Pride and Prejudice...Olympic-style...

If you’ve been paying attention to the Olympics at all, and you’ve been watching figure skating, you probably don’t need to be told who Kim Yun-a is. But if you are a foreigner living in Korea and you don’t have cable at home, you probably don’t need to be told who she is either. It’s impossible to exist in Korea right now and avoid the ubiquitous presence of Yun-a. She appears to be the spokesperson for everything that is sold in Korea…Nike, Samsung, a particular brand of rameon noodles, etc. The other day, I purchased a jug of milk with Yun-a on the carton, and I must admit that it was tastier than regular milk. She is the face of the Olympic games here…she gets at least 10 times more exposure than any of Korea’s other notable winter game athletes. When I get onto a Korean search engine, I am greeted with Yun-a’s lovely, smiling face. When I walk into any of my twelve classrooms, it has become an expectation that a Yun-a related comment will invariably be made. Even though I didn’t see any of her performances live, they replay them so often that I can watch them more or less whenever I feel like it. She is to Korea in 2010 what Michael Phelps was to America in 2008. I am quite happy that she won, if for no other reason than because there was an unreasonable amount of pressure on her to bring home the gold to her native soil. If she had merely won silver, I fear that yesterday would have been declared a national day of mourning in Korea…


You can even wear Yun-a on your feet in Korea. The socks say "Figure Queen Yun-a," aka "p'i-gyeo kkwin yun-a"...It only took me ten minutes to translate them. Yay me!




That being said, there is something slightly disconcerting about being an expatriate watching the Olympic Games in a different country. More specifically, there is something utterly disturbing about being an American watching the Olympic Games in a different country. While I do, in fact, love my country, there is a lot of baggage that comes along with the title of being an American. I could take this topic in a number of different directions, but I think I’ll stick with sports. When it comes to the Olympics, it’s us against the world. Nobody likes to see Americans win except Americans…it doesn’t matter who the athlete is, and it doesn’t matter what the sport is…people don’t like us. It doesn’t help our vulnerable situation when a number of athletes get busted for steroid use. Then the perception becomes that Americans are greedy, dirty cheaters who are hell bent on world domination (this perception can be extended to include more topics than just sports, but perhaps I’ll get into that at a later date). My point is that when someone like Apollo Anton Ohno wins a few too many medals, the contempt that people feel for Ohno inexplicably gets transferred to me, as if I am to be held personally accountable for the success of an athlete that I have nothing in common with except our nationality. Admittedly, a majority of the “contempt” that people have for American athletes and the people who love them is not meant to be taken seriously, in the same way that Vikings fans give a lot of shit to Packers fans. But occasionally, in the same way that a bitter Cheesehead might occasionally feel the need to beat the crap out of an unsuspecting Vike, I get the feeling that some people would genuinely like to beat the shit out of me for quietly supporting Team America. And that is really unnerving…

Last night, I went out to dinner with my Canadian friend Diana. We started talking about the Olympics, and she posed this query to me (I’m paraphrasing here): Why do people feel pride in the achievements of athletes just because those athletes happen to share their country of origin? Are those people successful because they are Canadian or American or Korean? No. They are successful because they are incredibly talented. It’s sort of a ridiculous and irrational phenomenon if you think about it. Before I get bombarded with rampant cries of anti-patriotism, I should clarify that I too, at times, feel bizarrely proud of my country when one person who happened to be born in said country achieves something spectacular. I’ll use the example of Michael Phelps. I don’t know anything about swimming. I don’t especially enjoy swimming. I took swimming lessons for long enough to learn how to stay afloat. I don’t think swimming is a particularly exciting sport to watch. I watch it once every four years during the Olympics. So why is it that, like most Americans, I followed Michael Phelps’ remarkable gold medal quest with rather excessive zeal? Why is it that when he stood at the podium accepting his 8th gold medal, a warm tear rolled down my cheek? Why did I feel pride that someone else excelled at a sport that I don’t even enjoy? Why does anyone?



