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| Bukhansan National Park looking south from Dobongsan Station area |
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Seoul Lifelong Learning Festival
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| In Wisconsin, we have festivals dedicated to beer and bratwurst. Koreans have festivals celebrating lifelong learning. Cause for concern? Maybe not. See ensuing photo. |
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| If only I could have understood this story, I am sure I would not have found it as ho hum as their demeanors let on. |
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| This better fit my expectations. |
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| There was fun... |
 |
| ...and games... |
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| ...and food. |
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| Yeouido Park Cultural Plaza nearing the conclusion of Seoul Lifelong Learning Festival September 9, 2012 |
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Gwanghwamun Square
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| Along Gwanghwamun Square in the heart of Seoul |
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| Music Fountain Gwanghwamun Square |
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| Music Fountain Statue of Yi Sun-Shin 16th Century Korean Naval Commander |
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Mamma Mia!
Miasamgoeri. The word flows so trippingly off the tongue that it's a delight to say. "Mia" is a particular neighborhood in Seoul. "Sam" is the Sino-Korean equivalent of "three". Literally, Miasamgoeri is "three-way junction in Mia". The Korean pronunciation somewhat matches the English spelling which isn't always the case. Try "Cheonggyecheon". See what I mean? Miasamgoeri. It's melodious.
So, superficially judging a place by its name, I may well have been predisposed to like the neighborhood above and around the Miasamgoeri subway station. It's about a twenty minute stroll down Wolgye-ro to the southwest of our humble abode. Mia is indeed a junction at the confluence of three main arteries. Busy is the key word. Be prepared to age a bit while waiting for the traffic light's little green man to flash on allowing you to cross.
My first visit to Mia was not all that remarkable but for a near death experience. That was back in early August. It was hot and humid times ten. It's not good to sit in air conditioning all day, I told myself. Gotta get out. Explore.
I had yet to discover the abundance of small, Korean food markets and quaint eateries right outside my door and the allure of a mega Emart drew me down Wolgye-ro. I hadn't quite figured out the bus routes yet so walking was my best option. All that stood between me and a plenitude of familiar foods were waves of heat shimmering off blistering, hot pavement and a mini mountain of sorts.
I knew Seoul is not flat before arriving here. That's a bit of an understatement. Wolgye-ro cuts through a rather substantial ridge on the way to Mia; that is, the road cuts through the ridge. The sidewalks do not. They go up, up, up, and over. Climbing inclines that steep during a tropical heat wave can induce heat exhaustion. I'm happy to say I was aware of that. I took my time, stopped frequently, and begged gulps of water off total strangers. The downhill side went much better despite a lingering faintness and blurry vision. The best Mia had to offer me that day was getting there and back.
After that rigorous day, Stacey and I began to discover that Miasamgoeri was our "go to" subway station. It's about equidistant from our home with a couple other stations, but, in the case of Mia, the city buses pick us up and deposit us right at our door. Once you've accessed the Seoul subway system, you're in a magical underground world where you can zip around, transferring freely, ending up anywhere you desire in the city.
After several recent subway outings to far reaches of the city, Stacey and I found ourselves usually transferring to the Miasamgoeri line so we could catch an easy bus ride back to our apartment building. Mia is a happening place after dark. There's electricity in the air. Neon lights glow. Horns honk. Street vendors peddle their wares. Swarms of smartly dressed people scurry about.
Down side alleys, sidewalk tables are full of diners. Tempting, delicious food smells are pervasive. Men sit and talk over Cass beer spiked with Soju (a clear, rather flavorless, cheap, distilled spirit which I guess is nothing more than a buzz enabler). They pour a glass of beer, a shot of soju, and empty the shot glass into the beer. Cheers!
We found Mia likeable. Mia was beginning to take on the feel of home. And then I discovered that, thanks to the accommodating bus routes, Mia provides the quickest run to pick up imported beers. Labels like Guinness, Smithwick's, and Duvel await. There's scarcely need to don outdoor shoes. Catch the #9 bus down, dash into ground floor of Emart (nice of my Emart friends to display beer on the first floor instead of fourth or fifth), hurry up the friendly clerk, and back on the bus, treasure in tow. I can do it all and be back home stocking the fridge in under twenty-three minutes.
