North Korean Account

North Korea

Many people have asked me about the sentiments of the Korean people towards their Northern neighbours. I have tried my best to make sense of it for those who have asked. Korean society is a reflection of their families. In a restaurant, the middle-aged man serving you is not a waiter, but ajossi. The woman, adjimma. These terms are equivalent to uncle and aunt in English. Min-Su (16) used to tell me that he wouldn't lock up his bike because it was an insult to the Korean people- an implication that he believed someone would steal his bike. It revealed a distrust towards others- a distrust that is necessary in Western countries to keep you from being robbed blind. In any case, I often use this as a metaphor to explain the relationship between North and South. Though they may be divided, they are still Korean- part of the same family, sharing the same history, culture and language. Older people probably have very different views on the situation than their children. It is hard to believe that the country was devastated just over fifty years ago. The growth is a testament to the work ethic of the Korean people (or insanity, as I came to call it). Nowadays, it seems that young people worry more about the impact the instability on the peninsula could have on the strength of the Korean economy. In any case, my point was this- I stumbled on this account of an American-Korean woman who had the chance to meet her Uncle and his family in Pyongyang. Those who have spent time in Korea will be hit hard by this I suspect, it gave me chills. Check out Ann Kim's photos of North Korea as well.

South Koreans banging the reunification drum in Paju, South Korea

Can Con

One of the things I loved about Korea was their strong sense of culture and history. Though American movies still sneak their way into Korean cinemas, Korean people flock to Korean movies. American movies are bought on DVD from the street vendors selling pirated copies- in my opinion, just the way it should be. I'd much rather he get my three dollars than George Lucas who has already gotten too much of my hard earned money for producing crap (apologies to all the hard-core Star Wars fans, but I just can't calm the feeling in the pit of my stomach that says we've been ripped off). Fiercely proud and patriotic, Koreans would rather see films that reflect their history and culture than American films reflecting American culture. Makes sense to me.

One of my Korean co-workers asked me why Canadians didn't like the arts. I was confused, and she went on to site the lack of Canadian actors and films as support for her thinking. It was one of my saddest moments as a Canadian. I hung my head and informed her that John Candy, Mike Myers, Jim Carrey, Kim Cattrall, David Cronenberg, Pamela Anderson, Keanu Reaves, Carrie-Anne Moss, Dan Aykroyd, Eugene Levy, James Cameron, Alex Trebek, Kiefer Sutherland, Hayden Christianson and Michael J Fox all hail from Canada. I was so embarrased. So many incredibly talented artists move south because of the lack of support for the arts in our own country. Watching CTV is truly a frustrating experience for a supporter of the Canadian arts. The shows that are truly Canadian- Corner Gas, Trailer Park Boys, Degrassi High- are incredibly successful, and yet for some reason we still jam CTV full of American-style shows. Why do we attempt to produce lame rip-offs of American shows when there are plenty of talented people in Canada working hard to produce original art? Why do so many Canadians roll their eyes at the thought of attending a Canadian film, as though it's synonimous with low production values and a bad script- when clearly we deserve to be proud of our arts?

Having said all this- go see Bon Cop, Bad Cop - Canada's first bilingual film about a murder that takes place on the border of Ontario and Quebec. The film is hilarious- and while stereotyping the Québécois character as an irresponsible, chain smoking ladies man and the Anglo as a maudite tête carré, at least it gets the two sides talking. In fact, support the arts- don't just see it, buy it. Of course, this message is somewhat self-serving as I hope for more film work in Canada so I never have to consider that trip down south. Just imagine the film industry we could have if our talent didn't have to leave to make money.

Aren't We Being a Little Extreme?

There are few things that allow such a clear insight into a culture like its arts. I loved to go see movies in Korea, because it was interesting to see how people would react. A few months ago, Song and I went to see Matchpoint- that new Woody Allen movie. The movie itself was mediocre for Woody Allen (I usually love him), but it was the reactions of the audience that made it well worth the price of the ticket. Song kept giggling to herself as she explained to me that the girl beside her was absolutely livid that the leading man was having an affair. She seemed to miss the point of the movie- or at least the point as I saw it. The character married the wrong woman and continued to have an affair with the woman he really loved throughout the film. But love was no excuse for this woman- clearly determined that marriage should be honored above all, an unusual opinion in Asian culture. The highlight of the film, however, was seeing the leading man sitting at his laptop. His frustration got the better of him and he swiped at the glass of wine that was beside his computer. And as the glass of wine tipped, the audience GASPED. There have been a few film moments in my lifetime that prompted the entire audience to gasp audibly. Perhaps in Usual Suspects when the identity of Keiser Soze is revealed. Maybe in Empire Strikes Back when we find out Luke & Leia are brother and sister. Or Darth Vader is Luke's father. These moments may well have prompted audible gasps- but does a falling glass of wine really merit such a reaction?

What I love about these moments is how transparent it makes our values. Clearly Korean people have a very strong relationship with technology. Before I returned to Canada, I was hit with the realization that our values are often quite backwards. I picked up a newspaper in Chiang Mai, Thailand and allowed myself to be absorbed by what was making headlines there. I was struck by two articles- side by side- from an American newspaper. The first was a clip about a man who was escorted out of a World Health Club facility by police and security guards when he grunted as he was lifting a weight that was over two hundred pounds. Apparently the gym has a strict 'no grunting' policy, as it can be intimidating to other patrons. Have we really gotten to the point where we are obliged to repress every one of our animal instincts because of societal convention? As far as I'm concerned if other patrons are intimidated by a man grunting at the gym, it is their sensitivity that is the problem, and not his grunting. One of the things that I enjoy most about going to the gym is that (at least in Korea) you are free to react authentically to your body. When you push your body to run a little farther, or lift a little more- you silence that inner voice that keeps you acting properly in public. All your energy is devoted and focused on the task at hand.

In order to prepare children to face dumb restrictions at their health clubs in their adult years, we need to start early. We wouldn't want them questioning the stupidity of such rules. I repressed the impulse to exploded into an hour long rant about the irony of such occurences in a a country that delights in spreading a rumour that they are 'land of the free' and I moved on to the next article. It was also a clip from an American paper- this one explaining why hugging had been banned in some elementary schools. Apparently tardiness was becoming a problem because students were spending too much time hugging in the hallways. Rather than addressing the real problem of their lack of time management, or perhaps inability to emmulate Pavlo's dog and respond to the ringing of bells, hugging has been banned. Just what children need- more protection from the evil grips of... each other.

When I accepted my teaching position in Korea, I thought little about the actual experience of teaching. I was more focused on the prospect of seeing a new country and getting paid well to do it. But at some point on my twelve hour flight from Calgary, I got scared. I suddenly realized that I would need to learn all these strange Korean names that I wouldn't be familiar with. What if I mixed up their names? Would the kids think that I thought they all looked the same? Some of my kids would be as young as three- how do I react if they give me a hug? Do I really have to raise my hands in the air and pray their parents don't complain? A mild panic set in. I wasn't sure if I could refuse a hug to a three year old kid. Both my fears were eased my first day at school as I was introduced to my first class of the day- Ryan and Leah among them. I realized all the kids took on an English name for English school- which left me pondering if they really gave me so little credit that I couldn't learn a few strange names. I watched as the kids launched themselves into the teachers' arms as they entered the school that morning, and how they all enjoyed being tossed around a little before class started. I was so relieved. I quickly learned that in Korean culture, the teacher is considered the third parent and instantly becomes a part of the family. Both kids and parents expect you to be affectionate with the kids- to give them plenty of hugs and you'll soon hear complaints from parents if you don't.

Only in North America do we make such a big deal of physical interaction. Throughout the world, people greet each other with a kiss on the cheek (or two, or three depending on the country) or a big hug. In Asia, men and women alike are very affectionate with their friends and family. It is common to see a mother and daughter walking down the street holding hands. Men young and old will snooze on each other's shoulders on the subway. Almost natural, isn't it? In North America, we greet each other with a handshake. The most distant of physical interactions. Why are we so uptight about it? Most other cultures break through the physical barrier immediately and they seem more at ease with each other. When I passed through security in Korea, the metal detector went off. The woman who's employed to feel people up wasn't shy in patting me down every which way until she was satisfied there was no knife in my bra. I landed in Vancouver and then continued on to Calgary on a different airline. As I passed through security there, I set off the metal detector again. The Canadian woman charged with checking me for weapons was so thoroughly uncomfortable with the idea of patting me down that she was nearly across the room as she did it. With arms outstretched, she patted my back a couple times and whisked me on my way.

What is wrong with us? Why are we so prudish? Did we inherit this from the Brits and simply take it to the extreme? Does it come hand in hand with our culture's focus on independence? Just because we are capable of standing alone- does that mean we have to? Are we so worried about offending the people around us that we're losing touch with how we're meant to interact? How we're meant to behave? And at what point can we expect these codes of conduct to stop being pushed to extremes? Will we soon be at the point where even a hug between a parent and child is questionable? What are we so afraid of?

