Caveat: 꿈을 가꾸는 홍농 어린이

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That’s me standing and looking a little bit goofy in front of one of the entrances to my new school. The sign over the entryway reads “꿈을 가꾸는 홍농 어린이” (kkumeul gakkuneun hongnong eorini = “Hongnong children [are] cultivating [their] dreams”).

I think one of the things that impresses me about Korean society is that the children seem so happy. Children everywhere in the world can seem happy, but in many of the places I’ve spent time, the children seem, on average, a lot less happy than in Korea:  e.g. parts of Mexico, south Minneapolis, L.A.  Is my memory or perception distorted? I’m not sure. It’s not a scientific sample, it’s just my gut-level impression.

Anyway… a society with happy children can’t be doing too badly, I think.

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Caveat: 전라남도 영광군 홍농읍 상하리 홍농초등학교

Korean addresses are backwards from what we Westerners are used in most countries I’m familiar with. They list the largest geographical unit first, and then “drill in” or “zoom in” to the most local unit, without using commas. So my new workplace would have a partial address as follows: 전라남도 영광군 홍농읍 상하리 홍농초등학교 (jeollanam-do yeonggwang-gun hongnong-eup sangha-ri hongnongchodeunghakgyo = South-Jeolla-Province Yeonggwang-County Hongnong-Town  Sangha-Village Hongnong-Elementary-School).

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The map above shows Yeonggwang County. It’s on the west coast of the peninsula, in the northwestern corner of South Jeolla Province, which is the southwestern mainland province of South Korea.  So you visualize that it’s “facing” China’s Qingdao across the Yellow Sea to the west. The green-bordered blob you see is about 50 km. north-to-south and the same east-to-west, with some islands floating offshore. Maybe I’ll get to visit them sometime.

Hongnong Town is the knob at the top of the map. Yeonggwang Town (the “county seat”) is the cluster of extra roads you can see near the center of the map (but a bit off to the southeast from center).

The county is rural, but it’s not as rural as many might imagine. South Korea has a very high population density, so the number of persons-per-square-kilometer, even in an area like this, is more like New Jersey or Eastern Pennsylvania than it is like Iowa or Idaho. And Korea is crisscrossed by expressways, nowadays, too, so there’s not much left of the long, slow trips on twisting one-and-one-half-lane highways that even I remember vividly from the early 90’s.

I already like my new school. It’s just like any other Korean elementary school, a bit of a cookie cutter architecturally, with the dirt playground in front and the three-story facade of classrooms. But in a town as small as Hongnong, it has a bit of the feel of a community center, too, maybe.

I was shocked and dismayed to learn that my apartment will not be in Hongnong Town, but rather Yeonggwang Town. That seems like a long commute (about 30 km.). Also, when I saw my apartment, it was rather dirty, and definitely a bit shabby. Hmm… lots of cleaning to be done.

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Caveat: 광주 0 : 2 성남

The training program took us to a soccer game yesterday. It was between Gwangju and Seongnam.   The stadium was almost empty – I think our large group of foreigners was about a quarter of the audience.  This one guy, Dave, proposed a bet on the outcome.  I studied the two teams’ rosters, and said, OK, I think Seongnam will win.  And I was right – Seongnam won, 2 to 0.  Was it pure luck?  What was my betting strategy?

I just bet on the team that had foreigners’ names on the roster. My thinking? If the team can afford to put some foreigners on its roster (an expensive proposition, apparently), then they must be serious about winning, and are probably near the top of the league, since very few foreigners play soccer in Korea (baseball and basketball are different, where most teams have several foreigners at least). I suppose it still could have been luck, but Gwangju was pretty clearly out-classed in the game – the Seongnam team (foreign and Korean players equally) was faster, nimbler, and seemed generally better prepared.

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Caveat: Thick on the ground

Here, ancestors are thick on the ground. There in my home country, it’s not like that. Ghosts are far and few between. Flowers on the forest floor, clustering and waiting for sunlight – that’s how ancestors are. Sometimes you see a lot, sometimes, not. Mostly, you never notice them. But they’re thick, here. Thick on the ground.

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Caveat: Field Trip

This large group of “newbie” EFL teachers in the training here were taken on a field trip yesterday. Kind of like a one-day tour of some parts of Jeollanam province. It was cool. I took a lot of pictures. But here are two that actually show me – which are rare. I’ll maybe post some of the “scenery” pictures later.

This first picture is of me with some school girls that were at the Nagan Folk Village – a sort of Korean Historical theme park (tastefully done). Kids in Korea will run up to foreigners – especially large groups of foreigners obviously on tour, and say things like “Hello!” “How are you?” Basically, they want to practice English, and be friendly.  These girls were impressed because I’d managed 3 or 4 phrases of passable Korean, and so I suddenly became a rock star.

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This picture is me in front of a small compound gate at a temple complex at Jogyesan National Park.

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Caveat: in praise of pedestrianism

Yesterday, I took the bus out to see my new town for the first time.  The little town of Hongnong-eup (-eup just means "town"), in Yeonggwang-gun (-gun means "county"), on the northwest corner of Jeollanam-do (-do means "province").  I was intending to meet with my fellow "foreign teacher" who is working at the same school that I will be;  however, she ended up having a last minute errand to run, so I was left on my own at the bus station of Hongnong.  I walked the length of the town in about 10 minutes.  And then I was back at the bus station, with nothing to do.

