I know what you're all thinking, so I'm just gonna say it. Puppies are cuter than babies. There, now you can stop acting all weird. 

This opinion has landed me in some heated arguments, but before trying to argue with me please direct your attention to the left.

I even considered buying puppiesvsbabies.com to state my case. But I can't, because my Dad already owns every weird domain.

Let's get one thing straight though, puppies are not cuter than the students at Maehwa Elementary School. I promised some pictures at the end of my last post, so I had to deliver. 

Don't worry I forced all the kids to sign waivers before publishing their pictures. Next I'll force them to make bracelets I can sell at the Uljin market. 

The second to last picture above is by far my favorite. The student in the center, "Devon," never ceases to amaze me. I created a warm-up game where we all stand in a circle and take turns jumping in the middle, doing some random action. Everyone on the circumference has to copy the moves they see. 

Come to think of it this may have been subconsciously inspired by a Dan Deacon concert, but that's not important. What's important is that Devon constantly seems to be in the middle.

Every single time he comes up with some promiscuous dance move, each more original than the last, and all being very inappropriate. If Devon were one of my students with stripper names things would get a bit too real. 

As the game usually progressed, there are a bunch of 10 year-olds dancing around my room like I'm shooting a rap video while Devon is at the helm directing a choreographed masterpiece. I'm afraid teachers walking by will call the police, otherwise I'd let it happen for all 40 minutes, the kid is that hilarious.

Getting to know students like Devon and my fellow teachers has enabled me to comfortably settle into the routine of teaching; becoming more improvisational and less structured with each class. One such growing bond happens to be with our school's principal, Mr. No.   

It's difficult to confirm through the language barrier but I'm 73% certain he is incredible. On the first day of school I caught Mr.No crouching behind his car smoking a cigarette as kids were leaving school. 

He smiles at everything, and when I asked him if he wanted coffee after lunch one afternoon, Mr. No thought it was so funny he spit his drink all over the staff lounge. I didn't think it was funny, but everyone laughed at me. I drank my coffee alone that day. 

On the topic of drinking, things are slightly different here. In America teachers meet to figure out how to stop drinking. In Korea teachers meet to drink. 

About once or twice a month social gatherings known as "hwesiks" take place for teachers and staff. These meetings are customary throughout the country as a way to establish bonds outside the professional boundaries of school, and a portion of everyone's salary goes into a pool to help fund such excursions. 

For our first hwesik of the year we went to a Korean barbeque joint in downtown Uljin. This consisted of twenty or so employees cooking raw slabs of pork over hot coals, with the usual assortment of side dishes. The soju was abundant, causing true personalities to seep through the typically reserved exteriors of my colleagues. 

For those of you unfamiliar with soju, its basically a cheap vodka-like beverage available at every convenience store for a dollar or two. Needless to say soju has become a staple of Korean culture. Frequently it's mixed with beer (mek-ju) to create "so-mek." I've found Koreans to be very into mixing beverages and foods, though I'd advise following their creations not trying to create your own mixtures. Sprees and instant Ramen for example are not ideal. In fairness I only tried one flavor and they were the only foods in my apartment. 

At my inaugural hwesik every new teacher was expected to give a speech, and no one told me this. When it was my turn to toast, I literally said every Korean word I knew in a row. I think the rough translation was: "Hello, my name is Erik. It is nice to meet you. I am from the United States of America. Hello for me please. How do I get to the bus stop? Chicken. Thank you. Sports and Milk."

I eventually gave up and started speaking English as everyone laughed at me, definitely not with me. I felt like I was drinking coffee alone again.

Immediately afterwards, the joke continued when another teacher pointed out the holes in my socks. The teachers made a series of comments about me being poor as they were translated live by my the only other being in the room who knew English. I could feel either the attention or soju turning my face red. Ironically it made me stand out less because everyone in the room had Asian glow.

I thought we were done eating and drinking after about 2 hours of nonsense, when someone asked if I was ready for dinner. Assuming this was yet another joke, I gave a courtesy laugh before seeing giant bowls being carried in by waitstaff. There was more food.

