Post School Festival:
On Friday Night, after the school festival, all the teachers have been invited to a super nice dinner at an expensive Japanese restaurant. My first thought was, “Great! I can do Japanese food!”
I think I spoke too soon. I knew there would be raw fish (sashimi) but there’s a big difference between the American version of sashimi and the Korean version (which I’m guessing is a lot more authentic in relation to the Japanese original). I’ve done sashimi before—heck, during my homestay in Japan in 9th grade I ate raw chicken liver, heart, and stomach on a dare. That wasn’t too bad. I could do this--no problem!
I was wrong. Dinner, which I know was good and expensive and fancy, was probably the hardest thing I’ve done this week. You arrive and all the teachers clap for you, which was great. I should have know it was a “wow, be brave, you can do this food” applause. You sit down and you have a grey sludge of a soup in front of you. I think it had some rice in it, and if it had been hot, it probably would have been good. We were a little late so it had cooled off so it was a little congealed. Then I moved onto the side dishes displayed on the table. I should probably mention that this is a traditional style of eating, where you are sitting on the floor—my legs became numb within seconds and half way through I was actual pain and started doing the “Ways to Sit” dance, crossing and un crossing my legs, leaning back, stretching out—anything to relieve the uncomfortable position. Back to the side dishes in front of me: there were a lot of dishes: A salad, julienne-d veggies, and lots of seafood. All types of seafood: raw fish, raw oysters, raw octopus, raw whole squid (with eyes attached), raw tubular sea worm things, some raw or steamed whole shrimp (with heads and legs still attached), more raw fish, and some other raw seafood items I didn’t know. Did I mention that it was ALL raw? Yah…all of it was. So, silly me, I go for the first thing I recognize—the oyster. I’ve never had oyster before, but hell, if Americans eat it then I knew I could at least stomach it. Um…once again, my stupidity kind of astounds me. I watched Ms Kim and followed her lead by dipping my oyster in a red sauce (this is after I spent about 5 minutes trying to pick up the slimy bivalve). This lead to more problems because I lost my grip on the oyster so it went for a swim in the red sauce. At this point, I new I was so screwed. I finally manage to pick it up again, and get it in my mouth. On the chopsticks it doesn’t look that big, but, in one’s mouth they are huge! And it kept hitting my gag reflex so I kept gagging and the red sauce, yeah, that’s like super spicy. So I’m gagging, my eyes are watering, I probably have five or six teachers watching me, and all I’m thinking is, “YOU CANNOT THROW UP AT A NICE RESTUARUNT!” Somehow, by sheer strength of will, I manage to swallow. I eye the table in front of me with new respect for my food enemies and proceed to do war because I would not let the seafood defeat me. Ms Kim had impressed upon me earlier that this was a super nice restaurant; that she had never eaten here before because it was so nice. I was going to show my respect to my fellow teachers and principal and everyone there, that I could eat this stuff with the best of ‘em. Probably a stupid battle cry, but still, I could do it. It was only for one meal. I could stomach it for one meal.
A random teacher comes by and offers me some soju (Korean whiskey)—which, bless him, is just what I need. I basically shoot back ½ a shot of soju and begin to pick my way through some more salad, a couple slices of sashimi (a white fish of some time), and finish my soup. I’m feeling pretty good about my odds at this point.
That’s when the teacher next to me points out that one of the tubular ocean worms is still alive. I look over and, indeed, it is still moving. Kind of gyrating in the bowl. Not joking. Ms Kim laughs at my expression. I tell her that I would have to have quiet a bit more soju before I could even contemplate eating something like that. She translates to the teacher next to me, who finds this statement hilarious. Yes…Laugh at the foreigner, I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to eat that worm thing. The teacher next to me thinks my facial expression is so funny that she proves a point that it is eatable—she eats it! Ahh! I think I lost all color in my face as I try not get sick at the table. It’s still moving! Urg! No wonder the thing was gyrating, it was trying to run away from the crazy psycho Korean women who eat live things! Ms Kim then translates that the teacher says that it is “chewy.”
I got up and went to the restroom. I didn’t loose my dinner, but I did stare at myself in the mirror for a couple minutes and give myself a pep talk. You can do this…it’s just food….you’re stomach as acid that can eat through metal—it can take on some fish with no problem…
I go back to my seat and drink the rest of my soju. At this point, they bring out some tempura and I wanted to cry with gratitude. I love tempura, and the Koreans make good tempura. I actually told Ms Kim that I love tempura and she said to eat all of it, the other teachers will share another basket. (Have I mentioned how wonderful Ms Kim is in this posting? No, well, let me say, she’s fabulous). I happily eat my fried shrimp, sweet potato and onion in content.