So… I did what I always seem to do, when at a loss as to what to do.  I took a long, long walk.   I think I walked about 10 km.  I walked south of Hongnong, through the rice fields, and ended up at a place called "백제불교문화최초도래지" which roughly translates as "Baekje Buddhist culture first arrival place" – it is the spot in the Korean peninsula where Buddhism first "arrived," probably in the 500's or early 600's CE.

The location has the feel of something like a cross between a national monument and a Buddhist theme park, with flower gardens, trails over and around the mountain, lots of statues, chanting from speakers mounted on lamp-posts, gift shops, temples, etc.   It was, in any event, very interesting.  I had forgotten to take my good camera with me, but I snapped a few photos with my old cellphone (which I carry around for it's pretty-good electronic dictionary function).  I'm having some trouble downloading those photos, now, but when I do, I'll add them here.

I then walked into the town of 법성 (beopseong), an industrious-seeming little fishing port on the inlet in the coast, there (geomorphically, a "ria," or submerged river valley, I believe).   I saw at least ten thousand stores selling "gulbi" which is the local species of croaker fish, very popular to sell to the tourists, apparently.

By this time, it was getting toward 7 PM, so I decided to just come back to Gwangju, since I'm not so into wandering around randomly once the sun sets.   I found the Beopseong bus terminal and got on the next Gwanju bus, and I felt very efficient and knowledgeable when I was able to walk out of the bus terminal and immediately climb onto the correct bus number (1187) that would take me back to the east side of the city to the mountain where my hotel is located.  I got back by 9:30 or so, I think.

I really love just walking around places.  You get such an "honest" feel for how the place is.  You see all of its aspects.  You don't truly know a town, until you've walked down each of its connecting roads at least as far as the next town.   When living in big cities, I often wander for long stretches on public transportation.  But in rural areas, such as will be my new home, the best thing is to wander on foot.

I plan to do a lot of that, over the coming year.  I'm off to a great start.

Caveat: Orientation is disorienting

I am participating in a rather in-depth, week-long orientation and training program related to my new job. This is very disorienting – because I never had so much as an hour of orientation or training at any of my three previous jobs in Korea.

Some of the “cultural content” it is a bit redundant or boring, for someone who’s already been here a few years. But other bits are amazingly useful, and I find myself thinking, “gee, it would have been nice to have known that, say, 3 years ago.”

Overall, I think this will be good. Plus, the hotel where this is taking place is the poshest place I’ve stayed at in a long time – possibly since I had the Oracle 8i/9i certification at that resort in Pennsylvania in 2004.

Here’s a picture from my hotel balcony, looking west-southwest over Gwangju, as the sun is coming up behind the mountain behind me.

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Caveat: Zen pep rally of robots; Confucian riot of saints

I like to invent little metaphors that sound like good names for rock bands.

Yesterday, walking around Gwangju, I ran across some monuments to the Gwangju democracy movement of 1980. Although the movement failed against the dictatorship of that time, it was a significant turning point in the evolution of South Korean politics.

I began to reflect on South Korea’s “protest culture.” A lot of people view this as a sort of political immaturity (even, or especially, South Koreans themselves), but I have a rather different take on it. Firstly, this “protest culture” is as innate and important to modern South Korean democracy as, say, a town hall meeting is to New England democracy. Secondly, however, I think the fact that people in this country feel free to begin a rally or protest at the drop of a hat actually makes South Korean politics a bit more genuinely responsive and, well, “democratic” than a superficial systemic analysis might suggest.  So rather than seeing it as a blemish on the South Korean polity, I see the protest culture as a sort of enhancement, if an imperfect one.

But it seems odd, doesn’t it, that a country still so steeped in Confucian culture and values would adopt protests and riots as a (more or less) legitimate means of political expression?  Thus I stumbled on the idea of a “Confucian riot.” Which sounds cool, and is maybe less oxymoronic than you’d think. And I was contrasting the idea, in my mind, with Japan. Japan doesn’t have the same kind of protest culture as South Korea – not at all. Perhaps, lacking a recent historical experience with in-your-face dictatorship (i.e. at least not since WWII, and arguably even before that), Japan never developed the need.  Japan is a more consensual polity, whether truly democratic or not. More like a “pep rally” than a riot.  And so I stumbled on the contrasting idea of a “zen pep rally.”

I’m just thinking about these things. This is not a polished thesis or even intended to be a well-structured argument. More like a suggestion for two contrasting metaphors for two intimately related but profoundly distinct societies.

Here is a picture of a monument to the “518” movement (the Gwangju uprising of 1980), in front of the central high school. And some other monuments I noticed, not far away.