Divided on Thailand

Alright- time for a real posting. I arrived in Bangkok on Wednesday and headed directly for the ridiculously touristy area of Koh Sam Road. I was thankful for having been warned by Melisa, Alex and Mike about feeling like a guichet (ATM) in Bangkok. The plane landed and before I made it out of the airport, a dozen or so taxi drivers had already made an effort at landing me in their cab. Instead I boarded the express bus for free and eventually wound up in tourist land. The first travel agent that ushered me in his door gave me pricing information and was quite distraught that I was writting everything down. I had not yet done enough research into the prices to know what was reasonable, but had been warned that prices varied greatly. The man bragged about his membership with the Thailand Tourism Board (again, I had been warned that this meant absolutely nothing) and I left his shop promising to return when I checked the prices elsewhere. He had quoted me 7000 baht (about 280 Canadian) for a package from Bangkok to Chiang Mai, inclusive of the bus and the guided treking trip. I quickly learned that in reality, the trip should cost me no more than 1500 baht (about 40 Canadian)- needless to say, I didn't go back. My initial reaction to Bangkok as a whole was fairly negative, although perhaps it's not really fair. I was really thrown by the abundance of tourists and the amount of English was overwhelming to my Korean-acclimatized ears. I crashed early at the hostel and went out the next day by tuk-tuk (taxi on three wheels) to see all the key sights. A tuk-tuk driver agreed to take me around everywhere for 40 baht (about 1$) . We stopped at a a couple temples and then he insisted on taking me to a jewelry store. Again, I had been warned. A bit of an argument insued and finally he revealed that if he took me to this store the government would pay for his gas for the day. He said all I needed to do was walk in and walk out. So that's what I did. We moved on to the next temple, but when I came out, he was gone. Not that I can blame him. He had driven me around for four hours already and was only going to get a dollar out of the deal in the end. I would have left too if someone offered me twice as much for a quick trip.

The next day, I boarded the bus and ever so slowly and casually rolled into Chiang Mai (Northern Thailand). In true Thai fashion, the bus arrived half an hour late and sat for about an hour before we left. Of course, those of us not familiar with the complete lack of regard for time were quite stressed, wondering if we had missed the bus or were waiting in the wrong place. At 7 am the bus pulled into a random gas station and we were herded into vans from different guest houses. Of course I realized full well that I was being given little choice in my accomodation, but was too tired to care. It only cost me 6$ for my private room anyway. I rented a bike the next day and breezed around Chiang Mai in an effort to see all the temples I possibly could. I barely made a dent, but what I saw was absolutely incredible. The next morning, I awoke disgustingly early to head off into the jungle. Again, the bus was late and when it arrived it was less a bus and more a pick-up truck with everyone stuffed in the back. I called shot gun. Our first stop was at a gorgeous waterfall where we ate lunch and went swimming before piling back into the truck and arriving at a montain top temple. Finally we weer dropped in the middle of nowhere and began to walk through rice fields, jungle, up and down mountains. A few hours later we arrived at a Karyn hill tribe village where we ate dinner and settled into our bamboo hut for the night. When we arrived, children greeted us and thrust bracelets and necklaces in our hands, hoping for some purchases. The women stood back for a bit and when the children had cleared away, they approached with sarongs, sheets and scarves. After dinner we sat around the camp fire, drinking Chang beer and talking with the Karyn men who had come down to drink with us. There were a few children, a couple of young men and a very old man among them. The old man kept us entertained for hours with magic tricks that he'd clearly taught of all the children as well, as they laughed when we couldn't duplicate them. I drank the British boys under the table in an effort to uphold the Canadian reputation . To be fair, it seems it's not much of a challenge to drink a young Englishman under the table- they know nothing of pacing and kept chugging beer after beer. Silly boys. The following day, we awoke early for a second hike to an absolutely stunning waterfall. If the guide hadn't been pushing us to hurry, I easily could have spent the day there. The hike continued until finally we arrived at the river for our brief bamboo rafting experience. Then onto the elephants before our trip back to Chiang Mai. Last night was day three of a four day festival - Loy Krathong (spelling??) - in celebration of the King of Thailand. Chiang Mai just happens to be the biggest party in the country. People lit small fires inside of large balloons and sent them floating up into the night sky. Fireworks of all kinds were seen and heard throughout the city. A parade snaked through the streets and people made their way to the river to launch their flower boats with candles and incence. It was beautiful. I was meant to meet up for a beer with one of the guys from the hiking trip, but it seems we missed each other and I was perfectly happy to spend the night wandering about by myself.

The events of the last few days have put me in a strange frame of mind. I look around me, and I'm astounded by how warm and welcoming the Thai people are. I had anticipated feeling some sort of resentment with the number of tourists passing through, but there doesn't seem to be any. I have been stopped in the street countless times by people just wanting to say hi and ask where I'm from, where I'm headed. They are happy to share tidbits about Thai culture and history. I witnessed a Muay Thai boxing match the other night where the boxers just kept smiling the whole way through. The Thai people are poor, for the most part- but there doesn't seem to be a trace of greed or jealousy at the amount of money that tourists are dropping without a thought. Though people may try to rip you off, there's the sense that it's not so much out of greed as it is a desire to take care of their family. They are perfectly happy living the way they do. They aren't envious of our fancy cameras, or international trips. They aren't waiting for validation from the west. The Thai people are well aware that they have a beautiful country. But I can't help but feel divided about being here. On the one hand, I'm glad to have experienced - although briefly, this very beautiful country. But on the other, I feel that Thai culture is being overrun by westerners and I would rather not be a part of it. I very much enjoyed my time up in the hills with the Karyn tribe- it was so refreshing to see people who were truly happy with what they had, and didn't want anymore. But I was disgusted when a couple of the people on our trip whipped out their cameras and marched into the centre of the village to take photos (we were put up just outside the village). The people seemed unbothered by it, but I was embarrased. Perhaps spending a year as a novelty has made me quite sensitive to it. Maybe it's just decency. AsI watched the parade snake through the streets of Chiang Mai and people stopped floats to take pictures, it just felt like too much. As the Thai people tried to celebrate their king, westerns paused their festivities for a few photos. As I walked by a temple, I saw people taking pictures of the monks- which to the Buddhist monks, as I recall is extremely offensive. They believe that it steals your soul. I remember reading an article for my Philosophy of Leisure class in which a Hawaiian woman begged tourists to stop coming because it was destroying Hawaiian culture. I can't help but wonder if this isn't also true of Thailand. I was warned about the beaches in South Thailand and glad that I opted out- I think it would have enraged me. So I leave Thailand stuck between really wanting to come back and experience more of this truly fascinating country, and feeling a little sick that it' s becoming an absolute playground for westerners.

Tomorrow I'm on to Laos-- very, very slowly. I board the slow boat down the Mekong River tomorrow morning and will arrive in Luang Prabang on Wenesday night. I might just go crazy.

Bangkok- I was warned, but didn't believe...

Just a quick note- I got to Bangkok okay yesterday afternoon. This place is ridiculous. I was warned that I would immediately feel like a guichet (ATM) after debarking (is that a word in English?!?) the plane. And it's true. I quickly learned that instead of cutting the price by 20% when bartering like we do in Korea, 50% is perfectly acceptable and all it takes is an impulse to walk away and they've agreed to your price. I hired a tuk-tuk (taxi on three wheels) to take me to all the key places in the city. It cost me 40 baht (about 1$) for four hours, but amazingly he dissapeared after we stopped in at the jewelry center he insisted on taking me too (apparently he gets money from the government just for dropping me there). The next tuk-tuk I hired actually followed me for a few blocks when he finally agreed to my price. That was that- I found the Lucky Buddha- called so, I believe because the Burmese once cut off his golden head and tried to melt it, but it only blackened and didn't melt. Made my way to the Grand Palace and was totally overwhelmed. I hadn't expected it to be so beautiful. There's too many tourists here, so I'm booking it up to Chiang Mai (Northern Thailand) tonight. The train was full, so I'm stuck bussing up there- a miserable 12 hour bus ride... uggh. Gotta run, bus leaves in five minutes. A bientot!

368 Days in Seoul

Golf in Korea

It's over. I leave Korea on Wednesday morning. The new teacher has arrived and moved in. He has completely taken over my classes and the kids are excited that he has curly hair. He has successfully reminded me that I never again want to have roommates. He has cluttered my kitchen and stomped through my apartment with his shoes on. He's a good guy- I've just become particular. I have four different pairs of slippers in my apartment, all for different spaces. This time I can honestly say that it's not him, it's me. He's proven himself perfect for the job- laid back and unconcerned with all the little things that drove me crazy about my school.

