All hell broke loose and shit got real today at Academy.
Battle raged between Nami & Andrew, one of my TOEFL students.
Many doors were slammed many times, tears were shed, profanity (in Korean and English) spewed, voices raised, and threats given and received.
See post on youremakingmeangry.blogspot.com for the full story.
I refuse to take any more shit from these brats. Do not mess with Teacher Nami.
God, I miss college.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Half-Baked with "Judy"
nami
One day, around three weeks ago, I woke up from a long nap to find out that Jen had made reservations for us to go to a mud festival. What was a mud festival? I had no idea. How did she find a Korean mud festival; she didn't know anything about Korea or know how to read Korean. I had no idea. Where was she making these reservations, and from whom? I had no idea.
Okay, I naturally agreed, let's do it.
Jenn
I found said Boryeong Mud Festival on an English website for expats (Nami often forgets that I know how to use the internet). I was mildly perturbed by the predominance of white people in the photos. At the same time, i had lowered my standards for friendship to a basic command of the English language. Oh, and everyone looked young. I started to count my potential new friends on my hands as I joined a facebook group called "Mudfest Baby....Yeah."
The group's "creator", who we will call Judy Ra, had some sort of masochistic affinity for logistical nightmares and was offering to organize the transportation and hotel accommodations for the 400+ helpless, lazy, or lost souls listed under "confirmed guests." She and I emailed and she told me to deposit money into some bank account. This was a little sketch so I did some googling and she seemed like a legit person who hadn't scammed anyone during last year's mudfest. I persuaded Nami that transferring cash into a stranger's account was a good idea all the while knowing that we were asking for trouble. Judy took almost a week to confirm receipt of our payment. I was about 2 hours away from calling um......authorities.
nami
This was oddly reminiscent of our troubles with our Academy. Not only had we thrown our good sense and our Won out the window, but we had brought this upon ourselves, having instantly forgotten all lessons learned from the mess that was our Academy contract. "Don't trust Koreans" -- Why hadn't we learned our lesson? We were just as masochistic as Judy.
Jenn
So a week before we're due to go to Boryeong, Judy starts sending us group facebook messages to keep us in the know. My name isn't on the bus list she posts on the group wall. Great. I send her an email and she asks me if I joined the group and if I gave her money. This is encouraging. Much to my relief, she confirms that I have been on her list . The one she posted publicly must be a decoy.
Over the next few days, Nami and I witness Judy's life become living hell. The burden of planning weighs too heavily on her shoulders and fists start to fly. Her facebook account is so active that she is forced to create a pseudonym "Judi Rah". We receive group messages that read:
nami
at this point, my mother, witness to our distress and whining, turns to me and makes me promise that i will marry someone smart: "swear that you will marry someone smarter than you. and someone who'll be able to keep your brattiness in check." she is very supportive of us through this mess.
Jenn
We arrive at the bus station and have no idea where to go. We need to find exit 4.
nami
None of the signs show exit 4. I ask a subway worker. "Exit 4 doesn't exist." Jen and I look at each other, Mais oui.
Jenn
We run into another group of white people and before we can even say "Mud Fest," Nami and I have latched onto their search party for the elusive exit 4. Our new friends speak in a hodgepodge of british, australian, and New Zealand accents. How fun. We snake through a department store, go up and down some escalators, and I joke to Nami that our harry potter friends are going to make us run at a wall to get to this magical exit. Ten minutes later, we finally find it. Our group merges with the large crowd of foreigners already standing there. Nobody knows what's going on.
Finally, we learn that the buses are actually around the corner. Nami and I grab some seats and let out a sigh of relief. So far so good. However, our bus leaves 90 minutes later than scheduled for no disclosed reason. While we wait impatiently, we witness our fellow passengers leave their seats and return with bottles of beer and hard liquor. Apparently this is a crunk bus.
As we hit the road, Nami and I try to catch some Z's. However, our bus's surging blood-alcohol level thwarts our attempt at relaxation. Also, some one has turned on a large TV and the discovery channel is educating us about koalas at a deafening volume. I eavesdrop on a guy from New Jersey talking about his job as a martial arts instructor in Seoul. He looks and sounds exactly like his counterpart from Napoleon Dynamite. Behind us, a group of South Africans are making very strong rum and cokes, spilling them on each other and on everyone else as they stumble down the aisle.