Now I come from a long line of big eaters. When my Dad was 25, he consumed so much salted popcorn my mother almost rushed him to the hospital for dehydration treatment. A lifetime of training didn't matter, there were three 100-pound women and one 300-pound woman sitting near me, pushing me to the limits. I felt like a child as they steadily consumed for hours. All I could think about was getting my leg stuck again at my apartment. 

But they weren't done, no. Next we all went to a noraebang (singing room) for another 2 hours. As if I didn't already feel small from the night's events, every single Korean was like this kid. 

Well, not homeless, but incredible at singing. Even the quietest staff members would run into the middle of the room, screaming and dancing to some sort of go-to song they'd unfairly practiced for years. I of course, as a newcomer, was forced to sing. The mood was high, so I searched for an instrumental song to mess with everyone. When I couldn't find a wordless chorus, the obvious choice became "Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. 

This really, really freaked everyone out. I mean legitimately. They tried to act interested, but no one could understand the song or why I almost started crying during the last verse. Completely demoralized, I took a seat and watched my mentor teacher "Q" reinvent the dance circle while Korean pop hits played for the rest of the night.

Please try to put this hwesik into personal context. You are 12. All of your teachers, on a Tuesday, leave school early and go to a bar. They eat and force each other to take shots for hours, then haze all the new teachers and make fun of the foreign one for being poor.

Someone suggests that everyone go to a singing room to drink more, half-seriously mentioning that you won't get paid if you don't go. Here, every teacher somehow manages to sing like a bird. After 5 hours of nonsense most teachers, regardless of state, drive home. The remainder return to school grounds....for more drinks. The next morning everyone acts like nothing happened while naive students assume their teachers were planning lessons all evening.

Oh and the school pays for it.

And that's not the strange part. The strange thing about hwesiks is that they actually work. After meetings like this you grow closer to your colleagues and tend to operate as a more cohesive unit, even if no one speaks of the nights events. 

Alright time to inquire about my hot water heater so I can shower.. I'm in danger of becoming the smelly kid at school and I'm not even a student.

p.s. That picture of ugly baby Yoda is actually me. Hot, I know.

I wake up every morning between 7 and 11 a.m.. My water heater doesn't work, so next I'll take a cold shower at most twice a week. Then I put my pants on just like you, one leg at a time, except first I have to pry each leg loose from the trap between my toilet and the wall. 

Depending on the hour I'll either walk or run to the nearest bus stop. The benches there are routinely filled with the same "ajummas", a Korean word meaning middle-aged woman. Most of the regular ajummas have gotten to know me. Not because they like me, because every time a bus comes I start screaming "Mae-hwa" uncontrollably. 

This is my strategy for going to school. I run around and scream until an ajumma or "hal-mo-nee" (grandmother) literally pushes me onto a seat. Everyone at the bus stop thinks I am disabled. They might be right. 

The "disabled foreigner" reputation is further reinforced by my bus of choice. The only reliable one i've found seems to be for the elderly or handicapped. There are less seats, but more handles and bars for increased stability. I think the driver has made an exception and lets me ride out of pity. I usually wait until we get close to my school then start screaming again until the same women force me off the bus. 

None of the city buses have my destination on the window and in rural Korea it's unlikely to find English or an English speaker. The situation is further complicated by a lack of defrosters, meaning I can't even use the windows to gauge location unless I fight through ajummas to the front of the bus.

When I finally arrive, usually in a state of distress, I'll take my shoes off and put on sandals that are at best 4 sizes too small. From here I hunt down the principal and vice principal to give the obligatory greetings and bows, a process that's reversed at day's end.

My first day of school I missed the bus altogether and had to take a 10 km cab in order to make class on time. I presented an introductory set of pictures of my family and life in the States, having but one picture of my Dad who is affectionately known as "Tgos". In this picture, Tgos in the process of dominating a piece of birthday cake. When the image came on screen one of the students almost started crying and tried to leave the room. Fortunately the situation was neutralized by a series of animal pictures. This marked the first time I was glad we have 8-12 pets.  

I tried giving my students English names, but in my 1st grade class this concept went way over their heads. In a panic I started giving them stripper names, it was the first thing that came to mind. I think there are two Sabrinas and a Raven.  All are under the age of 6, and one is male. 

