Shredding some Korean slopes

With spring quickly approaching a bunch of us from work decided it was prime time to hit the Korean slopes, so last weekend eighteen of us headed over to the other side of the peninsula for a day of spring snowboarding at the High1 Ski Resort in Gangwan-Do. It was easy enough, we took the bus from Jamsil for ₩45,000, which covered our roundtrip fare and lift ticket, and after two hours we arrived at the base and were able to rent all of our gear, coats and pants included. I did my best to lose my Coloradoan pretention and just enjoy being back on a board even if the altitude and slope selection weren’t meeting my Rocky Mountain standards, and I must admit, the snowboarding itself was pretty decent – the weather was warm and sunny, the snow wasn’t bad, and the company was great. All in all, I had a good day of spring snowboarding but after a lifetime of almost exclusively boarding in Colorado, it was hard to ignore all of the Korean quirks. At least eighty percent of the people on the slopes were pimped out in baggy neon gear like you see the pros wearing, regardless of their skiing and boarding aptitude (this type of attire is usually reserved for those with the skills to match it); at the top of the lifts you were greeted by dancing lifties wearing headsets and instructing you to “Stand up now! Ok! To the right! Thank you!;” and no matter where you went on the mountain they were blasting K-pop music from really tall speakers. To say the least, it definitely left me missing Colorado!

Most of the people in our group were beginners so I spent the day with a couple of the guys, breaking only for a lunch of Kentucky Fried Chicken and Carlsberg. The only incident of the day was a cafeteria-fight with an ajusshi custodian who picked a fight with us and literally tried to throw us out of the coffee shop (manhandling us and our trays) instead of simply explaining we needed to buy another coffee. Other than that, we had a fun day, making silly videos while racing down the slopes and avoiding the hoards of people clogging the runs and lift lines as best as we could. At the end of the day we spent some well-earned time in the hot tubs before retiring to our luxurious condo for a night of pizza and card games. Even though we returned to Seoul the next day, it was a nice little retreat before the crunch of the final week of the school year.

The Seoul train

Clean, timely, and expansive, Seoul’s subway system is said to be one of the most modern in the world. I would also argue that it’s also one of the world’s most orderly. After spending the first few weeks appreciating the efficiency of Seoul public transport, I began to notice some curious facets of Korean subway etiquette. For one, any visit to a subway platform in Seoul will present commuters patiently lined up for the oncoming train to the right and left of the train doors; a sight that would send many a-New Yorker reeling. Even in rush hour when literally hundreds of Koreans are pouring in and out of every train, there seems to be some method to the madness (even though the sheer number of people squeezing into each train car can make you feel like sardines have it pretty nice). And regardless of the time of day, volume of passengers, or subway line, it’s never hard to notice the cleanliness of the subways – graffiti, hardened gum, and trash conspicuous only by their absence – and the quietness of the passengers – most of whom are simply dozing or watching TV and playing games on their phones (yes, there’s perfect service even several stories down).

In addition to it being a rather pleasant experience to ride the subways here, it can also be rather entertaining. The ajashis selling their wares never fail to surprise, vending everything from knee braces and razors plated in fake gold, to drain cleaners and exercise bands. The videos demonstrating how to react in emergency subway situations are often less informational and more humorous, showing re-enactments of bomb blasts and crashes that wouldn’t even earn a spot on daytime. Of course there are also always the people who fall asleep and can’t help but bob on their neighbor’s shoulder for the whole 45-minute ride. And then there are the sights you just can’t be prepared for: an awkward teenager surreptitiously sketching you on a scrap of paper, a young woman robotically chewing up pepero sticks and spitting them back into their box, or a lone tween taking dozens of pictures of herself on her iPhone. Needless to say, whether passing the time by reading or people watching, commuting by Seoul subway is hardly boring.