We arrive in a parking lot in Boryeong around 3AM. There are about 6 bus-fulls of us seeking the infamous Judy to tell us what to do now. We spot her and surround her like a pack of hungry, completely-hammered wolves. She is holding a beer in one hand and a clipboard in the other. She shouts some stuff about how we should listen to her as she calls out names of rooming groups. I can't really hear her over the crowd and some drunk South African guy named Edgar with stains all over his shirt has started talking to me. He asks me where I'm from and when I reply Boston, he starts some sort of slurred and incoherent eulogy for the lead singer of Boston the band. I'm doing an ok job humoring him and straining my ears for Judy when Edgar (who now tells me to call him mario), asks me where I'm from. again. I quickly say something about having to find my friend and move to the other side of the crowd.
After a brief but entertaining scuffle with a very intoxicated and overweight white woman wearing a cowboy hat, Judy finally gets around to calling my name. We're paired up with a young couple from the midwest. I am delighted to discover that the husband has both the mannerisms and voice of a quintessential, pocket-protecting, sci-fi-reading nerd. We follow him and his wife, who is also charmingly dweeby, to a dingy hotel called the Renaissance.
nami
basically, we find out that we need confirmation codes or something of the like to get our rooms. we don't have that, i translate, the woman has it. what woman, they ask. the WOMAN, i repeat louder, the ONE WHO HAS THE CODES. they stare at me, i stare at them. they turn to each other and start rapid-firing in Korean. after over an hour, we get Judy on the phone with the hotel owners. OK, they tell me, we have the rooms for you. the next problem (because you can't stop at one) was that there weren't nearly enough rooms for all of us. blah blah blah, Jen and I get a room with 4 other ppl -- the dweeby couple, an older man, and...the drunken South African! we head upstairs. the Edgar's shirt is severely stained and he leans in close, his breath thick with the smell of soju and ass, i'm not a pervert. What? I'M NOT A PERVERT I'M NOT A PERVERT, he starts to say louder and louder. It is all very convincing and I inch away. Edgar turns to the older man and asks him if he saw what he (Edgar) had done on the bus. The older man nods. Edgar responds, "I'm not gay. I'm not a pervert." We have no idea what happened on the bus and we don't want to find out (but I do, a little). He turns towards Jen, "Where are you from?" I look at Jen.
All six of us were supposed to sleep on the floor. Next to each other, on blanket-mats. The couple took the corner. Jen and I were to be sandwiched by Edgar and the older man. Very cozy. Needless to say, we decided to leave. Or rather, I told Jen that there was no way we were staying here and that even though it was 4:30am, I would rather us be homeless than sleeping next to Edgar, the non-pervert.
Long story short, we left the Renaissance. We returned to the parking lot. Met our third group of friends. Marco, another drunken South African (but young and kinda cute), is...drunk. He drops two handles of vodka at my feet; my legs are covered in alcohol, in addition to mosquito bites. Feeling sorry, he lies down at my feet and begins to swat all the mosquitoes away. Don't worry, I will rescue your legs. I inch away.
We head to yet another "Mudfest Judy" hotel. There, we find another 20+ homeless foreigners and a crazed Judy.
She is yelling at the hotel owner that she is going to "ruin" him, that she trusted him, that she paid him, blah blah blah, he's yelling she's crying, I stop listening, I'm tired I want my room. We walk back and forth between the Renaissance and this hotel for another two hours, elongated pacing if you will.
Finally, at around 6:30am, we head back to the non-Renaissance hotel. As we approach, Judy's eyes meet mine, You still don't have a room? No, I shake my head sadly. Here, take them, Judy tells two boys standing next to her, These are your new roommates.
We walk towards yet another hotel -- Green Park, following the hotel owner who rides ahead of us on a little moped bike. He is told to get us "the largest room" in GP. As we ride up the elevator, he turns to me and the questioning begins. Why are you the only Korean? Is one of these guys your boyfriend? he asks me. I don't know, No, I answer. Are they your...friends? he tries. No...we just met them, I reply. He raises an eyebrow, Lucky you.