You can't win, because if you let them pick their own names you'll end up with 2-3 "Optimus Prime's" and a "Korean Human". I've noticed a weird obsession with Optimus over here. Actually it's not weird, he is awesome. 

This, is my teaching life.

Maewha Elementary school is nestled into the abundant mountains of eastern Korea, named for the Japanese apricot flowers lining school grounds in early Spring. There is a soccer field made of sand, broken up by a jungle gym and gazebo style sitting area. The school is small, but the interior is ornately decorated and each classroom is equipped with ample teaching materials and technological capabilities. 

All of the teachers are wonderful and do their best to make me feel welcome despite a significant language barrier. The students are also well behaved for the most part, likely a product of humble roots in rural Korea. It's a stark contrast to the urban kids I'd been working with before coming here. 

The stares, whispers,  questions, and nick-names my students bombard me with are further evidence some could count the number of foreigners they've ever seen on one hand.

Now that I've begun teaching, it's important to practice using visual aids. No no no, not AIDS as in Magic Johnson disease.  Seriously grow up guys. 

I'm talking about visually stimulating students instead of smothering them with text. For example, this chart to the left was created based on extensive research I've been conducting since arriving in Uljin. If you don't know what a crab-person is talk to Andrew Jacob Senkowski. In High School he used to shape his hands like claws and creepily grab pretty girls' hair. 

Here is another practice example I created to describe my brother's most recent musical performance at The Lizard Lounge, in Lancaster, PA.

My severe ADD enables me to relate to the attention spans of young children. I basically figure out what would be interesting to me, then usually get distracted and start staring at a wall.



After a squirrel distracts me from the wall, I get back to creating lesson plans. Another crazy thing about ADD is that do you guys want to go to the basketball game?

Staggering short and simple lessons with fun activities seems to work best.  Fortunately these kids are smart, many already know so many Englishes. The most difficult thing I've encountered is the lack of curriculum, which on paper would seem like a good thing. It does allow for a bit of freedom when lesson planning, but creates more work while forcing me to guess ability levels and arbitrarily choose class topics.

There is a steep learning curve to becoming a good teacher and I have a lot to learn. I try to make small improvements on a daily basis and hopefully at some point the kids will get something from my ramblings. I'm lucky to know some great teachers  whom I can lean on for insight down the road. 

The work ethic of an average Korean student is remarkable. These kids cope with intense class all day before filling their evenings with private instruction, sports, and instrument lessons. They're lucky to get home late at night; cramming dinner, homework, and studying into their last hours. Their last hours of the day, not their last hours ever. You're sick. Most students repeat this process Groundhog's day style for years, some even using weekends as opportunities to study more.

This type of lifestyle can make students maximize their potential, yes. It can also drive them to exhaustion. I want my students to work hard and hopefully learn, like any teacher. But I also want them to leave English class with a positive association of the language. I think the latter is more achievable, so my current strategy is to keep class as light and fun as possible with serious lessons sprinkled in here and there. 

Being in the unique position of simultaneously learning and teaching a language, I can interrelate these experiences to hopefully improve as both teacher and student. I'm sure my philosophy and teaching style will evolve with time but I've thoroughly enjoyed the challenges up to this point. I mean it's not that hard to hang out with cute kids all day. It makes me miss my nieces a lot, and my nephew......a little.  Sorry Jackson, but it doesn't matter you are 2 and you can't even read this.

After school I return to the rather barren apartment I call home. The only decorations in my apartment consist of a Korean doll crafted in honor of my brother-in-law and a couple paintings I made during a Korean art class. 

It might seem counter-intuitive to think such simplicity could actually be better but I've found living with fewer possessions quite liberating. 

I have boxes upon boxes of things at home that occupy my mind, but here I am 5 minutes away from packing a 
backpack and having my entire life with me. Sorry for getting all Ricky WIlliams on ya but it's true.

Life in Uljin is improving as well with each new person I meet. It's more the people than the place, and the interesting individuals encountered daily make me forget about locational shortcomings. Not to say I don't miss my family and friends back home, but developing a network has been essential for adjustment. 

