OUR NEIGHBORHOOD

A short photographic tour of our neighborhood.

Our house snuggled between apartment buildings. Both my host parents are fond of gardening.

A pumpkin-covered rooftop.

Walking near the middle school.

Our middle school, hiding behind the trees.

Looking out at an intersection from fountain park.

Underpass.

Jikjisa (직지사) — Exploring Buddhism

On the Saturday of our Chuseok break my family and I drove to Gimcheon, a nearby city, in order to eat a delicious seafood soup and visit Jikjisa, a famously large and beautiful Buddhist temple. Jikjisa is, according to my Oma, the largest temple in our province (Gyeongsangbuk-do) and will soon be the largest in Korea if they keep building more (which they are doing). Our first stop in Gimcheon was at a tiny downtown eatery for lunch. The two room diner was packed with people and as far as I could tell only sold two things — mandu (delicious dumplings) and seafood soup. Both were delicious, though I admit I had to give myself a pep-talk before eating the mussel-looking-things. Spicy food in Korea is fine, it's the seafood I'm getting used to.

After lunch we went for a short walk around a nearby lake picked up some iced americanos and were on our way. Not before we all had fun teasing host dad who just bought fancy new shoes and was leaning against a tree drinking his americano. Then we drove to Jikjisa.

The front entrance to Jikjisa.

I was a little full and feeling a little disappointed after hearing that my host sisters and Aboji had seen Jikjisa too often and weren't going to go in with us. However, the temple was well worth it and I had more time to talk with Oma.

Here we are in front of one of the decorated doors.

Jikjisa was similar in style to other Buddhist temples I have seen in Korea. It was also more touristy, with a small fee for entry and several gift shops and restaurants on the grounds. Despite this visiting Jikjisa was a spiritual experience and a high point in my Chuseok week. If Jikjisa is full of tourists it is for good reason. Walking through the various archways and temples complex brightly colored designs jumped out from every corner, some darkened and peeling with age. I felt I was seeing two Jikjisas at once - Jikjisa as it must have been when it was first built, as it still is now, brilliant, and the Jikjisa that has stood on this spot for hundreds of years to appear now, darkened and mysterious.

Giant wood-carved statues greet us on either side as we enter the grounds.

Buddhist temples are always surprising to me. I have loved churches for their emptiness, the sense of being very small, of being pressed upon by so much air. It is a surprise to enter a Buddhist temple where every wall and ceiling is a mirage of moving colors and figures. In Jikjisa the main temple room is not large and its doors sit open to the breeze. There is a sense of lightness and yet all around a multitude of lotus lanterns hanging from the ceiling and buddhas watching from the wall. There is such a feeling of abundance, that there is always more and you are just a small point in that multitude. I have never been overwhelmed by a building in quite the same way before.

Looking out from the temple building.

Lotus lanterns.

Altar and incense.

The multitude.

 It was such a peaceful, happy afternoon that I promised myself, before I leave Korea I will do a temple stay, though I will probably choose somewhere a little quieter than Jikjisa. Many temples open their doors to visitors for a weekend or even weeks during the holidays. I look forward to spending a winter or spring weekend enjoying the temple's abundant silence.

An afternoon goodbye.

CHUSEOK (추석): A KOREAN THANKSGIVING

A lazy morning, frying meat in front of the tv.

This last week we had class for only two days because of the important Korean holiday Chuseok. Chuseok is often compared to American Thanksgiving since it involves getting together with family and eating a lot of food. However Chuseok is most traditionally about honoring one's ancestors so bowing and visiting graves is the basis of the holiday. My family is fairly traditional, though not especially religious so we had the ceremony at our house, offering food and bowing to Aboji's ancestors. Some families wear full hanbok for the occasion, but in our household only Aboji dressed up and the rest of us wore jeans. Traditionally everyone gathers at the parents house or, if parents are too far away, the first son's house for the holiday. The first son is in charge of the ceremony and the first son's wife is in charge of cooking for everyone. My co-teacher told me "Korean ladies do not prefer first sons." That's why, after sleeping in Wednesday, my host sisters and I spent the morning frying meat while watching comedy shows. The rest of Wednesday was pretty lazy as well, a relief not to think about lesson plans or travel plans for a few days. I've recently begun watching the drama "Secret Garden," by which I mean I started on Wednesday and I'm already on episode 7 (and these episodes are over an hour long). So I'm using my free time well?

