle to pump up the jams. Soon our bus is blasting drum-beats and synthesizer solos for the whole city to hear while Dad tears up the dance floor (aisle?) with the ladies. And the men. We figure that this can be tolerated for the 20 minute ride into the city, until that 20 minutes becomes 45 because Uncle has apparently never driven a bus before and hasn't driven faster than 25km/hr since we left. I don't even want to mention that Uncle was wearing a purple jumpsuit all night.

We go get some dinner and Dad joins us to down another couple bottles of soju. The dinner is all fine and dandy until Dad learns the word "dessert" and he's running laps around the table showing everyone the newest addition to his English vocabulary. Eventually he disappears into the night and we think we're done with him and in the safe, but rather sluggish, arms of Uncle for the rest of the night.

Upon leaving the restaurant, we get on to the bus and are waiting to leave when Uncle is evidently questioning where Dad is. We thought he left and it was cool, but I guess not. Someone then notices Dad standing in the dark alley with quite the ominous look on his face. We can only see that ominous look through the faint glow of the cigarette hanging from his mouth, so you can imagine the hush that fell upon our bus at that moment. Uncle gets out to retrieve him and Dad is having none of it. Punches are thrown, bodies are tossed aside, boxes are tumbling over, and a bolt of lightning strikes. After numerous Korean insults were shouted and hand gestures presented Uncle was driving and Dad was shaking his fist in rage.

We went to the most happening bar in Samcheok, had a grand time, and took the bus home that night completely ignoring the strange old lady that Uncle appeared to acquire in the time we were gone.

The next morning, Dad was up and ready to go at 11am, having appeared to forget anything that happened the night, or so implied his tiny smile and adorable hat.

Teachers Day

2010-05-20T16:48:00.004+09:00

Last Saturday was teachers day. My kids (and all the other teachers) still have to go to school, but my lazy American butt gets to stay home. This, however, did not stop the little darlings from showering me with notes, presents, and candy the day before.

A note I got:

Hello Greg teacher!

Tomorrow is Teacher's Day. You are teacher! My teacher. You are very very nice, kind, handsome, smart. you are Hun-nam mean (handsome man). please don't go kkkkk stay in Kangdong high school with me. Are you married? Would you marry me? kkk haha just kidding. But, my feelings are true. I love your class! I love you! Please wait till I grow up. See you---1-2 No.6 Ji Hye Kim.

Korea, You Owe Ohio an Apology

2010-05-17T20:25:00.012+09:00

What better time to post something insulting to Cleveland than immediately after their hopes of a championship are crushed again? In poor taste, I know, but it's for the greater good.

I probably should be taking a lot more photos of clothing than I am. As an avid t-shirt collector, Korea is a gold mine of great tees to get a hold of. I've been very careful not to buy every t-shirt with hilarious misuse of the English language because my paycheck can not withstand that kind of dent. However, every now so often, I can't resist.

People in Korea are obsessed with English. You will see Korean people all over the place with great love for my native language, but clearly no regard for it's rules. The best way to show this infatuation is with their clothing.

Try reading that one fluently, waygooken.

I didn't buy that one, as evident with the cell-phone snapshot. But let me finish. It's also no question that Koreans are obsessed with American sports. Particularly, baseball. I easily give the Yankees the win in number of logo appearances, especially since Chan-Ho Park is now a Yank. There is another popular Korean baseball player that happens to play for the favorite team of many of my college friends, the Cleveland Indians. His name is Shin-Soo Choo. Indians apparel is now popping up everywhere. The problem is that Chief Wahoo is a bit more difficult to "draw" than the NY logo.

vs.

Which one would you rather draw?

The Koreans are trying, they really are, but the result is a hilarious mockery of a baseball team with such a rich history.

It's so close! But it still looks like Chief Clef-Palate Wahoo to me. Although this was wildly amusing to me, it wasn't enough to buy the shirt. I was ready to simply take a quick shot with my cellphone when I was notified of the reverse side. We all know that if there's one thing harder than drawing an cartoon Indian for a Korean, it's pronouncing the 'V' sound (it's not in their language). So they really never need to spell it. Unfortunately for them, Mister Choo is not on Kansas City.

The newest addition to my wardrobe, about seven dollars later.