Among these people are a few teachers that have cumulatively been in Korea for almost a decade. They thoughtfully invited me over for dinner and a night out my first weekend in Uljin, a rather comforting escape. At one point Mark, an Atlanta native, let me drive his car in Uljin. People here can't drive and laws are seldom enforced. An example is the highway patrol system. There are generally no police officers, only sensors along the side of the road to gauge your speed. The catch is that almost every Korean owns a GPS and almost every GPS can detect the sensors. This means with the right equipment you can drive however you please and never get caught.

But the reason most Koreans have a GPS isn't necessarily to avoid speeding tickets, it's because many legitimately don't know or care where they are going. Like Kevin Goserud they depend on technology to replace a sense of direction. And like me, they have trouble walking in a straight line. I think this means most Koreans are actually Goseruds. Hold on, so does that mean most Goseruds are Korean? I'm not sure.

One exception to the driving generalization is postal workers. The address system in Korea isn't always reliable, as many places are still in the process of acquiring numerical labeling. Knowing the location of a numberless place is therefore an important skill. Mail carriers have to know everywhere they are going, inside and out. According to a conversation I had with Mark, this gives carriers the upper hand in negotiating salary, benefits, and general working conditions. 

All of this talk about driving made me scared to venture to the crab festival with "Bobbie", a Korean guy who works at the Nuclear power plant in town. Oh yeah, there is a nuclear power plant in town. They call it a power farm and it helps subsidize many expenses for Uljin residents, so its not a completely bad thing. They also claim rain in Uljin makes you lose your hair so it might not be a good thing either. 

Bobbie and a few others saw me working on a lesson plan and invited me to join them for the evening at the Uljin Crab Festival, about a 40 km and 30 minute drive away. Bobbie is a good driver. 

We didn't actually eat any crab, but instead strolled through the different tents of street vendors finding a rare performance at the end of the strip. This consisted of one middle aged man in full make up singing requests to anyone who paid enough attention to listen. During a particularly upbeat song, another man, reeking of soju, grabbed my arm and began to hip check / thrust me. I didn't know what to do except thrust back, so we went at it for about two verses. When he reached for my hand I decided it was time leave. For a hotel. Personal space can be an issue here. 

While snacking on octopus and beondegi, a silk worm cocoon snack popular in Korea, Bobbie explained the festival around us. Gambling is rare here but we managed to stumble across a lady who let us throw 100-Won pieces at a target for the chance to win more. I won five-times the amount I threw. She didn't give me any money. I don't know enough Korean so I walked away. The hip thrust guy saw this happen and moved towards me. I walked away faster.

The night ended at a "hae-jang-guk" restaurant, a popular stew known as "hangover soup." They basically combine some vegetables with a blood based broth, then add meat and a few bones for flavor. It was quite delicious and I felt very fortunate to have a generous local take me around for the evening. 

I don't have an ending video for you per usual, but I promise to make up for it with many pictures of cute Korean kids in my next post. Sandusky, no. 

A few more stories come to mind, but they'll just have to wait. You see, April is around the corner and I have to plan my lesson about Chernobyl Victim Remembrance Day.   

I also apologize for any typos occurring during this post. I frequently wear gloves when writing to combat a broken heating system and  historically cold Korean winter. 

Note: All pictures should be expandable, except for the one of Tgos dominating cake / scaring children. No one wants to see that. 

This one goes out to Dan Klibert.

My senior year of college I decided to enroll in a "coaching" class at Penn State, which featured a weekly lecturer from the university's archives of athletic figures. One such week a man by the name of Jerry came by to talk about his charity organization, The Second Mile, which helped foster and guide troubled youth. 

Jerry Sandusky touched me that day.

Not physically, but I recall being moved by a man who'd given up his legendary coaching career to pursue a greater good. Obviously he had hidden motives that wouldn't reveal themselves for years. I guess things aren't always what they seem.  

Korea isn't always what it seems, either. I guess you could say Korea is a bit like Jerry Sandusky. The picture painted during orientation was not completely untrue for most scholars, but it was a bit misleading for others.  I'll elaborate later, but first I'll describe my transition from Jochiwon to Uljin.