Last weekend, Stacey and I were enhancing our home decor and decided we needed new bedroom curtains. It was a gorgeous evening and we also wanted to get in a walk. I suggested a hike to Mia and a bus ride back home. Instead of heading down Wolgye-ro, I turned into the park across from us, intending to catch a different southerly route that borders the far side of the park. I'd never taken it, but had heard of it.
Stacey questioned me. She thought we were walking down Wolgye-ro. It was one of those husband-wife moments when opinions diverge. I told her I thought we could take an unfamiliar route, and, since it was something new and special and out of the ordinary, we could count it as a date night. I'm not sure she fell for that, but she did agree to my route.
It was early evening, but darkness was closing in (no daylight savings time in Korea). Soon, music filled the air and lights danced. Darned if there wasn't live music in the park. Jazzy Korean you could call it. Trombone, percussion, the whole nine yards. It was intoxicating without the soju. What a sublime way to pass a beautiful, early autumn evening. I was right. It was date night. And all this just on the way to Mia.
Had we known of music in the park, we would have brought along a lawn blanket and spent the entire evening there. But, of course, we had other plans. We found the alternate southerly track to Mia and ventured forth.
Now, burdened with our North American background, we are of the mindset that being in unknown areas of big cities after dark can be cause for concern. So, at this stage of such adventures, Stacey usually has a minor panic attack as to our whereabouts. I can sometimes calm her nerves by pretending to know where I am. Tonight was no exception, but the siren call of Mia was enticing and, intrepidly, we pressed on. Fortune smiled on us. Our new route landed us smack dab amid the glories of Mia.
Genuinely bedazzling is an apt description of Mia. It's showtime every night and all you have to do is pry your way on in to become part of the act. I had read a description of Seoul's public places as "move or be moved". That's somewhat true along Mia's thoroughfares, but there is a maze of sidestreets and alleyways to explore that provide ample elbow room.
Koreans do merchandising on a grand scale. A side alley vendor in Mia sells only bags and purses. There appears to be enough bags for all ten million people in Seoul to buy two. And, moving on, you'll see more shoes than there are feet in the world, and all those shoes are displayed in a big, jumbled heap. But the action is on the street and that's the place to be.
It all awaits. The lights, the motion, the noise, the shops, the foods, the people. Mia surely is a spicy meatball.
So, superficially judging a place by its name, I may well have been predisposed to like the neighborhood above and around the Miasamgoeri subway station. It's about a twenty minute stroll down Wolgye-ro to the southwest of our humble abode. Mia is indeed a junction at the confluence of three main arteries. Busy is the key word. Be prepared to age a bit while waiting for the traffic light's little green man to flash on allowing you to cross.
My first visit to Mia was not all that remarkable but for a near death experience. That was back in early August. It was hot and humid times ten. It's not good to sit in air conditioning all day, I told myself. Gotta get out. Explore.
I had yet to discover the abundance of small, Korean food markets and quaint eateries right outside my door and the allure of a mega Emart drew me down Wolgye-ro. I hadn't quite figured out the bus routes yet so walking was my best option. All that stood between me and a plenitude of familiar foods were waves of heat shimmering off blistering, hot pavement and a mini mountain of sorts.
I knew Seoul is not flat before arriving here. That's a bit of an understatement. Wolgye-ro cuts through a rather substantial ridge on the way to Mia; that is, the road cuts through the ridge. The sidewalks do not. They go up, up, up, and over. Climbing inclines that steep during a tropical heat wave can induce heat exhaustion. I'm happy to say I was aware of that. I took my time, stopped frequently, and begged gulps of water off total strangers. The downhill side went much better despite a lingering faintness and blurry vision. The best Mia had to offer me that day was getting there and back.
After that rigorous day, Stacey and I began to discover that Miasamgoeri was our "go to" subway station. It's about equidistant from our home with a couple other stations, but, in the case of Mia, the city buses pick us up and deposit us right at our door. Once you've accessed the Seoul subway system, you're in a magical underground world where you can zip around, transferring freely, ending up anywhere you desire in the city.
