Beijing and Bluegrass

I wish I could say it was the best of both worlds.  But the truth is, it wasn’t.  I’m quite certain I’m not the first person to stand at this particular crossroad.  Clueless.

The scene is Starbucks.  Beijing.  Tiananmen Square, the geographical and cultural center of the Chinese capital, is no more than 50 yards to the north.  From our window seat, my wife and I can see the exact spot where bold protesters and insecure authorities butted heads.  Mao is in the background, forever resting in his crystal coffin.  Soldiers, clad in knee length dark green coats and fur hats, patrol the area, restricting photographs to a minimum. 

We’re in another world.  There might as well be a million miles between us and home.  Nothing but the Pike Place roast in my cup is familiar, and even it doesn’t quite taste the same. 

This is it.  Adventure.  I came to Asia for something different, but too often I found familiarity.  So much was swirling around my head.  Thoughts.  Images.  Sounds.  It was like Happy Gilmore’s Happy Place.  But much, much better. 

And in a second, it all came crashing down.  It was the most hated and yet welcomed intrusion.  I’ll Fly Away was the next selection on the Starbucks music rotation.

Bluegrass. 

In an instant I was home again.  Guitars.  Mandolins.  Asheville.  Mountains.  Real mountains.  Mountains with character and a story to tell.

I sat silently and disoriented as the song played out.  Where am I?  And why am I here and not there?  Or there and not here?  I was content until my heart was ripped out and transplanted 13,000 miles to the banks of the French Broad.  But at the same time everything around me looked strangely Asian.

I suppose this is the inner struggle of the traveler.

Stay or go.  Decisions to be made....

Where's the beef?

This is what we saw after dinner at the butcher's shop just outside of Mr. Pizza last night.  Yummm.....

PETA would have a field day with this, which is why I'm happy to be in Korea.

...and here's a little trip down memory lane.

An open letter

Dear big city, 20-something, Korean men,

I’m just going to lay it out there: you’re whipped.  A pansy.  You wear the dress in the relationship.  Now don’t get me wrong, I understand and embrace the idea of the gentleman.  I get it.  I really do.  Opening the door for ladies.  Paying the bill.  Giving her your coat when she’s cold.  Etc. etc. etc.  I also understand that all of you at this age have spent a minimum of 2 years in the military.  You can shoot guns.  You’re trained in Tae kwon do.  You could probably even kill me with your bare hands if you so choose. 

But please, I’m begging you, stop carrying her purse.  I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming it is indeed HER purse, and you are simply guided by some misunderstanding of chivalry.  So please do yourself a favor: take the man parts out of the bag, put them where they go, and give it back to her.

Sincerely,

A concerned foreigner

Contractual Obligations

I knew what I was getting myself into.  To a certain degree.  My contract with the Yeongju Education Board contained the obligatory fine print…

Article IX

The Employee will submit his or herself to no less than

fifteen (15) awkward moments per semester.  These moments

will be provided by the school in which the Employee is assigned.

If less than the required minimum awkwardness is experienced,

the Employee shall forfeit the appropriate number of allotted

paid vacation days to offset the above requirement at a rate

of one (1) paid vacation day per three (3) unused awkward

moments.

I really can’t complain.  I had it in writing.  These kinds of things were bound to happen. 

Ralph, which is the English name I gave him, is the Special Education teacher at my school.  He is the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back.  Gentle.  Soft spoken.  Genuinely concerned for your well-being.  Ralph has helped us in many ways since we arrived in Yeongju.  Like the time I casually mentioned that I wanted a used bicycle to peddle around town and the countryside.  Ralph sought out every used bike store in town and offered to take me there to make sure I got a good deal.  Or like the time he retrieved the zip lock sandwich bags from the front of the bus so I could vomit in them on the way back from Seoul.  He’s just an all-around good guy. 

Because of Winter break, I haven’t seen Ralph since the week before Christmas.  During the break when Jessica and I had lunch with my co-teacher Susie, I commented in passing “I miss Ralph.  I wonder what he’s up to.”  Just casual conversation.

Monday morning arrives.  School is back in session.  The teachers are gathered in the office sharing coffee, tea, and a strawberry flavored breakfast bread.  As we walk to the office Susie is very giddy.  “Ralph is here!” 