Conclusion:
1. Our room was SWEET. Big beds (the other guests had to sleep on the blanket-mats), AC, TV, blowdryers, etc -- the conveniences of ANY normal hotel room were considered luxuries in Boryeoung.
2. Judy covered the extra costs (our hotel room cost 4x as much as the other rooms)
3. We made new friends (our nonbf, nonfriend roommates and their friends)
4. We slept like babies.
Post on the actual Mudfest to come! (once we get our disposable cameras developed)
Postscript: We saw Edgar on the bus ride back. His leg appeared to be broken and in a cast. We were not surprised. As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, someone told Edgar he had left his backpack at the Renaissance.
One day, around three weeks ago, I woke up from a long nap to find out that Jen had made reservations for us to go to a mud festival. What was a mud festival? I had no idea. How did she find a Korean mud festival; she didn't know anything about Korea or know how to read Korean. I had no idea. Where was she making these reservations, and from whom? I had no idea.
Okay, I naturally agreed, let's do it.
I found said Boryeong Mud Festival on an English website for expats (Nami often forgets that I know how to use the internet). I was mildly perturbed by the predominance of white people in the photos. At the same time, i had lowered my standards for friendship to a basic command of the English language. Oh, and everyone looked young. I started to count my potential new friends on my hands as I joined a facebook group called "Mudfest Baby....Yeah."
The group's "creator", who we will call Judy Ra, had some sort of masochistic affinity for logistical nightmares and was offering to organize the transportation and hotel accommodations for the 400+ helpless, lazy, or lost souls listed under "confirmed guests." She and I emailed and she told me to deposit money into some bank account. This was a little sketch so I did some googling and she seemed like a legit person who hadn't scammed anyone during last year's mudfest. I persuaded Nami that transferring cash into a stranger's account was a good idea all the while knowing that we were asking for trouble. Judy took almost a week to confirm receipt of our payment. I was about 2 hours away from calling um......authorities.
nami
This was oddly reminiscent of our troubles with our Academy. Not only had we thrown our good sense and our Won out the window, but we had brought this upon ourselves, having instantly forgotten all lessons learned from the mess that was our Academy contract. "Don't trust Koreans" -- Why hadn't we learned our lesson? We were just as masochistic as Judy.
Jenn
So a week before we're due to go to Boryeong, Judy starts sending us group facebook messages to keep us in the know. My name isn't on the bus list she posts on the group wall. Great. I send her an email and she asks me if I joined the group and if I gave her money. This is encouraging. Much to my relief, she confirms that I have been on her list . The one she posted publicly must be a decoy.
Over the next few days, Nami and I witness Judy's life become living hell. The burden of planning weighs too heavily on her shoulders and fists start to fly. Her facebook account is so active that she is forced to create a pseudonym "Judi Rah". We receive group messages that read:
if you get problems during your trip BECAUSE you did not bother to read shit...I WILL NOT BE FEELING SORRY and I WILL NOT BE HELPFUL.Some ppl ask for refunds....oh snap:
I am really pissed, I have had 2 korean ppl bitch me out because I said I don't do refunds after June 1st. Whoever was responsible for inviting them should be dealing with that crap not me.Shit starts gettin' real:
I don't need this Bs...and if you know who you are freakin take care of it.
Ok who brought her?Chaos ensues and Judy gets defensive:
She is not only blowing up my cellphone calling me a cheater and crazy bitch and even went as far as say...Let's see what happens on saturday...haha...
I think whoever brought her should talk to me and let me know whats up instead of me finding out later who you are coz this is ridiculous...and i have so much work to do...before was like whatever but now I am getting pissed...
I have to say this..why is everyone panicking?Two hours before our bus is set to leave, Nami and I still don't have any form of ticket or hotel reservation. Nami becomes so stressed out that she develops a migraine at school; she starts throwing up and has to leave early (the students are devastated that they had to miss TOEFL, if you can imagine) and sleeps from 1pm to 8pm. Fearing Nami's stress-induced wrath, I get Judy on the phone before the Namster begins to thirst for human blood. Judy tells me to not stress out, that I should just get on a bus, call her when i get to Boryeong because "that's what cell phones are for," and that i should "just have a fucking good time." I hang up the phone and persuade Nami that we just have to trust Judy that this will work out.