After several recent subway outings to far reaches of the city, Stacey and I found ourselves usually transferring to the Miasamgoeri line so we could catch an easy bus ride back to our apartment building. Mia is a happening place after dark. There's electricity in the air. Neon lights glow. Horns honk. Street vendors peddle their wares. Swarms of smartly dressed people scurry about.
Down side alleys, sidewalk tables are full of diners. Tempting, delicious food smells are pervasive. Men sit and talk over Cass beer spiked with Soju (a clear, rather flavorless, cheap, distilled spirit which I guess is nothing more than a buzz enabler). They pour a glass of beer, a shot of soju, and empty the shot glass into the beer. Cheers!
We found Mia likeable. Mia was beginning to take on the feel of home. And then I discovered that, thanks to the accommodating bus routes, Mia provides the quickest run to pick up imported beers. Labels like Guinness, Smithwick's, and Duvel await. There's scarcely need to don outdoor shoes. Catch the #9 bus down, dash into ground floor of Emart (nice of my Emart friends to display beer on the first floor instead of fourth or fifth), hurry up the friendly clerk, and back on the bus, treasure in tow. I can do it all and be back home stocking the fridge in under twenty-three minutes.
Last weekend, Stacey and I were enhancing our home decor and decided we needed new bedroom curtains. It was a gorgeous evening and we also wanted to get in a walk. I suggested a hike to Mia and a bus ride back home. Instead of heading down Wolgye-ro, I turned into the park across from us, intending to catch a different southerly route that borders the far side of the park. I'd never taken it, but had heard of it.
Stacey questioned me. She thought we were walking down Wolgye-ro. It was one of those husband-wife moments when opinions diverge. I told her I thought we could take an unfamiliar route, and, since it was something new and special and out of the ordinary, we could count it as a date night. I'm not sure she fell for that, but she did agree to my route.
It was early evening, but darkness was closing in (no daylight savings time in Korea). Soon, music filled the air and lights danced. Darned if there wasn't live music in the park. Jazzy Korean you could call it. Trombone, percussion, the whole nine yards. It was intoxicating without the soju. What a sublime way to pass a beautiful, early autumn evening. I was right. It was date night. And all this just on the way to Mia.
Had we known of music in the park, we would have brought along a lawn blanket and spent the entire evening there. But, of course, we had other plans. We found the alternate southerly track to Mia and ventured forth.
Now, burdened with our North American background, we are of the mindset that being in unknown areas of big cities after dark can be cause for concern. So, at this stage of such adventures, Stacey usually has a minor panic attack as to our whereabouts. I can sometimes calm her nerves by pretending to know where I am. Tonight was no exception, but the siren call of Mia was enticing and, intrepidly, we pressed on. Fortune smiled on us. Our new route landed us smack dab amid the glories of Mia.
Genuinely bedazzling is an apt description of Mia. It's showtime every night and all you have to do is pry your way on in to become part of the act. I had read a description of Seoul's public places as "move or be moved". That's somewhat true along Mia's thoroughfares, but there is a maze of sidestreets and alleyways to explore that provide ample elbow room.
Koreans do merchandising on a grand scale. A side alley vendor in Mia sells only bags and purses. There appears to be enough bags for all ten million people in Seoul to buy two. And, moving on, you'll see more shoes than there are feet in the world, and all those shoes are displayed in a big, jumbled heap. But the action is on the street and that's the place to be.
It all awaits. The lights, the motion, the noise, the shops, the foods, the people. Mia surely is a spicy meatball.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
I've Seen Kindergarten From Both Sides Now
Stacey's already into week four with her kindergarten kids in the classroom. I've seen all eight of her charges up close and they are absolutely darling. Upper grade teachers stop and fawn over them as Stacey parades them single file through the hallways en route to art, music, gym class, or wherever they may need to go.
.
During week one, being week one, single file was a very loose definition of the hallway formation. Back then, the wished for line more closely resembled a can of worms when a fisherman sticks a finger down in the container and pokes around for bait. Lots of wiggling, squirming, and entanglement.
