I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!

As any curious soul moving himself to another country might tend to do, I have been making it a point to try to learn the Korean language. In fact, I began a few months before I came, anticipating a challenge, and indeed I got one.

The first hurdle, of course, is dealing with another alphabet. However, Hangeul, the Korean alphabet, is actually rather user-friendly. It was developed in the 15th century at the behest of Korea's wise, benevolent, and very favorite king, Sejong. Apparently he thought that the enormous alphabet of Chinese characters (which was the current script at the time) did not suit the Korean language well, and that it was unfair to the common man, as the learning of Chinese characters was something that only upper class people with time to study and access to education could afford to do. To say that Hangeul simplified the character system is a gross understatement. Today, many of the original letters exist only in memory or collect dust in archaic words and forms, so it is even more streamlined.

 See? Easy!

Hangeul consists of 14 consonants, 5 double consonants, and 21 vowels. What an absurd number of vowels! How can the human mouth even make that many sounds?! Well, I call them vowels for easy reference, in fact Korean vowels include sounds like "ah," and sounds like "yah," and double vowels combined from two symbols, and diphthongs like "way." 

Surprisingly, with all these vowel sounds, there are still phonemes for which Korean has no single letter. For all you non-language nerds out there, a phoneme is, in layman's terms, the simplest sound you can make without changing the shape of your mouth, like "f," "sh," or "oo." It is through this discovery that I had a revelation about my own language. Some single vowels in English are in fact not phonemes, but a combination of sounds. The long I in die or the long A in ace, for example, though represented by only one letter, still require your mouth to make two separate sounds. Try it, slow down your speech and you will notice your mouth forming what you thought was one vowel with two distinct vowel sounds. So it is that in Korean, die is not one syllable, but two (다이 = da-ee), and ace is not one but three (에이스 = eh-ee-suh). The third is due to the fact that the "S" sounds becomes a "T" sound on the end of a syllable, so for that reason, among many others, words often get an extra syllable. Korean is also not too fond of consonant clusters, and thus Sprite, which in English has one syllable, has five in Korean (스프라이트 = suh-puh-ra-ee-tuh). By far the most outrageous transliteration I've seen yet.

These quirks aside, the script is in fact remarkable easy to learn. It took me about two days to commit it to memory, although as always noise from one's own alphabet gets in the way when reading a new one. For example, what sound doesㅌ make? Oh, well that's an E of course. Nope, that's a T. What about ㄹ? That's a 2, obviously. Wrong again, that's R/L (incidentally, one of the reasons that Koreans mix these letters up in English so much, they have no cause to differentiate the sounds in their own language). What about ㅇ? Well that has to be an O. Or at least a 0. Nope, that letter is actually silent. Or if it's feeling sly -- and aren't we all when we're at the end of a syllable -- it's NG.

Also, you face the hurdle of dealing with a syllabary. Hangeul has letters, but they don't exist on their own, only in syllables of two or three letters. So words cannot look like 

ㅎㅏㄴㄱㅡㄹ, that would of course be silly. It's written 한(Han)글(Geul). Naturally, we English speakers read and understand words one syllable at a time, but we are not used to letters stacked up on one another.

My experience with the language has been good, so far. It's not terribly difficult to pick up basic words and phrases, and once you master the alphabet and some survival vocabulary, ordering food and getting around becomes immensely easier. You might actually know what dish you're pointing at on the menu. My major problem, as someone who spent the last few years studying dead languages, is actually using it. I feel immensely confident reading and writing Korean (within the limits of my grammar and vocabulary abilities), but speaking it and listening to it (something I never had to do with Greek or Latin) are a whole other ballgame. When speaking, the problem of pronunciation of course rears its ugly head, and my feeble attempts at communication usually go over the head of the well-meaning but throughly nonplussed Koreans with whom I interact. The hardest pronunciation problem to deal with is the presence of three very similar sounding vowels, 으 (euh), 어 (uh), and 오 (oh). To use a frame of reference that only my one reader who is a Classicist will understand (Phil, I'm looking at you), this is at least ten times worse than the frustration of first coming to terms with α, ο, and ω.

