We got game

Okay, you guessed it... this picture wasn't taken in Korea. It was passed on by my brother and I liked it so much that I've decided to immortalize it by posting it to my journal. This was taken on a sunday afternoon, after the Backbar Rovers (soon to be the New Belgium Rovers) and Steinclub played games on adjacent fields. While I always thought our greatest talent was not our
ability to kick a soccer ball, but our ability to drink beer (note the Steak, Taters, and Gravy in hand). However, since I kicked around Saturday I realized that our soccer skills aren't so bad either. Despite what the rest of the world thinks, there are some pretty good American soccer players.

I had been here three weeks to the day before I finally touched a soccer ball. In the meantime I had conversed with people from Nigeria, New Zealand, Great Britain, Croatia, Slovenia, and of course, Korea about the world's game. It truly is an international language as I have found that the conversation between two completely foreign strangers perks up immediately when I mention the beautiful game and how I love to play it. It seems that everytime I meet a non-American, the one thing that we always have that we can talk about is soccer. After all, every guy outside of America knows who Steven Gerrard is.

Now talking and playing are two different things, and I wasn't sure what the skill level would be like and whether or not I could hang. After Saturday's game, I now know how silly I was for thinking that. While the gents had great footskills and were fairly quick, I didn't face the kind of pressure I got accustomed to at SportPort (the site of the photo). All of those times I got beat up by behemoth defenders definetly prepared me for the challenges I easily absorbed Saturday. Not that one game tells everything about the whole soccer culture, but suffice to say that the talent I faced in St. Louis, Missouri more than stands up to the talent I faced Saturday. I promptly e-mailed my dad and brother, telling them the game results (I won't toot my own horn here, but they know what happened) and my dad had an interesting response. He said that the pitch is a great place to represent my country in a positive way and I strongly agree with that statement. I wish more Americans would play.

I'm not really sure what the point of this post is (a common phenomenon), so I guess I'll just say that it is an ode to the game I love and a tribute to all of the great players back home. Miss you bhoys!!

In case anyone was wondering... I do have a job

Since I'm in a PC room right now and I can't for the life of me figure out how to get this card reader to work, I'm afraid that this particular entry will be photoless. I know what everyone is thinking: "Why would we want to use our imaginations?--Show us the goods, whiteboy" (or something like that). I know from experience how repulsive this idea is seeing how last night my neighbor lent me a book with--ready for this--no pictures. What on earth am I supposed to do with that? Since I wouldn't want my readers to wake up Friday morning and run to their computers only to realize that they have no new entry, I guess I'll just have to use my words. Anything to appease the hungry audience back home (as I pat myself on the back).

This is a good time for me to give a brief introduction to what will be a weekly blurb on my professional (author snickers) life. I have fortunately fallen into a very sweet gig. I am currently teaching 5 classes a day, 5 days a week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are the more sophisticated classes, i.e. they understand or at least pretend to understand english and can even converse a little. Tuesday and Thursdays are the joyous days when the classes are a little bigger and a lot slower--that is as far as english comprehension is concerned. So I have ten different classes, ranging from 6 to 12 students. I work from 4-9 MWF, and 3-8 TTr. Just for perspective--A couple of weeks ago when I was in Anyang, another teacher I met was saying how fortunate he was to work 9-6 Monday thru Friday. Yikes!

Having never seen a pure white Christian man before, the children are very curious and friendly. They like to say things like: "Teacher! You HANDSOME!!", to which I say: "Thanks, buddy... right back at ya!". For some reason it's always the boys that say that (scratches head).
One Saturday morning I walked down to the store and bought some treats to pass out to the kids on the street (they're everywhere) and I swear I was nothing less than the pied piper himself. The kids love waving, saying "HI!!" and giggling. I would be lying if I said I don't have a blast with it.

Anyway, back to the point (a loose term here) of this treatise: I am taking pictures of each of my classes and will publish my first entry in the next day or so. I'm starting with my smartest class, who have been a real joy to teach. I'll get to the little demon-monsters (kidding... not kidding... no seriously, kidding) in later weeks.

In an aside final note, I hope everyone had a wonderful thanksgiving and I want to express how much I missed my family and friends. Luckily, I have two wonderful neighbors who have gone out of their way to make me feel at home and successfully talked me off the ledge last night. Not to depress anyone, but the idea of going a thanksgiving day without family, friends, turkey, and the Dallas Cowboys is one that I never thought I'd face. I made it through it though, and had a wonderful day today. So, I guess there's hope for Christmas after all. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Alright, Alright.

Since I've been under enormous pressure from unsaid sources to crank out entries as if I were in a Kathy Lee sweatshop, my school expose will have to wait. Instead, I give my faithful and beloved readers a rushed and uninspired account of a Saturday night out with some new friends. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

I was telling a colleague the other night that I would never post a picture of myself on my own log. Why, you ask? Just to keep the friends and family back home wondering if I ever got a haircut. The answer thus far is obviously no. Since this is the only picture I will ever show of myself (Keep in mind I said two days ago I would never post a picture of yours truly), I'm glad I'm wearing such a lovely blue shirt.

