To celebrate the beginning of a new calendar year, I convinced a group of 9 intrepid English teachers in Pohang to jump in the ocean on January 2nd. It was a blast, and not as torturous as you might expect swimming in freezing water to be. After we got out, we were all quite exhilarated and happy, and only mildly cold.
Pohang Polar Plunge 2011 from jonnyontheroad on Vimeo.
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Friday, January 07, 2011
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Happy New Year!
I celebrated the start of 2011 by climbing Jirisan to watch the sunrise.
Here's a video:
Sunrise on the Summit from Jonny ontheroad on Vimeo.
Here's a video:
Sunrise on the Summit from Jonny ontheroad on Vimeo.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Laos - Vientiane I
We landed in Vientiane after dark on Christmas Day, and the landscape looked desolate from the window, and black. With a population of around 6 million, Laos is one of the world's least densely populated countries. Even the biggest cities - Vientiane, Luang Prabang - have the feel of another country's rural towns. The airport in the country's capital was small; we exited the plane from a staircase wheeled to the door. Two government officials sat behind plain, worn wooden desks to collect our passports and money for the visa. Neither wore a smile above their faded, drab olive, one-size-too-small military shirts, the kind of shirt that, when i was a kid, hung in the back of my dad's closet after 4 years of US army service in the 70's. Now they are the standard dress of 3rd world military regiments and low-level communist party officials.
The streets seemed deserted on the short walk to our guest house. Though the country-wide 11 o'clock curfew hadn't fallen yet, few people were about. One local bar still sounded quite lively, and closer to the center of town, just before the city abuts the Mekong, a handful of tourists glided past on bicycles and sipped Beer Lao on cafe patios. The night was quiet.
We booked a room at Saysouly Guesthouse for 90,000 kip (11USD at the time). From outside it was very ordinary looking, but walking into the upstairs interior felt like entering a hotel from the French colonial age. The dark chestnut paneling, deep mattresses, and heavy linens had the feel of old-world luxury and smell of history, something that first-world hotels always try to recreate but always destroy with sanitizers and air fresheners.
We wandered down the neighborhood street towards the river. The air was cool and a touch humid and made me wish I owned linen pants. There was a tex-mex restaurant on the corner with a balcony (I'm a HUGE sucker for balconies) and live music (sucker again) and enchiladas (sensing a trend?). The place was clearly made for us. We ordered two Beer Lao - our first of many - and listened to the solo Lao guitarist's crooning covers of Hotel California and other Western oldies, which were popular with the expat crowd.
Shortly after 11 the bar closed, and we returned to our guesthouse. Though most places observed the curfew religiously, others kept their doors open until 11:30 or sometimes 12, as if to test the limits. After two Beer Lao and a longer-than anticipated day of travel, however, we didn't feel like testing ours, and we were asleep before the city's final door was closed.
The streets seemed deserted on the short walk to our guest house. Though the country-wide 11 o'clock curfew hadn't fallen yet, few people were about. One local bar still sounded quite lively, and closer to the center of town, just before the city abuts the Mekong, a handful of tourists glided past on bicycles and sipped Beer Lao on cafe patios. The night was quiet.
We booked a room at Saysouly Guesthouse for 90,000 kip (11USD at the time). From outside it was very ordinary looking, but walking into the upstairs interior felt like entering a hotel from the French colonial age. The dark chestnut paneling, deep mattresses, and heavy linens had the feel of old-world luxury and smell of history, something that first-world hotels always try to recreate but always destroy with sanitizers and air fresheners.
We wandered down the neighborhood street towards the river. The air was cool and a touch humid and made me wish I owned linen pants. There was a tex-mex restaurant on the corner with a balcony (I'm a HUGE sucker for balconies) and live music (sucker again) and enchiladas (sensing a trend?). The place was clearly made for us. We ordered two Beer Lao - our first of many - and listened to the solo Lao guitarist's crooning covers of Hotel California and other Western oldies, which were popular with the expat crowd.
Shortly after 11 the bar closed, and we returned to our guesthouse. Though most places observed the curfew religiously, others kept their doors open until 11:30 or sometimes 12, as if to test the limits. After two Beer Lao and a longer-than anticipated day of travel, however, we didn't feel like testing ours, and we were asleep before the city's final door was closed.
Friday, January 15, 2010
A frantic journey
Our flight was booked from Busan through Thailand to Vientiane, with a 7 hour layover in Bangkok, but we didn't plan to catch the second leg of our flight. We wanted to get off in Bangkok and spend a night or two there before catching a bus up north and getting on a slow boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang. At the Busan airport we were told that it might be a problem on the way back if we missed a portion of our flight, with an extra charge or something they couldn't specify at the time. They told us to ask about it in Bangkok, which we did, and the Thai Airways ticket desk waved us along with their blessing.
We landed around noon. We made a speedy departure through the airport terminal (Americans don't need a visa to stay in Thailand for up to a month), took a taxi to our guesthouse, put down our bags, and headed straight for Khao San road, Bangkok's famous backpacker street made more famous by DiCaprio in "The Beach". After some pad thai (eh) and a Chang beer we hunted down a tourist office to book a bus or train ticket up north to Chiang Mai. What we didn't realize was that every tourist and their mom was apparently trying to do the same thing, the day after Christmas, and every train until after New Year's was booked solid. The pushy saleslady wanted to sell us a package deal on a "VIP" bus (she was incredibly vague on the details), hostel stays, transfers, and a slow boat ticket for 150 USD each. We declined ever so politely, and made a rather split-second decision to make a dash back to the airport and catch the second leg of our flight after all. Because while we could have booked a cheap bus and found our own place to stay for much less than 150 bucks, there was no guarantee that rooms or boat tickets would be available when we got there. We realized that we had, as the saying goes, planned to fail.
