Special places, Vol. 2

Life is old there
Older than the trees
Younger than the mountains
Growin’ like a breeze

Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, mountain mama
Take me home, country roads”

– John Denver, Take Me Home, Country Roads

Time for the second version of songs that take me to special places. OK, OK, this one is shorter, but just as heartfelt — to wit:

Take Me Home, Country Roads — John Denver. I can’t explain it — something about this song just moves me — and puts me at ease at the same time. Interestingly, this one has been played several times on buses between cities in Korea. It’s almost like the bus drivers know what I want to hear. It probably doesn’t hurt that many roads here feel like country roads — which feel like they’re taking me home.

Long Black Veil — Rosanne Cash/Johnny Cash/The Band/Lefty Frizell/Gillian Welch/Dave Matthews & Emmylou Harris/etc.: Truly a classic — and one of my all-time favorites. Many have done it; some well, some not. Love to hear it — anytime.

Stay With You — John Legend: A recent addition, but if I had it on CD, it already would have a groove burnt into it. Instead, I’ve played it a zillion times and used it in a lesson plan with “my girls” to introduce them to R&B music. There are bigger mistakes I could make, no?

Now, off to China for a few days.

Take care, my lovelies. I miss you all — more than you know.

© 2011

You can call me…

These days, I have a few more names.

“Mr. Boston.” As those of you who know me know, I don’t actually come from Boston, but a lot of Koreans have, shall we say, pronunciation issues with the word “Massachusetts,” so saying that I’m from Boston makes things a little easier. Actually, the only person who calls me by this name is the guy at Tous Les Jours (a local bakery store) who, as it turns out, lives in the same building I do. Who knew?

“Stee-buh.” (This is how many Koreans pronounce “Steve.” There’s no “v” sound in the Korean alphabet, so the next best thing is the “b” sound. I don’t take it personally. This is also how some of the foreigners in my town say my name, even though they know better.)

“Older brother.” There’s a guy I see almost everyday on my way home who sells fruit and vegetables. The first couple of months I was here, whenever I saw him, he’d always stop whatever he was doing, give me the full bow, and yell, “Annyeonghaseyo!” I always returned his greeting. Then, one day, I introduced myself, he introduced himself, and we got to talking.

It turns out that he attended a university in Seoul, but never graduated. He went into the military, but didn’t complete his service. So, now he’s back in his hometown, doing what he can to help out his parents and siblings. When he found out that I’m about 12 years older than he is, he was very amused. “You are my older brother,” he said. I had to laugh. Then I told him, “You are my younger brother.” He seemed to like that. So, now, whenever we see each other, this is how we greet each other:

Deep bow.

“Older brother!”

“Younger brother!”

“You look very handsome!”

“Thank you. You look very healthy!”

“Thank you. See you later!”

“See you later!”

Have I not mentioned that life in Korea is dynamic?

© 2011

Spuds of joy

It really is the simple things sometimes.

At first, you’re not even thinking about them.

Then, suddenly, they pop you in the noggin like a comebacker off Big Papi’s bat. (If you don’t know who Big Papi is, I forgive you. But do yourself a favor and look him up. I’ll wait.)

Well, maybe not that hard — but they do catch your attention.

Like, for instance, when you realize it’s been ages since you’ve had potato salad.

Any potato salad.

On a day that just happens to be the Fourth of July. In Korea — where, you know, American holidays aren’t celebrated — because, well, they’re American holidays.

But that’s OK.

Because sometimes you get a little reminder — when you’re not expecting it.

Like when one of the teachers brings in a slew of potatoes that she grew in her own garden.

They’d all been boiled (I’m guessing in the school cafeteria, but I don’t know for sure), and that’s how everyone was eating them. (It’s funny — it’s literally like we were all playing a game of “hot potato.”) They were a little too hot to handle, but everyone was chowing down anyway.

So, after about 10 of them or so, I’d had my fill and sat down at my desk.

Of course, a few minutes later, another teacher brought me a bagful of yet more potatoes — and indicated that I should bring them home with me in my backpack. At that moment, the last thing I wanted was more potatoes. But I know how useless it is here to refuse offers of food, so I relented.

Later, I was very happy I did.

Say, about 6 p.m. or so, out of nowhere, it hit me like a ton of bricks: I have potatoes. I have eggs. I have mayonnaise. Bloody hell, I have almost everything I need for potato salad! By God, that’s what I’m having for dinner tonight!