Going clockwise around the table, sitting next to me is Theresa. I met Theresa earlier that evening at a briss. Sitting next to her is Veronica, whom Theresa and I met on the subway. Sitting to her left is her second cousin Jeremetrius and his girlfriend Fantasia. The gal sitting next to her, Violetta, is self-conscious about having no nose, thus she would only agree to be in the picture if she could hide behind Anastasia, pictured at the right forefront. Anastasia is a sherpa who would later guide us around Itaewon. Not pictured is the lovely Gilian, who is not pictured because she is on the other side of the camera.

Itaewon is a part of Seoul in which there are a bunch of cheesy western bars and jacked-up drink prices. It should be noted that there is a major army base in Itaewon. It took us about one hour to get there by subway. I'll give the place this much: We did have some extremely delicious Thai food and the place has tremendous energy. The group pictured was a fun, intellectual bunch whose company was very much enjoyed. While I met a bunch of really cool people in Seoul the weekend before, I had no real desire to talk to anyone outside the group in this spot. It was like the nightclubs back home: filled with drunken adrenalized meatheads (present company included). I regaled the ladies with my overblown tales of my stint as a bouncer (NEVER say doorstaff). They were pretty impressed until they felt my muscles.

Overall, it was an enjoyable and successful evening out, although I regret to say that our sherpa is leaving the country after two years. Our group will be sans guide. Alas, we must continue on...

There they were just a'walking down the Street

Okay, before I begin my spiel, musing, rant, or whatever you might want to call my snippets I want everyone to note three things about this picture (yeah, I know... only three??!!): Number 1. There's noone in this picture. Number 2. The cars are parked in both directions. Number 3. Look how freakin' narrow this street is!!

This is a typical sort of street/alley. These are in every direction from the hogwan and lead to the broader boulevards where all the businesses are. Number one is of special note because it never happens. I took a picture of this street with noone on it because it is akin to taking a picture of Bigfoot--Not the truck. This was taken on an early Sunday morning, which is the quietest and possibly only quiet time of the week. Normally this alley would be flooded with children by day and stumbling drunk businessmen by night. I will delve deeper into the aspect of children roaming the streets in a future installment, but for now I wanted to give the idea that people walk around on these streets constantly.

Now note number two. What could one surmise from the fact that the cars are parked in both directions? Anyone who guessed that this is a two-way street is either perceptive or a college gargiguate like myself. Yes, cars go both ways on this street. How does this work you ask? I really can't explain--it defies physics. Thankfully, American influence is rubbing off and there is a movement towards bigger cars here, which should only help the traffic flow on streets like this. Also in the mix are the incredibly brave scooter and motorcycle drivers, who zip along these avenues in a manner that would make Eval Kineval say: "Damn. Those cats are insane."

Finally (mercifully), we go to point number three, which was sort of covered in point two. Mentally picture point one (tons of people--mostly children) and mix it together with point two (two-way traffic and maniacal scooter drivers) and add the fact that this street is about fifteen feet wide and what do you get? In the words of the Crocodile Hunter: "Danger, danger, danger." You would think the pedestrians would be really cautious, but in fact they don't even notice the cars. They obliviously walk in the middle of the street in front of traffic and the drivers just honk their horns and zoom right around them. And I used to think U. City was bad. (Mom may be the only one who gets that joke, but oh well. Here's to you.)

There's Something Fishy about this Place

I want to preface this post by saying that this country has alot going for it. I've walked around three different cities with absolutely no worry whatsoever of being attacked, mugged, or worse. The people have been warm and friendly, and the food (I've been able to sidestep the landmines thusfar) has been terrific. The streets are lively and fun, and there are a million things to do. That being said...

DAMN, THIS PLACE SMELLS FUNKY! I mean, walking around, about every 15 yards there is an air pocket of pure funk. Imagine the smell of this fish stand... Okay now imagine that there is one of these every 20 feet and you're beginning to get a feel for the scent of the marketplace. Not complaining here--I love the marketplace--just telling how it is. The air is alive with funky fish aromas (odors).

The second distinctive funk pocket comes from the trash. The city dwellars never really figured out what to do with their trash, so they just kind of scatter it around. Don't get me wrong, they are making an effort. They used to just burn everything so there was a burning garbage funk pocket which was probably more like a funk cloud. So now they have a 4-tiered sorting and recylcing system. The problem is that noone really knows how this works and if the trash isn't sorted properly, it just kinda gets left on the curb. Seeing how noone knows what to do with trash, you don't see many trash cans around (Who wants that kind of responsibility?). This wouldn't lead to a litter problem, would it?

Anyway, funk pocket three is from the underbelly of the city--the sewage. I'm not really sure why I get an occasional whiff of this but I think it may have something to do with the massive population and the fermented cabbage they eat with every meal.

All of this being said, I still haven't come across a smell funkier than the alley behind PaddyO's (shout out to my homies). And it isn't as if the air is totally gross. It is more of a deal where your walking along and every 10th step or so you just kind of wrinkle your nose and say "Damn". I've already made it a running joke with my neighbors when we're walking along and I stop and say: "Hmmm. That's odd... It smells like fish."

Whenever I'm feeling low...