Leaving Jochiwon was bittersweet. While somewhat difficult to see everyone go their separate ways, it was exciting to move towards an independent life. Our last days in Jochiwon were filled with concluding ceremonies and a final trip to Seoul for the show "Nanta," a combination of Iron Chef and Stomp. In-betweem there were a few celebratory nights out which made some scholars love Jochiwon, and made some Jochiwon residents hate the scholars.  

We also took a day trip to a Korean farm where villagers taught us how to make rice cake and tofu from scratch.

After the formalities were taken care of, smaller groups of scholars were bused off to their regional orientation locations. Some were put up in five-star hotels in more of a party atmosphere, others were placed in rural areas and forced to lesson plan for hours a day. My group, consisting of scholars going to the Gyeongbuk province, were sent to an English / Concentration camp called "Chilgok English Town," about a three-hour bus ride away. 

This place was one of the most bizarre atmospheres I've ever found myself in, and I pride myself on getting weird. We were situated outside of Korea's third largest city, Daegu, yet surrounded by woods so dense that supervisors warned us of wild boar. We were in the middle of Korea, yet everything in this English town was western in nature. They basically ship kids there for days or weeks to simulate life in an English speaking country.  

The interior was lined with mach stores, including an artificial subway and simulation of times square. There was a full fake airport with a real plane attached to it. They even built a special room there as well specifically made for me to recreate my beanie baby picture. 

We were told it was about an hour walk to the closest form of civilization, then were told not to attempt to leave. I felt like I was on the set of the Korean version of "The Shining", and was surprised to learn this camp was the third largest in Korea. Mostly because that means there are more.

All of us were unsure about the next five days at this place. But as it would turn out, we got incredibly lucky. 

Everyone there bonded quickly and our regional coordinators were incredibly generous, planning interactive lectures and events during the days, and providing us with chicken and beer at night. At one point a K-Pop dance team came to perform. After being broken into teams and forced to memorize a dance in an hour, each team had to perform on stage for the entire camp. Our team of six males and one female won on pure sex appeal, mostly stemming from a 
 6' 3" South African Rugby player appropriately named Riekus. 

Riekus is basically a giant teddy bear that will kill you. One night, before I knew him, I wanted to see what percentage teddy bear to rugby beast he was, so I decided to give him a kiss on the cheek. Turns out he is mostly Teddy Bear. Speaking of bears, I could really use a six-inch Hungry Bears sub right now.

A number university students from Korea were also living at the camp. This was my first opportunity to spend an extended amount of time with Korean peers. They are all fun, friendly, and borderline insane. Ill let this blog elaborate for me (Don't read if you are my mom).

This environment meant there was no way out of celebrating my birthday. They actually forced me to celebrate twice, once in Korean time and again in American time. It was a unique experience to celebrate in a more Korean style, although my actual birthday was about as bizarre as English camp itself. The day began with a traditional ceremony in which we had to dress up in Hanbok, got progressively stranger, and ended in a dorm room where people were yelling things I didn't understand. 

It was my 27th birthday in Korean age, because you are one year old at birth here, and I'll certainly never forget the 12th anniversary of my 14th birthday. 

Thankfully we went on a trip to Daegu to help break the monotony of English camp life. We indulged in raw seafood and traditional sides here, and meandered through the city for awhile. Daegu is known for having the hottest Korean guys, and after wandering the streets I'd have to agree. A smaller group of us also spent an hour outside the country's oldest Buddhist Temple, about 1,500 years in age.

It was rather peaceful and one of the few times I didn't feel trapped by TaLK obligations. Another series of obligatory ceremonies took place at the end of regional orientation. I found it much harder to depart than Jochiwon for a number of reasons. First of all, a more close knit community was formed at English town of all places, and secondly we were all venturing into our independence instead of more orientation. 

Our last day we all gathered in a giant gymnasium, dressed to impress our school representatives that would pick us up and take us to our apartments. My preconceived notions of Uljin included there being more crabs than people. I pictured myself walking down the streets having to kick crabs out of the way to go anywhere.  My mentor teacher, "Q", picked me up with a friendly face as I said goodbye to fellow scholars. He put me at ease on the trip to Uljin, even encouraging me to sleep on the ride. We stopped along the coastal overlooks, and communicated the best we could in attempts to acquaint ourselves.