“Oh ok,” I reply, wondering why she’s so excited.

I’m now standing in the office sipping my small paper cup of instant coffee.  Ralph appears at the door.  The group of teachers between us part down the middle and everyone falls silent.  Smiles all around.  Susie, still giddy, points and says “there he is!  I told him you missed him.”  Ralph looks equally as giddy.

The scene was like something out of a movie, where lovers separated by war and thousands of miles are finally reunited.  Ralph walks toward me, everyone staring.  He puts out both hands.  Is he trying to hug me?  The awkwardness is almost unbearable, but it is finally pushed over the edge when Sophy, my other co-teacher, says “hug.  Hug him.”  No smile.  Serious.  “Ummm…we’ll hug later.”

Maybe this is just part of the culture.

I tried to defuse the situation by asking a lot of questions.  How was your vacation?  What did you do?  Did you go home for the New Year?  Eventually everyone resumed their conversations and mingled away.

I’m sure my face was blood red.  But at least I get to keep my vacation days.

Picture(s) of the Week

Except for a few half days of work, I've been on Winter vacation since Dec. 22.  And strangely enough, I'm tired of it.  I want to go back to work.  Jessica and I traveled down to Busan, a big city on the south eastern coast of Korea for a couple of days to bring our time off to a close.  Here are a couple of pictures she took.

Thing I don't miss about America #17

America…

Several years ago, I worked as part of a management team at a local restaurant in Greenville.  As is common in the food service industry, there were about 5 or 6 Hispanic employees.  Again, as is common in the food service industry, these Hispanic employees generally worked in the kitchen (away from the customers) and were collectively referred to as the Mexicans.  If you spent anywhere between 15 and 30 seconds getting to know these people, you would learn two things.  First, they are not all Mexican.  Several of them were, but Guatemala and Colombia were also represented.  Secondly, they spoke English more intelligently than some people I’ve met from places like Travelers Rest and Dacusville. 

The words of a certain hobbit-sized manager still ring in my ears.  “If you’re gonna live here, learn English.”  My heart sank every time he said it.  They only spoke Spanish to each other.  It was a more efficient way of communicating.  All of the Hispanic employees spoke English at a conversational level.  All except for one, but she was trying her best to learn.  She at least spoke enough to perform her job.

If you’re gonna live here, learn English.

Korea…

Jessica and I took the train to Andong last night to see a movie at the Lotte Cinema.  There is always at least one movie playing in English.  The movie ended around 9pm, and the next train back home to Yeongju departed the station at 2:15am.  We opted to walk to the bus station, only about 200 yards down the road.  To our surprise, the bus station was no longer there.  A new one had been built and opened since we were last in town.

 The extent of my Korean is sufficient to say “bus station.  Where?”

We approached a middle aged couple exiting a restaurant, probably celebrating the eve of the New Year (Chinese/Lunar new year), and said as best we could, “bus station.  Where?”  They spoke to each other, and then signaled for us to follow.  Across the street, the man folded the dry cleaning that was hanging in the back seat and put it into the trunk.  The lady cleared out several items from the back seat as well, and motioned for us to get in.  They drove us to the new bus station, about 20 minutes away.  Neither of them ever hesitated.  Along the way, the couple tried their best get to know us.  The man was able to ask “are you American?”  His wife managed to piece together “Where do you live?”  They were genuinely trying their best to accommodate us.  In OUR language.

This isn’t the first time this has happened.  Nor will it be the last.  I have yet to meet anyone inconvenienced by the fact that neither of us speak the language.  Rather they go out of their way to help us.    

I'm going to miss this place.

Quick Update

• Thanks to Winter Break, Foot and Mouth disease, and Chinese New Year I've worked a grand total of 5 half days and 1 full day since Dec. 22.  I think I've forgotten how to work.
• No, I didn't contract Foot and Mouth disease.  The cows, pigs, chickens, etc. in the little town where my school is got it.  Roads were closed down for a few weeks so that cars didn't spread the disease/bacteria on their tires.  
• Jessica and I are going to the southern coastal town of Busan tomorrow for a couple of nights.  We're staying at a backpacker's hostel.  The weather report says 50 degrees and sunny....which translates "tropical" to us.