Seosanites Unite -- Foreigners on Facebook

Last Thursday night, I rode my bicycle to the Family Mart (Korea's version of the ubiquitous 7-Eleven) near Seosan's movie theater, to meet my good friend Chetty for a mid-week drink and chat. I had sent out an invite to several of the other foreigners that I've befriended in my few months here, and was expecting to see at least a couple of familiar faces sitting under the big, blue, plastic umbrellas on the corner when I pulled up. But I was bemused and surprised to instead find nearly a dozen strangers, including a couple of fresher-than-fresh recruits -- a cute young couple from the U.K., who had literally just arrived in Korea the day prior.

Over the next hour or so of laidback chatter, I realized how much things have changed since I arrived here nearly 3 1/2 months ago... And how my perceptions of Seosan as a small-town, off-the-beaten-path kind of place -- where I'd scarce cross paths with another foreigner for perhaps weeks on end -- has changed as well. I chose to come to Seosan for more reasons, obviously, than a high-rolling social life -- its charms (for me, at least) lay in its supreme accessibility to mountains and the coast, and its decent proximity to the action in Seoul (1h40 by bus isn't bad). Here, I thought, I'll have time to contemplate, meditate, and make progress on a number of personal projects that really don't require involvement by anyone other than myself. And I figured I could live with that, at least for a contract-length year. If I found myself going stir-crazy by that time, I'd just pick up and move on.

As time has passed, though, and as fate has led me smack-dab into the path of one foreigner after another, I've realized that living in Seosan really isn't quite as solitary as I had once imagined. Which isn't a bad thing, at all. It's been an education in human psychology to see how social boundaries that would exist under normal circumstances seem to all but completely fold when members of an absolute minority (such as the foreigners working as English teachers here) meet. It's almost as if we create our own little network not so much for friendship and comraderie, as for support and sanity. Getting together for a late-night conversation in the middle of the work-week, sitting on a street corner amid the trailing taillights of taxi-cabs and neon signs of nearby storefronts, we bond almost without consciousness, as if reaching out to others who also don't "fit" somehow restores our sense of belonging.

After getting home that night, I decided it was time to create an "official network" for all of us Seosan folks, especially so that the new people coming here could have a resource to tap to ease their adjustment. I've lived overseas before, and I know it can be a roller-coaster of a ride, trying to adjust to a new culture, strange foods, an incomprehensible language, and the hundreds of instances, large and small, that separate you from your former world and your place in it. It can all be quite overwhelming. Thanks to Facebook, anyone living in or around Seosan, South Korea, can find, with one click of a button, 25 other instant friends (and surely more to be found, as we get pulled into one another's paths).

And tonight, after connecting via our new Facebook group, "I Live in Seosan (and Surrounds)", about a dozen of us met together for a few rounds of bowling in Seosan's nightlife district. It was again a treat to just unwind and be social without the need to navigate language or cultural boundaries. Even if I do suck at bowling.

And I'm eager to see where this little social experiment of a foreigner community will go over time.... Will we organize activities and meet-ups more regularly? Will our numbers continue to grow? Will we find among ourselves the solution to one of the largest hurdles foreigners face while living abroad: finding a niche and filling social needs? Or will involvement in our own "exclusive foreigner circle" extricate ourselves even more from fitting in to our surroundings? Time will tell... in the meantime, I guess I better start learning a thing or two about bowling!

A Leisure Walk Around Lake Park

I've been holed up in my cheery little apartment for most of the weekend, forced to cancel my already-up-in-the-air plans to adventure up north to the islands of Ganghwado and Muuido (just off the coast of Incheon) after waking to an unsettled stomach Saturday morning. It seems that with the changing of seasons, and with the bursts of hot and cold air that vie for top billing from one day to the next, colds and sniffles are bound to come knocking on our door. So I suppose it wasn't much of a surprise to feel that my mind and body needed nothing more than peace, quiet, and rest -- a mini-retreat to heal and recondition -- before starting what promises to be a hectic workweek.