So with the slow boat idea scrapped and 3 hours left til our connecting flight, we decided to make the most of it and buy some crap to prove to everyone that we really did visit Thailand. Before we knew it, we were knee deep in shopping bags and late. We caught a tuk-tuk back to our guesthouse, grabbed our still-packed bags off the still-made beds (we had already paid the 5USD for a night at the guesthouse) and flagged down a cab. We were at least 30 minutes from the airport and it was after 5:30pm already; the time, we soon discovered, that the highway out of Bangkok turns into a parking lot. We were stressed. The cabbie turned off the engine at a couple of different points because it was clear that we wouldn't be moving anytime soon. The dashboard clock mocked me as it blinked, but I realized there was nothing we could do. We decided that if we missed our flight, we would head back into town, go see a ping-pong show (when in Rome...), and salvage the pieces of a bus trip up north. We'd make the slow boat work somehow.
It was 6:20 and we had made peace with our backup plan when the traffic jam broke and we sped up to a blur. We arrived at the airport with 30 minutes to takeoff and ran to the first open Thai Airways ticket counter we spotted. Airline workers, in my experience, are exceptionally kind to panicked passengers that are dangerously close to missing their flight (I have planned to fail before), and though they were sad to inform us that the gate had closed 45 minutes before takeoff, they called the gate anyway to see what could be done. "They'll hold the plane for you, but you have to RUN." But we couldn't run yet - we had to pay a 20USD 'departure tax' to get out of Thailand (it's ironic, and if I really think about it just plain mean, that such an exotic tropical country would add insult to injury and make you PAY to LEAVE their paradise). 5 minutes later, receipts in hand, we were sprinting through the unnecessarily massive Bangkok airport to our gate, which was the farthest gate from anywhere and probably close to half a mile from the ticket counter. I rushed breathlessly up to the gate with hopeful eyes and my prettiest smile and asked the lady if we could still get on the plane. She smiled impatiently. "We haven't started boarding yet."
Everything is so much sweeter when it seems, even erroneously and for a brief moment, that it could be taken away, and then it isn't.
We landed around noon. We made a speedy departure through the airport terminal (Americans don't need a visa to stay in Thailand for up to a month), took a taxi to our guesthouse, put down our bags, and headed straight for Khao San road, Bangkok's famous backpacker street made more famous by DiCaprio in "The Beach". After some pad thai (eh) and a Chang beer we hunted down a tourist office to book a bus or train ticket up north to Chiang Mai. What we didn't realize was that every tourist and their mom was apparently trying to do the same thing, the day after Christmas, and every train until after New Year's was booked solid. The pushy saleslady wanted to sell us a package deal on a "VIP" bus (she was incredibly vague on the details), hostel stays, transfers, and a slow boat ticket for 150 USD each. We declined ever so politely, and made a rather split-second decision to make a dash back to the airport and catch the second leg of our flight after all. Because while we could have booked a cheap bus and found our own place to stay for much less than 150 bucks, there was no guarantee that rooms or boat tickets would be available when we got there. We realized that we had, as the saying goes, planned to fail.
So with the slow boat idea scrapped and 3 hours left til our connecting flight, we decided to make the most of it and buy some crap to prove to everyone that we really did visit Thailand. Before we knew it, we were knee deep in shopping bags and late. We caught a tuk-tuk back to our guesthouse, grabbed our still-packed bags off the still-made beds (we had already paid the 5USD for a night at the guesthouse) and flagged down a cab. We were at least 30 minutes from the airport and it was after 5:30pm already; the time, we soon discovered, that the highway out of Bangkok turns into a parking lot. We were stressed. The cabbie turned off the engine at a couple of different points because it was clear that we wouldn't be moving anytime soon. The dashboard clock mocked me as it blinked, but I realized there was nothing we could do. We decided that if we missed our flight, we would head back into town, go see a ping-pong show (when in Rome...), and salvage the pieces of a bus trip up north. We'd make the slow boat work somehow.
It was 6:20 and we had made peace with our backup plan when the traffic jam broke and we sped up to a blur. We arrived at the airport with 30 minutes to takeoff and ran to the first open Thai Airways ticket counter we spotted. Airline workers, in my experience, are exceptionally kind to panicked passengers that are dangerously close to missing their flight (I have planned to fail before), and though they were sad to inform us that the gate had closed 45 minutes before takeoff, they called the gate anyway to see what could be done. "They'll hold the plane for you, but you have to RUN." But we couldn't run yet - we had to pay a 20USD 'departure tax' to get out of Thailand (it's ironic, and if I really think about it just plain mean, that such an exotic tropical country would add insult to injury and make you PAY to LEAVE their paradise). 5 minutes later, receipts in hand, we were sprinting through the unnecessarily massive Bangkok airport to our gate, which was the farthest gate from anywhere and probably close to half a mile from the ticket counter. I rushed breathlessly up to the gate with hopeful eyes and my prettiest smile and asked the lady if we could still get on the plane. She smiled impatiently. "We haven't started boarding yet."
Everything is so much sweeter when it seems, even erroneously and for a brief moment, that it could be taken away, and then it isn't.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Uniquely, Laos
We arrived back in Pohang yesterday from a couple of weeks in the Laos People's Democratic Republic: Vientiane, Vang Vieng, Luang Prabang, Xam Neua and Vieng Xai.
Though Laos is not a destination I would ever have immediately considered, had you asked me where I would choose to spend a two week vacation - primarily because it is landlocked, I suppose, and whenever "vacation" registers in my mind a beach isn't far behind - it was a very eye-opening, very unique, adventure. I'll be writing about the trip over the next couple of days, so check back for the pictures and stories.
Some of the highlights (and a lowlight or two): bathing an elephant, playing petanque with some government workers, lighting paper hot air lanterns under the new year's full moon, drinking goat's blood mixed with lao-lao, exploring the caves which hid the communist party members during the CIA's 9-year secret bombing campaign (in which the US dropped 2 tons of bombs per person in Laos), herbal saunas and Laos massages, meditation with some Buddhist monks, a 40-hour bus trip which included some chalk outlines by the police, meeting a woman born in the caves and her husband from Tennessee...
Unfortunately, on the way to catch our return flight, we realized that we misplaced one of our cameras, which contained 2gbs of photos and all of the videos we had taken. Bummer.