So, it was off to Home Mart for some celery and celery seeds (which they had) and a few other ingredients. They didn’t have everything, but that’s OK. I made do with what I had — then, by gum (to quote an old friend of mine), I made myself some potato salad — and polished it off in four bowls, mind you. (I had a little wine with it, but you didn’t hear that from me.)

After that, I was, as they say, a very happy camper.

Anyway, I’ll be hitting up Ms. Cho for more potatoes in the morning. With any luck, she’ll have some.

Like I said, it really is the simple things sometimes.

Happy 235th, America!

© 2011

Punch drunk

Tonight, I watched the film “The Hurt Locker” for the first time.

Yeah, I know, it came out a couple of years ago in the States, but that’s right about the time I left. Plus, I’m a little (OK, a lot) behind the curve when it comes to pop culture.

Anyway, one scene in particular brought back some memories.

No, I never saw any combat.

But being the drunk, knuckle-headed Marine I was at the time (almost 30 years ago), I participated in the “you punch me, I’ll punch you” ritual shown in the film. To make a long story short, I was the puncher — and the punchee.

As I recall, no real harm was done, so no fouls were handed out.

On another occasion, I remember being the victim of a sleeper hold administered by a guy from the force recon unit (the Marine version of the Navy SEALs.) The scary part was that I never saw him coming. One minute, I’m standing in a parking lot shooting the breeze with my buddies; the next, I wake up on the pavement with a bunch of faces looking down and laughing at me.

As you might imagine, ever since then I’ve been hypersensitive about my surroundings. It’s amazing what memories a movie can evoke sometimes, no?

© 2011

Hail to the bus driver, man

Today’s topic is buses, given that I spend so much time on them here in Korea.First, some observations:All the buses have clocks — usually more than one. Sometimes they might arrive a couple of minutes late, but they always depart on time — except, of course, when the bus driver is chatting up a foreigner passenger (see below.)The bus drivers are always men.

Most of them smoke, although they take care to do so outside the bus.

Some of them take your ticket when you get on the bus, others take your ticket as you get off the bus. I have no idea how this determination is made.

Most of them wear dress shirts, and some wear ties. Some of them also personalize their space, with bobbleheads, flashy curtains, family pictures, etc.

Some of them wear driving gloves. I don’t know whether that’s related to the fact that most of them drive fast, use their horns often and pass whenever and wherever they feel like it — regardless of whether it’s safe to do so.

Anyway, onto my bus driver tale.

So, a few weeks ago I’d gone to Daegu to do a little shopping and have some lunch. Later, I came back to the bus terminal, bought my ticket and waited to get on the bus. A few minutes later, I hopped aboard, said hello to the guys in the first couple of rows and took a seat.

Self-portrait of the bus driver

Then, one of the guys motioned for me to move closer to him, so I did. As it turns out, he was the bus driver. He was sitting next to a Buddhist monk. (I know, I know, it sounds like a joke: A monk, a bus driver and a Marine walk into a bar — and all sorts of hilarity ensued. Sorry, that’s another story.)

At first, the only words the bus driver kept saying were, “Obama! King house! Washington!” I figured he was talking about the White House, so I whipped out my iPod and showed him a picture of a U.S. map and pointed to Washington, D.C., at which point he cried, “Yes!”

Clearly, he was very excited about President Obama (as folks outside the States always seem to be.) But then he did something that many Americans likely couldn’t do: he correctly named the presidents in reverse order all the way back to Kennedy. (I was impressed. Each one also got either a thumbs up or thumbs down. Again, I was impressed.)

The conversation eventually turned to me:

Yecheon. You. Why? (Why was I going to Yecheon?) A common question to which I always answer, “Um, because I live there.”

You. English teacher? Where? (Are you an English teacher in Yecheon?) “Yes. At Yecheon Girls’ High School.” (This usually provokes a wink-wink, nudge-nudge response. I always try to tell them, “It’s not like that,” but I don’t know how well that comes across in translation.)

Then, using a mixture of a few Korean and English words, hand gestures and photos (on his phone and my iPod), we exchanged a little information about ourselves. I learned that he has one son who attends a university in Seoul and majors in English, he loves to take pictures of nature, particularly flowers, and what part of Yecheon he lives in. I was able to tell him what part of town I live in. He was quite surprised to see the size of my family, as are most folks.

Anyway, we were supposed to depart at 3:40 p.m. With about a minute to go, he suddenly broke off our “conversation,” ran to the front of the bus and resumed his role as bus driver — right on time.