Book vending machine- 2,000 won each (2$)

I just experienced my last week-end in Seoul- mostly calm and relaxed. I went for dinner with Song in Gangnam (or the world's plastic surgery capital) last night, hoping to find billboards encouraging me to have my face redone. Part of me hoped to be dragged off the street by some doctor pleading with me to allow him to perform the dreaded calf-reduction surgery. I hoped to leave Gangnam with stories of the craziness of the plastic surgery explosion. But alas, it was free of unsolicited offers of plastic surgery. We were, however, surrounded by Louis Vitton and Gucci stores. I tried to count the designer purses for awhile, but lost track and gave up. We had Vietnamese food and then indulged in four dollar ice cream. I had to get something obscenely expensive there. After dinner, we hopped on a bus to Hungdae to meet Simona for drinks. The night was largely uneventful- just a casual night out with Song and Simona. It was exactly what I wanted for my last week-end here. I didn't want a ridiculous drunken crawl through the streets that I would regret in the morning, and in years to come look back on my last days in Seoul and kick myself for having spent them recovering from a hang over. It seems Song wasn't ready to say good-bye, as she ducked out early declaring that she was too drunk. A terrible lie when I know full well that she can drink me under the table. We made tentative plans to meet the following day, but it never came to pass. It seems we avoided out tearful good-bye simply y not having one. I know that we'll see each other again because neither of us have finished traveling. In fact, we've barely started. It's just sad that after six months of spending nearly every week-end together, it's come to an end. Just like that. I hate good-byes. When I left Calgary, I learned that you keep in touch with those most important to you and even some you never expected to. But it's harder when you can't see ahead to the next time you'll sit together face-to-face and have a beer. As the stretches between my visits to Calgary grow longer and longer and the visits themselves become shorter, I lose touch with more and more people every year. But that's okay. We have alot of people in our lives who are just 'filler'. People that we don't have a particularly strong connection with, but they're okay to go for drinks with. I've lost touch with all of my filler friends in Calgary. Distance and circumstances have cut the list of people I call when I arrive in town- and of course, it's nothing personal. There are still alot of friends in Calgary that I suspect will be in my life for years to come. But I wonder how many of those relationships only stay alive because of my annual drop-ins. The unspoken promise that I'll pop in to say hi once a year. I hope that Song and I are up to the challenge. That we'll last through the separation until the next time we meet, because I know that there will be a next time- whether it's in Canada, Korea, or some random country in between.

Turtles for dinner?

I've reached the end of a year and the end of my Korea rants, it would seem. Amazingly, I've run out of things to say. That's not exactly true, I suppose. Were I to stay another year or two, I know that I would have just as many rants in me as this year. But my Korean experience has come to an end and I'm looking forward to the next phase. On Wednesday, I leave to run about in Thailand and Laos for two weeks before returning to Canada. The next month will find me running here, there and everywhere. I may or may not update everybody next week on my travels - I suspect that Internet access will be hard to come by in Laos, but plentiful in Thailand. I'll continue to post for as long as I have things to say- and I'm sure you'll find my rants about my first few weeks back throughly entertaining... For those of you in Calgary, I'll see you for my annual stop-in on November 16th - where you hopefully won't feel like tossing me back on the plane as you experience the brunt of my culture shock. Beware that I will probably complain about the cold and how expensive everything is. I may embarass you by trying to barter at 7-11, Moxie's or even KFC. And I'll definitely be speaking a version of English that has come to be recognized as "Konglish". I'll be speaking painfully slowly and doubtlessly making big x's with my arms when I say no. You can't say you haven't been warned. I will expect the undivided attention of everyone in sight for no particular reason. I may become irritable if some random person doesn't tell me I'm beautiful at least once a day. I might take my shoes off in restaurants and try to sit on the floor. I may insist that the server help me put my shoes back on, and then offer him no tip anyway. I will doubtlessly bowl people over in the street in a race to get there first. I apologize in advance to any old ladies who might be knocked to the ground. Ajimma, as they're called here, are a force to be reckoned with.

So the sadness and reluctance to leave have mostly passed and I'm ready to go. After all the ups and downs this year- the excitement, shock, frustrations and occasional anger- I come to an end of my time here, but I look forward to my next visit to Korea. Somehow it'll always be a home away from home. I'll be curious to come back in five, ten, even twenty years and see how much Korea has changed- because as much as I've enjoyed living here this year- this culture is also verging on some immensely exciting changes. It will be a very different place next time I'm here, for change is in the air. My final count of women smoking in the street rests around. I suspect next time I'm here, there'll be many more. If there isn't, it will be because Koreans have finally realized that their healthy food is no match for the amount of cigarettes and soju consumed here. Kimchee might battle some illnesses, but I suspect lung cancer isn't one of them.

The Imminent Good-Bye

As I predicted, the best part of their trip to the War Museum was the pond outside...

October has never been a good month for me. When I was younger, the back to school excitement had worn off and I would look forward to Christmas break. In my days at Bishop Carroll high school, it meant crazy rehearsals and stress. Every year we put together a piece about war for Remembrance Day- and every year I was on the planning/tech committee, and performed as well. Once the show was written and cast, October was the only month we had to rehearse and promote. It usually involved intense arguments with other departments at school over facilities as well. Octobers after high school carried with them an extreme boredom. Maybe I missed the chaos of the Remembrance Day shows, but it always seemed like more than that. October is an ominous month in Canada- it's a little chilly, but you know in your head that you're verging on freezing cold. You prepare for the painfully long winter. October is a little bit sad. So the first year that I experienced this boredom, I headed down to the piercing shop and awarded myself with an eyebrow ring. It eased the boredom a little, and it became an October tradition for awhile. The following October, my friend Tom and I went together for piercings. I was under strict instructions from my boss not to get another facial piercing (which I would have disregarded were he not also a friend), so I had my belly button pierced. Tom had his lip done, but took it out only two days later. The following October, I opted for a tongue piercing. And the following October, I was at theatre school in Montreal and was ordered to take them all out. A perfectly good tradition spoiled by school. Good thing it wasn't tattoos, that would've been expensive. October came to mean something different for me two years ago. Something about that whole month in 2004 didn't sit right with me. I had nightmares, which I've never had before. I had vivid dreams in which my mother died. I had a sick feeling in my stomach, and the sense that something was about to happen. I had been lucky too long. No one close to me had died since I was eight years old. I was certain that my mother was going to pass in the next few weeks. I called her often and always became very anxious when she didn't answer the phone. The week before Halloween, I called my dad and spoke to Travis also. I had talked to Tyler the week before and didn't want to push my luck- he wasn't really a phone person. It drove me nuts all week. Why hadn't I asked to speak to Tyler? I dismissed my uneasy feeling and promised myself that I would call the following week. The night of October 30th, Fred went to a party and I stayed home. I was really sad and didn't know why. I thought about calling Tyler, but decided to do it the next day instead, when I felt better. As it turned out, there was no next time. Tyler passed away the following afternoon, without warning. I look back on pictures from Halloweens past and wonder if there was a reason that it had to be Halloween. Was there a special significance for Tyler? Was it simply that he set out to be remembered? Tyler was born on February 15th- to my memory missing a Valentine's birthday by only a few hours. He died on Halloween and we buried him on Remembrance Day. So many Halloweens that we spent together, trick or treating and playing together without ever the thought that on this day many years later, it would all end. Tyler once clipped off the top of my middle finger on Remembrance Day- there was blood everywhere and I think he cried more than I did. Though the only mark left is a scar only I seem to be able to see, there is also a certain numbness on the tip. I don't really feel anything there. The days after Tyler's death, it throbbed. On the one year anniversary of Tyler's passing, I was here in Korea. The school was chaotic with kids in costume and I ducked out for a little while to take a walk. On the way back from the bank machine, my pictures fell out of my wallet and I went for lunch without noticing. As I crossed back to the school an hour later, a Korean man came running after me, holding out Tyler's picture. I was so confused. In his broken English he explained that he'd seen me drop it and waited for me outside my work. I managed to hold myself together for the rest of the day, and finally made it back to my apartment where I could let it out.

Jacob, Mary & Jennifer

The last week has been really sad for me. The kids have begun to understand that I'm leaving and are acting strangely. A few kids can't pass by my classroom without ducking in to say hello. The four kids that I've taught since day one are the hardest to deal with. I thought that they were young enough that they wouldn't really understand, but they do. They scrunch up their faces in total disgust when I tell them that they'll be meeting their new teacher on Monday. They frown and ask me if he's silly. Yesterday they said good-bye to their Korean teacher, Kristine- who, truth be told, none of the kids particularly liked. Kristine is a very sweet woman, but so afraid of losing control of the kids that she requires absolute order in the classroom. After her good-bye party, I stepped into the class to find the four of them- Mary, Sally, Jennifer and Jacob, sitting in complete silence. Jennifer was crying. We played a game and I hoped that they would quickly feel better, but as they left to go home I could see it hadn't helped. I told them Halloween was coming and we were going to have a party, but they looked at me and said it wouldn't be a happy day because it was my last. I fought back tears for the rest of the day and was relieved to make it home where I could contemplate the next ten days.

I've nearly burst into tears three separate times at school this week. You might remember that one of favourite kids, Ryan, lost his dad about six months back. On Monday, I was eating lunch with a group of kids and they were talking about their families. When it came to Ryan, he told the kids that he didn't have a dad, he had only a mom. The other kids, who weren't at the school when it happened, started to argue- saying everybody had a dad. Leah, Ryan's best friend- stepped in to correct them, and shut them up before I could. Ryan turned to me and told me that his dad was in the sky. I told him that my brother was there too- maybe they were together. He looked at me and asked how my brother got there- and I told him that he was sick. Ryan nodded and asked if he had too much soju. That's how his dad got to the sky, he said- he had too much soju and his face was red and he was very sick. I started tearing up- I hadn't known that. His mother had told the school that he had died in a car accident, but we didn't know the details. The next day, Ryan came to school with a note from his mom. The note thanked Reggie & I for being good teachers to her son and said that he had come home crying the day before because he knew that I was leaving and Reggie would soon follow. As Ryan said good-bye to Kristine yesterday- a teacher that never taught him and rarely spoke to him, he burst into tears. I held him as he cried and when he calmed down, asked him if he was alright. No, he answered, and turned away. Ryan is six.

