Silence and Substance

My slightly hermitesque behaviour began approximately three months ago. Franzi Kaiser the introvert? Notice the cows jumping over the moon to your left. Oh, and the pigs flying on your right.

Okay, so the farm animals aren’t defying gravity, but there has definitely been something rather unusual about my behaviour since my arrival in Korea. I’ve been guarded, quiet, and perhaps even a bit mysterious. Identifying myself as a rather gregarious creature, I felt disoriented in my newfound silence. And yet I didn’t want to break the stillness... it was as if I had forgotten the very reason why I had become an expressive individual to begin with. Thankfully, a week of introspection has led me to the following conclusion: My silence is not incorrigible- I just needed to remember the substance that made me want to speak in the first place.

 Forgive me if my philosophizing fails to compete with the comical geniuses in my classroom.

I believe there has always been a part of my soul searching for the reflective and the genuine. I certainly indulged myself in a certain brand of literature: diving into the woeful truths of the Sierra Leonean soldier boy, the tailor on the dusty streets of Mumbai, the unbearable lightness of being. I’d feel my heart tighten at the wisdom of a gorilla or the relationship between an aged German musician and his child prodigy. Novels seemed to continually help me in my attempts to jump over the barrier of The Mundane which can easily erect itself in one’s mind... the barrier that prevents you from focusing on change and truth and deludes you into thinking that your purchasing power is more significant. You know the barrier I’m referring to. How many times have teachers attempted to recruit talented, intelligent individuals, only to be blown off? Unfortunately, 30-hour famines and buying Reach Lesotho bracelets don’t make it onto many people’s priority list. Don’t think you’ve never been that talented, intelligent individual.  

Anyway, as I look back on my own youth, something now strikes me as slightly tragic: There I sat... at the top, academically, athletically, and socially, and yet I often shrouded my belief in social justice and my mind’s philosophical meanderings. Sure, I would volunteer, help organize events, and allow my teachers to take a gander at my opinions (a paper on School of the Americas will do that), but everything was done too quietly. I dissuaded myself from taking on the most difficult task: letting people know it was cool to care.

Thankfully, my ability to vocalize my true interests and beliefs improved with age. I would argue that a two-year Liberal Arts program can ignite the soul of any lost traveller, but I can only speak for myself. Ignite is an understatement in my case. From Boethius to the Zapatista movement, I was able to awaken that slumbering desire within me. The desire to seek understanding and become a more wholesome person from it. And I believe it began to radiate from me. By the time I started university, my daily encounters with complete strangers became somewhat routine. I seemed to draw people to me, and the connection often felt raw, even spiritual. It was as if I had this flashing neon sign that beckoned people towards me, that invited them to share a part of themselves so that I could give them a piece of what I had gathered through my experiences. It was always immediately after such an encounter that I would remember to appreciate movement, breath, and sight. It was as if my senses became purified just from connecting with others.

And yet here I’ve been... my recluse behaviour making me wonder if I’d lost the energy that drove me back home. But, like a sleeping cat, the energy is slowly awakening again inside me. Despite the enormous language barrier and tiresome office cliques, I have regained a sense of what I have always wanted to offer the people I meet: understanding and a willingness to share knowledge. So what if I can’t speak Hangul? The retired university professor in his sky blue three-piece suit is still delighted to have even the simplest of conversations. So what if I hate office politics and have sworn off making friends with anyone? The teacher who comes over to my desk and says: “Franzi, I want to be friends with you!” wins my heart. So what if I’m in Korea? My dear friend Paul dragged himself here for a weekend dedicated to eating Indian food, sweating in a jinjibang, and contemplating life.

Despite geographical relocation, my quest to make the world a better place through daily interactions and connections has not ceased. No, I may have clammed up for a while, getting my bearings and whatnot, but my belief in growth through sharing is still very much intact. I henceforth relinquish my hermithood.

Is My Grandma Mud?

Every day, I try to remember that my students’ minds are like soft lumps of clay. Malleable. Impressionable. They can be formed into the most heinous piece of garbage or an artistic masterpiece that delights the senses of its observers.

Every day, my students remind me in which direction I am forming their minds. Most of the time, I am pleased with the outcomes... and it’s not just because I’ve caught them apologizing to anchovies before eating them.

The following are excerpts from my daily interactions with little people:

We had been studying our Oceans unit for approximately two weeks when I decided I had to explain certain cruel realities. One truth I shared with my class was how manatees are endangered due to human exploits- specifically, that they are recurrent victims of boat propellers. As in they get sliced up. Badly. Sometimes they die. Yep.

Now, I obviously wanted some sort of tree-hugging-hippie reaction, and I was slightly disappointed when we simply moved on to the next tale of terror. However, I soon realized all was not lost. The next week I took my students to the local aquarium so they could get up close and personal with their beloved hammerhead sharks and jellyfish. Well, after seeing thirty-seven types of fish we hadn’t studied, we finally got to the manatee tank.

Beloved Student: “Franzi-Teacher is this the one who dies by propeller?”

Franzi-Teacher: “Yep. Look at all its cuts. Pretty sad, huh?”

Beloved Student: “Poor manatee…”

Now, I thought that was the end of it. I had forged some sort of temporary empathy in a little boy. I figured that was all my little horror story was worthy of. Wrong. The very next day, the Beloved Student had to do a presentation on an ocean animal. Several students had gone before him with beautifully decorated posters which had been the handiwork of mothers… and Wikipedia. Then the Beloved Student got up and proudly displayed his poster. We all took it in: On a yellowed piece of paper, he had drawn three tiny sketches of his dear manatees. In a jagged scrawl, he had written everything he knew:

-They are huge and big.

