Peter Pan's Hell

Completing a compulsory three week English Language camp brought some harsh realities into the light. I know I've made mention of the Korean education system before, but haven't really explained in detail.  It's one of those cultural oddities that make people gasp, every once in and a while will make international news, and leaves most expats shaking their heads. 

Elementary School:

This is pretty normal. Kids start in first grade. Kids are usually 6-7 years old, and go to school from around 8am-3pm. All very normal. Except for after school programs. It's "the thing" to put your kids into private academies, called hagwons, for the after school hours. Whether your kid needs/wants it or not they will attend music classes, art, tae kwon do, English, Chinese, math, or other academic classes. These usually last an hour long, and the average Korean kid goes to 3-4 hagwons. This means the kid gets home around 6-8pm. Elementary school is grades 1-6.

Middle School:

Things get a bit more intense in middle school. School begins around the same time, but ends around 4:30, then it's hagwon time. Now the students are in academic academies: science, math, English, Chinese, etc. Students get home around 8 or later. Middle school is three years long.

High School/Hell:

School can start anywhere from 7-9am; whenever the student gets there to study or prep for the day. Students no longer attend after school hagwons because they stay in school until 10pm. Yep. 10pm. There are no hobbies, sports teams, or life outside of school. There is an overwhelming amount of stress placed on these teenagers for the three years it takes to complete high school. They are not offered any sort of outlet to relieve stress and society continues to make ridiculous demands of these kids. Many parents hate this system. They see what it does to their children. I asked my adult students last year why they conformed to this. Students aren't forced to stay in school until 10pm. They do it because they're pressured to and realize that if they want good scores and to have a good reputation then they must. The answer was, "it's just the Korean way." Societal pressure skips no one.

Sixty years ago, Korea was one of the poorest countries in the world and now it has one of the best economies. The Korean work ethic is unlike any other, but it comes with a price. Korea has one of highest suicide rates in the world, most of the victims being between the ages of 14-19. Pressure and stress caused by the education system is one of the leading causes. 

So, while I was working my English summer camp for the past three weeks, my students broke my heart. They were 14 years old, one year away from high school, and we would talk about school and how much they hated it. They wanted to play outside, have art classes, play in a band or sing in a choir like they'd seen in American movies. They know they have to put those desires away. Studying is it. Studying is life. So when I would be with some my elementary school students for our drama club time (I know. Me? Drama club?) they would share creative ideas, draw some of the best stuff free handed, and explore in their new found creativity. As the weeks past and bonds were formed, these children would seek me out and their tiny hands would find mine. I melted. 

They're kids. Children who don't really get to be children. South Korea would have been Peter Pan's hell. I could quote my child psychology classes or education theorist I've studied, but these links are so much more interesting and hands on. 

A short documentary on Korean high schools. Watch it. It's truly eye-opening and heart crushing.

A tumblr set up by an English teacher who wanted to give his kids a way to speak their minds. It's wonderfully hilarious. 

 

Fail

I did a post last month on stereotypes and how the consequences reverberate throughout social constructs and ultimately shape a society and it's patterns of thinking. What I failed to do was talk about the stereotypes foreigners have about Koreans. It's super easy, while living here, to observe the society, form opinions, and then create labels. For example, all Koreans are obsessed with beauty and obtaining that perfect and ridiculous standard. All Koreans are selfish and think about themselves first. I've had three different conversations with friends, both living in Korea and back home, about these two topics in the past two days. Without even realizing what I'd done, I'd failed. I had drawn a box around Koreans and labeled it.

My friends and I weren't trying to be hateful or make ourselves be the better of the two. We were expressing frustrations we had experienced in a slew of situations lately, situations that happen over and over again. For example, men peeing in public. I don't even want to count how many times that's happened to me. I cannot unsee this stuff people! Sigh. I digress.

