Mrs. Joe

Mrs. Joe is the manager of the hogwan I work for in Jilyang. She was the "secretary" in my previous posts because, from my perception, she performs the duties of a secretary. She handles the paperwork, cleans the work area, and watches kids when they misbehave. If I need copies made at the last minute, then I point to the pages and say the word for copy in Korean, and Mrs. Joe, who doesn't speak much English, will make copies for me while I entertain the class.

Mrs. Joe isn't the secretary though, she's the manager. She fits the bill on my pay day, and her position includes decision-making powers. Last week, we took the students outside for the second half of the class to the traditional Korean market because Mrs. Joe thought it would be a good promotion for the hogwan. Other parents would see the kids speaking with me in English and be impressed enough to give the English Clinic a ring. Mom and Pop would be willing to pay 120,000 won for two lessons per week or maybe even 250,000 for four times per week if they witnessed other children speaking in English to a native speaker. (Justin told me the rates yesterday at our meeting.) We also discussed the market day at the meeting, which for me, was more stressful than helpful. Truth be told, it was the day before I decided to start "fighting" for happiness. Though I gave my honest opinion, Mrs. Joe thought we should try the market again and circled the second Tuesday in November, designating the day. Neither Justin, Agnes, nor Patrick, who agreed with me about the outcome, uttered a protest. So I had to agree.

"She saw some positive factors," said Justin. "So she wants to do it again."

The Wednesday after market day, Mrs. Joe came in to my classroom with a short math problem written on her notebook. She showed me how her age minus my age makes a fairly large number. Therefore, I'm a baby to her. At the time, I thought she was sending me some kind of message, like I needed to respect her more or something, but Patrick said age is just really important in Korea. In fact, technically, I should use formal language with him even, though he is only one year older than me.

I thought about what she said for a while. Puzzled. Then I went in, and apologized, in my broken Korean, for being sad on market day. I told her that from now on I would be, "Fighting!" She pointed to my engagement ring, and said something in Korean, I think about me missing my fiance. Then she gave me a hug, and I teared up pretty bad. It felt good to be hugged.

So with Halloween quickly approaching, Mrs. Joe thought it would be a good idea to celebrate. I agreed.

Mrs. Joe wanted to know if she should make a lot of food. I told her, through Justin's translation, that candy or something small would be fine and that I had a plan.

Mrs. Joe printed off information in Korean about trick-or-treating in the United States. I printed off masks from KizClub.com for students to cut out and decorate.

Mrs. Joe bought a couple bags of candy and put them the kitchen. I bought a dozen glazed Dunkin Donuts and orange string to hang them from the ceiling.

Mrs. Joe ordered costumes online, including a Mickey Mouse hat and a scream mask, for Patrick and I to wear on Friday. I snatched a bunch of toilet paper for a mummify-your-classmate game.

I found Michael Jackson's thriller and Monster Mash on Youtube and played them in the background today during my first set of halloween parties. Mrs. Joe served as the judge for the mummy game and took some nice pictures.

After my last class, Mrs. Joe had another good idea. She suggested we call the parents for tomorrow night's classes and see if they would be willing to have us come trick-or-treat at their houses. I told her, through translation again, that students who saw what I was doing with the other classes would be disappointed to not play the donut game. (I told the kids, "Don't worry. Tomorrow, we will have your Halloween day.") Truthfully, I was upset because I knew her plans would trump mine. Why did she always want me to go along with her new idea at the last minute?

When I went home for dinner and thought about it, my reasons became more and more silly in my mind. Students won't complain about going trick-or-treating, even if they had to give up a donut game. If anything, I'm just disappointed that I won't be able to watch students fish after a swinging treat with their mouth tomorrow.

I should trust her and respect her opinion more readily. Not only is she my manager, but she is a "harmoni" in Korea. A grandma. A respected old woman. She has a lot more life experience than an amateur teacher like me. Besides, she really cares about me. Patrick told me so. Evidentally, she worries about my appetite, my boredom, my loneliness and my skin problems.