Saturday was the perfect stay-indoors day. Rain hurtled down through deep layers of gray clouds on and off from early morning when my eyes opened until the sun had long gone down. Cool winds blew through my apartment windows, the coolest I've felt thus far in Korea, sending me to my wardrobe for a sweatshirt and then crawling under my bedcovers to keep my toes cozy and warm. I managed to spend the entire day reading, resting, skimming new recipes, catching up on emails, making a few overseas phonecalls, cooking some soul food, and falling into a relaxed rhythm that felt just delicious.

Today, still craving quietness and downtime, I stayed in again, hoping to continue recharging my batteries and focus on a few personal projects. At some point in the day, I told myself, I'd get out for some fresh air and sunshine, especially since the day promised to be a beautiful one -- the air clearer and the temperature cooler from yesterday's showers, with bright blue skies and billowy clouds to entice me out.

Catching up on a few of my favorite blogs, I ran across a recent posting by my friend Michael, who lives not so far away in a busy urban sprawl in big-city Cheonan. His piece took me on a virtual walk through his neighborhood, to the bank, the local bakery, and past a park where local families swung their badminton rackets back and forth with gusto. I chuckled to myself as I read, because the imagery was so vivid, and so true to life in Korea.

Finally, around 5 pm, I headed out the door with my camera in hand, ready to pedal my bike down to Seosan's newest attraction, the beautiful Lake Park (which enjoyed its official opening ceremonies this weekend, and which, had completely slipped my mind). I had been here just two weeks ago, the day after moving into my new apartment, and had been so impressed with the beautifully landscaped surroundings that I vowed to return with my camera and capture some of its ambience. As the sun was starting to sink slowly in the sky, I figured I had just enough time to take a leisure walk around the park and savor a quiet Sunday evening in Seosan.



It took only a second or two after arriving to realize that there wasn't much peace and quiet to be had at the park this evening. Huge carnival tents flanked the southern edge of the park, where vendors offered a curious mix of cotton candy, fried peanut cakes, skewered meats, and boiled silkworms. Karaoke singers dressed in shiny hanbok costumes performed energetically on a stage overlooking the lake, and the whole area was crawling with young kids on bicycles, fathers and sons batting at badminton birdies, old men enjoying a smoke together, families parading along the inlaid-stone walking path. A large banner, hoisted by two helium balloons, flew over the lake, announcing to all that this was a day to be celebrated.

So I began my stroll around the park, feeling like something of a cross between a sore thumb and a celebrity as this solo "waegookin" (foreigner in Hangul) was approached again and again by the young and the curious who wanted to say hello to me. I don't know how I could still be a novelty in Seosan after being here for three months already, but these little faces were washed with such genuine curiosity that I couldn't help but feel a spirit of camaraderie with them. It was the least I could do, for all the energy they were sending in my direction, to offer a big hello and even bigger smile in return.

I stayed long enough to see the sun disappear behind a mountain of apartment buildings to the west, and content with my explorations for one day, headed back the way I came, ready to finish out the weekend with a little more R&R at home. It was refreshing to see a nice slice of Korean life at the park this evening, to be reminded that I am surrounded by thousands of people who, despite language and cultural barriers, are at the core much the same as me. Tonight I was part of the neighborhood, hanging out with Seosan's families and enjoying a pleasant celebration with my local community. And perfectly enough, it really did feel like home.

Host a Traveler, Gain a Friend

After being the recipient of two fantastic CouchSurfing hosts during my recent trip to Busan and Daegu, as well as countless hosts during my months-long backpacking adventure back in 2006, the time finally came for me to play host. I've never lived someone exciting or exotic enough to lure travelers to my humble abode (Mechanicsburg, PA and Provo, UT aren't exactly hopping), and to be honest, I thought it would take quite a bit longer than two months in Seosan until someone found a reason to schedule a stop in my general direction.