The worst feeling in the world, as any learner of a foreign language knows, is the false confidence that comes with self-study. When speaking to a Korean, on a very routine basis, I find myself in a magical, miraculous sort of rhythm where all my vocabulary falls neatly into place, my grammar is flawless, and my pronunciation, though not perfect, is bordering on mediocre. I rattle off a whole paragraph and mentally pat myself on the back as I can see understanding register in my interlocutor's eyes. But then, of course, comes their thought: "well, this foreigner's Korean is actually not bad! Good for him," followed by a veritable torrent of rapid-fire foreign language way beyond my capability, and my guilty admission that I haven't understood a word of what they said. Dealing with a living language is a humbling experience, although I get oohs and aahs from my students anytime I tell them that their jacket is blue, so I guess that's something.

One of the most interesting benefits of learning Korean is gaining insight into Korean culture using nothing but language and grammar. You can learn a lot about a people by the way that they write and talk. Korean has seven registers of formality for use when speaking to people of different social stations in different settings. This goes well beyond the difference between "Open the door" and "Would you please open the door?" Depending on to whom you are speaking, you might use the formal polite, the informal polite, the humble, the honorific, and so on. When Koreans first meet someone, they have to ask all sorts of probing questions like "How old are you?" "What do you do?" "Are you married?" and "How much money do you make?" just so they can figure out how to address each other in the rest of the conversation. Luckily, most don't expect foreigners to catch on to this quickly, so one can get away with the formal polite most of the time.

My favorite thing that I've learned so far is that Koreans are the most incredulous people I have ever met. I don't know if they suspect that they are living in a fantasy world, if they naturally distrust everyone, or if they all have problems hearing, but from what I can understand, they are constantaly questioning the legitimacy of everything. Within 2 weeks of coming here, 4 of my only 50 vocabulary words revolved around this, translated as follows:

그래요? - Really?
헐! - What the...?
정말? - REALLY?
진짜? - No, like, are you seriously for real right now?

Admittedly, my vocabulary is limited, but it seems like 80% of the conversations in the office are nothing more than an announcement and a polite but patent disbelief in the statement's veracity. I feel like one could have an entire conversation using nothing but the words above. Why so mistrustful, Koreans?

I'll stop rambling on about language now, as I'm sure most of your eyes glazed over paragraphs ago. But for those of you who don't like language lessons in their blog posts, I apologize, but I will tell you what I tell my students: "Grammar is fun and you should love it because I love it, dammit!"

Engrish (Part 1)

Even if there was nothing else funny going on in Korea (don't worry, there totally is), I would still have the plethora of Engrish to give me some laughs. For the uneducated, Engrish is a cutely pejorative term for the attempt by Asians to translate things from their own languages into our own. You see it most commonly on signs, like the innocuous "Way Out" instead of "Exit" or the outrageous "No. 1 A+ Well-Being Coffee Shop" (coming on a little strong there, coffee shop). These minor foibles are ubiquitous in Japan and Korea (less so in China, from what I hear), and never cease to amuse me. Here are some of my favorites so far:

 An advertisement for Starbucks' "Very Berry Hibiscus" drink. There is no "v" sound in Hangeul (no "f" either), so when translated to Korean it comes out as Berry Berry Hibiscus. Completely missing the joke. Swing and a miss, Korean Starbucks.

 The Italian restaurant in the same building as Avalon, The Il Grappa, which, as we all know, is Italian for "The The Grappa."

 Oof. And you thought rheumatoid arthritis was bad.

 Bleep bloip. I am a roibot. Destroi all humains.

Get out of the way, it's an emergegy!

 Downtown's Funny and Delicious Pizzeria.
"What did you have for lunch?"
"Pizza. It was hilarious."

This one is actually probably one of the most common. In Korean, the words for "fun," "funny," and "interesting" all sort of overlap, so they always forget that "fun" and "funny" mean very different things. Almost none of my students (even the advanced ones) remember to use these words correctly.

Sex on the Peach. Sounds like a messy affair.

You would think with all these English teachers floating around, people and companies would pull them aside from time to time for a bit of casual proofreading. However, my impression -- strengthened by the abundance of private English academies and my experience in one -- is that the illusion of English proficiency is actually far more important than the actuality.

Consider this Part 1 in a running series of Engrish hilarity. Expect more in the future!

I Got Seoul But I'm Not a Seouldier

Long post ahead!