Ryan looking scary

When I arrived here in Korea, I watched Shane (the teacher I replaced) burst into tears when he hugged the kids good-bye, and I told myself that there was no way that I would get that attached to them. But I did. I have spent six hours a days with these kids, five days a week for a whole year. I've spent more time with them than many of their fathers have. Some of my kids didn't know a word of English when I arrived and now speak fairly fluently. I've seen them go through different phases of growth- and noticed it. Jennifer went through a phase for a few months where she thought she was better than everyone. Sally went through a phase where she cried everyday for no reason. Jacob went through a very long temper tantrum phase. Mary hated me for the first month I taught her- but I've become her favourite teacher. Leah went from being a pretty cool kid- to being a mini-adult as she's helped Ryan through this year. Ryan has aged years in the past six months. Ryan asked me why I was leaving and I told him I have to go see my family, my friends and Fred. He told me Fred should just come to Korea. I told him that Fred is sick and he needs to be in Canada. So Ryan told me he was going to talk to Mr Choi about moving the school to Canada. My feelings about leaving are so mixed. I'm excited to take my trip through South East Asia, looking forward to my week in Calgary and I absolutely can't wait to see Fred. But I just wish I didn't have to say good-bye. I'm not looking forward to the next ten days. Tomorrow the new teacher will move in with me and begin to take over my life here. My pictures are off the walls and my bags are half packed. On Monday he'll meet my kids and part of me feels jealous that he gets to spend a year with them. I think of how weird it is to develop such a relationship with these kids, but still be totally replaceable. It's different from being a teacher in a regular school in Canada. The school year and the days are longer. I'm the first contact these kids have had with someone who is not Korean. And they recognize how special that is. The kids love the Korean teachers because they become like second mothers. They dote on them- help them in the bathroom, fix their hair, but they love the Canadian teachers because we become their friends. Strangely enough it was Jack- four years old, who pointed this out. I still get emails from Tom, a five year boy who left in March to go to a better school. I don't want to deal with the next ten days. I just want to wake up on November 1st and be on the plane to Thailand. I don't want to say good-bye.

My baby class- Daniel, Tim, Anne & Sarah (three years old).

Self-Rev?

I've never been one to trust therapists. I had a bad experience at the age of fourteen and quickly declared it all a crock of shit. My parents had just split (for the second and final time) and things had become chaotic as they do when the balance is thrown and everyone is recast in different roles. My dad became the 'week-end dad', as that was the only time we had to see him. My mom was suddenly the bread-winner, I was 'stand-in parent' and Tyler and Travis were... well- confused. With chaos, of course comes anger and frustation- but instead of sitting down and discussing our feelings within the family, my brothers and I were carted off to therapists. Or rather Tyler and Travis were- I refused to go. Then one Saturday morning, my sleep was interrupted by a strange woman sitting on the foot of my bed. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of waking up next to me, I can assure you- it is no pleasure. I am a nasty, hateful morning person and everybody knows it. The woman introduced herself (as though I'd care) and I lay there in silence. I don't remember what she said or what happened, I don't remember how long she stayed, but I remember being mad. She finally declared that perhaps she had caught me at a bad time and would schedule an appointment. What a novel idea, I thought! At what other point in my life would a complete stranger have the audacity to come into my room, wake me up and tell me how I feel? I hope that any of my friends crazy enough to have children will remember this story when they decide that their teenagers don't deserve the same respect given every other person. In any case, she scheduled an appointment and told me when I could expect to see her again. Unfortunately, I immediately forgot the appointment date and happened to be home when she stopped by. She and her crazy male counterpart took me for pizza and again, I sat in silence. They rattled off about how they understood how I felt and knew I was sad my dad had left. I shouldn't blame myself. Why the hell would I blame myself? This woman was unbelievable- it was as though she had rented all the teen angst movies she could find in preparation for our meeting. I opened my mouth only twice over dinner- once to correct her and tell her that I had been hoping my parents would split since I was nine years old. The second time to answer her stupidest question yet- if your parents were animals, what kind of animals would they be? Without thinking, I rattled off the first two that came to mind and refused to explain why. I imagine they probably looked up said animals in their 'guidebook to the teenage mind' when they returned to the office. It was right next to the check list of the way fourteen year olds feel about their parents divorce and the asterix that says teenagers love pizza so much, they'll do anything for it.


Apparently psychologists and all their friends (social workers, psychiatrists and all the other crazies) believe that family life in childhood has a huge impact on how you grow up. They say that girls will marry someone 'just like their father' (although my mother has often told me that I'm just like my father- now what could that mean?), and boys will marry someone just like their mothers. They believe that if you grow up with instability, you'll seek it out as a comfort in your adulthood. I wonder. As I deal with crisis after crisis, it has occured to me that perhaps there is some truth to all this. I do seem to have a knack for choosing the most difficult route in every possible situation. As the oldest child and the only girl, I was a little spoiled when I was young. Not in the way that I would get a toy for crying, or a candy if I screamed, but spoiled in activities. My parents always supported my interests. I started swimming before I could walk, and skating shortly after I did. There was an endless string of lessons- piano, clarinet, ballet, gymnastics, soccer, basketball, baseball, figure skating... my parents spent alot of my childhood driving me all over for my lessons. There was never any pressure to continue if I wasn't happy, but it seemed I couldn't be happy unless I was running around. I've definitely brought that to my adult life.

As this year draws to a close, I've begun to contemplate how I've changed. My mom has asked me countless times this year if I regret my choice to come. It's seemed a ridiculous question to me all along. How could I regret an experience that is so unique? Before making an exciting new purchase, we get excited, we think about it alot and then we convince outselves we need it. So we buy it and our focus quickly shifts to the next exciting purchase. In the same way, it's easy to forget what an incredible opportunity this is, because it has become my reality. My dad reminded me the other day that he's never had the chance to travel, and I remembered that it is something special. When I consider that I knew absolutely nothing of Korean culture only a year ago, it's amazing how much I've learned. And how much I've changed. When I landed here in Korea, I had in mind only two goals- to see the country and pay off my student loans. But my plans soon changed. I had never travelled before. Why would I waste all the money I saved on paying off my student loans? One hundred and fifty dollars a month for the rest of my life wasn't the end of the world. How could I waste an opportunity to travel in Asia just to pay down a relatively small loan? How could I think about returning to school when I hadn't owned a computer since I left my parent's house? How could I think of giving money back to the banks that had screwed me for years, at the expense of all this? This year has given me some distance. When I lived in rich, rich Alberta I always had a savings account. I went out alot. There was rarely money problems, from what I remember. But all that changed when I moved to Quebec and got sucked into a system built around taxing you to death. Quebec say fare (Quebec sait faire), as my dad says. It becomes difficult to see your options when you're living paycheck to paycheck. In fact, all you see is that you have no options at all.


I feel like I'm constantly fighting part of myself. I have a desire to be stable, responsible and dependable. Part of me wishes that my apartment were always clean and my things always in order. The other part of me is the definition of indirect. I start a hundred things and only finish two. In fact, I start things I know I won't finish just for something to do. For those of you astrology buffs, I'm a Gemini in a Virgo's body. I feel like my friends are split right down the middle- those that know me from my Calgary days and those that know me from Montreal. My Calgarian friends will remember that I was constantly changing apartments, jobs, roomates and boyfriends. My Montreal friends remember that I lived in St Henri before Fred and I moved in together. They don't remember me before Fred because I met them around the same time we started dating. I always run into at least two of my exs when I visit Calgary- but in Montreal, I only have two exs (and they don't count). I know that either I've changed alot, or I've found something worth keeping when I think about Fred. We just passed our four year mark- the last year of which has been entirely long distance. We've talked almost everyday- even if it was just a couple minutes. Fred tells me that years ago, he wouldn't have been able to handle it. I know for a fact that years ago, I wouldn't even have tried. The problem with loving chaos and stability at the same time is that the grass is always greener. Years ago, I would have taken my year away as a chance to enjoy the freedom from my committed relationship. But when I arrived in Korea, I realized that I had found what I was looking for- there was no point in looking further. I don't know when I grew up, but it seems that I did. I can't decide if that's scary or not. It definitely scares me that I'm passed samples of anti-wrinkle cream in stores here, or that my kids sometimes slip and call me ajimma (middle-aged woman with kids). I look forward to getting carded in Calgary when I arrive- just so I know that I haven't aged that much.


I left Montreal without thinking too much about the experience of being away for a year, about teaching or about living in Korea. I really wasn't sure where I would stand once I got here- with my situation, with acting, with Fred, with myself. How could I? You can read every tourist book you find and still not be prepared for the actual shock of being here. There are tons of teachers that arrive and quickly leave because they hadn't considered that they might have to eat unfamiliar foods. Or feel unprepared when they sit down for their first meal in Korea and realize they've never used chopsticks. I wrote my first couple updates and emailed them off to anyone and everyone who had shown an interest... and many who hadn't. I hadn't imagined that I would keep writing regularly. But I kept getting a steady flow of comments and emails from people who loved the rants and were keeping on top of them. So I kept writing. I've always known that I could write, but I also took it for granted. I sort of threw it into the same category as brushing your teeth. But I've come to realize that it isn't that simple and I can get paid to do it. So why not? There is so much pressure in our culture to label ourselves and it leaks into everything. I remember thinking at 18 that I was too young to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Here I am at 26 and I still feel too young. I don't want to make a choice. There's no reason I should have to. I can be an actor and a writer. I've discovered that I don't have a passion for teaching like I do writing or acting, but I can do it for awhile. Suddenly I see options everywhere. When I left the Hyatt last year, I told myself that I was leaving customer service for good. And I am. University graduates shouldn't have to work in restaurants- and the ones who get stuck are those that are too scared to leave. I've also come to accept, once and for all, that I need to work for myself. No more screwing around. IMAX aside, I've never had a job where I didn't look at my boss and think, "You're just so stupid." I'm not cut out for the 9 to 5 job, I hate mornings- although I've learned to be a little nicer because I can't yell at three year olds just for being three before I've had a coffee.