Though Laos is not a destination I would ever have immediately considered, had you asked me where I would choose to spend a two week vacation - primarily because it is landlocked, I suppose, and whenever "vacation" registers in my mind a beach isn't far behind - it was a very eye-opening, very unique, adventure. I'll be writing about the trip over the next couple of days, so check back for the pictures and stories.
Some of the highlights (and a lowlight or two): bathing an elephant, playing petanque with some government workers, lighting paper hot air lanterns under the new year's full moon, drinking goat's blood mixed with lao-lao, exploring the caves which hid the communist party members during the CIA's 9-year secret bombing campaign (in which the US dropped 2 tons of bombs per person in Laos), herbal saunas and Laos massages, meditation with some Buddhist monks, a 40-hour bus trip which included some chalk outlines by the police, meeting a woman born in the caves and her husband from Tennessee...
Unfortunately, on the way to catch our return flight, we realized that we misplaced one of our cameras, which contained 2gbs of photos and all of the videos we had taken. Bummer.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Philippines Part I
I'll never trust weather.com again. Not that I really did to begin with, considering they get the weather forecast for Pohang wrong about 98% of the time, and the other 2% they get right only because they pick the same weather from the day before.
A day or so before we left I checked the weather report for Bohol, the island we chose to visit out of the Philippines' 7,000 or so, and before I could help it a feeling of dismay set in. I don't like being disappointed before I even depart on a trip, but in the split second before I could convince myself that rain wasn't such a big deal and that I could have fun in any weather condition (why did I even check the forecast, then?), I saw two weeks' worth of tell-tale thundercloud and lightning bolt icons and 80% chances and my heart sank.
That's the chance you take when you plan a big event, though, and I knew it and I couldn't be mad. Besides, we were scuba diving the first four days of the trip, and a little rain wouldn't hurt if we were already submerged underwater, right? And apart from diving I would sit under an umbrella on the beach getting shitfaced on pina coladas and san miguel and I would play cards with my friends and have a blast.
We took the KTX to Seoul, Korea's high speed train system that runs slightly in excess of 300km/hr (186mph). It takes 1 1/2 hours to get to Seoul over a distance that a bus would cover in about 5. The rain droplets sped along the window like silent glass bullets.
The cheapest flight into the Philippines was to Manila - and once in Manila, inter-island flights were super-cheap; $20. I had booked a connecting flight to Tagbilaran, the capital of Bohol, and a scenic 30 minute tuk-tuk ride from Alona Beach, our diving destination. There was only one travel hitch. You get what you pay for, and as it turned out we paid for a 6-hour layover in the Manila airport at midnight. I thought at the time that the airport would be deserted and Lisa and I could curl up on a padded bench and catch some shuteye until our 6am boarding time. Was that so unreasonable? Apparently the Ninoy Aquino International Airport is the place to be on a Tuesday night. Every Filipino and his mom was there, and they had taken every available inch on every available bench scattered throughout the terminal. Lisa and I curled up on the cold ceramic floor and after four hours and a fitful 25 minutes of sleep I saw airline attendants scurrying about the ticket booths and I figured we might as well check in.
We arrived at Tagbilaran's tiny domestic airport at 7:30am under a sky of light wispy clouds and no trace of rain anywhere. Maybe the 80% applied to the afternoon. We got a bottle of the Philippines' beloved Tanduay Rum for the grand total of 50 pesos (1USD), a can of coke, and a motorcycle taxi (200 pesos) to Alona Beach. Half an hour later, tired but wired and quite tipsy, we left the remaining rum for our driver ("This is for AFTER work!") and skipped along the white sand beach under the clear blue sky to Oops! Bar.
A day or so before we left I checked the weather report for Bohol, the island we chose to visit out of the Philippines' 7,000 or so, and before I could help it a feeling of dismay set in. I don't like being disappointed before I even depart on a trip, but in the split second before I could convince myself that rain wasn't such a big deal and that I could have fun in any weather condition (why did I even check the forecast, then?), I saw two weeks' worth of tell-tale thundercloud and lightning bolt icons and 80% chances and my heart sank.
That's the chance you take when you plan a big event, though, and I knew it and I couldn't be mad. Besides, we were scuba diving the first four days of the trip, and a little rain wouldn't hurt if we were already submerged underwater, right? And apart from diving I would sit under an umbrella on the beach getting shitfaced on pina coladas and san miguel and I would play cards with my friends and have a blast.
We took the KTX to Seoul, Korea's high speed train system that runs slightly in excess of 300km/hr (186mph). It takes 1 1/2 hours to get to Seoul over a distance that a bus would cover in about 5. The rain droplets sped along the window like silent glass bullets.
The cheapest flight into the Philippines was to Manila - and once in Manila, inter-island flights were super-cheap; $20. I had booked a connecting flight to Tagbilaran, the capital of Bohol, and a scenic 30 minute tuk-tuk ride from Alona Beach, our diving destination. There was only one travel hitch. You get what you pay for, and as it turned out we paid for a 6-hour layover in the Manila airport at midnight. I thought at the time that the airport would be deserted and Lisa and I could curl up on a padded bench and catch some shuteye until our 6am boarding time. Was that so unreasonable? Apparently the Ninoy Aquino International Airport is the place to be on a Tuesday night. Every Filipino and his mom was there, and they had taken every available inch on every available bench scattered throughout the terminal. Lisa and I curled up on the cold ceramic floor and after four hours and a fitful 25 minutes of sleep I saw airline attendants scurrying about the ticket booths and I figured we might as well check in.
We arrived at Tagbilaran's tiny domestic airport at 7:30am under a sky of light wispy clouds and no trace of rain anywhere. Maybe the 80% applied to the afternoon. We got a bottle of the Philippines' beloved Tanduay Rum for the grand total of 50 pesos (1USD), a can of coke, and a motorcycle taxi (200 pesos) to Alona Beach. Half an hour later, tired but wired and quite tipsy, we left the remaining rum for our driver ("This is for AFTER work!") and skipped along the white sand beach under the clear blue sky to Oops! Bar.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Summer Vacation? Who needs it?!