I make it through the rest of the dinner without any more “do-not-throw-up” moments and then Tae-hung comes over. He teaches computer science, or is the school computer technician or something like that, and he introduces himself as “my brother.” At school, we are all family, and he is “my brother.” I’m “his sister.” Ms Kim is laughing and I realize that Tae-Hung is pretty drunk. He teaches me to cross arms, and occasionally yells “Cross!” at me and we lock our elbows together and growl at each other. This is the non-alcoholic version; the alcoholic version involves crossing elbows and then taking a shot of something.
Before dinner, I had expressed concern to Ms Kim about the social drinking situation in Korea. There is not a really polite way to say “no” to another drink. In Korea, you do not fill up your own cup—others do this for you. Holding your cup with two hands, your neighbor pours you a shot (you have to fill the whole cup up in one pour—which takes some practice) and then the roles are reversed. This can cause some problems because it is rude to say, “no thank you” or not fill up someone else’s cup up. On the care ride over, I told Ms Kim that I don’t really drink and if I was to indulge, it was only like 2 glasses.
But half of me is torn because I know that there is a deep cultural important placed on drinking. I was reading in the etiquette guide on the way over that some Koreans feel that you don’t really know a person until you’ve seen them drunk—it shows their true personality, or that if someone doesn’t get inebriated, then they have something to hide.
During the talent festival that afternoon, a teacher had come up to me and said (via Ms Kim’s translation) that they were very impressed with how I was trying to be involved in the school and teachers and they were very glad that I was so willing to join in on their culture. This is entirely my goal. I want to make friends at this school, to share experiences and show the teachers that I’m not just here to blow off a year or make anyone’s life harder. I want to pull my own weight. I want to get involved and do things, because I’ve always found that the busier you are, usually you are happier. It’s practically a direct relationship. It also takes your mind off of homesickness or boredom.
So, when Tae-hung invites me to go to a Korean Singing Room with some other teachers, after a little bit of internal debating, I agree. Ms Kim explains to Tae-hung that I don’t want to get wasted (she was helpful because she says she doesn’t like to drink and that she doesn't like the Korean Drinking style either).
So, I grab my glass for soju and head over to Tae-hung’s table. Ms Kim arranges for the other female teacher in the group to take me home. For the life of me, I can’t remember what her name is, but she told me it meant Wisdom. So, in this blog she will be Wisdom.
Ms Kim leaves and I find myself in a group of 10 or so people who probably, combined, speak 100 words of English. Yes, they’ve all taken English throughout middle and high school (maybe even college) but it’s kind of like taking high school French. When you’re 35, exactly how much French do you remember?
Tae-hung, my brother, proceeds to point to Wisdom and call her a “bad girl.” She shakes her finger at him and tells me that Tae-hung is a “bad boy.” But Tae-Hung points to himself and goes, “No, Maggie, I handsom!” This results me a bunch of catcalling from all the teachers, and results in them all looking at me and asking, “Tae-hung, handsom?” And because he is, I say yes. Tae-Hung looks extremely impressed and points to Wisdom and says, “Me Handsom! You not pretty!” Which perks me up and I say, “No! She pretty, too.” Because she is pretty. Wisdom shows all her 26 years by sticking her tongue out at Tae-hung. You can tell these people are good friends just by how the interact—none of this banter is vicious. After they end this debate over Wisdom’s beauty, Tae-hung points the easily the most handsome man at the table (the Gym teacher) and says, “Handsome?”
I know the gym teacher is probably a student favorite. At the talent show, he actually preformed a song, singing and playing the guitar. It’s pretty obvious that most of the other teacher give him a hard time over either his looks or his student popularity. So, going on whim, I say, “No.”
They all looked shocked. And then I point to his face, which has some left over make-up from his stage performance and say, “Boys with make-up, not handsome. Tae-hung handsome because no make-up. Him. Make-up. Not handsome.” This is exactly the right thing to say because all the teachers burst into laughter, high-five me, and cat call the gym teacher. Tae-hung puffs up his chest, beats on it like a gorilla, and says, “Tae-hung handsome! (whatever the gym teacher’s name is) no handsome!”
A little while after this, the teachers collect all the un-opened soju bottles and make plans to go to a Korean singing bar. By this time, I’ve probably had too much to drink (4 or 5 shots of soju).
Wisdom grabs my hand and we walk out of the restaurant. I know this probably sounds weird, but I was extremely happy that she was holding my hand. It’s a cultural thing—in Korea, the same sex are allowed physical contact—is expresses that they are close friends. In school, I’d gotten use to see almost all the girls walking down the hall holding hands, and they guys putting arms around their friend’s shoulders.