Korean Art

2010-05-09T21:55:00.008+09:00

I hate to do this, but in shameful contradiction to my previous post, I want to talk about another great trip I had earlier this week. I wish I could have remembered this sooner, but my memory fails, my pride wanes, and my Korea remains dynamic. Last Monday I went on a really great trip to a rural Korean village about 45 minutes outside of Daegu where a fellow teacher's sister lives working in an art studio constructing all sorts of beautiful Korean art. I showed up to my school at 12:30 in the afternoon and after lying about how boring it was sitting in my office while everyone else was proctoring exams we were on our way!

The studio.

A view from the studio. Quite rural.

His sister owns the studio. His daughter owns the adorable.

After walking around for an hour or so, sipping coffee and listening to smooth blues tunes, we were told that we could start making things. What do all Koreans want to do in this scenario? Make more shit to hang off their phones, of course! We all get to work slicing up wood, sanding it down to oblivion, and painting meaningless insignias of our lives thus far on them.

All Koreans are extremely talented. All Greg Hennys are extremely not. Guess which one is by the retarded foreigner. Just so you know, those cats are carved out in the wood. I nearly misspelled KOREA.

Case in point. Not by Greg.

"Stand off to the side Greg, your stupid log pencil holder and phone charms disgrace us."

What I Eat

2010-05-08T21:51:00.016+09:00

I received an email from a loyal Greg in ROK reader asking me to shut up about my stupid vacations and start talking about my Korean lifestyle. Mianhamnida avid reader. I will begin on your request right now, starting with what I eat here. I don't take nearly as many pictures of my food as Allison does, but I try.

I had enough trouble feeding myself in the United States. A typical grocery store trip brought me home with bags full of tuna, bread, pasta, and vodka sauce. Now that I think of it, a typical grocery store run here emits similar results. Korean tuna, Korean bread, Korean pasta, and Korean vodka sauce (or so I thought), and kimchi. I don't, however, eat very much at my house. I'm not a good cook and every time I try something remotely unique my clothes smell like burnt dumplings for weeks. So working off the 50-pound bag of rice that my coteacher bought me upon my arrival, I end up eating this very often in my apartment:

It's simply black rice mixed with kimchi. When I'm feeling exotic, I'll toss in some bean sprouts and hot sauce, but rarely get past that. Therefore, I eat out a lot.

Korean food is absolutely delicious and it's incredibly cheap to eat at a restaurant. Plus you don't have to tip! Rather, it's rude to tip. It's also very healthy food. Kimchi is essentially fermented cabbage, and it's the staple food next to rice. Rice and kimchi come with every meal. Koreans love it to the extent that they claim all their health superiorities to it. "I'm not sick because I eat kimchi. I'll never get a disease because I eat kimchi." But everything else eaten here is extremely fresh and there are rarely any preservatives in anything.

At a restaurant, you will be presented with an annoying amount of side dishes. Things like kimchi, bean sprouts, little dried fish, and all of these random little foods. Have a look.

This particular picture has many things that I can't name let alone recognize. I do know what the orange round thing is though. That's a kimchi pancake. They also have green onion pancakes that are one of my favorites.

Once they have fully loaded your table with tiny dishes, eventually you will get whatever it is you randomly pointed to on the menu. The smart restaurants have picture menus for the dumb foreigners, but not many restaurants are smart, so it's a game of Korean food roulette most of the time. Here are some pictures of "main" dishes at various restaurants around Korea.

Sashimi: Really, really fresh fish. The fish was alive in a tank outside the front of the store ten minutes before you ordered it.

Korean barbeque. This is a popular restaurant style here. It's a table with a hot pit in the middle of it for barbecuing whatever meats you order. This particular meat type is pig intestines. Yum.

This cult-esque picture is from back at our orientation when we went on a field trip to a traditional Korean village. They made us wear our EPIK sweatshirts because our white (for the most part) skin didn't cast us out enough. But I chose this picture because it's a good floor-sitting example. In most restaurants you take off your shoes and sit on the floor at a really low table. It's awful. I can typically sit crossed-legged for about 10 minutes before I lose all feeling. I don't remember what we were eating here, but it was probably something weird.

Dog. You knew it was coming. Yes, I ate dog. This is dog soup. You're probably giving the same disgusted look of shame I got from many of my friends that were at the table with me. It really wasn't bad. It tasted like turkey dark meat. I'm not rushing back to it though.