Stop panicking....don't you think if anything bad was going on I woulld be ther one freaking out??? Seriously??
It's the fist weekend of mudfets that I busted my ass for...and wish everybody would just chill and have a good time....ok?
nami
at this point, my mother, witness to our distress and whining, turns to me and makes me promise that i will marry someone smart: "swear that you will marry someone smarter than you. and someone who'll be able to keep your brattiness in check." she is very supportive of us through this mess.
Jenn
We arrive at the bus station and have no idea where to go. We need to find exit 4.
nami
None of the signs show exit 4. I ask a subway worker. "Exit 4 doesn't exist." Jen and I look at each other, Mais oui.
Jenn
We run into another group of white people and before we can even say "Mud Fest," Nami and I have latched onto their search party for the elusive exit 4. Our new friends speak in a hodgepodge of british, australian, and New Zealand accents. How fun. We snake through a department store, go up and down some escalators, and I joke to Nami that our harry potter friends are going to make us run at a wall to get to this magical exit. Ten minutes later, we finally find it. Our group merges with the large crowd of foreigners already standing there. Nobody knows what's going on.
Finally, we learn that the buses are actually around the corner. Nami and I grab some seats and let out a sigh of relief. So far so good. However, our bus leaves 90 minutes later than scheduled for no disclosed reason. While we wait impatiently, we witness our fellow passengers leave their seats and return with bottles of beer and hard liquor. Apparently this is a crunk bus.
As we hit the road, Nami and I try to catch some Z's. However, our bus's surging blood-alcohol level thwarts our attempt at relaxation. Also, some one has turned on a large TV and the discovery channel is educating us about koalas at a deafening volume. I eavesdrop on a guy from New Jersey talking about his job as a martial arts instructor in Seoul. He looks and sounds exactly like his counterpart from Napoleon Dynamite. Behind us, a group of South Africans are making very strong rum and cokes, spilling them on each other and on everyone else as they stumble down the aisle.
We arrive in a parking lot in Boryeong around 3AM. There are about 6 bus-fulls of us seeking the infamous Judy to tell us what to do now. We spot her and surround her like a pack of hungry, completely-hammered wolves. She is holding a beer in one hand and a clipboard in the other. She shouts some stuff about how we should listen to her as she calls out names of rooming groups. I can't really hear her over the crowd and some drunk South African guy named Edgar with stains all over his shirt has started talking to me. He asks me where I'm from and when I reply Boston, he starts some sort of slurred and incoherent eulogy for the lead singer of Boston the band. I'm doing an ok job humoring him and straining my ears for Judy when Edgar (who now tells me to call him mario), asks me where I'm from. again. I quickly say something about having to find my friend and move to the other side of the crowd.
After a brief but entertaining scuffle with a very intoxicated and overweight white woman wearing a cowboy hat, Judy finally gets around to calling my name. We're paired up with a young couple from the midwest. I am delighted to discover that the husband has both the mannerisms and voice of a quintessential, pocket-protecting, sci-fi-reading nerd. We follow him and his wife, who is also charmingly dweeby, to a dingy hotel called the Renaissance.
nami
basically, we find out that we need confirmation codes or something of the like to get our rooms. we don't have that, i translate, the woman has it. what woman, they ask. the WOMAN, i repeat louder, the ONE WHO HAS THE CODES. they stare at me, i stare at them. they turn to each other and start rapid-firing in Korean. after over an hour, we get Judy on the phone with the hotel owners. OK, they tell me, we have the rooms for you. the next problem (because you can't stop at one) was that there weren't nearly enough rooms for all of us. blah blah blah, Jen and I get a room with 4 other ppl -- the dweeby couple, an older man, and...the drunken South African! we head upstairs. the Edgar's shirt is severely stained and he leans in close, his breath thick with the smell of soju and ass, i'm not a pervert. What? I'M NOT A PERVERT I'M NOT A PERVERT, he starts to say louder and louder. It is all very convincing and I inch away. Edgar turns to the older man and asks him if he saw what he (Edgar) had done on the bus. The older man nods. Edgar responds, "I'm not gay. I'm not a pervert." We have no idea what happened on the bus and we don't want to find out (but I do, a little). He turns towards Jen, "Where are you from?" I look at Jen.
