Cheap Sunglasses

Why, in a country where an umbrella can be purchased for W5000 ($3.50), is it so hard to find a good pair of cheap sunglasses? I lose (or break) sunglasses at a rate which precludes purchasing an expensive pair. The ones I see at HomePlus and the like are cheap, but they are priced at W30,000 and up. Someone somewhere is getting rich off sunglasses. The same goes for watches. The plain analog Casio's I see everywhere being sold for W70,000 are in the dollar store at home. I am also frustrated by the price and selection of clothing my size (biggish). I am still wearing what is left of the wardrobe I brought with me a year ago. It is wearing thin. An uncapped pen and a rainy struggle over a taxi claimed two shirts. Most of my t-shirts have lost their former shape as a result of the humidity and the clothes line. The situation is becoming somewhat critical.

The price of some things seems almost punitive. Kitty litter is W12,000 for 10 kilos. Is it imported? If so, this makes sense. I didn't really think about it until I arrived here but this country is essentially an island. There is no land route. Everything that they don't have must be imported. I guess kitty litter is one of those things. And it is heavy. So is peanut butter. A rice cooker will set you back a pretty penny. So will a new laptop.

Food is the best value. It is so cheap to eat out here that it is actually less cost effective to eat at home if you factor in waste. Factory farms with products bio-engineered for shelf life have apparently not hit the market here. Tomatoes look like the ones we grow in the garden at home and taste like tomatoes, but they go bad overnight. I have taken to buying all my veggies from the bulk bin one or two onions at a time, other things as I need them.

I have formed an addiction to the fresh tuna shops. At W20,000 and up they aren't the cheapest place to eat, but how can you put a price on heaven? The price is graded according to the cuts you get, but I always get the cheapest for the same reasons I will never fly first class: a. I can't afford it and b. I don't know the difference and c. I don't want to know: it would make Coach unbearable. Sitting up at the bar you can watch as the sashimi chef carves off cool chucks of fresh raw tuna: the tartar-looking head meat, deep red cuts from the fillets, and, holy of holies, the fatty tuna belly. The leaner cuts get a dip in sesame oil infused with crushed garlic and sea salt. The fatty tuna belly only needs a touch of soy sauce and wasabi. I like to wrap them in the nori provided. And they keep giving the stuff to you until you say quit. Then they bring you some more stuff: a small baked daggerfish, tiny spicy-tuna rolls, huge crab and salmon hand rolls. Top that off with some delicious beverages and you can roll. Heavenly.

One thing that has changed since I moved is that I now have a TV. I told them to take it away at my first apartment. I have become a soccer junkie so this time I kept it and it is a blessing and a curse. It is nice to be able to watch FIFA matches without going out, but I am a chronic channel flipper. I have discovered, however, that although I will sit flipping through the channels for three hours, I will not walk across the room to turn the thing on. As a result of this I now keep the remote sitting on top.

Let's see... what else was I going to write about? I guess the biggest change lately has been the arrival of the scooter. It has made getting around almost too easy. I think that I am gaining weight. This might also have something to do with the elevator. But there is no denying that it is fun zooming around town. I bought a second helmet, a flat black unit in the style of a WWI German brainbucket. It offers mimimal impact protection but it is cool (temperature-wise).

We are getting ready to begin monsoon season here: hot and wet and hot. The mosquitos are out, carrying god-knows-what. I burn coils at night but that doesn't help my hack. My blood alchohol level usually makes me unappetizing anyway.

I finally got some credit into my Skype account so if anyone back home gets a phone call from a very strange number it might be me. Later.

A Status Report

As you know I have tried in this blog to be upbeat and to accentuate the positive aspects of this experience. That may be why I haven't written in a while.

My tenure at KidsClub had been difficult from the beginning. There were many reasons for this, some of them my fault, some of them not. Long story short, I have moved on. After a bit of soul-searching I decided to try again in a better school and, putting to use the hard-won lessons I have learned, make a fresh start. After a few stressful weeks I found a new job with a new apartment, both of them much, much better than what I had before. One of my problems with the previous place was that they required so much administrative work that there was little time to do anything else. In my new job I go to work, teach, and go home. It is wonderful. I have signed on for another year and it is my intention to come home for a week around Thanksgiving.

I bought an ugly, second-hand scooter to get to work. I teach in two locations now so having my own transportation will make getting around much easier. I am wearing my helmet.