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Caveat: 이가방이 무거워요…

I have arrived in Gwangju.
Everyone knows I struggle with memorizing vocabulary.  “Heavy” is a word that I’ve looked up the Korean equivalent for at least 15 or 20 times, and it never has managed to stick with me.  But, as of today, I think I can confidently say I’ve got it well and truly stuck in my brain, finally.
Context is everything, in language learning.  I have some very heavy luggage, today, as I tote my most important worldly possessions down to Gwangju.  Hefting the bag into the taxi, and again, getting help from the assistant at the bus terminal, I had occasion to hear and use “무거워요” (mu-geo-weo-yo = it’s heavy).  And now I know that I know that word.
Travel costs are so reasonable, in Korea, after having been in Japan.  The bus ticket, express “special” (우등) from Suwon to Gwangju was only 21,000 won.  That’s less that 20 bucks, to take me basically across the whole country, north to south.  Admittedly, that “across-the-country” bus trip was exactly 3 hours and 5 minutes long.  Once out of metro Seoul, the expressways are wide, well-engineered and convenient.
I don’t remember when I was last in Gwangju.  I do know I haven’t ever spent much time here – it’s Korea’s 4th or 5th largest metropolis (depending on whom you ask), but possibly it’s the country’s least “international” of the major cities.  Regardless, it’s an important city for the history of modern democratic South Korea, and it’s pretty successful, as cities go, from what I’ve read.
I’m going to look around a bit.  More later.

Caveat: “주둥이 함부로 놀리지 마라”

“Don’t move your muzzle randomly” – this is what my friend Seung-bae said, as we stood in front of a Buddhist temple, discussing the issue of hypocrisy and religion. We had driven up the first part of a mountain called 광교산, past the Suwon reservoir, and at the end of the road near the base of the actual mountain, there was a temple, as is typical.

When he said this, he wasn’t criticizing me – he was teaching me an aphorism, which he is very good at.

Here’s a picture of the temple.
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Here’s a picture of the view out over Suwon, as it got dark.
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Here, we stopped at a hole-in-the-wall for makkoli (rice beer) and egg/vegetable pancakes with some radish kimchi on the side.
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Here’s a picture of a truly bogus chicken joint.
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Caveat: The Republic of Samsung

I read in The Economist that the Samsung chaebol (business conglomerate) represents 20% of South Korea's GDP.  This is utterly stunning, if true.  But I find it plausible.  And if you add in the other major chaebol – groups like Hyundai, LG, etc., it must mean that the South Korean economy is essentially in the hands of a half dozen dynastic families.

I always instinctively knew this, but I think it's important to keep the fact in mind, when trying to make comparisons between Korea and other Asian economies like Japan, China, etc.  None of these other countries has a similar economic system, when looked at in this light.  South Korea's current chaebol-based economy most resembles Japan's pre-War system, with its giant zaibatsu.

Whether it's good or bad, I can't judge.  Certainly, right now, when it comes to "conventional" measures of economic growth and prosperity, it's "working."  The way in which South Korea has weathered the recent global downturn is a veritable miracle, given its reliance on exports.  But I can't see that it's going to keep working indefinitely – such concentrated power strikes me as dangerous.  Especially since nowadays, the chaebol have one of their own, Lee Myung-bak (former Hyundai exec), in the Blue House.

Caveat: 금도끼와 은도끼

금도끼와 은도끼

옛날 어느 마을에 가난한 나무꾼이 살고 있었습니다.  그는 어머니를 모시고 살았는데, 부지런해서 늘 아침 일찍 산으로 가서 나무를 했습니다.
어느 날 산 속에서 연못 옆에 있는 큰 나무를 발견하고 도끼로 세게 찍기 시작했습니다.  그런데 손에 힘이 없어져서 도끼를 연못에 빠뜨렸습니다.  하나밖에 없는 도끼를 빠뜨린 나무꾼은 연못을 보면서 한숨을 쉬었습니다.  그 때 갑자기 연못의 물이 움직이면서 하얀 연기와 함께 산신령님이 나타나셨습니다.  산신령님은 금으로 만든 도끼를 내밀면서 말했습니다.
“이 금도끼가 당신이 빠뜨린 것입니까?”
“아닙니다.”
“그럼 이 은도끼가 당신의 도끼입니까?”
“그것도 제 것이 아닙니다.”
“그럼 이것입니까?”라고 하면서 그가 빠뜨린 쇠도끼를 내밀었습니다.
“네, 바로 그것이 제 도끼입니다.”
산신령님은 “당신은 정직하기 때문에 이 도끼들을 모두 당신에게 줄 테니까 가져가십시오.”라고 말하고 도끼 세 개를 준 후에 다시 연못 속으로 사라졌습니다.
그래서 그 나무꾼은 부자가 되었고 그 후에 결혼을 해서 행복하게 살았습니다.
No… I didn’t write this story.  It’s an old Korean fairy tale.  I like the story.
The version here is copied from my Korean Language textbook, at the end of the book.  It’s provided as a kind of culmination of all the material covered.  Note especially all the various constructions using the many possible meanings of “~(으)로.”
But the translation of the story, provided in the appendix, is truly terrible – it manages to be bad English, while at the same time failing to be a close, phrase-for-phrase translation of the Korean, which is what would be useful in a language textbook.  So you can’t really use the translation to figure out confusing grammar points, on the one hand, but it’s not a very clear version of the story, on the other.
So, being the strange person that I am, I decided to attempt my own translation, which follows.  I’m trying to stay very close to the Korean, trying to ensure that each Korean phrase and grammatical element has a match to its closest English equivalent, that I can figure out – but at the same time I’m trying to make sure it’s at least passable English, meaning no glaring grammatical or idiomatic errors.
If there are mistakes in the Korean above, blame my poor Korean typing skills, not my Korean textbook – it’s probably just a typo, since I copied the text of the story from my textbook manually.

