The First Month in Daejeon: Long Hours and a Dusty Respiratory System

Hello again! I know, I know, it’s been a long layover between posts. Believe me, when I look back and see that my last post was about Mount Bomunsan, it seems like I haven’t updated in years. But hey, I’ve been busy. To a point. This week, I kept telling myself, “Now Jake, if you’re going putz around during your off hours, you could at least do something productive, like working on your blog.” You know what I did instead? I read the news. I’ve read so much news this week that the politics of health care reform is actually starting to dribble out my ears because my brain is too full. It’s really pretty disgusting. But I must say, I’m happy to see someone in power in my home country finally growing a pair and making something happen. Thanks, Pelosi.
Anyway, on to the real topic at hand: where the hell have I been for the past two weeks? The short answer: training. I told you in my last post that all EPIK teachers in Daejeon were going to have to undergo a mandatory orientation AFTER the mandatory orientation that took place in Seongnam City back in February. For me, this involves an hour-long commute, followed by an hour and a half or so of sometimes helpful information and teaching practice, followed by the commute back home. This is why I haven’t been having much in the way of adventures: I’ve simply been too tired. Even after Korean lessons last Saturday (and a dinner where I ate a little too much extra-spicy Chinese soup and felt the consequences for a couple hours) I barely had the energy to try to make friends. Poor little old me, too sleepy to drink beer and have a good time. Just kidding, I’m never to tired for that.
I also promised a long time ago to keep you updated on the English Drama Club that Seonmi and I are running. I’m happy to report that it’s a total blast, and generally the most fun I have each week. Getting Korean middle schoolers to roar like lions, much less stop punching each other for more than thirty seconds, is a tough trick, but it’s tons of fun. I’m happy to report that the script for our competition performance is completed and will be posted up here very quickly for your (constructive) feedback and endless praise. I was told to find a script, but the best I could find frankly sucked ass, so I decided to write one myself. It’s based on Shakespeare. I do love me some Bard.

Anyways, this post’s creative nonfiction might get a little more fiction-y than non-y, mostly because it’s about a rather surreal experience. Last Saturday the worst “yellow dust storm” on record hit Korea and, as far as I can tell, gave us a preview of what the apocalypse will look like. Even today, walking to school, I spotted some cars that were caked in the stuff. Yellow dust is a result of massive deforestation and industrialization in China, and blows in across the Yellow Sea (hmm… I wonder if there’s a connection there…) and bathes Korea and often Japan in a sickening yellow light. So I decided to try to convey the experience in this installment of EMA.                                        

  (picture from Google Image search)

This week’s wee story is called:

***

IS IT JUST ME OR IS IT YELLOW OUT HERE?

Nobody bothered to tell me about the dust storms before I came here. Maybe nobody thought it was important, or maybe people thought that my impression of the country would be tarnished if I knew about them. It’s not. I’m really not bothered by it anymore, but I definitely was the first time it happened. I was walking back from school on a Saturday morning, being, I’m fairly certain, the only Westerner in Daejeon to go to work at a public school on that particular Saturday. It was fairly sunny out, but the wind was whipping mightily down from the mountains. It seemed like a pre-rain wind, and I’d forgotten my umbrella, so I was hurrying home. Suddenly it got dark. Not just rain dark, not even thunderstorm dark. No, this was more like the alien-ship-entering-the-atmosphere-in-Independence-Day dark. A supernatural dark.

Great, I thought to myself. I don’t even get to explore Korea for a whole month before the Apocalypse hits.

With the wind pushing and pulling me every which way, I picked up my pace, thinking that maybe if I got to my apartment before the Four Horsemen rode down from the sky that they might miss me and pass by. As I half-jogged down a side street lined with fruit vendors, often bustling on a Saturday but now all but deserted, I began to notice that everything seemed to have changed color. Even the haze that seems to perpetually shroud the furthest-off mountains had become a dirty yellow; for some reason my mind rested on radiation from a nuclear fallout and I wondered for a second if Kim Jong-il had finally pushed the button he’s been bragging about for so long.

“It’s yellow dust. It comes from China,” a friend of mine explained later in the day, when I asked why it had suddenly turned yellow outside. “It’s from all the industry and deforestation over there, and it gets carried across the sea.” And so we reap the benefits of China’s staggering march of industry whenever it gets too windy outside. Awesome.

As I neared my home, I heard thunder. I had known that rain was on the way that Saturday, but nobody had said anything about yellow dust choking out the sun immediately beforehand. Later I thought about weather graphics, the smiling suns wearing sunglasses, the angry-face clouds, and tried to imagine one for a pollution-dust storm. It would probably have fangs. Or tentacles, or horns. Or all three.

As I reached the door to my apartment I had just started to feel the effects of the stuff in my throat. That feeling would linger the rest of the weekend, as would a slight yellow haze in the air. I thought to myself, I will never, ever, ever complain about any kind of precipitation again.

Yeah, the stuff was gross, and more than a little scary, but at least it wasn’t the end of the world. This time.

***

Anyways, that’s all I have for now. I’ll be posting the script for my drama students, a madcap fifteen-minute romp through the basic plot structure of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, directly below. And for your enjoyment, some pictures of my apartment and classroom! And also a bathroom in a park!