-They live in ocean.

-They eat the cabbage. (only in aquariums, but hey, the kid’s observant)

and…

-They died by propeller.

Some of the kids giggled and questioned why his poster looked so homely. In my best teacher voice I took his defense: “This… is exactly what I wanted. [Beloved Student], you did such a great job!” My class now understands that I don’t deal well with Mamas-R-Us posters. Keep it real. Keep it personal. Keep it simple.

See, the best conversations can sprout from the personal, the simple, and the real:

Personal: I asked how they think salt got in the ocean.

-“Bad man put salt in the ocean.”

-“Rain came down and an octopus did it.” 

Come again?

Simple: I had been teaching my students that certain sea creatures were invertebrates. However, it was evident to me that some of the vocabulary was just beyond their reach: “What’s an en-vel-ta … ?”

“An invertebrate is an animal with no backbone.”

Blank stares filled the room while some feeble attempts were made at mimicking me. I then repeated the word, this time inadvertently wiggling my spine to the syllables: “In-ver-te-brate!”

With their backs arching to and fro like trees in a typhoon, they all shouted back, “In-ver-te-brate!”

And it was that easy. What’s a little seat wiggling when they get the answer right?

Real: Hagfish. Repulsive old farts that eat their prey from the inside out. However, somehow I was ill-prepared for a hag-related question when it came up during lunchtime:

"How do hagfish get inside the fish?”

My eyes widened a little as I looked at the student who had posed the question, “Ummm, through holes in its body.”

I was mistaken in thinking that would be the end of it.

“What is that?”

Was this kid really going to make me say it? “Ummmm. Like… its mouth…”  

“And?”

“And… its… .” I pointed to my butt.

“What?”

Insert me pointing to my butt again and making a purposefully awkward/pained face.

“Oooooh.”

Sometimes our lunch conversations are reminiscent of past family dinners when my father decided to describe in vivid detail a calf’s pea-green diarrhea. Yum.

And then there was the death talk. For the first time, I experienced the enormous burden of explaining life and death to a group of mega-minors. Pre-minors. Mini-people who you would not suspect of caring too much about the afterlife. Well, they do, folks.

Unbelievably, this death talk started off as an innocent discussion on the five layers of the ocean. See, the Abyssal Zone happens to have a profound layer of mud, constantly deepened by the decaying bones of marine animals. When hands started flying up, I further explained the breakdown of bones and how all animals are composed of the same material as the earth. Therefore, upon death, living things become dirt again. Hands lowered hesitantly, until one girl fearfully asked: “Is my grandma… mud?”

And so it began.

First I had the child clarify whether her grandmother was currently in a state wherein she could even become mud. I then clarified that mud was a combination of water and dirt, and that since people weren’t buried in the ocean (typically), her grandmother was more likely dirt than mud. The more I rambled the more I felt like I was in some sort of scientific nightmare. Thankfully, one of the students helped free me of my longwinded logical jargon: “I think we go up to the sky when we die.” I gratefully opened the spiritual door and explained that many people think that the soul inside a person’s body goes to Heaven when they die. The tension that had built up throughout the discussion slowly dissipated. “But”, I stated clearly, “our bodies still turn into dirt.”

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

How Do You Know Everything?

 “How do you know everything?”

All my talk about cumulus, cirrus, and stratus clouds had seemingly exposed the philosophical heart of one of students. Although I responded to the question rather lightly, I’ve certainly been chewing on it ever since. How do I know everything I know? My response about how I’m older and therefore more experienced now sounds more like an excuse than an answer. I honestly think I missed a prime opportunity to let them in on a deep, dark secret called… lifelong-learning.  

If I could find a way to navigate through space and time, this is what I would now tell them. Very slowly. In ESL-friendly language:

“Starting now, develop an innate desire to learn on your own. Learning, however, is more than memorizing facts and giving responses you know that people want to hear. It is about connecting, transferring, and recalling obtained knowledge in new situations. It is about constructing a better self to make a better world. Here are some tips to keep in mind if you want to be on the road to wisdom by age 23:

1.    If you like reading, start collecting magazines about nature, space, machines, whatever makes your socks go up and down. Go back to them multiple times: cut out pictures, test yourself on what you remember, find out more about the things that interest you. Give impromptu presentations to your classmates about cool things you’ve learned or about a cause that speaks to you. Cover your binders and duotangs with cut-outs from your favourite mag. Only throw out the magazines when you’re in high school and can’t read them due to all the missing pages and pictures.

2.    Encourage your parents to purchase you informative placemats. My parents did not need persuasion, but some mums and dads might cave in to your Hello Kitty and Transformer desires, despite your best interests. A placemat is responsible for me knowing how long a blue whale is without researching it, guys. Another placemat is accountable for my ability to draw the map of Canada freehanded with noticeable accuracy. Go buy some better placemats.

3.    Don’t ever consider life boring. When I was in about grade four, I told the school secretary that I was bored. She looked at me sternly and said: “Only boring people are bored.” The next time I felt bored, I assure you, I took care of business. First, I got my hands on some cardboard (which my mother keeps in ample supply in the attic, in case the government ever outlaws boxes or something). Second, I began to construct my own board game. Third, I tried to play my board game. Fail. Fourth, I began to acknowledge the effort and ingenuity that goes into such ventures. I now privately pay my respects to the inventor before indulging in any sort of board game.