The gold axe and the silver axe

In olden days a poor woodcutter was living in some village.  That man lived with his mother, and since he was industrious, every morning he went to the mountain and cut wood.
One day, being at the mountain near a pond, he found a big tree and be began to cut it with his axe.  But then his hand became weak and he dropped the axe in the pond.  The woodcutter, having but the one axe, looked in the pond and sighed.  At that moment suddenly the pond’s waters stirred and, along with some white smoke, a mountain spirit appeared.  The mountain spirit held out a gold axe, and spoke.
“Did you drop this gold axe?”
“No, sir.”
“Then is this silver axe your axe?”
“That isn’t mine either.”
“Then is this yours?” he said, and held out the dropped iron axe.
“Yes, that’s definitely my axe.”
The mountain spirit said, “Because you are honest I will give you all these axes, so take them,” and with that he gave the three axes and disappeared again into the pond.
And so the woodcutter became rich, and after that he got married and lived happily.
 

Caveat: 빈집

pictureI saw the most remarkable movie last night.  It is a Korean movie from 2004, entitled 빈집 (bin-jip = empty house).  The “official” English title is 3-Iron (a golf reference) which is both unimaginative, and utterly fails to capture the primary symbolism embedded in the Korean Language title vis-a-vis the movie itself.
I found it on my hard drive last night.  I must have downloaded it at some point, and totally forgotten about it.  I`m glad to have found it again.
I think it will be my new favorite Korean movie, although the fact that it`s Korean is not really relevant to the plot, which is more universal, and the almost utter absence of dialog (and the relative irrelevance of what little dialog there is ) means that even if you don`t have subtitles, you will understand and enjoy this movie.  It`s pure moving image, with nevertheless deep and interesting characters and a complex plot.  It`s what movies can and should be.
Anyway, I`ll let others summarize the plot and provide a formal review.  But this was a great movie.

Caveat: Public Art

I love public art. Probably, that’s one reason I like walking around Ilsan. And Fukuoka was interesting, this morning, too. Here are some pictures of public art (and/or interesting architecture).

Walking around Ilsan, near Baekma area:

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Here is something tucked next to a building walking out the east end of the mall called “WesternDom” in Ilsan, on the way to Madu Station:

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Here is a picture I took this morning, here in Fukuoka, Japan. It’s a digital clock that changes to show the time. But the pixels are made of little fountain spouts. So it’s an altogether new take on the “water clock” idea:

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Here is a weird frog-creature-arch-thing in the Tenjin area (downtown) of Fukuoka:

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Here is the somewhat famous ACROS cultural center in Fukuoka, with its rooftop gardens:

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For contrast, some blossoming cherry trees along the river:

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Lastly, some palm trees in the median of a major street near Hakata Station:

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Caveat: 치즈라면

Yesterday, I zoomed out to Ilsan after signing my contract, because I wanted to thank two of the people who made the contract possible, which were my two former bosses who gave me such glowing recommendations.

I stopped by the hagwon where my friend Peter teaches, too, and we had a quick supper at a local hole-in-the-wall Korean fast-food joint (these are called 분식집: bun-shik-jip = minute-meal-house).

I ordered 치즈라면 (chi-jeu-ra-myeon = cheese ramen), which holds a special place in my heart.

pictureCheese ramen is the first “Korean cuisine” meal that I ever ate in Korea. I was stationed at Camp Edwards in 1990-91 while in the US Army, and I was out running some errand over to Camp Casey at Dongduchon with my sergeant. We were zooming along in our humvee, on some twisting road (there were no expressways back then, yet, in northern Gyeonggi-do, like there are now), and the sergeant announced we were stopping for lunch.  We pulled up at some apparently random “next-to-some-US-base” ramen joint, that was set up at the intersection of two roads, and he ordered us cheese ramen from the ajumma that apparently knew him.
“Korean delicacy,” he explained, tersely.

“Yes, sergeant,” I nodded.  I was curious and excited to finally have an “off-post” cultural experience, having been on “lock-down” for my first 3 months in Korea (due to the gulf war going on in Kuwait, half a world away).

Being February, it was cold.  The warm, gooey mess of spicy ramen with a slab of plasticine american cheese melted into it was comforting – a perfect mix of the exotic and familiar. I was hooked, and have been ever since. Living in the US, I would simulate Korean cheese ramyeon by adding a teaspoon of cayenne pepper and a slice or two of american cheese to bland, US-purchased Japanese-style ramen, such as Maruchan or Smack Ramen.

Yesterday’s cheese ramen was, as usual, unnaturally delicious and warmly nostalgic.

How is it that we later feel nostalgic for times in our lives that, at the time we were living them, were so difficult and unpleasant?
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Caveat: Contract

I signed a contract today.  This means I have a job – unless the bureaucrats intervene:  I really have too little confidence in the Korean Immigration Authorities' objectivity (which is to say, in their capacity not to be arbitrary), but… I think I have a pretty good chance.  More than 90%.