Dried frogs without their skin. I didn't eat this.

A typical dinner table.

Another one.

Next I will tell you about Korean street food. It is the best. Cheap and delicious. You get things like meat on a stick, spicy soup with rice noodles it in, big dumplings, and bugs.

Insect larvae. Not-so-delicious.

Boy can she cook. The best part is that there are old ladies in these little booths everywhere in the city.

The school lunches are very good too, although I find myself eating a lot more tentacles than I would anywhere else. Here is a picture of how Korean students and teachers eat their lunch on a field trip.

My school lunches look exactly like this.

And if you're lucky, a crazy old Korean man will run up to you, reach his filthy hands into his pockets, pull out some peanuts, and hand them to you.

"I'm not eating these."

-Anna

Seonyudo Island

2010-05-02T22:07:00.009+09:00

This weekend I did a nice solo-trip out to Seonyudo Island. It was extremely nice to do this one alone. Not that I hate traveling with people, in fact I love it. However, the thinking time I had on my own and just getting along on my own was very relaxing and therapeutic. Seonyudo is a group of islands (the largest bearing the name) off the west coast of Korea. I had to take a 4-hour bus ride to Gunsan then a 1-hour ferry ride to the islands. Very long, but very worth it. If anyone in Korea is reading this, GO. Plan a weekend. Stay a few days. I wanted to stay a bit longer than I did but I ran out of cash, and there aren't ATMs on the island. This was by far the best trip I've done in Korea so far. I feel like I would be insulting the island and it's lovely inhabitants and tourists by babbling about it in vain attempts at humor, so just enjoy these pictures.

I rented a bike to cruise along the islands. W10,000 for the day right from the hostel I stayed at. Thank you lovely Korean grandma.

A group of other foreigners living in Incheon and Seoul. Another group of fine people.

There were auto-factory workers from Gunsan on an outing. They took me under there wings and provided me with much soju, Hite, and Bulgogi. Wonderful gentlemen.

The guy in the camo-esque shirt gave me a Korean name. I am now Chal-su. He was also infatuated with the fact that I live in Daegu, because that is where his imitation watch is from. I suspect Chal-su translates to Fake-Watch.

And we danced.

The City Where I Was Supposed To Live

2010-04-25T19:34:00.011+09:00

This weekend I hopped on the KTX high-speed train with Gavin from Ireland and Richard from England and we cruised southeast to Busan, a coastal city that I almost lived in. When I was applying for EPIK they told me to list the cities I wanted to live in in order from most preferred to least preferred. I remember not knowing any city other than Seoul, so I randomly jotted down the names that were the easiest to write. Later I was told that I would probably be living in my first choice of city. My first thought, "Awesome! What city did I put down again?" I rushed back to my application and noticed that I put Busan first, so I immediately began to research the city. Oooh it has a beach! Oooh it has a big subway! Oooh it's the second biggest city in South Korea! I was very happy that I unintentionally chose that city. Clearly, that is not where I was placed. I'm now a Daeguber. This weekend was my first time in the city that never was.

Busan is absolutely gorgeous. We got there a bit late on Saturday due to a late start to the day due to too much fun on Friday due to the long weeks that we all had due to wild Korean kids. See? It's all cyclical. Blame the Koreans.

Anyhoo, the KTX ride is fast and easy, just an hour. Before we knew it we were in the coastal city of dreams putzing around like dumb foreigners always do. Coincidentally enough, there is a giant fish market in Busan. You're able to walk around soaking wet floors, get "mistakenly" splashed by Koreans, look at doomed fish, doomed crabs, doomed squid, and doomed these things:

God knows what they are, but I'm glad they're doomed.

Upstairs in the market are a plethora of Korean women waiting to drag you into one of their restaurants, which eventually you succumb to. After a bit of Korean haggling (Pissayo! Kakajuseyo!) and a long grunt from the lady, we sat down at a table and are brought some Sashimi, which is really fresh fish. I mean REALLY fresh. Like we just walked past it downstairs ten minutes ago fresh.

Here one minute...

Here the next.

That fish looks really dead right? Wrong. That fish was still alive on that stick with the carrot-flower decorating it's skinned body. Check out this video of the fish's last living moments...watching three goofy foreign morons eat it.