By week four, quiet has taken on an entirely new meaning versus week one. The line's decibel level then was roughly the equivalent of a busy Seoul market. I'm pleased to report that Stacey's repeated shushings along with the bestowal of over four thousand scratch and sniff stickers have worked magic. Single file has begun to resemble single file and whispering abounds. It's funny though how one solution can create a new problem. When the reward sticker is applied to the back of the hand, each student sniffs at it and then attempts to stick a hand up the nearest kid's nose so as to share the pleasant, bubblegum aroma.
This is not just hearsay. I've witnessed it all firsthand. To those of you who know me well or perhaps even a little, did I hear you gasp? After years and years of failing to lure me, Stacey has finally persuaded me to assist in the classroom when students are present. With a remarkable lack of tasty craft beers to hunt down in Korea, I was finally able to free up some time to accommodate her wishes.
Now, don't go worrying about my health and start thinking, "Rod, that's great, but don't overdo it." I only help out a little at the end of a few days each week. But even with limited hours, it's demanding work. I'm beginning to understand "frazzled".
Since I'm such a great helper, Stacey has begun to occasionally suggest that it would be nice if I could show up every afternoon from half past one to half past three. That smacks of a full-time job to me and I'm not sure I want any part of it. Flextime suits me fine. I am having fun in the classroom though, and kindergarten has definitely become a part of my very being.
Stacey and I had Korean language class one late afternoon last week. It turned out to be a private lesson with our tutor, Miss Emily, since our fellow classmates (other new teachers) were gone on retreat. Miss Emily is divinity embodied. She teaches Korean literature and language and is very deserving of accolades and awards. Think of the kindest, most diligent teacher you ever had. That's Miss Emily. And then, she tells us she's honored to have us in her class. That's Korea. You can't help but love it here.
Beginners need to begin at the beginning no matter how old. Remember worksheets from back in kindergarten and maybe first grade on which you'd trace dotted lines so as to learn the correct strokes of letter formation. The characters of the Korean alphabet are entirely new to Stacey and I, so back to the worksheets we went. Under the watchful eye of Miss Emily, Stacey and I sat and traced dotted line Korean equivalents of "A" and "B" and so on.
It was somewhat humbling to be back at kindergarten level as a student and, suddenly, an empathy and awareness of the challenges and travails of a young learner enveloped me. And just as suddenly, another awareness hit me. As Miss Emily spoke, I sprang from my chair and headed for the door.
"Where are you going, Rod?", Miss Emily asked.
"I gotta go potty," I replied unabashed.
"Well, go ahead, but next time try to do that before we begin," she instructed.
I broke into a dead run, flung the classroom door open, and lit out for the restroom.
Having finished my business, I took great delight in splashing water around in the washbasin and making a mountain of soapsuds. Unannounced, Miss Emily poked her head into the restroom doorway. "Remember bathroom manners, Rod," she intoned lovingly. "Do you need time in the thinking chair?"
"No...No," I squealed as I squirted past her and ran back to the classroom.
With a momentary return to order, Miss Emily revealed an ink pad and alphabet character stamps that we could use to stamp out combinations to form simple words. Stacey and I, side by side, worked dutifully attempting to create the short words presented by our teacher. I was doing so good. Suddenly, I had an urge to stamp a squiggly character on Stacey's arm. Bullseye!
"Teacher, he stamped on me," Stacey exclaimed.
"Did not," I retorted.
"Did so," Stacey followed up as she held out her newly emblazoned arm in full view for Miss Emily to see.
That was the last straw. It was off to the thinking chair for me for the remainder of the lesson.
By dismissal time, Stacey had earned sticker upon sticker for her good works and deeds. I was stickerless but for the one Stacey had shoved up my nose as she shared the sweet, bubblegum scented smell of success. Smarty pants!
.
During week one, being week one, single file was a very loose definition of the hallway formation. Back then, the wished for line more closely resembled a can of worms when a fisherman sticks a finger down in the container and pokes around for bait. Lots of wiggling, squirming, and entanglement.
By week four, quiet has taken on an entirely new meaning versus week one. The line's decibel level then was roughly the equivalent of a busy Seoul market. I'm pleased to report that Stacey's repeated shushings along with the bestowal of over four thousand scratch and sniff stickers have worked magic. Single file has begun to resemble single file and whispering abounds. It's funny though how one solution can create a new problem. When the reward sticker is applied to the back of the hand, each student sniffs at it and then attempts to stick a hand up the nearest kid's nose so as to share the pleasant, bubblegum aroma.