Our Chuseok ceremony spread.

Thursday we woke up bright and early because relatives were arriving around 9:00. We set out all the food on special dishes before the screen and lit incense. When everyone had arrived the fathers and children stood in front of the food, took turns pouring or serving bits of food before the screen and did ceremonial bows. I took part in the bowing and even poured makgeoli (rice wine) for the ancestors. After we finished bowing the set-up was quickly dismantled and replaced with a brunch of bibimbap and all our ceremonial side dishes.

From left to right: host cousin, university host sister, Aboji, Oma's Mother, and Oma at our second lunch in Seonsan.

In the afternoon Aboji's family left and we went to Seonsan to see Oma's family. We stayed there for a long time enjoying more food and drinks. I spent a lot of my time playing with my little host cousins (ages unknown). They're adorable in a very loud sort of way and they don't mind my inability to communicate. We were still able to play badminton and hide and go seek.

Some intense badminton with the little host cousins. But actually the younger one is better than me.

Host cousin climbing the neighbors windows. He could get all the way to the top. Thankfully I do know how to say "Don't!" in Korean.

Late afternoon, pumping up the bike tires.

Today we woke up at 7am to have breakfast in Seonsan and visit Oma's family graves. After coffee and a lot of shuffling to get everyone together we drove to Seonsan and met Harmoeni at her house where we all ate cup ramen for breakfast. (Don't get me wrong, Harmoeni offered bibimbap, but someone mentioned cup ramen and then we all wanted it!)

Just outside Seonsan, walking to visit graves.

Afterwards we piled into the car again and drove to a farming area near Seonsan. There was some confusion with directions and when we walked into a courtyard with a dog growling at us I thought maybe we were asking for help. Instead it turned out we had arrived at Harmoeni's sister's house. From there we all walked up the mountainside to the family graves, Aboji carrying our mat and supply of soju. It was a gorgeous area full of rice paddies, peppers, sweet potatoes, persimmon trees, apple orchards and wild plums. I couldn't stop breathing in the clean, damp-earth smell. I also couldn't stop wondering if Korea has ticks or not.

My two host sisters and Oma.

Aboji escorting the grandmas.

On the way down we stopped to see Harmoeni's sister's cows. My middle school host sister handing out the hay.

Sun-soaked persimmons.

Bright orange fruits were smashed all along the road up and down the mountain. I love their color and the big drooping leaves of the trees, also starting to tinge orange. I've never seen persimmon trees before, but still it reminded me of time spent outdoors in Minnesota, or visiting the deep gorges of upstate New York.

Bowing to my host family's ancestors I had a sense of inclusion, that my Korean family is my family, their ancestors mine as well. Yet I also had a sense of displacement to be so far from my own ancestors. I wondered if, by bowing now in Korea, I could bow to my grandparents and my grandparent's grandparents. It's family lore that my great-great grandma Josephine, for whom I was named, saw Lincoln's funeral train while she was traveling to Minnesota in a covered wagon. Being here in Korea I can appreciate how much physical distance separates me from that history and how much, though I might take it for granted that history matters. In Korea family matters. It matters a lot, even in distance and even in death. It reminded me that going home isn't about homesickness, or about weakness. In America there's a certain stigma behind people 'living at home' past a certain age and few extended families live near each other anymore. Our work style requires us to be mobile, to leave family behind in preference to a job.

I have been lucky enough to do a fair amount of traveling myself, here in Korea and elsewhere. For me, traveling is about discovering who I am separated from familiarity and about who I can be when painted across a different landscape. To travel is both difficult and fascinating, but I would hate to forget, sometimes worry I might lose, the knowledge that there is a particular difficulty and fascination that belongs to the journey home as well. So thank you Chuseok, for reminding me.

MILESTONES: ONE MONTH IN GUMI

I just read a blog post by my good friend Anna who is now studying yoga in Mysore, India. We both studied English Lit at Hendrix, but we also both needed a second major to round out our interests. Anna is an amazing writer and I would encourage anyone interested in India or travel in general to read her blog, balancing the world. Her meditations on life in Mysore capture the sounds and smells of that specific place, but also the general feeling of traveling. Living in a foreign country one can feel frustrated or lost — always on the cusp of inclusion but never included, always listening but lacking understanding. I've heard other Fulbrighters mention this feeling as well, a kind of malaise of communication. I myself have been lucky in that my family and the teachers at my school speak English admirably well.