Furthermore, why do regular people hate some sports superstars for being so athletically gifted that they cannot be competed against, even by the world’s greatest athletes? Why do people get pleasure out of watching greatness fall? I suspect that if, for whatever reason, Apollo Anton Ohno would be stripped of his medals, there would be a boisterous celebration throughout Korea. Why? Why do people feel happy and/or amused when a prodigy like Tiger Woods commits adultery and gets the back window of his vehicle smashed in by his wife with a golf club? Why do people feel pleased that his endorsements begin to drop him from their advertisements, one by one? Why do we, who have nothing to do with the situation, feel a curious sense of smug satisfaction when the personal weaknesses and imperfections of someone who was previously considered to be the epitome of greatness are exposed to the general public? Is it because it makes us feel better about our own self-imposed mediocrity? How insecure must we be to get happiness out of someone else’s failure?

Rampant Laziness

I have a million things to write about: a Korean wedding, the Olympics in Korea, the world's potentially unjustified (or perhaps potentially justified) disdain for Apollo Anton Ohno, the unsatisfying taste of silkworm larvae, etc. I assure you, I will get to these things eventually. But for now I just want to very briefly tell you about how big of a pyle I am.

During the past few weeks, I have experienced unforeseen levels of incredible laziness. My laundry has been drying on the rack for five days, my gym sessions have been cut down to two per week, I haven't written a blog post for a week, and I can't even be bothered to go to the grocery store to get the basic amenities. I don't know what inspired these epic levels of unnecessary sloth, but I know that they must stop. The truth is, the only reason I am even writing about this right now is because it seemed like a more appealing option than going to the gym, doing report cards, doing basic prep for school, cleaning my apartment, etc. It is now early afternoon on Friday, meaning that any intentions I had about being productive will likely be put on hold until Monday. Perhaps I'll be inspired to write an actual blog post then...

"Do you guys give up yet, or are you thirsty for more?"

There is a matter of grave importance that I’ve been trying to get to the bottom of since arriving in this country. After weeks of thoughtful reflection and evidence collection, I think I’m finally ready to present my bold and potentially enlightening thesis: Koreans have an unhealthy obsession with the movie Home Alone.

While I assume that most people have seen or at least heard of Home Alone, I suppose it is still necessary to offer a brief summary. Home Alone tells the story of an eight-year-old boy, Kevin McCallister, who was inadvertently left at home during Christmas while the rest of his family flew to Paris and somehow didn’t notice that he was missing until the plane landed. Due to a number of implausible incidents, no one was able to communicate with or reach Kevin for days. When some incredibly moronic and G-rated thieves attempted to rob the family’s home, Kevin was forced to defend his home from the burglars using elaborately constructed booby traps made from items that just happened to be conveniently lying around the house. In the act of protecting his home, however, he basically wound up causing more destruction to it than the burglars probably would have inflicted. It seems improbable that anyone with an imagination should like this movie, but it seems especially improbable that people living on the other side of the world who don’t speak English and who don’t really even celebrate Christmas should like this movie. But I assure you…they absolutely freaking love it.



Two months ago when I first arrived here, it seemed somewhat odd but very natural that Home Alone should be playing on cable all the time. However, two months later, it is no longer natural for this movie to still consistently play on television, even if it were playing in the United States. But this is not the only thing about the Korean love of Home Alone that is unnatural. It is also unnatural that some of Kelly’s students would mysteriously start shouting “Kevin!” when she merely mentioned Christmas. It is also unnatural that some different students would reenact the scene of the movie in which Kevin rubs aftershave onto his face and bursts into a wide-mouthed scream. It is also unnatural that on the train back from Busan, I noticed that the guy sitting in front of me was reading a full-page newspaper article that evidently had something to do with the movie, as the Home Alone cover photo was proudly displayed at the top of the article. It is also unnatural that when the name “Kevin” was used in a lesson I taught last week, one of my students looked at me, smiled brightly, and said “Ooooh! Kevin! Macaulay Culkin!” What is even more unnatural is that this same student pronounced the name “Macaulay Culkin” with perfect enunciation but is seemingly incapable of pronouncing almost anything else correctly in the English language. If you ask almost any modern-day American teenager who Macaulay Culkin is, he or she will probably just stare at you blankly. So how is it possible that a 14-year-old Korean kid can merely see the name “Kevin” printed in a textbook and immediately associate it with a childhood actor whose short-lived legacy ended before said Korean kid was even born?


Kelly watching Home Alone in her apartment on February 20th...