After living here for more than four months, I decided it was well past time to visit Seoul, Korea's capital (That's pronounced Suh-ool, as two syllables, and one of the hardest habits to break in Korean class). Tahirih, a friend of mine from college, is also teaching in South Korea in a suburb of Seoul at what is apparently a much better school than mine. No hard feelings though, it was good to catch up and explore a new place. I was afraid that the seething mass of humanity would be too overwhelming for me, given that the city's population density is more than twice that of New York. In fact, it was not that bad. Perhaps it was because we did most of the sightseeing on Sunday, also known as "rest day," also known as "recover-from-your-soju-hangover day." Or maybe it was because it was butt-puckeringly cold -- it was a full 10 degrees colder than Daegu and I was woefully underprepared. In any event, walking around Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon, we didn't see as many people as I expected. I reckon that this lends credence to Seoul's reputation as an after-dark city. Apparently it doesn't really get crazy until well after midnight.

The train I took from Daegu (in the far south of the country) to Seoul (near the border with North Korea) only took 4 hours, and the legendary super-fast KTX that I took on the return journey was only 2 hours. It is remarkable to think that one can traverse the country from north to south by train in half the time that it took me to drive to upstate New York to go to college. America is a big place. Once there, I had this little gem to contend with. Eat your heart out, MTA!

In fact, the subway system is surprisingly easy to navigate. All of the signs and announcements are in Korean, English, and Chinese, and it's clear that those in charge of this public transportation system found a much more qualified actor than whoever they hired to do the bus announcements in Daegu. The subway map was also a good chance to practice my burgeoning Hangeul (that's the Korean alphabet) skills. Or at least it would have been if I didn't regularly have an enormous line of impatient Koreans behind me at all times.

Saturday began auspiciously, as Tahirih slept through her alarm and failed to meet me at the train station, and I stayed out all night with some new friends that we had met and so arrived in Seoul wanting nothing more than a good nap. And that is just what I got! Tahirih decided to do a little shopping while I searched out the nearest jjimjjilbang in Gangnam (an area of Seoul which you may or may not have heard of, I think maybe in some sort of old-timey East Asian folk song?). A jjimjjilbang is, for lack of an U.S. equivalent, a gender-separated bathhouse. The ritzier ones, like Spaland in Busan, have enormous rooms with baths ranging from arctic freezing to surface of the sun boiling. There are themed steam rooms, food, DVD rooms where you can rent a movie and sit in a massage chair, massage parlors, outdoors foot-soaking patios, hallways full of couches for napping, and of course a veritable sea of naked Asian men. And all of this for less than 10 American Dollars! If you want to throw yourself out of your comfort zone upon arrival in Korea, I can think of no better way to do it. The jjimjjilbang has so far been an incredibly relaxing and excellent experience. Gold Spa, the one I visited in Gangnam, was much smaller than Spaland, but still featured various baths and saunas, a big screen playing The Dark Knight Rises (sweet!) and a bunk room -- just what I was looking for. So I settled down on a paper thin pallet on the floor and snatched four glorious hours of fitful sleep in a room of snoring Koreans. It was wonderful.

That night, we went to see a colleague of Tahirih's perform in a production of A Doll's House, which was both very good and also an insight into a major difference between Seoul and the rest of Korea. There are foreigners everywhere! In Daegu, even downtown, I will often go more than a week without spotting another foreigner on the street, while in Seoul, they are positively everywhere. This of course explains why the city is so much more accessible to English speakers and why the barista at Paris Baguette had near fluent English skills, while I struggle just to order a donut in my broken Korean at my local shop.

On Sunday morning Tahirih took me on a quick tour of her neighborhood (she has a rock climbing wall less than 2 minutes away from her apartment...jealousy abounds), and then we decided to be tourists for a day. Our first stop was Gyeongbok Palace, allegedly the most expansive and most well-restored palace of the handful in the city. Gyeongbok Palace was built in the 14th century, inhabited at the peak of the storied Joseon Dynasty, and like everything else of architectural significance in Korea, reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble by the Japanese. Fortunately, it is being painstakingly reconstructed, and is bit by bit taking shape again. This is quite a monumental task though, because though the buildings themselves are not that expansive, the palace grounds are enormous. Just when you walk down another hallway and think you will end up in the mountains, you are in another sprawling courtyard. In my experience, most cultural sites like this give one an appreciation for history, but rarely does one actually feel like he is stepping back into history. I am happy to report that Gyeongbok Palace was one of those latter places. The entire site was remarkably quiet considering its location in one of the busiest cities in the world. The towering skyscrapers in the distance were easy to forget about as I prowled around the grounds like an unwelcome spy. It was easy to get lost in the maze of hallways and buildings and suspect that just around the corner I was just as likely to run into petitioners lining up to see the king in the parade grounds, councilors urgently plotting betrayal behind the stables, or courtesans reflecting on their predicament on the banks of the compound's tranquil pond, as I was other gawking tourists. And even the other sightseers -- believe it or not -- for the most part took their phones off of their heads and strolled through the palace in what seemed like involuntary reverence.