Because I do live here I feel more confident in telling my friends and family back home about the underbelly of Korea; what people wouldn't know unless they lived here. Yeah, Korea has a lot of problems that disturb me: their education system, whitening creams, the suicide rate, their lack of proper cheese. However, even though I live here, I don't know every Korean, and in fact my Korean friends aren't like the mainstream Korean. I dishonor my friends every time I say, "All Koreans...". One of my friends would drop everything the second she heard we were in the hospital or needed something. She hates the Korean education system and mourns for her son's childhood wasted in a school study hall until 10pm every night. Other Korean friends fight the beauty standard and accept their differences (darker skin, no double eyelid).

The moment I realized I failed happened yesterday. I was waiting for the bus wearing shorts and a tank top. Sleeveless shirts are pretty scandalous in Korea and I knew this. I also didn't care. I was uber culturally sensitive last year, but after the man peeing in public last week, I said to hell with it. I figure if the men in this country can show their man bits, I could show my shoulders. I stood there, waiting in my scandalous outfit when an old grandma came up to me. She touched my shoulder, smiled, and said, "이 빠다". Something I didn't understand. I smiled and said ok. She kept talking and all I understood was 외국 사람. Foreigner. My smile disappeared. I'm wearing something that's probably offense to her. She touched my naked shoulder. She just called me a foreigner. All these old people think foreigners are bad news to their blessed country. Did she just call me a slut? She did. I know she did.

When I met my friend later I asked her,  What did this old lady call me? She called me a slut didn't she?"
"No Jennifer. She called you pretty."

Fail.

You are You and I am Me

Enough already. I can't take it anymore.

There are so many things that are challenging in the expat life: culture shock, homesickness, language barriers, clothes don't fit, lack of a good community. But the one thing that I hate, the gut wrenching, fire evoking, seeing red hate (and deal with far too often) is stereotyping. Prejudice, discrimination, whatever. It dips it's toes into all pools of mistrust and hate.

Being from a southern state in the US, I have battled against my share of stereotypes.
"Southerners are ignorant and uneducated. They're all flaming racists too."
Blood boiling I tell you.

If I believed every stereotype I'd ever heard then I would believe all Yankees hate all Southerners (we've already heard about them), Irish are drunks, Germans are Nazis, Australians are partiers and druggies, Afrikaners are racist, Americans are fat, loud, and arrogant, Zulus are violent, Mexicans are dirty, Asians are good at math, Brits are tea drinking snobs, Native Americans are drunk and lazy. The list could fill pages, books, and then libraries. Stereotyping actually causes my heart to ache with anger first and then grief. I know it's inevitable. It will happen. I know that wherever I go I will face ever increasing numbers of stereotypes, and be automatically judged just because of my nationality. The stereotypes are lined up against me. Battles will be fought to prove them inaccurate, and there will be moments of shame when they are proven to be true.

Imagine what our world would be like if we had never heard any of these stereotypes. We went in meeting new people with no preconceived notions or thoughts. A bit more peaceful I believe.

However, just because I know discrimination exists, always has and maybe always will, doesn't mean I won't do anything to fight in hopes of it's defeat. Ask any good friend of mine and they'll tell you that I'm judgmental. I judge people on their actions and their character. That's how I want to be evaluated, my character, and not by my accent or where I come from. I want to raise my children to believe in the goodness of people and the beauty of differences, to not fear what they don't understand. My hope for the future is strong, and it's strong because I believe it can be changed. It makes me unbelievably angry when Americans (my own people!) say, "oh yeah, I thought that all Southerners were really ignorant and racist." But few things make me feel as good as when they say, "until I met you."
So, when I tell people I'm from the States and their face sets as they start to politely put me in box of stereotypes and set notions, I can't wait to shatter it all.

And just because I never want to be too serious on such a weighty subject... enjoy.

People are much deeper than stereotypes. That's the first place our minds go. Then you get to know them and you hear their stories, and you say, 'I'd have never guessed.'