This is not just hearsay. I've witnessed it all firsthand. To those of you who know me well or perhaps even a little, did I hear you gasp? After years and years of failing to lure me, Stacey has finally persuaded me to assist in the classroom when students are present. With a remarkable lack of tasty craft beers to hunt down in Korea, I was finally able to free up some time to accommodate her wishes.
Now, don't go worrying about my health and start thinking, "Rod, that's great, but don't overdo it." I only help out a little at the end of a few days each week. But even with limited hours, it's demanding work. I'm beginning to understand "frazzled".
Since I'm such a great helper, Stacey has begun to occasionally suggest that it would be nice if I could show up every afternoon from half past one to half past three. That smacks of a full-time job to me and I'm not sure I want any part of it. Flextime suits me fine. I am having fun in the classroom though, and kindergarten has definitely become a part of my very being.
Stacey and I had Korean language class one late afternoon last week. It turned out to be a private lesson with our tutor, Miss Emily, since our fellow classmates (other new teachers) were gone on retreat. Miss Emily is divinity embodied. She teaches Korean literature and language and is very deserving of accolades and awards. Think of the kindest, most diligent teacher you ever had. That's Miss Emily. And then, she tells us she's honored to have us in her class. That's Korea. You can't help but love it here.
Beginners need to begin at the beginning no matter how old. Remember worksheets from back in kindergarten and maybe first grade on which you'd trace dotted lines so as to learn the correct strokes of letter formation. The characters of the Korean alphabet are entirely new to Stacey and I, so back to the worksheets we went. Under the watchful eye of Miss Emily, Stacey and I sat and traced dotted line Korean equivalents of "A" and "B" and so on.
It was somewhat humbling to be back at kindergarten level as a student and, suddenly, an empathy and awareness of the challenges and travails of a young learner enveloped me. And just as suddenly, another awareness hit me. As Miss Emily spoke, I sprang from my chair and headed for the door.
"Where are you going, Rod?", Miss Emily asked.
"I gotta go potty," I replied unabashed.
"Well, go ahead, but next time try to do that before we begin," she instructed.
I broke into a dead run, flung the classroom door open, and lit out for the restroom.
Having finished my business, I took great delight in splashing water around in the washbasin and making a mountain of soapsuds. Unannounced, Miss Emily poked her head into the restroom doorway. "Remember bathroom manners, Rod," she intoned lovingly. "Do you need time in the thinking chair?"
"No...No," I squealed as I squirted past her and ran back to the classroom.
With a momentary return to order, Miss Emily revealed an ink pad and alphabet character stamps that we could use to stamp out combinations to form simple words. Stacey and I, side by side, worked dutifully attempting to create the short words presented by our teacher. I was doing so good. Suddenly, I had an urge to stamp a squiggly character on Stacey's arm. Bullseye!
"Teacher, he stamped on me," Stacey exclaimed.
"Did not," I retorted.
"Did so," Stacey followed up as she held out her newly emblazoned arm in full view for Miss Emily to see.
That was the last straw. It was off to the thinking chair for me for the remainder of the lesson.
By dismissal time, Stacey had earned sticker upon sticker for her good works and deeds. I was stickerless but for the one Stacey had shoved up my nose as she shared the sweet, bubblegum scented smell of success. Smarty pants!
Monday, September 3, 2012
The Talking Wall
Of all the wonders I've experienced since arriving in Seoul, I want to share with you the most utterly amazing discovery. Allow me to offer up the remote possibility that God is not a Republican in the United States Senate, but may well be Korean and speaking to me through my living room wall. Not wanting to offend anyone's sensibilities or come off as blasphemous, I need to emphasize that this is all just conjecture. But conjecture can serve a purpose. Columbus thought perhaps the world wasn't flat when he set sail and darned if he wasn't right.
There's a high tech panel mounted on my aforementioned wall that performs a remarkable number of tasks. It allows me to see who's at the downstairs entrance if and when the intruder buzzes up. I discovered a couple weeks too late that it even lets me converse with the intruders to identify them. Early on, I just put a finger to the magic spot on the touch pad and let anyone who buzzed, none of whom I recognized, into the building. I thought maybe it was just Emart employees popping in to befriend me. Some of my summoners showed up at my upstairs door to perform legitimate tasks, others didn't. Who were they and where did they go? Nobody knows.