So I will start in mid-April, presumably – as soon as I get my E2 Korean work visa.  I have to get this from an overseas consulate, so since I'm going to Japan this weekend, I'm just going to stay in Japan until I get my "authorization number" for my visa, which I can take to the Korean consulate there to get the actual visa pasted into my passport.  I may be in Japan a week or two.  Maybe I'll go somewhere interesting:  back to Nagasaki, or over to Tsushima, or something that's a fairly short trip from Fukuoka.

The school where I've signed is in Yeonggwang County, in Jeollanam Province.  If Seoul is Korea's New York City and Washington DC and Los Angeles all rolled into one, and if Gyeonggi Province is Korea's Maryland and New Jersey and New York State all rolled into one, then Jeollanam is Korea's Kentucky, or Korea's Georgia.  It will definitely be a big change.  But I'm looking forward to it.

Caveat: 이번 토요일에 일본에 가려고 해요

This Saturday, I’m going to Japan. My 90-day “tourist” visa for South Korea expires soon, so I need to exit the country. Hopefully, they’ll let me back in. I’ve never heard of them NOT letting someone back in, but one can always find new ways to feel paranoid, right?

Korea has been getting increasingly meticulous and rigid about immigration matters, and for the most part, I don’t resent this – it’s no worse than what you see in the U.S. or Europe. But it does make for a certain amount of stress, when one’s status isn’t “nailed down.”
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Caveat: Spring unsprung

I looked out at the sunny blue sky early this morning, and removed my gloves, hat and scarf from my knapsack. I figured South Korea’s winter was over. 

It was too soon. This afternoon at 3 pm, it was dumping snow like gangbusters. I was feeling very cold – I went out to Ilsan again to make use of my friend Curt’s scanner to scan some documents so that I could apply to a new recruiter who wanted to have copies submitted online. Since I’ve given up on the last recruiter. 

By the time I got back to Suwon this evening, there were piles of damp slush everywhere. Melting, but not very springy.
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Caveat: 황사

황사 (hwang-sa = yellow sand) is what they call the springtime storms of dust that roll in from the Chinese desert far to the west. Korea’s always had these… but in recent years, because of Chinese industrial pollutants and deforestation in China and Mongolia, they’ve become more severe and much more of a health and environmental hazard.

Yesterday was heavily grey, overcast but with a vaguely brownish-yellow tinge. It’s hard to capture on film, but here’s a picture I took, out wandering about randomly in Seoul – note that it’s about 3 in the afternoon – hardly sunsettime – but weirdly dark. Today is blue and clear. Huge contrast.
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Caveat: 고스톱

pictureI’ve been trying to learn how to play a game called 고스톱 (go-seu-top = “go-stop”), which is played with a deck of cards called 화투 (hwa-tu = “flower cards”) – see picture. It’s a very complicated “go fish” type of game that holds a status similar to poker in South Korea, often connected to themes of family togetherness or gambling-among-friends.

There’re several places online to find the rules in English, which is good because just watching the game, and even having it explained by someone as they play in moderately good English, is pretty incomprehensible. The best thorough description of the rules that I’ve found is at galbijim, a website devoted to explaining Korea to “expats.”

I don’t go there often, as I generally avoid the “expat” community, especially the online expat community. Collectively, they seem too negative about so much of Korea. I’m perfectly capable of feeling negative on my own (see previous several posts!). So… I hardly need the encouragement and influence of thousands of disgruntled foreigners. But anyway, galbijim’s explication of the game is pretty thorough.

If anyone’s interested, I’m sure it’s probably possible to buy hwa-tu cards in any Korean-owned grocery or convenience store on the planet. The Japanese use a version of the cards called hanafuda (which represents the same Chinese characters – 花鬪, in Japanese, as hwa-tu does in Korean) to play a game called Koi-koi.
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Caveat: More neverminding

Normally, I try to change themes with each new post. But this racism thing seems to have opened a can of worms – not so much among others, as in my own mind – although I’ve received some feedback, too.  

My friend Christine wrote a long comment in an email to me, which she sent to me right as I was posting my first “nevermind” (previous post). She said things that surprisingly matched what I wrote in that post, but one thing she said that I didn’t address stands out.  I will quote the relevant paragraph:

I would never defend racism, especially after my own experiences with them. But honestly, after all the racial slurs / comments I’ve heard in America towards non-whites (and many directed at me), I don’t feel like Koreans’ racist views are all that unique, only disturbing in how comfortable they are in them. But you know…if you want to see things as cause and effect rather than good or bad, Korea’s own idea of race will probably change as they become economically wealthier, better known globally, thus inadvertently attracting other races to move to Korea. 

I think this is a very important perspective, and it’s surprising to me that I didn’t include some mention of this before, in either my original post or in my subsequent apology. Surprising to me, because, in fact, I’ve talked about this idea very often with friends (probably with Christine, more than once, last year): Korea is changing rapidly, including in its attitudes about race. I’ve said before that actually, I believe Korea may be better positioned, culturally, to become a country that welcomes immigrants than any of its neighbors, e.g. especially Japan or Taiwan, which are the countries it most resembles socio-economically at this point.

And if Korea is going to be welcoming immigrants, that implies strongly that it’s going to be dealing with its blatant racists in some way or another… much as Europe has been struggling, not to mention the U.S., over its long historical cycles of immigrant-welcoming and immigrant-bashing.

