April is the Cruellest Month

Back again after another illness. I don't know exactly what it was, as the witch doctors in Jeju weren't able to scry from their casting of bones and reading of the planets what was wrong with me. Basically, it was a stomach problem, and the main result will be that I am not drinking alcohol or eating spicy food for a few months, and am probably done with soju for life. I was checked into the hospital for a short time, just to run some tests, and it was certainly an experience. Nothing like waking up nauseous and needing to use the restroom, yet having to traverse a hospital hallway full of half-eaten Korean breakfasts and the pungent aroma they give off. Mackerel is not a breakfast food. Radish is not a breakfast food. Seaweed, kimchi, and garlic are not breakfast foods. It was horrible. They heat the rooms to around 90 degrees, and were seemingly baffled when I asked them to turn the heat off. I paid for a private room (at a strangely cheap $30) because in the shared rooms, where old Korean grandparents were laid out in pairs, their entire extended family came and slept in the room with them. I didn't want to share my room with a korean family, so I upgraded.

Anyway, I'm doing more or less better. I managed to lose 25 pounds in the last two weeks, which is 500% of my previous achievement at the gym after a month and a half. What it means, though, is that my pants are falling off, and my belt is at least two notches too big. I was able to finally find a Korean shirt that fit me, in a Large size. And as long as I can't drink beer, I'm sure I will only lose more. Gotta find a silver lining, eh?

Drive My Car
We are now the proud owners of a car. The unique world of the "foreign teacher to foreign teacher" system of car sales here allowed us to get a $400 four-door sedan. It's a 1993 Hyundai Sonata; to call it old is a bit of an understatement. But it runs fine so far, and has a working radio, A/C, and the like, so I can't really complain. It even came with a bitchin'... um, leopard-skin paint job on the roof. The good news is that should the car maintain a level of functionality, we can sell it for the same price that we paid for it.

Learning to drive a manual transmission car in Jeju has been tough- the entire island is essentially a sloping mountainside running from the peak of Mt. Halla down to the sea, though occasionally spotted with smaller hills. Level terrain is the exception here. So learning to successfully start on an incline has been a incredibly important. My drive to school, as well as 90% of the rest of the island, is uphill from our house. And because Korean drivers will pull within inches of the back bumper of my car, I've really only one chance to get it right. The times when I have stalled out result in furious honking, gnashing of teeth, and tearing of beards from those behind me, which doesn't help at all. I think I've got it down now, though my current low gas mileage suggests that I need to ease up a bit. Should be great for the summer for going to the beach, now that the miserable cold has lifted, hopefully for good this time.

Alicia and the car, as she tries to learn to drive it.



Erection Day
For four weeks late last year, between the middle of November and December, the looming presidential election launched dozens of campaigning Korean to the street to promote their favorite candidate, all 10 or so of whom were conveniently numbered, which I suppose in a country full of Kims and Yangs makes thins less confusing. Yet instead of passing out fliers on their candidate's beliefs or giving speeches, they choose something far more relevant to the political process: synchronized dancing to irritating theme songs. A truck featuring a blown up photo of the candidate's face would pull off the road onto the sidewalk next to any major intersection, and blast any of several theme songs for that candidate, which usually featured a man shouting out the candidate's number, "O-BON!" for number five, for example. A team of women (and the occasional out-of-place man) in matching shirts would assemble in front of the truck and dance to the music. This was especially prevalent during rush hours.

This is how I learned that there are no noise violations in Korea. Our old apartment, Ido Officetel, was maybe 400 feet or more away from a major intersection, and several buildings stood in between. Despite this distance and degree of acoustic insulation, every morning at 7am, for that entire month of campaigning, the dance team for one of the candidates blasted their music so loud that they sounded like they were in the damn bed with me. Ear plugs and sweatshirts tied around the head weren't even enough to mute their horrible chanting. And because Saturday is a work day for an unfortunate bulk of the population, they were there to greet me into countless Saturday morning hangovers.

I felt like I could at least take comfort in documenting this silly practice, and judging by the escalation of the campaigning as the weeks went on, I could only assume that Election Day would be insane- traffic would be shut down so mobs of these Korean shills could dance in support of their favorite contender and ear-splitting anthems would fill the air. So I was more than a little shocked that nothing, and I mean nothing, was to be found on December 19th. There must be a law against campaigning on the day of the election, but I of course had no idea, and completely missed my shot to record any of the prancing for politics. I was pretty upset.

Lucky for me, Koreans wait until four months later to elect their Parliament.

Our apartment is far enough away from a major intersection to give us a break from the endless sonic assault we had to endure before. I didn't even know that there was an election coming until a week or two before. Unfortunately, I was checked into the hospital for two days during the final run-up to the election, and the hospital was on a major road. So, both days at 7:30 in the morning, a Candidate #14 truck with several loudspeakers began driving up and down the road playing a song repeatedly punctuated with cries of "SHIPSA-BON!". I swear he just circled the hospital area for hours, driving me out of my mind. There apparently is no escape from these people.

After my final check-up a few days later, I decided to enjoy my recovered health and walk back to my house, a fair distance away. I had luckily brought my camera along, and finally got the chance to capture some of the idiocy of this campaign process. Mr. Sa-Bon, candidate #4, had a truck parked next to city hall playing songs that alternately sounded like tragic Asian lamentations, or commercial jingles full of creepy laughter.



A group of people in shirts emblazoned with big orange 4s was slowly coagulating around the area into a small group, which, after a few moments of discussion, formed a dance line and tried to charm the passing traffic.



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I have no idea who won the election (and I don't care, just as long as Shipsa-bon lost...), but I'm certainly glad to have had a second chance to get those videos. We had planned back in December to paint a number on our shirts and go try and dance with them, but alas, there's never enough time.

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It's nice to be back in the land of the living, and I hope everyone else is doing well.