4.    Care. Be angry. Be concerned. Shake your fist in the air and damn poachers to the grave. Your empathy, exasperation, exhilaration, exaltation are simply signs of a healthy heart and a soul that has a lot of room for growth.

See, kids, learning is about trying to make yourself expand in a variety of directions. It is not about taking the advice of those who you admire uncritically, but rather about evaluating it yourself and taking what works. Also, remember to look into even those things that you don’t agree with. Find out more about what scares you, what angers you, what makes you roll your eyes. Everything has a beginning and the beginning’s often followed by a frighteningly long story that will enrapture you…

Oh, and if you’re still wondering about the clouds… you can thank Danny Dancose, my grade eight science teacher.”

Out For Blood

I have surrendered. It is zero-three-hundred hours. The war against The Mosquitoes has lasted all night and they have finally outwitted me in terms of both weaponry and defence. I am too sweet, too slow, and too exposed. Their relentlessness and my burrowing is reminiscent of World War I trench warfare.

 It has now been three weeks since my apartment became a haven for mosquitoes virtually every night. It started with mild belligerency- an occasional buzzing and bite. (Wait... buzzing mosquitoes? Oh, believe me, folks, these ain’t no ordinary mosquitoes. They wake you with their siren-like wail, as if to warn you, and then dive bomb to inject you with the itchiest venom they could scrounge up. Unfortunately, they aren’t kamikazes- that would be too helpful.) Recently, however, the night raids have escalated to something I simply can’t tolerate. Here have been my defence strategies:

1. Dressing up for Nordic conditions with the hopes of reducing the amount of bare skin. This included tying a hoody tight around my face, leaving only the middle of my face exposed to the elements. Was it a successful strategy? Ask my face after it looked like I had a mild case of the chicken pox for a week. Of course, I’m exaggerating, but five bites to the face is definitely a painful lesson in humility.

2. Burning incense. For some reason, I thought that because my incense smells like the weird “dragon” sticks I was told to burn in Haiti, it would ward off the beasties. I guess I chose to forget the part where the dragon sticks worked horribly and I ended up experiencing a night full of hallucinations, including one of falling through my bed and being incapable of opening my eyes. If the mosquitoes became feverish off my incense, I was not made aware of it.

3. Keeping the fan on throughout the night, despite chilly temperatures. I can’t really explain this tactic, except that I apparently thought the wind current would blow the pests off track. It didn’t.

4. Burning candles. See failed strategy #2 for possible explanations.

5. Flinging the blankets wildly every half hour. Opening the lights. Hunting down the mosquitoes with the palm of my hand. Wiping up the blood of my sworn enemies with my recycled toilet paper. Probably the most successful method of defence if we are taking a head count, but not conducive to restful nights. Plus, whenever I squash a mosquito, it’s a bit disturbing to discover how much bloodsucking was done before I was able to retaliate effectively.

Anyway, this past night I tried a combination of the above-mentioned strategies since my bite count has gone into the double digits. I guess I thought that mixing it up a bit would confuse and divide the forces. Funny how I’m the one up in bed writing and I have yet to see the mosquitoes retire. Maybe they do their blogging during the daytime...

The Flood, the Good Samaritan, a Temple, a Mountain, and Definitely More Than Two Fish

No, the following is not a Bible story, but rather a detailed account of my latest whirlwind adventure- Busan. In Korea, there is a fall holiday not unlike dear old Thanksgiving back home. Chuseok, however, does not require the sacrifice of thousands of turkeys. Nope, they keep it simple: rice, rice cakes, rice noodles, popped rice, rice cream... okay, not rice cream, but you get my drift. Anyway, Chuseok brought with it a 4-day vacation from those toothless grins I’ve become rather fond of. Add on a weekend and Morgan and I had 6 days of freedom. It was time to plan a getaway.

I’m going to begin the description of our voyage by mentioning that I now firmly believe in the hunter-gatherer theory. As resident berry picker, I was soon made responsible for picking a destination, picking the price, the seats, the motel, the activities... Yeah, a true cave woman was wrought within me. Who became the hunter? None other than my handsome and strapping cave partner, Morgan Herrick. Hunter tasks soon proved to be rather infrequent, although definitely essential. Please feel free to take notes of the “hunter” and “gatherer” moments throughout the trip. Maybe even swap notes with a friend to compare interpretations. Just one idea of how you can spice up blog-reading!

Thrifty Encino woman that I am, I wanted to go somewhere beautiful and sunny, sure, but it also had to be cheap. Sounds easy given my location? Well, go look at a map. I may seem close to a ton of gorgeous tropical destinations, but they are farther than you’d imagine. And too bloody expensive to get to on such short notice. So, I was left choosing between Korea and... Korea! I finally decided on Busan, a lovely port city on the southeast coast of Korea.  Friends had raved about the place, so I knew we were in for a good time. After booking KTX (high-speed train) tickets online, there was no turning back. Departure time: 8:40pm on Tuesday, September 21, 2010. Now all we had to do was get to Seoul Station.

Well, on the evening of our departure, God decided he’d made a mistake with the whole rainbow bit and that there was to be a second flood. Specifically in Korea. Oh, Korea. What hast thou done? The streets transformed into rivers in no time and we were dragging our luggage through ankle-deep water all the way to the bus stop. Once at the metro station, we thought we were home free. Wrong. About three stops in, the metro came to a halt and stopped running. The verdict? The metro had flooded in various sections between Anyang and Seoul. We would have to take a bus. Awesome.