What I most want to make clear is that even in my anger, in my original post, I realized that the racists in Korea are not the majority. And my conclusion, now, is that they’re really no more numerous than in other places. They’re only more visible, because of the lack of social constraint on the open expression of such ideas.

Perhaps the same analysis could be applied to one of my other personal conflicts with Korean culture: ageism. This is one which negatively affects me much more directly than the issue of racism (which, given the bias toward people of northern European descent, actually favors me, in a majorly guilt-inducing way – see also the “charisma man” phenomenon, from Japan). I wonder if, like what I’m saying about racism, Koreans are only more open about age-related biases that, in fact, exist within and across most world-cultures, these days: the youth-worship, the superficial-beauty-cult (with respect to both woman and men), etc.

These tendencies are deeply embedded in the output of the world media machine(s) (i.e. Hollywood) , which Koreans happily consume, just like Americans. If anything, we should be looking for the origins of Koreans’ worship of youth, superficial beauty, as well as their preference for pale skin and blue eyes, not in Korean culture, but in the Western paradigms they’re avidly consuming.

More later.

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Caveat: Nevermind about the rant

Well, somewhat. In my previous post from earlier today, I was angry, and so I ranted about Korean racism. Riding the bus back to Suwon, I had an insight: maybe Koreans are no more racist than Americans. Which is to say, I would guess that there are probably just as many racist Americans as a percentage of total population as there are racist Koreans. Not a majority, but probably a scarily large subset of the total population.

The difference is more subtle. Americans who happen to be racist are raised, nearly from birth, to be circumspect about their racist attitudes. They come to understand that there are real consequences for openly expressing their feelings, from ridicule to lawsuits to criminal prosecution. So they learn to be circumspect. Koreans, who live in a largely homogeneous culture, have little reason to be circumspect about such attitudes. “Good” race or “bad” race, it’s all the same, mostly: just a bunch of foreigners – so openly expressing one’s positive or negative opinions about them is no big deal. So racist Americans are stealth-racists, while racist Koreans are in-your-face racists. Maybe there’s actually something positive in that, as there is in any kind of transparency. Certainly, at the least, it’s clear whom to avoid.

That doesn’t change my feeling that it bothers me. A lot. But I need to be careful about what I allow to annoy me about Korean culture, lest I fall into a trap of hypocrisy. So… nevermind about the rant – at least on the charge of racism. The other comments can stand, for now. But I’m over being mad about it, I think. Sorry.
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Caveat: Language is not the same as culture (thankfully)

This is one instance where the “caveat,” above, is “real” – I really mean that as a caveat to what I am about to say.

I have been feeling a bit annoyed with some aspects of contemporary South Korean culture, lately. The issue that came up yesterday was perhaps just a “final straw” that pushed me into outright anger. Many Koreans are unabashedly racist. This is not the same as the mild xenophobia that I often comment on.  Korean xenophobia is something that is both historically understandable given their repeated subjugation over the centuries to the Chinese, Mongols or Japanese, as well as being something that I would characterize as essentially more naive and reflexive rather than somehow premeditated or unethical.

But many Koreans also have openly racist attitudes, which are more complex than simple xenophobia, because there are hierarchies of “good” and “bad” races. I see these as having been “imported” at some point from both Japan and the West, and more specifically, from 1930’s Japan and 1950’s America – which were the “occupiers” at those specific times. Pale Europeans, whether from Europe or North America, are near the top of the hierarchy. Koreans and Japanese are, too – although since the Japanese are the “enemy,” they get disqualified from Korean respect for different, non-racist reasons… if that makes any sense. More like a hated sibling. But to be a non-European, non-East Asian in Korea must be utter hell. That’s my speculation.

Um… I’m being disorganized, here. I’m ranting. Yesterday, talking about student exchange programs with a Korean, he mentioned something about the difficulty of placing minority American kids with Korean host families. And something like, “hopefully we can convey this sensitive issue to the Americans.”

I thought about this a bit, and felt only outrage. Why should Americans bear the responsibility for accommodating Korean racism? If Koreans want to participate in a student exchange program, it should be their sole responsibility to cope with making sure their attitudes can accommodate any possible American. That’s the only possibility that looks ethical, from my point of view.

OK. Back to the “caveat.”

I have always felt a great deal of ambivalence about some aspects of Korean culture. There’s the low-grade disrespect for rule-of-law: the never-ending stream of offers for illegal employment being just my own personal brush with this phenomenon. There’s the xenophobia, already mentioned.  There are the in-group / out-group distinctions, which can sometimes make one feel that one is living in a country inhabited exclusively by people suffering from a mild form of autism.

Then there’s the ageism. Ostensibly, Korea is a culture that honors elders. But there’s a caveat there: elders are only honored as long as they’re doing what they’re supposed to – they need to be fulfilling age-appropriate roles. Thus, I have actually been refused two interviews for teaching jobs, solely because of my age, and I was openly told that that was the reason – it’s not illegal, here, to discriminate because of someone’s age.

My love affair (if you want to call it that)… my interest… my focus… has always been an unabiding fascination for the Korean language. Unless you’re some kind of unreformed Whorfian, you will understand that culture and language aren’t the same thing.

So, I reserve my right to love the Korean language, and nevertheless harbor serious misgivings about parts of Korean culture. Which isn’t to say there aren’t parts I like, also. The food is incredible. The entrepreneurial spirit is stunning – though often repressed by the neo-confucians in the bureaucracy. The genuine generosity and kindness of most individual Koreans is undeniable.