  I was impressed by the palace's ability to integrate itself with the modern landscape of the city.

 Korea's number one market product...crowds of people!

 When we became separated, I was pathetically unable to explain to Tahirih what a pagoda was. (Ummm...it's like a wedding cake, but, like, with roofs?) Some English teacher...

 Restoring a little bit of history. I imagine this is the most picturesque place in the palace, when it's not covered with scaffolding, that is.

To add to the historical fun, every hour brought with it a traditional changing of the guard ceremony in the main plaza.

Lunch was a delicious and blissfully hot bowl of Shabu Shabu (hot-pot, named for the sound it makes when you stir it). It was terrible competition for the major league Shabu Shabu restaurant that I have across from my school (more on that in another post), but it did the trick for a cold winter day.

We spent the better part of the afternoon just walking around Seoul, meandering in the direction of Namsan -- the mountain in the center of the city -- and Seoul Tower. The hike seemed an exhausting prospect at this point in the day, so we opted for the cable car, which provided some great views of the city. Koreans couples have a tradition that is celebrated at the top of Namsan, where two people in love will bring up a pair of padlocks, lock them together on the railing of the observation deck, and throw the keys over the side. Kind of a cool tradition. I don't know how long this tradition has been going on, but they look to be running out of room very quickly...

We got to the top of the tower just as Seoul was lighting up, and got some stellar panoramic views of the sea of lights that is Seoul at night. Sadly, my camera takes abysmal night shots, especially through glass, so you'll just have to use your imagination. At least I got a nice one of Seoul Tower.

All in all, a great trip, but it became obvious that Seoul is much like New York. You could live there your whole life and still not see everything.

Thanksgiving in Korea

One of the things that most upset me about uprooting myself and moving across the globe was the fact that I had to miss out on all the holidays and family time, most notably Thanksgiving, the best holiday of them all. One of the advantages of Avalon, where I work, is that we have an abundant and robust staff of foreign teachers. This is not only good because it means there are plenty of native speakers to hang out with, but it also means that there are others to celebrate western traditions with. There is a pretty diverse sampling of nationalities at Avalon, so this was the first Thanksgiving for some of the non-Americans.

Living in the city is stifling, expensive, and frustrating, but I am willing to bet it is next to impossible to get a fully cooked turkey in rural Korea. Daegu, luckily, has a service that delivers a fully cooked turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce on the weekend following Thanksgiving. For only $100! What a bargain! We had people from all over the world coming, so we ordered two of them, and it only came out to about $16 a person, so not a bad deal after all. We had people from The States (of course), England, Canada, Scotland, Ireland, South Africa, and many of our Korean friends over. More than twenty people stopped by and brought their own food to share, so it was an excellent feast. My own contributions were a hit, thanks to Aunt Cindy for the recipes (everything came out exactly as it should!), and there were some excellent dishes from everyone. I also discovered that Paris Baguette (Korea's big bakery chain) makes a pretty decent garlic bread. That's a game-changer.

Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, potatoes au gratin, tons of vegetables, beef stew, salad, sweet potatoes, Korean noodles, and pumpkin pie. All of this within the limitations of two burners per apartment and no ovens. Remarkable! Tom, the Brit, was understandably excited for his first Thanksgiving.

Florida, Scotland, South Africa, Korea, Texas, Ireland, and Scotland. Pretty cool.

If I remember correctly, these were the effects of a tie-tying lesson gone horribly awry.

The aftermath. I can see why hosting Thanksgiving is such a big chore, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.

The day was filled with good food, good friends, new faces, and an excellent lesson in Korean obscenities. The only thing missing was family. And as hard as it was to be away from home, it just goes to show that with enough effort you can make home come to you (almost). Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check on the pot of turkey stew boiling in the kitchen.

