Sunday, January 08, 2006
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
On Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays I have a four-class stretch of teaching extending between 1:30 and 4PM. The first two classes are 1-2P and 1-2A: Twenty minute helpings of hell at the hands of spoiled, loud, bored Korean eight-year-olds. A few of the kids are actually interested in English, but the sad majority rightly conclude that this sad sack of English nonsense squaking behind the podium is nothing more than an exotic babysitter, and they exploit the language barrier to the detriment of those who want to learn. Sometimes half of 1-2P can be found standing outside my classroom, arms in the air like captured insurgents, plotting their next misadventure.
Many of these miscreants carry nicknames constructed from the raw material of their exploits, like gangsters or Marines. In 1-2A there is Jong "Monster Chicken" Gwan, so named because upon being asked what color the cute animated mouse on page 24 is, he starts flapping his arms in the air and screaming like a chicken at the top of his lungs. In 1-2P there is the infamous Gyu "Moola" Jin. In the early days of my tenure in Korea, Gyu-jin liked nothing better than to calmly leave his seat, walk up to where I was writing on the chalkboard, and throw a steely fist into the vicenity of my groin just as I was asking him why he was out of his seat. Gyu-jin was nicknamed "Moola" because "Moola" is the Korean word for "I don't understand a damn thing you are saying." You can guess how many times Gyu-jin says that word. Some days it's the only word that leaves his mouth.
Between 1-2P and 1-2A is this inexplicable twenty-minute break. The normal break between classes lasts five minutes, just enough time to get a swig of water and a breath of air before starting the next class. In some ways I appreciate the break. I can go get a plate of dokpokki, or retrieve of forgotten roll book, or print a few backup crosswork puzzles. However, the long break between classes allows me just enough time to get thrown off guard by the next class. I leave 1-2P warmed up and ready for the next class, take the twenty minute break, allowing me just enough time to let my guard down, and then I get clobbered by 1-2A.
A few days a week in December I didn't have any notebooks to retrieve, puzzles to print or dokpokki to eat, so I would spend the time idling in the lobby. I'd try to spark a conversation with the receptionists, who would use the handy language barrier to disengage me and return to browsing clothes online. Most days the cleaning lady, Bok-shim, ambles out of either the boys or girls bathroom with a bucket and a mop grasped in her old hands, which are protected by arm-length pink rubber gloves stained orange at the fingers with prolonged use. Despite being only three sentences long, my daily interaction with Bok-shim is always a warm, friendly experience.
"Annyong Haseyo, Bok-shim," I say and smile sheepishly. She sets her cleaning impliments down by the water fountain.
"Neh, neh," she allows. "Annyong Haseyo," she says and returns my smile while taking off her big pink gloves, her wrinkled face a picture of perfect contentment and patience.
"Bon gap sumnida," I continue, knowing my Korean is much too polite to use with Bok-shim, as we are well-acquainted. "Neh, neh. Bon gap sumnida," she responds knowingly.
"Onil Kibuni Joayo?" I ask. Back when I first said this Bok-shim's mouth dropped open like a broken pickup truck tailgate and she began laughing. I live for that laugh. It is not a laugh of mockery or embarrassment, it is the joyful laughter of a good teacher enjoying watching her student learn. I can hear the years of Bok-shim's employment with ESS in that soft chuckle, and when she laughs I can feel the presence of the dozens of Native Speakers who have stood in front of this pink-gloved sage and practiced their newfound Korean language skills.
Usually following this daily exchange I try experimenting with a few new phrases I am trying to learn. Bok-shim listens and corrects me or gives me that reassuring laugh and responds. The response usually stumps me and Bok-shim spends the next few minutes trying to break it down for me. That's the problem with learning a new language: You can pick up a phrase book and ask how to get to the grocery store, and you'll probably get an answer, but you won't be any closer to finding the grocery store.
Gavin is the only other denizen of the twenty-minute break, emerging from 1-2B a few minutes before or after I leave 1-2P. He grins as I round the corner, "Moola" and Dong-ook shouting "Mr. Jones! Mr. Jones!" after me. We stand by the water cooler, trade war stories from the previous classes, relate any new phrases we've picked up, and watch each other's stuff while one or both of us runs upstairs to get whatever we've forgotten. Children walk quickly past us, mumbling a quick "hello teacher," or "hello Mr. Averill/Jones," as they race to get a few minutes of free time with their friends before class begins.
I feel like a schoolyard bully: Standing by the water cooler, guarding the only way into and out of the hall leading to class. Don't worry, I'm not stealing anybody's lunch money. Instead, I'm harrassing them to correct their English or shouting "hey! How are You?" after them. I know most of the miscreants and the overachievers by heart. It's the average kids who slip through the system without incident that I don't know by name. They walk by, uttering a terse "hello teacher," and I'll recognize their face but I won't know from where or what name to put with that face.
Mr. Kim had a New Year's ceremony on Friday night with the children in the Best Jr. program (middle schoolers). They met in the auditorium around 5PM, lit candles, and listened to a long speech by Mr. Kim. Then they wrote long essays (in English, of course) about their New Years resolutions. Gavin and I took a few photos and I shot some footage with my video camcorder.
The above photo is curtesy of Gavin Averill.
After they had written the letters and Mr. Kim gave another speech, they all walked up to the stage and pushed their candles onto metal spikes in the shape of ESS.
It was all highly orchestrated, of course.
After everyone had skewered their candle, the top Best Jr. students (some of which I recognized as being the worst English-speakers in the school) gathered around the wax bonfire and blew it out.
As it was the week before New Years, I gave into my cornball impulse and asked the kids in my better classes to write about their hopes and dreams for 2006, as well as their resolutions. My results were so consistant I thought the children were copying off of one another. A few examples:
"I want to be taller than now."
"I will be a kind girl."
"I will study hard."
"I hope I win a good grade in my exam. Please."
"I want my family to have health New Year."
"I will spend money for sell a phone."
"I'll not play computer much more."
A few exceptions to the rule:
"I want magic school to invite me." --Harry Potter fan in Advanced Three.
"I hope my brother has good Navy life."
"I think Santa is a very bad man."
"I hope to have many goldfishes."
"I hope Korea win World Cup."
"I want my father to resolve to come home early in 2006 so we can play."
"I want my mother to resolve to make me happy with money in 2006."
"I wish grandpa give me the gum."
Me too. Grandpa was always stingy with the gum. What's with that, anyway? Well, that about does it for...Oh, wait! Almost forgot! From the country that resolved for 2006 to more better be Engrish go...The Korean Files!
"Narco the Thinking Dog" ...Takes on crime with the help of his trusty sidekick, Boozehound! --Pencilcase.
"Hear salon" ...I don't want to know what they cut there. --Hair salon.
"Exclusively Professional" ...If you don't have enough money there's an ajumma out back with a weedwacker. --Hair salon.
"Design club fancy polio" ...For the stylishly crippled. --Pencilcase.
Well now, with the students' New Years resolutions, you've had an extra-large helping of Korean Files! I hope you enjoyed it. In 2006 I resolve to be a better teacher, blogger, son, friend, and God (to the tiny inhabitants of my stomach lining). I resolve to exercise more, motorcycle less, and always give my bus seat to someone in need of a place to put their ass. I would resolve to eat better, but I'm in Korea. I have to WORK to find unhealthy food here. Until next week, friends. Peace. --Notes
Many of these miscreants carry nicknames constructed from the raw material of their exploits, like gangsters or Marines. In 1-2A there is Jong "Monster Chicken" Gwan, so named because upon being asked what color the cute animated mouse on page 24 is, he starts flapping his arms in the air and screaming like a chicken at the top of his lungs. In 1-2P there is the infamous Gyu "Moola" Jin. In the early days of my tenure in Korea, Gyu-jin liked nothing better than to calmly leave his seat, walk up to where I was writing on the chalkboard, and throw a steely fist into the vicenity of my groin just as I was asking him why he was out of his seat. Gyu-jin was nicknamed "Moola" because "Moola" is the Korean word for "I don't understand a damn thing you are saying." You can guess how many times Gyu-jin says that word. Some days it's the only word that leaves his mouth.
Between 1-2P and 1-2A is this inexplicable twenty-minute break. The normal break between classes lasts five minutes, just enough time to get a swig of water and a breath of air before starting the next class. In some ways I appreciate the break. I can go get a plate of dokpokki, or retrieve of forgotten roll book, or print a few backup crosswork puzzles. However, the long break between classes allows me just enough time to get thrown off guard by the next class. I leave 1-2P warmed up and ready for the next class, take the twenty minute break, allowing me just enough time to let my guard down, and then I get clobbered by 1-2A.
A few days a week in December I didn't have any notebooks to retrieve, puzzles to print or dokpokki to eat, so I would spend the time idling in the lobby. I'd try to spark a conversation with the receptionists, who would use the handy language barrier to disengage me and return to browsing clothes online. Most days the cleaning lady, Bok-shim, ambles out of either the boys or girls bathroom with a bucket and a mop grasped in her old hands, which are protected by arm-length pink rubber gloves stained orange at the fingers with prolonged use. Despite being only three sentences long, my daily interaction with Bok-shim is always a warm, friendly experience.
"Annyong Haseyo, Bok-shim," I say and smile sheepishly. She sets her cleaning impliments down by the water fountain.
"Neh, neh," she allows. "Annyong Haseyo," she says and returns my smile while taking off her big pink gloves, her wrinkled face a picture of perfect contentment and patience.
"Bon gap sumnida," I continue, knowing my Korean is much too polite to use with Bok-shim, as we are well-acquainted. "Neh, neh. Bon gap sumnida," she responds knowingly.
"Onil Kibuni Joayo?" I ask. Back when I first said this Bok-shim's mouth dropped open like a broken pickup truck tailgate and she began laughing. I live for that laugh. It is not a laugh of mockery or embarrassment, it is the joyful laughter of a good teacher enjoying watching her student learn. I can hear the years of Bok-shim's employment with ESS in that soft chuckle, and when she laughs I can feel the presence of the dozens of Native Speakers who have stood in front of this pink-gloved sage and practiced their newfound Korean language skills.
Usually following this daily exchange I try experimenting with a few new phrases I am trying to learn. Bok-shim listens and corrects me or gives me that reassuring laugh and responds. The response usually stumps me and Bok-shim spends the next few minutes trying to break it down for me. That's the problem with learning a new language: You can pick up a phrase book and ask how to get to the grocery store, and you'll probably get an answer, but you won't be any closer to finding the grocery store.
Gavin is the only other denizen of the twenty-minute break, emerging from 1-2B a few minutes before or after I leave 1-2P. He grins as I round the corner, "Moola" and Dong-ook shouting "Mr. Jones! Mr. Jones!" after me. We stand by the water cooler, trade war stories from the previous classes, relate any new phrases we've picked up, and watch each other's stuff while one or both of us runs upstairs to get whatever we've forgotten. Children walk quickly past us, mumbling a quick "hello teacher," or "hello Mr. Averill/Jones," as they race to get a few minutes of free time with their friends before class begins.
I feel like a schoolyard bully: Standing by the water cooler, guarding the only way into and out of the hall leading to class. Don't worry, I'm not stealing anybody's lunch money. Instead, I'm harrassing them to correct their English or shouting "hey! How are You?" after them. I know most of the miscreants and the overachievers by heart. It's the average kids who slip through the system without incident that I don't know by name. They walk by, uttering a terse "hello teacher," and I'll recognize their face but I won't know from where or what name to put with that face.
Mr. Kim had a New Year's ceremony on Friday night with the children in the Best Jr. program (middle schoolers). They met in the auditorium around 5PM, lit candles, and listened to a long speech by Mr. Kim. Then they wrote long essays (in English, of course) about their New Years resolutions. Gavin and I took a few photos and I shot some footage with my video camcorder.
The above photo is curtesy of Gavin Averill.
After they had written the letters and Mr. Kim gave another speech, they all walked up to the stage and pushed their candles onto metal spikes in the shape of ESS.
It was all highly orchestrated, of course.
After everyone had skewered their candle, the top Best Jr. students (some of which I recognized as being the worst English-speakers in the school) gathered around the wax bonfire and blew it out.
As it was the week before New Years, I gave into my cornball impulse and asked the kids in my better classes to write about their hopes and dreams for 2006, as well as their resolutions. My results were so consistant I thought the children were copying off of one another. A few examples:
"I want to be taller than now."
"I will be a kind girl."
"I will study hard."
"I hope I win a good grade in my exam. Please."
"I want my family to have health New Year."
"I will spend money for sell a phone."
"I'll not play computer much more."
A few exceptions to the rule:
"I want magic school to invite me." --Harry Potter fan in Advanced Three.
"I hope my brother has good Navy life."
"I think Santa is a very bad man."
"I hope to have many goldfishes."
"I hope Korea win World Cup."
"I want my father to resolve to come home early in 2006 so we can play."
"I want my mother to resolve to make me happy with money in 2006."
"I wish grandpa give me the gum."
Me too. Grandpa was always stingy with the gum. What's with that, anyway? Well, that about does it for...Oh, wait! Almost forgot! From the country that resolved for 2006 to more better be Engrish go...The Korean Files!
"Narco the Thinking Dog" ...Takes on crime with the help of his trusty sidekick, Boozehound! --Pencilcase.
"Hear salon" ...I don't want to know what they cut there. --Hair salon.
"Exclusively Professional" ...If you don't have enough money there's an ajumma out back with a weedwacker. --Hair salon.
"Design club fancy polio" ...For the stylishly crippled. --Pencilcase.
Well now, with the students' New Years resolutions, you've had an extra-large helping of Korean Files! I hope you enjoyed it. In 2006 I resolve to be a better teacher, blogger, son, friend, and God (to the tiny inhabitants of my stomach lining). I resolve to exercise more, motorcycle less, and always give my bus seat to someone in need of a place to put their ass. I would resolve to eat better, but I'm in Korea. I have to WORK to find unhealthy food here. Until next week, friends. Peace. --Notes
Monday, January 02, 2006
You know, in many ways, people from very different societies can be surprisingly similar. Take Mississippi and compare it to Korea and you uncover a shocking pattern of cultural homogeneity. Since it is the New Year, and since most Western societies take the New Year much too seriously, pretty much world wide you can bet the day after, day of, day before, or the entire week leading up to and maybe even following New Years Day is going to be time away from work. What do people in Mississippi do when they get a day off?
You guessed it. Load the wife and kids into the Humvee, buy a cup of worms, drop your line in the water and forget about the world as you sip cold Budweiser by the pine-lined edge of a calm lake.
Well, in Korea the story isn't much different. Load the wife and kids onto your 125cc scooter, buy a cup of shrimp, drop your line in the water and forget about the world as you sip cold soju by the sheer granite shores of a tempestuous sea.
You can fish to your hearts content while the kids play in the tidal pools and your wife baits hooks on a nearby rock outcropping.
I made these photos while climbing around Amnam Park down around the southern tip of Pusan. As it is a new year and all, I decided to explore a part of the city that has remained a mystery for the past four months (Jesus, I've been here four months): Songdo.
Songdo is home to one of the oldest beaches in the city and many of my students live there, too. The first day of the year was unusually warm I thought to myself as I mounted my trusty steed (a $200 125cc Daelim Ninja) and sped off towards Nampo-dong. The traffic was light and friendly for once, and I crossed the old bridge without incident and turned southwest on my own for the first time since arriving here.
The tall buildings, traffic and cornicopia of flashing neon lights of Nampo-dong abruptly ended where the main road veered right towards Saha. To my left was the harbor, blocked by factory buildings, cranes, and smokestacks. To my right the modest neighborhoods of Songdo crept up the ridge of an unnamed mountain. My first glimpse of Songdo beach revealed the tiny figures of dozens of fishermen crowding the breakwaters extending into the harbor. They moved like ants against a backdrop of freighters in the harbor.
Down at the beach families took advantage of the break in the weather and wandered along the beach, the sunlight warming their skin. Old ajummas haunted the boardwalk, hocking dokpokki and icecream to hungry children.
A woman and her children attempted to fly a kite, but the sheltered beach was utterly devoid of atmospheric pressure deviations, and the flimsy, tailless plastic kite wouldn't go anywhere but down.
After a brief stop by the convenience store for water and an energy drink, I continued on my exploration of the southwestern tip of the city. The road from Songdo wound around the steep-sided mountain on it's southern side and deposited me in a shallow gap with a parking lot full of cars. I parked the bike and got off to investigate. It turns out I had stumbled across the famed Amnam Park, built December 30, 1972. At 562,500 square meters, it is one of the largest parks in Pusan, and sports a maze of well-groomed walking paths. I walked them for an hour or two, stopping to take the above photographs of people fishing.
As the sun began to fall lower in the sky, I set course for the last stop on my New Year's journey: Dadaepo. During her time here, Julie had pointed out Dadaepo many times on the map as we traveled around the city. It was hard to get to conventionally, being far from any train station, and to get there on foot would mean walking five kilometers or more on foot down the road running along the Nakdong River. The bike presented the solution, provided the weather was warm enough, and on New Years day just such a situation presented itself.
I sped along the long, wide road towards Dadaepo at a brisk 80KPH. At that speed the wind finds every tiny open crevice in my jacket, freezing the skin around my wrists, ankles, and neck. If had been even five degrees colder, the trip would have been impossible as frostbite would have set in around Nampo-dong. As it was, my body was happy to dismount the bike and begin walking some warmpth back into my limps upon arriving at Dadaepo.
Far from being empty, Dadaepo was alive with human presence. Couples and families crossed the wide expanse of dunes standing between the dokpokki stands and the waters' edge to take in the sunset and watch paraglider buzz overhead. In many places the sand was hard enough to bike on and on more than one occasion I saw a father or mother teaching a child how to ride a bicycle.
The scenes of people out and about in Busan reminded me of the Impressionist paintings I saw in my High School art history textbooks: French families sitting under willow trees by the Seine enjoying a kite, a blanket with bree and crackers, and the warm sunshine on their faces. All in all, I had to hand it to the Koreans: They know how to relax. They work hard, and when they get a break, they get outside and spend valuble time with their families. I admired their dedication to one another and the enterprising nature of their free time.
Well, that's the second installment of my blog. Tomorrow I will discuss developments at ESS and Mr. Kim's celebration of the New Year. I'll have some of the student's New Years resolutions, plus mine, and a whole lot more photos. Stay tuned, because Sokonotes doesn't stop here. The story goes on! Peace. --Notes
You guessed it. Load the wife and kids into the Humvee, buy a cup of worms, drop your line in the water and forget about the world as you sip cold Budweiser by the pine-lined edge of a calm lake.
Well, in Korea the story isn't much different. Load the wife and kids onto your 125cc scooter, buy a cup of shrimp, drop your line in the water and forget about the world as you sip cold soju by the sheer granite shores of a tempestuous sea.
You can fish to your hearts content while the kids play in the tidal pools and your wife baits hooks on a nearby rock outcropping.
I made these photos while climbing around Amnam Park down around the southern tip of Pusan. As it is a new year and all, I decided to explore a part of the city that has remained a mystery for the past four months (Jesus, I've been here four months): Songdo.
Songdo is home to one of the oldest beaches in the city and many of my students live there, too. The first day of the year was unusually warm I thought to myself as I mounted my trusty steed (a $200 125cc Daelim Ninja) and sped off towards Nampo-dong. The traffic was light and friendly for once, and I crossed the old bridge without incident and turned southwest on my own for the first time since arriving here.
The tall buildings, traffic and cornicopia of flashing neon lights of Nampo-dong abruptly ended where the main road veered right towards Saha. To my left was the harbor, blocked by factory buildings, cranes, and smokestacks. To my right the modest neighborhoods of Songdo crept up the ridge of an unnamed mountain. My first glimpse of Songdo beach revealed the tiny figures of dozens of fishermen crowding the breakwaters extending into the harbor. They moved like ants against a backdrop of freighters in the harbor.
Down at the beach families took advantage of the break in the weather and wandered along the beach, the sunlight warming their skin. Old ajummas haunted the boardwalk, hocking dokpokki and icecream to hungry children.
A woman and her children attempted to fly a kite, but the sheltered beach was utterly devoid of atmospheric pressure deviations, and the flimsy, tailless plastic kite wouldn't go anywhere but down.
After a brief stop by the convenience store for water and an energy drink, I continued on my exploration of the southwestern tip of the city. The road from Songdo wound around the steep-sided mountain on it's southern side and deposited me in a shallow gap with a parking lot full of cars. I parked the bike and got off to investigate. It turns out I had stumbled across the famed Amnam Park, built December 30, 1972. At 562,500 square meters, it is one of the largest parks in Pusan, and sports a maze of well-groomed walking paths. I walked them for an hour or two, stopping to take the above photographs of people fishing.
As the sun began to fall lower in the sky, I set course for the last stop on my New Year's journey: Dadaepo. During her time here, Julie had pointed out Dadaepo many times on the map as we traveled around the city. It was hard to get to conventionally, being far from any train station, and to get there on foot would mean walking five kilometers or more on foot down the road running along the Nakdong River. The bike presented the solution, provided the weather was warm enough, and on New Years day just such a situation presented itself.
I sped along the long, wide road towards Dadaepo at a brisk 80KPH. At that speed the wind finds every tiny open crevice in my jacket, freezing the skin around my wrists, ankles, and neck. If had been even five degrees colder, the trip would have been impossible as frostbite would have set in around Nampo-dong. As it was, my body was happy to dismount the bike and begin walking some warmpth back into my limps upon arriving at Dadaepo.
Far from being empty, Dadaepo was alive with human presence. Couples and families crossed the wide expanse of dunes standing between the dokpokki stands and the waters' edge to take in the sunset and watch paraglider buzz overhead. In many places the sand was hard enough to bike on and on more than one occasion I saw a father or mother teaching a child how to ride a bicycle.
The scenes of people out and about in Busan reminded me of the Impressionist paintings I saw in my High School art history textbooks: French families sitting under willow trees by the Seine enjoying a kite, a blanket with bree and crackers, and the warm sunshine on their faces. All in all, I had to hand it to the Koreans: They know how to relax. They work hard, and when they get a break, they get outside and spend valuble time with their families. I admired their dedication to one another and the enterprising nature of their free time.
Well, that's the second installment of my blog. Tomorrow I will discuss developments at ESS and Mr. Kim's celebration of the New Year. I'll have some of the student's New Years resolutions, plus mine, and a whole lot more photos. Stay tuned, because Sokonotes doesn't stop here. The story goes on! Peace. --Notes
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Time moves so fast. All the days go by in a blur of moments. My fourteenth birthday. High school graduation. Halloween 2004. Where do all the moments go? They seem to pile up on one another until I can't remember if I dated Suzanne before Katherine or if I was eleven when Santa Claus stopped putting legos under the tree at Christmas. That's why a camera is truly a wonderful machine. Press a button and make a document proving that you were there eating that with them on her birthday. Cameras bring the blurry moments of life into sharp focus, provided the moments themselves weren't blurred, as in the case of New Years 2006.
I don't normally lead the blog with the worst photo on my camera, but you see it works well with that clever bit about "blurry" life moments and the whole "moments themselves being blurred" thing and, well...Right. It's a terrible photograph; however, in place of being visually pleasing (which it's not), it is very existencially pleasing (at least to me). Shall I continue?
At the very moment that my brain sent a pulse of energy racing down the nerve cords in my arm to pull a muscle in my finger and hold down that little plastic button on the camera the large group of (mostly) intoxicated people packed into Yongdusan Park with me erupted into riotous cheering as the clock struck midnight and 2005 disappeared forever. My camera was set to a ridiculously slow shutter speed, wide open, held over my head when the crowd roared and convulsed, knocking me back and creating the blurred image above. I didn't get off another frame for another five hectic minutes as I scrambled and cursed my way to the safety of a nearby tree trunk, so not only is this photo wretched, it is also the first photograph I made in 2006.
My second frame was a little better. I call this one, "Drunken Idiots on Historical Marker."
These intoxicated revelers were sitting on the very spot I had intended on climbing myself. However, I was thwarted by the crowd and they beat me to it. I got to the seven-foot vertical slab of rock just as they were scaling it's rocky face. Their girlfriend bitched at them in this distinctive, helplessly feminine high-pitched whine as they dragged her by the arms into their impromptu box seat for the ringing of the Bell.
Ah, the Bell, the only real reason I came to Yongdusan Park to freeze to death in a claustrophobia-inducing crowd while I could have been partying in a warm bar in Kaeunsungdae.
Yongdusan Park does not normally play host to crowds of this volume and density. This quiet park resides on the summit of Yongdusan Mountain, itself nothing more than a gently-graded, tree-covered hill rising out of bustling Nampo-dong. Old men gather like pigeons under the eunheng trees and toss back swigs of liquor while they play endless rounds of GO and Chinese chess. A few tourists walk around a clock wreathed in flowers and take half-hearted snapshots of Busan Tower, rising like a sceptor a few hundred feet into the sky. A large brass statue of the famous General Yi, Sun-shin silently gazes east as if still watching the horizon for the Japanese fleet he defeated hundreds of years earlier with his ingeniously armored warships. To the right of the tourists, hanging from a beefy piece of timber in a Buddhist-style gazeebo is the Bell.
Huge, brass, guarded only by social convention and four red ropes, the Bell hangs soundlessly day in and day out. According to the Busan History museum, the Japanese cast and installed it during the occupation early in the twentieth century. They would ring it every morning to wake the surrounding proventials. That must have been obnoxious.
"Bong! Bong! Bong! Time to wake up and serve your master! Bong! Bong! Bong!"
Every time I go through Yongdusan Park I have to fight the urge to leap over the red rope, grab the huge wooden log hanging from the rafters of the gazeebo and slam it with all my might into the great Bell. Oh, what a magnificent sound it must make, I think to myself as I walk quickly past. All the cliche images I have seen of monks doing just that in movies and in advertising always pop into my head. I want to ring that bell, or at the very least, hear the magical, ancient sound up close. New Year's Eve was my one chance.
Gavin and I searched dispondantly for a bar in Nampo-dong, settling on an overlit, overpriced hof near the movie theater. For 8,000 won we got two Buds and no buzz and so we left around 11:30 and set course for Yongdusan Park. Rivers of people fill every conduit into the park, pushing and shoving their way drunkenly up the stairs. Security was there mostly to keep the Bell safe and to prevent the crowd from going nuts. That's the Bell's house framing his head.
I apologize for not getting a better photo of the bell. I was tired, sick, and the Bell wasn't lit properly. I did, however, get a soundbyte of it ringing in the new year. It will be on the public folder of my iDisk for all to download and enjoy. Go to the following URL and look for the file in the list simply called "NewYearsBell."
http://homepage.mac.com/fotonotes/
Onward.
The rivers of people became a sea, and I lost track of Gavin as I was swallowed up in the tumult. I headed for the high ground and discovered it wasn't high enough. People literally covered every square inch of space. As it got closer and closer to midnight, people began climbing anything they could find to get a better vantage point to see the ringing of the Bell.
As I said before, I too, tried to brachiate my way towards better photographs, but we all now know what came of that. I was just in the middle of setting my camera's shutter and aperture when the countdown began.
Shib...Guk...Pal...Chil...
My brain started shouting at me frantically.
"Ahhhhhhh!!! I can't see anything! Must...Get...Closer!!!" Raise the camera! Raise the camera!
As the clock ticked down, all the Koreans who couldn't see raised their cellphones into the air and flipped on the built-in cameras.
The tiny autofocus-assit lights on the hundreds of phones flashed and blinked and the whole crowd appeared to me like a massive flock of electronic ostriches craning their necks to see something in the distance. I, too, raised my camera just as the clock struck midnight. My brain sent the nerve signal. The Koreans wents nuts. I vaguely remember a cloud of pastel-colored balloons briefly filling the sky over Yongdusan. The Bell rung. The crowd cheered. Hello 2006.
All told, it was both one of the most interesting and one of the most anti-climatic New Years I have ever had. Strangly, the photograph I took will record this memory as a blur, but the memory will probably remain crisp and sharp for a long time to come. Much has come to pass in the last few years of my life, tasks have been set before me and much has become clear through the lens of experience and age. Some of these I can talk about in this blog, such as my career goals, and others run too deep to surface here. Suffice it to say that being unmarried, in my mid-twenties, without a home or a career runs counter to alot of my cultural upbringing. From the whole "American Dream" perspective, I'm a failure. On the other hand, expectations get you only what you expected, and I expect more from life. I don't know exactly what I mean by that just yet, but I hope to figure it out soon.
Anyway, look for more updates and photos in the next two days. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Peace. --Notes
I don't normally lead the blog with the worst photo on my camera, but you see it works well with that clever bit about "blurry" life moments and the whole "moments themselves being blurred" thing and, well...Right. It's a terrible photograph; however, in place of being visually pleasing (which it's not), it is very existencially pleasing (at least to me). Shall I continue?
At the very moment that my brain sent a pulse of energy racing down the nerve cords in my arm to pull a muscle in my finger and hold down that little plastic button on the camera the large group of (mostly) intoxicated people packed into Yongdusan Park with me erupted into riotous cheering as the clock struck midnight and 2005 disappeared forever. My camera was set to a ridiculously slow shutter speed, wide open, held over my head when the crowd roared and convulsed, knocking me back and creating the blurred image above. I didn't get off another frame for another five hectic minutes as I scrambled and cursed my way to the safety of a nearby tree trunk, so not only is this photo wretched, it is also the first photograph I made in 2006.
My second frame was a little better. I call this one, "Drunken Idiots on Historical Marker."
These intoxicated revelers were sitting on the very spot I had intended on climbing myself. However, I was thwarted by the crowd and they beat me to it. I got to the seven-foot vertical slab of rock just as they were scaling it's rocky face. Their girlfriend bitched at them in this distinctive, helplessly feminine high-pitched whine as they dragged her by the arms into their impromptu box seat for the ringing of the Bell.
Ah, the Bell, the only real reason I came to Yongdusan Park to freeze to death in a claustrophobia-inducing crowd while I could have been partying in a warm bar in Kaeunsungdae.
Yongdusan Park does not normally play host to crowds of this volume and density. This quiet park resides on the summit of Yongdusan Mountain, itself nothing more than a gently-graded, tree-covered hill rising out of bustling Nampo-dong. Old men gather like pigeons under the eunheng trees and toss back swigs of liquor while they play endless rounds of GO and Chinese chess. A few tourists walk around a clock wreathed in flowers and take half-hearted snapshots of Busan Tower, rising like a sceptor a few hundred feet into the sky. A large brass statue of the famous General Yi, Sun-shin silently gazes east as if still watching the horizon for the Japanese fleet he defeated hundreds of years earlier with his ingeniously armored warships. To the right of the tourists, hanging from a beefy piece of timber in a Buddhist-style gazeebo is the Bell.
Huge, brass, guarded only by social convention and four red ropes, the Bell hangs soundlessly day in and day out. According to the Busan History museum, the Japanese cast and installed it during the occupation early in the twentieth century. They would ring it every morning to wake the surrounding proventials. That must have been obnoxious.
"Bong! Bong! Bong! Time to wake up and serve your master! Bong! Bong! Bong!"
Every time I go through Yongdusan Park I have to fight the urge to leap over the red rope, grab the huge wooden log hanging from the rafters of the gazeebo and slam it with all my might into the great Bell. Oh, what a magnificent sound it must make, I think to myself as I walk quickly past. All the cliche images I have seen of monks doing just that in movies and in advertising always pop into my head. I want to ring that bell, or at the very least, hear the magical, ancient sound up close. New Year's Eve was my one chance.
Gavin and I searched dispondantly for a bar in Nampo-dong, settling on an overlit, overpriced hof near the movie theater. For 8,000 won we got two Buds and no buzz and so we left around 11:30 and set course for Yongdusan Park. Rivers of people fill every conduit into the park, pushing and shoving their way drunkenly up the stairs. Security was there mostly to keep the Bell safe and to prevent the crowd from going nuts. That's the Bell's house framing his head.
I apologize for not getting a better photo of the bell. I was tired, sick, and the Bell wasn't lit properly. I did, however, get a soundbyte of it ringing in the new year. It will be on the public folder of my iDisk for all to download and enjoy. Go to the following URL and look for the file in the list simply called "NewYearsBell."
http://homepage.mac.com/fotonotes/
Onward.
The rivers of people became a sea, and I lost track of Gavin as I was swallowed up in the tumult. I headed for the high ground and discovered it wasn't high enough. People literally covered every square inch of space. As it got closer and closer to midnight, people began climbing anything they could find to get a better vantage point to see the ringing of the Bell.
As I said before, I too, tried to brachiate my way towards better photographs, but we all now know what came of that. I was just in the middle of setting my camera's shutter and aperture when the countdown began.
Shib...Guk...Pal...Chil...
My brain started shouting at me frantically.
"Ahhhhhhh!!! I can't see anything! Must...Get...Closer!!!" Raise the camera! Raise the camera!
As the clock ticked down, all the Koreans who couldn't see raised their cellphones into the air and flipped on the built-in cameras.
The tiny autofocus-assit lights on the hundreds of phones flashed and blinked and the whole crowd appeared to me like a massive flock of electronic ostriches craning their necks to see something in the distance. I, too, raised my camera just as the clock struck midnight. My brain sent the nerve signal. The Koreans wents nuts. I vaguely remember a cloud of pastel-colored balloons briefly filling the sky over Yongdusan. The Bell rung. The crowd cheered. Hello 2006.
All told, it was both one of the most interesting and one of the most anti-climatic New Years I have ever had. Strangly, the photograph I took will record this memory as a blur, but the memory will probably remain crisp and sharp for a long time to come. Much has come to pass in the last few years of my life, tasks have been set before me and much has become clear through the lens of experience and age. Some of these I can talk about in this blog, such as my career goals, and others run too deep to surface here. Suffice it to say that being unmarried, in my mid-twenties, without a home or a career runs counter to alot of my cultural upbringing. From the whole "American Dream" perspective, I'm a failure. On the other hand, expectations get you only what you expected, and I expect more from life. I don't know exactly what I mean by that just yet, but I hope to figure it out soon.
Anyway, look for more updates and photos in the next two days. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Peace. --Notes
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