Feeling Glad.

It is still typhoon season here in South Korea. As much as I love rain in the summer, my clothes still take forever to dry. I suppose there may be a more practical way to speed-dry a pair of pants for work, rather than frantically positioning my hair dryer every which way. Or more importantly, a more energy efficient one. Perhaps I need to time my laundry days more appropriately. Or not spill drinks down the side of my leg when I consume them. I'm worse than my students sometimes.
I've really become fond of this whole teaching thing. I usually have a lot of energy, and I love being in a classroom with kids. I wasn't sure that I would still have those

same genuine feelings after my August session, since I was given three extra classes in the morning (which tallied up my hours to 11-12 each day.) My hagwan, (the Korean word for academy) offers extra summer intensive courses in the mornings, as many hagwans do here. Because what kid need a real summer vacation, anyway?
Yesterday was my last day of intensive classes. Despite feeling a bit exhausted from it, I'm still pretty enthusiastic about being here and teaching. I suppose I may be in a smaller percentile of the people who genuinely like it, vs. the seemingly larger percentile of people who are here solely for the money, and are hanging in there each day. It's easy to get frustrated here. My friends and I joke about feeling like slave labor during our month of intensives, but there are times when it's easy to feel that way.
Despite my crazy work schedule, I was able to go on a few excursions this summer that were lots of fun, and much needed. July and August proved to be very hot and humid months, which made it less desirable to be outdoors, but more desirable to head for the beach.

In mid-July, I went to a really fun festival a few hours north west of Gwangju. The Boryeong Mud Festival is, well, just that. A festival of mud. Good mud though. It's said to contain minerals good for your skin. People come from all over Korea to cover themselves in mud, let it harden, and then rinse off in the beach. It's been going on for about ten years now on Daecheon Beach in Boryeong. It's definitely known to be a huge attraction for foreigners.

The beach and surrounding area was packed with Koreans and foreigners covered head-to-toe in mud. There was a huge mud wrestling pit, a mud slide, and lots of other activities to do. I went with a bunch of other teachers from work. We pretty much just layered on lots of mud and took silly pictures. The beach started getting really crowded as we were leaving late in the afternoon. The festival went on for the entire weekend, but we decided just to stay for the day. I'd like to go back to that beach when it's not so crowded. It was a 3 hour bus ride. I've come to enjoy bus rides more since I've been here. Could be because it's the cheapest way to travel around Korea, but also it's pretty convenient. Usually you can take a bus anywhere, and they leave every 20 minutes.

A couple weeks after the mud festival, it was our summer vacation. Which, barely felt like a vacation. It was three weekdays and the weekend. Woo-hoo. Not that I wasn't at least grateful to have that, indeed I was. I needed to get away. But nothing stressful. I needed to lie on a beach somewhere and get away from things here. So a friend and I went to a small, remote island off the coast of Mokpo. Mokpo is a small beach town, about an hour bus ride away from Gwangju. From there we took a ferry, and it was another hour. We landed on Odaldo, a small island with lots of seaweed harvesting nearby, and a small water park with slides. The beach was small, and the sand was more rocky than smooth, but the water was warm and I was content. While I was at Boryeong, there were so many people on the beach that every time you turned around in the water there was some little kid drifting into you on an innertube, or a parent pushing you out of the way to get to their kid who's drifting off in an innertube. So to be at a smaller beach, with hardly any people compared to the thousands at Boryeong, was much more relaxing. Although, whichever beach you go to here, the majority of people have on long sleeved shirts *in* the water. Or huge visors that cover most of their face. Or they bring a tent and lie inside of it instead of on the sand soaking up the sun. Not to say being sun-conscious is a bad thing. Most Koreans try to stay as white as possible. Different from a lot of Americans who try as hard as they can to stay bronze all year.

After my peaceful day trip to Odaldo, I went to Seoul for a couple of days. Always a huge contrast to anything quiet and relaxing. Hung out with a few of my close friends. Ate good foreign food that I can't find here. Got confused trying to figure out subway stops. We sat on the patio of a quaint little bar, watched pretty girls with adam's apples walk by. Then realized we were next door to a transvestite club. I definitely miss living in a community that doesn't shun different lifestyles and beliefs. This small town (and by small I mean a million people, but it is still considered the boonies of South Korea) doesn't seem very open to different lifestyles. Seoul is definitely the place to live if you crave diversity. Sometimes I wish I lived in Seoul, but I'm glad I have it to escape to.