© 2011

She blinded me with science

I love Mary Roach.

Who is she, you ask?

Only America’s funniest author of books about scientific topics — such as cadavers in “Stiff,” the afterlife in “Spook,” sex in “Bonk,” and, in her latest book, space, in “Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void.”

I’ve read them all. Each one is laugh-out-loud funny and takes you places you’ve never been — or never thought you’d go.

It’s even funnier when she hits on topics that are relevant to your life, to wit: “Cabbage resurfaced in the form of kimchi — fermented spiced cabbage — on board the International Space Station when Korea’s first astronaut visited. Space kimchi developer Lee Ju-woon works at the Korean Atomic Energy Research Institute, where scientists are developing ways to harness energy from intestinal kimchi fission. No, they aren’t. But they should be.”

That graf — and plenty of others — gave me quite the laughing fit. I can only imagine the conversation that took place above (or below) me:

“What is that waeguk (foreigner) laughing about now?”

“I don’t know, but I wish he’d shut up! Oh, more soju, please!”

“Here you go. One shot! One shot! One shot!” (Rinse and repeat.)

Anyway, here’s what that waeguk was thinking: Forget intestinal kimchi fission! Space kimchi developer? How’s that for a job title? Imagine that first conversation:

“Hi, there. So, what do you do?”

“I’m a space kimchi developer.”

“Say what?”

“I develop kimchi — for space!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“So, how is space kimchi different from Earth kimchi?”

“Well, in tube form, it’s a little less … — Oh, I’m sorry; that’s classified information. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Bloody hell…”

© 2010

Then came winter

So, today was somewhat of a snow day.

I say “somewhat” because I’ve never seen a 2-inch snowfall throw folks into such a tizzy — not even in California.

Here’s what happened:

I woke up to about an inch on the ground, which caught me by surprise. I thought, “Well, I guess I’ll be wearing my winter shoes today, but that’s OK, because that’s what they’re for. Besides, they’ll keep my feet dry and toasty. Sweet!”

Fast-forward to about 1 p.m. The snow started falling again, heavily, with huge flakes, and kept doing so for about an hour. There wasn’t much accumulation (at least, I didn’t think so), but the teachers who had to drive home started getting a bit (OK, a lot) antsy. To be fair, I wouldn’t have wanted to drive home in that mess, either — especially when I haven’t seen anything yet that even resembles a snowplow.

So, the principal decided to let the commuter teachers go home early (about 2 p.m.) Those of us who live in Yecheon had to stay until about 4, (my day usually ends at 5.) I had no problem with that.

I gave my afternoon class some free study time, which they promptly used to build a snowman. A few minutes later, I started a snowball fight with some of them. Time well spent, I’d say. (I’m going to guess none of them would take a shot at any of the Korean teachers, but they didn’t hesitate to fire away at me.)

Hmm, maybe they did learn something after all.

© 2010

Christmas in Korea

I wasn’t sure what to expect for my first Christmas in Korea, but this is what I got:

A sumptuous duck meal for lunch. I thought I’d have to take a bus from my town, Yecheon, to a nearby town, Yongmun. As it turns out, the restaurant provided a van to take our party of eight to their fine eating establishment. We walked in, took off our coats and sat down to a meal that was waiting for us. (That’s what I call customer service.)

After lunch, the van brought us back to a small coffee shop in Yecheon, where we waited for a couple more folks who were coming down from Seoul.

Next, we were off to the grocery store (Home Mart) to pick up some supplies for dinner, which turn out to be some garlic-and-cheese mashed potatoes, chicken, broccoli, carrots, mushrooms, some type of squash and stuffing (courtesy of someone’s relatives back in the States.)

For dessert, there was chocolate pudding topped with strawberries — and Kahlua with creme (a nice touch, thanks to the folks who came from Seoul with booze that you just can’t find in my little slice of nowhere.)

What else was there? Movies, a lot of conversation, folks taking Skype breaks to call back home (wherever that was) and a heaping helping of camaraderie. We didn’t have a tree or any presents, but that was OK.

A good time was had by all. Merry Christmas!

© 2010

Time change

Today, I’m going to talk about time.

Nope, not daylight-saving time, or the recent end thereof back in the States.

I’m talking about another phenomenon, something I like to call Korean People Time (KPT), which runs about 15 to 30 minutes behind, well, me.

What do I mean? Well, I’ve learned that if I want to meet someone at 6, I tell them to be there at 5:45 — otherwise I’ll be standing around waiting for at least 15 minutes. (Lest you think I’m being sexist, I’ve applied this rule of thumb equally to men and women. It’s worked wonders.)

