I didn’t make it to the gym until 11:30 tonight. Although the sauna is open 24 hours, the excercise room, for no discernable reason, closes at midnight. I can read enough of the signage to know this, but as the man wearing red rubber gloves came into wipe everything down, I was pretending I didn’t, hoping he was uneasy enough with his English skills to just let me finish my workout. It seemed to be working, but I started to feel bad for him, so I compromised. The song I had been waiting for all night finally came on my MP3 player. (I figured out how to include this song for your listening enjoyment above.) I decided when the song was over, I would push the stop button and leave. It was a good decision; he gave me a very relieved nod that I wasn’t going to force him to confront me as I smiled on my way out.
Jimjilbangs seem to be either a person’s favorite thing in Korea, or something that they would never even consider doing even with the promise that they will come out fifty pounds lighter in the end. For me, they are heaven. Due to the fact that I’m actively trying to loose weight, that I love to swim, and that saunas are pure bliss to me, the naked 60-year-women are of little consequence.
For the folks who read this who have never been to Korea, Jimjilbangs are a ubiquitous part of the culture that I am going to have a hard time giving up when I go elsewhere. They are elaborate saunas, workout rooms, bathing pool/hot-tub/awesomeness with the add-on of any number of other things like sleeping quarters, restaurants, massage parlors, and the part that people talk about the most: for less than $20 you can have an old lady scrub every dead skin cell off your body with a rag that feels like a cat’s tongue, which will not only make your skin beautiful, but erase any shred of modesty you may have had left.
Actually, that’s not that part that people talk about most. The part that foreigners talk about most, is that in the actual sauna part, it is an absolute requirement that you go naked. The saunas are separated by gender, obviously, and it is a parade that takes all kinds. My kind sticking out like a sore thumb for reasons I probably don’t even want to know about.
In the common areas everyone, male and female, are given the exact same uniform to wear. Long baggy gym shorts, and a t-shirt. One good thing is that you are not confronted by the latest in cheek-flossing LA style workout-wear. One bad thing is that the ladies at the front desk seem to think I am an Amazon woman and always hand me a ridiculously large outfit to wear that makes me look like a walking sack of potatoes. I have to tie the drawstring tight so that my shorts don’t run off while I’m jogging on the treadmill. I’ve made a point of hiking them up and retying the strings in front of the desk Ajammas, but they still seem to think that I require a men’s extra large in the drawers department.
My rear is probably not what any of the ladies in the sauna are concerned with though. I would imagine, there is another part of me that is quite noticeable. The “cool pool,” as I like to call it is the perfect temperature and is deep enough to actually swim laps. It also has jets that are strong enough to send you shooting across the pool, or mar your back with bruises if you stand too close when you turn them on as I found out the morning after my first visit. The second time I was there I had a little toddler of a guy use my chest to hoist himself up over the final step. He was just climbing his way up, and I happened to be standing there, and high enough to be the next rung in the ladder. Then today, there was a lovely old lady who couldn’t stop looking. They do float a little in the pool, being made of what they are made of, but she was looking at me as if she suddenly forgot how to swim and was considering me as an option for a personal flotation device.
That wasn’t nearly as bad as the women at the Seoul Women’s Bookclub who told us a story of a middle-aged Korean woman sitting next to her in the hot tub, who leaned over and squeezed her breast firmly, and then turned back to her companion and declared, “Yep, they’re real!”
Which reminded me, yesterday a boy who looked to be about seven was doing some serious scientific analysis on my body compared to his adult companions. At one point during his data collection, I really thought he was going to flat-out grab my chest. He had both hands up, fingers splayed, one eye closed – but he stopped short of actually touching me, moved his hands over to his mother and compared. Like you would measure something on a map by using your knuckle. Just a rough estimate for future reference.