It’s bizarre, and it’s a question that I am not prepared to answer. But there is a different question that I’d like to briefly explore: What does the apparent nationwide fondness for Home Alone suggest about the Korean sense of humor? As previously mentioned, the film is basically G-rated slapstick humor that is dominated by completely illogical and ridiculous scenarios that require little to no sophistication from its audience. My intention is not to insult Home Alone nor is it to insult Koreans for loving Home Alone. The truth is that I, too, happen to love this movie, for I occasionally find myself in the mood to watch a mindless film that elicits nostalgic memories of childhood. However, I do, more often than not, prefer comedy that is subtle, witty, and hidden in the dialogue, to comedy that is based on wildly outrageous and improbable situations, and I would venture to say that many Westerners share this same preference. About a month ago, I went to see Sherlock Holmes with some friends from various parts of the U.S., Canada, and the U.K. Our row of 9 was the only row in the cinema that ever laughed, and we did so consistently. While the movie was mostly an action film, there was also a lot of subtle humor interwoven into the dialogue. I can’t decide if the humor from that movie was lost in translation, or if Koreans just don’t find movies funny unless an idiotic criminal gets his head torched ablaze by a Machiavellian 8-year-old…I guess I haven’t gotten to the bottom of this mystery after all…



For your viewing pleasure...I'm always a sucker for a good montage!

Three Days Gone in Busan...

As aforementioned in the previous post, I spent this last weekend in Busan. Approximately 9% of this time was spent doing moderately cultural things, 7% was spent sleeping, 74% was spent consuming alcohol, and 10% was spent attempting to recover from the night before in Starbucks…Overall, it was a pretty great weekend. I could spend some time telling you about the things I remember, the things I think I remember, and the things that are merely hearsay, but because relying on my memory to convey this information is so problematic, I’ll allow the pictures to tell the story…


We got on a train...


We got to the hostel...


We were asked in awkward phrasing to not hold beer bottles or expose our nude bodies to the neighborhood...


We were slightly confused, slightly amused, and slightly disturbed by the slogan at RottiBun...


We went to a microbrewery that poured delightful German-style beers...


We attempted to dance...


We attempted to cure a hangover...


We made sand castles...


We rolled around on cold sand...


We went to a Buddhist temple along the sea...


We stared at Buddha's erect nipples...


We walked up some potentially dangerous steps...


We consumed more alcohol...


We played a drinking game and considered going to a norebang (though this picture does not accurately portray these actions)...


We tried to recover again...


We ate some fish that were moderately tasty but would unquestionably horrify most of the people I know...

The Curious Absence of St. Valentine

Today is February 12th. However, it does not feel like February 12th. When I walk into any form of a retail store, I am not greeted with massive displays of pink and red hearts, prepackaged chocolates of all varieties and grades, flowers of all classifications and colors, and fluffy but meaningless stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes. When I turn on the television, I am not bombarded with occasionally clever but usually vomit-inducing advertisements that are all trying to get me to purchase a Norelco razor or a Rolex watch for my nonexistent lover. When I turn on the radio (even though I don’t have one), I don’t have to get invited to multiple bars for a “singles” party at which women only have to pay five bucks to drink all night long so that sleazy men can take advantage of this situation all night long. When I read the newspaper (even though I can’t read Korean newspapers), I don’t have to learn about how florists in the Mid-Atlantic U.S. are concerned that the epic levels of snow will “wilt” their Valentine’s Day sales.

It’s not that Valentine’s Day is entirely disregarded in Korea. I have indeed seen a few isolated pink boxes of what appears to be chocolate or candy tucked away in the corner at the 7 Eleven. In the liquor section of the grocery store, I have spotted a few wine gift sets that are packaged to vaguely hint at the notion of love. But the in-your-face displays, advertisements, and greeting cards full of googly-eyed lovers are completely absent from the aura of Korea, and I couldn’t be happier about this fact. In fact, the only reason that I remembered it was close to Valentine’s Day at all was because I still have to read about it on the facebook status updates of my friends back home.

I suspect that the reason that Valentine’s Day is played down so much in Korea is not only because it is a traditionally Western holiday, but also because February 14th marks a much more important holiday to Korean culture: Lunar New Year. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what is celebrated during Lunar New Year. Here is all that I (think I) know about Lunar New Year:

1. It is (probably) the most important traditional Korean holiday.

2. It falls on the day of the second new moon after winter solstice, which this year happens to be on February 14th.

3. It is a much more important holiday to Koreans than New Year’s Day (i.e. January 1st) or Christmas.

4. Koreans typically spend it in the home with family, whereas they are more inclined to spend Christmas with friends. Typically they will celebrate at the home of the eldest family member (or perhaps the eldest sibling).