            The bed.                            The kitchen/entryway.

 

     The classroom, from the back.

The classroom, from where I stand and teach. 

Translation: don’t poop in the wall urinal, poop in the floor urinal.

One Midsummer Night

What follows is the first draft of the short play I was forced to whip out for English Drama Club due to a lack of anything at the ESL level that could be considered interesting that I could find online. It is based, obviously, on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and is designed to be easy to read and very high-energy. A few small liberties were taken with some details just to make everything go faster. Enjoy!

Characters

Narrator/Puck: A mischievous spirit who controls the action

Theseus & Hippolyta: Duke of Athens & his fiancé

Egeus: Father to Hermia

Lysander: In love with Hermia

Demetrius: In love with Hermia, engaged to Hermia

Bottom & the Mechanicals: A foolish weaver with dreams of glory and his companions

Hippolyta: Betrothed to Theseus

Hermia: Daughter of Egeus, in love with Lysander but engaged to Demetrius

Helena: In love with Demetrius

Oberon & Titania & the Faeries: King & Queen & their subjects in the realm of Faerie

ONE MIDSUMMER NIGHT

(The stage is bare, except for perhaps a tree. We are deep in the forest, where the faeries live. Music plays, and they all enter, singing and dancing. Leading the song is Puck, the most mischievous of all the creatures in the forest and the henchman of the Faerie King, Oberon. When Puck tells his story, the faeries put on costume pieces and play the parts.)

All Faeries Sing:

Over hill, over dale,
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over pale,
Through flood, through fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green –

Puck: QUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

(All the faeries immediately freeze and the music stops.)

Puck: We are not alone! We are being watched!

(All the faeries slowly turn to look at the audience. Puck approaches the edge of the stage.)

Puck: (to the audience) Well, what do you want? (There is silence.) Do you want to hear a story? (Again, the audience is silent.) Well, do you? Do you want a story or not? (To the faeries) Do you want to hear a story?

All Faeries:

Yes! Yes! Tell us a story, Robin! We want a story! Please, please!

Puck: A story then! I will tell you my favorite story! It is a story about the stupidity of humans! The stupidity of love! And the cleverness of me, Robin Goodfellow! (All the faeries cheer.) It begins one midsummer night in the city of Athens, not far from here, where Egeus has a complaint for Duke Theseus…

(Six faeries rise and become Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, Hermia, Demetrius, and Lysander.)

Egeus: Theseus, my daughter Hermia is supposed to marry Demetrius. But Lysander has put a love spell on her! She won’t listen to me!

Theseus: Hermia, listen to your father.

Hermia: I don’t want to!

Theseus: I’m too busy getting ready for my own wedding to deal with this. We’ll just have Lysander put to death.

Hermia: Lysander, run!

(Hermia and Lysander flee.)

Demetrius: Wait! Hermia, I love you!

(Demetrius runs after Hermia and Lysander.)

Theseus: Well, I’m glad that’s over.

(Helena comes running in.)

Helena: Has anyone seen Demetrius?

Theseus: He went that way, Helena. If you marry him, it will save us all a lot of trouble.

Helena: Thanks!

(Helena runs after Demetrius and all the faeries return to their spots as Puck steps forward again.)

Puck: And so, the stupid lovers ran off into the forest. My forest. (The faeries cheer.) At the same time, there was a meeting going on. At the meeting were handymen. We’ll call them the Mechanicals. The Mechanicals were very stupid and very loud. And the stupidest, loudest one of all was Bottom.

(A few faeries jump up to represent the Mechanicals. Bottom, their leader, gets a cane and a hat.)

Bottom: The Duke’s wedding is coming up, and we Mechanicals have nothing planned for him!

Mechanical 1: Not true, Bottom! We have something! A play!

Bottom: A play?

Mechanical 2: The Sad Comedy and Hilarious Death of Pyramus and Thisbe.

Bottom: I like it! I shall play Pyramus! And Thisbe!

Mechanical 2: I shall play the moon!

Mechanical 3: And I the lion!

Mechanical 1: Lion?

Bottom: Okay, but it must be a baby lion. A big lion would scare the women, and then Theseus would have us killed.

Mechanical 3: Meow.

Mechanical 1: When shall we rehearse?

Bottom: Tomorrow! In the woods!

(Bottom and his friends exit. Puck comes forward again. As he talks, the four lovers and the Mechanicals appear to explore the woods behind him.)

Puck: And so all the stupid humans ran off into our forest, where I saw them first. And of course, I ran off to tell our king, Oberon. (Oberon rises, marked by a crown. Oberon speaks like the faerie playing him is making fun of him. Puck runs up to him.) Oberon! Oberon!

Oberon: Blah blah blah?

Puck: There are humans in our forest!

Oberon: Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah?

Puck: Oh yes, King, they are all very ugly.

Oberon: Blah blah blah Titania blah!

Puck: Ah, you think your wife Titania is unfaithful and you want me play a prank on her with the humans? Good thing! You are the King of Faeries, but I am the King of Pranks!

(Puck laughs as Oberon becomes a faerie again. Bottom and the Mechanicals enter. Titania enters and goes to sleep on the side of the stage.)

Bottom: Again, from the top! The moon rises! (Mechanical 2 stands up.) “Oh Thisbe!” “Yes, Pyramus?” “I love you!” (He kisses his own hand.)