That leads to another function of the versatile touch screen. I can alert security. I can summon up a brigade of security guys for big trouble or a lesser number for not so threatening disturbances. I can conjure up a live cam shot of the hallway immediately outside our apartment door. I can speak to anyone standing there. I can phone people in our building complex, and once we clear the bureaucratic hurdles of getting phone service, I think I'll be able to talk to people anywhere in the world through this amazingly gifted panel.
This is all stuff I expected when we relocated to one of the most technologically advanced countries on earth. Lights flash, screens activate, buzzers beep, and I leap up and out of my easy chair to respond to their beck and call.
This is where the mysticism creeps in. Every time the touch panel performs a legitimate function, the screen glows, and bells and whistles sound. Occasionally however, since our arrival, the panel or perhaps the entire wall in which the panel is embedded begins to murmur softly in Korean. No light, no sound to announce anyone's presence. Just an all encompassing, seemingly instructive, passive voice. At times, it's nearly inaudible and it doesn't last long, but I press my ear to the wall hanging on every word wishing I could comprehend the elusive message.
I thought I saw the face of Jesus on my frozen waffle the other morning, but when I brushed at it, it turned out to just be frost. This wall mystery is more perplexing than that.
What if the wall is trying to tell me something important? Something life changing? As if there hasn't been enough of that lately. I've begun Korean language lessons and not a moment too soon. I'd invite a Korean in to translate, but the messages are so infrequent and random as to render that impractical. And what if the wall went silent or is only audible to a select few like me.
Can you sense my frustration? I'm not giving up. I'll keep my ear tuned to the wall, continue my Korean lessons, and keep you posted.
Oh, and hold off on the pilgrimages. I'm not yet really sure what's going on here.
There's a high tech panel mounted on my aforementioned wall that performs a remarkable number of tasks. It allows me to see who's at the downstairs entrance if and when the intruder buzzes up. I discovered a couple weeks too late that it even lets me converse with the intruders to identify them. Early on, I just put a finger to the magic spot on the touch pad and let anyone who buzzed, none of whom I recognized, into the building. I thought maybe it was just Emart employees popping in to befriend me. Some of my summoners showed up at my upstairs door to perform legitimate tasks, others didn't. Who were they and where did they go? Nobody knows.
That leads to another function of the versatile touch screen. I can alert security. I can summon up a brigade of security guys for big trouble or a lesser number for not so threatening disturbances. I can conjure up a live cam shot of the hallway immediately outside our apartment door. I can speak to anyone standing there. I can phone people in our building complex, and once we clear the bureaucratic hurdles of getting phone service, I think I'll be able to talk to people anywhere in the world through this amazingly gifted panel.
This is all stuff I expected when we relocated to one of the most technologically advanced countries on earth. Lights flash, screens activate, buzzers beep, and I leap up and out of my easy chair to respond to their beck and call.
This is where the mysticism creeps in. Every time the touch panel performs a legitimate function, the screen glows, and bells and whistles sound. Occasionally however, since our arrival, the panel or perhaps the entire wall in which the panel is embedded begins to murmur softly in Korean. No light, no sound to announce anyone's presence. Just an all encompassing, seemingly instructive, passive voice. At times, it's nearly inaudible and it doesn't last long, but I press my ear to the wall hanging on every word wishing I could comprehend the elusive message.
I thought I saw the face of Jesus on my frozen waffle the other morning, but when I brushed at it, it turned out to just be frost. This wall mystery is more perplexing than that.
What if the wall is trying to tell me something important? Something life changing? As if there hasn't been enough of that lately. I've begun Korean language lessons and not a moment too soon. I'd invite a Korean in to translate, but the messages are so infrequent and random as to render that impractical. And what if the wall went silent or is only audible to a select few like me.
Can you sense my frustration? I'm not giving up. I'll keep my ear tuned to the wall, continue my Korean lessons, and keep you posted.
Oh, and hold off on the pilgrimages. I'm not yet really sure what's going on here.
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