Morgan and I heaved our luggage back outside under a frighteningly gloomy sky. Being above ground again had not been part of our quest, and maybe this showed on our faces because we were quickly taken under the wings of a young man. He asked us what our destination was and then offered to escort us as far as necessary. And he did. We were sardined onto a bus, exchanging a few words here and there. He was originally from Seoul but had moved to Anyang due to a job opportunity. He was heading to a family Chuseok dinner and was apparently in no rush to get there. When we finally arrived at a connecting bus stop, the man got off with us to ensure we took the right bus to Seoul Station. After already showing us much sympathy and kindness, he gave us his contact information and said that we could always reach him if we needed help with anything. Needless to say, we arrived just in time for our KTX train and even had a spare moment to text our new acquaintance a heartfelt thank you.

The KTX ride leaves no real memory in my mind except that I was forced to perpetually listen to an instrumental version of Let It Be. Now, I have a special place in my heart for the Beatles, but I must admit I began frowning when the song starting playing for the third time in a row. I kid you not. By the fifth time, Morgan and I were already engrossed in an episode of Heroes.

Knowing we would arrive in Busan late Tuesday night, I had already booked a room for the night at Elysee Motel. The name and description intrigued me: “Enjoy reminiscence and romanticism at Elysee”. As some of my dedicated readers may have guessed by now, there was no crystal castle waiting for us in Busan. Nope, it was a love motel, complete with photos of naked girls taped to the doorframe. I hate to admit it, but we weren’t even disappointed. Come on, when do you ever get to stay in a place that has this kind of dualism: porn lining the shelves and frosted windows with fawns and birds printed on them? Okay, fine, maybe you have a twisted great uncle, but generally you only find such treats in a love motel. And it got better. The ceiling above the bed was a carpet with an underwater ocean scene printed on it. Special lights lit up the carpet so that at night you could stare up at your very own aquarium. There was even a Jacuzzi with seats for three people. Three people? As if there had been any doubt about it being a Love Motel... We stayed there for the next four nights.

On Wednesday, the rain which had followed us from Seoul had not let up. Yuck. Nothing like rain to make you want to stay in bed and dream of Tahiti. Well, when you can’t enjoy the ocean on your doorstep, it’s time to head to the local aquarium and play pretend! Cameras in hand we headed to Busan Aquarium. The aquarium proved enormous. Giant sea turtles, sharks, jellyfish, crabs, eels, octopi, shrimp... the place was swimming with life and colour. Although some may not believe in keeping these sea creatures in captivity, I must tell you that the more I reflected on the idea, the more I became convinced that many forms of marine life are safer behind glass than in the ocean. After seeing Jagalchi Fish Market, I will swear it.

The next morning, I was awoken by something unfamiliar around 8:00am. Wait... could it be? Sunshine had finally found its way to Korea! Sunshine- you have no real appreciation of the role it plays in mood alteration until it reappears after a long absence. With Fred Flintstone still in bed, I had time to look up some sunny-day activities. Korea is predominantly a Christian and Buddhist country, which means the cities are teeming with neon crosses and the mountainsides are sprinkled with Buddhist swastikas. I decided that it would be an interesting experience to visit a Buddhist temple, and Beomeosa was relatively close by. Beomeosa, which means “Temple of the Nirvana Fish”, was built into the side of Mount Geumjeongsan about 1,300 years ago. Legend says there was a well with gold water on the top of Mount Geumjeongsan. Golden fish lived in the well and came down from the sky riding on colourful clouds. You must see our photos to get a glimpse of this “golden well”. I definitely had a good laugh once I got over my disenchantment.

Beomeosa, although crowded by Korean pilgrims and visitors, was the perfect place to spend a beautiful day. The “temple” was actually several buildings scattered on the bottom of the mountain face. Each building was made of huge wooden logs, intricately painted in vibrant hues of turquoise, red, and blue. Swastikas, flowers, and fish had been delicately hewn into the roof trimmings. Mystical caricatures and stories were engraved on rock surfaces, while majestic statues of deities collected dust in the summer heat. Although most visitors were simply observing the exquisiteness of the scenery and the art, there were still many others who were carefully placing their shoes outside the various temples and noiselessly meditating, a subtle smile playing on their lips. Visiting Beomeosa temple was strange in that it was easy to forget that monks actually still live and work there. We did, however, witness a monk meditating (Morgan didn’t seem to believe it was an invasion of privacy) and there were several grey-cloaked men wandering around the yards by the end of the day. Two felines mischievously batting a rag outside validated the existence of a stable civilization.

After our meanderings between and through the temples, Morgan and I let the sounds of rushing water lead us to what looked like an endless riverbed of enormous rocks. Stone upon stone had settled on top of a still running river. Perhaps a glacier or landslide had brought the rocks tumbling to their resting place. Whatever the story, the sight was breathtaking and we probably could have spent our entire trip walking along that river, in complete awe of nature’s inconceivable beauty. However, instead of squatting on monk land, we eventually left. But only after we’d crawled around and found spiders, flowers, minnows... all tiny in comparison to the boulders in our midst. On our way back to the bus, we both came to the realization that we'd have to return. And we did.

Friday brought us another gorgeous day, providing the perfect opportunity to explore the harbour. First we went up to Busan Tower, an observatory tower which gave us a brief glimpse at Busan’s history and an incredible view of the port. As I gazed over the immense cityscape, I kept dwelling on the same thought: Humans are pests. We have killed, burned, and cut down everything around us to make increasingly more room for ourselves. We take everything and give very little. I voiced my world-weariness to Morgan, who said: “You know, the city really does look like a manmade forest... only the trees are skyscrapers.” His remark made me smile wistfully and I sighed: “Concrete jungle.”

I said that life, sweet life, it must be somewhere to be found.

