National Flavor

So, how did I spend Christmas Eve in Korea? By partaking in one of the oldest and dearest Korean traditions: making kimchi. For those that don't know, kimchi (sometimes romanized as gimchi, which is actually closer to how it is pronounced) is the national dish of Korea and is ubiquitous on Korean tables. It is a part of virtually every meal, from breakfast to dinner, usually as one of many side dishes. The Kimchi Field Museum (Seoul) has documented no less than 187 varieties of kimchi, both historically and currently (let's see Heinz try and top that). However, the most common type, and most recognizable to the waygukin eye, is baechu kimchi, which is spicy fermented Chinese cabbage. Historically, the Korean people made kimchi in the winter in order to have vegetables in their diet during those long, cold months in which no fresh vegetables could be grown. The traditional method of burying kimchi in clay pots in the ground is still used by some, but has largely been replaced by the invention of special kimchi refrigerators that keep their contents at the optimum temperature for fermentation. Although virtually all kimchi is now made with hot red chilies and red pepper, chilies weren't introduced to the peninsula until the 17th century by Portuguese traders via Japan. Also, historians believe that baechu wouldn't have been used until the 19th century. Therefore, the modern-day kimchi is actually quite a recent creation.

To get an idea of the place of high esteem that kimchi holds in Korea, just ask a Korean. During one of our weekly interviews at the school about food, many of my students espoused the many virtues of kimchi, which was cited as "the best Korean food" by the majority of my students. They are very proud in their belief that kimchi is recognizable as Korean all around the world. In addition, they believe strongly in the health properties of kimchi. To hear some tell it, one would think that kimchi is a miracle cure-all, fixing everything from the common cold to constipation to SARS and avian influenza. While the latter claims may be exaggerations, it is true that kimchi is a healthy food. Red chilies are rich in vitamins A, B and C, and the curative qualities of garlic and ginger (which also go into the mix) are well-documented. However, there are some who theorize that excessive consumption may lead to stomach cancer, and may explain the relatively high rate of stomach cancer among Koreans (although others believe it may be the glutinous rice that is favored by Koreans that may be to blame).

I had sampled kimchi a few times in my life before arriving in Korea, but now I have truly found a love for it (although my favorite is the mu variety, made from radish, not baechu). I usually buy a quarter-cabbage from the local Cheonsang "Top Mart" on a semi-weekly basis. The Korean cookbook I brought with me from the States has a recipe for baechu kimchi, and I had always been tempted to try my hand at it. Finally, at Jessica's urging, I decided to give a try this weekend. I bought a new food processor at E-Mart, a special clay kimchi pot in Seongnamdong, and rounded up the rest of the necessary ingredients. After letting the cabbage halves soak in salted water all day, I prepared the pepper mixture, spread it between the leaves of cabbage and placed it in the pot out on the balcony to ferment for three days, Last night, it was finally ready. The final verdict: it tastes like kimchi, but it is much, much too salty (somewhere along the line, I added too much salt).














I am going to Seoul tomorrow for the New Year's holiday, so I will not be updating for a few days (not that I update that regularly or frequently anyway). But that brings me to my favorite Korean news article of the past week; sounds like a good idea and easy money for some.

Last but not least, R.I.P. James "Godfather of Soul" Brown, you will be sorely missed.

Dong-ji/Christmas

Friday was a special day at work for two reasons. First of all, December 22nd was the winter solstice, therefore marking the world's movement into a new period of the solar calendar. In Korea, this day is known as Dong-ji and is, I gather, celebrated in different ways by different people. Most of the rites surrounding Dong-ji involve battling evil spirits. Mr. Park's wife prepared the traditional dish of red bean and rice soup for the teachers at Elite (the name of which I've unfortunately forgotten), which is meant to help expel ghosts. I found it interesting that when I mentioned to my students that it was Dong-ji, only about half of them knew what I was talking about. The others had to have it explained to them by their fellow students. It makes me wonder whether the observance of this day will not be as important to the younger generation.