I feel thankful that language and culture are not, in fact, the same. Otherwise, I’d feel compelled to leave, just at the moment.

Well… that is a really poorly-structured rant. But… such as it is. More later.
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Caveat: Chasing Rhiannon

Having applied for another job last week, I’m now once again in that really difficult position of waiting for the next thing to happen. This is not something I do well. Yesterday, for that and whatever other reason, I felt very gloomy and sad.

I took a long walk, and I was thinking a lot about Welsh mythology: specifically, that business with Rhiannon on her horse, luring Pwyll to the underworld. Why does that particular story always haunt me? Aside from the fact that it was only text I ever got to the actual point of reading (with dictionary obsessively in hand), in Welsh. Maybe it’s the parallelism of living “dictionary in hand” as I am now (with Korean), that made me think of that.

I had awoken from a really unpleasant dream, yesterday morning, which had a symbolism that was pretty transparent. I dreamed that…

…I found a suitcase in my room (since I’m effectively living out of my suitcases, currently, it’s not that strange) and when I opened it, it was full of Michelle’s clothes.  And further, there was blood all over the clothing.   I pulled the bloody dresses and skirts and shirts out onto the floor and just stared at it, inside the dream.

So: I see that I’m dealing with my old baggage; I’m digging out my dirty laundry.  With symbolism as easy as that, who needs Jung?

Friday, I had gone out to Ilsan to pick up reference letters that my former bosses Curt and Sun had written for me. Sun’s letter was surprisingly glowing – it was good for my ego. Curt was a bit lazy, and said, “what do you want me to write?” and I felt strange, like he was asking me to compose my own reference letter.  But now I have two good reference letters.

Before picking up the reference letters on Friday, I had had lunch with my friend Peter. He and I found this pretty nice restaurant on the second level of WesternDom (the big mall between Jeongbalsan and Madu stations) where I had some 해신칼국수 (seafood with homemade noodles) that was delicious.

Someone complained to me, a while back, that I don’t put many pictures of myself in my blog. I’m not good at that, that’s true. So, here is a picture that Peter took of me, getting ready to eat a very small, whole, slightly purple octopus that I found in my soup. Note that I dressed up in a tie on Friday because I wanted to be “prepared” in case I got a call-back from this job I’m trying to get. Plus, sometimes I do that, because feeling professional helps me feel more self-confident.

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Caveat: 시티홀

I’ve been watching a drama called 시티홀 (The City Hall, from 2009 – although the hangeul could more justifiably be said to represent the English phrase “shitty hole,” from a pronunciation standpoint, which I think is kind of funny, although not really relevant).

Actually, I like this drama – it addresses South Korean politics, which, at least up until now in my personal experience of Korean dramas was an off-limits topic. And as a parody/commentary, it’s got some strengths. I’d say that in some ways, it seems a little darker, and more cleverly self-referential, than the others I’ve been looking at recently. I definitely recommend it, if you want an entertaining and fairly light look at the rampant cronyism and corruption that seems to prevail in South Korean politics.
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Caveat: (re-)making history

Korea has a lot of history. And contemporary Korea loves exploring, studying and re-enacting their history. Just take a look at the sorts of dramas popular on TV, for example – there’re always several historical dramas running. Those aren’t the sort I enjoy, mostly because the language is stilted and harder to understand (which makes sense, since they’re trying to capture the more formal Korean of centuries past). Also, I don’t always think those sorts of dramas are particularly faithful to the historical “facts.” But anyway…

Yesterday I went with some of my Suwon friends to see some re-enactors at the Hwaseong palace. These were guys with swords and pikes and other things, doing martial arts displays of various kinds. Half choreography, half hapkido / geondo (= japanese kendo), etc. Here are some pictures.

In the first two, the guy was using a big pikelike-thing to hack up some bundles of straw. The last picture is me with some re-enactors, along with two kids I’ve gotten to know, who are the Chinese tea-maker’s children: a brother and sister named Dong-jun and Dong-hui (it’s very common for siblings to share a syllable that way, in their name).

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Caveat: 다시 차를 마셨어요.

I went with Mr Choi again to meet his tea-making friend, and provide some informal English practice to him and his acquaintances and various children, too.  And then we went out for “Chinese.”  Going out for Chinese food in Korea is a bit like going out to Chinese in the U.S., in the sense that what you end up eating isn’t actually Chinese cuisine, but rather an American interpretation of Chinese cuisine.  So it’s basically a special type of Korean food, that they conventionally call “Chinese.”
It was interesting, and maybe helped to keep my mind off my frustrations with learning, at least while it was happening.  Afterward, of course, I could nothing but meditate on how ineffective and stupid my various efforts at using the language were.
It’s obvious I’m feeling very frustrated, lately.  This is, from a language-learning standpoint, entirely to-be-expected.  But knowing that it’s part of the process doesn’t make it any more pleasant.  And my feelings of discouragement tend to rebound against other aspects of my life:  feeling like I should be trying harder to find a job; feeling like I should be working on other things, like my writing; feeling lonely.
Of course, there’s the approaching solstice.  I always feel like I have some weird seasonal-affective thing going on, around solstices.  My mood starts to seem very volatile and shifts around.  Not sure what that means, either.