Here is one of my classes playing the donut game. I'm glad to have played it once. (Forgive me. I'm not much of a videographer, especially when I start laughing.) Go, KaJin, go!

Fighting!

"Fighting!" is an exclamation that Koreans use when they feel a surge a perseverance in the midst of trial. If a Korean says "fighting!" it means they promise to continue enduring to success. They pronounce each syllable with strength and bring their hands into a fist in front of their face as they say it. "Figh-ting!" I first heard "fighting!" when I was watching a Korean drama. Han Ji Eun says it to Young Jae to encourage him to work toward a peaceable marriage while they were together. Then my friend, GiHee, a college student who I met at a bakery in Jilyang, said "Fighting!" to indicate how hard she would work at her English, so that we could be good friends. (It's pretty difficult to make friends with students in Korea. They're always studying.)

So after a few days of loneliness, followed by a rough Tuesday, I decided to adopt the phrase and start "fighting!" for happiness. I started working out again on Wednesday, and on Thursday, I went to Kyungsan in the morning, mostly as an effort to be out and about. I needed to spend less time just waiting and planning for work. I went to a coffee shop called Seven Monkeys (just the name of it seemed joyful,) where I ordered an iced honey latte (delicious) and studied my Korean. Then, I browsed the shops and bought myself a pair of Pooh socks and a matching sweatshirt and pant set. (I'd started to waking up to chilly legs in the morning.) As I sat at the bus stop, waiting for my ride home, I wondered what about the simple trip made me feel so good. What was it about my little outing that made me feel so refreshed?

I've had a pretty good run since then. On Friday, our school secretary told me that one of the mothers called to send me her thanks after her daughter, JiSoo, received a favorable grade on her midterm test. Actually, JiSoo is the same girl I wrote about months ago when I was first starting to teach. The student with which I had my first small success.

Patrick, the other teacher at my school, gave me a ride all the way out to my Bible study that night. He told me about his experience dating a Canadian and showed me his "gloomy music" category on his CD player. It was so nice to have some company and to arrive at Eli's apartment before 11:00 p.m. Instead of Bible study, we just talked about Korean nuances, first period stories and relationships until 3 a.m., which was more than OK for me since I was craving girl-hang-out time anyway.

On Saturday night, I went out to eat with Justin and Jean and watched the movie, Leon, with JiHey, that was of a significantly more sophisticated caliber than our last shared flick, Kangaroo Jack. I attended Korean class on Sunday, taught by my friend, Sam, from Dongshin Church. (Something else to keep my mind happy and entertained in Korea.) SuJung and I finally met to study Mark again, and I was able to explain how Jesus makes God not like Santa Claus.

Then tonight, I broke out the UNO cards for Moxanim, MinWoo and MinWoo's friend, who always practices his hellos and nice-to-meet-you's with me. They loved the game. After a couple of rounds, MinWoo's friend suggested that the last person to get rid of their cards should be finger-flicked to death by all of the other players. I knew it was a bad idea, especially when Moxanim and I went head to head in the final part. MinWoo started demonstrating the painful power of his flick against his own hand after he was the first to finish. (Honestly, it sort of made me feel at home with my brothers. Haha!) Much to my relief, I was able to finish 3rd with a few reverse cards and a wild card. MinWoo planted a fairly gentle flick on Moxanim's forehead, but his friend and I didn't dare flick the minister. :)

I have to do report cards this week. Ugh! But I have a lot to look forward to as well. On Thursday, I'm going to meet with Christy in KyungSan near Seven Monkeys. Then on Friday, Eli, Elise and Tharene are having a Halloween party at their house. I'm also planning out Nick's visit next month with much anticipation. It looks like I'm less lonely now, and there is more fun to come! Fighting!