It was also the last day of classes before the Christmas holiday on Monday, and so I baked some Christmas cookies (many thanks to my mother for her recipe) for my best students. The conditions were not ideal for baking cookies (baking in general is more difficult in Korea because the necessary equipment, and ingredients, are hard to find), but I think they turned out well in the end. The younger students spent the day making Christmas cards, and everyone got to have some dag (rice-cake with red bean filling), which was provided by Mr. Park. Not surprisingly, Christmas isn't as big of a holiday here as it is back home. As I understand it, children may get one present from their parents to mark the occasion. For high school and university age students, it is almost like a second Valentine's Day as young couples exchange gifts. The young students seemed very excited about Christmas, but the older ones seemed decidedly non-plussed. They are much more excited about Solnar, the "Chinese" New Year's celebration in February when their relatives give them money. Without further adieu, here are some of my favorite pictures from the day:

'Tis The Season

This week I participated in one of the most common, and supposedly effective, methods of advertising over here; that is, going door to door in apartment complexes and hanging up flyers. I've written about the clutter that greets me on the door to my apartment each evening, which I casually toss on the ground outside. These flyers are meant to inform the citizens of Cheonsang and Beomseo, which is just on the other side of the Taehwagang, about Elite's special offer to prospective students (or, rather, parents of prospective students) during the upcoming winter vacation. Apparently, the longest school vacation in Korea is the two month break in the winter. However, this doesn't mean that the children will cease their studies altogether. To the contrary, they will spend even more time in hagwons of all kinds: English, math, piano, tae-kwon-do, etc. My schedule will be changing dramatically as I will be teaching an extra three hours in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, for which I will be compensated with overtime payments (sweet!). It seems that most of our competition is making similar changes, as just about every day I return from work to see a flyer from one of the many English academies in the area. This week's publicity blitz did mean that I had to get up before I usually do, but at least climbing up and down the stairs (mostly down) gave me some much needed exercise, and I did get two free, delicious lunches out of it. Check out the spread at this seafood restaurant we patronized on Tuesday:

Rachel's Wedding

This morning, Jessica and I attended the wedding of our former work colleague, "Rachel teacher." It was my first experience of a wedding in Korea and gave me an excuse to wear my suit, an opportunity to sample a wide variety of food at the reception buffet, and, of course, watch a friend begin her new life. I get the sense that if one stays here long enough, one ends up going to at least one wedding, if not several. Every foreigner teacher I know has been invited to one of their workmates' weddings. These are far from the traditional Korean weddings of yore, which I am told are day long events that take months of preparations. The more popular option nowadays is to have your wedding in one of the many wedding halls in any given Korean city. A wedding hall is a building of several stories, each floor with several rooms for individual wedding ceremonies and receptions. Rachel's wedding was held in the "Diamond Room" at the Munsu wedding hall, beneath the Munsu Soccer Stadium. Several things struck me as memorable about the ceremony. As the guests were arriving, the bride sat in a room separate from the room where she would be married, posing for photos, while the groom and the families greeted the guests at the door. Here is Jessica posing with Rachel:














The first part of the ceremony involved the mothers of the bride and groom, dressed in the hanbok (as many of the other married female guests were), lighting candles on either side of the altar at the front of the room. Then, the groom entered, walking down the aisle under two crossed swords raised by employees of the wedding hall, who were dressed in what looked like American university marching band outfits. A bubble machine shot bubbles into the air as a fog machine poured fake fog over the stairs in front of the altar. The bride followed, escorted by her father. The man performing the wedding (I'm not sure what his title is, and since I don't think there was anything particularly religious about ceremony it seems wrong to call him a priest) made a statement, presumably whatever the official words are that make a marriage legally binding. All the while, another wedding hall employee was constantly rearranging Rachel's dress so that it looked perfect, to which Rachel paid no attention. The bride and groom exhanged neither vows nor rings, and they did not kiss when the marriage was over (public displays of affection are very rare in Korea). After bowing to each set of parents (groom's first, then bride's), the couple walked hand and hand back down the aisle as streamers were shot over their heads:














Then, it was time for the official wedding photos. First, just the bride and groom, then the entire extended family, then the friends and colleagues, and finally a very staged "throwing of the bouquet." Afterwards, all the assembled headed to the reception hall, named the "Versailles Room," for the buffet. Rachel and her new husband arrived shortly thereafter, having changed out of their wedding outfits, and we gave them our wedding gifts: money in an envelope (nobody actually gives a "real" present). The whole affair took about thirty minutes. I think what was most different about this wedding from weddings I've been to in the States was how impersonal and "cookie cutter" it all seemed. Of course, some of that feeling has to do with the fact that I don't understand Korean (and therefore didn't understand anything that was said during the ceremony) and didn't know any of the guests besides Jessica, our fellow teachers, Mr. Park (the hagwon director) and a few students from Elite that Rachel invited. But besides that, it seemed as if everything was done according to the established program of this particular wedding hall; nothing reflected the personalities of the people involved. In addition, there was another wedding going on next door in the "Ruby Room" simultaneously, and we had to vacate the ceremony room quickly so that the wedding scheduled after Rachel's could begin. Rush 'em in, rush 'em out. In no way do I mean to suggest that it was any less meaningful for the bride and groom or any less beautiful a ceremony than weddings I am more familiar with, but it certainly wasn't my style. At any rate, I wish Rachel the best and thank her for allowing me to be part of her wedding day.

Busan MoMA

One of the biggest gripes I have with Ulsan is the lack of "cultural" outings available in the city, especially the lack of an art museum. When I lived in Prague, I used to love wandering around museums with my friends on the weekends. We got as excited about new exhibits as we did about the latest concert at the Roxy. Before I left the States, one of the customers at my old job told me that I should be sure to check out some of the modern art in Korea, as she had been wowed by what she saw on a trip to Seoul a few years ago. With this in mind, I made my way to "Dynamic Busan," Korea's second largest city, about an hour south of Ulsan, to visit the Busan MoMA (Museum of Modern Art).

The MoMA is currently hosting two exhibitions: "Vision & Perspective" and "at the Groove of Time." The former is a showcase of four young, up-and-coming Korean artists, Lim Jong-kwang, Son Hyun-tae, Kang Tae-hun, and Park Young-sun. Each artist had a room to themselves where they had constructed their installations. To be honest, I was underwhelmed by them. I've seen better art at university student open houses. One was far too cluttered and trying too hard to be symbolic, another was boring and overly self-indulgent, and the third was a time lapse video installation of an apartment complex, which was mildly interesting. The fourth, Son Hyun-tae's, was the best of the group, two incomplete casts of humans constructed out of aluminum wire with a woven vinyl and cloth overlay. The wire frame bursts away from the figures in waves and literally spills out of the room, giving sense of fluidity of form.