Caveat: Pop Architecture

Modern Korean pop architecture is fun to look at sometimes. I think any country where there is a strong capitalist, advertising-driven culture, you will find architecture that is kitschy, often tasteless, over-the-top, etc. Some of the more interesting buildings tend to be the ubiquitous “wedding halls” as well as churches. Here are some pictures I’ve taken recently.

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Caveat: 89

Because I’m continuing at my Korean Language hagwon, I took an end-of-level test today. There were listening, speaking, and grammar/reading sections. My overall score was 89.

That’s not bad, I guess. I was surprised that my lowest score was on the grammar/reading part, since that’s really my strength, but I had made some careless mistakes, on the one hand, while on the listening section, which was the hardest, the teacher gave all the dialogs and questions twice, which may have been stretching the intent of the test, a bit, making it easier, so that my score on that part was 94.

What else can I do to get more out of my language study? I need to spend more time reviewing and memorizing vocabulary. I have some excellent tools that I’m not making much use of, for example that Rosetta Stone software, as well as the spreadsheets I’m maintaining with list of words I’ve looked up. I could stand to spend more time with each of those.

I had a weird conversation with a short-term guest at my guesthouse, the other night. He was Australian. I told him I was studying Korean, and his comment kind of sums up some preconceptions and prejudices that exist out there, with respect to my endeavor. He said (roughly), “Wow, I never met someone studying Korean before who didn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend helping them.” I just laughed. I had no comeback, at the moment, but I thought later, I should have said, “Yeh, I guess so. I’m in love with the language, directly, instead. It’s a frustrating relationship.”

I have so far to go. Will I become tired of it, at some point? Will I become disillusioned, over time, as the difficulty of this “relationship” emerges in all its permutations and complexities? I have been infatuated with the Korean Language since we did a unit on Korean in my undergrad syntax class at the University of Minnesota in 1988. But I didn’t really pursue that infatuation, for a very long time. Then, a little over 3 years ago, as I was shopping around for “what to do next with my life,” once I’d decided to quit the computer thing, I decided: “Find your passion, and chase it down.”

Then, over the following two years, I became side-tracked by the sheer volume of work related to teaching (or trying to teach) English to kids. And that was VERY rewarding. No denying that. It taught me new things about myself, and gave me new tools to cope with life’s challenges. But I didn’t pursue this passion, this linguistic avocation, very aggressively. I dropped the ball. Now, I’m trying to pick it up again.

When I was really trying to learn Spanish, first starting out, in 1986, living and working in Mexico City, I remember many times thinking, “wow, this is exhausting!” Learning Spanish, trying to become essentially fluent, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Harder than basic training in the Army. Harder than grad school (although that was, in fact, part of learning Spanish, too, at a much more advanced level). Maybe even harder than that messy fall of 1998, when things fell apart with Michelle and I had to make the difficult decision that existing in the world was worthwhile.

And now, I’m trying again. I will learn Korean. Because if I succeed, it will be such a magical, amazing accomplishment. Unconventional, and, in the greater, grander scheme of things, pointless… yet, for all that, utterly worth doing.

There, I’ve laid my cards on the table. I always feel uncomfortable declaring goals, for fear that when/if I fail to achieve them, I have to then bear the secondary humiliation of everyone knowing that I’ve failed. But… by declaring my goals, I am also giving myself extra motivation, extra impetus.

So, friends… hold me to it. If I stumble, or pause, or fall down, or wander off in frustration or distraction, please gently remind me: “Jared, what about your goal? How are you doing with the Korean?”
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Caveat: Have you ever peed in a soccer ball?

I know that’s a strange title to a blog post, but I couldn’t resist.   I was taking a long walk the other day, and saw Suwon’s “World Cup Stadium” out on the east side of town.   There’s a park around the stadium, and in the park, there are soccer-ball-themed public restrooms.  I just had to make use of the facilities, just to be able to say I’d done it.

Here are pictures – you can see the boy-girl icon on the giant soccer ball, that tells you there are public restrooms inside.
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Here’s a view of the stadium from a pedestrian overpass.
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Below is a picture of the northeast gate of the Suwon city walls – where they’ve punched a hole under the wall for (or reconstructed it over) a major street.

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Caveat: Gazes of Incomprehension

I'm just feeling very frustrated about my progress with Korean.  I feel like no matter what I do, I can't seem to remember essential vocabulary.  And I say the same things, over and over, to clerks in convenience stores or to the manager at the guesthouse, and I'm never understood.

Gazes of incomprehension.

And people say things I should understand, and I just stare, with the thought, I should be understanding this, but I can't.  I dream in Korean, sometimes, but it's always that specific type of Korean that I can't understand at all… it's just dreaming in confusing babble.  So dreaming in a language isn't a guarantee of progress, after all.

At moments like this, my resolve to stay and try to learn this language wavers dangerously, and I think, oh, hell, I'll just go back to the US and do something else.  I feel intimidated by the job search, depressed by my lack of progress in the language, unimpressed with my lack of diligence in the tasks that I set for myself.   I'm feeling too old, insufficiently competent.

OK… so here I am, venting my despondency in this very open forum.  Maybe, it's just springtime blues?   Well… "아자아자!"

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