Like a child

Lately, I forget that my students are just kids. I forget the way children think or the way children act when they're having a bad day. By God's grace, certain moments remind me that the maturity level and understanding of the faces in front of me are not at the college level and usually not the high school level.

Justin asked me a few weeks ago to begin a research project for students in my reading classes. The idea made me groan because I attempted to teach a research project during English Camp and failed miserably. (Really. It was sad.) But Justin insisted it was a good idea. The Treasures (reading) classes in the Hayang hogwan were conducting research. So could we. I waited until after Chusok to even think about it. I needed to make a plan to ensure that this project would be a less of an embarrassment.

Then, one day, I typed up a sort of project syllabus, including process steps for each week and a breakdown of points. As I began teaching the brainstorming process, my enthusiasm for the project really picked up. I decided to research the real Queen Sondok as an example for them to follow.

On the way out the door today, I fetched Patrick to translate their homework assignments because I could sense their attention span for English comprehension was fading, and I had a lot to convey yet. They were supposed to obtain a project binder by Monday's class and by Wednesday's, to come with the first ten points for their research notes in addition to their regular vocabulary assignment. Patrick kindly told me that it was a lot of work on top of their regular school work. His comment seemed obvious in hindsight. What was I thinking? I'd gotten ahead of myself.

During my office hours, I surfed Dave's ESL Cafe for a new game or activity to use, and I found a great, low-maintenance game based off Wheel of Fortune. In "Dice of Fortune," the teacher must assign a meaning to each number on a dice. The web post recommended "lose a turn" for 1 and 3, $200 for 2, $400 for 4, $600 for 6 and "bankrupt" for 5. I substituted won for dollars. With thirty minutes before class, I ran home to fetch my dice for the game, and on the way, I thought of a unique twist. Candy incorporation never failed me before, so I decided I should make dum-dums worth 1,000 won and dove chocolates worth 2,000 won. (Expensive candy, commented one little girl. Haha!) Students who earned enough money could then purchase a piece of candy with their winnings when it was their turn.

All you moms out there can surely see where I went wrong in my thinking. Ignorantly, I gathered little red bingo tokens for the money and "Go Fish" cards to denote students who lost a turn, and I introduced the "fun, new game." And it was fun for the first few rounds. Students laughed, counted tokens delightedly, squealed when issued a Go Fish card, and tried to rig the dice to land on a six. But I certainly didn't have the foresight or the understanding of a child to know what would come next. I didn't think about how hurt a ten-year-old might feel to keep rolling "lose a turn" or "bankruptcy" while his/her peers gained a stash of sugary treats. One girl put her head on her desk after repeated lost turns. I felt inside the way she looked--defeated. And dumbfounded. I gave all the kids a chocolate on the way out the door. How did I not see it coming? Candy is no small matter to a child.

Perhaps the most surprising moment of my day came rather casually. As we worked on acrostic poems of ourselves, WooSup, one of my brightest students, asked randomly, "Do you like Korea, teacher?"

I started to give a half-brain answer, distracted by my busy hands, "Ummm...Yea."

"I think you don't like it here, teacher," he said. WooSup popped his head in to say "hello" one day when I was visibly worn down and emotionally distraught.

"What makes you think that?" I asked, but my question was buried by the Korean ramblings of other students in the class. I quieted in reflection.

Was he right? Of course not! But how can you explain to a twelve-year-old the breadth of emotion a foreigner can feel? How could I explain, in words he'd understand, that I don't dislike Korea?

Maybe I could tell the twelve-year-old things that I like about his country: kimchi, potbingsu, strong work ethics, energy efficiency, bathroom slippers, riding the public transportation, weekends in Daegu, etc. Have I complained too much in his presence? Failed to mention these things? Spoken too fondly of home? Or just too often of home?

I may feel misunderstood, discouraged and lonely sometimes, but not because of Korea. Lonely. Loneliness as a foreigner is more than wanting someone to hang out with. Loneliness is feeling that not a soul around can understand, or wants to understand, why you are the way you are. Even if a soul could understand my language perfectly, that soul may not want to hear what I might feel inclined to say.