All six of us were supposed to sleep on the floor. Next to each other, on blanket-mats. The couple took the corner. Jen and I were to be sandwiched by Edgar and the older man. Very cozy. Needless to say, we decided to leave. Or rather, I told Jen that there was no way we were staying here and that even though it was 4:30am, I would rather us be homeless than sleeping next to Edgar, the non-pervert.
Long story short, we left the Renaissance. We returned to the parking lot. Met our third group of friends. Marco, another drunken South African (but young and kinda cute), is...drunk. He drops two handles of vodka at my feet; my legs are covered in alcohol, in addition to mosquito bites. Feeling sorry, he lies down at my feet and begins to swat all the mosquitoes away. Don't worry, I will rescue your legs. I inch away.
We head to yet another "Mudfest Judy" hotel. There, we find another 20+ homeless foreigners and a crazed Judy.
Finally, at around 6:30am, we head back to the non-Renaissance hotel. As we approach, Judy's eyes meet mine, You still don't have a room? No, I shake my head sadly. Here, take them, Judy tells two boys standing next to her, These are your new roommates.
We walk towards yet another hotel -- Green Park, following the hotel owner who rides ahead of us on a little moped bike. He is told to get us "the largest room" in GP. As we ride up the elevator, he turns to me and the questioning begins. Why are you the only Korean? Is one of these guys your boyfriend? he asks me. I don't know, No, I answer. Are they your...friends? he tries. No...we just met them, I reply. He raises an eyebrow, Lucky you.
Conclusion:
1. Our room was SWEET. Big beds (the other guests had to sleep on the blanket-mats), AC, TV, blowdryers, etc -- the conveniences of ANY normal hotel room were considered luxuries in Boryeoung.
2. Judy covered the extra costs (our hotel room cost 4x as much as the other rooms)
3. We made new friends (our nonbf, nonfriend roommates and their friends)
Post on the actual Mudfest to come! (once we get our disposable cameras developed)
Postscript: We saw Edgar on the bus ride back. His leg appeared to be broken and in a cast. We were not surprised. As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, someone told Edgar he had left his backpack at the Renaissance.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
feel me, prlends.
Updates!
- We are staying in Korea, after all (and so the blog lives on). We still haven't signed our contract yet, but maybe we will tomorrow? Stay tuned...
- I no longer have a cell phone. I lost it in Club Harlem (a "booby booby club", acc. to natives -- not quite sure what it means) after giving my number to a Canadian. Serves me right (sorry, i won't do it again; you know who you are). Call Jen's.
- We are officially in business as Korean matchmakers. Every male we've met (ages 18-35) is desperately seeking a Korean gf/wife. It has become our job to find them women. We tell them we don't have any friends to set them up wtith, but they ask us to try anyway.
- Dating culture is HUGE here. Couples abound, in matching outfits, called Couple Tees (from hats, shirts, to shoes). It's the cool (and economical) thing to do - couples get discounts on everything! (the following photos were taken at LotteWorld).
- We got fingerprinted. At the police station, a military officer (a 22-year-old in the middle of his mandatory 2-year service) asked for my number and contact information and that I return in 2 years (once he's done serving his country) because he "wanted to touch [me]." I felt uncomfortable, but he insisted.
- Koreans have extremely low alcohol tolerance, compared to us college grads. Jen and I have amazing stamina. When we call them the next day at 2pm, they're just waking up. College has prepared us well.
- We saw Shia LaBeouf. In Transformers (or Teu-len-seuh-poh-muh, as Koreans call it), that is. We were two of the only people in the theater (everyone had seen it a week earlier). We had assigned seats, popcorn, and dried "butte" squid. It was effin awesome. I love America. and Robots!
- On the fourth of July, we decided to go all-American and eat Mexican food for dinner. At night, we hit Itaewon (the American enclave near the military base) and saw many transvestites, drunk American soldiers, and fat white chicks in pastel tank tops. We played darts with the boys and won, thoroughly emasculating them even further. It was close but Ellen scored 2 bulls-eyes in a row to secure our victory and another round of free drinks.
- We went shopping. The clothes were tiny and indecipherable.