What's my point? I'm rambling. Young people often travel to 'find themselves', which has always sounded so cheezy to me. It's not a matter of finding yourself, at least not for me. There's no such thing, in my mind. It implies that you're static and just playing hide and seek. We as people are constantly changing- our views, our opinions, our realities and there is no better way of challenging yourself than spending time abroad. It's about being taken out of your safe life and dropped into the unfamiliar. When I think back on where I was a year ago, it was crucial that I came to Korea. No other country in Asia would have allowed me the same experience. I left Canada feeling disgusted with the state of the world. I looked around me, in one of the world's wealthiest countries and saw University students struggling through with minimal student loans. I saw homeless people that clearly should have been institutionalized. I saw myself working a crappy union job, where my co-workers kept assuring me that if I stayed thirty years like they had, I would enjoy equal rights. When I visited Calgary on my way here, I was shocked by what my old home had become. Big city problems had moved in and for the first time I didn't feel safe in downtown Calgary. I looked around and saw ten times the number of homeless than before the big boom. I saw more hard drugs. I saw more vandalism. I needed to see something different to show me that the whole world wasn't in such a desperate state. Being in Korea has been so refreshing. The subways are free of graffiti and trash- immaculately clean despite the absense of garbage cans. The incredible sense of respect that defines Korean culture makes it such a sharp contrast to Canada. Big screen TVs sit in public areas- no one even dreaming of stealing them. Heaps of bicyles in the street are unlocked. Young people quickly stand up to give their elders a seat on the subway- the seats for the elderly and handicapped remain empty in a crowded car. In some parts of Korea, in fact, they've had to install new signs to include pregnant women because even they were standing next to the empty seats. The tremendous respect and pride that Korean people have in their country has been so refreshing. It was exactly what I needed to see. There are still problems here- their hold on traditional ways has prevented feminism from really being successful. Corporal punishment is still acceptable in schools, and being Korean still means having two parents- both of whom are Korean. But these are all areas in which Korea can move forward, can change. I'm not sure about Canada. It seems that we have to move backwards to fix our problems. We need to move back and admit that maybe it is beneficial to have a parent at home. Maybe we try to pack too much into our lives and that is why we've lost a connection with our families. All those therapists make a killing off of telling us that the root of all problems is in the family. So why aren't we fixing it? There's a lot of talk and not a whole lot of action, as far as I can see. When will we stop asking why kids are getting fatter and fatter and just kick them outside to play with a soccer ball? When will we realize that despite all our talk of the enviroment, we're really slow on making any changes?

I'll soon be leaving Korea- taking with me a new knowledge of this very different culture. I know that some things will be very hard to adjust to in Canada. I might have my purse stolen a few times because I'll forget that that happens. I'll be really annoyed that my cell phone doesn't work on the metro, despite the fact that I pay five times more for the service than I do here. I'll be upset that Starbucks doesn't charge a deposit for the cup and that the depanneur doesn't charge for the plastic bag. The lack of street food will undoubtedly upset me. Where will I get my egg sandwiches? Even if I could get them, they wouldn't be a dollar. On the other hand, I look forward to enjoying a pizza without corn and sweet potato. I'm looking forward to seeing crowds of women smoking in the streets of Montreal, since it's the only place you can smoke now. I'm excited to get back and see so many nationalities around me and hear so many languages. I can't wait to have a good cup of coffee.

Vacation in Korea

Simona & I in front of Korea`s biggest Buddha. You can`t see them, but there are two old Korean ladies killing themselves laughing at us...

As my high school years drew to a close, I looked forward to moving out of the house. Of having my own apartment. I often thought about how liberating it would be to walk into my apartment and throw the keys on my kitchen table. Of plopping down on my couch to read a book in absolute silence. With this in mind, I held two jobs for the last few months of high school- determined to have this dream happen as quickly as possible. On Monday, Wednesday, Friday & Saturday I worked nights as Head Hostess at Red Lobster (referred to from now on as the Lobster Pit). On Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday (morning) and Sunday, I worked at IMAX- scooping popcorn and ripping tickets. Weekdays, of course, I was at school- mostly sitting in the testing center catching up on a year's worth of exams that I'd left to the last minute. For most of April, May and June I was probably in there four or five hours a day. At night after work, I'd come home and hammer ou t any papers that I had left to the last minute. Somehow this ridiculous system worked out and I graduated high school- miracle of miracles. In August, days after my eighteenth birthday, Alex and I moved into our first apartment together. I kept up the two jobs- giving IMAX all my days, and the Lobster Pit all my nights. This lasted until October when I finally snapped. I quit the Lobster Pit and decided to stick to one job. Until HMV called me up and offere d me a Christmas position, with the promise of 50% off CDs... but that's different. Over the next few years, I often found myself with multiple jobs and I came to enjoy the chaos of multi-tasking. For those who haven't lived in Calgary, I should perhaps explain the phenomenon of employment there. One morning I woke up and thought- hmmm... I think today I'll find a new job. On a whim, I head to my folder full of cv's, and head downtown. I pass out about twenty resumes to random stores and restaurants before I get bored. I go to work at IMAX. Later that night when I arrive home, I play my voice mail messages and scrawl down the names of fifteen places that would like to interview me. I go down the list and decide which places I'll call back and which I was just playing around by dropping off a resume. Like the tanning salon I once applied at. They were ready to hire me too, until I admitted that I wouldn't fake & bake even if it was free. Finally I would accept a job and keep it for a short time, when inevitably something better would come along. Before I moved to Montreal, I decided to maximize my time by working at IMAX, La Vie en Rose and Moxie's restaurant. I thought perhaps the different jobs would keep me sane. The phone continued to ring with job offers, one restaurant offered to hire me just to work on my lunch hour from the lingerie store. Last year, I accidently stuck myself with tw o jobs and promised myself that I'll never do it again. As the Hyatt prepared for a strike, I quickly covered my ass by picking up a job at a restaurant, just in case. When the hotel didn't strike, I found myself with two jobs- one that promised me hours at low pay, and one that promised me high pay, but no hours. The days that I had to work both jobs nearly killed me. I will never do it again.

Me & Simona get closer for a better look. Song says we`re crazy. Seoraksan National Park

I asked my kids to draw a picture of their fathers a couple of weeks ago. One little girl drew her dad in front of his bed, with a cell phone in his hand and a briefcase in the other. She told me she never sees her dad, he's always at work. Korea has only recently reduced it's work week to five days, and the truth is that it's only been reduced on paper. In practice, many Koreans still work six days a week. Song rolls out of bed at 5am, to arrive at her work by 8am. It's not unusual for her to be there until 10pm, sometimes even later. If this were unusual, I'd have smacked some sense into her already, but truth is that this is standard in Korea. Arriving here, I was shocked to discover that they seem to have an inexplicable ability to work stupid hours. In Canada we benefit from having government policies that allow us to have real lives. The labour board says it is illegal to work your staff the way they do here. But here, if the boss says to stay, you stay. On Tuesdays, I finish work at 4:30 and enjoy an easy ride home on the subway. It's always empty. When I finish at 6:30, the subway is crowded but not yet to capacity. At 9, the subway is packed. I overheard a foreigner asking his Korean friend why they worked so much. The Korean replied that if they ever wanted to have a stronger economy than China, this was what had to be done. The foreigner pointed out that China has a billion people to Korea's fifty million. The Korean shrugged as though it didn't matter.

Korean safety measures

It's quite easy to make Korea sound as though it's an all work and no play kind of place. But bars are always full of business men and there seems to be unending energy to douse oneself in soju at the end of a long work day. The twenty-four saunas are a testament to that. Rather than return all the way home, many will roll into a sauna for a few hours before heading back to the office. For two glorious weeks a year, Koreans enjoy their vacation time. Altogether. The last week of July, the entire country pack their bags and head to the beaches on the East Sea and Jeju Island. There is literally no visible sand on the beaches, as tents are pitched so they can enjoy the view of the sea without risking a sun tan. In anticipation of this week, I booked my vacation to Taiwan in February, as you need to if you want to be sure to have a flight out.

Chuseok traffic. Guess which way is Seoul...

Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) is a time spent with family. Not like Canadian Thanksgiving which seems mostly half-assed these days (I suppose complicated by the immensity of our country). Chuseok is a week long affair which finds most people travelling to their hometowns to spend the holidays with their families. So picture this. Fifty million Koreans having their last real break until next July. Once again, trips need to be booked and details planned out far in advance if you`re to have any hope of getting out of Seoul. For Koreans, your hometown is not necessarily the place where you or your parents grew up. It can also be the place where your ancestors are buried. Chuseok is traditionally a time to thank your ancestors for watching over you by cleaning up at the burial sites and making a offering of food. There is not necessaily a cut-off with how far back you thank your ancestors, so in traditional families it can be quite an event. More modern families take to the mountains or the beaches of Jeju Island for a more laid-back vacation.