Ringin' in the Rabbit Year

Lunar New Year – a Korean national holiday that affords a chance to prepare for the New Year (again), relax with a few days off of work, and celebrate turning a year older. Yes, in addition to the bowing to grandparents, eating of tteok guk, and wearing of hanboks, Koreans also turn a year older on New Year’s (lunar or solar, depending on who you ask) after eating a special soup. This means that as of this week I am now (drum roll please) twenty-four! (How is this possible, you may ask, seeing as I was born in July of 1988? Well, not only do you turn older on the new year and not on your birthday, but Koreans are already one year old at birth, making it possible for me to have aged two years since my arrival in Seoul.)

We spent the week before Sul-Nal discussing the year of the rabbit and all of these traditions in kindergarten, but I must say, I did a lot more learning than teaching that week (I still don’t completely understand why they expect the foreign teachers to teach our Korean students about their own culture). Finally after learning all about Korean New Year traditions, the kids showed us waygooks just how to celebrate the New Year at the Sul-Nal event on Monday when they came to school in their hanboks (traditional Korean dress), played games like yut nori and jae gi, learned how to bow, and ate rice cake soup.

As for my celebration of Sul-Nal, I didn’t don a hanbok or bow to my grandparents, but I did have a very relaxing break here in Seoul. My staycation mainly consisted of reading books, watching movies, and eating good food with Allison, but we did take breaks from our sloth and gluttony with visits to Changdeokgung Palace, a traditional tea-house in Insadong, and a piercing parlor in Apgujeong. Mellow, yes, but just what I needed.

Jerry in the limelight

My kindergarten was very concerned when they first asked, “Teacher, you are ‘dum dum duu duuuuuum?’” (humming the wedding song to mean ‘married’) and I said no; after all, aren’t all grown ups married?! But, the knowledge that I had a boyfriend helped ease their anxiety and from that point on my kindergarten wheedled out detail after detail about Jerry until he became such an integral part of class discussion that it felt as if Jerry and K-Blue class had already been introduced. That is why it came as no surprise when everyday throughout the end of November and beginning of December, one of my kindergarteners would squeal “Shelby Teacher! December it is Jean birthday and almost Christmas. And December it is Jerry come!” And when the day finally came for the class to meet “King Peanut Butter Jerry” (as the class had nicknamed him through a series of inside jokes), they were nothing short of star-struck.

Jerry and I arrived in the classroom a few minutes early and as the bell rang and my class rounded the corner they steadily grew quieter and their eyes got wider. Despite all of their bubbly six-year excitement in the previous weeks, they were all exceedingly bashful. Well, all except Joseph who, after only a moment’s pause, leapt onto Jerry to give him his best kindie bear-hug. The shyness lingered as I let them ask Jerry questions, but until Lara asked Jerry where he was from and Claire cut off his response with “Romania! Dracula! You are VAMPIRE!...ooooohhhh!” With that the nervousness evaporated in a storm of giggles and the class seemed much more at ease as Jerry taught them how to say hello and goodbye in Romanian (for the rest of the week “servus” and “pa pa” became common vocabulary, even though they were rarely used correctly). By lunchtime, even the most timid students had loosened up and ate at top-speed so they could have plenty of time with their new plaything; I must say, it was rather adorable to watch them unabashedly hugging him, using him as a jungle gym, and dragging him to join in their games.

But, the fun didn’t stop at kindergarten. Somehow some of the thirteen year-olds had this unshakeable idea that Jerry was a famous professional basketball player. For weeks they begged me to bring him into class, but the fifth floor language program isn’t as welcoming to outside guests, so I promised he would come wait for me after school one day and they could meet him there. Thus, when I came down the stairs after work I saw Jerry being mobbed by half a dozen of my students all snapping photos with their cellphones and demanding autographs as they waved pens and papers in his face. Needless to say, the other teachers were all very confused as they watched this scene unfold, but I was laughing to hard to explain right away.