Cheers! And Happy Thanksgiving to everyone back home.

Oppa Mozart Style

This past Saturday, Tom, Lisa and I decided to get a little culture at the Daegu Opera House. They were performing Don Giovanni for a mere $18, so it was too good to pass up. Of course, we got all spiffed up, as one does at the opera. When we arrived, though, we saw one or two other suits. Everyone else was in sweatshirts and sweatpants, so we stuck out even more than usual. It was okay though, because we looked damn good.

Koreans love few things more than taking pictures of themselves absolutely everywhere, so anywhere of consequence will have sickeningly tacky manufactured "photo zones." Even when we went to Gayasan National Park, there was signage specifically directing people to take pictures on this bridge or on that outcrop. God forbid you take any in another spot! This throne, though, was definitely the tackiest photo zone I've seen so far, so of course we had to utilize it.

The opera itself was a wonderful time. Our balcony seats didn't exactly offer the best viewpoint, but the price was right, and the show was grand. Don Giovanni is lighthearted and funny, and has some great music. It was very bizarre to see dozens of Koreans dancing around in Italian Renaissance costumes, especially since even Italian period dress is considered too revealing by Korea's current standards of modesty. Their Italian was top notch, though, and the dancing was especially funny. For the uninitiated (and if so, you must be living under a rock), Gangnam Style is a Korean Pop song that went viral worldwide a few months ago, and it is all the rage and a source of national pride here in the Hermit Kingdom. There is a scene in the opera where Giovanni and his servant Leporello are getting drunk, dancing, and singing about women. Leporello was cavorting around, waving his wine bottle, doing appropriately accurate dance moves, when he snuck in the Gangnam Style dance for nothing more than a second. He was very subtle about it, but the crowd went wild. It was a good moment.

I was also worried that the show wouldn't provide English subtitles, and that we would be hopelessly lost, but all my worry was for naught. Even better than English subtitles, we were provided with Korean subtitles and their Engrish equivalent. Tom posited that the young boy playing Young Don Giovanni was tasked with translating the play for his English Academy homework. In one particularly touching moment, when Donna Anna is bemoaning the death of her father and the pieces of her broken heart, her lover Don Ottavio gallantly informs her that "If you sad, my heart also is grieved centipede."

And what fancy dress up night would be complete without a trip to the casino? There are some perks to going to the casino in the States, but here they are much better. It is ostensibly illegal for Koreans to gamble, so the casino makes the bulk of their money from foreigners, meaning they are desperate for crowds. Our transport to the casino was paid for, and there were free drinks, fruit, and sandwiches for as long as you played table games and even well beyond. The place was kind of sad though, compared to other casinos I've seen. Being mostly foreigners, it looked so lonely and empty. I lost playing blackjack, but I came out ahead if all the free stuff was included.

A fancy night at the opera and the casino for only $55? Definitely a perk of living here.

Advisory Board

On a completely unrelated note, I want to take a moment to address any people who have stumbled across this blog in search of advice or firsthand experience regarding ESL in Korea. When I first began researching, the majority of good advice I found was located on blogs just like this one, and I am indebted to them for providing an extremely helpful and accurate picture of what I would be getting into. Furthermore, there is depth to the information on someone's year-long blog that you won't find on any recruiting website, and a refreshing lack of the bitterness and venom that you will find on Dave's ESL Cafe.

So, if there are any such readers, please don't be afraid to ask any questions you might have about what you will be getting yourself into. This is especially true if you live in the New York area, as I can give you a step by step on the documents process as well. I could always use fodder for new posts, but most of all I just want to be able to provide the same help that I garnered a few months ago.

A Whole New World of Advertisement

Here's how I imagine the interview for a Korean commercial actor goes:

Recruiter: Well, your qualifications look pretty good. Do you have any acting experience?
Applicant: No.
Recruiter: Well, can you look shocked at a bottle of fabric softener?
Applicant: I certainly can.
Recruiter: Can you be flabbergasted by a bowl of Ramen?
Applicant: Definitely.
Recruiter: Can you yell at household cleaning supplies?
Applicant: Are you kidding? I do that in my spare time!
Recruiter: Great, you're hired!