Would he understand if I said it's difficult to have your whole life change in a matter of days? And then later remember that the changes are semi-permanent? Would he understand it's hard to wake up months later, not recognizing the wallpaper and wishing your mother were downstairs? I sound weak.

I think Nick said once that it must have been lonely to be Jesus. To come down to earth, to dwell among humans, to truly be an alien...from a different planet, of a different race. I think he understood us, but he knew we could not understand him.

"Hear my prayer, O Lord, listen to my cry for help; be not deaf to my weeping. For I dwell with you as an alien, a stranger, as all my fathers were." Psalm 40: 12

Easily, comfortably, I discount God's ability to understand me. Above all, He understands the frustration of being misunderstood. Communication with God is even greater than cross-cultural. God is supra-cultural. His ways are so far different from ours that no human being can understand Him.

I'm sorry I can't understand what you have to say, God, but I pray you'll help me listen to what you have to say about what it's like at home--in heaven.

Korean Drama

Every time I ride a bus I worry about how Nick, who happens to be a very careful driver, might react to the driving standards here. People pull out in front of each other often and use their brakes at the last second. Giant busses park right next to each other at bus stops, leaving little room in between. Then if passengers for the front bus don't load quickly enough, the busses in back don't hesitate to attempt a pass. It's scary to watch a bunch of giant vehicles show such fearlessness.

Sarah, a Korean-American from Dongshin church, commented on the drivers one day, but said she's come to appreciate one thing about it. In the states, risky driving results in road rage, but "Koreans are really good at letting things just roll off of their back." They don't let things upset them for too long. They just keep moving. Her comment floated around in my head for days, and I started to take notice of this phenomenon.

Despite the driving, I'm still yet to see an accident or a spurt of road rage in Korea. That is, until last weekend when I rode the bus to E-Mart to purchase some groceries. (Yay!) Western food wasn't cheap, but I didn't mind. I spent about 40 bucks on peanut butter, wheat bread, salsa, lunchmeat, spaghetti sauce and bacon, and I topped off the shopping trip with a corndog from a street vendor. Felt sorry for the man who had to share a seat with me and smell the fried deliciousness on a stick.

The bus driver pulled up to a stop that had a yellow truck parked in front of it. He opened his front door and hollered over to the man in the front seat.

Hey, you're parked in front of the bus stop, I imagined him saying. You need to move your vehicle, sir. The driver rolled down his window and yelled something back in Korean, a cigarette bobbing up and down stupidly in his mouth. The bus driver raised his voice and repeated.

Look, I need you to move your vehicle, sir. The driver's cigarette bobbed all the more rapidly. A few people behind me scoffed through their teeth.

Just let it pass, I imagined them saying under their breathe. A couple of girls got off the bus. A couple of male passengers blurted some things out in Korean. You're not supposed to park in front of the bus stop. Where do you get off?

The bus driver stomped off the bus, and for a moment, I actually thought I might see a fight between two grown men. The two quarreled for a few moments longer. Then the truck driver got out as the bus driver resumed his station. The truck driver walked to the end of the bus for a license plate number and then dialed a number on his phone as we were pulling away. The driver didn't seem phased by the incident.

I remember being surprised when I learned that Korean dramas were famous throughout Asia. Surprised because the Koreans I knew were not all that dramatic. On the contrary, they seemed level-headed, not easily hurt. They didn't complain often. On the other hand, I told Jihae that sometimes I chuckle to myself when I listen to the Kim family members talk to one another because, though I can't understand the Korean, I can distinguish a whine from a polite request and a note of surprise from a matter-of-fact statement. Jihae told me that although it might sound like a fight, I was really hearing the Daegu accent come out.

I watched some Korean dramas with English subtitles on www.mysoju.com last weekend. First, I watched Queen Sun Deok--a drama about the queen of the Silla kingdom in ancient Korea. I learned the word for "sire" in Korean, but found the plot a little bit difficult to follow and get into even with the subtitles.