After dinner we hopped on the subway and headed to Haeundae Beach, which is the happening beach in the city. We stopped at a convenience store to get some cheap shit beer and soju and plopped ourselves on the beach to enjoy the Korean dusk as well as unsupervised children launch fireworks at each other.

Once we realized that it was too cold to sleep on the beach we had to find somewhere to stay. We went to a PC-bang to look up hostels when we were approached by a very friendly young woman. She went through all the pleasantries and soon did the next polite thing any Korean does - offer us a job. She wanted us to work in her hagwon (Korean private school). After politely declining, she became hell-bent on making sure we got a good cheap hostel to stay in, so once her friend met her, we headed out to find a good hostel. We were telling her that it was okay and we could find our own place, but she said that she was in New York City once and the Americans were so helpful so she wanted to repay the debt somehow. Gavin and Richard, as Europeans from Ireland and England respectfully, obviously found this hilarious. I told them to (Insert New York accent) fuck off (Remove New York accent).

We found this gem of a hostel:

and separated from our lovely Korean helpers.

I hate to go off on a tangent, but here is a picture of Gavin shaking his fist at a fan that was in our room.

It's a funny picture to us foreigners in Korea. Maybe it's not to you, but that's because you may not know about Fan Death. Koreans legitimately believe that if they sleep in a room with a fan on, they will die. You can read all about it here. Even doctors will tell you this. Licensed doctors. Wild stuff.

Anyway, the hostel was only W40,000 for the three of us, so we were happy. We needed not worry about the missing doorknob latch.

The next day we did some more beach bumming and soon we were on our way back to Colorful Daegu.

I'll miss you Busan. We could have been so happy together. You know I'll be back soon.

Korean Teens with Prosperous Futures

2010-04-19T14:40:00.004+09:00

Even the kids in Korea know that no self-respecting person past the age of 16 works at a Burger King. Here is today's failed attempt at getting the students to name my employment position:

LJ (customer) walks into Burger King.
Greg (clerk/cashier) takes his order.

Greg: "Welcome to Burger King. How can I help you?"

LJ: (Directed at students) "I need to ask Greg, who is working at Burger King, for some food. What is Greg called working at Burger King right now?"

Students: "FAILURE!"

If they're not at the top of Samsung or LG with a tiny-faced spouse by age 20 it's qutting time for these high-rollers.

How many futures could an English teacher ruin if an English teacher couldn't just focus?

2010-04-15T19:47:00.011+09:00

Sometimes two completely unconnected and seemingly random events can connect together here in Korea. For example, one minute I could be staring at my computer screen at funny/adorable pictures of kittens, and the next minute I find a ping pong ball slammed in my eye courtesy of my vice principal. One moment I could find myself riding in a taxi and the next will have me pushing said taxi out of a mud puddle next to a goat near a river. And, most recently, walking down the stair case en-route to my apartment ended up with me in a subway train on the way to my co-teacher's graduate school class so I could embarrass myself in front of a more sophisticated, latte-drinking audience. Of course I told him it would be no trouble to me, as his explanation of the event was of him performing one of our lessons so his fellow teachers could be dazzled and criticize him afterwards. It would be pretty lame of me to say no and have him attempt my [scripted] lesson jokes that revolve exclusively on being a foreigner.

So we head to Kyongpook National University and he informs me that we are 30 minutes late, but not to worry because we'll just slip in the back. Now I'm no stranger to the stink-eye upon entering a room of Koreans, but it's a bit different when it's a class-in-progress and even the lecturer speaking stops talking to watch you awkwardly stumble over tiny desks and empty coffee cups trying to get to a seat that just appears to be miles away. I even think the one fat English guy was whispering to his Korean neighbor, "Get a hold of this gangly white."

The class was dedicated to teachers doing micro-lessons for the other teachers based on actual lessons they use in their school, so my co-teacher wanted me to come to make the lesson more authentic. He's very proud of this lesson and has even made remark about repeating it when we get observed by our superiors because it looks so nice, not appearing to give a damn about the kids that will be sitting through the same lesson again.