Daewonsa (Chuseok Part 2)

On our way out of Jirisan, we stopped by Daewonsa, a Buddhist temple right on the edge of the park. With the exception of Bangnyeonsa, in the foothills behind my apartment building, this was the least crowded temple I had seen since arriving here. This may have been due to the fact that it was a holiday, but it was peaceful and quiet, and had the added advantage of being much larger and more beautiful than Bangnyeonsa. Also, despite the gift shop and parking lot, Daewonsa seemed to me to have a much more traditional feel than the other temples I've visited. Perhaps there is a smaller portion of modern technology and comforts there. I like to think though, that the keepers of Daewonsa have simply done a better job of seamlessly integrating nature, tradition, and modernity.

Here is a photo just begging to be turned into an advertisement for Osprey Packs:

And a few more:

One of the temple buildings was also undergoing renovations, and visitors are able to help finance it. For a small donation, you are allowed to write your name and your wish or philosophy or motto on one of the tiles which will be used on new roof. Of course we had to make our marks. A Korean family was taking advantage of the incentive as well, and made us feel very inept and unsatisfied with our penmanship. The father's writing was so beautifully calligraphic and symmetrical, meanwhile we were struggling not to bleed the letters together and to get an entire sentence to fit on the tile. We blamed it on the broad-tipped markers, but perhaps Buddhist prayers just aren't meant to be written in the Roman alphabet. Here is our handiwork:

I keep hoping that I will catch wind of some information about a secluded Buddhist temple way up in the mountains in rural Korea, accessible only by foot, protected by an impenetrable barrier to all cell phone signals, and populated by enlightened and friendly monks. Unfortunately, a very large portion of the oldest Korean temples were destroyed during the Japanese occupation. Most of the temples are very well built and very beautifully painted, but some are not older than 50 years. It's even a more depressing story in China, I'm told, where temples are destroyed simply because they are relics of the past and because such tradition gets in the way of economic progress. Clearly, I am holding on to my own preconceived fantasies of medieval Asia. Furthermore, I am fast realizing that such solitude is not something easily attained in a country the size of Indiana with a population of 50 million people.

In the meantime, I can enjoy the temples for what they are: often beautiful and blissfully quiet (relatively speaking of course) retreats.

Hiking in Korea (Chuseok Part 1)

The first part of my Chuseok vacation was of course a trip to the mountain fastnesses of my new home. I've done a bit of day hiking around Daegu since I arrived, but this was to be my first overnight trip, and it had been far too long since I spent a night in the woods. So along with Tom and Lisa (two other teachers from Avalon) and Tahirih (a friend from Potsdam who is also teaching in Korea), I packed up my trusty Atmos 65 and headed off to Jirisan National Park.

Jirisan (also the name of the primary mountain in the Park) is Korea's oldest national park and home to Cheonwangbong, the highest peak in mainland Korea, at 6,283 feet. Jirisan is one of the country's most popular hiking destinations, and the 182 square mile park gets almost 300,000 visitors every year. That's 1,648 visitors for every square mile. Compare this to the Adirondack Park, which, though it gets an average of 8 million visitors a year, equals out to only 835 people per square mile. Needless to say, the first thing to go out the window when hiking in Korea is any illusion that you might be able to appreciate some solitude in the woods. As such, Chuseok (the Korean Thanksgiving) seemed like a perfect time to visit Jirisan. On Chuseok, nearly the entire country is busy visiting and feasting with relatives, so it is allegedly one of the only times you will be able to hike through the mountains without having to wait in line on the trails.

At the crack of dawn on Saturday, we took an express bus to the city of Jinju. The timetables and transfer points were a bit daunting, but it turns out that the bus system is not too difficult to navigate. In Jinju, there are buses running every hour (sometimes more frequently) to every one of the trailheads in Jirisan, of which there are almost a dozen. This is a major point for Korea. The public transportation system here is not only astoundingly efficient, cheap, and extensive, but it also seems that the accessibility of the wilderness is near mandatory.

Where I take points off is the lack of any semblance of true wilderness, and the crippling regulations. In Korean parks -- both provincial and national -- camping is only allowed at designated campsites (which are always immediately adjacent to parking lots and made to accommodate hundreds of people) or "shelters" within the park. These "shelters" are not shelters as I know them. Instead they are enormous buildings (thousands of feet up and miles into the woods, mind you) with floor heating, blankets for rent, a cooler full of drinks, Ramen for sale, toilets, urinals, a cordoned-off smoking section, cell phone chargers, and of course a 3G signal. You pay ₩ 7,000 (roughly $6.50) to share a cramped living space with anywhere from 12 to 100 other snoring people. The berths are no more than 2 feet wide, and women and men are forbidden from sleeping in the same rooms. The sounds of birds and bugs are virtually non-existent. Instead you hear K-Pop and loud, lengthy cell-phone conversations at your campsite.