"at the Groove of Time," on the other hand, was everything I had hoped for. The stated purpose of the exhibit is to explore the relationship between time, space, and human experience, especially memory. In particular, the work of the featured artists focuses on how one experiences time in a foreign space, the often painful adjustment one must make to the new space, the immediacy of experience during that adjustment and the insights that one gains about the passage of time. I couldn't have been in a better state of mind to deal with these objectives. The works of five Korean artists were featured: Han Soon-ja, An Zong-de, Kim Sung-soo, Jeon Kang-ok, and Han Myeong-ok. Han Soon-ja's work explores the distinction and interchangeablity of objects in different places, thus bringing attention to the distinctiveness and continuity of space. The piece I liked best was "Rounds Moving," a painting of a large, bright orange circle on a square, blue canvas with several smaller orange circles or differing sizes and shades arranged inside the circle. The color contrasts create the illusion that the small circles are moving, even though they are stationary. An Zong-de's medium is time itself. He takes objects that change noticably when exposed to the elements, arranges them a certain way, and leaves them be until time has transformed their colors/shapes/physical make-ups. For example, several of his pieces were large pieces of cloth on which he had placed small nails and aluminum hairpins. As the metal objects rusted, they stained the cloth, thereby creating a pattern on the makeshift canvas. Kim Sung-soo's paintings are meant to make the viewer question his or her own memory. Each painting is of the same face with the same melancholic expression, but none of the features of the faces indicate qualities like age or gender that would allow the viewer to "know" the subject. Yet, his intention is that the face be recognizable enough that the viewer is sure that he or she has seen it before somewhere, but that their memories are failing them. Jeon Kang-ok's works deal with gravity. He uses his understanding of how gravity works to hold objects in seemingly impossible positions. His intention is to make the viewer aware of how accustomed we are to gravity's pull and to question our viewpoints of the world from the standpoint of how we experience gravity. Several pieces were open, wooden cubes with transparent fishing line strung between the edges and rocks suspended on the webs of line. From afar, it looks as if the rocks are floating in space. My favorite piece was "Suspended Cubes, Suspended Time II," three stacks of wooden cubes jutting out perpendicular to the wall, held in place by heavy iron weights suspended by wires above the stacks. Finally, Han Myeong-ok's work comments on everyday objects and the transference of space to time. I enjoyed her exhibit the least, mostly because I couldn't understand how her pieces were supposed to accomplish her stated objectives. However, she did have my favorite piece in the whole exhibit, entitled "Sound": two parallel lines of rocks of differing sizes and shapes linked together by unwound casette tapes.

A pleasant surprise was that the entrance fee had been waived, so my visit was free. I definetely plan on going back in January when two new exhibits open, and for any art-lovers who live in or around Busan, I recommend checking it out if you haven't already. There wasn't any photography allowed in the exhibit spaces, so here are some pictures of a few of the sculptures outside the entrance to the museum:

La Haine

Every week at Elite, we foreign teachers conduct one-on-one interviews with our students as part of their curriculum. Apparently, this isn't standard in every hagwon, and that's too bad because I think it's the part of the job that I enjoy the most. There are always two questions provided by the high mucky-mucks at Elite on our website, which Jessica and I then amplify to fit our purposes. Sometimes, the students' responses can be really amusing, and sometimes it can be a forum for students who are too shy to talk in class to make use of their English skills. For me, it's the closest I get to doing ethnography nowadays. Whereas I like it when there are a myriad of different responses, I think it is even more interesting when there is a definite congruence in their answers. Case in point: this week's questions about "good" and "bad" countries. There was certainly no surprise in which countries were the students' favorites. Korea was far and away the most cited; other favorites included the Netherlands (because their national team plays soccer well), Switerzland (because of their neutrality), and the United States (because it is a strong and rich country and because hamburgers taste good). There was also an overwhelmingly lopsided vote for the "most hated" country: Japan (other nations of ill-repute included Switerzland because of the 2006 World Cup loss, "Africa" because it's too hot, the United States because of it's arrogance and provocation of terrorists, and North Korea because of the war and the bomb). The fact that Japan was the "most hated" country among my students isn't all that surprising. Tension with and outright hatred against the neighbor to the East runs deep here, going back to the days of the extremely violent colonial occupation of the Korean peninsula (1910-1945). The Japanese regime has done little to relieve tensions as of late, as it refuses to grant reparations to Korean "comfort women" from the occupation era, not to mention the former Prime Minister Koizumi's insistence on making an annual pilgrimage to the Yasukuni Shrine that honors, among others, war criminals who are directly responsible for the misery of many Koreans. However, what I found most intriguing was that in addition to the usual grievances levied against Japan, the contemporarily contentious issue of Dok-do was mentioned by most of the Japan-haters. Dok-do is one of countless territorial disputes that exists in the world today. Basically, it is an island in the East Sea that has been under Korean control since at least 1954 but is also claimed by Japan. Although there hasn't been any outright conflict regarding the issue of Dok-do's sovereignty recently, Japan is largely seen here as raising tensions by conducting a survey of the continental shelf near Dok-do this summer. What interests me, however, is that my students were aware of the dispute. These are children who couldn't tell you were most Asian countries are on a map (let alone the rest of the globe), and yet they know where Dok-do is and have intractable positions supporting Korea's claim. It makes me wonder whether it is in school or at home that they learn about Dok-do. Of course, I doubt any American child their age could name our disputed territorial posessions around the world, or even begin to comment on the question of sovereignty regarding our indigenous populations. At any rate, this week of work offered a glimpse into the burgeoning political attitudes of Korea's youth (or at least those who live in Cheonsang and go to my academy).