This last week and a half I have felt more included than ever before: I visited my co-teacher's home and played with her 3 adorable children, brought home Baskin Robins and ate it with my host family to celebrate my first month in Gumi, met up with a Fulbright friend for coffee and gossip, and attended orientation for mentoring a North Korean Defector. It's been a very busy time as my relationships here begin to blossom.

My co-teacher's daughter and harmonica.

The first time I met my co-teacher she told me "Not all days will be good, but every day I will be with you." At the time it was highly reassuring and now, a month later, I know that she meant it. We share an office together at school, taking coffee breaks between our classes. We've also been taking walks behind the school when we find the time, but going to meet her family was a new step. My co-teacher has a daughter who is ten in Korean age (8 in American age) and two twin girls who are 2 in Korean age (20 months in American age). Since my co-teacher and her husband both work her mother stays with them during the week to take care of the twins. The twins talk to each other in a secret whistling language no one else can understand. One twin is a little stronger and more confident. She tries to take my earrings. The other twin is a little smaller, a little warier. She cries when her grandma is far away. Yet she's also musical, always burbling in her strange language and tapping her feet. Their older sister is in elementary school but seems older, acquiring some maturity from caring for her sisters. She loves swimming and riding her bike. I stayed overnight and hope to go back again soon.

Afogato: vanilla ice cream, rolled in almond slivers, smothered in an espresso shot.

Last weekend marked an important date — the anniversary of my first month in Gumi. I had hoped to get out a bit and hike Geumo Mountain. However, it stormed most of the weekend ruining my outdoors plans. Instead, on Saturday I took a train to the nearby Gyeongsan to visit my friend Sophia. I ended up meeting her host family then going out for coffee/desserts. We meant to do work while drinking coffee (in fact I meant to catch up on blogging) but instead we talked the whole time filling each other in on our own situation in Korea and those of our friends. It left me refreshed and ready to tackle the rest of the week before Chuseok.

Sunday I ventured into Daegu for the North Korean Defector volunteer orientation. A North Korean Defector is (according to the South Korean Government) someone who has left North Korea, but still has some tie there such as an occupation, a home, a family and does not have any other citizenship. According to South Korea's Ministry of Unification, since 2008 almost 3,000 people defected to South Korea each year, the majority of them women. This number has fallen to almost half in 2012 most likely due to the death of Kim Jong-il resulting in stricter border control (to be clear, this is secondhand information from my orientation coordinator at the Hana Center).

Since arriving in Korea I have attended several talks about North Korean defectors (during and after Fulbright orientation). What motivated me to volunteer, though there are so many reasons to do so, was that on top of all the practical difficulties of arriving in South Korea from the North, these people often face exploitation along the way. There are several routes to get to the South, but the most commonly used route is by foot and bus through China, then a combination of Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia into Thailand. Once in Thailand the defector goes to the South Korean Embassy and announces that she is a North Korean defector. Then she is kept in custody of the Embassy until paperwork is finished at which point she is sent on a plane to South Korea. In South Korea she is immediately picked up by South Korean intelligence officials and thoroughly interviewed — both to gain information and to ascertain that she is not a spy.

However, for many women this path ends, or takes a long detour, in Northern China where many women become subject to sex trafficking or forced marriages due to the imbalance of the sexes in this area. This also means many women arriving in South Korea arrive with half-Chinese children whose status' are particularly difficult to ascertain.

Our role as volunteers will be to act as mentor and English tutor for the defectors now living in Daegu. Each teacher will be assigned a mentee to meet with once a week for English lessons. However, on top of these English lessons we are encouraged to meet outside of 'class' time and have fun as a way of promoting cultural exchange. There will also be a fun group event each month that we are strongly encouraged to attend. Though it will be difficult for me to meet too often due to the commute time to Daegu I still hope I will have the opportunity to get to know my mentee and make her feel a bit more comfortable in her new home.