Usually, this isn’t a big problem, except when it is — like, say, when public transportation connections are involved.

Need an example, my lovelies? Well, here’s one: A couple of weekends ago, I went on an out-of-town field trip with a co-worker and about 150 other folks. The meeting place was about 90 minutes away from where I live. The first part went off without a hitch. I caught a bus to the other city (Daegu), then hopped in a taxi and used a combination of my broken Korean and a written address (also in Korean) to get me where I needed to go. So far, so good.

Then, for most of that day and the next, I spent a good portion of time riding around in buses to various cultural destinations at which we were given little time to explore before we had to hop back on the bus. (I’m not a big fan of tours for precisely this reason, but that’s another story.) At each stop, I realized we were falling further and further behind the schedule we were given at the beginning of the trip (usually by about 15 to 30 minutes.) At some point, I started thinking, “There’s no way we’re going to get back to Daegu in time for some of us to make our connections home.”

I hate it when I’m right. We were supposed to roll back into Daegu by 6 p.m., which would have been plenty of time for most folks to make their next connections. However, we didn’t arrive until 7:30 p.m., which left a lot of folks scrambling to get home. Some of us, like me, missed the last trains to our hometown (strike 1) — and the next closest town (strike 2). So, I (just barely) caught a bus to another town, hoping to make it there in time to get the last bus from that town to my town.

Close, but no cigar (strike 3.) I missed the last bus to Yecheon by about a minute, which left me in Andong with about ₩30,000 in cash, no way to get more cash (the ATMs close at 10 p.m.), nowhere to stay for the night and a sinking feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with food.

So, I went to my backup plan of backup plans. I hopped in a taxi, and remembering some instructions I’d been given several months ago, told him to take me to a certain intersection in Yecheon, which was about 30 minutes away. To give you some idea of how fast we were going, he made the trip in 15 minutes, without any prodding from me. (Curiously, I remember how to tell taxi drivers how to go faster in Japanese, but I’ve never learned that phrase in Korean.)

Anyway, he got me there — and in one piece. I had exactly ₩32,000 in cash on me. The fare for the trip came to ₩31,500. I think the cab driver gave me the KPT discount — he probably could tell that I needed it.

I thanked him profusely, then walked the rest of the way home.

© 2010

Makgeolli in the morning

I know I’m in Korea, but it feels like I’m in Germany again. (Well, minus the bratwurst and weisbier, that is.)

How so?

Well, let me set the scene.

It’s 9 a.m. on Thursday.

I walk in the door to the teachers’ room, say hello to everyone I see, make my way to my desk, take off my backpack and attempt to sit down.

I say “attempt” because I never made it to my chair.

You see, before I could sit down, about a half-dozen teachers screamed for me to come join them in the center of the room for “breakfast,” which consisted of pancakes made of kimchi (I never would have guessed that was an ingredient), mushrooms and some type of shellfish (I’m still not sure what kind it was, but I didn’t get sick, so it was OK.)

This type of thing usually doesn’t happen unless there’s a special occasion (someone’s birthday, someone’s son/daughter got married, etc.), and I was wondering what was up (I do a lot of that.) So, I asked one of the teachers who speaks English why we appeared to be celebrating. She said the Japanese teacher woke up that morning and felt like doing “something special,” and this was what she decided to do.

“Go, Japanese teacher,” was all I could think. (Yes, I do actually know her name, but I’m trying to not get anyone fired here.)

As good as the pancakes were, the topper was the makgeolli — a type of rice wine — that they broke out to drink with them.

My first thought: “Y’all know it’s 9 in the morning, right? And we’re in the school (where this type of thing is illegal?)

My second thought: When in Rome, do as the Romans do…

So, we did as the Romans (Koreans?) do.

Fast-forward to Friday morning.

Same time, same entrance — this time, I was asked to have a bowl of soup (that was made of tofu, some type of cabbage and other vegetables) and to wash it down with — you guessed it — more makgeolli.

Again, I wondered what we were celebrating — so I asked.

This time, the response cracked me up. “Vice principal isn’t here today.” (As it turns out, he’d accompanied the second-graders on a field trip to Japan.)

“OK,” I thought, then said to another English teacher, “You folks really don’t need much of a reason to have a drink, do you?”

“No,” he said.

“Didn’t think so,” I replied, holding out my cup for a refill.

© 2010