Feel me, prlends [friends] that you feel my am, proteaol [???] that you love me, puted [??] that you that me, know I do.Amen.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
birthday
this will be the last blogpost on seoulmateys. i will be shutting it down shortly. sorry, readers, but i assure you that you don't really care.
- - -
so, today was my birthday. two years ago, i got into a huge car accident on the autobahn on the way to salzburg and fractured my ribs and sprained my ankle and dan broke his hand. while less dramatic, today seems worse. in an emotional, disheartening way. at least austria was dramatic and made a good story. this is just stupid.
- first of all, i'm in korea, stuck teaching at some academy but making almost no money. already the worst summer ever by far.
- then, we were going to go kayaking but it was a rainy day. okay, alright.
- third, we were going to have a group faculty lunch or something, according to jen, but that fell through so we just grabbed a quick bite. then since it was sort of a dreary day, we went home on the few days we get off from work early.
- the next 6 hours consist of sobs and phone calls to my mother asking her not to leave me in this godforsaken country when she goes back home next week. i beg her to take me with her - that i came to korea to either sightsee or make money but that neither is happening with this schedule/academy. six to seven hours of heavy sobbing and crying on the phone.
- it's dinner time, we don't want korean food. we walk around and go to this kalbi place. i ask for kalbi and the waiter also recommends something else. 1. it's not kalbi. 2. the something else is cow stomach. and very gross. 3. jen knocks down all the cooking utensils and i proceed to get 8 mosquito bites in 5 minutes.
- in the 6th minute, our grill goes up in flames. not small flames but over your head, burning everything in sight, licking the edges of our tables and flickering through our hands kind of flames. it continues to flare up, the restaurant watches us silently, all the staff run over trying to put it out to no avail. we'd never seen a flame so ferocious. "we're sorry, we forgot to put the water on the bottom," they apologize. we just watch. after what seems like eternity, the staff douses enough water all over our table to put out the fire. everything is burnt. "we will get you new stuff," they offer. no bother, i tell them, we're going.
- starving, we go to this place called twotwo chicken which is supposed to be like kyochon aka bonchon aka the korean fried chicken we know and love and have read about in the times. it's not. of course. we gag, eat some of it and then jet out.
this is just a quick recap. i wish it were more exciting to make this funny, but it was just lame. stuck in korea, went to work, came home, cried and worried over being stuck here poor, almost burned our faces and hands at dinner, then came home.
if i didn't already make this clear, i want to go home. i need to go home. as i was walking down the pedestrian un-friendly, sidewalk-less side streets, i thought, if one of these speeding, irreverent motorbikes or cars hit me, then i definitely get to go home, or at least leave korea. i paused and then narrowly sidestepped a delivery motorbike at the last minute. maybe, i thought, but not on my birthday.
- - -
so, today was my birthday. two years ago, i got into a huge car accident on the autobahn on the way to salzburg and fractured my ribs and sprained my ankle and dan broke his hand. while less dramatic, today seems worse. in an emotional, disheartening way. at least austria was dramatic and made a good story. this is just stupid.
- first of all, i'm in korea, stuck teaching at some academy but making almost no money. already the worst summer ever by far.
- then, we were going to go kayaking but it was a rainy day. okay, alright.
- third, we were going to have a group faculty lunch or something, according to jen, but that fell through so we just grabbed a quick bite. then since it was sort of a dreary day, we went home on the few days we get off from work early.
- the next 6 hours consist of sobs and phone calls to my mother asking her not to leave me in this godforsaken country when she goes back home next week. i beg her to take me with her - that i came to korea to either sightsee or make money but that neither is happening with this schedule/academy. six to seven hours of heavy sobbing and crying on the phone.
- it's dinner time, we don't want korean food. we walk around and go to this kalbi place. i ask for kalbi and the waiter also recommends something else. 1. it's not kalbi. 2. the something else is cow stomach. and very gross. 3. jen knocks down all the cooking utensils and i proceed to get 8 mosquito bites in 5 minutes.