Mechanical 1: Break time!

Mechanical 2: Let’s get some lunch!

Mechanical 3: I want pizza!

(The Mechanicals exit, leaving Bottom still kissing his hand.)

Puck: I think this is the dumbest of all the humans! This flower will make the queen love whoever she first sees when she wakes up!

(Puck runs up to Titania and sprinkles the petals of a flower on her eyelids.)

Puck: Hmm… but maybe the human isn’t ugly enough! (He runs up to Bottom.) Sleep! (Bottom immediately drops to the ground, asleep.) Wow, I’m surprised that worked! Hmm… what would be worse for the Queen to wake up to than you? How about… a donkey! (One of the faeries tosses Puck a donkey mask and he puts it on Bottom’s head.) Okay, now wake up!

(Both Bottom and Titania wake up. The look at each other and immediately stand.)

Bottom: Who are you?

Titania: The love of your life, you beautiful donkey man!

Bottom: Hee-haw!

Titania: You are as wise as you are beautiful! Come, my servants will rub your feet.

Bottom: Cool!

(Titania grabs Bottom and they both run off.)

Puck: Meanwhile, I crept through the forest to find the other four stupid humans. The ones who were all in love. But Oberon found them first.

(Oberon enters, followed by Helena and Demetrius.)

Helena: Why don’t you love me, Demetrius?

Demetrius: Oh, let me see. You’re loud, you complain a lot, you cry all the time… (Helena starts crying.)

Puck: Oberon felt sorry for poor Helena and gave little old me another job to do.

Oberon: Puck, blah blah blah. Love blah blah.

Puck: Make them all love the right person? But that’s no fun!

Oberon: Blah blah blah! Pranks blah blah.

(Oberon leaves. Puck sticks his tongue out at Oberon.)

Puck: You can’t tell a Puck to not play pranks! I will make a show of these silly humans! Now where are they?

(Demetrius, Hermia, Helena, and Lysander all enter and lie down, asleep.)

Puck: Here they are! Just a little bit of my flower should do the trick! (Puck applies the flower to Lysander’s eyes and Demetrius’ eyes.) This should be fun. (Puck goes to the background to watch as Lysander and Helena awaken.)

Lysander: Good morning, Helena. You look very beautiful this morning.

Helena: Why would you say something like that?

Lysander: Because I love you!

Helena: No, you don’t! You love Hermia!

Demetrius: (waking up.) Helena! My love!

Helena: What? No, you both love Hermia, not me!

Hermia: (waking up.) Good morning, gentlemen.

Demetrius: You’re interrupting Helena, you dog!

Lysander: Yeah, shut up Hermia!

Hermia: What?

Helena: I know, right? This is confusing.

Demetrius: It’s not confusing. It’s love!

Lysander: Take your hands off my Helena, villain!

Helena: Stop it! I know you’re just messing with me!

Demetrius: I would never!

Hermia: Why doesn’t anyone think I’m pretty anymore?

Lysander: Because you’re not!

(Hermia runs off, crying.)

Helena: Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?

Lysander and Demetrius: I love you!

Helena: You guys are jerks!

(Helena runs off, crying.)

Lysander: Demetrius look over there! (Lysander points in the other direction from where Helena ran and Demetrius looks. Lysander runs off after Helena.)

Demetrius: What is it? (Realizes what happened.) You villain!

(Demetrius runs off after Lysander.)

Puck: Meanwhile, somewhere else in the forest…

(Bottom and Titania enter and lie down. Faeries surround them, feeding them and rubbing their feet.)

Titania: Are you pleased, my love?

Bottom: This. Is. Awesome. Hee-haw! I wonder how the play is coming along.

Puck: So at least Bottom was having fun. But Oberon had some words for poor little me.

Oberon: Puck! Blah blah blah! Hahahaha!

Puck: Yeah, the donkey head was a pretty great idea.

Oberon: But Puck! Blah blah blah blah love!

Puck: What do you mean I messed up with the humans? It’s hilarious!

Oberon: Blah blah blah blah.

Puck: Fine. I’ll fix it. You ruin all my fun. (Oberon exits.) And so I crept through the forest, looking for the humans again, because Oberon didn’t think my prank was funny. (Faeries all boo. Demetrius, Lysander, and Helena all enter.)

Demetrius: I love you more than life itself!

Lysander: I love you more than I love fried chicken!

Helena: Stop it! You’re so mean! Why can’t you just leave me alone and go back to Hermia?

Lysander: I don’t love Hermia, I love you!

Demetrius: Me too!

Helena: Ahh!

Puck: Everybody sleep! (The three humans fall asleep.) Okay, now we wait for Hermia. Oh, here she is now! (Hermia enters.)

Hermia: Hmm, everybody is sleeping. Well, when in Rome! (Hermia lies down and falls asleep.)

Puck: And now to do as Oberon says. Prank, be undone! (Puck showers Lysander in glittering dust.) And leave the other human, he says. I don’t know why, though. Wake up!

(Hermia and Lysander wake up.)

Lysander: Hermia! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!

Hermia: To apologize, I hope.

Lysander: For what?

Hermia: For being so mean!