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Here are a couple of photos of the Christmas display outside of Lotte Department Store in Samsandong: a nativity scene and a giant glowing tree of lights. I'm actually not feeling the Christmas spirit much yet. In fact I keep forgetting that it's right around the corner!

Ego Boosters

In my experience thus far, being a (white*) foreigner in Korea frequently seems to invite compliments about one's appearance. One of the first things my director said to me when I got off the plane was, "Oh, you are so handsome." Since then, I have been called "handsome" by Koreans, men and women alike, more times than I can count (and just to clarify things, it's not like I'll be winning any beauty contests anytime soon). Often, I think that they say this because they simply want to compliment me in some way and not because I measure up to any standard of beauty that exists here. I know that the Korean language is structured in such a way that the speaker must humble him or herself and exalt their conversation partner, and I feel like these compliments play into that social schema somehow. If that is the case, then I imagine I am either supposed to reciprocate or engage in some sort of self-denigration, but usually I just blush. At any rate, it can be quite an ego booster sometimes. Case in point: my trip to the Cheonsang Lotteria yesterday. As soon as I stepped up to the counter to place my order, one of the girls working that shift exclaimed in broken English, "Oooh! You so handsome! Just my style." Later, as I was eating my burger and fries, she brought over a handwritten note, saying "Hey handsome guy, I write this for you." It reads: "Hi~ You handsome guy! You very good. You best. Oh~ ^^ I'm happy! (drawn smiley face) P.S. You smile very good." I chuckled and said thank you. Sadly, I'm not at all interested in her, but it's the thought that counts, right?

(*I say "white foreigner" because I'm not sure if this is the case for non-white wayguks. I have a sneaking suspicion that racial prejudice runs deep in some people here and I wonder how accepting they are of non-whites, especially the ones who even give white foreigners a hard time. I have been told that it is more difficult for non-whites to get teaching jobs here. I've been meaning to do a post on the issue of white privilege in EFL jobs and perhaps I will sometime; it seems to me to be an important and extremely problematic part of this experience and one that I would like to explore further.)

Changing Faces

The upcoming weeks will be bringing some significant changes to Elite in Cheonsang as (possibly) two of our Korean teachers will be departing, to be replaced by a couple of young Ulsanites. With the earlier departures of another Korean teacher on Halloween Day and the two Canadians that Jessica and I replaced over the summer, all of Elite's teachers will have changed within a period of five months. I wonder what these changes must be like for the students. The faces of most hagwons are always fluid as wayguk contracts last between six months and one year, and it seems that only a few foreigners renew those contracts. And I'm sure that Korean teachers also cycle through the system. It makes the whole experience very unstable, and helps explain why the students don't seem to immediately bend to the authority of their instructors (respect is a hard-won honor, as I've finally discovered). To add to the confusion this month, the make-up of three of my classes changed last week as students were sorted into different classes based on their abilities (and presumably their test scores). While it is nice to have classes that are closer together in their comprehension of English, it just so happens that essentially one of my most problematic classes was split into three and has now spread its "cancer" to two of my classes that were previously well-behaved and fun to teach. Of course, I am never made aware of these changes until the last possible moment; I only learned of one of the Korean teacher's plans until she gave me an invitation to her wedding (which is next weekend). Hopefully, everything will sort itself out in the new year.