It's one thing when my lame jokes don't fly with Korean high schoolers, it's the language barrier! (So I tell myself). Someone will always break the awkward pause by yelling "HANDSOME!" then everyone starts laughing. All I need to do is pretend that the "HANDSOME" wasn't there and take the laughter in as my own. It's another thing getting gratuitous laughter from English language teachers that understand every word I say and have no intention of aesthetic flatteries.

All-in-all the lesson went very well and I can tell that my co-teacher's professor was really impressed with his ability to convince his Guest English Teacher to go somewhere based on the illusion that the GET thought he actually had a choice. Plus I got to meet my co-teacher's girlfriend and we all got drunk on mokkoli, resulting in a similar dismal situation as the "Accent-recording Noraebang Incident" of 2010. The hell with the fact that all the parents and superintendents will be popping in on our class tomorrow! Yoh-gee-oh! Mokolli juseyo!

And in the spirit of two nearly opposite things connecting, as well as the title of this post, I thought I'd share a few examples of the progressions of my lesson plans.

Topic: Acronyms.

Early-class topic: NASA, RADAR, ASAP.

Mid-class topic: Greg's passport. Listen to Greg whine about not being allowed to go to Cuba.

Late-class topic: Imminent nuclear war with North Korea. Videos from American schools in the 1950's.

Topic: "Eating Habits"

Early-class topic: False advertising on Pop-Tarts boxes.

Mid-class topic: Make fun of Greg and his inability to properly pronounce a sentence with too many "B" sounds too close together.

Late-class topic: Tongue-twister race. Luckily I had my camera with me on this day! Here is a video. Here is another. And here is mind-blowing look at a Korean twister of tongue.

Sorry Korean government, but "Attention Span" should have been a part of the application.

The Bad Things I Do

2010-04-05T11:04:00.005+09:00

I am by no means a model alien-citizen of Korea. On a daily basis I am doing something wrong, something embarrassing, or something devastating to my morale. As I sit in my office with an hour to kill before lunch watching the Yankees gamecast on espn.com, I figured it would be a good time to shed some light on some of the things a foreigner in Korea should (or should not) do, and also some things to expect in Korea.

1) They call the special trash bags that you need here "sluggies." It sounds more like seh-leg-gie, but any time a Korean says it it sounds like sluggie to me. They keep these bags behind the counter at all convenience stores, not on the shelves. So first things first, don't walk around a three-story, gigantic mega-store looking for trash bags, because you won't find them. You need to ask the cashier for them. My first attempt? Failure. I ended up with six more paper bags than I needed. Second time? With me co-teacher! Wild success! My third time? I nearly got punched in the head. Apparently, just going to a cashier and saying "sluggie" is the equivalent of walking up to someone and calling them trash. I told my co-teacher this story and now he tells it to every class we have so they won't be embarrassed to speak in English, because Teacher Greg's Korean is way worse.

2) Koreans will be the first in line, don't ever think otherwise. I have been on countless lines since I've been here. Many, I'm proud to say, I have been first in. This typical status rank means nothing here. Anywhere else in the world, my place in line means I'm getting whatever I'm waiting for first. Not in Korea. All this does is make me the target. 80-year-old women and men will come flying from around the corner just to shove me aside and get there before me. Heck, they'll do it just for the sake of shoving a foreigner. They probably don't even want what I'm on line for. If you are on a subway and need to get off at the next stop, stand aside. For the love of God just wait for the Koreans to get off.

3) You don't speak Korean? Koreans don't care. They will gladly keep on yapping away at you in Korean even though you have made it quite clear that you don't comprehend a word they are saying. Just yesterday I was on a bus with a few other foreigners returning from a hike, when a 57-year-old Korean man sat next to us. I only know his age after 25 minutes of him explaining that to us. He had a bunch of grass in a bag and was feeding it to us shouting in Korean causing quite a scene on the bus. People were looking back, pointing, giggling, all while this man was hitting us, flailing his arms, and yelling in Korean. All we can do is smile and nod, munch on grass, make big Xs with our arms, and politely say, "I'm really, really sorry. I don't speak any Korean." The ride was about 40 minutes and all we could do was tell him our ages.

3b) If you know a little Korean, such as greetings, thank you, goodbye, numbers, Nice to meet you, and small pleasantries (as in the Korean I know), YOU DO NOT KNOW ANY KOREAN. This is important. Telling a Korean that you know "a little" Korean translates to "I know everything there is to know about the Korean language, please talk to me in Korean at full speed."