Traditional Chuseok foods on a traditional table. Fruits, vegetables, rice cakes and dried fish.

Offering to the ancestors.

A few months ago, it occured to me that this vacation would soon be upon us and I had yet to make any plans. After some difficulty and several sets of plans later, Song and I decided to head to the Seorak mountains to go camping. Now when Canadians talk of camping, we imagine hiking up to the camp site with tents and sleeping bags, your bag stuffed with enough food to last you the duration of the trip and various gadgets to make cooking a little easier. We imagine ourselves surrounded by trees, alone in the woods with our friends and a campfire. Koreans don`t have the same love of solitude and the outdoors. So it fits that Song and I had very different ideas of camping. Simona, recently arrived in Korea, was brave enough to jump on board for this Korean camping experience. We met at 8am on Thursday morning at the bus station and settled in for a long drive. Seoraksan National Park is only some two hundred kilometers from Seoul, but with the insanity of Chuseok traffic, it took us five hours to get there. In my naivete, I thought we would get off the bus and find ourselves right in the mountains. But I was wrong. We climbed into a taxi and finally pulled into the condo where we would be 'camping' for the next three days. Song picked up the key and we took the elevator to our room. I noticed that there was a swimming pool, sauna and noraebong in the basement. Excellent. We tossed our bags down in the room, taking note of the yos (traditional Korean beds- thin mattresses) piled in the closet, revealing that we would be sleeping on the floor. Perhaps that`s why the kids call this camping...

We set off in pursuit of food. I suppose this is what you could call the 'hunting' portion of the trip. We took a taxi to Seoraksan National Park and paid for our bibimbap (rice mixed with red pepper paste, vegetables and egg), kimbob (seaweed rolls with rice, ham, crab and vegetables), and omu-rice (rice and vegetables wrapped in a fried egg). We walked around and evetually came across a cable car, which we took to the top of the mountain. The view was incredible. Just off the chalet at the top, we found a path leading up the mountain. I was excited, despite the steps and guard rails along the way that were put in place to make the trail accessible to everyone. I suppressed giggles as I passed Koreans in full hiking gear- it was after all, more of a brief walk than a hike. As the path ended I looked up. The trees had cleared and we were standing on a ridge, with rock on all sides. The streams below looked like thin lines and I contemplated the drop over the cliff. The guard rails found along the path to keep you from tripping into the forest were nowhere to be found. A small sign politely asked that you not jump. Simona and I climbed here and there amongst the rocks for a better view. I ignored the fact that the hand and foot holds had been artificially hammered into place. The view was absolutely beautiful. The clouds hung low over the mountains in the distance, and the setting sun shone through the clouds. As the sun set, we made our way back to the cable car and sought out food once again.

Just me & the mountain.

I`d like to preface this next story with a couple of short, somewhat related tales. Many months ago, on the opening night of Never Swim Alone, I was craving a patch of grass. All I wanted was to stretch out in the sun on the grass and read a book before I went onstage. So I left work quite early and headed to the theatre, determined that I would find my grass before I went on. I walked and walked. Through school yards and past government buildings. Through parks and past soccer fields. There was no grass to be found. Even the kids playing soccer had dirt under their feet. Finally in a school yard next to the soccer field, I found a small patch of grass about two feet wide. I decided it would have to do. So I lay back, trying to appreciate the grass that I had found and ignoring the sign that begged students not to sit on it. In early September, I found myself craving a beach. Being that Korea is a peninsula, you can be sure that there are beaches everywhere. I looked up the closest beach to me and discovered that it was famous for its sunsets. That was good enough for me. All I wanted was to lie on the sand with a book and my music for a few hours. I packed a bag and left at 10am on a Sunday morning, carefully following the directions obtained from the Korean Tourism site (rather than my own common sense). I spent an hour and a half on the subway and arrived in Incheon, the city next to Seoul. From the station, I took a bus to the port. I scanned the signs and found Yeongjongdo, the name of the island that I was heading to. The sign was entirely in Korean, but the name of the island was there, so I paid my 14,000 won and boarded the ship. Half an hour later, I wondered why we had not yet arrived. The ferry was supposed to take only twenty minutes. The island came into view and we saw it, turned around, and went right back to the dock. I got off and starred at the booth from which I had bought the ticket. Then at the booth next to it, which also had the name of the destined island. I paid 4,000 won and boarded the ferry. Twenty minutes later, I set foot on Yeongjongdo Island. My trusty directions told me to find the bus terminal and take the bus to Eurwangni Beach. I stood at the station contemplating the map, trying to figure out where it was and what bus would take me there. An American girl, headed for the same beach, confirmed what bus and we sat and waited. And waited. The bus finally came an hour later. We boarded the bus and she consulted her Lonely Planet. The bus ride should take twenty minutes. An hour later we became concerned that we`d missed the stop. We passed the airport. Finally after an hour and a half on the bus, we arrived at the beach. The tide was low, and there was no sand. Just mud. Fish heads stuck up through the mud and we watching the fully clothed Koreans frolicking in the mud with some skepticism. After a six hour journey, the mud beach was quite a dissapointment. But we went swimming nonetheless, had dinner and I called a taxi to take me to the airport. I was fed up. This was the last straw. No, in fact I realized when we passed the airport that a brief trip out on the airport express bus would have had me at the beach in half an hour. Sure enough, I got home some five and a half hours before I would have taking the suggested route.

So the next morning, we awoke and flipped through our Seoraksan tourist guides. We decided on a hike that would take us first past some hot springs, then to some waterfalls. It was a relatively short hike, the 3km could be expected to take us about three hours, but I was excited to put time in at both the hot springs and the swimming hole at the base of the waterfall. We hopped on the bus and took it to our starting point. The hike began along a river bed, and I wondered why the water was so low. We walked along the river for most of the hike, along with a long line of Koreans headed for the same place. The trail confused me. It appeared that we were walking where there should have been water. The stagnant pools of water here and there looked as though they were aching to move, but they lacked a current. We kept walking. The trail went into the woods and I was momentarily excited- perhaps it was about to become a real hike. But the sandbag steps proved otherwise. We made it to a mountain temple and enjoyed some spring water from the fountain and took in the smell of incense before moving on. Footholds on big rocks along the way continued to annoy me a little, but I tried simply to take the unaltered route when confronted with these aids. I bypassed the log bridges in favour of jumping from rock to rock in the stream. I began to suspect that our waterfall would not be all we hoped for. There was little water in the river. Finally we rounded a corner and Simona and I stopped short. Seriously? Could this be it? In front of us stood a steep drop off with a drizzling of water falling over it. The same effect can be achieved at home, in fact. Take a simple watering can, or a bottle of water and pour it over your balcony. There you have it. A waterfall. As we contemplated the shape of the rocks and the river bed, it seemed to us that the river had probably been damned up further upstream to allow for the walking path. I tried (unsuccessfully) to suppress my frustration and disapointment. It`s very nice that there have been efforts made to make the mountains accessible to everyone, but at what cost? Broken bridges and discarded safety railings scattered about the trail to the waterfall somehow wrecked the illusion of being alone with nature. Although I guess the long line of us walking along the trail didn`t help that either. I have to remind myself that it`s hard to wow Canadians when it comes to nature. Growing up next to the Rockies has spoiled me, it seems.

The waterfall

We boarded the bus back to Sokcho city and, though we were too late to take in the sun on the beach, still went down and played in the water. The tide was high and the waves of the East Sea crashed high on the sand. A couple hundred people stood on the beach, setting off fireworks and racing each other through the waves. Song, Simona and I were completely drenched, and seemed to be quite amusing to the group of middle-aged Korean men watching this display of sillyness. We made our way back to the condo and prepared to leave the next morning.

Song and Simona head for the tent after a long drive...

As the end of my contract approaches, I seem to feel differently about it every day. Two weeks ago, I was thrilled to soon be on my way back home. Last week I was terrified, confronted with the question of what I`ll do when I arrive home is a frightening thought. This week I`m mostly sad. I`ve had alot of frustrations here, but I`ve also come to consider this home. I`ve become accustomed to encountering unique situations every day, challenging myself to learn more about the Korean culture and language. Forcing me to reflect more and more on my own country, my language and my views. I`ll miss my kids. I`ll miss Song. Some days I`ll be relieved not to stared at in the streets, but some days I`ll miss it. I wonder how many stories have been told about me around Korean dinner tables. There`s at least one for every day I`ve been here. Tales of the local blonde that I`ll never hear. Soon my life will return to normal- whatever that means- and I`ll be faced with life. The last year has been a break from life. At least life in Canada. Everything at home is on pause for awhile until I decide that it`s time to come back- and it keeps getting closer and closer...

Song & Simona drenched at Sokcho Beach

Luck

We hear a lot about luck. About good luck, and bad luck, and then about the people who have no luck. I've never really known where to rate myself in terms of luck. I've had good luck with some things, and terrible luck with others. As a Canadian, I've often heard how lucky I am to be born and raised in Canada. It is my home, and sure there are things that I love and things I hate, but this year I have come to realize why I am lucky to be Canadian.