So by 1am this morning, I was worked-out, hot-tubbed, and bubble-jet happy. But there was a little snaffoo in trying to pull on the skirt that I love, and can finally fit into for the first time since I’ve been in Korea. You know how it’s harder to wiggle into stuff when your skin is damp and the steam makes you swell. The stupid thing is that I had thought of that before I left. I actually thought to myself, “it is going to be hard to get this skirt back on after getting out of the sauna.” But did I bring a different change of clothes. No. So there I was wiggling around trying to coerce the skirt up over my rear, when I hear some tittering behind me. I knew I couldn’t get away with this unnoticed. The display, I’m sure, guaranteed the fact that the next time I go, the shorts that are handed to me will be a men’s extra, extra large.
The song is Down in Mexico by The Coasters
The original Adventures of a D Cup
Now, when you move to a new country, it is to be expected that strange things, things outside of your norm, and the just plain unexpected will happen. The apartment building that I live in with all but two of the other teachers at our school has left the realm of cultural relativity and entered the realm of slum.
I have stooped to airing my grievances on my blog because I think it’s pretty clear that neither my boss (because he’s getting a great deal and doesn’t have to pay the “key” deposit over and over since he’s been keeping folks here so long), the landlord, or anyone else for that matter seems to care what happens here.
Here’s the shortlist of bullshit that has happened in the four months I’ve been in this particular location:
- Someone walked into my apartment and stole my purse while my friend stepped out to have a smoke and left the door unlocked. Not even being in the building (or the room) is enough protection in this shithole.
- Jim’s bike was purposefully knocked over when someone didn’t like where he parked.
- Someone left a turd on the fifth floor landing. One teacher really thinks it was human, but there has been some speculation. Either way, the landlord didn’t have it cleaned up for several days.
- Someone broke the hallway light, seemingly on purpose.
- I woke up at 12:30 tonight to the sound of my downstairs neighboor yelling and throwing dishes.
- The man who lives across from one of the other teachers is heard repeatidly beating his girlfriend.
- A random drunk woman walked into one of the teacher’s apartments, started making herself noodles, and then climbed in his bed.
- Jim’s mechanic thinks someone purposefully put dirt in the engine of his motercycle.
- One of the teacher’s had his scooter stolen from our garage a couple of months ago.
- The putrid smell that comes out of the sewer right in front of our front door that frequently fills the entire building with the smell of a frat-house, morning-after-beer-shit.
The piece de resistance was this afternoon, in broad daylight, as I was walking to work, a man comes out of the shadows, cock in hand, wanking off and staring directly at yours truly. Fortunately or unfortunately, this isn’t the first country, or the first place such a thing has happened. Actually, I believe the subway in D.C. was the biggest offender, where I had to make sure I never got too engrossed in the book I was reading on an hour-long subway commute, each way, to work in Congress, or I would end up with a pervy sitting too close.
The long and the short of it is that dick does not embarrass me. I find it simultaneously to be one of the most desirable and laughable parts of a man.
I don’t think older Korean men expect you to stand up to them. As a younger woman, I’m supposed to cower away in shame while his age and status protects him. Instead, I looked him square in the face, punched him, albeit not very hard as I’ve never really punched anyone before, spat on him, and gave him a glorious flying bird as I stormed away and he was left the one cowering in surprise.
So I’m left none worse off than before, and possibly with a chance to actually use my unlady-like biceps, but the issue that still stands is that our boss has us living in the worst part of town, and clearly doesn’t give a shit. This on top of the fact that some of his dinner conversation at the company party included a discussion about whether it is better to go to prostitutes or just find “wild” girls (his stand was that wild girls have more muscles “down there”). I missed this part, but apparently he had the new Korean female staff in tears harassing them.
Men jerking off in broad daylight is only one tiny part of a huge problem that women here are still viewed as toys. I did see the part where the boss forced all the new staff (myself included) to drink two giant mec-so bombs in a row (soju, the local vodka type drink and meckchu which is beer). Say what you will, but through years of practice and possibly luck of some genes, I can drink a lot of men under the table. One new Korean staff was not so lucky and ended up leaving hurling and in tears. He forced her to drink more and called her weak. I’ll gladly throw back a few, but I was appalled at how he forced someone who clearly didn’t want to be there to do the same.