4) You will get ripped off by a cabbie. They all have GPS devices in their cabs, the hell you don't know where you are. We should not be down by the river in a shanty town with goats and dogs blocking the way. GAKSAN-YUK GOD DAMMIT!

5) You can say something in perfect Korean seven times to a Korean person, but not until the eighth time will they understand. It doesn't matter that you said it exactly the same to them seven times prior, they won't get it until way later.

6) You really need to realize when you are doing something improper at your school, because no one will flat out tell you. Koreans are very polite and will not directly tell you when you are doing something wrong. You need to pick out the clues. "Greg, I really like your beard." means "Greg you look like hell go shave." or "Greg, you look good in short sleeves." means "Greg you crazy winter-loving fool go put on warmer clothes."

7) Korean girls will want to be near you (if you are a man), but want nothing to do with any conversation with you. Every day between classes and during breaks my office is flooded with Korean girls (The boys, aside from one I'm giving drum lessons to, want nothing to do with me). They will just stand there and stare at me, making me feel uncomfortable. If I'm lucky, some of them will attempt conversation, but it does nothing more than make them laugh hysterically and run away. I keep my Korean Alphabet packet handy with some words in the back I can say to them and they get very impressed by my pronunciation of "bridge" or "tree."

8) Old people will glare at you, talk about you, and probably flat out hate you. Get used to it.

9) Just because a Korean works at an American store does not mean they know English. They know how to read the menu, that's it.

10) You will not, and probably never will, understand the waste-disposal system in this country.

11) You will want to punch a student in the head when he or she says "I'm fine thank you and you?" When you ask them how they are doing.

12) You will come inches from death every time you attempt to cross any road, no matter how legal you are in your walking.

13) You will see other white people and have the "Oh-My-God-Look-at-the-White-Guy-Should-I-Talk-to-Him-I-Guess-I'll-Just-Nod" moment. You will laugh at the GIs while the GIs laugh at you. We CHOSE to be here, they were sent here on duty. For some reason they just can't get over that. I've never met a [drunk] American who wanted North Korea to just grow some balls already so he'd have some action 'round here!

14) A Korean older than you is better than you and can fairly treat you like garbage. Age is a big factor in respect. Although a Korean probably won't treat you badly because they are older than you, they definitely can. Two Koreans can be arguing in the street and while the older one of them could be completely wrong, he would win the fight simply because he was older.

I hope that the list doesn't make Korea seem like a bad place, because it's really not. I love it here. I'm not going to post all of the nice things that Koreans have done to me because it happens far too often, and if I did no one would pity me. What fun is a story about how a random Korean walked a mile out of her way to guide us to where we needed to go? Koreans really are amazing people.

A Stroll Though Dong-gu

2010-04-03T14:20:00.012+09:00

I do not live in the center of Daegu. Not even close. I live in the province of Dong-gu, which is way east of downtown. At first I was kinda bummed that I was so far from the action, but I really like it now. I'm away from the action when I want to be, and the action is easily accessible through a (sort of long, but really not that long) subway ride. My subway stop, Gaksan, is the second to last stop going east on the red line. In fact, I recently learned that my apartment is pretty much equidistant to the last stop, Ansim, as it is to Gaksan, but I only go to Gaksan because that is where my co-teacher took me the first night I was here. Today was absolutely beautiful, so as a result of staying in last night and waking up feeling great today, I took a walk around to take some pictures. Going one way out of my apartment takes you to the rural area while going one way takes you to a more civilized inhabited area. The pictures are in nearly sequential order to how I walked. Enjoy.

My street.

Where I buy my fruit.

Little old ladies line up the street selling their goods with a strong pity-tactic.

Happy Birthday, School

2010-03-31T10:06:00.010+09:00

I would like to start this post with a link to a Won Cashing commercial I always see on TV. I think it gives you a good idea of what is on TV in Korea. I don't know what won cashing is, but damn have they got advertising down pact.