Clearly, Jerry was a hit at GKI. All the way until Christmas break my kindies pouted about Jerry not being able to come back, and to this day continue to frequently ask about him. And after my older kids’ met Jerry, there really was no convincing them that he isn’t famous (one of them even informed me he went home and laminated Jerry’s signature!) and I’ve long since given up on dissuading them from trying to see him on CNN. I bet he never thought he'd leave Korea with celebrity status.

'Twas the season

This year, I overcompensated for missing Thanksgiving at home by celebrating a double Thanksgiving abroad. Though we didn’t get the day off work, I spent the evening of Thanksgiving as close to America as I could get without leaving Seoul: on the Yongsan military base with a fellow Mac alum, currently working at the embassy on tour for the Foreign Service, and his family. (On the base it’s easy to forget you’re in one of East Asia’s metropolises, its tree lined streets and rows of ranch-style houses eerily resembling a midwestern neighborhood from the 1950’s.) With the cheerful family banter, a table full of home-cooked Thanksgiving fixings, and post-dinner word games it almost felt like home.

For Thanksgiving round two, I joined nearly two-dozen other teachers for a potluck-style Thanksgiving feast in Paju. And a feast it was: there were enough “grandma’s best casseroles,” “mom’s special stuffings,” and “secret recipe pies” to feed a small country, but we all stuffed our homesick stomachs with fourth and fifth helpings until the plates were clean and we were blissfully and sickeningly full. Not too shabby for my first Thanksgiving as an expat.

With Thanksgiving over, however, homesickness quickly set in. You see, growing up Thanksgiving always marked the beginning of my favorite time of year: the Christmas season, which, for my family, lasted all of December. Going to bed Thanksgiving night was almost more exciting than Christmas Eve because I knew the next morning, without fail, I would wake up to the sound of my mom’s favorite Christmas carols and a house in disarray; garlands, twinkly lights, and Santa Clauses replacing the books and picture frames that usually adorned our shelves. Of course, since I went out of state for college, this wasn’t my first Thanksgiving away from home, nor was it the first Christmas season I missed. In fact, every December for the past four years was full of too many papers and too little Christmas cheer. Nevertheless, the promise of returning to a home full of Christmas warmth and traditions always served as a light at the end of the finals tunnel.

Let it Snow!
Originally uploaded by shelbs1988

This being my first Christmas away from home and my family, I started out just trying to ignore Christmas all together so I wouldn’t feel homesick. Eventually a handful of care packages with Christmas treats and decorations convinced me to do away with my Scrooge façade and I did what I could to embrace the season by going slightly Christmas crazy with my kindergarten. (Hey, there’s nothing quite like experiencing the magic of the Christmas season with children.) We turned our classroom into a little Christmas haven using construction paper, felt, tinsel, and glitter. We made snowmen, snowflakes, red and green paper chains, hand print wreaths, stockings, and Christmas stars. My favorite craft was probably our construction paper Santas that the kids called “Kimchi Santas” when they accidentally made them too skinny to be true cookie-fed Santas. In no time, my class full of divas mastered all the best carols, including “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!,” “Jingle Bell Rock,” and “ Winter Wonderland,” and we spent an afternoon taking around homemade ornaments and caroling to the other kindergarten classes. And even though we were at school on Christmas Eve, our Christmas performance, visit from Santa, viewing of Frosty the Snowman, and gift exchange filled the day with plenty of Christmas spirit.

More than anything else, the thing that really got me over my holiday funk and through the holidays was Jerry’s month-long visit. After 4 months apart, his arrival in mid-December couldn’t have come soon enough or had better timing. For the two weeks leading up to our Christmas break in Cambodia, we put in plenty of time and miles on the subway, leisurely shopping, eating, dancing, and wandering our way through many of Seoul’s hotspots including Olympic Park, Itaewon, Hongdae, Myeongdong, and COEX. The whole while, we enjoyed the season Seoul-style eating hearty Korean food, Christmas shopping in bustling Namdaemun market, walking along the festooned Cheonggyecheon (the whole time criticizing the garish light displays adorning every surface), and, in keeping with tradition, taking in a local performance of the Nutcracker (which was unfortunately sub-par, but enjoyable nonetheless). We even brought some luxury and comfort to our holiday celebrations with a stay in the swanky W Hotel that's perched on a mountain overlooking the Han River here in Seoul and a black-tie dinner at Papa John's (yes, the American pizza place. But don't judge, it's quite the treat for those of us living abroad - homey comfort food like good ole American pizza can be hard to come by.)