The first school semester ended on July 15th - a Wednesday - which, were a student in the US, would be cause for celebration. And it was to my Korean students as well - a much deserved vacation! Four long days all to themselves!
Like I've mentioned before, high schoolers in Korea don't really take a break. Ever. Classes resumed the Monday after the end of the semester, albeit on a slightly different schedule. In the morning students attend regular classes with their Korean teachers. In the afternoon, until 6pm, they have "free study" periods, during which they sit silently at their desks and do whatever they can from dying of ennui.
Some students can sign up for "extra classes" in the afternoon, which are offered in the core subjects - English, Korean, Math, Science. First and second graders can go home at 6pm. Third graders (seniors) still stay at school until 10pm.
There was a lot of confusion when it came to my summer teaching schedule. Yoon Soon Young, my main co-teacher, met with all of the English teachers and the Vice Principal over lunch one day to discuss my summer fate. Nothing was decided, and my schedule remained up in the air until the first day of summer classes.
Seventeen students signed up for an extra class with me, to be taught every other day between 2 and 4pm. Expecting them to be advanced students (it was billed as a "conversation class"), I excitedly prepared a 6-session debate course, envisioning lively discussions and heated retorts with spirited students. Alas, it was not meant to be. All seventeen (now 24) students who signed up for my class did so because they thought the study periods were boring. Actually, there was one girl - one - who, when I asked why she signed up for the class, replied "to improve in speaking English." My heart, instantly warmed, fell cold again when I turned around to find that the six boys that joined my class are some of the WORST English students in the school. One kid can barely even say "hello." Seriously.
So I scrapped the debate idea and planned a series of classes on social networking. I've been wanting for some time now to create an excuse to use the store of laptop computers that the English lab possesses. So I signed all of my students up on Facebook, and created my own "teacher" account (Jonny Flimflam) to monitor their behavior. We spent some time friending people, taking pictures and tagging people, editing personal info, and posting links and videos. In 3 days I only had to confiscate two computers! I considered it a success.
Now we're working on a travel agent course, in which they do internet research on a country of their choosing, and develop a travel brochure to present to class. It's not going as well, mainly because many of them DON'T KNOW ENGLISH. Seriously. I gave them a worksheet to find information (population, bordering countries, bodies of water, etc.) and only ONE pair finished it in the hour-and-fifty-minute class (thanks to the girl who actually wanted to learn English). The boys spent time trying to hide from me the fact that they were watching videos or looking up porn or whatever it was they were doing.
Between 4 and 6pm I teach an entire class of first-graders (36 students) for an hour and fifty minutes, without a co-teacher or any guidance or direction at all. We've been doing a movie course :).
All in all it's not a bad gig. Although my teaching hours are the same as during the regular school year (about 20/week), I don't have to come to school until 2. I've been spending the mornings somewhat productively, reading or working out or sleeping. It's pretty grand.
Twelve days to the Philippines!
Like I've mentioned before, high schoolers in Korea don't really take a break. Ever. Classes resumed the Monday after the end of the semester, albeit on a slightly different schedule. In the morning students attend regular classes with their Korean teachers. In the afternoon, until 6pm, they have "free study" periods, during which they sit silently at their desks and do whatever they can from dying of ennui.
Some students can sign up for "extra classes" in the afternoon, which are offered in the core subjects - English, Korean, Math, Science. First and second graders can go home at 6pm. Third graders (seniors) still stay at school until 10pm.
There was a lot of confusion when it came to my summer teaching schedule. Yoon Soon Young, my main co-teacher, met with all of the English teachers and the Vice Principal over lunch one day to discuss my summer fate. Nothing was decided, and my schedule remained up in the air until the first day of summer classes.
Seventeen students signed up for an extra class with me, to be taught every other day between 2 and 4pm. Expecting them to be advanced students (it was billed as a "conversation class"), I excitedly prepared a 6-session debate course, envisioning lively discussions and heated retorts with spirited students. Alas, it was not meant to be. All seventeen (now 24) students who signed up for my class did so because they thought the study periods were boring. Actually, there was one girl - one - who, when I asked why she signed up for the class, replied "to improve in speaking English." My heart, instantly warmed, fell cold again when I turned around to find that the six boys that joined my class are some of the WORST English students in the school. One kid can barely even say "hello." Seriously.
So I scrapped the debate idea and planned a series of classes on social networking. I've been wanting for some time now to create an excuse to use the store of laptop computers that the English lab possesses. So I signed all of my students up on Facebook, and created my own "teacher" account (Jonny Flimflam) to monitor their behavior. We spent some time friending people, taking pictures and tagging people, editing personal info, and posting links and videos. In 3 days I only had to confiscate two computers! I considered it a success.
Now we're working on a travel agent course, in which they do internet research on a country of their choosing, and develop a travel brochure to present to class. It's not going as well, mainly because many of them DON'T KNOW ENGLISH. Seriously. I gave them a worksheet to find information (population, bordering countries, bodies of water, etc.) and only ONE pair finished it in the hour-and-fifty-minute class (thanks to the girl who actually wanted to learn English). The boys spent time trying to hide from me the fact that they were watching videos or looking up porn or whatever it was they were doing.
Between 4 and 6pm I teach an entire class of first-graders (36 students) for an hour and fifty minutes, without a co-teacher or any guidance or direction at all. We've been doing a movie course :).
All in all it's not a bad gig. Although my teaching hours are the same as during the regular school year (about 20/week), I don't have to come to school until 2. I've been spending the mornings somewhat productively, reading or working out or sleeping. It's pretty grand.
Twelve days to the Philippines!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Exam time!
Final exams are coming up in two weeks, which means students are buckling down and hitting the study rooms pretty hard. It is a good indication of the high value Korean's place on education that Pohang has a plethora of private study rooms for rent, outside of which I often see my students congregated late at night. Though the school stays open pretty late (10pm or later), I imagine the kids get tired of seeing the same walls every day and they prefer even the slight change that study rooms provide. I haven't been inside of one but I always picture a cheap, dingy room with a single dim lightbulb and a desk in the corner. Knowing Koreans, though, I expect they have provide more comforts than that (ok, now I'm picturing a hybrid love motel-study room).