Heart and Smiles

Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.
-Oliver Wendell Holmes
Language shapes the way we think, and determines what we can think about.
-Benjamin Lee Whorf
If we spoke a different language, we would perceive a somewhat different world.
- Ludwig Wittgenstein
A different language is a different vision of life.
-Federico Fellini
In the evolution of language, cultures have created words and phrases that are uniquely their own. The following are a few of my favorites, and they range from the sublime to the ridiculous. Some were found on the web, some in books, and I particularly acknowledge Howard Rheingold's "They Have a Word for It," and C. J. Moore's "In Other Words."
Kummerspeck (German): Literally, it means 'grief bacon.' It is the word which describes excess weight gained from emotion-related eating.
Yugen (Japanese): An awareness of the world that creates emotions too vast for words.
Vitwaaien (Dutch): Walking in windy weather for fun.
Mbuki-mvuki (Bantu): To spontaneously disrobe and begin dancing.
Tartle (Scottish): To hesitate in recognizing a person or a thing.
Koro (Chinese): The belief that one's penis is shrinking.
L'appel du vide (French): The urge to jump from high places, into a canyon,etc. Literally, 'The call of the void.
'Istories me arkoudes (Greek): Phrase meaning, 'stories with bears,' to refer to narrated events that are so wild and crazy it seems they can't possibly be true.
There are many more of these words and phrases, which are sometimes refered to as 'the untranslatables.' But for now I would like to focus on the Thai language, and the culture in which I currently live.
You may have heard of the numerous words for 'snow' in the Eskimo dialects. That particular example is not quite true but, falsehood notwithstanding, it illustrates the point that a language contains the words that are important to its speakers. For example, in early Polynesia there were 24 words to describe the different maturation levels of the coconut.
Thailand is known, among other sobriquets, as 'The Land of Smiles.' However a farang (Westerner) would be well advised not to mistake this as a sign of a mono-emotional people. While it is true that smiling is an inherent part of the Thai culture, it is also true that there are different types of smiles for different occasions. And while a foreigner may not pick up on the subtle differences, they are easily discerned by a Thai.
A European, while driving his recent model BMW sedan on a Bangkok street, pulled up behind a brand new Mercedes which was stopping at a red light. Behind the wheel of the Mercedes, as it happened, was a well-to-do Thai who had driven his new car only once or twice; he was therefore apparently not familiar with his new transmission. As the light turned green, the Thai, intending to go ahead, mistakenly shifted into reverse, backing directly into the grillwork of the stunned European behind him.The Thai was quick to get out to take a look at the damage done to both cars (so was the European!) From a distance, I could hear only a few words of the exchange between the two drivers, but I could clearly see their faces.The Thai faced the foreigner with a certain smile.This particular smile is what other Thais would instantly recognize as yim yae (the 'let's-not- cry-over-spilt-milk I am ready to compromise' smile. But for the European, this was no time to smile. The story did not have a happy ending.-"Working with the Thais," by Henry Holmes and Suchada Tangtongtavy.
From my readings and in talking with Thai professors, I have found 13 different types of smiles. Here are three:
Yim thak thaii: The polite smile for someone you barely know.
Yim soo: The 'smile-in-the-face-of-an-impossible-struggle' smile.
Yim thak thaan: The 'I disagree-with-you' smile.
Also noteworthy in the Thai lexicon are the 'heart-words,' and THERE ARE MORE THAN 700 OF THEM!!! They refer to the mental, emotional or spiritual state of the subject or his actions. Again, here is a sample of three:
Jai dii: Good Heart. To be called this by a Thai is a high compliment indeed.
Khen jai: Suffering Heart. This refers to someone undergoing serious mental and/or physical struggles. It is associated with misery and hopelessness.
Jai Yen: Cool Heart. This is a highly desired state in the Thai culture. It denotes a person who stays calm in the face of confrontation and emotional stress.
The following is not an 'untranslatable;' it has counterparts in 'no worries mate,' and no problemo.' It is the Thai phrase mai pen rai, and if you have ever visited this country you are likely to be familiar with it. It's the phrase you use when someone accidentally bumps into you, or causes you some minor inconvenience.
But more than just a phrase, mai pen rai (like smile and heart-words) shines a light on the psyche of Thailand. The following quote is from "A Killing Smile," by Christopher G. Moore:
"You learn that kreng jai is one room in the house. But if you want to understand the foundation, what's underneath, there's another Thai expression - Mai pen rai. Which means never mind. It's okay. No problem. Forget about it. Don't mention it. Your husband was killed on Rama IV in a motorcycle accident? Mai pen rai. Your father was fired from his job? Mai pen rai. Your brother's been sent to prison for smuggling drugs? Mai pen rai. Your husband's abandoned you for another woman? Mai pen rai. Your school folding for lack of funds? Mai pen rai. Your daughter back on the streets? Mai pen rai."There is no disappointment or tragedy larger than that phrase. It's a zen state of acceptance. Whatever happens you've earned from your behavior in a past life. You never allow the bad to pull you down. You have no other choice. Whatever happens or doesn't happen, it comes from inside of you. The Thai language is strucured to accept pain; tolerate suffering. Our language seeks the cure, the solution, the answer. English is the language of change. Of the future you can make your own. That's why the farang and Thai can't find a language to communicate with each other."
Now, to close on a more upbeat jai, here is one more untranslatable, this one from Thailand:
Sabsung: To slake an emotional or spiritual thirst. To be revitalized.