Spring has been something to witness here. The cherry blossoms exploded in early April and then the greenery. It is still cool but the hot, wet summer is just around the corner. From my apartment here on the eleventh floor I can see the mountains to the north and west. Through the rain they look like they are wearing an old, dusty green work-coat, dark green and darker yet in the creases. The rotary is lit up with neon advertising Thai massage and love-motels. I have made new friends in my new neighborhood and found new favorite haunts and eateries. This neighborhood never rests. I have engineered a combination of sleep sounds to drown everything out: crickets for the squeaking roof ventilators, ocean for the booming trucks, rain for the unmuffled delivery scooters, a creek for the rest. It works sometimes.

It is an overused truism that what does not kill you makes you stronger. Facing homelessness and unemployment a world away from home would cause a more stable person than I to have panic attacks, and I passed some uneasy nights in the last month. It was very gratifying, however, to be able to hold it together, take inventory of my assets, and find myself of value not only to others but to myself. That may seem like an overly dramatic recounting, but, believe me, there were moments when I had to reassure myself that I was not a complete failure and that I had something to offer. And I know it must have been this way because of how I feel now: nearly weightless. Where there had been a dread and hopelessness there is now anticipation and light. It takes a long, hard night to make one appreciate the warmth of a good sunrise.

On Feeling at Home Away from Home

It has been 10 months now and the earth has gone far enough in its circuit around the sun that the city is starting to throw recollections at me, fleeting memories of my first days here. The slant of the sun, still up now at the end of the work day, the outdoor revelry on weekend nights, the smells erupting from the open-fronted grills, and even the feeling of warm sand under my feet, these things all recall to me in brief moments the initial thrill of being for the first time in a place, then to me, utterly foreign.

It is a bittersweet emotion I feel when a sight or smell reminds me of that first rush in the early days of this journey. In my blissful naivety I felt like an explorer. Every walk to the grocery was an adventure. Every meal was an unfolding mystery. Every weekend was epic in its delicious sense of possibility. Those days are gone now. The streets still glow, but it is no longer the same quality of light. It is as if someone snuck into the booth, focused the camera, turned on the surround sound, and then, adding insult to injury, switched on the subtitles. For because I can read hangul now the menus and bus routes are decipherable. I know my way around the subway and the railway. I can negotiate with shopkeepers and motel-keepers. I can find deodorant and chicken bullion and Land-of-Lakes butter and fresh baguettes and Monterrey Jack.

Yet all of this familiarity has come with a price. It's an odd feeling of being lost in the familiar. This is juxtaposed in my mind with those first magical days, especially now, when I am being bombarded with intimations of what it was like before, back when I knew too little to be unimpressed by the now common sights that were once a source of wonder. An old lady sitting cross legged on a piece of cardboard selling tiny bunches of what look like weeds in the subway. A shop where a man is making tea from wood chips and roots. The street markets teeming with a thousand varieties of commerce, where live fish stands abut purveyors of rainbow hued sandals on one side and handmade ceramics on the other. The stinking drunk laying in his own puke, pockets turned out, in an alley off the rotary. The million tiny dishes and smoking grates covered in meat, that make up the cornucopia that is Korean cuisine.

All of this is still wonder-full, and I have come to love this place more and more as I have become comfortable, but I still miss those golden afternoons when the air, the light, and the sounds of this city all seemed permeated by an unknowable otherness. That loss is the price you pay for making yourself at home.

Plagiarized Thoughts on my Newfound Mortality

"Forseeing"

Middle age refers more
to landscape than to time:
it's as if you'd reached

the top of a hill
and could see all the way
to the end of your life,

so you know without a doubt
that it has an end—
not that it will have,

but that it does have,
if only in outline—
so for the first time

you can see your life whole,
beginning and end not far
from where you stand,

the horizon in the distance—
the view makes you weep,
but it also has the beauty

of symmetry, like the earth
seen from space: you can't help
but admire it from afar,

especially now, while it's simple
to re-enter whenever you choose,
lying down in your life,

waking up to it
just as you always have—
except that the details resonate

by virtue of being contained,
as your own words
coming back to you

define the landscape,
remind you that it won't go on
like this forever.

"Foreseeing" by Sharon Bryan, from Flying Blind. © Sarabande Books, 1996. Reprinted with(out) permission. (buy now) Recycled from The Writer's Almanac.

The Sad Saga of My Left Testicle

My love affair with the Korean medical system came to its full fruition this weekend as I had surgery to repair various vascular components of my left testicle. This medical episode has been ongoing throughout my first year here and has been described in various post that I haven't the energy right now to hyperlink. I spent the night before I got here in the emergency room with this problem and have been treated for it twice since and several times before. Basically, for those not already sick of hearing about it, the blood supply exiting the left testicle has to go through the kidney to get back into the stream and in something like 40% of all men this causes a problem, especially when the affected individual is physically exerting themselves. The problem is further aggravated when these activities occur during warm weather.