- in the 6th minute, our grill goes up in flames. not small flames but over your head, burning everything in sight, licking the edges of our tables and flickering through our hands kind of flames. it continues to flare up, the restaurant watches us silently, all the staff run over trying to put it out to no avail. we'd never seen a flame so ferocious. "we're sorry, we forgot to put the water on the bottom," they apologize. we just watch. after what seems like eternity, the staff douses enough water all over our table to put out the fire. everything is burnt. "we will get you new stuff," they offer. no bother, i tell them, we're going.
- starving, we go to this place called twotwo chicken which is supposed to be like kyochon aka bonchon aka the korean fried chicken we know and love and have read about in the times. it's not. of course. we gag, eat some of it and then jet out.
this is just a quick recap. i wish it were more exciting to make this funny, but it was just lame. stuck in korea, went to work, came home, cried and worried over being stuck here poor, almost burned our faces and hands at dinner, then came home.
if i didn't already make this clear, i want to go home. i need to go home. as i was walking down the pedestrian un-friendly, sidewalk-less side streets, i thought, if one of these speeding, irreverent motorbikes or cars hit me, then i definitely get to go home, or at least leave korea. i paused and then narrowly sidestepped a delivery motorbike at the last minute. maybe, i thought, but not on my birthday.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
I'd tap that...korean drum.
Dear Blog,
Today Nami and I were determined to walk the whole length of the Cheonggye Stream (an artificial stream that runs through 6k of downtown Seoul) from the pumps to the river. Long story short: we didn't.
Long story long:
We got off the subway in an unfamiliar part of the city and were walking towards the stream when we came across Deoksugung Palace. As we contemplated whether or not we should check it out, we approached a large, decorated drum in front of the entrance. The moment we reached it, a woman holding a clipboard popped out of nowhere and started talking to me. I was about to tell her I wasn't interested in signing her petition when she asked me if I wanted to hit the drum. "Sure?" I replied. She quickly mentioned something about a ceremony, changing of the guards, hit the drum three times, foreigners...i missed a bunch of the words. "Um, when?" I asked. "Right now." and then she quickly disappeared. Suddenly, trumpets started and men in traditional Korean costume began filing towards where Nami and I were standing. Crap, where did that lady go! What do i hit the drum with...my fist, an open palm even though it's not a bongo? We had only been here for 2 minutes and now we were part of some random ceremony.
Right when I began to worry that I was going to accidentally punch a hole in this fancy drum, the lady appeared again with a stick (or drum bat..whatever). Then this other dude instructed me in how to bang the drum (essentially give it a good whack).
At this point, spectators had gathered to watch this display of korean pomp and circumstance...and some pasty and confused American girl awkwardly participate. When I was given the cue, I did my thing and swung. I'd say I did a pretty good job. I didn't screw up the ceremony (or the drum) which was pretty much my main concern.
The changing of the palace guard wrapped up and the lady handed me the clip board with a list of other foreigners' names. Apparently, they always single out a non-korean in the crowd and make him/her hit the drum. I had to give them my email address so I assume I'm going to be put on some special and exclusive "foreigner-cum-palace percussionist" email list where we'll share our experiences and receive updates on other opportunities to hit fancy korean drums.
Anyway, at this point Nami and I felt obligated to check out this palace so we paid the admission fee (you would think an important person like myself would've gotten a complimentary ticket) and went inside. As per usual, I pressured Nami into posing for ridiculous photos:
We had just finished shooting that last little gem when this cute little man asked us to pose again so that he could take a photo of us acting idiotic at one of Korea's most historic landmarks. So Nami re-mounted the statue and I pretended to take another photo while this guy took a photo of us...meta. After that, he wanted to take pictures with us. He held Nami's hand and stepped away from her. Awkward but adorable.
Then he took a picture with the giant white girl.
He told us he was an amateur photographer taking photos for a competition for which the theme was foreigners visiting Korean monuments. We were the perfect subjects. He took some more pictures of us walking and bid us ado. But then he found us again 15 minutes later and took more pictures of us being foreign but this time we weren't doing stupid things with stone objects.
However, 5 minutes after he left us again, we were back at it. Found this little dude as we were leaving:
It started to rain just as we exited the palace so Cheonggye Stream is saved for another day.
Today Nami and I were determined to walk the whole length of the Cheonggye Stream (an artificial stream that runs through 6k of downtown Seoul) from the pumps to the river. Long story short: we didn't.