But as it turns out, a fellow English teacher and American named Michael (who actually puts my transient history to shame) happened to land at my place over the holiday weekend. Michael, who has called Cheonan "home" for only a month now, is adjusting to life in one of Korea's more urban sprawls. And while living in the midst of high-rises and a menagerie of mandu shops must be quite handy when you're in the mood for munching, spending a little time off the beaten path, in small-town Seosan really must sound like a welcome respite from the throes of the cement jungle.

I had planned to spend some time this weekend showing Michael the surrounds of Seosan and experiencing them for the first time myself -- two months have passed and still I haven't managed to even make the 40-minute bus ride to nearby Palbong Mountain or the beaches in neighboring Taean National Marine Park. Mallipo, a 40-minute bus ride due west, was until last fall one of the pretties beaches along Korea's western shore. But unfortunately, an oil spill drenched its beaches, rendering it uninhabitable. After a widespread effort to clean it up and restore it for public use over the past several months, the reports from my students who visited Mallipo over last week's vacation were actually very favorable. And so it was that Mallipo made the agenda.

That is, until the weather made other plans. From Friday morning until Monday afternoon, rainclouds played games with us, blotting out any stray rays of sunshine trying to peek through, sending down light sprinkles that would last for hours, stretching their grayish-white mass across the skies like double-thick cotton candy. Michael and I spent the better part of Friday chatting at the bistro table in my apartment, stopping a few times for a pot of tea or a plate of spicy noodles and eggplant.

On Saturday, I took Michael on my walking path that cuts east behind some high-rise apartment buildings into a typical cross-section of rural farmlands, rice fields, and swampy reservoirs. I always enjoy this peaceful 3-mile path; you can literally smell the freshness in the air as you step into farm territory. We watched an old but sprightly fisherman poling his small boat through the shallow swamp waters with a long bamboo staff, and returned hellos from curious locals looking on wide-eyed at the sight of two waegooks (foreigners) footing it through the backroads of Seosan.

Back in town, stomachs gurgling, we walked to Koggiri (Korean for "elephant"), famous for serving up Seosan's best bibimbap. But my attempts to order up a late lunch deadpanned, so we took off for downtown to hunt down lunch Russian Roulette-style. We wandered up and down side streets for the better part of an hour (maybe more!), before getting up the nerve to drop into one of the completely empty mom-and-pop-shop restaurants and fumble over the menu. I dropped the few Korean words I know for dinner foods -- bibimbap (met with an inquisitive stare), naem myul (more stares), and jigae (which registered with Pop, as he subsequently replied with, "Kimchi jigae!" and a smile, and ushered us to a table).

Ten minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shop, smacking our lips over seaweed salad, salted radish, kimchi, and a handful of other tasty banchan. Pop brought a black pot filled with a reddish broth to our table, flipped on the burner, and seconds later, the mixture was boiling before our eyes. The combination of spicy kimchi and salty pork, spooned over rice, was the perfect solution for two strong appetites. We managed to finish nearly every morsel at the table, including two cups of coffee (which is, amazingly, almost always complimentary after your dinner meal in Korea), and made out like bandits with a total bill of approximately $10.

The rest of the weekend was a blur -- a visit to the local movie house to catch the new Batman flick, a night hike to the observation tower overlooking the city, a leisurely breakfast of home-cooked rice pudding, another hike through the farmlands, all interspersed with an immense amount of conversation. By the time I left Michael near the bus station on Sunday, my head was reeling with saturation of thought, and my insides felt exhausted from the intensity of a very full weekend. Not that it wasn't well spent; it was. Host a traveler, gain a friend -- at least, that was the end result of this weekend's adventuring. I was due to be on the giving end as a host, and yet, one can never give anyone without receiving in return. And although it might take me a few days to recover my energy (yes, I'm an introvert by nature), the experience of welcoming a stranger and parting as friends is one I hope to have again and again.

A Walk to Remember

Today's check-up went smoothly -- the worst of it was just getting to the examination room. Waiting rooms tend to be more crowded on Saturdays than most days of the week, I've decided. Being one of the few people I know who has ever actually BEEN in a waiting room every single day for a week straight, I'm qualifying myself as a local expert. In fact, Wednesday or Thursday, mid-morning, seems to be the ideal time to come down with something worthy of a hike across town to the doc's. And you can just forget about seeing anything other than the waiting room wallpaper for hours on end if you have plans to see the doctor on a Monday morning. That's the day when all the little old ladies and hunched-over grand-daddies who live in the outlying villages take a trip into town.