As I enjoy moderate physical exertion (climbing, biking, walking, quoits) whatever the weather, I have become rather frustrated with the situation. I have had swelling and pain pretty much all of the time for the last couple of years and five times it has become bad enough that I have sought medical assistance. This week I finally said enough is enough.

The surgery was technically described as the "excision of the varicele and hydrocele of the spermatic chord." The procedure itself was quick and painless. I passed out when they put in my IV beforehand, but the injection for the spinal block wasn't that bad and I was awake throughout the surgery and felt nothing but some pushing and pulling. I was in quite a bit of pain for the first few hours but then they gave me a shot in the ongdongi (butt) that put my whole pelvis to sleep.

I began to worry, however, because they had dropped about 2 liters of saline on me by that time and they kept asking me if I had peed yet. Between the lingering affects of the spinal block and the local I couldn't feel my pee mechanism and I knew that another wrong answer was probably going to result in the dreaded catheter so I did what anyone else smart enough to know the difference would do: I lied. I told them that I had pissed like a horse and felt great. The following morning, still having not peed in reality, I lied again and told them I didn't have any pain and refused the local butt shot. At this point I got feeling back and could consciously open my urethra.

Some interesting differences about the Korean hospital experience:

1. "Do It Yourself." There is an amazing degree of self-help expected of patients at the Korean hospital. I was given silverware with my first meal and thereafter I was expected to clean it after each and keep it in a secure place for the next. If you want a bath: "There is the shower room! (Hope you brought a towel)." Thirsty? There is a water cooler in the patient's lounge down the hall. Need to use the internet: two coin operated terminals in said lounge (W100 [.07 USD] for 5 minutes). PJs come with the room but if you didn't bring slippers those will cost you W2000.
   
2. "Help Yourself." If you press the "help" button every nurse on the floor sprints down the hall to your room figuring you must be dying. I only saw a light come on once in the 48 hours I was there. They never even told me where it was. There was an astounding amount of cooperation and assistance in our little room. Yujin and I helped the guy recovering from a major abdominal surgery and he reciprocated by letting me watch two innings of baseball (remote control control was apparently dictated by seniority).
   
3. "If you can't 'Do It Yourself' bring your family." (Or your girlfriend) Every bed had a fold-out cot underneath and the majority of patients had at least one relative attending 24-hours a day. In some cases entire families were there. Yujin, godsbless'er, wanted to stay but I got her to go home on the pretense that the cat needed care. (Still, she once again saved the day with Snickers, snuggles, and smiles, even smuggling in a Big Mac when I had pegged out my kimchi-eat-ometer.) These family members did everything that in many cases would fall to CNAs in American hospitals and nursing homes. The nurses were there for medical assistance only.
4. Needles. I would say that over 90% of the hospital patients were on IV drips. Into this went everything that wasn't intramuscular (that went in the bottom). I didn't get a pill to take, not one, until I was discharged. (I cheated and took three Advil I had in my hangover kit during "Operation Urethra.") The hospital I went to specializes in treating foreigners and the nurses were ready for my squeamishness. They told me that Koreans are used to shots and I believe them: when you go to a pharmacy for a prescription here they ask you if you want pills or an injection. They love the needle here.
5. Speed. I walked in to the hospital and when they asked me what was wrong i pointed and was sitting in front of a urologist in three minutes (you take a number!) I entered the operating room at a trot and was there for thirty seconds when they maneuvered me into a fetal position and stuck a needle in my back. The last thing I felt down there was my pants being jerked down. I then heard an electric shaver and some sounds like someone sorting silverware. I asked a guy standing there (I think the anesthesiologist) when they were going to start the operation and he said they were finished.
   
6. Money. I have remarked on this before but I am continually astounded by how much you get for your money here. It makes the American medical system seem like a huge hoax. Two days room and board, sonogram, x-rays (chest and ab), complete blood work, electrocardiogram, urologist, anesthesiologist, surgeon, operating room, and all meds: less than $500 USD. And I think my co-pay was over 50% because this was elective. In contrast, the one-hour visit to the ER the night before I left is over $2000 now and the bills are still coming in.

All in all it was a wonderful experience. I may go back soon and have them look at the other problem area(s). Stay tuned.

Back in the Future (not)

As my first year in Korea will come to a close soon it has been of utmost importance to figger out what I am going to do next. I have had to face the grim reality that I am very, very happy here. Why this is I can't pinpoint exactly but there is little I can do now to fix it. I seem to be stuck with a beautiful Korean girlfriend who is nearly half my age and thinks I can walk on water. I have also nearly procured what appears to be, on paper at least, a deeply rewarding and highly lucrative new job. All my friends here, expat and Korean alike, seem to think I am funny and witty and at times tolerable. And Spring in Busan is just simply incredible.