Lysander: Was I? I mean, of course I was! I am so sorry, Hermia!

Hermia: That’s better.

Demetrius: Good morning, Helena, my love.

Helena: Oh, no!

Demetrius: I thought you loved me, Helena!

Helena: I did, until you started making fun of me.

Demetrius: I would never do that! I love you with all my heart!

Helena: Really?

Demetrius: Of course!

Puck: So with all as it should be, the four lovers ran back to Rome to tell everyone, just in time for the Duke’s wedding, and Bottom’s play.

(Theseus, Hipployta, Hermia, Helena, Demetrius, and Lysander take their seats to watch the play. Bottom and the Mechanicals enter. Bottom still has the donkey’s head on.)

Bottom: Haw!

Puck: Oops, I forgot! Sorry! Prank be undone! (Puck takes the mask off of Bottom.)

Bottom: Wow, that was weird. Where am I?

Theseus: On with the show!

Bottom: Oh! The show!

Mechanical 1: The Sad Comedy and Hilarious Death of Pyramus and Thisbe! We begin!

Mechanical 2: The moon rises! (He stands up.)

Mechanical 1: Pyramus and Thisbe are separated by me, the Wall! They can only speak through a small crack!

(Bottom jumps between sides of the wall as he switches between Pyramus and Thisbe.)

Bottom: Wall, show me the crack! (Mechanical 1 makes an “O” with his fingers.) Thanks, Wall! Thisbe! (switch.) Yes, Pyramus? (switch.) I love you. (switch.) I love you, too! (switch.) If only you weren’t on the other side of this wall! (switch) It’s much too high to climb! (switch.) Oh no, a lion!

Mechanical 3: Meow! (Mechanical 3 pretends to bite Bottom, who is playing Thisbe.)

Bottom: Oh, I am dead! (switch.) Thisbe! Nooooooo! I’m so sad. I have nothing to live for but death! (Bottom, as Pyramus, takes out a knife and mimes stabbing himself.) I am dead, too!

Mechanical 2: The moon goes down! The end!

(All the faeries and other characters cheer.)

Puck: And so, thanks to me, everything worked out for all the humans, even Bottom, who went on to become a movie star! The end!

(Faeries all stand and cheer and dance around, then suddenly stop and freeze, except for Puck, who approaches the edge of the stage.)

Puck

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended –

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear!

Give me your hands if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends!

THE END.

Stairs: The Final Frontier

Welcome back, friends. I’m heading into another weekend here in Daejeon after my first full week of work. This week I assigned English names to students who didn’t already have them (to no one’s surprise, there is at least one Bart and at least one Homer in every class) and got into an argument with a robot I made on the internet. Don’t worry, that one was part of a lesson, too. Tomorrow is my very first Korean lesson at Talkholic, which makes me nervous only because I haven’t been studying my alphabet. Which I should probably be doing now rather than writing this blog. Shit.

***

Okay, I’m back. Anyways, I’ve been kind of sick all week, which has hampered my ability to speak, think, breathe, and get up in the morning. And here I thought kimchi was supposed to be some kind of illness-preventing superfood. I was even a little sick when I set off with a group of EPIK-ers to scale the mild heights of Mt. Bomunsan in the southwestern part of the city. Now, I haven’t done much for exercise since I’ve gotten Korea. First of all, I haven’t had much time, but mostly it’s been too cold to run and my Korean is nowhere near the level it would likely require to sign up for a gym membership. So when we set off to climb Mt. Bomunsan, I was ready for a little challenge. I got one, plus a little more.

You see, in Korea, everyone is generally in a hurry. People here work very hard. I’m still trying to grasp exactly what the working culture is here, but I know that most of the other teachers here work harder than I have so far (and teach more classes, and more different lessons, which probably contributes to this fact. I’m not a slacker!). Anyways, maybe it’s this hurried culture that prevented them from forging the sort of zigzag paths up their mountains like the trails in America. No, here in Korea, if you want to climb a mountain, you have to take the most direct possible route to the top, which means you must be ready to climb stairs. And not just some stairs; all the stairs in the WORLD. And just when it looks like you’re reaching the top, like things are leveling out and you’ll get a beautiful view of Daejeon from high above, you round a corner and… you’re done! Just kidding, it’s actually more stairs.

People, by the time I reached the top of this mountain I felt like I’d spent a week on a Stairmaster. Most of the people in my group felt similar, it seemed, so at least I wasn’t only one huffing and puffing. But the hardest part of the hike wasn’t the climbing. It wasn’t the often slippery trail conditions. No, the hardest part was watching the smiling ajummas merrily and easily bounding past me up the endless stairs. But when we got to the top after one last round of brutal, thigh-and-calf-murdering steps, we were afforded a view that was completely worth all that dreaded exercise.

                      

That, dear readers, is the view of Daejeon from the very tippy-top of Mt. Bomunson. In case you’re wondering, I live somewhere off to the left and far, far in the distance.