Is that a Zebra or Just a Painted Donkey?

We decided at the last minute to go to Mexico. As always, things never go quite as smoothly for us as they seem to go for the rest of the world. It was Wednesday night, approaching 7 pm and the start of the baseball game that we were running late for (of course). We decided to book the tour to Ensenada, Mexico online at our hotel's computers. Should be simple enough, right? Ha. Booking the tour was no problem, and the website assured us they would email our tickets within 72 hours. Good thing the tour was only 14 hours away. Oops.

We finally got to Petco Park in the 4th inning (after taking what were once - in 1913 - the fastest elevators in the world, so said the signs in our hotel. They are no longer the fastest; in fact, they are probably now the slowest. Not quite the same attraction.). The game was a rousing contest - San Diego Padres vs. Arizona Diamondbacks - and we savored our ballpark hot dogs.

Once we returned to the hotel, we took the world's fastest elevators (*cough*) back up the computer area, thinking we would definitely be able to print our tickets now. (After all, it had been 2 hours.) We were wrong. In fact, we woke up at 6 am Thursday morning to find we were still ticket-less. Hm. "No refunds," the website proudly proclaimed in bold black letters. This, we didn't see, until after the purchase had gone through. Crap. Isn't that always the way?

Several phone calls and emails over the next hour led us nowhere - nowhere other than the hotel lobby, where our plan was to sweet talk the driver into letting us go on the tour. As Begee sat and waited in the lobby of the St. James Hotel in the Gaslamp District in San Diego, preparing his sweet talking spiel, Erin ran back up to the computers one more time - at 8:29. She found the tickets had actually been processed! But, surprise, surprise, they said that we needed to call the bus company 24 hours in advance to guarantee our pickup. Hmm... Maybe we weren't supposed to go to Mexico, after all.

Right as we started to lose hope, the bus arrived! Our hotel was a scheduled pickup anyway, so even though the driver knew nothing about us, he said, "Get on the bus!" And get on we did with a huge sigh of relief.

In the end, it was worth it. Mexico was so much fun. We went through Tijuana, saw the huge corrugated metal fence that separates our two countries and pondered what it would be like to live on this side of the fence. We saw a house in the shape of a mermaid and found out the owner lives in her boobs (of course he does). We stopped at Rosarito Beach and wiggled our toes in the sand (imagine, real sand! Not trucked in like on Catalina.), saw the horses for rent, watched a man in a cowboy hat flying a kite with Spiderman attached, and debated going to the Gynecologist/Dentist (we wondered which check up he does first).

We then drove on to Ensenada and felt bad for the silence at our driver's jokes. Erin laughed, but she was alone. Ensenada was much different than we both expected. For one thing, they took us to lunch, where we ate white sea bass. Nothing against white sea bass, but we wanted tacos and tamales!

Lunch was good, though, and then we went off to explore the city. We saw Donkey Shit cigarettes (and are still debating about their appeal), we saw the Black Pearl from "Pirates of the Carribbean," we saw the biggest Mexican flag in all of Mexico, we saw three huge heads of Presidents, Begee tried on a Mexican wrestling mask after much prodding by Erin, and we each tried on a sombrero (and paid $1 for the privilege and the accompanying photos). We learned to convert dollars to pesos, and we giggled about the Spanish on our Coke cans (okay, yes, we're nerds). We also saw all the tequila and Viagra one could ever want, and we suffered through a strong margarita. (We should have ordered Corona!)