Long story long:
We got off the subway in an unfamiliar part of the city and were walking towards the stream when we came across Deoksugung Palace. As we contemplated whether or not we should check it out, we approached a large, decorated drum in front of the entrance. The moment we reached it, a woman holding a clipboard popped out of nowhere and started talking to me. I was about to tell her I wasn't interested in signing her petition when she asked me if I wanted to hit the drum. "Sure?" I replied. She quickly mentioned something about a ceremony, changing of the guards, hit the drum three times, foreigners...i missed a bunch of the words. "Um, when?" I asked. "Right now." and then she quickly disappeared. Suddenly, trumpets started and men in traditional Korean costume began filing towards where Nami and I were standing. Crap, where did that lady go! What do i hit the drum with...my fist, an open palm even though it's not a bongo? We had only been here for 2 minutes and now we were part of some random ceremony.
Right when I began to worry that I was going to accidentally punch a hole in this fancy drum, the lady appeared again with a stick (or drum bat..whatever). Then this other dude instructed me in how to bang the drum (essentially give it a good whack).
At this point, spectators had gathered to watch this display of korean pomp and circumstance...and some pasty and confused American girl awkwardly participate. When I was given the cue, I did my thing and swung. I'd say I did a pretty good job. I didn't screw up the ceremony (or the drum) which was pretty much my main concern.
The changing of the palace guard wrapped up and the lady handed me the clip board with a list of other foreigners' names. Apparently, they always single out a non-korean in the crowd and make him/her hit the drum. I had to give them my email address so I assume I'm going to be put on some special and exclusive "foreigner-cum-palace percussionist" email list where we'll share our experiences and receive updates on other opportunities to hit fancy korean drums.
Anyway, at this point Nami and I felt obligated to check out this palace so we paid the admission fee (you would think an important person like myself would've gotten a complimentary ticket) and went inside. As per usual, I pressured Nami into posing for ridiculous photos:
We had just finished shooting that last little gem when this cute little man asked us to pose again so that he could take a photo of us acting idiotic at one of Korea's most historic landmarks. So Nami re-mounted the statue and I pretended to take another photo while this guy took a photo of us...meta. After that, he wanted to take pictures with us. He held Nami's hand and stepped away from her. Awkward but adorable.
However, 5 minutes after he left us again, we were back at it. Found this little dude as we were leaving:
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What' SUB?, or Seoul's secret auguries.
Anorexia, pork, standardized tests, and the search for affordable iced coffee have pretty much characterized our first ten days in Seoul (entries on all the aforementioned delights will be posted shortly). However, the motif that most succinctly and accurately defines our Korean exploits thus far is signage.
What is a sign? According to a quick Google define: sign search, a sign is "a perceptible indication of something not immediately apparent (a visible clue)," "a public display of a message," "a signal that encodes a message," and lastly, "an augury (indicating important things to come)." So, dearest Seoul, what are you trying to tell us? What will our future hold?
What kind of augury is this? This summer, we will attempt to decipher Seoul's encoded message by piecing together (from here on forth, we will call this operation "playing puzzle") the signs and labels she reveals to us in our commute, shopping sprees, and drunken stupors.
The message so far seems to be that:
What is a sign? According to a quick Google define: sign search, a sign is "a perceptible indication of something not immediately apparent (a visible clue)," "a public display of a message," "a signal that encodes a message," and lastly, "an augury (indicating important things to come)." So, dearest Seoul, what are you trying to tell us? What will our future hold?
What kind of augury is this? This summer, we will attempt to decipher Seoul's encoded message by piecing together (from here on forth, we will call this operation "playing puzzle") the signs and labels she reveals to us in our commute, shopping sprees, and drunken stupors.
The message so far seems to be that:Seoul can be a dangerous place. We should take care lest we fall on our heads. That being said, we should always keep a lookout for [what' sub] because Seoul is an [always funny world]. This trip may feel like [a twosome place], but we need to cut loose, get our [hooch] on, and just listen to the sexy red-headed cartoon chick and grab a cheese stick in this city that is [man's place for relaxation]. We might feel down at times, but we mustn't give up hope on gettin' down -- this city may be full of overbearing Asians who can't dance, but sometimes it can be [so black].And so it is written. Let's play puzzle.
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