Tomorrow is also an exam day, on which the students take a a national practice exam. This means I have no classes. It will be nice to catch up on my lesson plans again - I have some ideas floating around in my head that I need to put down on paper. During exam week I'll also be free of my normal classload (and the week before, too - the teachers will cancel my class in favor of a study period for the students), though I'll still be expected at school. If I catch up on my lesson plans tomorrow, I'm not sure what I'll do for the rest of June. Probably look up videos on the Philippines! Lisa and I are going to Bohol for 10 days in August to scuba dive and play around in the rainforest.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
More on Teacher's Day
They also made her a giant posterboard with notes and pictures all over it.
It may make being a teacher in Korea seem like a piece of cake, and a fun one at that. But Korean teachers, especially 3rd grade high school teachers, work their asses off. 3rd graders are studying like crazy to pass the Korean SATs in the fall, so they come to school 7 days/week. Mr. Lee, the 3rd grade Head Teacher last year, said he only got one day off during the entire year. ONE DAY. Not one day of vacation. One day of not being at school.
So whatever they get on Teacher's Day is a pittance compared with the work required of them.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Templestay on Buddha's Birthday
Back in 2002, when Japan and Korea were preparing to co-host the World Cup, monks from several temples around Korea met to discuss an idea to increase Korea's tourist hosting capacity while simultaneously improving awareness of Korean Buddhism. The templestay program that they developed has grown in success since then, and is now a major tourist attraction promoted by the Korean Tourism Organization. There are now dozens of temples throughout Korea that offer templestays ranging from one night to over a month.
Since last Saturday, May 2nd was Buddha's birthday (부저님 오신날), Lisa and I decided there was no better time to do a templestay. It turns out that we were wrong - there definitely ARE better times to do a templestay, but I'll get to that later. Few temples actually offer templestay programs during Buddha's birthday because they are usually crowded with tourists during this hectic time, but we found one, Golgul Temple (골굴사), that was taking reservations. One of my co-teachers, when she found out that we were interested in a templestay, rushed to print out information on all of the temples within an hour of us that had templestay programs. Golgulsa was one of them, and sounded like one of the coolest.
The temple is into a hillside, the original 6th century temple building having been built out of solid rock and a series of caves, that slopes up a rocky embankment to an ancient carving of a Maya Tathagata Buddha. When Seol Jeog-un, Golgulsa's Master Monk, re-discovered the site in the late 70's, the temple was in a state of serious disrepair. There were no roads that led to the temple site, and the Buddha carving was quickly being eroded. So he began the renovation process, installing a new temple building, several boarding quarters, and other buildings to support a full-time monk contingent. He also had built a protective covering over the Buddha carving to retard the erosion process.
Seol Jeog-un is also largely responsible for the re-introduction of the ancient Korean practice of Sunmudo, a silent, meditative form of martial arts, and Golgulsa is now basically the headquarters for the practice. According to the Sunmudo website,
Golgulsa temple's Sunmudo is different from martial arts in that it is silent training, teaching Zen-meditation, Yoga, and the techniques of Buddhist moving meditation. The harmony of inner energy and physical strength is attained through a balanced combination of these slow meditative movements with selfdefense and fighting technique. Zen Buddhists believe that exercising both the mind and body in this way leads to good health, inner peace, and ultimately enlightenment. The opportunity to practice this philosophy and to experience life in a traditional Buddhist temple attracts martial artists and truth seekers from around the world to Golgulsa.
Here's a good video introduction to some Sunmudo movements. (The white guy in the video was actually in the Golgulsa Buddha's Bday celebration ceremony.)
We arrived just shy of 3pm on Saturday afternoon, when the Buddha's Birthday celebrations were to begin. We made the 15 minute climb from the temple gate up the hill to the temple grounds, which were bustling with people. As Buddha's Birthday approaches, every temple in Korea decks itself out with rainbow strings of lanterns, and Golgulsa was no exception. The walkway up to the temple was lined with lanterns, and the entire rock hillside to the right of the main temple was draped in a heavy coat of them.
These guys were guarding the gate. I suppose 18-pack abs is normal for Sunmudo monks.
These guys were guarding the gate. I suppose 18-pack abs is normal for Sunmudo monks.The Sunmudo demonstration took place on a large wooden platform directly in front of the main temple, that rose 30 feet above the hillside beneath it. Throngs of people surrounded the platform, and even climbed the rock wall to stand beneath the stone Buddha to watch the presentation. A row of six monks, dressed in grey and black, sat silently on the back edge of the platform. A golden buddha was placed to the left, on granite altar of sorts, surrounded by candles and heaps of fresh fruit, and when Seol Jeog-un arrived with his baby monkey he sat on a large yellow pillow directly in front of it. (That's right, he had a baby monkey. I don't think I was more jealous of anyone in the world at that exact moment. He's going to teach the monkey Sunmudo!)
The monks demonstrated several Sunmudo movement progressions, and a couple of elegant, elaborately dressed women danced.
After the celebration, most of the visitors disappeared quickly, and Lisa and I went back to the main office to register for the templestay. Buddha's Birthday proved to be a popular time for Golgulsa, as there were about 12 foreigners in total signing up for the night. Another 6-8 Koreans also joined us, though they apparently stayed in different quarters. After reading through the usual templestay schedule, we were told that most of it didn't apply. "Because of Buddha's Birthday, all of tonight's activities will be canceled." Which meant that we would miss out on the 90 minute evening Sunmudo session and meditation, and in its place we would eat a lot of fruit in honor of the Buddha. Kind of a gyp, if you ask me. (We still had to pay the full 40,000 won participation fee.)