Q took me to the coastal city of Pohang, where I had to register as an Alien. The only reason this is worth mentioning is because of the picture process. They snap a passport style photo in about 15 seconds, then spend about 15 minutes touching up your skin, removing blemishes, and making you as white as they can. If you pay enough attention you pick up on the small daily examples of western obsession. Everyone in the west wants to be tan, and everyone in the east wants to be white. Most rappers want to be black. It's an ironic example of the general discontent that plagues most people. I just want to be like Karl.

We then traveled to my Elementary school to meet other teachers, the Principal, and Vice Principal. I introduced myself using Korean, but squeeked badly, I mean baaaadly, in the middle of a long phrase. I must have perfectly timed my voice change with the right inflected syllable because they all understood what I was saying.

After the meeting we traveled to my apartment, before sitting down for a traditional Korean meal. They then gave me the keys, showed me the bus station, and cut me loose. 

In all fairness, my situation is very much along the lines of what I signed up for. I have a modest kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and balcony, on the second floor of a small building mostly occupied by families. The only complaint is that the toilet practically touches the wall, leaving no leg room. I have adopted a straddle method that may or may not continue when I return home. It's quite comfortable and easy to read. Try it.

My town is a concentrated part of a rural area. I have desolate mountains and beaches a short bus ride or long walk away. There is a police station and catholic church visible from my bedroom window. The town also has plenty of restaurants, bars, noraebangs (Korean karaoke rooms), markets, and whatever else I need to live at a basic level. 

Now back to what I began to mention about Korea and the TaLK program sometimes throwing people for a loop. Some scholars are currently in Jeju, a southern island known as Korea's Hawaii. They live in brand new buildings, with hot-tubs, flat screen tv's, and tons of their friends in the same building. These people get stipends to travel to and from the island. Others, like my fellow Uljin scholar, have apartments like the one pictured below, with no internet and minimal access to a bus. Some have hour long commutes daily, or are expected to be at school all day and on the weekends.  Most, including myself, are somewhere in the middle of this spectrum and have no reason to complain. 

In a short month I've learned to drop all expectations because you truly don't know what you're going to get on a daily basis.

Today was a Korean national holiday, celebrating a 17-yeah old girl's efforts to initialize a revolution that would eventually bring Korea independence from Japan. I spent this day exploring Uljin, and found out that this place has much more to offer than I anticipated. 

During my travels I stumbled upon a market that is open every 5th day, and here I found a couple unique seafood items. 

As I was writing this post, a Korean guy approached me and asked in English if my name was Erik. I guess there are only two cafe's in Uljin, and I randomly ended up at one of them. His name is David, and he's a TaLK scholar from a year ago hailing from Toronto.  David recently signed on for a second year, and he's been filling me in about the expat community here and about general life in Uljin. Apparently there are a handful of teachers in town, from all over the world. 

He speaks of an English club that takes place weekly in the cafe I'm currently in, and of a dog meat soup restaurant around the corner. The club generally begins with conversational English open to anyone in town, and generally ends with a trip to the Noraebang. I am growing more eager to explore this place with each anecdote. 

Tomorrow at 11 am I will take a bus to Maehwa Elementary School in rural Uljin, home to my 68 students. After meeting them, hopefully some traveling will fill the weekend void before my first day of teaching on Monday.  I may try to go to a snow crab festival famous in southern Uljin. Only one person via facebird claims to be going, but I bet a lot of crabs will go.

Even with a bit of teaching experience, I am reasonably apprehensive about independently teaching children who may never have heard English. The great thing about kids is that they universally transcend the cultural and lingual barriers most adults succumb to, and reminding myself of this keeps me at ease. I was going to make a Jerry Sandusky joke next, but I also reminded myself that Donna Goserud reads this blog. I guess what I'm trying to say is I hope all of my students end up like this one. 

I'd love to keep writing, but English club is evolving around me.