Arrival, Adjustment, Accute respiratory problems
Warning: Politic Correctness may suffer here in favour of honest story-telling. I respect all peoples of all race and nation, and any racial slights on this site are only made in jest.
Well, it’s been about two weeks since I left the seemingly sunless city of London, Ontario, and embarked on a thirty hour trip to Busan, South Korea. I have chosen blogging as opposed to group emails this time around, as it gives people a little more freedom, and a less cluttered mailbox. Also, I intend to post several photos soon, so check back frequently!
The trip here was long and exhausting, with several things going wrong along the way. I left London in the tail-end of a wicked snow storm, and arrived at the Toronto airport at around 5 AM, not having slept much during the drive. After an hour wait in line, I was informed that I was A) in the wrong line up, and B) waiting for a flight that had been cancelled long ago. So after some wheeling, dealing, and catching buses from terminal to terminal, I managed to get on a flight that would make one of my stop-overs a bit tight, but would hopefully get me to Busan at the appointed time. Things went pretty smoothly in New Jersey. I awoke an hour before landing in China to slurp coffee and gaze over the Great Wall of China as the sun rose above the mountains. It wasn’t until I touched land in Beijing that things really went awry.
Strung out and exhausted, myself and my fellow passengers were coralled through the arrival gates. I had been told to look for a Continental representative immediately upon entering the airport. I looked, and looked, but did not see one. Then I saw a glass door that looked hopeful, with people on the other side who appeared potentially helpful. I reached to open the door, and a gruff Chinaman scolded me in his language. “Connecting flights?” I asked. “Ugh, yeah, ugggh,” he responded, gesturing me Jackie Chan style to stay in line with the rest of the confused migrants. I ended up in a long line up with a sign above a desk that said “International Connecting Flights”. I had one hour to be in the air. I waited fifteen minutes. The line up didn’t move. People looked worried. People began to panic. I threatened an older lady to hold my place in line, Orr else, and went up to speak to the sleepy looking airport staff.
In broken English, I was told that this was the wrong line up, that I needed Continental Air, and they waved me towards “Domestic Connections”. An Israelian in a similar predicament followed me as I ran from desk to desk, unhelpful person to rude person, until things began to look really bleak. I mean, I had twenty minutes until my plane was to take off, and here I was standing in the lost and found room trying to play charades with a disinterested Chinese teenager and a bewildered Jew. Everyone I talked to acted like they knew exactly what I needed, and essentially pawned me off on someone else with an equal absence of understanding, all with a straight face (these Asians and their ’saving face’!). After much sprinting, bumping, jostling, and miming, I made it to flight C123 minutes before take off. Sleep deprived, drained, and in dire need of a drink, I sunk into my chair and listened to the familiar sound of Korean speech on the speakers, with it’s ‘needas’ and ‘eyos’ (no more of this Chinese ’shae shae’ gibberish!), and felt a bit of elation. For the first time on my long trip, I was fed beer and not charged for it, and I appreciated Korea’s understanding that nothing should come between a traveling man and his beer, including incorrect currency.
I again appreciated Korean culture upon landing, when an old man at immigration told me I couldn’t pass until I played him a song on my guitar, I simple gag I was tired enough to fall for, much to he and his comrades’ amusement. They patted me on the back and allowed me through without a performance. Tim, the head teacher from the school, was there with his Korean wife Su Jeong to drive me to Haeundae and show me my bird-cage of an apartment. They were very kind, took me out for dinner and a drink, and all in all, made my arrival pretty welcoming.
The next night, Tim called me up to see if I’d be interested in some BBQ’d eel. But of course! We drove up the coast along rocky shorelines for about half an hour out of Busan. Ajumas (older married Korean women) lined the ribboning streets, standing beside row upon row of drying squids and anchovies. The restaurant was incredible, with valet parking and extremely polite staff. We sat upstairs, on the floor, of course, beside a huge window that looked out over the ocean, which was right below the restaurant. I was a bit startled when an ajuma brought out the squirming segments of still-bleeding eel. When we put them out on the grill, they jumped and squirmed, the nerves still quite alive and responding to the heat of the grill and sound of the tides (I speculate). It was delicious, and of course soju, the quintessential Korean booze, was consumed liberally with many a ‘cheers’. Tim and Su Jeong were a lot of fun, as was their mutual friend Jarret, and as we became warmed by the congeniality in the air and the watered down potato vodka cut with nail-polish remover in our guts (I speculate), the only acceptable next step was to move to a bar for some beer.