At any rate, such major changes dictated that the entire Elite staff go out for brunch this morning (which I wasn't made aware of until yesterday afternoon; the attitude toward foreign teachers seems to be an assumption that you don't have a life of your own so if you're not at work, you are therefore available at a moment's notice for anything the director decides). It's a bit of a tradition at ours as well most hagwons that everyone goes out for a meal when a new teacher arrives or an old teacher leaves, but so far it has only been dinners at Korean barbeque joints and a king crab restaurant, which have been lovely, don't get me wrong. But this was an entirely unique experience, and well worth it. After a long van ride from literally one end of Ulsan to the other, and halfway to Busan, we ended up at a small vegetarian restaurant near a Buddhist temple, hidden away in the hills. We were seated in our own "hut" with a heated floor, as are all of the individual dining parties at this particular place. The food was brought in from the main building, which contained the kitchen, and it just kept on coming, course after course. I always wonder must it be like to work as a dishwasher in one of these places since every meal uses so many dishes. The food was divine, and some dishes were completely different from anything I've had thus far in Korea.

I neglected to bring my camera along, so to check out a couple of photos that Jessica took follow these links.

Movie Night

As I have mentioned before, in the haircut post, one of the best ways of assessing your new home is by doing things you liked to do back "home." Today, I finally went out to the movies for the first time since I've been in Korea. The experience wasn't all that strange, but there was enough local flavor to make it worth posting about.

I decided to go to the Lotte Cinemaplex in Samsandong to see Martin Scorsese's latest picture, "The Departed." This particular theater is attached to the ultra-chic Lotte Department Store, and thus I thought it would be a very nice theater, which turned out to be partially true. In order to purchase a ticket, one takes the escalator to the third floor and takes a number from an "automatic queueing" machine, like the ones at DMVs in the States. When the number on the ticket appears on the digital display above one of the ticket counters, one can make a purchase. This wasn't particularly strange for me (in fact, I thought it was a good method of controlling the flow of customers), but the fact that there were only eight counters and they were numbered one through fourteen, with several numbers omitted, obviously, was very strange. Stranger still was the fact that there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to which numbers were left out. At any rate, I made my request and learned that the next show was already sold out and so I would have to buy a ticket for the later screening. I then got to pick my seat from a computer display. Seating is assigned in Korean cinemas, which makes the American practice of arriving early in order to get a good seat entirely obsolete.

After sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and reading a book for three hours, it was time for the movie and so I headed back over to Lotte. I ascended what I assumed was the stairway to the screens themselves, but soon realized that I had ended up in an empty hallway. Two cinema employees approached me as if I was doing something very taboo and kindly informed me that I was in the wrong place (the inexplicable deference that Koreans seem to show to clueless foreigners is a subject for another post). Thus, I descended and waited for the correct entryway to open, as it was cordoned off by one of those nylon gates that one finds in airports and banks. It finally opened about ten minutes before the movie was set to begin and my fellow viewers made their way into the cinema, seeking out their assigned seats. In a way, it makes finding a seat that much easier since one literally has only one option. The seats were padded and much more comfortable than I have come to expect from American cinemas (with the notable exception of "Reel Pizza" in my hometown, which is outfitted with plush couches and Lay-Z-Boys). It reminded me of the theater in Charlottetown, P.E.I. where I saw "The Thomas Crown Affair" remake, which is still the most comfortable theater I've ever been in. I was one of three foreigners in the theater and I got the sense that many of the amusing parts of the movie were lost in the subtitle translation as I seemed to be the only one laughing at certain points. When the movie ended, everyone exited out of a different door than the one we had entered and climbed down the stairs I had mistakenly taken earlier.

By the way, I enjoyed the movie; if a super-violent, obscenity riddled tale about the Irish in Boston is your cup of tea, then I recommend it. And for anyone in Korea who is interested, "Casino Royale," the new James Bond flick, opens on the 21st, so I know what I'll be doing on Christmas weekend.