Instead, I got hooked to a different program that I would be embarrassed to watch in the states. (Foreigners are often drawn to simplistic types of entertainment they can understand.) I've watched the first five episodes of "Full House," not to be confused with the American sitcom with the Olsen twins and Bob Saget.

Full House is a series about a gullible yet witty internet novelist named Han Ji-Eun, who is conned into taking an "all-expenses-paid-for" vacation to Shanghai by her own best friends. When she lands with no money and no hotel reservation, she must use an equally clever lie to borrow money from Lee Young Jae, a popular Korean actor in character, and the Korean superstar "Rain" in real life, to pay for her hotel and fly back to Korea. She discovers that her bank account is empty and the house she inherited from her deceased parents has been sold to none other than YoungJae himself. Without parents or real friends, Ji-Eun has no place to go, so YoungJae grudgingly takes her in as a house maid. Meanwhile, he is having some relationship and publicity issues of his own. The two strike a deal. A marriage contract. YoungJae hopes to get rid of all the relationship scandals for a while, and so he promises to give Ji-Eun the house when they divorce after six months.

Many of the cultural norms are shown in a humorous light. At one point, Ji-Eun runs into issues with her new grandmother-in-law, who disapproves of her education status, her good looks and most of all, the death of her parents. When the couple fails to inform her of their well-being during the first few weeks of marriage, Grandmother tells Ji-Eun that naturally the best solution is for them to move back in with the family.

Ji-Eun's mannerisms comedically demonstrate the formalities of Korean culture. While YoungJae ushers her around through the mini-dramas of his life, Ji-Eun forces a bright smile, small bow, and an "Annyeong Haseyo" for each new, albeit awkward meeting.

Here is a clip from the 3rd episode: Ji-Eun meets YoungJae's family for the first time.

It seems that the blogging skills I've developed might be put to some use! Andy needs someone to update the Dongshin Church English Service web page. He wants me to start with just posting announcements, but eventually, he'd like me to post my insights from Sunday's sermons. I'm looking forward to using this new hobby to serve my church.

Host family update and my new bag of tricks

Getting "crabby" with my family

I had a breaking point last week that I didn't share about on my blog. (I don't to weigh my readers down with complaints.) After weeks of failed negotiations with my host family, I came to my wit's end when Hyunsuk brought a giant plate of crabs to the table for dinner.

She had asked me if I liked lobster at lunch time, and I said I did...remembering one time I tried a bit of my friend's mom's lobster when I was twelve and eating with her family at Red Lobster. Not only was the plate far different in appearance from what I remembered, a strange flood of mixed emotions plagued me during the dinner. I felt excited to give them a try, nervous because I didn't know how, and ticked off at the thought that my gigantic food fee was going to pay for a family-sized serving of a delicacy that's not much cheaper in Korea than in the U.S. I hated myself for thinking it. It seemed like an unfair thought.

"We only eat this once per year," Moxanim said, "because it's so expensive."

Throughout the meal, I couldn't help but react outwardly to what I was about to do. "Omigosh!" I kept saying. Hyunsuk swooned at the golden organ inside that she translated as the crab's eggs. My Korean family did not react or even flinch by any of it.

You see: Americans like to forget that their food was ever alive. We fry it, dress it up, add a garnish or two, and do whatever we can to make our meat look like a meal rather than an animal. But Koreans don't mind recognizing and even celebrating the once-alive factor of food. Restaurants advertise their specialties with cartoon images of cows, chickens, or octopus giving customers a thumbs-up! The crab on my plate was undisguised.

It dawned on me that the fancy meal might have been intended to win me over--to dissolve my displeasure with the food arrangement. This interpretation seemed to make sense. I noticed the curry rice and potbingsu dessert--two of my favorites. I hated myself for always pondering their intentions, for always wondering what they said to each other in Korean at the dinner table. If my interpretation was true, then I felt manipulated. The incident nursed my already bitter heart.