Hiking is a pretty big deal here in Daejeon. The whole town is sort of boxed in by mountains. It reminds me of an old N64 videogame, where if you keep running you’ll hit the edge of the world, usually represented by a big wall the color of the ground. Here if you keep going, you’ll eventually hit the edge of the city, and it’s usually represented by a mountain. I wondered about how Daejeon seemed to be built in one of the flattest areas I’d seen in Korea so far. As it turns out, the city’s name just means “big field”. So it’s a city built in a big field surrounded on all sides by mountains, and these mountains have ungodly amounts of stairs on them, and if you’re brave enough to challenge the superiority of said stairs to your level of physical fitness, you’ll be rewarded with temples, random exercise parks, and panoramic vistas. If you’re in Korea, or ever come to Korea, I’d highly recommend hiking up your nearest mountain. If not for the views, at the very least to marvel at the climbing ability of the ajummas.

Anyways, I’m sorry to say that I don’t have a creative nonfiction exercise to share with you today. I’ve been kind of a shut-in this week, aside from dinner with my fellow English teachers and a short excursion into the old downtown with a few EPIK-ers, so anything I could write would straddle a fine line between boring and bullshit. I also promised to tell you about English Drama Club this time, but so far we’ve only had “auditions” (this is in quotes because it was a formality; everybody got in because we didn’t have enough show up to fill our maximum club occupancy) and there isn’t a whole lot to report yet. But between Korean lessons tomorrow followed by a night out, the official start of English Drama Club this evening, and the start of an apparent second unpaid orientation next week, I should have plenty of adventures to share with you all next time, dear readers…

That's MISTER Disch To You.

Welcome back, friends and strangers! When last I left you I was railing against parts of the Western culture here in Korea and giving you the skinny on the EPIK orientation. Well, it’s time to shift gears and talk about the real reason I’m here: teaching. GASP! Yes, I know that between all the talk of botched itineraries, mountains, beer, and hips that you probably forgot that I’m here to do a job, and that job is to ensure that the students at my school can speak English to the best of their ability.
Let me be clear: until this week I had not actually taught in a classroom. My previous experience in working with kids has always been in a less formal setting, whether talking about social ills with Project LEGOS in Minneapolis or working with the local children’s theatre in my hometown in Wisconsin. So this is my first time teaching real students in a real classroom with a real desk and a really huge TV connected up to the computer in the classroom so I can let Youtube teach my lesson for me while I eat the candy meant as a reward for good students. Which is not something I would do. Anyways, before my first day I asked Sookhee (if you don’t know who that is, then you haven’t been paying attention and need to do your EMA homework) what I should have the students call me. I know some foreign teachers in Korea go by their first name, followed by “Teacher”, which would make me Jake-seonsangnim (sun-sang-neem). But Sookhee advised that because the students are used to family names being the norm, and because they may take calling me by my first name as a sign that they have the right to mess with me however they choose, that maybe I should go with Mr. Disch.
So students, when I ask you what my name is you will say, “Mister Disch,” okay? What is my name? (Mister Disch-ee!) Thank you, students! That’s right, I’ve finally graduated from “Jake” to “Mr. Disch”, which means that half the time I’d be looking around for my dad if it weren’t for the fact that most students still just call me “Teacher”. As in “Hello, teacher!”, “I love you, teacher!”, and “Handsome guy, teacher!” Yes, my students call me Handsome Guy, too. Don’t worry, though, I’m well aware that when I get back to the States I’ll be mediocre at best once again.
So how is teaching English as a foreign language here in Daejeon? Well aside from the novelty of being called handsome and having students bow to me in the hallway (both of which are quite entertaining), I don’t know. I have three co-teachers, one of whom is always in the classroom with me. Sookhee and Seonmi are two of them, but I haven’t spent much time outside of the room with the third. This first week has all been one lesson, over and over: it’s my egomaniacal lesson wherein I tell the students all about me and where I’m from. I thought long and hard about how to present this, and I decided that maybe trying to explain why cheese is amazing (when Korean students think of cheese they generally think of Kraft singles, since decent real cheese is very hard to come by here) or why the Packers are awesome might go over their heads. So I went with Minnesota, and have so far taught my kids about Bob Dylan, Prince, Juicy Lucy Burgers (there’s always at least one kid in the class who looks painfully hungry when I explain that one), and hot dish. So far the kids know that I love Bob Dylan, that I majored in English and Theatre, and that I love to write. All of them can tell you that I lived in Saint Paul, Minnesota before coming to South Korea, that my sister’s name is Hilary and that one time she met Obama (this last one was probably what they were all most interested in, other than that SPAM was invented in Minnesota).
Another thing I have to mention before beginning the day’s story is the one thing that has me most excited for this coming semester: Seonmi and I will be the instructors for the English Acting Club. This means that up to twenty students will meet with us to rehearse scenes from established Western plays and perform these scenes in a citywide competition. And you can bet your ass that it’s a competition we will win. After all, how many other club instructors are going to start off each rehearsal with jumping lala’s and a round of Peel Banana? Auditions happen this Thursday, so I’ll have more to say about this next time.
Anyways, this post’s story is less of a story and more of a rumination on the fabled culture shock. It will be a relatively short affair entitled, oddly enough:

***

WELCOME TO CULTURE SHOCK
In orientation they told us to expect to be angered, frustrated, and confused for awhile. They told us that we would go through a bout of depression and homesickness, and that there would be no way to avoid it. I had readied myself for it from the moment I stepped off the bus near EXPO Park in Daejeon; hell, I was so ready for it I was almost looking forward to it. But something funny happened: it didn’t hit me. It still hasn’t, although I’ve been here for over a week. Maybe this fabled culture shock will come, or maybe for me it has manifested itself in a different way.
I was leaving the school after the Friday “extra period” and found myself amongst a river of students. I’d put my headphones on, hoping to avoid setting the world record for Most Times Uttering “Hello” in a Three Block Radius, but there was no stopping it. From the second I stepped out of the school my students were waving.