The biggest benefit of staying the night on Buddha's Birthday was the lanterns. After nightfall the monks scattered around the temple grounds, connecting wires and flipping switches until all of the lanterns on the property were illuminated. As the darkness settled into the mountains, the thousand-or-so glowing globes seemed to float along the hillside, gently hugging the temple and ancient stone Buddha carving.
It was beautiful. But we didn't have to do the templestay to see it - we could have just hung around after the show. Even without the Sunmudo training, though, when we laid down on our thin blankets on the hard wooden floor of our dorm, we quickly fell asleep.
It was beautiful. But we didn't have to do the templestay to see it - we could have just hung around after the show. Even without the Sunmudo training, though, when we laid down on our thin blankets on the hard wooden floor of our dorm, we quickly fell asleep.
In the morning, a monk came to our sleeping quarters at 4am with a stick and wooden gong - our alarm bell. He stayed outside of our respective rooms (men and women sleep separately) until he saw our lights flicker on, and then began his slow trudge back up the hill to the temple in the morning rain, the hollow sound of his gong echoing as he disappeared. We followed closely behind, careful to get to the temple on time. A note on our schedule demanded punishment for missing the 4:30 deadline: 3,000 bows. (This seemed to be more a playful than actual threat; there was a similar warning posted on our bathroom door, requiring 1,500 bows for flushing toilet paper down the toilet.)
From 4:30 - 5:00am, we sat in a small, dim alcove under the main temple while the monks chanted to the rhythm of the gong. It was mesmerizing, and for the rest of the day the rise and fall of their deep voices would be ringing softly in my head. After chanting, we spent 30 minutes meditating, though the monks didn't give any instructions about what we should focus on during the meditation, a point I thought could use review in the future, particularly for first-time meditators. Perhaps, as monks, their meditative process is so ingrained in them that they don't think of mentioning it to others.
Next we were supposed to do "walking meditation" but it was still raining outside so we were led through 108 bows instead. A monk stood behind us with the same wooden gong that served as our morning alarm, and he hit it once for every required bow. From a standing position, we would kneel, then prostrate ourselves forward, then back to kneeling, then stand up just in time for the next gong to sound. 108 times. It sounds excruciating, and it was at first, but after a while it was easy to get into a rhythm. We had been instructed by another, long-term templestay participant, to focus during each bow on something that we are thankful for in our lives, or something we would like to change. For the first dozen or three bows, all I could think about was how clumsy I felt, and how much my knees were going to hurt. But eventually my body took over the mechanics and left my mind free for meditation, and I closed my eyes.
After a hot breakfast of soup and vegetables, we had our first Sunmudo training. (It would have been our second, had we not visited during Buddha's Birthday.) Golgusa has a really nice Sunmudo training center which looked pretty new, with beautiful dark wood floors and giant windows that looked out into the surrounding woods. It was a very peaceful place.
On the wall hung pictures of Seol Jeog-un in his younger days, demonstrating his athleticism and prowess. It was quite impressive.
On the wall hung pictures of Seol Jeog-un in his younger days, demonstrating his athleticism and prowess. It was quite impressive.
The first 60 minutes of the training were spent in postures very similar to those of hatha yoga, though they seemed fairly intense for a first day introduction to the practice. Borim, the monk that led us through the 90-minute session, was an 11-year Sunmudo veteran, having practiced in Seoul for 10 years before his full-time move to Golgulsa, and he didn't waste any time throwing his body into different twisted positions. Several templestayers gave up trying completely and just sat on their mats, watching him.
During the last half hour we moved into the martial arts. Borim quickly wore us out, leading us through quick successions of punching, kicking and jumping movements. During the final few exercises he slowed us down and we worked on channeling our energy through concerted and precise motions. I quickly went from a feeling of exhaustion to one of power and control, one that I have rarely felt in my life. It was an amazing transformation, and I finished the session feeling energized and refreshed. Even when we discovered we had another 108 bows left, I was unfazed, and my mind quickly slipped back into the meditative state it left at the end of the last 108.
After lunch, we showered and left. The soreness hit both of us like a train the next morning, and lingered for several days. As slighted as we felt having missed the evening Sunmudo session on Saturday, it was probably for the best. Even 90 minutes of training was exhausting.
For future templestays, we'll plan to go during the week, when there are fewer other tourists, and for a longer period. Judging from our experience after even one night in the temple, an extended stay would be a welcome retreat, relaxing and invigorating at the same time, much like the 10-day buddhist retreat I attended in Kenya. But definitely more physically demanding.
For future templestays, we'll plan to go during the week, when there are fewer other tourists, and for a longer period. Judging from our experience after even one night in the temple, an extended stay would be a welcome retreat, relaxing and invigorating at the same time, much like the 10-day buddhist retreat I attended in Kenya. But definitely more physically demanding.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Exam Week
Last week all of the students at Idong High School had midterm exams, so I didn't have any classes. I still had to come to school, though, so I tried to spend the week working on lesson plans. I had a moderate amount of success (damn Facebook). The school day was shorter than usual; exams finished up around 1:20pm every day, so the teachers had social plans for every afternoon/evening. First floor teacher lunch one day, tennis club another day, etc. The English department had lunch on Monday afternoon at a sushi buffet. It was awesome - 15,000 won for all you can eat sushi and sashimi.
Maybe this is just a Korean thing - for some reason they throw really sweet stuff on otherwise savory dishes. Yet when it comes to actual desserts, they leave the sugar out (ie. rice cakes). Here is an example of what I mean:
That's whipped cream and sprinkles on a sushi roll.
Two of my faves: Mrs. Lee and Miss Hong. Miss Hong has loads of energy and is always laughing and clapping. It's hilarious and contagious. Mrs. Lee is more reserved, but she has a really generous heart. She also smiles shyly when she's nervous in a way that makes me think of puppies and hugs.