By Friday, I decided I should move out. I started to dream of having a place of my own, about cooking for myself again, and having a place to invite people to, in case I made some friends in Jilyang. Called my boss' wife and told her I should move out. Spent my weekend in Jeju, where my friend's encouraged me. But when Monday came, Jean called me back and offered to help me with the cost of food, confirming that I wouldn't be moving out because "it's not in my contract." Or at least she wouldn't be helping me. I was furious.

Then, I found myself in a situation with a Korean where, for the first time, I spoke my mind. I pitched the rules of indirectness and spoke from my heart. I told this person that I was angry. I told the truth. It was such a relief that I wondered what might happen if I sat down with my host family and talked it out.

Finally, Hyunsuk and I, with the help of Jihey's translation, talked about the food issue face-to-face for the first time on Wednesday night. I explained the hospitality rule differences that I wrote about earlier. I told her that while I liked Korean food, I want to have the freedom to cook for myself sometimes. I told her that I felt hurt that she didn't want me in her kitchen because I felt she didn't trust me. She told me my food fee had been prayed over for two weeks after I arrived. She said that I, too, had done things that hurt her without knowing it. Like old friends discussing first impressions, we confessed our cultural interpretations and misinterpretations of one another throughout the past few weeks. After laying down a few kitchen rules, she consented to me cooking in the kitchen.

I need to remember these are good-willed folks, who have the same Father. They're not out to rip me off. I'm a little ashamed of myself for thinking as such.

New bag of tricks

My care package from Kaio has become a new bag of tricks for me to test on my students. Dum-dums are the newest carrots to be given away during class. I feel better about giving away the small, cheap, fruity suckers than the chocolate I'd been giving away from my package from Nick. (Started to feel greedy about the Hershey's Extra-Creamy-Milk-Chocolate-with-Toffee-and-Almonds Nuggets. Too delicious to give to a nine-year-old that did their homework.)

Also, I'd forgotten how motivated children can be by stickers! Korean girls flipped through the little booklet of wow's, thumbs-up's, stars and animals and exclaimed, "Yepuda!" Beautiful! A few students, when given the choice, even picked a sticker over a dum-dum. Others started asking, "Teacher, sticker please!" just as they had asked for candy before. This is great news! It's a good idea to diversify my reward systems a bit.

We read Amelia Bedelia in four different classes this week. I stopped after each chore on Amelia's list and asked the students two questions: 1. What did Mrs. Roger's mean by "change the towels?" (for example,) and 2. What did Amelia think it meant? The book required more explanation of idioms than I anticipated. I guess phrases like "dress the chicken" and "draw the drapes" can't be found in any practical English language textbooks. But Amelia Bedelia has great pictures, and many of the students chuckled at the challenge of pronouncing her name--Amelia Bedelia!

Though I didn't know what to do with the mega pack of play-doh, this trick quickly found became an important part of classroom fun. I had the students mold animals, foods and other objects out of the colorful clay for team members to guess...in English, of course. The game fostered a lot of laughter, creativity and competition. Like the stickers, I'd forgotten how fun, and messy I might add, play-doh can be.

Personal treats highlighted my week as well. I surprised myself by reaching first to the box of pop tarts--something I rarely ate in the states. Made a significant dent in the Triscuits. Saving the Oreos for later this month.

My new booklight helped me finish A Thousand Splendid Suns, which wasn't quite as good as The Kite Runner in my opinion, but still an excellent read. I couldn't read it before bed because it made me feel righteous anger toward the lewdness and cruelty of men in a seemingly chaste Muslim society. I had to read Love and Respect to help restore my faith in male integrity.

I was trying to decide what to read next in my free time, but I'm thinking I might spend my extra time trying to learn some Korean. Maybe I'll get hooked to a Korean drama with English subtitles.