All in all, not too shabby. Perhaps my 2010 holiday season didn’t quite follow tradition, but in the end, it was not only enjoyable but more than I could have ever asked for.

Movin' on up

New Apartment
Originally uploaded by shelbs1988

One of the great benefits of being a teacher in Korea is that, in most cases, the schools provide your apartment in addition to your salary. But the thing about having free accommodations is you kind of just have to take what you’re given, which in my case meant a high-maintenance, dilapidated cubicle. I dealt with it as best I could (hey, it hasn’t been that long since my dorm-days), but when the school replaced my peeling wallpaper with glittery ladybugs and iridescent checkers and my antique boiler died, promptly subjecting me to two weeks of icy showers, I’d had enough.

Luckily, the foreign director at my school had also had enough – of my maintenance complaints, that is – and suggested I move into another teacher’s apartment after their contract ended. I obviously jumped at the opportunity, as really anything could be an improvement, and thus I find myself starting the New Year in a new and highly improved apartment. Not only is my new apartment closer to school and about three times bigger, but it has a separate kitchen, bedroom, and living room, meaning I actually have space to move and live in without having to use my bed as an all-purpose sitting-dining-working-sleeping-social space. I even have a couch that folds out into a bed! From now on everything from coming home from work to having friends over will be much more comfortable and enjoyable, not to mention more grown-up. Let's just say: I've upgraded and it feels glorious.

Model behavior

Randomness is an inherent part of traveling, and is undeniably one of my favorite parts of venturing abroad. Almost unfailingly, the experiences that were unplanned and unexpected throughout my travels are the ones that I hold nearest and dearest to my heart. Each new place brings with it its own idiosyncrasies, surprises, and entertainments; to this, Seoul is no exception. So when Allison and I were asked to be models in a make up competition, how could we resist?

The weekend before the competition we arrived at the Seoul Fashion Design School in Gangnam not sure what to expect but ready for anything, or so we thought. We were expecting a once in a lifetime experience, something fun and interesting to write home about, take some interesting pictures of, and get a few laughs out of. We took the term “model” loosely, thinking it was just a more polite way of saying we were going to be make up test dummies on which to practice the latest and greatest trends in smokey eyes and bold lips. Never did we expect to be actual models. For starters, in a world where models are by definition 6 feet tall, size 0, and are set apart from the rest by unique and interesting features, we fall well below the bar. Under these standards, we are both too short, too fat, and too plain. Incredibly, Korean standards are less demanding, putting us well above the bar. Both at 5’7” we were at least above average but with the extra four inches from our high heels we could even be considered “tall,” our curves weren’t considered “fat” but “glamorous,” and being the only foreigners in the competition, our Western features weren’t only desirable but set us apart from the dozens of Korean models. Somehow, we had found ourselves models in one of Korea’s most prestigious competitions for make-up artists.

As we spent several hours trying on our hand made dresses and sitting while our make up artists tried to adjust their make up designs to our western proportions, they gushed over our height, small faces, and large eyes; fretted about how to fit our curves into the A-cup bodices of our dresses; and discussed just how high our heels needed to be, practically rejoicing when I proved I could strut my stuff in the four-inch stilettos I had brought along for good measure. By the time our trial day had ended, it was quite clear that this competition was about more than just makeup. It seemed we had volunteered ourselves to be canvases in what was turning out to be a human art exhibition.