My parents really tried their best to encourage me to follow a Christian path. Between Catholic school, Christian summer camp and a Christian version of Girl Guides, it's a wonder that they didn't succeed. For awhile I bought into it all. I accepted everything as children do, whole heartedly and satisfied with the vague answers I was given. But then things stopped adding up for me. This was, of course, right after the unfortunate incident involving a Bishop and oil on my forehead. In the eyes of the Catholic Church, I was stuck for life. I find it interesting that the sacriment of Confirmation takes place just before most children really start questioning their faith. It's even more intriguing that today very little prep time goes into this ceremony that supposedly has life long consequences. In comparison, Jewish children spend years preparing for their bar mitzvas/bat mitzvas. Whatever. Catholic kids are kept ignorant- the less they know, the fewer questions they'll have. Or at least, that's the view from a disgruntled 'Catholic'. It's not that I've found a different faith, or that I've tossed aside a belief in a higher power. It just seems to me that organized religion has taken a few wrong turns, and I'm not interested in identifying myself under a label I don't agree with. I'm not Catholic because I believe in a woman's right to have control over her body. I believe in a person's right to love, marry and sleep with whomever they might want to (unless it's Fred-hands off!). I wonder if the Church would be so concerned about who you were sleeping with if anyone in Vatican City had ever had the pleasure of getting laid. I believe that people should be able to challenge their faith without being kicked out of the Church. I believe that people need to learn to laugh at themselves. I'm amazed that the Vatican's tantrum over daVinci Code succeeded in winning more press attention than the President of Kenya begging the Church to okay the use of condoms to help stop the spread of AIDS. Priorities are all wrong for my taste, and so, when approached by the countless swarms of Korean Christians trying to save my soul, I can't help but feel a little nauseated. Although the sea of gleaming red crosses in the night sky doesn't help either.

But this isn't going to be a rant about religion, fear not. I haven't the time, nor the patience to take on such an issue. Not to mention the fact that I have no real concrete opinions on that front. It's more about growing up, I suppose. I was confirmed to the Catholic faith in grade six, in grade seven I became dissatisfied with the answers I was getting. I had always hated being carted off to Church on Sunday morning, but now that my parents were fighting more than usual, I realized I had a way out. I asked my mother if maybe she wouldn't mind going to another church with me. Of course, she jumped at the chance as tensions between her and my dad had mounted to the breaking point. En route to this eutopia of a church we were heading to, I told her I'd changed my mind and asked her if she wouldn't just want to go for breakfast instead. Simple as that. For the next few months, my mother and I pretended to be off to our own church when in reality we were at McDonald's having egg mcmuffins. A sneaky and questionable rebellion since I was with my mom all the while, but it was the best I could come up with to get out of Church on a regular basis.

I was always one of those dorky kids that loved school. Maybe because I never had to work particularly hard at it. I was always kept busy with sports after school and to my memory, did very little homework. The nights I stayed up till all hours to write papers were always my fault- I had usually just started the paper that day. I was never very good at math, but I still got decent marks. When I started complaining of blurred vision in grade two, I was taken to the eye doctor. Tests said I had 20/20 vision. But blurry patches would come and go, accompanied with pressure building up in my eyes. I still get it every now and then. In grade seven, the eye doctor told me I was reading too much and insisted that I not read more than twenty minutes at a time. So I stopped reading. How much could you possibly do in twenty minutes? I breezed through high school with little effort (not always with the best marks) and headed off to University. I finally had a teacher call me on my lack of effort in my learning, and it shocked me. Was it that obvious? Of course it was- a mediocre effort had usually gotten me by, so I became accustomed to offering the bare minimum. Why work harder for no good reason? I've never thought that I wasn't smart enough to go into a particular field of study, but I have wondered if realistically I could commit myself. (Phobic, remember?) A question that I'm faced with now that I contemplate a return to school... I know I'll find myself back in school soon enough, but the direction that I'll take is still up in the air. It was important for me to break away from academics and explore my creativity- and I'm not giving up on that. I'm thankful that I've had that opportunity.

There are of a course countless variables that impact who we become as adults. As I look at these kids that I'll soon be leaving, I contemplate the differences between how I grew up and how they will. All of the most important moments of my life have come from tearing myself away from my friends, family, faith, boyfriends and academics. It's seen as a normal part of the process of growing up. But these kids are already experiencing tremendous pressures that I never had to deal with. They are already aware that image is everything. They are aware that their mothers always have perfectly manicured nails and that a hair is never out of place. They are aware that mom diets really hard to make sure that she is not labelled 'fat'. They are aware that in their world, there are roles for girls and roles for boys. They know that living on the twenty-second floor is better than living on the tenth floor. They are aware of what brand of shoes they wear to school, and the student who goes to the most schools has the most money. The pressure to look the same as everyone else is intense. Middle school girls are not allowed to have their hair shorter than their chin or longer than their shoulders, and will be sent to the barber shop to have it fixed before returning to school. Fingernail checks are done to make sure that your nails are not only clean, but of a uniform length. Jewelry and make-up is still forbidden. Most things in Korean culture can be chalked up to image- in fact, my very presence here has less to do with an active interest in learning English and more to do with keeping pace with everyone else. It is fashionable to learn English. Korea is the plastic surgery capital of the world for a reason. The Korean knock-off industry is worth a billion dollars a year. That's alot of fake Channels. It's all about image.

The kids I teach range in age from three years to sixteen years. Some of my three year olds start school at 9am and finish at 4:30pm. Half of that is Korean school, the other half English school. Some of my Elementary school students attend as many as eleven schools- so they leave the house at 8am and return home around 8 or 9pm, just in time to finish their homework and pass out. Middle school children are often dropped off on their doorsteps by the school bus at 1am. Even during their much deserved breaks from school, the average Korean student spends more than 48 hours in school or studying, each week. All of these schools are designed to give students a 'leg up' in the horrid exam that they have to write their final year of high school. Children learn to fear this exam from the time they start grade one. The Korean Scholastic Aptitude Test determines what University you will attend and what course of study you can follow. Because image is everything- it also impacts how successful you will be in your career and in your marriage prospects after graduation. The exam takes place in November. In August, mothers start frequenting temples and churches (often both, not either or) to offer prayers for their child's performance in the exam. One month before, mothers make their way to the temples to light candles for their children. The teachers responsible for writing the exam are sequestered for a month before it takes place. Businesses open an hour later to help ease the flow of traffic, as the 700,000 students make their way to the exams. Flights into and out of Seoul are stopped for the listening portion of the exam, to cut down on outside noise pollution. The exam last eight hours, and will determine the course your life will take. Ironically, once you're accepted into University, it's a joke. By all accounts, no one learns a thing.

As a Canadian, I breathe a sigh of relief that I was able to choose my field of study and that there isn't a point of no return in our education system. A high school drop-out could still go back to school and become a doctor. It is so difficult to wrap my mind around some of these differences. Koreans are incredibly strong as a collective, but in terms of individualism, they have a great deal of trouble breaking out of the confines of everyday routine. I wore my hair in a braid to school one day and not only did all my kids notice, and comment, but all the girls in my classes showed up for the next three weeks with their hair in braids. It still baffles the kids that I could spend a year away from Fred. It doesn't fit into their formula, and it doesn't make sense. Just as they thought they had it all figured out, I surprise them by telling them that we're not getting married when I get back. It's unheard of in Korea. The Dutch soccer coach that led the Korean soccer team to the semi-finals in the 2002 World Cup made one change- and it was hugely controversial. He insisted that all players be treated equally, regardless of age. Suddenly the team started winning, and he's held up as national hero. The solution was so simple, but it's difficult to see it from within the box. How can you be a team if you have a hierarchy? I could go on forever here. My point is this. I have realized this year how lucky I am to be able to make choices. That there is nothing limiting me to what I can and cannot do. I can take my BFA and go onto law school, or I can throw myself into a conservatory for the next three years. I can decide to get married tomorrow, or ten years from now or never, and no one will bat an eyelash (well, maybe tomorrow is a little quick...). I can choose to leave my faith because it doesn't fit. I can choose not to follow the path my parents hoped for me. Better yet, they're happy that I did. I got to make mistakes. I can tell Fred's family openly (although they are all aware) that I hate cooking, and I'm horrible at it. We don't need to pretend just because I'm the woman. I can decide not to have kids. I don't have to own a Louis Vuitton purse, or spend 80,000$ on my wedding (the average cost of a Korean wedding). I can run on the treadmill at the gym, because I don't care if men see me sweat. I'm proud to have muscular calves (I've worked damn hard for them), and I don't feel the need to inject poison in them to make them smaller. I've had alot of ups and downs this year- and occasionally questioned my choice in coming to Korea for some of these very reasons. But I think I really needed to experience this. Because I never would have belived it if I hadn't.

East/West Relations

Despite my questionable residency in the eyes of some, Montreal is my home. I was born there, and though I was raised in Alberta, something never quite fit. I always felt mal a l'aise there. I grew tired of explaining to people that I wasn't a separatist, nor were my parents (despite the fact that such ignorant assertions made me sympathize with the separatist movement). I became annoyed that people could not understand that there was a difference between speaking French and being French Canadian. I developed an impatience for the government who propagated the idea that speaking French meant being French and being French meant being separatist. The Alberta goverment defines a francophone as an individual who's first language is French, or who has spent two or more years in a francophone school. According to the government, I was francophone. It's not that it's offensive, it's just that it's always grating to labelled something you're not. I have the same reaction here when people call me American, or Russian. When I arrived in Montreal, I finally felt comfortable. Speaking French was somewhere between a bonus and an expectation and no longer meant that I was in league with Rene Levesque. My last name, Bogue Kerr, was no longer a great mystery that would require lengthy explanations.