Oh, instead of concrete jungle! Illusion! Confusion!

Dear Robert Nesta Marley, thank you for your wisdom.

Once out of the tower, we established that, despite our aversion to the amount of flesh this country consumes, Jagalchi Fish Market was probably quite the sight to see. People, brace yourselves. Actually, here’s a little interlude to give you time to prepare for fishy business:

On our way to Jagalchi, we stopped at a tea shop I’d spotted on Wednesday. I had fallen in love with the hand-sewn ornaments dangling in the windows and was resolute on purchasing a few. What a charming little shop it turned out to be. The owner ushered us to bar stools at the front of his shop, offering us free samples of his tea. As we perched ourselves and settled in, he steeped us a delicious pot of Taiwanese green tea. Then the sharing began. Six pots of tea later, we knew more about this man than most people we’d met in Korea. He was a tea specialist with two brothers living in America- who unfortunately only drank coffee. His wife, who made him smile every time he mentioned her, had sewn the tea-stuffed ornaments in the window. He had even helped a friend set up a tea shop in the Eastern Townships. The Eastern Townships! To top off what was already a semi-mystical encounter, there was a stray cat being housed in the tea shop. She eats and bunks in the store, but can still come and go as she pleases. I was beaming by the time we left the shop. Good cha, good stories, good memories.

And then there was Jagalchi Fish Market.

 Let’s just say that if I had been able to move beyond my shock, I may have appreciated the market for its value as an exhibit on marine life diversity. I honestly had never seen most of these species of fish and other wildlife. Too bad everything was dead or dying. Takes the life right out of wildlife.

Anyway, the market left us awestruck. Fishmongers and their ware stretched out endlessly along the harbour front. Quivering eels, squirming sea worms, sagging octopi, lifeless starfish, gleaming squid, clams launching themselves around in their buckets by snapping their shells open and closed, oysters breathing heavily in the shallow water… Along with fishmongering, many of the women working in the market also had tiny restaurants behind their counters. Pick a live fish, get it gutted, fry it up. Morgan even watched a live eel get skinned and gutted- and then it kept moving?! The nervous system is a freaky thing. I created a buffer zone for myself about 20 metres wide. No need to throw up six perfectly good cups of tea.

Once we were seafooded out, we went venturing along the docks. Barnacle-encrusted boats buoyed in the gentle waves while leathery fishermen headed out to sea. It was a strange, almost out-of-body, experience to be standing there in the midst of it all. Of course, I had been to the ocean before- Haiti, Costa Rica, the U.S., even Canada. But there was something completely bizarre about being near the ocean in Asia… where our bloody canned tuna comes from! Nori for all your sushi rolls! This is life! This is it- that crazy circle of life, butterfly effect, globalization, all this cause-effect everyone’s talking about. The poor man’s son who follows in his father’s footsteps to hunt whale to please the palate of an overpaid CEO of a monopoly we want eradicated from the face of the planet in order to restore the fine balance and put food on the plate of the poor man’s son.

Breathe. And then I filled up my lungs and it was just gulls and fishmongers again.

Despite having discovered so many nooks of interest where we could have spent countless hours, our vow to return to the mountain was not broken. Saturday was dedicated to just that. Now, if only we could find reasonably priced hiking boots. That turned out to be quite the joke. After browsing through umpteen hiking shops, we had become convinced of three things:

1.       Hiking is Korea’s national sport for middle-aged persons.

2.       You gotta hike in style. If it’s new, wear it. If you’ve worn it before, go shopping.

3.       If you are poor, or simply underpaid, don’t become a hiker.  

Morgan and I showed up at the base of the mountain in flip flops. At this point my mother is shaking her head. But, never fret, we had a plan: buy footgear closer to the mountain! Okay, it wasn’t a plan, but all the boots so far had proven to be too bloody expensive or made for elfin feet. Although buying our gear closer to the place of adventure seemed contrary to anything we’d ever learned about marketing, all went according to “plan”. There was a sale going on for those weird-looking hiking sandals you make fun of until you try them on, buy them, and tramp up a mountain in them. Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Those ugly, yet practical, squishy hiking sandals that physically fit 40-plus women wear… yes, with the elastic ties. Anyway, we each bought a pair and climbed aboard the bus that would take us to Mount Geumjeongsan.

To try and encapsulate the splendor we saw during our mountain hike seems futile, but I shall try nonetheless. Boulders the size of garbage trucks settled carefully against stones the size of your fist. A river running clear and fast over tree roots and eroded soil, creating steps more delicate and beautiful than any human could design. Lush trees and flowering bushes squeezing their delicate roots in amongst the rocks, taking hold, and thriving. The strangest of acorns with thorny flesh encasing them- causing me to wonder about their evolution over time. Mushrooms in all shapes and textures adorning rotting branches. My muscles burned as I challenged my body to generate that youthful bounce I once had when I went wandering in my woods back on the farm. Effortlessness was the aim, and although that wasn’t quite achieved, I did feel rejuvenated when I reached the peak. With strong winds blowing my hair into fine dreadlocks, Morgan and I exchanged satisfied grins. Korean countryside stretched out all around us, until we could see the distant outline of skyscrapers and the haze of smog.