5. I suspect that gift-giving might be involved since my students seem more inclined than ever to furtively sneak me a piece of candy, and my school gave all of the teachers a life-time supply of seaweed.

6. I don’t have to go to work on Monday.

Because of Lunar New Year fact #6, I am going to Busan this weekend. Busan is the second largest city in Korea, is situated along the southern coast, and is about an hour away from Daegu by train. I don’t yet know precisely what we intend to do when we get there, but Kelly and I have a friend who lives and works at the Busan branch of MoonKkang, so I imagine he’ll at least be able to show us where to drink.



I don’t yet know what to do with all of my seaweed. Koreans will wrap it around rice or perhaps throw it into some soup. However, I was thinking I might wrap my body in it and pretend to be a mermaid...

Skiing Sideways: The Wave of the Future...

This last Sunday, I went skiing with my ordinary posse of friends. I could tell you at some length about the weirdness of skiing on a mountain on which not a single snowflake was produced in the sky. I could tell you at some length about the overcrowded slopes that were brimming with people who chose to sit down on the middle of a run for no apparent reason. I could tell you at some length about my scrape with death after running face first into a fence at treacherous speeds, getting my boot stuck in said fence, and being forced to play the role of the damsel in distress for five minutes until an older Korean gentleman came by and liberated my foot. I could tell you at some length about the aerial view I had from a ski lift of a child who, clearly in pain, was lying flat on his back for ten minutes after Kelly inadvertently plowed over him. I could tell you about all of these things, but I’m not going to, for there is really only one thing that I want to mention about skiing in Korea, and it’s this:









Couples’ outfits make me giggle internally…

How to Buy Groceries and Reluctantly Enter into Someone's Home...

Several weeks ago, Kelly and I were approached by an extremely petite and extremely vivacious middle-aged Korean woman while wandering through the book section of a massive Wal-Martesque store called HomePlus. The woman, whose English name is Diane, prattled on for a good ten minutes about varying topics before transitioning to her primary motivation for striking up a conversation with us: she teaches an English storytelling class to munchkins and wanted some help with her English skills. At the time, neither of us had phones, but we took her number anyways out of politeness, although we really didn’t intend to call her. Then a few weeks later, still without a phone, Kelly ran into her again at the neighborhood grocery store, where she spent another ten minutes chatting animatedly and inquiring (rather desperately) about the possibility of a language exchange. She wouldn’t let Kelly leave the grocery store before buying her a large tub of strawberries. A few days later, I ran into her again while walking to the grocery store and I assured her that one of us would call her when we finally got phones. Fearing what would happen if we had yet another awkward run-in, Kelly called her a few days later. And this is how I wound up spending four hours on Super Bowl Sunday (i.e. Super Bowl Monday) in the home of an excessively generous and gregarious woman who happens to make me feel physically and mentally exhausted.

On the morning of Monday, February 8, I was in no mood to get out of my bed. I was running on empty from an eventful but physically taxing weekend of extreme wine, extreme skiing, and an extreme lack of REM sleep. Furthermore, the score of the Super Bowl was 16-17 in the third quarter, and this fact made it difficult for me to pry myself from my computer. Besides, it was raining, and even though it annoys me when people use the weather to justify their self-imposed laziness, I am, more often than not, guilty of this very offence. So when Kelly knocked on my door at 10:56 to go participate in a language exchange for an indeterminate length of time, I was in no mood for human interaction in any language, and I grumbled and moped about this fact the entire way to Diane’s apartment (much to Kelly’s annoyance, I’m sure).