Being that my parents and I left Quebec shortly after the referendum of 1980, it is little wonder that I grew up hearing the tales of injustice done to the English people of Montreal. Bill 101 had just kicked in, and guaranteed that my very English father would face challenges in his career. My parents tell tales of the clear French/English divide down Boulevard St Laurent and find it difficult to believe that my Montreal is so different. There are still tensions, it's true. I found working in restaurants that I would always get good tips from French tables if they didn't hear me speak English, and good tips from English tables if they didn't hear me speak French. If my sections were mixed, my tips were mediocre. When Fred and I were apartment hunting, my messages left in French guaranteed a phone call back, while his English messages went unanswered. Sure, the Office de la Langue Francaise keeps itself busy running around to offices and checking to make sure the inter-office emails are sent in French, but all in all, from the point of view of a bilingual Montrealer, tensions aren't so bad. Once I stopped saying that I was from Calgary in interviews, I never had another problem finding a job. It is a little ignorant to assume that a Calgarian could not speak French, but it is less ignorant than assuming that Montrealers cannot speak English.

I had a rough introduction to Montreal, but it quickly became home. I am proud to live in a city that is so rich and so diverse. I knew it was unique in Canada, but I never thought that it was unique on an international scale. When I arrived in Korea, a Korean co-worker was studying Montreal in University, as a model of a bilingual city. Discussion surrounding how to make Seoul the next Montreal in terms of bilingualism was a popular topic at her school. She was absolutely shocked to discover that the politics of speaking French or English in Montreal were so complicated. Today a Montrealer who is born and raised there should speak both languages, but still many don't. The reality is that Bill 101 has given anglophones the upper hand. Anglophone children are going to school in French, so they learn to speak both languages fluently. Francophone children have no choice but to go school in French, and so they only learn French. I can't imagine being 25 years old and realizing I couldn't work in Toronto.

All that said, my point is this. The English language is artificially migrating all over the world in the name of progress. Languages are meant to evolve and change, but in an effort to keep pace with faster growing economies and an increasingly educated population, some countries are being pushed years ahead of where they actually should be. Korea has only just begun to accept foreigners into their country, but now we are here en masse. It didn't happen organically- it was forced. This country was devastated by war fifty years ago and they closed their doors to the world to rebuild. Up until 1980, Koreans were not allowed to travel outside of their country. It was a police state and they were striving to keep Korean money in Korea in an effort to rebuild the economy. When I look around, it is so difficult to wrap my mind around the rate of progress in this country. Soon after Koreans opened their doors to the world, English teachers began to trickle in. The country has quickly became Westernized, to the extent that children fail to realize where Korean culture ends and Westernized culture starts. But when two such different cultures begin to blend, we have to expect that there will tensions and challenges.

Before I arrived in Korea, I had heard that the police and media looked for excuses to pin things on foreigners. That in the media, foreigners were unfairly treated and torn apart. It makes me wonder, are they ready for Western culture? Are they pushing too hard? English teachers here have an E-2 visa, which allows us to work in a private English school, and prohibits us from working in other areas while under this visa. That also means that we are not permitted to take on private tutoring- a point of contention with foreigners and Koreans alike. Many Koreans don't have the time or the resources to attend private schools and seek out lessons with foreigners. The rule about private tutoring came about years ago because the media claimed that marriages were falling apart left, right and center because Western men were tutoring Korean women. Allegedly, these tutoring sessions resulted in affairs between Western men and Korean women, and as a direct result the institution of marriage in Korea was walking a fine line. I find it a little far fetched, but what can you expect? Rules were put in place to prevent this from continuing and most of all, to promote the conservation of the homogenous Korean race. As quickly as that issue was laid to rest, the next quickly took center stage. Western men were pushing their way off the plane, fresh from Canada or America and making their way through the streets of Seoul in hopes random women would begin throwing themselves at them. According to the Korean media, Western women were too independant and refused to care for their lovers, marry or have children, so they were forcing Western men to leave their countries in search of women in Korea. Korean women were caring, loving and subservient (said the papers), and that was what Western men wanted. But more then anything, Western men were here to deflower Korean women. The issue is ongoing and it is still taboo in the eyes of the older generations for Koreans to mix with Westerners. In the streets of Seoul, you see countless Korean women with Western men. But her parents usually don't know. I can understand the attraction between Korean women and Western men. The media almost got it right, but still missed.

Canadian women of my generation were raised to be strong and independant. Our mothers instilled in us the importance of standing on our own two feet. Of choosing a career path that we valued and never relying on a man to carry us along. But maybe we went too far. Many of us came to associate femininity with weakness, and so we suppressed it. We wanted so much to run with the boys that we came to embrace masculinity, leaving our feminine traits on the sidelines. We began to reject part of ourselves. I grew up a tomboy- and still am to some extent, and I remember being offended by being called feminine. I prided myself on being able to run as fast as the boys, but failed to realize that I didn't have to give up being a woman to do that. Feminism made many great strides in Western society, but that is one aspect where we seem to have fallen short. Feminism should be about choice. About choosing what it is you want for yourself, and being able to take that on without ostracism. But we still look at stay at home moms with a bit of pity. As though they aren't doing all that they dreamed because they're at home with the kids. If there's one thing that our generation should have learned, it is the value of having a parent at home. Maybe TV wouldn't have become a full time babysitter in so many houses if a parent could afford to stay at home.

Korean women have travelled. Many have spent time in Western countries and undoubtedly come back depressed. Freedoms enjoyed by Western women have yet to make their way to Korea. It is common for Korean women to have to ask permission of their husbands to go out with their friends. It is expected that they will do all the cooking and the cleaning. It is expected that they will have children and stay at home with them. It is expected that they will keep themselves delicate. Returning to Korea after time abroad is a difficult adjustment for most women. It follows that they would get on well with foreign men who won't have the same expectation of women's roles in society and in the home.

Some Western men, it seems to me, are at a bit of a loss to determine their roles. Women have developed independance to a point that relying on a man is no longer even a consideration for us. We've been raised that way. But men had little say in the changes that swept through the family homes and through society. Men have been socialized to believe that they are stronger than women- that they need to play the role of protectors. But we've asked them not to. We like to think we can take care of ourselves. Men will of course, always be physically stronger, but women have shown we can be just as strong in other ways. Many women are content being single mothers- making it increasingly common to raise their children alone. Our superwoman complex has put everything off balance. Of course it is possible for a woman to raise a child on her own, but that doesn't make it ideal. So we have taken from men both their roles as protector and provider, leaving them (I imagine) feeling a little unsure about what it is we want them to do. They're damned if they do and damned if they don't. A man standing up on the subway to give his seat to a woman could be seen as charming by one woman and chauvanistic by the next. Is it any wonder that they are relieved to find themselves in a place that has clearly defined roles?

In Korea, man is king. Korean men are raised to expect that one day their wives will be gentle, caring and attentive with them. Who would give that up for a woman who will tell you when she's going out, not ask? For a woman who might cook, but only if he does the dishes? The combination is like oil and water, they just don't mix. After all, I wouldn't take too well to a man who expected these things of me.

One of my biggest frustrations this year has been with the lack of respect shown for my culture. I recognize I'm a guest here, and I need to accept Korean culture. And I have made an effort, but I have to draw the line at some point. When I'm out and about in the streets of Seoul, I accept Korean culture. I absorb it, I enjoy it, I suppress my frustrations with it. But when I arrive at school, I quickly lose my patience. I have tried to stress to the Korean teachers and the children the importance of learning about Western culture if they want to learn the language. It is impossible to properly learn a language without a concept of how the culture works. But this has fallen on deaf ears. In my culture, it is rude to laugh at others because they are different. But try as I might to express this to my kids- and my co-workers, they simply don't understand. They not only fail to see an issue, but in fact feel that being different is an adequate reason to be laughed at. It is frustrating that because Korean society is so regimented and there are rules for who deserves the most respect, those of us who fall outside of the rules don't get respect. It is so difficult to remember that as frustrating as it is to be treated like a new and interesting play thing, it is simply because Koreans have yet to find a place for foreigners in their culture. Working out the kinks, I suppose. The line between Korean and foreigner is clear cut. After eleven months, I can't help but roll my eyes when I'm asked absolutely ridiculous things about my culture. Like if we sometimes eat dinner at restaurants. Or if we drink beer in pubs. As though all the McDonald's restaurants in Canada are only a facade because Canadians only eat in the privacy of their own igloos. Much like the old English/French divide in Montreal, the Korean/English gap is wide in Seoul. I wonder if in the years to come, Korean culture will change by leaps and bounds and find reconciliation not only with a new language, but also with a new culture. As I prepare to leave Korea, I feel a bit like I'm leaving home. I know I'll always have a soft spot for Korea and I look forward to coming back here in ten, twenty and thirty years and seeing first hand how much of an impact we made by being here. I hope to see many blue-eyed Korean children on my next visit.