On my way home, feeling pleased with myself for successfully taking the train to Daegu, I picked up a pint of Baskin Robins for the family. (Baskin Robins is wildly popular here.) Seeing their happily surprised faces was great, but eating mint chip and quarterback crunch together was even better.

WHAT I'VE BEEN GIVEN

Peeking out from behind the trees is my school, Shinpyeong Middle School. Both this woman with her fields, and my school are about a five minute walk from my host home.

Sunday I took a walk through the woods behind my middle school. The middle school sits at the top of a hill — the highest point in the neighborhood — and just above it sits the wood. A narrow dirt path and steep stairs made of logs and earth meander across the area, each curve harboring a small field or garden. I haven't been in Gumi long, but this is one of the things I know I love: that at any moment urban apartments may give way to farms and you can taste the difference in the air. Above my middle school a farmer is growing pumpkins, red peppers and morning glories, the fields themselves clinging dangerously to the hill.

I was walking here when I saw an insect — something long and scurrying — and I wondered what it was called, whether I could get a better look, maybe take a picture if it was interesting. And as I thought this my second thought was that I ought to thank my uncle, an entomologist, for giving me this interest.

My life so far has been rich with engaged and interested people who have given me so much to think about.

My grandparents on either side showed me that learning is not something stationary, but is happening to us at every moment if we only allow it. They taught me to learn from books and then that books come in many forms — sometimes they look like paper, other times they can be found in fossils or in a single word.

My parents showed me that nature is everywhere you look. They taught me to look at the tree and to ask its name, but also to look at the tree and see its shape and to know the name of the shape that belongs to just that tree.

I think how different my world would be if I were not looking at it, were not reading it through the eyes of my friends and family. Without them, these woods would be much emptier. I am so grateful.

These thoughts come as I am struggling with a difficult life decision. This last week I had several epiphanies. The first was when I realized late one evening that, while I would love to be a professor, there is so much more to consider before going to graduate school. The more I read about graduate school right now the riskier it appears, and while I value finding satisfaction in my work, there are other occupations where I could find that same satisfaction. The second occurred as I was leaving my school Friday afternoon and some students ran yelling past. I realized then that I love my students. I was afraid that I might never have that realization, but I did and I do.

Now, these two epiphanies aren’t necessarily related, but they could be. Both realizations are part of my learning process this year, the stress being on process — something that is intrinsically moving and changing.

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night I never knew I liked the night pitch-black sparks fly from the engine I didn't know I loved sparks I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15930#sthash.f7xpWePR.dpuf

I used to wonder how teachers could find it in them to care about all their students, even — especially — the troublemakers. How could teachers persistently wish for each and every student to succeed? Yet in becoming a teacher I have learned that teachers are always watching. I see my students all the time in and out of class. They are so active, so loud, and yet so often lost in themselves. They're just kids. I want them all to succeed, even — and especially — the ones that cause trouble. I know their behavior isn't about me, but about something they're going through.

It's good to know — as I'm trying to sift through my values and find out where they will lead — that I can still discover things that I care about, things that maybe I didn't expect.

LOSING MYSELF IN DAEGU (대구)

Last weekend I traveled from my home in Gumi to the nearby city of Daegu for some much needed time with friends and American food. All the cities in Korea have unique (sometimes odd) English slogans and this weekend "Colorful Daegu" was celebrating its name with an international body painting festival. My friend Jina and I planned to meet around mid-morning, grab an American brunch, then go to the festival until about 7 or 8 in the evening. Unfortunately Saturday turned out to be one of those days when everything goes wrong.

From Gumi to Daegu it is only 30 or 40 minutes by train or an hour by bus. I had planned to take the train, but as I barely caught the bus to the train station I got a text from a friend saying there were no trains to Daegu because of a crash at the station. As the day unfolded I learned that a KTX train (Korea's fastest, going around 300km/hr) had crashed into a slower train somewhere between Gumi and Daegu. I doubled back to the bus station and quickly bought a ticket for Dong Daegu where I hoped Jina was also arriving. The station was a madhouse because of the crash and I just barely managed to grab a seat on the bus. From Gumi to Daegu the aisle was stuffed full of standing people. In fact I was glad I made it on the bus at all.