If you'll pardon the temporary mounting of my high horse, I will say it's hard to get the camping experience that I'm used to in this environment. Where I come from, this is a shelter:

This is what I'd call a house:

It's also hard to get back to nature, as it were, when helicopter rescue is only a QR code away:

As far as the regulations, of course you aren't allowed to camp anywhere except the shelters, so it is unfortunately a choice between sharing your lodging with 50 snoring Koreans, or not staying in the park overnight. Fires are forbidden anywhere except the shelters. That includes stove fires, so you can forget about a hot victory lunch on the summit. You are also forbidden from hiking at night. Hiking hours are from two hours before sunrise to two hours after sunset. We chose to ignore this particular rule, in pursuit of a sunrise from Cheonwangbong. We got fogged out of the sunrise, but did get some spectacularly clear night hiking in anyway:

The downsides of the "shelters" notwithstanding, the park has absolutely beautiful scenery. The trails are a healthy mix of wooden and metal steps, roped up rock scrambles, and the the intense, vertical, scoff-at-even-the-idea-of-switchbacks type of terrain that I have come to know and love hiking in the Northeast U.S.

The views, thanks to the gorgeous fall weather, were stunning.

 

And here we are at the highest point in the Korean mainland:

I ended up revising the route several times before entering the park, after realizing, as I usually do, that I was far too ambitious at first. It was a good thing too, because the terrain was just as tough as any I've hiked. Our first day was 3.7 miles in to Saeseok Shelter, which took a lazy 5 or 6 hours. Our second day was 5.6 miles and five peaks in the course of 10 hours (with a long nap and breakfast in between). The third day was 4.2 miles, all downhill (and thankfully we picked the right way to go down, it would have been a nightmare in the other direction!). Our second night was spent at a much smaller, much less crowded, and much nicer shelter. The shelter had an amazing view, a considerably nicer manager, and a dog for a mascot. Overall, it was a much better experience the second night (though I still would have preferred to set up my tent or hammock somewhere else).

On Monday, we spent a lazy morning enjoying the sunrise from the picnic tables, and a nice Korean couple struck up a conversation with us. Koreans, as a rule, don't have the same hang-ups as we Americans do about friendly and even intimate conversations with strangers. We were offered food -- Korean barbecue with fresh meat and vegetables -- by no less than four other groups of hikers, and accepted graciously though we had nothing but paltry trail mix and oatmeal with which to reciprocate. This particular couple was excited to practice their English and advertise their camping shop on Goeje Island (which I will certainly have to make a point to visit).

All in all, Jirisan was an outstanding experience. The terrain was similar enough that I was right at home hiking it, but the scenery was sufficiently Asian, as I thought it. I imagined martial arts masters training under waterfalls that we passed and The Monkey King capering around on promontories not unlike the ones I was seeing. Fall, as we all know, is the best season to go hiking, and it is no different in Korea. The woods are beautiful, the temperature is perfect, the bugs are absent, and the trails are a bit less crowded.

I feel compelled to make a comparison between the hobby I love in The States and the one that has fast become the national pastime of Korea. Being an entirely mountainous country with a booming economy and middle class, the accessibility of hiking trails and parks is top notch. The public transportation system encourages both urban and rural people to take advantage of the outdoors, and the Koreans' enterprising and friendly nature make them excellent hikers and gear salespeople. However, a lot of what makes backpacking special for me seems not to exist here. There is little solitude, and none of the self-imposed exile from the trappings of civilization that gives me a new perspective on myself and the company I keep in the woods. It is not surprising that the parks have to be regulated in this way. In such a small, crowded country, I suppose my prejudices about space and wilderness from one of the largest nations on earth don't quite belong.

In any event, I am thrilled that Koreans have taken to the activity of hiking with the same enthusiasm that I have. Prepare to see many more picture-laden posts of my outdoor adventures.