I get the day off today because it's the school's birthday. I had every intention of walking around MY area and taking some pictures to post but it's raining, so I'm not going to. I haven't taken any pictures in my area at all yet basically because I'm really never here. When school is over I get on the subway and go somewhere else. Now that I have a fully-furnished apartment I plan to stay in a bit more now that it is tolerable to be in my apartment for extended periods of time. I went out for a run around a different part of my area and it made me really want to photograph it. It is, for lack of a better term, depressing, but I mean that in the nicest possible way. It's depressingly beautiful. Pleasantly pessimistic. Uniquely ugly. Right by the river there are these little shanty towns with shacks made of old brick and tin sheeting and old ladies laboring on farms completely covered in trash.

But back to the school's birthday. Because we have the day off today, last night was a teacher's "meeting." That's what my co-teacher kept on calling it because he didn't want the students overhearing something like teacher's "rent out a room get completely wasted on beer and soju and sing the night away in a noraebang." It's completely insane how all of the teachers, as well as the administration and higher-ups, all go out together and drink so much. In fact, it's their culture. They want to get you drunk to see what you are really like. And because I'm the first foreign teacher the school has had, and because I'm from America, and because I'm white, my shot glass was never empty. The principal was pouring me shots, the vice principal, the head teachers, the school's "Hillary Clinton." When I was told what this one guy's job was, another teacher described him as the "Hillary Clinton" of our school. He's essentially the dean, although I'm still really not sure. He hangs around the vice principal and principal a lot so I assume he's important.

But they want to get you drunk! They want to know about you. This is especially difficult when you don't speak the language. My co-teacher is always my translator but he had to call it an early night to complete an assignment for grad school. Not wanting to seem like I didn't want to hang out with my co-workers, I stuck around, but there was no longer anyone who could speak English in the group of 20 that remained. Actually, the head teacher was still there and could speak English, but I disqualified him based on his level (or lack thereof) of sobriety. So we are sitting around this big table littered with empty bottles of soju and beer while everyone is refilling my glass, trying to teach me proper drinking etiquette, and prying deeper and deeper into my personal life best they can. The only things I was really able to gather is that my eyes say I am good-spirited, and I think everyone is trying to set me up with another younger English-speaking teacher at the school. The night concluded with a noraebang, complete with more food, beer, and masks and wigs for everyone to wear. Of course I'm forced to sing an English song and the next thing I know I'm sporting a Scream mask, clown wig, and the vice principal has his video-recording cell phone right in my face. I'm looking forward to our next teacher's meeting.

Last week I went on a three day field trip with my students to Pohang Beach, which was incredible. I was going to post pictures up here, which I wasn't looking forward to doing (sorry...it's labor-intensive and time-consuming), when my co-teacher came in on Monday with a video slideshow he made himself! So that video can be seen here. They're not my pictures, but it was no work to me. Thanks LJ.

Now I feel guilty about openly admitting that I hate the work of posting pictures. Here are some pictures from a little hiking trip I did recently with Paul, Allison, and Anna.

Daegu Stadium park at the base of a mountain.

There's a temple at the top, or near the top, of every mountain.

Far Off Visitors

2010-03-29T10:50:00.005+09:00

I don't know how many people notice the complex intricacies of this blog, but if you look to the right of the page there is a world map with a lot of red dots on it. Clicking on the map will zoom in so you can see more closely. That map is a visitor tracker that lets me see where the people reading my blog are located. I thought it was a cool little feature I saw on other blogs so I added it to mine. One day a few weeks ago I noticed that I suddenly had dots from places like Cyprus, Maritius, Australia, Romania, Russia, and a bunch more crazy far-off lands. I then remembered that I applied for my blog to be on two expat-blogger collection sites, Expat Blog and Korean Blog List, and was recently added. That also explains the high hit count I suppose. I mean, I check my own blog a lot for comments, but not over 1000 times. I do social things.

So thank you to all of my new international (and national) viewers. I hope I am helping you make your decision or transition on or to Korea as those many blogs I have read helped me.

Apartment Tour

2010-03-23T07:16:00.006+09:00

This is my apartment building.

Click here to get the tour.

Also, my school was on some sort of Korean News program last week, you can click here to see that. If you fast forward to 22:25, the bit on my school starts and you can watch me be awkward in front of a lot of grade one high schoolers. Fun fact: I was trapped in my office behind the bookshelves when they interviewed the girl and my principal too afraid to leave thinking I would ruin the interview.