Tim the head teacher seemed impressed by my ability to bounce back so mightily from such a long and harrowing trip, and he toasted to my resilience often. But it was getting late, and I needed a good sleep. After all, I had to begin teaching the next day! But pitcher after pitcher arrived at the table. Word got out that I was a musician, and all of sudden the Korean bar owner was at the table, introducing himself to me and telling me he would call me up on stage shortly. I tried to object, but it was futile. Tim made it clear that this was all part of the job, and that he was boss. Next thing you know, I was singing a Santana song to a bar (not exactly) full of Koreans, all of whom applauded my efforts. But it didn’t end there. The last of my memories of the evening involved singing “Sweet Caroline” with Tim, duet style, and that melody would haunt me all day through my insanely stressful first day of teaching.
Dear readers, I won’t bore you with the details of that awful day, nor the teaching days that followed. I will say that it got a little better each day, and while the hours I teach are very long as far as this occupation goes, it keeps me occupied, out of trouble, and still only amounts to about 30 hrs a week of actual teaching. My co-workers are very cool, including the Korean teachers, and my apartment, while small, has a fantastic view of the city, mountains, and ocean. But trust me when I say that Busan is not like Canada, and in fact, I feel it is a little more “Korean” than Seoul. For example, read about my E MART experience below…
I thought Walmart in Anyang was a weird experience! Entering E Mart, I thought I was entering the Temple of the fucking Moonies or something! I was cruising through the isles, looking for recognisable fare, and posted at every corner was a… staff member? Representative? E Mart Devotee? A loudspeaker kicked off the chanting, and the devotees responded, bowing low with each sentence. I just wanted some bananas, and they all bowed and smiled at me, and chanted some profound (too profound for a mart) team slogans in unison. It was damn creepy, and they were still chanting and bowing when I was leaving. Hard to convey… But ultimately, pretty cheap with a fantastic selection of edible (and otherwise) goods.
For Christmas eve, the hospitable and helpful Tim-and-Su Jeong-couple had me over for a real western style dinner, including chicken (turkeys here are like $100), roasted vegetables, gravy, salad, etc. No rice! Nice-uh! I was feeling a little off colour, but blamed it on the draft beer from the night before. However, I was festively force-fed sparkling wine, beer, white wine, and the unavoidable soju. I bailed at 1 AM, just not feeling so festive anymore, and went home in a taxi looking a shade greyer than the grinch. When I awoke, I had the same giant bitch of a flu bug (or at least her sister) that bit me last time I flew to Korea. I have been ultrasick ever since, with fever, stomach issues, a deep, bloody painful bronchial cough, and other fun and colorful symptoms. Thanks to Su Jeong and Tim, I was able to get my hands on a bunch of strong Korean meds, which I am currently on, and which I fear may be affecting the quality of my writing (for better or worse, I know not). I am currently on a six day holiday (one of only two that I get each year), and all I have done is lay in bed reading, watching bad TV (lots of American Action Movies, folks… rarely anything with depth or substance), slurping ramyon (ichiban), and lamenting my bad luck. Fortunately, Nicole and I speak almost daily, which of course helps me keep my head up.
Well, I have much more to write, but I know modern attention spans well (very well indeed), so if you’ve come this far… I’m flattered. I’ve been too sick lately to go on a photo shoot, but hope to by maybe tomorrow. I will post some shots ASAP. An in all, all is pretty well. In the meantime, look up “Haeundae” in google images. I live across the street from that beach.
Peaceout
Tee Cha Su Tee Bun