~Carson Kressley

What the Wednesday on a Thursday: Nature Calls

In my travels I have become a connoisseur of bathrooms, or toilets, washrooms, the loo, whatever you may call them. If there is one place that you can learn to truly appreciate a good toilet, it's Asia. I've seen holes dug in the ground, squattys, toilets that smile at you ( who puts a smile on the lid?!), stalls that sing, toilet bowls you have to manually fill up with water and scoop provided once you've flushed, and bidets that I have no idea how to operate it comes with so many buttons. In Japan, almost every toilet I used had a machine mounted on the wall that would provide nature sounds to camouflage your...business.


Below is a step by step tutorial on how to successfully navigate the peculiarities of a Korean public bathroom, don't expect this in your hotel room or restaurant.
These pictures were taken in a bathroom on my university. I swear I was the only one in there. I'm not a creeper. I'm an informant (although that could be dangerous in America right now).

Step one: Grab your toilet paper. Most public bathrooms have a roll of TP mounted on the wall for everyone. This is especially common in small town bus terminals. It sucks when this thing is empty as well as the one on the 2nd floor...and the 3rd. This is why it is wise to always be packing. Your own toilet paper that is.

Step Two: Wave your hand in front of this magical little machine for some causal music. You know, the graduation song, Amazing Grace, God Save the Queen, or Beethoven's 5th Symphony. It is not relaxing to be doing your business when Beethoven is playing, let me tell you. However, the song last for approximately 10 seconds. I personally don't know any lady that can get into a stall and finish in that amount of time. Not a well planned out idea really.

 Step Three: Nature calls. No pictures are necessary here. Ew.





Step Four: Wash your hands. If you have hot water then Glory Be! you're lucky. Then you use...this soap. My parents read this blog, so I won't go into details about how exactly you get this soap on your hands. But if you use your imaginations (you dirty pervs) then you get the general idea. I always feel dirty when I'm manhandling using this...stuff.

Step Five: No paper towels?! "Shocking" said no one ever. No dryer?! Not surprised. If you do have access to a hand dryer then you'll probably have to plug it in yourself. Careful though you man or woman of safety. You've got wet hands there. The most common way of drying your hands? Shaking them. My kingdom for hot water and a hand dryer or paper towels. 

But don't judge every bathroom like the one you see here. Not all are created equal. I squeal with delight when I see toilet paper and hand dryers. When I travel around my expectations are low and my stash of TP is high.

Travel like a Boy Scout, people. 

Always be prepared.

Country Expat Goes to the City

Seoul. I love Seoul. It's one of my favorite places on Earth. Chocked full of goodness. Yeah, sometimes the crowds are too much. The great pushing and shoving, the subway that can seem like the fifth circle of hell, awful smells, enough pollution to ensure that you're coughing for a few days after your visit, but that's all part of it's grit and charm. Seoul also has beauty, some of the most beautiful things I've experienced in this country I've seen in Seoul. Funky styles and beautiful people stroll down the street. It's the only place in Korea I've seen goth kids. The usual fear or over curiosity of foreigners is replaced with acceptance. We're the norm there. No head turning or rock-star status here. And the food. THE FOOD. Words can't describe. My friend can walk down the street and purchase whole blocks of cheddar cheese, while I pine away and have dreams of cheesy potatoes.
So, when I decided that I needed a bit of a break, I bought my train ticket and headed towards the smoggy Emerald City of my Korean Oz. Redemption was there. Opportunity awaited. A Yellow Brick Road. Oh, that was just the yellow dust?

I've been to Seoul more times than I can count, but I had this revelation on this visit. Something that shook me up good. I was sitting at a restaurant looking over the menu, and something was off. I couldn't tell what it was. The waitress came and took our order. After she left, I sat there, wondering what was wrong. I stared at the menu. I looked at my friend. He stared back with a puzzled look of his own although, he was more puzzled by my behavior. I looked at the Korean couple next to us. I looked at the menu. And then I saw what was wrong. The menu was in English. Entirely. No Hangul to be seen. The Korean couple had to get the help of the waitress to decipher the menu. Everywhere I looked I saw English, and not the Konglish or Engrish I see everywhere else in Korea. Honest to goodness proper English.

It'd been happening all weekend, this feeling like I'd stepped out of Korea and just walked into Korea Town in LA or Atlanta. Many Seoul expats that I've met barely know any Korean. And why should they? Seoul is extremely accommodating when it comes to English speakers. The older woman helping us at the bakery spoke to us in English, the guy at the 7-11 seemed surprised when I showed off my tiny Korean skills and said," 친차? "

When I went to my friend's new church I met loads of new people. We did the usual, "where are you from, where do you live?" routine. Usually, when I'm asked where I live in Korea I don't say the city name. Nobody has ever heard of Naju, so I usually go with the province name, Jeollonamdo. This time, people just assumed I was from Seoul.

-What neighborhood do you live in?
-Oh, I don't live in Seoul.
-Really?!
(shocking that any foreigner lives outside of Seoul?) -Ha, yeah, I live in Jeollanamdo. Near Gwangju.
-Sorry, where is that?
My friend would step in here and tell them it was in the south. A long ways away. And that was that.
But I'm always a bit thrown off when foreigners only know the 7 major cities in Korea. Some of these people have been here much longer than I have, and they can't name or recognize any of the nine provinces here. Same goes for natives too. My hairdresser had no idea where Jeollanamdo was. It's like a New Yorker not knowing where North Dakota is. 흩. A lot of the people I've met who live in Seoul have only been to Busan or stayed in Seoul the entire time they live in Korea. It's so sad! There's so much Korea has to offer, yet those lights, sights, and vibrant pulse of city life keep people there.

Now, let's be clear. This does not encompass EVERY foreigner living in Seoul, so, calm down you who are fluent in Korean and offended by my words. Also, this does not necessarily mean that life is easier in Seoul. I'm know it has it's difficulties as well.
But, I for one, wouldn't trade living in my country province or small town. I feel like I can handle Korea because I'm in up to my neck all the time. People know zero English here. Especially my students. (Sigh. That's another post.) My menu's are in 한늘 and my Korean country accent is understood here. (Remind me to tell you the story of how I confused the hell out of the taxi driver this weekend. Poor guy. Jeollanamdo is known for having a terrible dialect.) In America, they say if you can make it in New York City, you can make it anywhere. I feel it's the opposite in Korea. If you can make it in the sticks, you can make it anywhere. 

So, I wouldn't want to live in your concrete jungle, but I will drool over your food, your endless list of entertainment options, your hairdressers that speak English, your bookstores that sell more than five English books, and the corner stores that sell cheese.
Cheese. I miss you.

But Seoul, I love you.

What the Wednesday: The Naked Edition

This “WTW” is probably going to be my favorite. People, get ready. It’s going to be such a read, stretching what you thought you knew about the world to the outer limits. What you will learn today forces your perceived thoughts to shatter and bends your cognition to a higher power’s will. You thought it was only in tales, some folklore passed down by the mystics. It can’t possibly be real. 

Have I completely reeled you in?
Excellent.

I do not speak of some tall tale. No Loch Ness Monster or alien ships. Oh no.
I speak of nakedness. Whole masses of people. Naked. Bathing and scrubbing. Soaking and showering.
 It’s not a nudist colony. It’s a jimjilbang. 

Before I go on, let me give some context. I went to Wando beach for some camping on Buddha’s birthday weekend with some friends. Things went exactly as planned, meaning almost nothing went right. Buddha’s bday is a national holiday which results in the mass migration of Koreans across the country. They flock to the beaches or up the mountains, wherever is popular that year. So when I arrived at the bus terminal “early” to buy our 10:55am tickets to Wando, I, of course, had to buy the 2:10pm tickets. Everything else was sold out. We waited. We chatted in the sun, then took the 2.5 hour ride to the beach. We tried to head to another island once we got there, but found out there was no campgrounds. After some taxi rides we had finally arrived! Our long awaited camping adventure could begin! Excitement runs through our group as we talk about the camp fires that will be had, the breakfast we'll eat over looking the ocean and falling asleep to the sound of the waves. We found our way to the beach where we spent the night on a raised tent platform. It was hard. It was cold. That cool sea breeze turned into a frigid ocean tundra gale at night. It was cramped. One of the tents was very very tiny and my tall tall friend slept in the fetal position all night long, longing to stretch his lengthy limbs. The ocean waves were incredibly loud. Waking me with their incessant crashing. At 4:30am half of the company was awake. That morning we found out there were no showers. It was low season. The facilities hadn’t opened yet. Our bodies, which had been smothered with campfire smoke the night before, were starting to reek. No worries. We will take the ferry to that island we wanted to see, rent a pension for the night, and shower in luxury (ish). Two hours and a ferry ride later the man at the ticket counter tells me,

“No ferry Sunday. Rest.” 

Sorry, what? You mean to tell me we're stuck here or we can turn right around and go back now?! I turn to my tired, smelly friends who gaze back with bags under their eyes. Everyone takes a breath. What do we do? Do we go back now? Sightsee a bit? We have all our gear. What will we do with this mass? Are there lockers? One girl starts to slump forward a bit at the thought of taking another 45 minute ferry ride just to go back to where we started. Our spirits drop. The storm is starting to descend. Then someone suggests, 
“What if we go to the jimjilbang?"
Spirits lift. Smiles appear. Yes oh yes is the joyous cry from the group. We will go to the jimjilbang! Our saving grace has appeared. The weekend is saved. No longer do we look to the ferry ride back with dismay. No no, this ship is a vessel of hope, steering us toward glory. 

The Jimjibang. It’s a sauna. Not any sort of sauna that westerners are used to. There are no candles lit with soft music playing. This is a public bathhouse. 
Here’s how it works.
There are two levels: men and women. Walk through the front door pay your $4-8 grab a pajamas set and go to your respective floors. The men and women are separate and don’t see each other at all. (If it’s a sauna then you get no outfit. It’s just a bathhouse. If it’s a jimjilbang then you get the outfit set because it’s also a place to sleep. Men and women can meet back on the shared floor clad in the given pajamas.) Once inside you grab a locker and strip. Shocked? Worried? Don’t bother. Everyone’s doing it. The elderly, middle schoolers, children, moms and daughters, fathers and sons. Usually there are at least three large baths, large enough to fit 10-15 people comfortably. Well, as comfortable as one can get with a naked stranger beside them. One is filled with boiling hot water, one with luke warm water, and at least one has water taken straight from the arctic circle. The routine is to shower first then go from hot tub to cold tub. Sit in the steam room. Have your body scrubbed (by what feels like a brillo pad) down by an old woman wearing nothing but her underwear. She's easy to spot. She has the most clothes on in the place. Cleanse the body, rejuvinate the spirit, get the blood pumping, and open the pores. People, it feels. So. Good. 

Now, the nakedness. Sigh. Most foreigners downright refuse to go when they learn of this queer cultural ritual. An entire room filled with naked people? Naked strangers?! You think I’m stared at while walking down the street? Just wait till they see me in all my glory. No. Absolutely not. 

That’s what they say until they try it anyway. 

People stare at first. It’s a foreigner. It’s naked. Give it a once over and move on. I confess, I waited until my eleventh month mark had passed in Korea before I checked out a sauna, but once I did, I was hooked. Our culture teaches us to hide our bodies, be ashamed of our form. It’s not perfect. There are so many mistakes, too many scars and imperfections on our bodies. However true that might be, the sauna teaches me one lesson: no body is perfect. Nobody chats about how ugly someone is or points out what's wrong with you. This isn't some sorority initiation. Nobody cares what your body looks like. It's the most freeing experience and biggest confidence boost I've ever experienced. And it's so simple. We sit gathered in the tub with towels around our heads. We gossip, and eat hard boiled eggs (jimjilbang food of choice). Kids play, and the women scrub their skin until they gleam red and raw. It’s the sauna. It’s Korea. It’s the way of life. 

After our hour long trip to the sauna the guys and girls in our group reconvened. We were calm and clean. We sipped our cappuccinos and tea while smiling, remembering how that hot watery nakedness cleansed away the stress and soothed the ache in our bones. A sigh of contentment was passed around the table. 

And we went back again the next day.

The Redemption of the Number One

Poor 1. It's got such a sad reputation. It's the loneliest. The saddest experience. Sigh.
I have to admit, most of the time I agree. Depression overload when you say, "table for one." But lately, I've seen 1 rise from the darkness, from the pit of despair into a glorious rebirth. It blew into my life like a cool breeze on a hotter than hell day.

Surprisingly enough, I haven't done much solo traveling since I moved to Korea. I've got good friends who, for the most part, are excellent travel partners. But, upon returning this year I found I had this desire to strike it out solo. Test the limits of Jennifer. What would she do when things went wrong? When she got lost in a very foreign country? I had a taste of it when I traveled to the Philippines alone, stood in a crowd of approximately 505,209 people in the Manila airport, trying to figure out how to get to my hotel. I wished to God my friends would have been the first to arrive and could have met me there instead of the other way around.

But this is a story of redemption.

This weekend I headed to Beopseongpo. A small fishing town on the edge of my province. There's a temple there with an impressive statue of Buddha that I had a hankering to see. So, I did.

Jennifer's "How to Travel Alone" List:
1. Charge Your iPod. 
The sweet harmonies of Florence and Head and the Heart saved my sanity that day. From riding an OBSCENELY packed #9 bus to waiting in the hot sun for a bus that won't come, my ipod made me feel like I was traveling with a friend. A close close friend.

2. Make Nice With the Locals.
All the way from offering your seat to a sassy old lady (ahjumma) who will later direct you to the right stop when otherwise you'd have no clue, to the taxi driver* who was sent from sweet baby Jesus himself, a smile and kind word in their language goes a long way people.
*No really guys, this taxi driver. To see the temple you could walk about 5k or take a taxi and the driver I procured took me up there, and gave me his card so I could call when I was done. We shared a bag of chips up the mountain, and when he dropped me off I said, "Jennifer 임니다 " I'm Jennifer. When I called an hour later he said, "Oh Jennipa! Ok. I coming." Ten minutes later he was there and he charged me the same amount as it had taken me to get up there, even though he had a 2 way trip this time. He helped me buy a bus ticket back, and when that bus pulled up he shouted across this wee little village terminal, "Ok Jennipa! Let's go!"

3. Don't Panic
Most of time I had no idea where I was going. I refused to use google maps on my phone. So when they bus stopped I just had to be brave and hope I was right.
Yes. I got lost.
I ended up at the wrong temple. Don't panic. Just wait for a bus, call a friend, move on.
I went for a hike around the statue once I arrived at the right temple. It was clear at the end of the trail that it was not for visitors. I emerged from the shurbbery covered in scratches and spooked a couple of Koreans. Don't panic.

4. Learn the Language (or at the very least the alphabet)
I might still be in Beopseongpo or Yeonggwang or who the hell knows if I couldn't read Hangul.


So, the lesson here is that the number one isn't so bad sometimes. True it's good to have that companion and someone to laugh at you or figure things out with, but I rather enjoyed my solo journey. When I go to Indonesia this summer, I'll be on my own for a few days. I've scheduled surfing lessons, and booked a room in a hostel instead of a hotel in the hopes that I'll meet interesting travelers. It would be wonderful if I had someone to share those memories with. I can imagine my sister on the beaches of Indonesia bent over laughing at me as I fly off a surfboard or it bonks me in the head. But being alone has quiet moments of beauty. Words inside of my head are shifted around to form sentences as I come up with a million stories. I can pray, read, listen to music, and not worry about that other person. Traveling in groups is hard for us hybrid introverted/extroverted people. One day we want hugs and cuddles, the next we want to be left alone. One minute we want conversation, the next we just want to listen to music. Exhausting I tell you.
Not with one.

If only I could be uber cool and be like this girl. One day.

Photo Overload. I'm not into selfies. I might be a solo traveler, but I hate posting pictures of just me. I'm awkward.