Apparently, reaching the summit unleashed a certain insubordination within my soul, for I resolved to make the hike downhill a little more challenging. I think it’s called off-roading in some books. In mine, it’s called the best decision I could have made. Now, I know that there are reasons why people shouldn’t go off the trails (destroying wildlife, littering, building campfires, etc.), but I had no desire nor intention to do any such thing.  We drifted as noiselessly as possible, slipping through branches, hopping from stone to stone, grabbing trunks to steady our eager toes... Whenever anything struck us as exceptional, Morgan whipped out his mega-camera and snapped away at it. We stopped about every 3 minutes. At one point, Morgan and I were scrambling over a creek bed, when my Kaiser-Kid senses kicked in. I motioned for silence and felt my pulse accelerate. A fluttering. I recognized the sound. A large bird. A ground bird. We searched around and there it was: A beautiful pheasant about 40 feet from us. The connection I felt with my youth, with my life, with the very earth under my feet was tremendous.

Despite the joy our “off the beaten path” adventure brought, there was the downside of potentially getting lost. In the woods. On a mountain we weren’t familiar with. As shadows grew longer and the sunshine broke through ever-nearer to the forest floor, Morgan began to be concerned. Where were we? What way did we need to go? As he voiced these questions, I became aware of the silence. Heavy silence. I acknowledged that the silence went hand-in-hand with my quest to explore beyond the confines of the main path. Lost in Korea’s wildness, huh?

Now, it turned out that we weren’t completely off course, but that was no thanks to me. (See, I lost faith in my internal compass years ago when I followed deer into the woods behind our barn. I got so caught up in my escapade that I was suddenly beyond anything recognizable. The bedrock became more rugged, owl pellets littered the fallen leaves, and there seemed to be a murkiness hanging in the trees… all that was missing were some hobbits and fairies. Although I made it home eventually, I had felt mighty powerless against the enormity of nature. Some memories just don’t fade.) Luckily, Morgan’s internal compass is more reliable than mine and he reoriented us impressively quickly. It was quite a shock once we were back on the main trail, with middle-aged couples blasting music from their portable radios. Birds live in these woods? Really? Funny, I couldn’t hear them...

Oh Korea, you sure can be paradoxical.

This Seoul Sells Itself

Who came first, the consumerism or the consumers?

As Morgan and I strolled through Seoul on the weekend, I could not help but constantly reflect on this question. The plethora of clothing, shoes, furniture, and electronics was like a constant flow of serotonin to our brains: “Wow, look at this!” “This is so awesome!” “This is ridiculous!” “Do you think we need this?”

Ummm. Doubtful.

With its several floors of pure gadgetry, I was especially nervous for Morgan when we entered the Electronics Market. Camera after camera perched on its tripod, accompanied by an irritating young man who was desperately trying to make a sale.

This country, if you are not used to its boundless commodities, can test your rules of consumption. I know that it continually forces me to reassess my needs and reconsider the self-discipline which I thought I had. It’s a funny thing: your needs very rarely fluctuate- it’s your wants that change and gradually empty the bank. Fortunately, although our wants and needs had a stand off in every store we entered, our needs ultimately won. All we walked away with was an external hard drive and the most remarkable kitchen knife. You know the expression “cuts like a knife”? This knife invented that saying.

Now, although I just spat in the face of overindulgences, there are just some that are difficult to resist… like Morgan’s suggestion that we should get massages. I’m pretty sure Gandhi would have said: “I’m down.”

I was more than down.

So, we looked up a place we’d heard about called Healing Hands. As we came in out of the cool rain and entered this Zen den of soft lights, warm colours, and worn wood, I was sure I’d be in for a treat. Well, let’s just say this place should have been called Steel Hands. Merciless Hands. Hell's Angels' Hands. Now, I’m not saying it wasn’t a good massage, it was just… ruthless. That petite, middle-aged woman found every knot in my back, every strain near my spine. I tried so hard not to wriggle or cry out, and I could feel this tense stillness in the air that let me know Morgan was fighting the same fight. After getting my feet dipped in hot wax without warning, I decided that we were probably near the end of the session. My pain tolerance would probably not go much beyond that without some sort of yelp coming out of me.

Will we be returning customers? You bet. We’ve decided our poor teacher backs will probably need a good rubdown at least once a month. Let’s hope frequency and anguish have a negative correlation.

After our massages, I was starving. Probably because my muscles had been zapped of all their energy and were looking for some source of nourishment. Well, thankfully, amid the sea of pork knuckles, we were able to lock down a yummy tofu burger at Kraze Burger. Oh, Kraze Burger. Next time you write English on your menu, give me a call so I can do some brief editing. Or don’t and let people have a good laugh: "Please, remove the color fork before taste the menu. It might cause the safe problem." Riiiight.

Since dinner had already landed us in an ex-pat zone, we decided to visit a place called the Rocky Mountain Tavern. The place reeked of hockey, men, and beer. A drink menu which included Mountain Lion Breath, Halifax Explosion, and Newfie Payday confirmed beyond a doubt that the people who ran the joint were former Canucks. Part of me was excited to see this niche of Canadian culture, but my other half was repulsed, just like in the Dugout a few weeks earlier. The place was obviously a common meeting ground for young guys from Canada and the U.S., and hanging off their arms were pretty Korean girls, giggling and smiling at everything. After people-watching for about half an hour, I was not smiling or giggling. I came to the realization that most of these guys would never pick up back home. Arrogance is not a becoming quality. In fact, it’s not really a quality at all. And the place was teeming with it. Anyway, when one guy came in and started strumming his guitar, I found myself lip syncing along, despite my apprehension. Covers of The Pixies, Tom Petty, and Radiohead floated through the tavern, and Fake Plastic Trees is just not a song you pretend not to know. While the next performer got his game face on, we took our cue and left. Nothing like a “rapper” from Washington State to let you know you’ve overstayed your visit.