The following weekend, the weekend of the competition, it sank in just how serious our roles were. The night before the big day we stayed near the school at one of the make up artist’s apartments so there would be no delay in starting our day. After our 4:30am wake up call, we hurried to make it to get dressed, get breakfast, and make it to the school by 5:00am to get our hair done. As Julie bought us a breakfast of egg McMuffins and coffee she informed us that this would be our last food and drink for the rest of the day (we couldn’t risk messing up our look or schedule with spills or trips to the restroom). We were real models. But, too late to back out now. So 2 hours and several pounds of fake hair, hairspray, and bobby pins later, we left the school to take vans to the Kintext Convention Center in Ilsan, a suburb of Seoul.

From the moment we left the school we made quite the spectacle. In the few yards between the school and the vans several gaping Koreans, probably on their way home from a night of bar-hopping, stopped us to take pictures on their iphones. (The first of many impromptu photoshoots throughout the day.) The gawking was understandable though - while Allison had her hair piled onto her head in a bouffant-meets-treasure-troll look, I was channeling Queen Amidala with my hair and braided hair extensions twisted into two huge buns on the sides of my head. Who wouldn’t stare? Our day in the limelight had begun.

Once we got to the convention center we were completely at the whims of our make up artists. For the next three hours we sat as they applied the final touches, when the actual competition started they would have no time to waste on hair and accessories. As they gave us costumes and applied feather headdresses, hair jewels, 2-inch long fingernails, jewelry, and tubs of glitter we were poked, prodded, and dragged all around the convention center. When they wanted us to sit, we sat; when they wanted us to move, we moved; when they wanted us to pose we posed. Yet their instructions only came minute by minute, we still had only a vague idea what would happen during the competition and what our roles would be. One moment we would be “go, go, go!” and it would seem as if something big was about to happen, the next moment we were back in the dark, utterly confused and waiting for someone to tell us what to do. Maybe it was the language barrier, but a lot of the time it seemed they were being purposely elusive, no one even attempting to enlighten us.

When the competition part of the day finally rolled around, both of us were exhausted, starving, thirsty, and in pain from the pounds of fake hair, feathers, and product that were piled on our heads. For the next hour and a half we sat perfectly still and model-like as make up was applied to our faces, necks, shoulders, and chests; the roving judges monitoring our progress. By the time the bell dinged, signaling the end of the competition, we had been transformed. Between Allison’s portrayal of a contemporary Maria Antoinette and my resemblance to Lady Gaga, we stood in stark contrast to the dozens of Korean models covered in feathers, tassels, and rhinestones and resembling glorified Vegas showgirls.



By this time, Allison was glaring and I was shaking, but we did our best to look poised and modelesque as the judges continued to roam and scrutinize. (Not as hard as you would think, we looked 7 feet tall next to our make up artists and with the make up completed we looked as if we had just walked off Hollywood movie sets.) Soon we were milling about with the other models, thinking we were close to finished and waiting to be told what to do next, when all of a sudden Allison was being dragged off for photoshoot (we’re still not sure what for) and I was being pushed to the front of a queue leading up to none other than a runway. As music blared and cameras flashed I strutted my stuff, posing and pouting to the best of my abilities (all the while trying to remember every ANTM episode I’d seen in high school). And as far as I’m concerned my debut on the runway was a success; making it off the stage without incident was good enough for me.

Weak-kneed I found Allison (who had somehow bypassed the runway ordeal) and posed for dozens of pictures with Korean spectators before running off to sneak bites of gimbap from our make up artists’ bags. It was finally time for the results and to our surprise and our artists’ delight, Allison and I took first and second place, respectively, in the entire competition. This of course prompted another lengthy photoshoot, but eventually we were allowed to start the long-awaited process of becoming our normal selves again. When it was all said and done, we walked out of there one crazy experience and 100,000\ richer, but more than happy to leave the modeling life behind to dig into a feast of fried chicken and cold beer at the nearest Chicken Hof.