“Hello!” from my right.
“Hello, teacher!” from my left.
“Hello teacher!”, then “I love you!”, then “You are handsome!” from behind me, followed quickly by a chorus of giggling.

This is my culture shock. Rather than being frustrated with not knowing the language or how to get around, I have found the overwhelming outpouring of friendliness from my students to be the strangest thing about this place. Back in America, I’d been running some “social change and justice workshops” with elementary school students last year. There the more common expressions were, “I hate you,” “I want to go home,” and “Try calling my mom, she’ll be on my side ‘cause she hates white people and I do, too.” Okay, that last one only happened once, but there were more such little outbursts with much stronger language. But here in Daejeon, my students wave, shout hello with great gusto, and bow deeply when I pass them in the hallway.
This is my culture shock. And the truth is, we’re not this nice in America. Where I’m from, people don’t even know how to receive compliments. A “Good job!” generally results in me grinning sheepishly, saying “Thanks,” and scurrying off like I don’t appreciate the attention. So imagine how many sheepish grins I’ve been doling out in a school where kids I’ve never met just want to give me a hug.
This is my culture shock. Nice people. And it’s not just the students, either. My co-teachers, calling my landlord and driving me around in search of a cell phone contract that comes with a free phone and taking me to the English bookstore in the new downtown; all of this time taken out of their day to help me is something nearly unheard of in America. I feel bad because everyone is so nice to me. I feel embarrassed because people keep waving to me, smiling at me, and generally making me feel better than my sense of cynicism says I deserve to feel, ever.
As I walked down the street away from school on Friday evening to a chorus of, “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “Thank you, teacher,” I wondered to myself how long it would take for this particular iteration of culture shock to last. How long before I started taking all this for granted? Or how long before I was no longer a novelty, my students realized they didn’t love me and I wasn’t handsome, and my co-teachers got sick of spending time with me? And then I thought that thinking about it made me more cynical about it. Sometimes these days I almost find myself missing being surrounded by people who keep their heads down, silently thinking the worst about everyone around them. Sometimes I miss the cynicism, and this is my culture shock.
“The students here are sensitive and love to be loved by their teachers,” the information on the handout I got about my school back at orientation said. No shit, I thought to myself as I left the school on Friday.

“Hello, teacher! I love you!” a giggling girl screamed as she ran past me, now four blocks from school.

“Have a good weekend,” I said, smiling sheepishly and waving.

***

So that’s it for this post. As you can tell, things could be a whole lot worse. But it’s been almost too easy so far. So naturally, dear readers, I’m getting suspicious.

Next time on English Major Away, I get my ass kicked by a big ol’ mountain and find out how long it takes before my students start hating me like middle school students are supposed to. I think it starts with rejecting a few of them after English Acting Club auditions.

A Big One: EPIK Orientation Wrap-up and A Spongy Kind of Hell

Welcome back, friends! Sorry for the extended leave of absence, but I am unfortunately without internet in my new apartment here in Daejeon (TAY-chon, more or less). So I have quite a  lot to cover before I get to the much-alluded-to story for this post. Beware, as this runs a little long. First, I think I promised to cover the EPIK orientation. If you’re in no way interested in teaching in Korea and just want to get to the story bits, it’s okay to scroll down. Just look for all the capital letters and asterisks.

If you have just Googled EPIK (English Program in Korea) and are wondering if you should sign on for the program, you should know that my very positive experience thus far is well above the norm. I’ve heard from people whose apartments are not as nice as mine is, from people whose new coworkers have been less than forthcoming, and even one woman whose school told her to buy her own furniture, including her own bed (it is explicitly stated within the EPIK contract that certain essentials will be provided, a bed being one of them). But I’m getting ahead of myself here. I need to cover orientation before I can talk about actually arriving in Daejeon!

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, orientation was a blast in many ways. It allowed us new teachers to network, so now I have friends all over Daejeon. The lecture series they put together was fantastic, as was the field trip they sent us on last Sunday. We were taken to a Korean Folk Village (a bit like a Renaissance village, but, y’know, in Korea) and then to the capital of Korean pottery, Icheon. Here we were given the chance to paint our own Korean ceramic pottery. I tried painting rolling hills with trees dotting them. Unfortunately I painted two rolling hills and my plate came out of the kiln looking like it had been decorated with a couple of molding butt cheeks. But the food tastes sweeter when you’ve painted the ass on the plate yourself.

The other benefit of the EPIK program is how well it eases you into both Korean culture and effective teaching methods. You’ll learn who to bow to and when, you’ll learn how to pour drinks for and shake hands with your new boss, and you’ll also learn not to say “Shhh” in a Korean classroom because that is generally the noise that schoolchildren associate with taking a piss. You’ll be given insane amounts of information and ideas about how to run your classroom, so much that it gets overwhelming. You’ll even be given a few lessons in the Korean language.