Life Goes On

The list of things that had been previously unseen and unheard of has grown exponentially since my arrival in Korea. Of course, this is the type of self-discovery and self-development that every traveler yearns for. Although I believe that many of these “personal growth” spurts could occur in the comfort of one’s own mundane routine, being out of one’s element seems to be much more conducive to such things. These “things” which I so generally refer to are usually insignificant to others, but they can make me smile like nothing else...

Every day, Yuni and I encourage the students to eat their entire lunch. I feel kinda guilty doing it, since eating rice, fish, and kimchi every single day is my version of a gastronomical nightmare. I categorize my eaters as one of three animals: sloth, chipmunk, and wolf. The sloths, as you can deduce, are slow but steady. The wolves eat quickly, knowing playtime awaits them. The chipmunks store the food in their cheeks and then ask to go to the washroom. Yeah right, child. Anyway, the other day, one of my sloths was finished abnormally quickly. I told him that in Canada, when you don’t like something, some kids sneak their food to a dog under the table. Not thinking anything had clicked, I was surprised to find out the next day that a new expression had been conceived for anyone who finished quickly: “Ahhhh, you feed the dog?"

Thankfully there are no cows or rabbits; the last thing our class needs is a cud-chewer.

On Wednesday, I met many of my students’ mothers for the first time at what was to be a very brief meet-and-greet. I felt like Daniel going into the lions’ den, but instead of having renowned faith, I was pretty convinced I’d be devoured. See, Maple Bear isn’t an ordinary school. Sure, it’s got an interesting curriculum, it’s a great working environment, and the kids learn a ton, but this place is first and foremost a business. Parents are customers, and are, you know... right. I’d heard stories of how invasive and frustrating the parents could be, so you can imagine my astonishment when the first words that came out of their mouths were: “Oh, you’re beautiful!” Yes, the “u” was drawn out longer than necessary, and there was a flick of the wrist in my general direction. By this time I was a nice shade of pink, but I was also coming to the realization that I wasn’t going to be lion food after all. So what if Gucci, Dior, and Givenchy were staring me in the face? At least the faces were smiling. Forty minutes later, the mothers were still clucking like hens in Korean, not realizing that it wasn’t happy hour. I had run out of words and was just grinning at the parents, getting paranoid that I was showing too much gum. Yuni, who had been translating, glanced at the clock. After gently shooing the mamas out, Yuni told me that they already loved me and that I’d worried for nothing. Love at first sight… who says it doesn’t happen?

On a more serious note, Koreans are sadly obsessed about superficial qualities, especially in someone who they will never really get to know on any intimate level, like me. Is she a good teacher? Well, she looks it. Young people are obsessed with plastic surgery, perms, and whitening face powder. Beauty, like in so many places in the world, is constricted to such a small box that it's suffocating. Anyway, although I can go on at length, suffice it to say that I am aware of the impact my appearance makes on my students, and I will certainly keep in mind what an intelligent girlfriend of mine told me recently: "Promise me that if you were to choose a movie to show the kids, it would be Mulan or Shrek." That, my dear, I can do.

My students’ newest obsession is with my love life. It doesn’t sound like a serious addiction, but I’m beginning to think that some rehabilitation might be necessary. It all started about two and a half weeks ago when I opened up my laptop to show the class something. At the time, I had a photo of Morgan and me as my desktop background. Now, I’m going to clarify that what I was wearing in the picture is actually a mother-approved, Church-friendly, strapless dress. However, from the angle the photo’s taken, I look kinda naked with only a necklace around my neck. Well, the kids all shouted out “SEXY!” and “BIKINI!” That part may be out of order, but needless to say, I was discomfited. “Guys, it’s not a bikini. No seriously, it’s a dress, you just can’t see it...” Well, they still say “Bikini!”, “Sexy!”, or “Franzi-teacher boyfriend” every time I open my laptop- never mind that the photo’s been replaced.

That’s not all.

Yesterday they drew me. In a bikini. With a baby. In a bikini. What? It gets worse? Oh, yeah. I’m getting married to my boyfriend, who’s actually an alien. Good thing they’re not fortunetellers or prophets or else I’d consider myself screwed. A trailer trash mom married to an alien… with a skanky baby in tow? Yikes.

Then there was the comment this afternoon. I was telling the kids that all the bowing I had to do for Chuseok (all this will be explained in due time) hurt my knees and that I was feeling like a grandma. “But Franzi-teacher, first you need to have baby, then grandma.” I know the order, kids, don’t hassle me.

But, the hassling never ceases. On Tuesday, I was drawing a map of Canada on the whiteboard- freehand, and quite accurately, if I do say so myself. The kids walked in and exclaimed: “The map is bro-ken! We must fix the world!” Sure, go fix the world, kids, but don’t hate on Canada. The Arctic is a complex place.

As you can tell, things get really tense in my classroom. And whenever we just can’t take it anymore, the kids burst out in “Ooo-blah-dee! Ooo-blah-da! Life goes oooooooon!”

 I’m not even kidding.

Shake Your Tail Feathers

If I were to write a news article solely on the past week, it would be entitled: Train Wreck Brings New Life to Maple Bear Classroom.

