Greetings! from…the future. You know all the stories you’ve heard of Asian mysticism? Like the one where Kurt Russell saves Chinatown from the villains of Mortal Kombat? They’re all true. This is a story of magic, time travel and lots of bad television. Let’s start from the beginning.
I left the greatest land in the world about a week ago for the Iowa-sized country of Korea (South) in order to be a 12 foot tall English teacher who breathes fire and grammatically correct sentences. Two days after Christmas my parents, grandma and brother drove me to LAX. Two days after Christmas, shortly after an attempted bombing at Amsterdam airport, I’m waiting hours in line just to check in for my 15 hour flight to my new home in the city of Cheonan. Teary hugs and kisses goodbye and a long snaking line to the gates later, I’m waiting for flight 301 to Tokyo…which, really, wasn’t much of a wait.
On my flight to Tokyo I sat between an elderly Vietnamese gentleman (who seemed to like grabbing the items I had on my fold-out tray and observing them) and a middle-aged Korean man from the city of Busan (Korea’s beach city) with some sort of medical issue and limited English, taken from his original seat, away from his medication, and forced next to some 22 year-old in fancy hat. If I haven’t mentioned this before, I sleep during turbulence, which allowed for a good nap during take-off and a little more during the flight. I bet you’re wondering when that Asian mysticism is coming in.
The first meal of the flight (first of three) was some sort of meat by-product. After a quick consumption of said meat, you could easily see the discomfort in my face. And hear it in my stomach. And probably smell it in the seats. After a few grumbles, my Korean neighbor saw the consternation in my eyes and got to chopping. Without any forewarning, my back and arms were subsequently hacked at or pinched by this gentleman next to me. I don’t know if it was simply the surprise of a stranger grabbing me, or if it was some sort of mystic healing, but as soon as the first flattened palm hit my back, I stopped feeling sick to my stomach. I’m vouching for the latter.
I wish I could say that the rest of my flight was as eventful, but I’d be lying if I did. I had a two hour lay-over in Tokyo until my flight to Incheon International Airport in Korea. When I did finally arrive in Korea, I thought the driver hired to take me to my apartment had bailed on me (or I’d been screwed over by this agency and they’d stolen my identity). After about 30 frantic minutes trying to use my cell in a foreign land, then their pay phones with their funny characters written all over the place, my driver, Mr. Chang, managed to track me down.
The drive over consisted of Mr. Chang and I exchanging translations on various subjects. I was thoroughly pleased when Mr. Chang kept referring to the things of Korea as “very powerful, number one!” Read that in your stereotypical Asian voice for a good laugh. I learned some basic phrases (I’d say “hello” [Annyang] was one of them, but Arrested Development beat Mr. Chang to it), such as “Kam sa hamida” (thank you) “Chooseyo” (please) and “Makuli” (Rice wine).
I arrived at my new apartment at around midnight and was greeted by my new boss, Frank Lee (yes, Frankly). Settling in, I found that the English TV stations here are 75% Fox. America’s Funniest Home Videos seems to be on at all hours of the day. The same programs get repeated and there never seems to be anything good on. I haven’t yet gotten up the nerve to try the Korean programs. School doesn’t start until Monday, so I’m unfamiliar with my colleagues, save for my boss. Until I’ve gotten to know them and get the opportunity to see the sights with some modicum of comfort, I won’t have anything to report on the culture, though I will say that all of the people I’ve met so far have been friendly, helpful, and polite. I spent New Years alone and fell asleep a couple hours before midnight as I’m not yet accustomed to the time change. I suppose it doesn’t matter since Lunar New Year (or Chinese New Year as we call it in America) is the bigger celebration here. I’ve got about a month to get ready for that one.
I don’t have video for you all as I’m finding difficulty getting my camera to agree with my computer, but as soon as I get it up and running (or I buy a new laptop), I’ll simply have to irritate you all with my writing. Until next time, here are your lottery picks from…the future: 12, 37, 24, 18, and Schnauzer.