We got back on the bus, headed back to Tijuana. Everyone was tired and ready to cross the border, but we had one more bathroom stop to go in Tijuana. As we turned the corner onto Revolution Ave, there was a collective gasp on the bus, as we all saw a zebra with a cart attached, set up for photos. Our co-worker here on the island swears it's just a painted donkey. Not that that's any better.

Our time in Tijuana was short, but the lines at the border, were not. It amazed us how many cars were trying to get into the US versus the five minute line into Mexico. We all had to get off the bus and go through the border ourselves one by one. After some nervousness about being left in Mexico, we all hopped back on the bus, and headed into the San Diego sunset.

In the end, we had a great time in Mexico, and the drama with our tickets only added to the constant adventure in our lives (though sometimes we wish for less excitement). We'll never know if it really is a zebra or a painted donkey, we'll probably never again ride the world's fastest elevators, and we'll never visit the Dentist/Gynecologist, but it's good to know they're there if we want to. We'll just buy our tickets 72 hours sooner.

Venezuela vs. Colombia

What makes the difference for a hitch-hiker traveling through these countries? We tried to find it out, and were actually surprised to see what Venezuela and Colombia really are about.

The first days in Venezuela brought us a quite confused view to the current situation in this wanna-be socialistic country. It is as if East meets West concerning ideals, a confrontation on many sides. There is Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, talking for 8 hours non-stop on television channels about his revolution, thousands of red-dressed supporters marching in order to promote Chavez ideals. On one side you can see happy people, thanking Chavez for his generousness. On the other side - businessmen who are having hard time, as they lost everything through the change of political situation. Chavez is everywhere - on t-shirts, huge posters in the roads, tv, radio... There is a play of power, of strong idealism, a spark of hope, but at the same time a big black hole in which the country could fall. That was our impression.

Traveling through Venezuela by hitch-hiking was not the most pleasant we have experienced. People picked us up in average in less than an hour. They were concerned about us. We were told stories about drugs, robberies, and killings. The only provinces of Venezuela we were recommended as safe were Monagas and Merida. We received warnings from nearly every driver we have met. We often felt uncomfortable in the country, but nonetheless continued hitch-hiking. We were fed sometimes, but invitations into houses were rare. Every driver we met knew to talk about politics. We were drawn into the problems of political change. We got to know too many pros and cons, which left us even more confused. Contact to locals besides the ones giving us a ride was difficult to establish.

Venezuela is a beautiful country, which has got everything: mountains, beaches, farms in the lowlands, jungle, even German villages, and Lithuanians born and raised in Venezuela. Venezuela is a mixture of cultures coming from all over the world. Many are descendents of European immigrants, which escaped the chaos after the World War II.

Crossing the Colombian border was not easy. We came at the "right time" during demonstrations on the border. The introduction of road fees for each car crossing the border on Colombian side caused people to protest and block the roads. Border-crossing was for few hours open and then blocked again. When we finally managed to cross, we found ourselves near another blockade, just set up while we were passing the bridge connecting the countries. We got alarmed when suddenly 12 "robocops" (special police forces) approached us. "Go fast!", Augustas was telling me. We were about to get into a riot, but we escaped on time. Our helpers, the robocops, cleaned the area...

'Hitch-hiking in Colombia is impossible' was the warning we received from several Venezuelans. Despite that we believed that hitch-hiking will work. Our first ride in Colombia we got pretty fast. Hitch-hiking in Colombia turned out to be enjoyable. Everybody around us was so nice, so helpful: sellers of drinks in the toll-gates would give us water, policemen would arrange rides for us, and truck drivers would risk to pay a fine for transporting us. Many times we would be invited for a nice meal, paid for rides in taxis and buses, and invited to people's houses. When we needed a place to sleep people usually cared about us. They did not just leave us anywhere. They evaluated themselves what was save enough, often drove us many more kilometers than intended, and we were always asked "Do you need anything?"

Because of guerillas hiding in forests and mountains, which live from the production of narcotics, safety in Colombia for many years was a big issue for travellers and locals. Good news are, that the current president Alvaro Uribe Velez, since he took power 5 years ago, managed to push guerillas away from the main roads by placing military forces every 10-20 kilometers. People now are more relaxed and feel safer.