Jeju Island and gifts from home

When I arrived to work on Thursday, I learned almost immediately that classes had been cancelled on Monday due to Chusok--Korean thanksgiving--leaving me with a four day weekend. Throughout my work day, I wondered what I would do all weekend, hoped I wouldn't get bored. I had Oobang Land plans with JiMin for Friday, but wished to use the holiday as a chance to travel. (I think amusement parks lose their amusement when you get older.)

At 9 p.m., Eli called me with an invitation to join her, Tharene, Elise and Rob for a trip to Jeju Island-- the "hawaii" of South Korea. The island emerged as a result of volcanic activity thousands of years ago. The volcano is no longer active, but the land mass bursts with energy brought by tourist attractions.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, doubting the possibility that I could attend. Eli told me they were getting ready to purchase plane tickets online and would meet at their apartment at 10 a.m. the next morning. I wanted to go so bad but feared disappointing JiMin.

"This might be the only four day weekend you'll have," she persuaded. Guiltily, I explain the situation to Jimin, hoping to make myself understood and free from culpability. She didn't seem to care and said t

he trip to Oobang was supposed to be for me anyway. So if I wanted to go to Jeju, then I should go. Like a child on Christmas eve, I showered and packed my bags with excited anticipation.

We flew into Jeju Island on Friday afternoon and took a taxi to the other side of the island, settling on Sugar Beach pension as a reasonable accommodation. Generally, tourists must loosen their grip in order to enjoy weekend vacations to sandy beaches like Jeju. But the weekend convinced me of financial benefit of traveling in groups. A $30 taxi fee becomes $6 per person in a group of five. A $100-per-night pension with Korean-style bedding, two bedrooms, a clean bathroom with family-sized amenities, a kitchen area with refrigerator and stove top, and a location that's a decent proximity to the beach is only $20 per person.

On Friday night, we walked down to a local market to purchase breakfast groceries, snacks and soju.

Tired from a day of travel, we hit the hay early after watching a Chinese kungfu comedy on our cable television (also included in the pension stay.) The picture above is Eli, Elise, Me and Tharine (L to R) on the porch of our pension at Sugar Beach. The picture below is us at the first beach we went to. I can't remember the name of it.

Saturday was a whirlwind of sights to see. Families celebrated Chusok by dressing their little ones in Korean hanbok and eating chop-che and songpyeon. We celebrated the four day weekend by visiting a stunning waterfall and a sandy beach, playing hide-and-go-seek in a life-sized bush maze (more challenging than you might think,) eating Korean barbecue, and experiencing the shameless nudity of a Korean spa. (Don't worry! Rob went in the men's bath. He was a good sport about the whole idea.)

We went first to a sauna, which was co-ed and required clothing and then to the bath areas, which were separate and required nakedness...you know what I mean. Koreans, especially older women, say it's good for your skin and your health to sweat all the toxins out of your body and then rinse them away with a hot bath. As Americans, we wondered about the sanitation of having dozens of sweaty, naked women in the same steamy pool. (I hope this post doesn't embarrass anyone.)

On Sunday, we took a taxi to the northern half of Jeju and settled into a sketchy but cheap hotel. Ten bucks per person! It was what Tharine would call "dodgy" in her cute, South African accent.

We went to Samyeong Black Sand Beach to see the famous black sand. Koreans also say black sand is good for your skin, and according to one of the signs I read, it helps with obesity. Eli said they actually sell the sand in little black bags for people to buy.

The beauty of the dark lava rocks, teal water, blue sky and grayish powder between our toes made me feel like I was in a movie. At any moment, I might turn around to find a mermaid propped up on one of the boulders.

Elise had been craving a crab dinner only to find out from one of our taxi drivers that there were no crab restaurants in Jeju. She got a fair share of mini crabs on Samyeong Beach, though.

In addition to the black sand and the crabs, I couldn't help but notice how much of the debris washed up on shore looked like something I'd seen on a plate or in a bowl of soup. Hmmm...