When we knocked on the door, we heard a loud, cheerful, and completely indistinguishable shout come from within, and before long Diane opened the door and greeted us with her characteristic exuberance. We were promptly shuffled to the couch, where a large platter of organic strawberries was placed before us. Diane then went to the kitchen and returned with two large tangerine/orange hybrids which are evidently only grown on Jeju island, just south of the Korean peninsula. When the oranges were peeled, she went out to her balcony and returned with a box of apples that were roughly the size of bowling balls (that is only a slight exaggeration). They were ginseng apples that apparently came from a friend who has her own orchard. Fortunately for Kelly and I, they didn’t taste even vaguely of ginseng, a root which we have not yet acquired a taste for. While Diane sat cross-legged on the floor peeling apples, Kelly and I sat on the couch devouring the “fruits” of her labor. Ordinarily I would have felt extremely guilty about sitting on a comfortable couch while a 45-year-old woman sits on the floor, but in Korea, people traditionally sit on the floor when eating, regardless of age. In fact, an overwhelming majority of the restaurants I go to involve removing my shoes and sitting on the floor in front of a table that stands about a foot off the ground (but let’s leave that topic for a future blog post). When Diane finished peeling the bowling balls, she went to the kitchen and returned with tea service. She handed us each a cup of balloonflower root oriental herb tea that had been aged 21 years and was sweetened with honey…it was rather delicious in spite of the fact that a “balloonflower” sounds like something a clown would make at a seven-year-old child’s birthday party. Diane gave us each two packets of the tea to take home with us.



About midway through the peeling of the second apple, Diane’s middle school aged daughter returned home from school. It was only about noon, so I’m not sure why the girl was home so early, but I suspect it has something to do with middle school graduation (which some of my students have been excitedly talking about), and/or national exams. The girl was cute, smiley, polite, and a little shy (at least in comparison to her outgoing mother). Despite her relative quietness, she saddled up next to us and joined us in our fruit feast. I tried to put myself in her shoes. I tried to imagine how I would react if, at any point in middle school, I would have come home and found my mother sitting on the floor and chatting in a foreign language with two Koreans half her age who were seated on the couch. However, even my occasionally vivid imagination found this scenario too bizarre and improbable to fathom.

Anyways, upon the conclusion of the fruit and tea production which lasted well over an hour, once our voracious appetite for fresh produce and Diane’s voracious appetite for English conversation had been simultaneously satiated, we were whisked away into another room to begin our Korean lesson. We started with the basics of the basics: the alphabet. Kelly and I both had previously learned the Korean alphabet in hangul, but it was nice to get more practice and work on the pronunciation of vowels (as there are an abundance of them in the Korean language). My new favorite word is “baram bida,” which literally translates to “wind blow.” In Korean slang, however, a baram bida is a person who commits infidelities against his/her lover, commonly referred to in English as a “cheater.” I like the idea of using the wind as an analogy for adultery. When Diane was explaining the meaning of baram bida to us, she used none other than Bill Clinton as a prime example of a “wind blower.” Poor Bill will apparently never live down the legacy of his fifteen-year-old sex scandal, not even in Korea. Anyways, I think that one of the most interesting things about the Korean language is the difference in sentence structure between English and Korean. In English, we use a subject-verb-object sentence structure (i.e. I like that bag). However, in Korean they use a subject-object-verb sentence structure (i.e. I that bag like). This helps to at least partially explain why a lot of my beginner students struggle with forming simple sentences.


My Korean notes...

After our crash course in Korean, Diane and her daughter took us out for lunch at a galbi restaurant (because she evidently didn’t feed us enough already). Galbi is essentially flavorful pieces of beef that are grilled at the table and served alongside numerous side dishes. On our way to the restaurant, we stopped into a small shop that specializes in making a specific type of Korean sweet made with red bean paste because Diane wanted to buy some for us to sample (even though it sounds neither appetizing nor sweet, it was actually quite tasty). After leaving the restaurant and parting ways with Diane, she insisted that we borrow her extra umbrellas until we see her again because she didn’t want us to walk home in the rain (which was really only a light mist).

At the conclusion of the fourth hour of our “exchange,” I found myself feeling a nagging sense of guilt. I frankly just don't get it. Even though this isn’t a paid position, I couldn’t help but feel like Diane was getting the short end of the stick. What was supposed to be a language exchange ended up being a free for all in which Kelly and I were the ones who reaped all of the benefits. We essentially just walked into a stranger’s home, got fed for four consecutive hours, had a tutorial of the Korean language, and left with considerably more than we came with. What did we provide Diane with? Dishes to wash, a lesson to prepare, and a lunch tab to pay. I’d like to say that we provided her with some stimulating conversation, but the truth is that Diane did a majority of the talking. I’m still trying to understand what our role is in this supposed exchange. I can’t comprehend what caused Diane to so actively seek out our assistance when she seemingly doesn’t need it. I’m beginning to think she’s just bored. She is a housewife whose husband and children are out of the house all day, and she has an extremely high proficiency in the English language but no one with whom to converse. It seems as though she just wants someone to talk to in English...or perhaps she just wants someone to talk to in general...And I guess that’s where Kelly and I come in. We’re not really teachers or even assistants…we’re just conversation partners…and perhaps one day, we will become unlikely friends…