And how am I supposed to have a professional working relationship and make demands of someone who acts like this? Get through the year and find a different place to work? But where does that leave the people who come to this branch after me? And will they have to live in this shithole, slum apartment?
Who else out there is having similar experiences in Korea, or are we at a particularly troublesome school/location?
I was trying to find a Festivus clip, but this was way funnier:
Actually it was what felt like most of Saturday and Sunday. One of my absolute favorite things about Korea is the subway system that connects the entire northwest quad of the country. But, I feel like I am on the thing all of the time.
Just riding along.
So this is how I looked all weekend. Frazzled hair, huge bag full of books, and standing holding a subway loop. Actually I got to sit, a wonderous luxury, on a large part of the ride to go see Bybee, who lives near Asan. We had a great weekend chatting it up about books, boys…. and riding the subway.
A lot of people read on the subway. I love living in a place where reading is not just for the academics and dorks. They read on the subway so much, there are vending machines for books on the subway platforms.
I actually had enough time to read an entire book on the subway ride down to see her. In the Name of Honor
Bybee’s house was my first experience being inside the ever-present, high-rise, apartment clusters. They are like ant colonies. Dozens of buildings all in one place, exactly the same, 20+ stories high, with hundreds of people living in them. They are very functional, very unattractive, and dominate the Korean landscape.
We ended the day with another, very long subway ride back to Itaewon for the bookswap at The Wolfhound. Plus some only semi-successful cheese shopping at the Foreign Food Mart. It was a good solid weekend, they go by so quick now…
“Why is it that when Robert Redford – cum Denys Finch Hatton flies away in the golden glow out in Africa, he is pursuing his destiny? And when I walk away I’m just a chick who’s scared of commitment and on the run, who’s weird for ignoring Glamour magazine’s prediction of her eggs drying up?”
From Adventure Divas: Searching the Globe for Women Who Are Changing the World
by Holly Morris
Teaser Tuesdays is hosted by Should Be Reading.
Filed under: Travel
Someone I know from back home in Maine has just started teaching English in Oman. He just started a quite interesting blog here:
Unfortunately I forgot to recharge my camera battery before I left the house, so I only got a couple pics of the very modern, very cute, and very well designed Jukjeon area. You can tell this area is a little newer, because even with the huge highrises and standard set of stores, an eye for aesthetics is being taken into consideration while it is being built. We went to a great little walking street lined with restaurants and local coffee shops. No Leaf and Bean and TomandToms here, each store was individual inside and out, and the place we went for the Bookleaves bookclub had a great menu.
Bookleaves Crew - Aren't they nice looking people?
Apples
Typical Korean cityscape.
We read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society 
In what seems like a perfectly normal coffee shop, Dr. Fish has tanks of little fish that will eat the dead skin off of your feet for 2,000 won. It was really creepy and weird at first, but after about a minute I got used to it. Some Australian guys came and sat down next to me, and were squealing like babies. It made me feel tough, and my feet feel great.
Toe nibblers.
My three day weekends are dwindling. I’m fairly certain that the wonderful four day work week was just my prize for being one of the “newbies,” and that in two weeks I’ll be back to a five or six day work week. It has been great to have to have long weekends to explore Korea, and this weekend we took the bike out again and headed to the nearby Ganghwa Island. Ganghwa, and several of its neighboring islands are all part of the Metropolitan City of Incheon, even though like Buypeong, they have their own city offices as well. I’m not clear on how municipalities work here.
Ganghwa and Seokmo Islands make great day trips. There is a lot of cultural stuff to be seen, and true to seaside towns everywhere, there is a certain relaxed air along with the cool breeze.