The only foreseeable problem with EPIK orientation (other than the dodgy eggs at breakfast time) is that it places you very much within a Western bubble. You go to class with Westerners, you eat with Westerners and party with Westerners and generally hang out with English speakers for nine solid days. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this per se; it is a great networking opportunity. And of course I value the friendships I forged while at orientation and I look forward to all the crazy adventures sure to come with those people. But I worry (as you’ll see in the story later on in the post) that it may tempt some EPIK teachers to not experience Korean culture as much as maybe they should once they get out of orientation. It would be too easy for me to look up some of my EPIK friends every night and go out to one of the few “Westerner bars” around Daejeon rather than meeting new Korean friends or experiencing the history and culture of Daejeon itself. Everybody has their own way of doing things, and I don’t want to call anyone else’s way wrong, but as I’ve said before, if I only wanted to be isolated among people of my own culture I would’ve just stayed in the States. So if you’re coming to Korea to experience something totally fresh and new, to learn a new language and new customs, be aware that with EPIK, you may have to work a bit harder to do so than if you just showed up with your bags at a hagwon (private language institute) and got thrown right into the very confusing fire.

So for those of you who found this blog looking for a little insider info on the EPIK experience, here’s the lowdown from someone who has yet to teach an actual class:

Pros:
- They prepare you well for life in the classroom and outside of it.
- They set you up with a fully furnished apartment (I’m sure the woman mentioned above got it sorted).
-They give you an entrance allowance for airfare, a settlement allowance for getting the essentials, an exit     allowance, and severance.
-They set you up with a “co-teacher”, one of the Korean English teachers at your school who will be your guide through getting settled at your school and in your new home.
-It’s an excellent opportunity to meet other teachers who will be all over the country for the whole year.

Cons:
-You have little control over where you are placed. The solution? APPLY EARLY (for Daejeon)!!!!
-EPIK doesn’t do placements in Seoul, so if you’re hoping to work in the capital, find another way.
-You have no control over which school  you end up in, who your coworkers are, or what your apartment is like (unless you opt for the living allowance, which lets you find your own apartment, but this is a big hassle for most people). You do get to state your preference for the age of your students, but it’s by no means a guarantee.
- It’s all too easy to fall into the “Let’s only ever hang out with foreigners” trap.

So that’s it for information about EPIK. If you Googled EPIK and found this blog because of the EPIK number of times I typed EPIK then that’s about all the help you’re gonna get. But you should still keep reading, because let’s face it, I keep a pretty entertaining blog over here. Plus, you might still learn something useful. And now on to stuff that will be interesting even to people who aren’t considering the EPIK program!
Please keep in mind that most of the names here are for real, just like my own. I will in no case provide family names nor the name of my school on this blog for the sake of protecting the innocent… and the not-so-innocent. Dialogues are generally going to be paraphrased at best, massively inaccurate combinations of things that were said over the course of a long time at worst.  Don’t complain; there’s a reason there’s a Creative before the Nonfiction in this genre. This section will be called:

FIRST DAYS IN DAEJEON, OR WHY SPONGE BAR MADE ME FEEL AWKWARD

Vocabulary Note: The oft-discussed (among Westerners new to Korea, at least) love hotels are places where young couples can go to get their jollies off, so to speak. They’re popular because the custom in Korea is for children to live with their parents until they’re married, which makes trysting tough on the young’uns.

WARNING***WARNING***FOUL F$%#ING LANGUAGE AHEAD***YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

* * *

Chris and I are sitting in a booth that has just been vacated by two other foreigners. I’ve already forgotten their names; it’s our second night in the city of Daejeon and we’ve been celebrating by letting the beer flow freely. I  can remember that one of the guys who’d been in our booth was skinny, but I couldn’t hear a thing he said over the thumping music. The other was rather less than skinny, and he said little other than, “I can’t concentrate on anything but the hips,” gesturing to two Korean girls dancing with each other about ten feet from our table.
Chris and I are the last remaining Saturday night warriors out of a whole platoon; our group numbered twenty strong around seven-thirty, but out here in the wee hours the lesser drinkers have slunk home to sleep it off. Chris and I, though, we will persevere.
We got to Daejeon yesterday after the long grind of lectures and nights out and cafeteria meals that is orientation for new native English teachers in South Korea. Straight off the bus, we were introduced to our “co-teachers”, those Korean English teachers that will be our shepherds and our guides through culture shock and beyond. I have been thinking a lot about how much I lucked out on this front. My co-teacher, Sookhee, went above and beyond to make me feel welcome in my new city. She did the standard things, of course: taking me to my new apartment and to the school at which I will start teaching on Tuesday. But she also took me to her own home and cooked dinner for her two sons and I. She even asked me to sleep over, offering me her older son’s room (“You seem so tired,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go all the way home tonight?”). She took me to a massive superstore, bustling even at ten at night: four floors of everything you would ever need to live forever and never get bored. Imagine Super Target, and then multiply it by four, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is Lotte Mart.
Earlier that day, Sookhee had arranged for another English teacher from my school, Seonmi, to pick me up near my apartment and continue the seemingly never-ending quest for the essentials of life. After a few stops, Seonmi had taken me to a café her mother owns. From there, I had hopped across the street to TimeWorld to meet up with my friends from the orientation program. TimeWorld, by the way, is both as exciting as it sounds and much, much more mundane. It’s sort of the Mall of America of Daejeon, floor after floor after floor of designer merchandise, up and up seemingly endlessly into the sky. Here I had met up with Chris and the other twenty or so that showed up for our day celebratory. After stopping back at the café for some beers, Seonmi suggested we check out Sponge Bar, a Western-style bar with billiards, dancing, and a conspicuous lack of soju.
And so here we are, at a place where Westerners who can’t let go of the West invariably end up, dancing, pounding drinks, and ogling the few Korean girls that stray in off the streets. At least, that’s how it seems to me as I sit here across from Chris at three-thirty in the morning.
The less-than-skinny guy comes meandering back from a failed attempt to move in on the two Korean girls he’d been eying.
“What’s your name again?” I ask him.
“It’s Paul, for the fifteenth time,” he says.
“Sorry, man. A few too many beers, I think,” I answer, raising my half-full pint. I don’t mind the shit he’s giving me; I doubt he could remember my name, either.
“What’s your name again, mate?” Chris shouts to Paul from across the table. It’s too loud in the bar to hear anyone talk who’s more than five inches from your ear.
“Paul!” Paul screams. “Jesus Christ.”
“Any advice for some poor rookies, Paul?” I ask. Even as I say it I’m not sure I want Paul’s advice. I’m fairly certain it will have something to do with hips.
“You guys are new?” Paul shouts. I was appreciating his effort to keep Chris in the conversation, but less appreciative of the added decibels in my eardrum.
“Second day in Daejeon,” Chris yells back.
“You’re from England!” Paul exclaims, apparently just noticing Chris’s Manchester accent.
“Yeah.”
“Man, I got plenty of advice for you, dude. What do you want?” Paul says.
“Whatever’s useful,” I say.
“Fuck, everything’s useful,” Paul says. Ah Paul, I think, the wise sage of Sponge Bar. Please tell us more about these hips you speak so highly of. To no one’s surprise, he does just that. “First thing, man. Never take a Korean girl to your apartment. Worst thing you can do.”
“Why?” I ask. I know none of this really pertains to Chris; he has a girlfriend back in England. Nor does it really pertain to me. I’m not really the type to “pick up chicks”, as they say back in the States (even if I had the looks and charm to pull it off), much less pick up chicks in a foreign country. I’m more just curious about the attitude.
“Because they’re fuckin’ crazy,” Paul says. “They get your address, your phone number, all of a sudden they’re calling you or stalking the shit out of you.” I wonder how many Korean girls had stalked the shit out of Paul. I quickly decide on an answer: not many.
“Really?” Chris asks.
“Yeah, man. Different culture, y’know. I even knew one guy got deported ‘cause this girl called the cops. Said he raped her or some shit and he had to leave. Just ‘cause he never called her. They’re fuckin’ crazy man. Never take ‘em home.” I think to myself that it’s quite possible that the American guy had been the one who’d been lying, not the other way around.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, feeling less and less like being stuck in the booth with this sweating sexual philosopher.
“Just take ‘em to the love hotels, man. It’s like, 30,000 Won a night and they won’t know where you live. And don’t give anyone your fucking phone number. Not even the guys. They’ll fuckin’ call you and text you all day long.”
As he says this, I’m finding it hard to believe that Paul is this popular amongst the locals. He downs the last of his beer in one gulp. I do the same, hoping he would take it as a sign that it was time to get up.
“Just keep your head down, man. You can make some sweet fuckin’ money with this gig but you just gotta keep it together, go to work and go home and go out drinking with your buddies on the weekend. And fuckin’ love hotels, man. Every time. Peace.”
And with that bit of wisdom, Paul leaves us behind. I look at Chris.
“Remember when that orientation lecturer was telling us about how our Western cynicism will be shocked here?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“My lack of Western cynicism was just shocked.”
Chris laughs and finishes off his beer. “I think this is a dirty place, mate.”
“Yeah.”
“One more?” he offers.
I check my Faux-lex. It’s nearing four in the morning. Public transit here in Daejeon ends at eleven, but catching a cab home rarely costs more than 8000 Won, I‘m told.
“Can we sit at the bar?” I ask.

* * *

So there you go. Hope all the shocking talk didn’t offend your delicate sensibilities, but all of that was actual advice I got on Saturday night. Now maybe you see where I’m coming from when I talk about the Western culture in Korea, how and why many people don’t break out of it, and why I want nothing to do with most of it.

As a little side note, Seonmi asked me today as she was driving me to get my Alien Registration card (the little piece of plastic that lets you do things you need to do, like get a cell phone and internet access) how I liked Sponge. I think I said something along the lines of, “Sleazy, and a little creepy.” It seems to be a place where Western guys gather to look at Korean girls and try to take one to a 30,000 Won per night love hotel (1000 Won is a little less than a dollar, by the way). She agreed, and said that’s why she doesn’t much like the place. Which in turn made me wonder why she directed us there… perhaps it was to have this very realization for myself.

Next time on English Major Away, I teach children! That’s right, I am having direct bearing on the lives and language abilities of the adults of the future. Good luck sleeping tonight, dear readers.