Mrs. Park, one of the English teachers and the one that picked me up from Jeonju, sees this and immediately comes running over, babbling away in Korean. She then turns to me and tries to explain that it means something different in Korean and please don’t be embarrassed or confused by Wisdom’s actions. I quickly subdue Mrs. Park and Wisdom. I say, “I’m in your culture, Mrs. Park. I follow your rules.” She looks at me, kind of tilts her head, and smiles. She then attempts to say, “When in Rome…” but it comes out as “When in Roman, do as roman soldier do.” I nod and say, “Yes! When in Rome, do as the Romans do!” Please remember, I have a healthy buzz going on, too. All this combined made holding Wisdom’s hand not so bad.
Wisdom, the gym teacher, and I pile into the back of a cab and head to the Korean singing room. About ten teachers rent out a room and we head in. It is basically a long rectangle, with cushions along the walls and big table in the middle and a singing stage at the front. There are tambourines, two microphones and someone who works there brings in some dried squid (no thank you!) and fruit platters (which I nibbled on all night—yes!) and a whole crate of beer (about 36 bottles!). Wisdom and Tae-hung sing the first song , and while the other teachers sing a song, Wisdom shows me the book with the list of all the songs—there’s an English section. I start flipping through and basically point to the first one I see and half way know I can do: Lady Gaga’s “Poker face.”
Don’t judge me, please. I really had no idea what I was doing and after about 3 minutes of Wisdom and Tae-hung urging me to pick a song I really just did one that I hoped would work.
It was much harder than I thought it would be! Yes the music there, but there is no one to sing along with so it's really just you! It was hard! I goofed a bunch of times and felt like a total fool—but Wisdom was jangling her tambourine, Tae-hung would interject the random “Oh yeah!” or Korean exclamatory fillers in my singing gaps, so they were supporting me.
The next song is slower one, and one of the teachers (who I played volleyball with) grabs me and twirls me around in a slow dance. I felt like I was at a middle school prom dancing with him, and when Wisdom sees my face of embarrassment/shyness, she grabs the teacher out of the way and replaces him. So within 20 minutes of being at the Korean Singing Room, I had sang Lady Gaga and danced with a 50 year old man and a 26 year old woman.
This was about the time that the soju started to wear off. So, while I’m dancing (twirling around in a circle, or swaying to side to side, or tambourine-ing to the tune) I realize that I’m probably a little too sober to be doing this. But, determined to enjoy myself, I continue on.
For my next song (please don’t judge me) I did NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye (which, I know, is probably a horrible reflection of music but I couldn’t find something else to do. I recognized a lot of the artists: Korn, Marylin Manson, Britney Spears, Clay Akin, 50 Cent, ACDC, and random others. But, after my first singing experience, I figured I had sang Bye Bye Bye enough times during elementary that I could at least remember the tune. I happened to be wrong again, but it was easier the second time around to sing in front of people. With everyone dancing around you in a circle, it’s pretty hard not to enjoy yourself—even if you feel like a complete dork while trying to follow along with the words.
After about 2 hours of singing, I tell Wisdom that I’m good to leave whenever, in which I start to yawn. It’s only 9.45 but my body is still fighting the jetlag. Everyone sits down at the table and one of the men stands up and gives a speech. Wisdom and Tae-hung show me how to click cups with other people (my cup’s rim must be lower than the other person because I am younger than them), the Korean version of “Cheers!”, all while having Tae-hung yell at me “Maggie—slowly!” They teach me the word for “a little”—it sounds a little bit like Jacob—“jo-cumb!” I fill a couple people’s glasses and after about fifteen minutes of this, the party disperses. I think most of the people are moving onto another bar, but Wisdom catches a taxi and we head to my house. Luckily, there is a popular restaurant right next door to my apartment and we tell the taxi driver “Feel House Restaurant—ji-dok-dong.” It takes maybe 3 minutes before we turn onto my street and we get out.
I invite Wisdom up to my apartment and she tells me how cute it is. I offer her a glass of some of the grapefruit juice I have and she calls her boyfriend so that he can pick her up. He arrives about 5 minutes later and we say goodnight. I put a load of laundry in the washing machine and change into my pajamas.
Overall, I had a fantastic Friday. Besides the food, it was just a good time. When I look in the mirror that evening, I still have on my face-painted flower. The only difficult part has been the food, which the other foreign teachers have told me that it grows on you “to the point of near obsession”— I will tactfully withhold judgment on this statement until I’ve been in the country a little longer.
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