The north side of Ganghwa island is spotted with dolmens, archaeological features made out of gigantic rocks stacked in various shapes. The most common in this area are table dolmens, two to four large rocks form a foundation, and a huge cap stone is placed on top. These rocks cover underground burials.
Table Dolmen
We took a road around the island, and headed south. The island is dotted with military checkpoints, and at one point we took a wrong turn, the soldiers quickly turned us around, looked at our map like they’d never seen one before, and pointed us in a vaguely different direction.
We ended up at Oepo, which we didn’t realize until the next day. Everytime we showed someone our map, first they acted really confused as to how or why we didn’t know where we were, and then they would flip through the atlas looking for something familiar, but it became pretty clear that map reading is not something many folks are exposed to here. I suppose that’s true just about everywhere, especially in places where people tend to lead fairly localized lives.
Oepo is a sea town famous for it’s raw fish restaurants. Neither Jim or I are really big on that, but I talked Jim into being more adventurous about food and we picked one. After much gesturing and getting nowhere, the waiter finally just dragged us over to the fish tank and motioned for us to pick one. There were conchs, which we tried one, flat brown spotted fish, and then regular looking long chubby fish. We tried on of those, having no idea if it was going to be cooked, prepared, or just served whole on a platter. Here’s what came out first:
Side dishes at the raw fish market
A seaweed salad, the conch – which was really weird, slimy, salty and slightly bitter, some sort of snail that tasted like clams and we had to fish them out of the shell with toothpicks, the ever-present side of peppers, garlic, and chili sauce, fried shrimp (complete with shells and heads), a fillet of small relatively tasteless fish, some cooked whole shrimp, and basket of greens.
The fish we ordered came out raw on a pile of clear “noodles” cut into delicate little pieces with side of slightly different chili sauce.
It was really good, and then a soup with the head and the tail of the fish in it was brought out. The soup was fantastic, but really, really spicy. We managed to avoid the head of the fish, I never knew that fish eyeballs turn completely white when boiled, until the waitress came out and cut up the head with a pair of scissors, releasing the bones, scales and who knows what else into the broth. It was kind of sad.
Unfortunately, I felt like most everything except our large fish tasted vagely of dirty ocean water, but we got out of the culinary adventure relatively unscathed.
The next morning we hopped a ferry to Seokmo Island, where the very famous Bomunsa temple is nestled on a cliff-side of one of the interior mountains. It was a lovely area, with a huge, gorgeous temple. It was the hottest I’ve felt yet this summer, but the place was still teeming with people.
It is a holy site that has several components that have all been combined into one temple. There is a cave temple that was built around the year 635. I didn’t get a good shot of it, but in this shot from above the cave looking down on the buildings you can see the top of the rock that is the temple. Cave temples are one of the things I am really interested in regarding Mongolian archaeology. Buddhism has been persecuted many times as a religion, particularly in North Eastern Asia. In Korea many of the monks took refuge in the mountains and in Mongolia they went into hiding in caves. This part of Korea used to be the capitol of the country, and was invaded by Mongols in the mid 1200s.
Also at this site is a 32 foot carving on a cliff face of Buddha constructed in 1928. It was a difficult and really hot climb up the side of the mountain, but we got to talk with some students whose parents were eager to have the money they spent on English lessons put to use. We talked for a while with a college student who gave us some information on the area and was really friendly, until it became clear his father was upset his son was spending time talking to us instead of praying.
Hot and exhausted we caught the ferry back to Ganghwa and did a tour around the south end of the island, which was a huge mistake. There was an enormous sea of people going to the beach that day, and between people trying to park along the road and all the folks walking, it was impossible to get anywhere. The beach wasn’t a sandy beach like we think of it, it was low tide, and a giant mud flat where people were digging for shellfish, rolling around in the healthy benefits of sea mud, and generally getting sun baked. Who needs mudfest? Folks can come to the beaches and get covered in mud anytime.