Arriving in Daegu went smoothly and Jina and I were able to find each other with little trouble. For the last two weeks I hadn't seen or really spoken to anyone from orientation beyond the odd Kakao, so meeting Jina was cathartic. There are some things you can only say to people you know well. There are some things you can only vent about when you've already crossed that bridge with someone. We both had a lot to say about homestays and teaching. It's good to hear, not just what is similar, but what is wildly different about our experiences. It gives us some scaffolding, some perspective to hang on to when our own lives are so new.

Meeting up also gave us an opportunity to indulge. Jina was craving bacon and I was starting to dream about french toast so we caught a cab downtown in order to find JJ's Bar and Grill, a notoriously delicious brunch spot for foreigners. Once downtown we knew we were close. However, between the two of us I'm pretty good at maps, but pretty bad at Korean, whereas Jina is quite good at Korean, but not the best at maps. So we took a nice long walk before finally reaching JJ's — only to find that it was closed. We stood in front of the sign that said "JJ's Brunch 11-4 Sat and Sun" and shook the doors, but what can you do? We stopped into a little cafe, had a bit of a cry, used the toilet, and googled brunch spots in Daegu on our phones. I found a pretty hip looking cafe called Hany's that was supposed to be only a few blocks away. We walked there and it was as artsy as promised, but also closed.

At this point we gave up and went to a restaurant unambiguously called "Burgers and Pasta." The place had sliding glass doors opening out onto the wide shopping street and about five waiters. We were the only people there. But the best part was that "Burgers and Pasta" turned out to have brunch. It was like that saying, "Stop looking for love and love will find you," except it was "Stop looking for brunch and brunch will find you."

Pleasantly full, we did some wandering, some light shopping and slowly caught a taxi to Duryu Park where the festival was taking place.

The park was sprawling with twisty pine trees, hordes of food booths and picnickers. I want to go back and just lie in the shade on a lazy weekend. We explored a bit, ran into a few other ETAs and then watched the show. The festival had two parts — costume design and literal body painting. The costumes were first and were stunning in a gaudy, sci-fi kind of way. I liked the second half better. With the body painting you could really see how the paintings moved with and and around the model's muscles, like a new way of mapping out the body or some kind of optical illusion. It was the familiar shape of the human body made unfamiliar. Each time a model walked onto the stage I found myself straining to differentiate the body in paint from the picture itself.

After the show there was music and we ended up staying much longer than we meant to. I found myself reluctant to leave my friend's company and head home. The nights have been getting chillier now as the sun sets, just cold enough that you long to be out of the wind and to hold a hot drink in your hands. But we had buses to catch, host families to return to, and we went our separate ways.

I returned to the bus station feeling a little rushed, a little nervous. I wanted to get back to my host family and rest. I had gotten careless though. Usually I am a meticulous traveler, but I was feeling comfortable in Korea. I hadn't double checked the last bus times and when I got to the station I discovered the last bus was not at 9:30 as I thought but at 8:30. I had missed it by half an hour.

I texted my host mom and hurried over to the train station, thankfully within sight of the bus stop. There's nothing like losing your means of transportation to leave you feeling exposed. It's almost like a herd instinct, I wanted to have someone with me, or a hole to hide in. I felt then that everyone knew I was alone. My pessimistic side was confirmed when the clerk told me there were no trains to Gumi.

I walked back to the bus station once more and called my host mom. I told her I couldn't come back to Gumi, that I would call a friend and stay overnight. My eyes were crying a little bit and I hurried to walk it off, to look in control. It was at this point my phone told me it was running on only 7% battery. I've traveled a fair amount, but always with friends. Being in Daegu without a friend or phone would be the most alone I have ever been in my life. I didn't realize before how much my sense of safety everyday comes from having a place to return to and the confidence that I can get there. I was still fighting back tears when I called my friend Nic, a second year ETA who I knew was visiting friends in Daegu today. He was still in Daegu and told me how to reach them. I managed — with my phone still clinging to life — but not before I took the wrong bus, traveled 30 minutes into a dimly lit suburb and had to take a taxi all the way back. To know that I was safe, that this was not the weekend I would sleep on the streets of Daegu was such a relief. I'm grateful to have such support and friendship from all the ETAs here and to know, no matter where I am, there is someone I can call on. On the other hand, I'm going to stay put in Gumi this weekend, and the next time I travel, I will treat the Korean transit system with the proper respect and circumspection.