Settling In

2010-03-21T21:57:00.003+09:00

It's been just over a month living in Korea and I feel like I'm really settling in. My apartment is coming along nicely, although I still don't have a few of my contract-promised appliances, the most necessary one being my washing machine. I've been doing laundry in the sink for the past couple of weeks. I'm also lacking a desk, chair, and wardrobe. But my TV is gigantic, 40" plasma screen, and I have a full-sized refrigerator that has some sort of computer built into it. The first thing I got was my air conditioner, and I have a bit of a story for that.

As of Tuesday of this past week I still had nothing in my place but a bed and my suitcases, and I had been living out of them since I've been here. Needless to say I'm getting a little frustrated because everyone else here has had everything in there place since day one, or they got it within days after they arrived. My school just kept telling me random days and I would go home each day with huge disappointment when I realized they were lying. So on Tuesday one of the teachers tells me that I am getting my appliances today! I need to be ready to go back to my apartment between 10 and 11 for the delivery. So we go to my place around 10:15, and the Samsung delivery truck rolls up and my heart is racing. Clean clothes! Somewhere to sit! Food storage! Alas, I would be getting none of those things, I was getting cold air. Mind you this morning it was nearly snowing and gusting wind chills to the teens, so an air conditioner was not something I really cared for at the moment. It was at this moment that I wondered if my life in Korea would be nothing more than a Truman Show-esque variety television program waiting for me to break and go insane...with hilarious sound effects.

So the delivery guys come up and they need to install the thing, but to do that they need to drill a huge hole in the wall so they need the landlords permission. Unfortunately my landlord is nowhere to be found, so after fifteen minutes of incomprehensible conversation we head back to the school. The teacher tells me that they'd come back that night to install the huge thing, which was still in the box on my floor. Racing through my mind at that moment are all of the things they told me would happen since I've been here that haven't, so thinking on the bright side of the situation, I see that huge box as a table, chair, desk, or maybe even a nightstand.

I stay in that night just in case someone in Korea actually kept a promise, and shockingly enough, they did. The installation people came back, got a hold of my landlord, he came down to scope the situation, then all hell broke loose. Earlier that day, this would have been fine because I had a translator, but now I'm on my own. What I gathered was an argument about where the thing should be hung from. There's a lot of yelling, a lot of pointing, a lot of hitting the walls, and a lot of awkward foreigner pretending to cook in the next room. Eventually the landlord storms out and the installation begins in what I assume is the location preferred by the Samsung guy. He started drilling a huge hole through the wall that makes the whole building shake and starts installing my air conditioner.

The landlord periodically makes appearances to yell something at me or generally look mad, so each time he comes in I give him a little cake pie and say one of the six Korean words/phrases I know and he gets really happy, leaves, then comes back mad again, so I give him another cake. So two hours, one air conditioner, and five cake pies later, the process is complete. I'm not sure why I wanted to tell this story, but it's just one of the many times where the language barrier is really frustrating, and it happened to take place in my home. Where I eat. Where I sleep. Where I come to play with my toys. The bottom line is that I need to learn Korean.

The people I've met here have been nothing but fantastic, I feel that I have a good amount of people that I can really trust and can count on for help when I need it. It's also Yellow Dust season for the next week or so. It's when all the nasty pollution from China blows up to Korea so its kind of hazy and more stinky than usual. And I have no negative connotation with the people I've met, I just happened to think about the Yellow Dust while I was saying how I've met great people. Purely coincidental.

Aside from falling asleep on the subway too often and ending up in Ansim, getting occasionally ripped-off by a cabbie (every cab has GPS...lost my ass), sitting through hour-long teachers meetings not understanding a word, buying a cake for one teacher then realizing everyone wants some so I have to buy 50,000 won worth of more, failing to get the food I want because the menu has no pictures, washing my clothes in the sink and waiting four days for them to dry, and embarrassing myself over thirty times a day, life in Korea is good.

Gangdong High School

2010-03-20T11:45:00.011+09:00

Please enjoy these photographs of/from my school.

My office.

Notice the Gryffindor-colored ties.

I let the students pick their own English names. I give you Obama, Lincoln, Adam(s)...Yes he put the parenthesis on his nametag, Jefferson, Steve, and Dufresne.

My co-teacher LJ.

And here is a Petey's travels update!

And also, here is a clip of Phil's American impression.

Be well.