I left Dr. Shin's office with relief that the severe swelling I experienced yesterday was a normal part of the healing process and nothing to be alarmed about. The good doctor gave me the green light to loosen or remove my bandages when the swelling gets unbearable and give my ankle a gentle stretch to get my circulation flowing again. (This, of course, is my loose translation, but I think I got the gist of it.) And also, I've graduated to 48-hour stretches between appointments! This means I can stop single-handedly keeping the taxi drivers of Seosan in business! :) Today's trip to the doctor marks my tenth since my leg troubles began. The statistics: 1 emergency room stint, 1 hospital visit, 2 surgical procedures, and 6 office visits. Wow, I'm becoming a regular in medical circles all around town.

After leaving Dr. Shin's office, I stopped in at the pharmacy next door to refill my prescription. The pharmacist always greets me with a warm hello and a chilled mini-beverage from his "vending refrigerator." It's always some kind of energy drink laced with gobs of vitamin C, which is probably a good thing, as I don't get much citrus these days (it just goes against my grain to pay as much for a kilo of oranges as I would for a gallon of gasoline). I sipped down the cool drink while I waited for my prescription to be filled, and I felt a welcome, if odd-timed, smile wash over my face and a quiet contentedness start to kind of ruffle through my insides like the tickling of a feather. Wherever this feeling was coming from, it felt fantastic.

In a bright mood, and joyfully aware of the absence of rain at the moment, I decided that rather than pile into yet another taxi cab to whisk me home, I'd just hoof it. The skies were chalky gray, and ahead I could see a dark cluster of storm clouds building up for another downpour. But for the moment, at least, no rain was falling, and I could make out the tiniest whisper of sunshine from behind the gray haze. As I walked slowly back down Seosan's main street, I felt that my senses were somehow heightened, that I was, for whatever reason, taking in the buzzing of comings and goings around me with more than my normal dose of perception. (Maybe there was more than straight vitamin C in that energy drink...)

I passed a young mother, dressed to the nines, with her three little kids in tow, traversing the hectic sidewalks and detouring around the cars that had unkindly pulled up onto the pedestrians' walkway. The youngest looked to be about four, and he toddled behind with full concentration on the puffed rice cake he was trying to navigate to his mouth. My eye caught a colorful umbrella to my left, down the narrow little where a local woman usually sets up shop. Today, she had laid out baskets of carefully portioned tomatoes, and a large, steaming tub filled with purple-flecked corn on the cob, steamed and ready to eat. I sidestepped two taxis that were about ready to sandwich me just outside the bus terminal, and put on a little speed to make the green light across to Seosan Mart (where I do most of my grocery shopping these days. You don't want to get stuck at this light, as it's a minimum 3-minute wait -- trust me, I've eyed the clock more than a few times this week from the back seat of my taxi ride to the doctor's).

As I rounded the last stretch before crossing the street and heading up the big hill towards home, I passed one of many local eateries, with patrons sitting out front under large shade umbrellas. It was going on noon, and Seosan's version of cafes lining the piazza was, while notably less charming than its European counterparts, equally entertaining. It wasn't the locals queuing for lunch who caught my attention, but a loud, flapping sound, like birds wings rattling against a metal cage. Curious, I looked, trying to place the sound. What I saw evoked a chuckle -- two fish, soon to be on a serving platter, were flapping their little hearts out on the hard cement sidewalk, just out of reach from the safety of the bucket that just moments before had held them.

Splash! My attention snapped away from the flip-finned fish as my foot sent muddy water flying every which way. I had been too immersed in the cafe scene to notice that I was heading right for a mud pit of a rain puddle! Somehow, it didn't seem to matter -- my jaunt across town had been nothing out of the ordinary, yet still quite a walk to remember.