The main source of angst now is the break. I have nearly two months with nothing to do. I am not sad about this. If you know me you will recall that leisure is my area of expertise. But with this amount of free time comes responsibility. Should I go home and see the people I miss who apparently miss me as well or should I go see something in Asia or should I get a temporary job and work like a good boy?

In what amounts to being as close as I ever come to a serious commitment about anything, I purchased the Loney Planet for Southeast Asia today. Aside from being a major financial investment (damned Korean bookstore), simply holding the thing in my hands makes my leg start twitching. It is huge (we are already calling it "The Bible") and chock full of travelley goodness. I remember the day I bought the Loney Planet for Korea. Even though it was still a tentative decision, when I opened that up it was over: I was already on the boat.

This is worse. From what I have been told and now read, we can go almost anywhere we want in Southeast Asia outside of Singapore and Hong Kong for $30 a day. That means that I could conceivable spend the whole two months walking about down there. I am also looking into the possibility of working for a little while here in Korea during that time or possible getting some temp work in Thailand. That would make me feel better about it.

I would like to hit Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Malasia, Sumatra (Indonesia), and Bali as well but all of those places have had political/terrorist/Muslim issues lately. They just caned an Italian aid worker in Indonesia for having pre-Marital sex with his Muslim girlfriend, but usually (so the book says) the Islamic laws are only enforced on Muslims. And I am and have always been exceptional when it comes to the authorities (there is a standing bet among the wait staff at the Sangamo Club regarding the date/cause/number of lashes of my inevitable caning). Many of the areas I will be visiting were affected by the Boxing Day tsunami, which killed approximately 220,000 people. In many of those places the after-affects were positive. Northern Sumatra rebels negotiated a peaceful coexistence governance due to the necessary presence of foreign aid workers there. It is now safe to travel to some of the most pristine beaches in the world along the western coast.

Burma is still largely off limits and there are issues with Muslim separatists in Southern Thailand, but they aren't into killing tourists too much. I also have to figger out an immunization schedule, as it looks like I will need about 30 shots. This doesn't sound good, but then neither does Dengue Fever (they call it "break-bone fever because of the associated joint pain). Asia has budget airlines like Europe now and I can get flights around the region for next to nothing (Bangkok to Manila $60, to Singapore $30, to Hanoi $50 [in all cases cheaper than first-class bus or train]). It is my plan to find an island bungalow ($10) and chill for a week and then getting out a bit. The Loney Planet lists cooking classes at most of the larger Thai destinations and a three day course with lodging is well within the budget and I wouldn't mind adding Thai to my already impressive culinary qualifications (it's true, I'm sorry, but when you look like me you better have some skills or you are going to be L-O-N-E-Y).

So that is the deal. All of those people back home who feel like they can't wait another year to see me could maybe consider meeting me in Hawaii at Christmas time. Peace.

Update. Won-Dollar Exchange Rate: From Bad to Worse.

Update: If you want the nuts and bolts of how this all works check out today's New York Times leader: "Rising Dollar Lifts the US but Leads to Crisis Abroad"

I wrote about this a while back (see "If") but the situation has become so much worse that I thought it would be beneficial to comment on it again. As of this writing the rate sits at 1/1555, which means that if you need to send home $500 a month it will cost you over W800,000 depending on how you do it. This is not good. I have friends who have to send a lot more than that home and things for them are getting desperate. The rate has now collapsed to the point where one wonders where it will bottom out, or if it will.

There is some indication that the rate change is beginning to affect recruitment and, as a result, salary levels here. Posted salaries were increased for the last EPIK hiring cycle but they are no where near replacing the lost income through exchange rate deflation. It will be interesting to see if the salary schedule for the current hiring cycle will reflect any acknowledgment of the current rate dive. I am not sure the Education Ministry understands the degree to which this could affect the willingness of new teachers to come to Korea. Of course, with the unemployment rate in the United States now topping 8% there will be more push from the backside but the debt load of the average college graduate ($19000 as reported by the SeattlePI or see a complete breakdown here at the AMSA site) may cause many of them to look elsewhere to teach abroad.

The problem is the uncertainty: Even if you look at the rate now and feel you can deal with it you still have to ask yourself: if the won/dollar trade has declined over 55% in one year where will it be a year from now? Most economists think that the economic downturn in the United States is going to get much worse before it improves.

There may be some hope. The good people at forcasts.org (who BTW predicted a much smaller downturn in this quarter) have the Won rebounding by September. Since they last updated in early February the rate has collapsed completely so it will be interesting to see how they adjust the comeback levels. I would be ecstatic if the rate got back into the 1/1250 range again. I hope they are right.