We finally made it through and made a pit stop at one more temple before riding home. I was so tired at this point, even I couldn’t find much to be excited about. Jeondeungsa temple seemed very new to me, and in fact several new temple buildings were under construction. People were buying slate roof tiles and writing things on them that I assume where going to be blessed and then used on the roofs of the new buildings.
I did like this temple that had “guards” in the doors. I wasn’t sure if they were there to keep evil spirits out, or to bonk lazy practitioners such as myself on the head as people walk in.
We finally headed back to the Incheon mainland, feeling culturally fulfilled. We got quite lost, and a really generous Korean man in a car saw us scratching our heads and looking at street signs. He was trying to give us directions, but then just decided to go out of his way and drive us to the intersection we needed. It was such a great ending to the day to have someone go so much out of their way.
As we were following him, we noticed he was driving a Ford.
Unless you teach at one of the S. Korean schools that is mandating quarantine for everyone who leaves the country, you probably thought you were done hearing about “the Quarantine.”
Sage Tyrtle from the Canadian podcast Quirky Nomads contacted me about doing an interview and I had a great time talking with her about our time in the swine flu madness lockdown. As much as it was up and down while in it, everyone was right, it does make an interesting story to tell.
I think her hook-line for the story is fantastic: “When Shanna Underwood of Ruby Ramblings and her friend Jim were laid off at the same time, they decided to go to Korea and work as English teachers for a year. A week after arriving, Shanna was woken up at four in the morning by a knock at her hotel room door.”
Quirky Nomads has a lending group on Kiva if anyone is interested.
Jim’s grandfather was stationed in South Korea in the late 1940s, right before the outbreak of the Korean War. He was stationed in Yeosu, a then almost nonexistent, and now still small coastal town on the south end of Korea. I learned from a friend that Jeju Island was a stronghold of communist support, sandwiching the mainland between themselves and what is now North Korea. This may be a possible reason for why so many folks were stationed along the southern coast.
We had a long weekend away from the hagwon, and decided to take a trip south. Not just any trip, no, no, we ventured on Jim’s motorcycle all the way from Incheon. Well Jim, did anyway. He left on Friday morning, and as I had to teach Friday, I caught a bus to Gwangju.
Gwangju
Since I don’t work for a public school, and have almost no vacation time for this entire year, the unexpected opportunity to take a long weekend was too much to pass up. Being the kind of adventurer I am though, I always try to fit in too much. My original plan to meet a couple of friends in Dangjin for drinks was foiled by the fact that a huge percentage of the country also had this weekend off, which left me with no train or bus tickets to anywhere I needed to go. I was at the bus station, wondering what the hell to do, when I finally got in touch with Jim, who had been riding his motorcycle all day. He was close to Gwangju, and wonders abound, it was the only bus with any spots left that night at the terminal. I bought a ticket, checked with the guidebook since I really had no idea where Gwangju was, and settled in for a four hour bus ride that started at 11pm.
Since there was no way Jim and I were going to find each other, when I got to Gwanju, I just found a motel and passed out. When Jim called the next morning, it turned out he wasn’t that close to Gwanju, and I needed to entertain myself for a few hours. See, this is where I get myself in trouble. Open the guide book, see what there is in the area – ah, Mudeungsan Mountain, that sounds like fun. I hopped a bus in the right direction, keep an eye out for the Wonhyosa temple entrance, and I’m off.
The bus took a long route up a winding mountain, and it turned out I didn’t need to watch too closely as the Wonhyosa temple was the last stop on the bus line.
Jim called, and was still a while away, so I decided to take a walk up the mountain trail. This is where I really got in trouble. Not wearing good shoes, with a shoulder bag full of books and clothes, but the never ending desire to get a few good pics and a decent hike in, I struck out on a path that said it was headed to another temple, where supposedly I could catch another bus. All would have been well and good, except that I fell twice on my already fragile knees, making for slow hiking, and when I got 9/10ths of the way to the temple – straight downhill almost 3 miles, the trail was washed out and a giant fence was put up to prevent people from trying to scramble around. I looked up the mountain, it was physically impossible for me to get back up that mountain at this point. My knees were a mess, I had no water, and the really crappy Chinese I had for breakfast was long burned up. There was a little path to the right that was my only bet, but I didn’t have the slightest idea where it went.