Service

One particular aspect of Korean culture that I've grown rather fond of in my short time here is a thing called "service." It is, much like it sounds, an extra service by the proprietor or employee of an establishment for you, the good and loyal customer. This can range anywhere from a couple free bottles of Coke at the local barbecue place with dinner, to a free red bean donut at the bakery when you buy a coffee, to the situation I encountered earlier today.

This morning a Tom -- a fellow teacher -- and I went out to look for camping gear for Tom in preparation for our upcoming trip to Jirisan National Park. Those of you who had even a ten minute conversation with me anytime over the past two years know this is far from a chore for me, so I embraced it with my classic EMS-salesman-aplomb. Camping in Korea comes with a laundry list of regulations (I'll do a whole post on hiking and camping in Korea later), and actually one doesn't typically need as much technical gear as one would in The States. However, the essentials are still necessary, and Tom had few of them, so we went first to HomePlus -- essentially the Korean version of Wal-Mart -- and then to a smaller, sort of Mom & Pop camping store on the way home.

At HomePlus, we were treated to a variety of chintzy but cheap camping equipment. The salesman answered a few questions but didn't make too much of an effort, as we looked like we were just browsing. We moved on to the smaller shop, and the man staffing it was super helpful. I brought a cookset and a bottle of fuel up to him, and he told me the price. Surely that couldn't be right, I thought. I inquired as to whether or not my math was wrong. "No," he said. "This...20% off for you," he said, pointing to the cookset, and then, pointing to the gas, "and this...service." In other words, for free!

Was it because I was a foreigner? Who knows, but I can tell you I'll certainly go back for any more gear I'll need (and need more gear I will). After working at EMS for so long, and getting frustrated with every self-absorbed Upper West Side client who demands a discount, it is funny to be on the other side. However, I did not demand a discount, it was simply given to me. Perhaps because I'm just so handsome, who can tell?

Tom, meanwhile, was experiencing a serious case of sticker shock. The few pairs of boots in his size were quite expensive, so he left without getting anything (for now, at least). After we left and had walked probably 6 blocks down the street, the employee came rushing up on his bicycle, excitedly informing us that he could give Tom the boots for a mere $90, down from over $150. Still too much, but maybe next time. What a salesman!

Anachronism

Today marks the second time this week that I climbed into the Palgongsan Mountain Range to visit Gatbawi, or the Stone Hat Buddha. In spite of an hour and a half bus ride to the trailhead, I went solo on Tuesday and then climbed it again this morning with Matty, another teacher from Avalon. The Palgongsan Range stretches across a number of peaks for dozens of miles north of Daegu, and Gatbawi is located about 2,700 feet up on the easternmost accessible peak.

The pictures may make it look isolated, but it is impossible to go hiking in Korea and not have the company of at least a hundred other people along the way. There are a lot of people, and it is not a large peninsula. I remarked to Matty that the population of Daegu was about half of New York City, so the city itself was a little more breathing room than I was used to. He noted that the population of Daegu is more than all of Scotland combined. Perspective is key, truly.

I was lucky enough to make it there too early in the morning for the real crowds...

These photos may look nice now, but I suspect by the end of my year here, you will all be very tired of looking at pictures of temples.

I honestly don't quite know what my expectations were before coming out here, but nothing could have prepared me for the outright anachronism of mountain temples in Korea. Of course there is electricity and paved roads leading to many of them -- I am not that naive, but it's strange, standing on the summit, when you have this behind you:

And then in front of you, awash in the sound of Buddhist chanting coming from the mountain PA system, next to eight vending machines and a gift shop, are dozens of Korean hikers -- many of them devout Buddhists -- in their brightly colored, top of the line, the best that money can buy hiking clothes, with their cellphones and trekking poles in one hand and their Buddhist prayer beads in another.

In spite of all that, it is still a very peaceful place and an enjoyable hike. Perhaps Buddhists have just become too good at meditating and so the world is self-correcting by throwing as many distractions as possible at them. As I gazed out over the valley, the combination of the electric chanting, the invigorating smell of the mountain air and the pine forest, and the wind on my face brought me not a little bit of peace...and just as I was about to attain nirvana...someone on the temple grounds turned on a leafblower! Oh well, almost had it. Maybe next time. I will certainly be going back often.

The Gatbawi Buddha is allegedly supposed to bring you good health, but as Matty pointed out, it's probably the hour long, 2000 ft ascent that plays the major role in that. I will leave you with a shot of shot of the man himself: