First Impressions

Which should always be taken with a little salt. Especially from people who think they know lots of things. Like yours truly. I’ve been here exactly two weeks. So, what the hell do I know? I’m so glad you asked.

South Koreans love coffee. (or, I should say, espresso, 'cause you don't really find drip coffee here anywhere) I frequent a bagel/coffee joint across the street from work and next door is another coffee shop which is directly across the street from a Starbucks. Turn right at the light and you pass three more shops (at least) before the end of the block.

They also love fried bread. Fried everything. On every corner, there is at least one (sometimes three or four) deep fryer on wheels. The craziest product I have witnessed from one of these vendors was...well, I’ll let the picture I took of them speak for me.

That’s right. You are seeing a hotdog covered in french fries, all on a stick. I was struck speechless at the sight. This is in Dongdaemun. There’s an enormous flea market here. (Incidentally, this picture is illegal. The vendor waved my camera away, insisting on no pictures, but it was too late. If teaching English doesn’t work out, perhaps I’ll become an international spy.)

On the weekends, the subways are filled with middle aged women in hiking boots and backpacks. Filled.

One of these days I may just follow them to see where it is they go.

There is an interesting energy to this place. I’m finding the Korean approach to everything to be one of precision. Even down to the way the servers at restaurants tie a bag of take out food. In general, I find there not to be a sense of hurry driving anything here. Which is not to say things move slowly, just with less frantic energy behind them.
That being said, there is also a characteristic pushiness here. Just without the attitude I’m used to in a city this size. It’s as if it’s nothing personal. I genuinely think the several people who have literally pushed me out of the way on the street or in the subway would be surprised if I expressed offense. They’re not trying to make a point (which is what a New Yorker would be doing), they just want to get by.

Koreans are also an affectionate group. I see friends holding hands and arms all the time. Even men. Even grown men. I am touched and refreshed at the sight.

I’ll close with a few pictures of some new friends.

Zac (from North Carolina) and Donny (from Nova Scotia). The other foreign teachers at my school. This is in Nowon. Lots of westerners in this area and, therefore, they have lots of things westerners enjoy. Like guns. Don't worry. They are aiming at balloons. And I don't think they hit any of those.


Michelle, Christine, Me, Kelly, Alejandro, Cindy.
I really blend in here. The women are the Korean teachers at my school. As you might have guessed, these are their English names.

Korea's first impressions of me? Well, Christine told me I look like Cameron Diaz and Kelly thinks I look like Kirsten Dunst. I laughed heartily at these compliments. I couldn't help it. And it really makes me wonder: do all white people look alike?

Some pictures

Because the public demands them. Here are a few to get you started.



My first morning in Seoul (complete with wet hair). My apartment.



This is a better view. You can see the loft above the kitchen where I sleep. It's cozy. But I can't stand up in there. And when I sit up on my bed, my head almost hits the ceiling. I feel a little like a giant. Or like I live in a tree house. Maybe both.


So, the picture is posed. But this is where I always sit. I was sitting there last night and thought, "I should take a picture of this so the folks at home can see where I am when I'm writing to them." The window looks out on another building, but if I lean to the right, I can see the park that's in front of my apartment.


The green fence I pass every day on the way to work.

Sheesh, I've gotta get to sleep already. And you need to decide what's for lunch.

I write from tomorrow

And I'm not being poetic. I live in Seoul, South Korea now and am therefore 14 hours ahead of you. I hate to sound smug, but I’m from the future.

I've been here for almost a week. It's interesting to feel suddenly cut off from the world I've always known. The night before I left the country, I told a dear friend I felt like I was about to disappear.

During my layover in the Minneapolis airport, I called a handful of my nearest and dearest (otherwise known as my speed dial). I experienced intense comfort from the knowledge that their voices were a mere five seconds away. And then I felt a little light headed from the simultaneous realization that these were the last few hours this would be true for a long time.

My hope in moving across the world was to leave behind what I had known. And in doing so, to discover (as my friend Caleb put so well) what it is within me that doesn't get lost in translation. It is both terrifying and thrilling to be getting what I wanted.

Today I had lunch at a little diner in my neighborhood. The waiter brought my food and I started eating it. He came over a few minutes later smiling and bowing and offering to help. He was trying to tell me to add sauce from a separate dish and stir everything together. I wasn’t getting it. So he took my chopsticks and spoon and did it for me. I looked over at an a older woman peering at me from the kitchen, smiling. A server at the cash register giggled in my general direction.

I smiled at them, feeling like a child and not really minding. I figure in many ways I’m beginning something new. I’ve said goodbye to what’s familiar and am looking the unknown full in the face. That’s enough to make the description “child-like” feel pretty damn fitting.

And anyway, I’m fairly certain they were laughing with me, not at me.