Jim calls again, “I’m in Gwangju.” Well, that’s great, but I’m lost in the woods.
After much walking, slipping once again and getting chastised by an old Korean man for my poor choice in hiking foot attire, I found my way to an entrance to the park and another bus stop. As is pretty common, none of the bus stop signs were in English, so I just had to get on a bus and hope it was headed toward Gwangju. Luckily it was, and although I couldn’t figure out how to get back to the station, I was able to get into town and then take a taxi to the bus station.
On the bike, 22 to 17 south.
Yeosu
Yeosu is nothing like what it was fifty years ago. Although it is still a fishing town surrounded by rice fields and farms, it has fallen into the concrete pattern of the rest of the country. One thing that strikes me here are some of the places that food is grown. You will see corn plants right up the road, with no break or ditch like there would be at home. Squash and melon plants are spilling onto the streets and hanging off roofs where they are grown on sheets of plastic lined with dirt.
There are several islands off of Yeosu, and a road that connects them all. Well, almost. When we passed over the first bridge, I was thinking it looked suspiciously new. Sure enough, half way through the first island, and the road ends in a corn field. Development is so fast here that roads that are still “to be built” are labeled as real roads on the map, because it would be pointless to update maps every time a chunk of asphalt is put in. The geography of Korea changes constantly. A country that was once completely leveled and deforested is now 90% re-forested and covered in amazingly lush mountains top to bottom.
We turned back around and decided to try and take the road around the islands from the other direction and see if we could get any further. We pulled off onto a road that said it had a temple on it. A long, winding, partially paved, hole-filled road. At the end, it just looked like a row of dilapidated buildings. Just as we were about to pull away, a very excited woman calls out in English, “Oh please come up!!” She saw Jim’s Ohio State t-shirt and was immediately ecstatic over seeing a couple of fellow Americans. She is a Korean woman who emigrated to New York over thirty years ago, and had come back to Korea to reconnect with family and her roots.
As we came up the stairs, we could see what we couldn’t see from the road. This was indeed a giant temple, complete with retreat cabins, giant statues, and a huge temple shrine. Twenty years ago a lone monk decided he wanted to start a temple in this gorgeous location, and set out raising money on his own.
What struck me was how much the area looked like the Maine coast. Pine trees and mountains that come right up to the ocean. Some of the pics here could be confused for pics I took living in Bar Harbor.
Chong, our new Korean-American friend, went out of her way to ask the resident monk if he would mind meeting us. He invited us in for tea. This is why I came to Korea, to meet monks and hang out in temples. He was wonderfully gracious and talked to us for a couple of hours. He even gave us a meditation lesson, and gave me homework. Chong said he gave me homework because he wants to see me again. I asked if I could come back to do a retreat and he told me if I practice, I can come anytime, but if I don’t practice meditation, he will know. It was great, and one of the most beautiful places I have seen. Chong said she wasn’t even planning to come to this temple when she first came, she did like we did and just visited on a whim – and then never left. She’s been studying there for a year and plans to stay for two more.
The monk also said that if any foreigners are interested in coming as a group for a retreat, he would be really interested in teaching it, so if you are interested, we can coordinate, and I will contact them about having a group receive a teaching.
The hardest part of the trip was getting back. We made it the entire length of the country in a few hours, and then spent the same amount of time just getting from Seoul to Bucheon. It made me wish we lived somewhere like Gongju where we would be close enough to Seoul to bus in, but far enough away to enjoy the country.
The bike getting a rest from our butts, or our butts getting a rest from the bike. I’m not sure which.
Ruby Ramblings 