A Day in the Life of a Korean Student

I realize by now, after scanning the titles of my last 20 or so blog posts, that I have completely neglected to talk about the one thing that brought me to this country in the first place. The thing is, I haven’t actually “forgotten” to talk about it…whenever I write these blogs, I always feel like I probably should talk about my job more, but my fingers tend to operate according to their own agenda. The problem is that I find the topic of “work” to be a boring one both to read about and to write about. Additionally, it’s such a massive topic that could be taken in so many different directions that it feels almost too overwhelming to write about. Nevertheless, I think that some things about school are worth mentioning…

And now that I’ve invited you in the last paragraph to take an inside look at my always complicated thought process, I’m going to tell you about the life of Korean youth, for it is an active and demanding one. Depending mostly upon the socioeconomic status of a child’s parents, children in Korea will not go home at the end of the school day and play Nintendo until midnight. If their parents can afford it, they will send their kids to as many academies as can be fit into their already busy schedules. An “academy” in Korea is essentially a private school that teaches kids a particular skill for a few hours each week. There are math academies, piano academies, science academies, Korean academies, basketball academies, and, of course, English academies. Korean parents don’t send their kids to 2 or 3 different academies a week because they hate their kids; they do it because they (a) want their kids to be exceptionally intelligent, and (b) want to boast to other parents about the exceptional intelligence of their kids. So by the time I get ahold of a kid at 9:30 P.M. (when my last class begins), he or she may have been going to school almost nonstop for 13 hours.

As if the ceaseless schooling isn’t taxing enough, kids also have to do vast quantities of homework for both public school and academies. I can’t say with certainty how much homework they have to complete for the other schools they go to, but at MoonKkang English Academy, it is no small amount. If they consistently fail to complete their homework or fail one of the tests that are given to them each week, they will get a jaeshi, essentially Korean detention. Jaeshi ranks #1 amongst the fears of all MoonKkang students, and it is the exclusive motivator that makes students do their English homework, for if they get a jaeshi, they will have to stay at MoonKkang redoing their homework or test for no less than an hour after class ends. As you can imagine, this is not a pleasant experience for them, and the mere mention of the word “jaeshi” often elicits a wide-mouthed and panicked gasp. “Teacher!” they plead, “No jaeshi! My mom is crazy. She will kill me!” As a teacher, I am at liberty to give students jaeshi for a number of offenses. However, bearing their arduous schedules in mind, I find myself often sympathizing with a lot of students, perhaps more than I should. It takes some serious naughtiness for me to inflict another hour of school upon an overexerted 12-year-old. There are, after all, less cruel methods of disciplining children.


Artwork from the most exuberant child I have encountered in my life...

Oh, by the way, have I mentioned that Korean kids also go to public school on Saturdays?

You Better (Not) Shop Around...

Back home, retail workers will robotically ask if you “need any help finding anything” when you waltz into a store, and when you tell them that you’re “just looking” (even though the truth is that you are looking for something specific), they leave you alone (and in some cases neglect you completely) until you seek their assistance. There are advantages and disadvantages to this system, (as well as to the once-a-minute dressing room check-ups), but for the most part I have always been content with doing my shopping without much assistance from a salesperson, and I would venture to say that most Westerners agree with me. The thing is, we don’t want to be bothered when we shop unless our arms are buried in clothes and we are in desperate need of a dressing room.

In Korea, however, it seems as though people genuinely wish to be helped when they walk into a store, and the salespeople are more than willing to accommodate for this desire. What they fail to recognize, however, is that while Koreans evidently want special help when they enter into a store, Westerners just want to be left alone. Even if I had the verbal ability to tell a salesperson in perfect and polite Korean that I would prefer to just have a look around, I think said salesperson would still be utterly confused by my meaning. Having “a look around,” doesn’t appear (at least on the surface) to be a common practice. Mindless, aimless, therapeutic shopping is apparently not a popular Korean pastime.