Both countries, Venezuela and Colombia, have their pleasantries. In general we felt unsafe in Venezuela, and safe in Colombia. Colombia and Panama are until now the most amazing countries we have visited. Both nations have the most generous people we have met so far.

Traveling in India

The rigors and rewards of travel are something that I have come to live for. Each trip presents new and difficult challenges and when traveling, I find myself more aware of my surroundings, and ultimately, more in touch with myself. So as I prepared to leave my friend’s house in Hyderabad and set out on my journey through South India, I knew that I would have to put into practice all that a life of traveling has taught me; and in turn, I would be rewarded with wonderful surprises and treasures.


Just getting out of a city of 6 million people was a breath of fresh air. As the bus passed through the Indian countryside, all I saw were great expanses of agriculture: row upon row of chilies, eggplants, oranges, grapes and cotton. Goats were herded down the road by barefoot farmers while women carried massive loads upon their heads at an outdoor brick-making operation. I watched as a girl collected cattle dung and formed it into patties next to one of many roadside graves that dot the landscape.

Large irrigation channels appeared and I knew I was near Nagajuna Sagar, the largest masonry dam in the world. In the end, it was not the massive dam or giant lake that would stick in my memory; it was the children. For on my trip to the island of Nagarjunakonda I would be joined by a group of 60 schoolchildren. The boys wasted no time in meeting me, setting about me with unbridled enthusiasm and curiosity, all at once attempting to shake my hand, learn my name and guess my nationality. For the next 4 hours there was a constant procession of children around me, all clambering for my attention and having their turn offering me their names, handshakes and questions.

When departure time came, I walked alone down the right side of the path like a star on the red carpet with 60 screaming fans on my left as a teacher tried to maintain order. I boarded the boat with every eye upon me and sat down on an empty bench. One outgoing boy saw the opportunity and jumped on it, nearly landing in my lap. Within seconds every seat around me had filled, and as jostling for positions began, I had to remind the boys to "Relax, relax" which they murmured to each other, copying me in the cutest way but not heeding their own advice.


I answered every question the boys could think of, the most common of which was "America is a rich country?" As an American I find this is one of the hardest stigmas to shake. For how do I convince a poverty-stricken child that I'm not rich as I show them their photos on a fancy digital camera? First of all, I must be humble and honest. The truth is that a poor man in America would still be well off in India and each of these children live in poverty that would appall even the most unfortunate in my country. But the fact is that just being rich does not make a person happy and I would challenge anyone to find a group of 60 schoolchildren in the States as happy, healthy and well-mannered as the ones on this boat. So I try to help the children understand that they are more fortunate than they know and that they should feel proud, not poor. For the beauty in the eyes and smiles of these children is not born of money, but love.

As I walked around the island's museum with one of the teachers, observing Buddhist ruins that date back to the 2nd Century BC, I apologized for stealing the children's attention away from their school trip. He laughed and instead thanked me, telling me how happy he was that they had a chance to meet such a noble American. He explained to me that in India "Guest is above God" and that the children would take away far more from meeting me than they would looking at these ancient artifacts.

In my first 2 weeks in India, I experienced this time and time again. For though it is me who had come to seek and learn, my position as a guest and as an American allowed me many opportunities to teach and explain. I was impressed with my own insights, considering my lack of education, income and career often puts me at a disadvantage in the States. Yet, this experience was further reinforcement that sometimes the greatest knowledge is not learned in the classroom but found in the world all around us.

Sad to part ways, I joined the children at temple where they were having lunch. I was given a heaping plate of curried rice and vegetables. I sat among the boys, but it was the girls who giggled the most as I ate the spicy rice with my hand. The heat must have shown on my fair skin because even the teachers were laughing. I was offered some water after lunch, but when I went to drink, the water went down the wrong pipe and exploded out of my nose and mouth nearly drenching the poor girl who had offered it to me. All 60 people or more present were in tears with laughter. And now it was no longer the spicy food to blame for my rosy cheeks; it was sheer embarrassment.
I had come to this remote part of India to see the world's largest masonry dam and the island of Nagarjunakonda with its ancient Buddhist relics. But as I hopped into my rickshaw and waved goodbye to my new friends, I knew that they were the reason that life had brought me to this place and reminded me just how lucky I truly am.