Or whenever I'm feeling the blues (or insert your own crappy bass guitar pun here if you wish)... Yep, this baby's mine--an electric bass guitar, just what I've always wanted. Remember how I always talked about wanting to play the bass and how I could never find the right one? Neither do I. I'll admit it's a bit of an impulse buy, but it's pretty friggin' cool. It is resting on the first item I bought on the marketplace--a blue down comforter. I'm proud of this buy as it's the least girly looking blanket in Korea and I talked the proprietor down from 30,000 won to 17,000. As you all can imagine it was all in the smooth talking.

Anyway, back to the bass... I figure this would give me a hobby during the day time and I should be able to completely master it in a month with a little practice, kind of like the Korean language. If not, no big deal. I just want it laying out for when the chicks come over. Even if they ask me to play it, o.k., it doesn't have an amp so you can't hear it anyway. SWEET!

On an aside, I have to apologize for not posting over the weekend. My jet lag finally caught up with me and I spent the last couple of days in bed resting. Something funky happened to my stomach; perhaps it had something to do with fermented cabbage--who knows? Anyway, I was pretty laid out so I wasn't able to post. I know how sad it must have made everyone, so I'm doing a special 2 for 1 bonus this evening. Enjoy, boys and girls.

Episode I: The Quest for Coffee

After a hazy, on and off night of quasi-sleep after the thoroughly exhausting journey overseas, I got up early with an enormous hankering for a hot cup o' joe. I ventured out on my own into the neighborhood in search of a coffee shop. The best way to do this without offending anyone is to walk down the street and yell aloud: "I'm American and I need Starbucks!!!" I've been told that this is the best way to show my new neighbors how open-minded and accepting of other cultures I am. This advice came from the same person that told me to kick somebody's ass on the first day or become someone's boy toy. Kidding aside, I couldn't seem to find coffee but I'd never found wandering around aimlessly so interesting.

This area is about a two minute walk from my apartment. While it looks like a noisy neighborhood, my place is actually tucked away on a quiet corner (more on that later). The place on the left is the marketplace, while the place with all of the traffic is the... the... Honestly, I don't know what this place is, but I do know that there is no Starbucks. A person can find just about anything he or she wants in this place, unless they are looking for gourmet coffee, then they are SOL. I never did find my Starbucks, but was able to solve my coffee crisis later that day. The new boss (he would never let me call him that to his face) took me to the department store and I bought a coffee maker and grounds. I didn't bring my camera along due to the fact that I don't want to be one of those annoying people who walks around a department store and takes pictures, at least, not on the first day.

Later that evening, while wandering around the market, I made my first Korean friend, You Doctor (his name is "You", no b.s.). He said he saw me shouting for coffee earlier and had a deep respect for my American manners. Seriously though, we did have a conversation (I was so happy that he understood me and vice versa) and he invited me over to his house. There he and his wife fed me persimmons, pears, and some sort of deep-fried grass or onion. I don't know what it was, but it sure was tasty. Also, we drank their homemade whiskey, which had been brewing in a big jug for a year. The ingredients: Jack Daniels, ginseng, mushrooms (beats me), anise, and Chinese herbs. My first taste of Korean hospitality was a smashing success. Perhaps I was the first blond-blue person they've ever seen in Suwon.

A short time ago in a country far, far away...

Hi everybody! As promised, I've created a blog--yes, I've become one of those people. I'm sitting in a PC room in my little neighborhood in Suwon and I finally figured out how to change the settings on this computer to accomodate an English speaking "waygook" like myself. While I don't yet have pictures to share, I promise they will come along very soon. Believe me, I've got plenty of material to shoot.

First order of business is to let everyone that I haven't contacted yet know that I made it over here in one piece, sanity intact. I won't kid you guys, the flight was a bear. I should preface my flight synopsis by saying that I had this bright idea of wearing a thick sweatshirt and down coat to save luggage space. It's November, right? It must be chilly somewhere in-between St. Louis, San Francisco and Suwon, right? WRONG! November 4, and it's 75 degrees across the globe, which made walking around the airport with two twenty pound bags and three layers of clothing all the more enjoyable.

At least I got to fly Singapore Air, which is fantastic. After transferring from AA, which wouldn't even give me peanuts on a four1/2 hour flight, I was welcomed aboard Singapore with a steaming hot towel. My greasy, sweatty face was beaming underneath the ridiculously hot towel. I was also given a complimentary comfort pack, which consisted of a toothbrush and paste and a pair of purple socks with tread on the bottom. I didn't make that up, I've still got the socks. I had a personal LCD screen with an on-demand package. So much for reading War and Peace on the flight (sorry, Tim G.).

Despite the movie marathon, I really started getting stir crazy about 61/2 hours into the flight. At least I thought that was the duration--I had not brought a watch and had no concept of time elapsed other than guessing from what I watched and estimating how long I had slept (not very long sitting in an upright position). At least I didn't go hungry. The cuisine was excellent for airplane food, and I had some decent riesling to go with it. Despite the excellent service and entertainment, 12 hours on a plane is 12 hours on a plane. I was a zombie for the next two days and finally slept through the night last night--three days later.