The picture above is Samyeong Beach. Tharine was taking some pictures of her own.

We enjoyed a free history lesson at the Jeju National Museum and a not-so-free lesson at an O'Sollac Tea Museum, though our small fee included tea sampling at the end of the tour. Again, Rob was a great sport. He left shortly after the tour to catch his early flight back on the main land. The girls decided to go out for a night on the town.

Korean bartenders do more than mix drinks. First, we went to "Magic Bar." We were the only customers, but the bartender performed a couple of impressive card tricks for us with the help of Eli's excellent translations. Next, we went to "Island Stone," where the bartenders performed "cocktail shows" every once in a while. They twirled rum bottles like light and durable batons. They tossed them over their shoulders and caught them from behind, spinning and swaying to the music. One guy suspended a glass in midair while pouring the drink. Other wetted their fingers with strong drink and lit them on fire, and then blew fiercely to create a dragon breath effect. Another time, a bartender covered a small tower of margarita glasses with hot, blue flames. The color glimmered in the dark room and wowed us daringly.

We stayed out most of the night and slept only one hour before rising to meet our taxi to the airport at 5:30 a.m. It turns out our cheap hotel served us mostly as a place to hold our luggage while we savored Jeju Island to the last drop. It was a blast! I'm so blessed to have great friends in Korea!

I'm really blessed to have great friends at home, too. I was reminded of them when my package finally showed up via a less-than-happy FedEx man. Let me explain briefly. Angela thought it would be sweet to send me colorful reminders of Iowa autumn by putting a ziplock bag full of leafs in my care package. It was a great idea! I would have loved it, Angela.

But the people at Korean customs in Incheon Airport didn't think the bag looked so innocent. When I finally confirmed with them that the leaves were maple leaves, not tea leaves, and definitely not something more dangerous, then they proceeded to tell me that I would need to pay 30,000 won to hire a human being to reopen the package, which had obviously been opened once, and throw the bag of leaves away. At first, I think I actually told the woman on the phone that I thought that was ridiculous. After simmering down, I decided to transfer the money from my account, but the funny part is this whole process has lasted more than a week because I kept getting a busy signal when I called FedEx. Not only that, but each busy signal reminded me of the corporate hypocrisy with it's promising jingle:

WE'LL GIVE YOU 90,000 PEOPLE,EIGHT MILLION MILES A WEEK.
WE'LL GIVE YOU HEARTS THAT BEAT DEEP PURPLE,
AND A WHOLE NEW WAY TO SPEAK.
WE'LL GIVE HANDS ACROSS THE BORDERS, BIG CITIES, LITTLE TOWNS.
WHERE THE HUMAN RACE IS RUNNING WE'LL BE FOUND.
WE'RE THE BEST WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE...
... FEDERAL EXPRESS...
...FROM THE DAWN THROUGH THE NIGHT
WE'RE IN THE AIR...
...FEDERAL EXPRESS...
...WE CARRY CONFIDENCE
'CROSS THE CONTINENTS.

WE'RE THE BEST`WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE.
WE CARRY DREAMS AND PLANS TO A HUNDRED LANDS.
WE'RE THE BEST WAY TO SHIP IT OVER THERE

For several days, I called FedEx to no avail. My blood started boiling, but in my mind, I couldn't stop myself from singing, "We're the best way to ship it over there!" Jingles can be frustrating when you're trying to hate a company.

Anyway, I'm happy to say the package brought me much warmth through gifts and greetings. I can't wait to introduce my students to Amelia Bedelia and to reward them with "great!" and "excellent!" stickers. I think play dough will be a hit for the younger kids, too! I look forward to baking brownies and smelling the aroma of my mulled cider candle when I miss Iowa. Though I saw no bag of leaves in the mix, I laughed when I uncovered a plastic bag of FedEx pens. Haha!

I appreciate all of it! Thank you very much, brothers and sisters. I feel loved though I'm miles and miles away.