More faves. Miss Hwang, Mr. Lee (not Mrs. Lee's husband), Mrs. Yoon. Although I don't actually teach any classes with Miss Hwang (she's 3rd grade), I see her more than almost anyone else. She is very curious about English, and is always coming to my office with questions (instead of "Given that...", can I say "When we are given that..."?). She has also taken it upon herself to teach me Korean. We have class every Friday after lunch, when she quizzes me on the words she taught me the week before. Mr. Lee always explains random bits of trivia to me, like Winter's Envy. He also loves dog meat, and has taken us out a couple of times for bo-shin-tang (dog meat soup). Mrs. Yoon (Yoon Soon Yung, not to be confused with the other Mrs. Yoon, who I call "Mrs. Yoon with the broken arm", because I can't remember her other names) is my main co-teacher, and is amazing. She is the head of the English department, and is therefore ultra busy, but whenever I ask her a question she stops whatever she is doing at the moment to take care of my concerns. She's a superb sort of adoptive mother.
On Thursday we had a school-wide teachers outing. We drove 30 mins outside of Pohang to O-eo-san (O-eo mountain) for lunch and a hike. Everyone carpooled, which was really convenient until some teachers decided to leave halfway through without telling me and almost drive off with all of my stuff in their backseat. We ate at a secluded restaurant, with the place to ourselves. We had a choice between three kinds of bulgogi: Duck, goat, and beef. It definitely wasn't a vegetarian-friendly meal. I chose the duck, and it was delicious. So tender and spicy. We cooked it in the pot and shared it among four people, along with the side dishes and lettuce and mint leaves to wrap it in.
After lunch some of us went on a hike, which turned out to be much farther than I expected - about 3 hours round-trip. I thought it would be 1 hour max. The rest of the teachers went home, or stayed behind and gambled and drank.
Before we started the hike, Mr. Hong, the PE teacher, handed out snacks to everyone. Cherry tomatoes, a banana, a granola bar, and a bottle of
Mr. Hong is my tennis coach. He's also very interested to practice his English with me, though at times it's excruciating watching him smack his head and try to remember simple phrases. His enthusiasm is welcome, though. He really likes me, and always tells me to call him "hyeong nim", which means big brother. He's 32.
Halfway into the hike we stumbled upon a temple, high in the hills. They were getting ready for Buddha's birthday, and had strung up a rainbow of lanterns along the hillside. It was a beautiful, serene atmosphere.
Apparently the mountain was also used as a training ground for the Korean marines. It seemed strange to me that marines would be carrying out ops in the hills behind buddhist temples, but my teachers assured me that there was no combat involved. They also did a lot of trail maintenance - in particularly steep stretches, the marines draped thick ropes up the hillside to assist climbers.
A large gazebo sort of structure sat at the top of the mountain, with stunning, panoramic views of greater Pohang.
All of the teachers were in good spirits.
We flew back down the hill in half the time it took us to get up. At the bottom of the mountain, we took a few minutes to wander through O-oe-sa (O-oe temple), a famous Korean buddhist temple.
Lee Myung Bak, Korea's President, even sponsored a lantern here.
Built during the Silla dynasty, it was rebuilt in 1741. It was a small temple, but seemed to be popular. Many visitors would buy prayer beads and drape them over the plethora of Buddha figurines that sat on every available rock face.
When we finally got back to the restaurant, the rest of the teachers were good and drunk, and wanted to play Sepak Takraw. Actually a modified form of the Southeast Asian game, Korean men love to play it on tennis courts. While there are no flips or bicycle kicks involved, I've seen some pretty impressive high roundhouse aces. All Korean men, after all, served two years in the military and spent at least some of their childhood, no doubt, practicing Tae Kwon Do. Most of the teachers, though, could barely walk, much less kick a ball over a tennis net, and the game eventually devolved into what seemed to be a contest to see who could make the wildest, most hilarious attempt to make contact with the ball.
It was a long, fun day. The teachers spend so much of their time cooped up in school that when they get the chance to let loose, some of them go hog wild. It's funny to see many of them outside of the school environment, without suits and ties, and for the next several days there is a general bonhomie shared amongst all of the teachers, a silent smile that, luckily for me, doesn't require any words.
Maybe this is just a Korean thing - for some reason they throw really sweet stuff on otherwise savory dishes. Yet when it comes to actual desserts, they leave the sugar out (ie. rice cakes). Here is an example of what I mean:
That's whipped cream and sprinkles on a sushi roll.
Two of my faves: Mrs. Lee and Miss Hong. Miss Hong has loads of energy and is always laughing and clapping. It's hilarious and contagious. Mrs. Lee is more reserved, but she has a really generous heart. She also smiles shyly when she's nervous in a way that makes me think of puppies and hugs.
More faves. Miss Hwang, Mr. Lee (not Mrs. Lee's husband), Mrs. Yoon. Although I don't actually teach any classes with Miss Hwang (she's 3rd grade), I see her more than almost anyone else. She is very curious about English, and is always coming to my office with questions (instead of "Given that...", can I say "When we are given that..."?). She has also taken it upon herself to teach me Korean. We have class every Friday after lunch, when she quizzes me on the words she taught me the week before. Mr. Lee always explains random bits of trivia to me, like Winter's Envy. He also loves dog meat, and has taken us out a couple of times for bo-shin-tang (dog meat soup). Mrs. Yoon (Yoon Soon Yung, not to be confused with the other Mrs. Yoon, who I call "Mrs. Yoon with the broken arm", because I can't remember her other names) is my main co-teacher, and is amazing. She is the head of the English department, and is therefore ultra busy, but whenever I ask her a question she stops whatever she is doing at the moment to take care of my concerns. She's a superb sort of adoptive mother.On Thursday we had a school-wide teachers outing. We drove 30 mins outside of Pohang to O-eo-san (O-eo mountain) for lunch and a hike. Everyone carpooled, which was really convenient until some teachers decided to leave halfway through without telling me and almost drive off with all of my stuff in their backseat. We ate at a secluded restaurant, with the place to ourselves. We had a choice between three kinds of bulgogi: Duck, goat, and beef. It definitely wasn't a vegetarian-friendly meal. I chose the duck, and it was delicious. So tender and spicy. We cooked it in the pot and shared it among four people, along with the side dishes and lettuce and mint leaves to wrap it in.