A Foreign Affair

I had to give myself a little talking-to the other night. I have been here in Korea for over two weeks now, and I've barely explored beyond my own little quiet corner of Seosan. Oh yes, I've hiked on the nearby, forested trails into the hills of Seosan (thanks to Terry for showing me where to catch the trail). And I've driven around town a few times with Harrison and Terry -- for groceries, bedding, even my beautiful peace lily, which I adore (again, thank you Harrison and Terry!). But as for solo exploration... I've been severely lacking in this department, and I'm ashamed of myself... where is the nomadic explorer within me whose heart beats for the adventure of discovering the unknown? It's been a while, I guess, since I had to deal face-to-face with the intimidation of a complete language barrier. Beyond "annyeong haseyo" (hello), I'm at a loss.
Fortunately, I've managed to meet a few more foreigners here in my town -- one through Maggie (the teacher I replaced), and another quite by accident on the trails just the other day. Dave, it turns out, is from Missouri (my old stomping grounds!) and a friendly guy. I met him at Maggie's farewell party, along with a handful of other foreigners. He's the only one who I've managed to meet up with again. He lives just down the hill and kindly called the other evening to see if I'd be up for a night walk around town. It was a perfect idea -- the temperature was cool, the air not too heavy, and the outskirts of Seosan are lined with astroturf trails, for the hundreds of locals who round out their evenings with a stretch of the legs as well.
Chett (or Chetty, as he likes to be called) is a South African native, teaching in a public school in town. He's been here for only a few short weeks longer than me. We were a few meters apart on the trail last Wednesday evening when a flash of recognition hit us both... recognition not of a familiar face, but of our "foreigner" status. Yes, this was the bond. We chatted for a minute, swapped email addresses, and both headed back out on the trail in opposite directions. It was a well-timed affair, and panned out well -- I had a chance to meet up with Chett and a lovely couple on Friday night while we bonded further over pizza at a cushy little joint near the movie theater.
I have to back up a bit, because this story has a bit of a funny beginning. I was on my way home from work Tuesday night when I turned the corner to hear some casual conversation floating out through an open window on the ground floor. At first, it didn't strike me as anything. I heard the clatter of dishes and thought, oh, a nice dinner conversation. And then it dawned on me that the conversation was not some caucophony of foreign sounds, but down-home English. I half considered rapping on the window and saying hello, but thought that might come off a bit too random. So I sauntered down the sidewalk and smiled at the thought that there were yet a few more friends yet to meet.
Friday night at the pizza joint I met up with Chett, and was introduced to Penny and Francis, a very chill and pleasant couple who had somehow managed to survive living on separate continents (Penny is from Australia, and Francis from South Africa) to teach in yet a third. I could tell right away I was in for a good evening. I hadn't been sitting for more than a minute when Penny said to me, "Hey, I know you! Your face is on a huge banner just around the corner from our apartment." And it was only then that I put it together -- they were the couple I had heard through the screen a few nights ago.
Over a large pan of pizza and a few pitchers to wash it down, we chatted together about everything from inequalities for women in Korean society, to teaching rambunctious kids (while at the same time pitying them for working longer days than most adults back home). And their adventures! The more I listened to my new friends' travels, the more I started to feel my own been-there-done-that list blend into the wallpaper... Chett had recently finished a two-month cycling trip through southern India, in which he had gone completely off the beaten track and managed to bunk down with locals along the way. Penny and Francis had just last year backpacked through Vietnam, Thailand, and Laos, and were in the final stages of planning their round-the-world trip to commence next month when they leave Korea. Still, I was happily in my element among these free spirits who, like me, have some inexplicable inner pull to cross oceans and traverse great expanses of land with little aside from the barest of essentials and a very open mind. It's this sameness that has brought us here to Seosan, I want to believe -- much moreso than the glimmering promise of cash to stash away. And it's somehow comforting that here, even in the counter-culture nomadic lifestyle I have chosen for myself, I am yet in the company of others whose passions are close to my heart.