What this means is that unless you’re in an exceptionally busy store, you are going to get followed so closely by a salesperson that if you make an abrupt stop, he or she will apologetically run into the back of you. Under normal circumstances, this person won’t say anything (presumably due to the language barrier), but it is always uncomfortable, and I always feel compelled to (a) look faster, (b) make a decision quickly, and (c) buy something.

And this is exactly what happened to me unexpectedly within my first week of arriving in the country. I was on a quest for a hair straightener, as I did not want to bring mine from home due to the voltage difference. It was my intention to “shop around” as Americans are wont to do before making an official decision about almost anything. There was a large electronics/appliance store near my school, so I decided that this might be a good place to begin my pursuit. When I waltzed in, I was promptly greeted by no fewer than six salespeople who were huddled together near the entryway; evidently I was the only shopper that afternoon. One of the six was apparently up for a challenge, so she broke away from the pack to try to help me, even though we had no common language with which to communicate. I attempted to explain to the woman through broken words, caveman-like grunts, and full-body gestures that I was simply looking. “Earphones?” the woman guessed in our 30th second of what felt like the longest and most exhausting “conversation” of my life. At this, I put forth my resignation and began straightening my hair with an invisible flat iron. The woman understood what I was seeking immediately and shuffled me up three escalators to the hair appliance section. Safely escorted to my destination, I expected to now be left alone to ponder my decision; I was not left alone, however, as the salesperson dutifully remained by my side like a loyal Bloodhound. After maybe 60 seconds of comparing products under pressure, a small Korean man appeared at my side, bowed his head, and handed me a cup of green tea. “Kam-sa-ham-ni-da!” I said as I took the cup with both hands and a head bow. Still under the surveillance of the salesperson and now having just received an overt gesture of hospitality, the pressure to make a purchase had mounted even further. At this point, I only had two options: 1) I could drop my tea, run down three flights of stairs, and hold on to a vague hope that Koreans think that all Caucasians look alike so that none of the salespeople would ever recognize me again, or 2) I could sacrifice my instinctive desire to compare prices/products and shell out 45,000 won (about 40 bucks) on a hair straightener in order to salvage what small amount of pride and dignity I had left. I chose the latter…


The fruits of my labor...

Having now grown accustomed to the practice of being followed whenever I enter into a shop, I have come to accept it as a part of my shopping experience. However, while you eventually get used to it, you never feel comfortable with it. Kelly, Diana, and I went shopping last weekend, and while I successfully managed to find entirely too many things I wanted to buy, the pleasure that normally comes along with the act of shopping was at least partially replaced with anxiety whenever we walked into a shop. It’s always awkward when I merely touch a shoe, and the salesperson immediately asks what size I want and demands that I sit down to try it on. Since I have neither the stamina nor the syntax to put up a fight, I submit to her demands, try on the shoe, leave it on my foot for long enough to feign an interest, avoid eye contact as I hand the shoe back to her while letting out a soft, guilt-ridden “a-ni-o,” bolt out of the store immediately, and enter into another shoe store so I can do it all over again…


Sometimes the shoe fits...

The Man in the Moon

Last evening, as we were waiting to catch the bus downtown, I noticed that there was a full moon. I also remembered that there was a full moon at the end of the month in October and November in South Dakota. I found this to be curious, and I posed this query to Kelly, Diana, and Hannah: Can a full moon be seen anywhere in the world on the same date? None of us knew for certain, but we arrived at a mutual hypothesis that whatever you see in the Northern hemisphere will be the opposite of what you see in the Southern hemisphere, essentially that if there is a full moon in Seoul, there will be a new moon in Sydney.

We were kind of right but mostly wrong. The truth is that the phases of the moon are the same everywhere on Earth, meaning that there is a full moon right now both in Seoul and in Sydney. There is a difference, however, in the perspective of the moon between Northern and Southern hemispheres. If the moon is in a crescent shape and the ends of the crescent are pointing towards the right in Seoul, they will be pointing to the left in Sydney. I know this is going to sound obnoxiously sentimental, but I find it to be rather beautiful and remarkable and comforting and thought-provoking to know that the moon (for the most part) will look exactly the same in all places in the world on any given night. I also find it to be slightly depressing because to some degree it makes me feel very small and insignificant. Anyways, if you’d like a slightly more technical description of what I’ve just told you above, visit this site:

http://www.woodlands-junior.kent.sch.uk/time/moon/hemispheres.html