After lunch some of us went on a hike, which turned out to be much farther than I expected - about 3 hours round-trip. I thought it would be 1 hour max. The rest of the teachers went home, or stayed behind and gambled and drank.
Before we started the hike, Mr. Hong, the PE teacher, handed out snacks to everyone. Cherry tomatoes, a banana, a granola bar, and a bottle of
Mr. Hong is my tennis coach. He's also very interested to practice his English with me, though at times it's excruciating watching him smack his head and try to remember simple phrases. His enthusiasm is welcome, though. He really likes me, and always tells me to call him "hyeong nim", which means big brother. He's 32.Halfway into the hike we stumbled upon a temple, high in the hills. They were getting ready for Buddha's birthday, and had strung up a rainbow of lanterns along the hillside. It was a beautiful, serene atmosphere.
Apparently the mountain was also used as a training ground for the Korean marines. It seemed strange to me that marines would be carrying out ops in the hills behind buddhist temples, but my teachers assured me that there was no combat involved. They also did a lot of trail maintenance - in particularly steep stretches, the marines draped thick ropes up the hillside to assist climbers.A large gazebo sort of structure sat at the top of the mountain, with stunning, panoramic views of greater Pohang.
All of the teachers were in good spirits.
We flew back down the hill in half the time it took us to get up. At the bottom of the mountain, we took a few minutes to wander through O-oe-sa (O-oe temple), a famous Korean buddhist temple.
Lee Myung Bak, Korea's President, even sponsored a lantern here.
Built during the Silla dynasty, it was rebuilt in 1741. It was a small temple, but seemed to be popular. Many visitors would buy prayer beads and drape them over the plethora of Buddha figurines that sat on every available rock face.
When we finally got back to the restaurant, the rest of the teachers were good and drunk, and wanted to play Sepak Takraw. Actually a modified form of the Southeast Asian game, Korean men love to play it on tennis courts. While there are no flips or bicycle kicks involved, I've seen some pretty impressive high roundhouse aces. All Korean men, after all, served two years in the military and spent at least some of their childhood, no doubt, practicing Tae Kwon Do. Most of the teachers, though, could barely walk, much less kick a ball over a tennis net, and the game eventually devolved into what seemed to be a contest to see who could make the wildest, most hilarious attempt to make contact with the ball.
It was a long, fun day. The teachers spend so much of their time cooped up in school that when they get the chance to let loose, some of them go hog wild. It's funny to see many of them outside of the school environment, without suits and ties, and for the next several days there is a general bonhomie shared amongst all of the teachers, a silent smile that, luckily for me, doesn't require any words.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
April Fool's Day
Today, April 1st, is, of course, April Fool's Day (just seeing how many commas I could fit into a really short sentence. Answer: 4).
In Korean that is man-u-cheol, or 만우절. My first class this morning reminded me that it was "Liar's Day" (their translation), so I decided on a whim to play a little prank. I told them that I was going to give them a test. The students who understood started to moan; the ones who didn't just stared at me. I repeated the assignment again, and told them that they would have to write a one-page essay in 10 minutes. Then they really started to moan and protest. "No tests!" (I had promised them on the first day of class that they wouldn't have any tests.) I told them that the principal requested it, and there was nothing I could do. I passed out blank pieces of paper. "Here is the topic..." I wrote "April Fool's!" on the board. A couple of kids chuckled. "I'm just joking!" I said. More started laughing. "No test!" I said, and the girls started high-fiving each other. It was really cute, and followed this same progression throughout the rest of my classes. Not as climactic as it would be with perfect communication skills, but it was fun to see the looks on their faces as my message dawned on them. Fun for me, anyway.
Just before 7th period (4:30) some 3rd grade students (high school seniors) came to get me. I had agreed to help them pull a prank on their Japanese teacher by taking over his classroom before he could arrive, and pretending that I was the teacher instead of him. The girls were all REALLY happy to see me - I only teach the 1st and 2nd graders, and the 3rd graders feel pretty left out - and they were all smiles and laughs. I asked them what we should talk about until the teacher arrived, and they said "your first love!" and started giggling. As I was talking I saw the Japanese teacher through the window - he looked really confused and started walking the other way. I shot the breeze with the class for another five or ten minutes - about meeting Lisa in Kenya - before the teacher came back with one of my English co-teachers. She was also really confused, and thought that the class was pulling a prank on ME. "Oh, they really got you," she said, smiling.
In Korean that is man-u-cheol, or 만우절. My first class this morning reminded me that it was "Liar's Day" (their translation), so I decided on a whim to play a little prank. I told them that I was going to give them a test. The students who understood started to moan; the ones who didn't just stared at me. I repeated the assignment again, and told them that they would have to write a one-page essay in 10 minutes. Then they really started to moan and protest. "No tests!" (I had promised them on the first day of class that they wouldn't have any tests.) I told them that the principal requested it, and there was nothing I could do. I passed out blank pieces of paper. "Here is the topic..." I wrote "April Fool's!" on the board. A couple of kids chuckled. "I'm just joking!" I said. More started laughing. "No test!" I said, and the girls started high-fiving each other. It was really cute, and followed this same progression throughout the rest of my classes. Not as climactic as it would be with perfect communication skills, but it was fun to see the looks on their faces as my message dawned on them. Fun for me, anyway.
Just before 7th period (4:30) some 3rd grade students (high school seniors) came to get me. I had agreed to help them pull a prank on their Japanese teacher by taking over his classroom before he could arrive, and pretending that I was the teacher instead of him. The girls were all REALLY happy to see me - I only teach the 1st and 2nd graders, and the 3rd graders feel pretty left out - and they were all smiles and laughs. I asked them what we should talk about until the teacher arrived, and they said "your first love!" and started giggling. As I was talking I saw the Japanese teacher through the window - he looked really confused and started walking the other way. I shot the breeze with the class for another five or ten minutes - about meeting Lisa in Kenya - before the teacher came back with one of my English co-teachers. She was also really confused, and thought that the class was pulling a prank on ME. "Oh, they really got you," she said, smiling.
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