Here in Korea, Lack of Planning strikes again, only this time it's not really my fault. In March, my hogwan is starting up a brand new curriculum. On one hand, this is a bummer, because having just arrived a month or so ago, I was just getting used to the now-defunct lessons. On the other, at least now we will all be confused together. So our director called me into his office this evening after my classes. I am still juvenile enough to be a little bit scared of the principal's office. And it turns out, the eight-year-old inside of me is right. Because Mr. Shin informed me that I "get" to be the native (white)teacher to present the brand new curriculum, of which I know nothing, to the Korean parents. In three days.

I was really, really hoping he was kidding, but the nervous laughter died in my throat when he handed me a yellow textbook and said, "Learn this book. You are good teacher." How he knows this is a mystery, because neither he nor anyone else has so much as set foot inside my classroom so far. But it's okay, because he said, "I have a confidence in you." In conclusion, I get to teach a curriculum I don't know to parents who may or may not speak my language on SATURDAY. Bummer.

written by  alli_ockinga on February 25, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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The adventure started, as usual, with me trying to negotiate a destination with a justifiably puzzled cab driver, to whom I am still unconsciously speaking Spanish.

Driver: "Ahn-yung ha-sey-o."*
Me: "Ahn-yung ha-sey-o. Um. Serim Hospital. Serim byung-wuhm."
Driver: "Serim okay."
Me: "Okay." (silently fist-pump in my head to congradulate self)
Driver: "[something something] Hangul?" He wants to know if I speak Korean.
Me: "Um...no. Un poco." Dammit. I hold up my thumb and index finger in the universal gesture "only a little bit" and smile apologetically.
Driver: "English teacher?"
Me: "Yes. Si. Um....ney." Third time's the charm.
Driver: (laughing) "Canada?"
Me: "No. Uh, ah-nee-yo. America."
Driver: "America where."
Me: "America...Idaho."
Driver: Blank stare. "America where."
Me: "Umm. North. Up. By Canada."
Driver: (delighted) "Ah! Canadian!"

I sigh. He is so pleased with our cross-cultural exchange that I figure, close enough. Plus, we have made it to the hospital, and a new set of challenges awaits. I walk inside. I've noticed that all hospitals and airports are essentially the same; just follow the question-mark signs and you can usually survive. This time, however, the plan backfired. I found a question mark sign, which did, of course, lead me to Information. And I'm certain there was a ton of incredibly useful info there, for those of us who speak Korean. I wandered through the halls aimlessly for about five minutes, trying to come up with a plan. The only thing I could see in English was the Ultrasound room. Thankfully, I don't need that. But what to do? The obvious answer was to call my boss, the principal of our school. I'm sure I could have put him on the phone with a nurse and hashed this whole thing out.

But I couldn't do that, because I have this thing about asking for help unnecessarily. I like to do things on my own. I like to be capable. Or, as one (ex)boyfriend put it, "You are frustratingly independent." Fair enough. I don't necessarily see this as a flaw, but I will concede that it sometimes makes things harder for me than they need to be.

So I went up to the nurse station, prepared to look like an idiot, once again. "Do you speak English?" A vain hope. No. Time to pantomime. Rather than go with my initial Mork-and-Mindy idea and hope they got "alien" out of my dance, I got out my passport, and made a motion with my thumb and left forearm that either communicated "blood test" or "mainlining heroin" to the nurse. Either way, after a ten-minute wait, I was redirected to someone important that spoke enough English to get me my required documentation. "You are very normal," she said. "You will be okay." I know she meant only that my tests came back clean, but God bless her nonetheless.

Inspired by my success, I went to the Lotte Mart (giant one-stop shopping complex a la Wal-Mart) and bought some real coffee and a French press. They generally only drink instant coffee here, which doesn't cut it, but I didn't know how to use a press. Time to learn.

It's not as if I can easily slip under the radar here, either. Even for someone who has spent the last five years in Idaho, I am surprised by the lack of diversity here. People are shamelessly curious about Westerners, and hanging out with Ellen all the time makes the staring matter worse. She and I command a lot of attention here. On some level, we always have, even back in college; that much do-what-I-want attitude gives most people pause. Toss Kim, our other best friend, into the mix and the world didn't stand a chance. But it is especially true here, where one brightly dressed white girl is cause for a semi-subtle sidelong glance on the elevator, but two--two! at once!--not only turns heads, but draws blatant finger-pointing. In Korea, we are the indisputable minority. It is an interesting experience, but not an altogether unpleasant one. I generally find it amusing. Complete strangers say "hello" at the market, giggling all the while as if they've just spoken to a lephrechaun. We had a similar experience last weekend at a coffee shop in Seoul, where a little girl actually jumped up and down in place, and then brought over her friend to look at the spectacle that was us drinking a latte.

On a posititve note, it's kind of cool to be unique here. With my normal brown hair and average looks of mixed European descent, I've never really been considered exotic. Here, I get to be. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to try the stewed insects at the street market. Too soon, Korea. Too soon.

written by  alli_ockinga on February 11, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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Getting used to urban living has been a bit of an adjustment for me. In some ways, it's like any other big city--bright lights and loud noises compete for one's attention anywhere you look, and the driving laws seem to be more ambiguous suggestions than hard and fast rules. The biggest difference is, of course, the language barrier. I can say 'hello' and 'thank you' in Korean, but after that, I break into comically primitive sign language. Interestingly, I suddenly remember every word I ever learned of high school Spanish. As I stare helplessly at the cashier in the market who's holding up four oranges without a price tag, I think, "Cuatro naranjas cuestan dos dolares y cincuenta centavos!" Unless I come across a cashier with exceptionally broad linguistic skills, this is useless here.

Still, all is not lost. Four days in, I am hailing cabs like a true city girl, and have acquired at least minimal proficiency with chopsticks, which I consider a great personal victory. Tomorrow I get to move into an actual apartment and I'm looking forward to setting up some semblance of a home here in Korea.

written by  alli_ockinga on February 5, 2009 from Inch'on, South Korea
from the travel blog: I go Korea!
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