Franzi-Teacher’s Worst 24-Hours Ever began at the zoo. Oh yes. A zoo where majestic, but slightly emaciated, tigers, lions, and bears glower at you and wish they could have a crumb of you at lunch. Now, surprisingly, I did not use the trip as a way to show children that caging up eight tigers in the same small area was a bad idea. Nope, the worst I did was pick up a child and threaten to throw her to the giraffes. Oh, come on. They are herbivores, straight up. Anyway, the real purpose of the trip was to allow my kiddies to see all these bears I’d been talking about in class: European brown bears, American black bears, Malayan sun bears... I reassured myself that having the Moon bear locked up was probably better than letting it get its guts ripped out by an over-zealous poacher (if a poacher can be over-zealous; more on this later). So, with all my kids lined up in matching Maple Bear shirts, we stuffed ourselves into a large van and heading to Seoul Land. Now, I’m going to skip a bunch of zoo details, although I will mention that it is easy to forget how short kindergarten kids are. Every time I saw the bear do something amusing, I’d squat down to their height and be like: “Oops, yeah you can’t see a thing. Sorry, buddy.” I started lifting my kids onto the railing until the tallest girl in my class destroyed my arms… then I just decided not to mention it when the bears were being awesome.

i.s. After having walked around th mountain for a good hour, the kids began to complain that their "bones were broken" and their "muscles were gone". I ignored the complaints and relished the fact that they were being so descriptive.

Once we'd visited the bears, we headed back down the mountain and visited other animals until lunchtime. This is where The Worst of Times began. One of my dear students, a new addition to our tribe, vocalized loud and clear that he did not like one of his fellow classmates. The class’s cheerful chatter stopped abruptly and everyone stared. I hunkered down next to him and asked him what just happened and all I got was: “I don’t like XXXX! I don’t like her! I don’t like her!” Good grief. Then another kid whispered that he’d heard him say he doesn’t like YYYY either. Another girl victim? I saw a pattern developing.

We started discussing how saying such things hurt people and how we are all supposed to be a team and how we can only learn in a safe environment, et cetera. I explained that we couldn’t go on seeing the other animals with such animosity pervading our troop. Well, while all the other kids were dying to see the raccoons and were pleading for the boy to say sorry, this little man just started bawling his eyes out, shouting how much he hated girls. Come again?

Thankfully, my Korean teacher, Yuni, took the other students and continued the journey towards the raccoons. Meanwhile, I was left with this serious case of juvenile misogyny. Let’s call him Rufus. Negotiation began:

“Why did you say you don’t like XXXX?"
“I don’t like her! I don’t like her! I don’t like her!’
“I’m fully aware, Rufus, but why?”
(Insert a copious amount of tears and strangers giving me sympathetic nods.)
Literally 5 minutes later: “I hate girls! I hate Maple Bear!”
(Now, let me remind you again that this student is newer than me. Oh, and let me inform you that he’d already mouthed off to the director during the entrance tests.)
I began to explain to him that I actually was under the impression that he liked Maple Bear because he seemed to enjoy being in class, smiled a lot, and he was already getting the hang of the routines and such. The tears momentarily stopped as he listened. But, as soon as I started in on the situation at hand, he began crying again: “It’s her fault!”
Silence.
Finally, he said, “She cut the line!”
She cut the line. She cut the line while at the zoo, where everyone’s hopping around like baboons? Really?
Being as diplomatic as possible, I explained that since we weren’t really respecting “line” formation at the zoo, it didn’t matter if someone decided to walk a bit ahead of him or not. When he said he was still angry, I told him that he could feel as angry as he desired, but that he could not express it the way he did. Anyway, after another five minutes of him saying he’d never apologize, I told him that it didn’t work like that and dragged him off. We marched past all the wildcats which I had personally wanted to hang out with, to confront his sworn enemy. One apology later, he was dancing around like an idiot.

It gets better.

On the way home, I asked who had enjoyed the zoo. What do you know? Rufus is waving his hand around, literally bouncing in his seat. Then, when I asked which animal they liked seeing best, he said the tigers. What? You mean the tigers you didn’t see because we marched right past them? And THEN, he flirts with one the girls all the way home. At this point, I was so amused by the entire situation that I just sat back and thought about how much it must rock to be six years old.

The next day, thinking the hate train had wrecked at the zoo, I was shocked to witness an incredible amount of name-calling, pushing, tattling, selfishness, and the like. With my best disappointed voice, I called my kids to join me on the carpet for a serious Pau-Wau. I don’t even have the energy to describe all the shenanigans that took place throughout the day, but let it be enough when I say that, by the end of the day, I had led my class through three of those Pau-Waus. As they lined up to go home, I asked them if tomorrow would be a better day. With heads bobbing, I smiled at them and hoped their childhood amnesia wouldn’t kick in overnight.

My hoping paid off. Friday was the Best Day Ever in Franzi-Teacher’s classroom at Maple Bear School in Anyang, South Korea. It got to the point where I was getting concerned about getting perma-smile lines. The day started with us writing a creative story together. The story got so colourful that at one point a unicorn came and kicked a bee away from the sleeping cat named Salmon. This may not seem significant, but try being creative in a language you have not yet mastered.

After snack time, I was working one-on-one with the students, having them share with me the information they’d learned about bears throughout the week. When one of my boys got to talking about Asiatic black bears, I explained to him that they are hunted and killed for their gall bladders. He asked me why and I told him that some people still thought that the bile in the gall bladder could cure us from diseases. He stood up in his seat, did a fist pump in the air, and shouted: “I will make for that people to die!” I probably should have told him that wasn’t the route to go, but I felt like I’d be lying to him.

At the end of the day, I taught the kids the Funky Chicken. Amanda Piette, you would have died. I wasn’t even prepared for the chaos that ensued after shouting “Let me see your cock-a-roach!” I don’t think the kids have ever had such a good cardio workout from singing a song. It was beautiful to hear them sing and watch them shake their tail feathers all the way out the door.