SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA, PART I

Home to 20 million people, Seoul represents the best of Asia: clean, high-tech, convenient, and modern, all while preserving its own unique culture.  It is quirky and sophisticated by turns, with a wide array of architecture and public art.  Moreover, though the city is busy and bustling, it never feels frenzied or overcrowded.  This is remarkable when you consider that the far more overwhelming metropolises of New York and Tokyo host populations of 8 and 13 million, respectively.  I went to Korea fairly ignorant of its history or culture, save for its status as one of the Asian economic tigers and the ubiquity of kimchi and metal chopsticks.  My Japanese coworkers commented before my departure that three days was a very short time to spend in Seoul.  "I know," I replied, "But I figure it will be a lot like Japan." I was so, so wrong. 

LAL may have put it best: "The Japanese are tolerant; Koreans are welcoming."  We were approached by numerous locals of all ages, each of whom spoke excellent, nearly unaccented English and simply wanted to know more about our story and how we were enjoying our trip.  "Welcome to South Korea!  You are very welcome here!" said an older man to us on the subway on day 1.  More than one restaurant presented us with complimentary food, and people happily gave us directions or offered recommendations for food and activities.  I confess there were times when we all wished aloud that we lived in Seoul, though we love Japan and recognize that every place poses its own challenges, Seoul included.  Still, we savored the variety of foods offered (I was staggered to come across two kebab carts and a hot dog stand in a three block radius), the artistic and sometimes subversive graffiti, the funky shops, the diverse faces, Caucasian, Indian, and black.  We were shocked by the PDA; couples holding hands or kissing, hugging and nuzzling and linking arms, and friends (girls) walking hand-in-hand down the street.  We noticed very few elderly people; everyone everywhere seemed to be young, so young, dressed like hipsters and wearing large glasses.  While Japanese youths can be fairly androgynous looking, there was no mistaking the Korean genders.  The men are tall and broad-shouldered (I understood why one student told me very specifically that she wanted a Korean boyfriend- so handsome!), and the women, while mostly petite, occasionally are rather rounded and chubby.  Several Korean couples were dressed in matching clothes; most often shoes, but also hats, sweatshirts, shirts, etc.  Paul, who lived in Korea for several years, told us that it's very popular for Korean couples to buy matching underwear, called manties and panties.  A premium is placed on personal appearance in general in Korea; people throughout Asia travel there specifically for various treatments, whether spa dates or plastic surgery.  According to the grannies, you can't be a (successful) politician in Korea if you're ugly, so a number of politicos have had at least some work done.  

Then there was the military presence.  Just a few days before we left Japan, North Korea fired a rocket that landed somewhere off the coast of the Philippines.  Their neighbors of course found this alarming, and we weren't sure what the atmosphere would be like once we arrived.  Seoul felt relaxed, but there were reminders of the war everywhere: soldiers in uniform on the trains and at the various tourist sites (including what appeared to be an entire regiment on a field trip to the War Museum), guards carrying automatic weapons, and even LEGO knockoffs of figures in uniform with anti-aircraft missiles and  AK-47s.  

LEGO gumball machine

However, the most sobering sight was the cases of gas masks located at every subway stop.  London eschews trash bins in the subway for fear of IRA bombs, the US stepped up security on public transport following 9/11, and I'm sure many other countries have instituted similar measures, but I've never seen anything like this.  I wonder if the South Koreans feel as though the war is constantly looming over them, or if they are able to ignore images like this because it's so normal for them.  

Gas mask station, Seoul subway

Gas mask tutorial

THE WAR MUSEUM

Our first day in Seoul was hampered by the weather.  Ice and slush were still pooling on the ground after a snowstorm the week before, and the skies were dark and rainy.  However, this made for perfect museum-going weather, so we trooped (splashed) our way over to the War Museum.  

The building is impressive; a huge granite structure with memorials to the Korean war (frankly, these looked rather Communist to me, with flag-waving youths, trailed by soldiers, the elderly and infirm, and women and children).

Korean War Memorial

Front entrance of the museum

The exhibits were really well curated too; very visual, and at times interactive and dramatic.  There was a great deal of information presented, including analysis of how different events during the conflict had shaped the outcome.  Overall, it was a project to be proud of in terms of the balance between aesthetics and informativeness.  And yet...it was the most jingoistic place I have ever been.  When you walk in the front entrance and make your way towards the exhibits, one of the first things you see is a brightly lit photo booth of two small islands.  You can pose and make it look as though you're standing there.  What is controversial about the islands is the fact that these are the Dokdo Islands (called the Takeshima Islands in Japan), and the two countries have been arguing over their sovereignty for years, though the Japanese control them currently. The accompanying plaque makes no reference to this dispute; it simply identifies them as South Korean territory.  A surprise given how many Japanese tourists flock to South Korea (albeit for shopping and eating; I doubt they are frequenting the War Museum).

Dokdo or Takeshima Islands, depending on who you ask

Moreover, the historical narrative of the museum is profoundly biased against the North Koreans (no surprise there), but with very little explanation of their perspective or rationale, or what possible role South Korea might have played in triggering certain actions.  The South Koreans, on the other hand, are portrayed as resilient victims of the vicious northern aggression...who for some reason are still passionate about reuniting the two countries into one Korea.  The more I learned about the war through South Korea's eyes, and the atrocities of the north, the less I understood why they would want to make nice with these apparent barbarians.   It's like a domestic abuse victim who just wants to go home to their spouse after being hospitalized.  

"Punish the Invaders and Achieve National Reunification!"...but why?

I'm going home for the holidays, so the rest of the Seoul narrative will have to wait.  Up next...the DMZ!  Happy holidays, one and all.

JAPAN IN THE NEWS

The past month has been an eventful one throughout Asia, with elections in Japan* and Korea (who elected their first female president), as well as the announcement of new members of the Politburo in China.  It will be interesting to see how these new governments will interact, and what kinds of policies they will put forth.  In Japan, the conservative Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) has assumed power under prime minister Shinzo Abe.  Though there doesn't seem to be a lot of hope that he will have any great effect on the state of the nation (the Japanese have long since lost confidence in politics and politicians), there's still a great deal of speculation in some quarters over what, if any, contributions and changes he will make.   One concern is Japan's relationship with China, which has become increasingly tense as China more aggressively asserts their claim to the Senkaku Islands, now controlled by Japan.  There is also a running dispute over the Takeshima (or Dokdo) Islands that has soured relations with South Korea.  Abe-san doesn't have a great track record with dealing with either of these countries (his first tenure as prime minister in 2006 was disastrous and lasted only a year).  There's also a chance that he could worsen matters by moving forward on efforts to change Japan's constitution and expand its military, which would anger many of its neighbors.  

However, Abe may help the Japanese economy if he can achieve his economic platform of counteracting deflation and devaluing the yen (a horrible thing for those of us transferring money home, but a boon to visiting tourists and Japanese businesses).  The exchange rates are already in flux, and the stock market seems to be responding well to his election.  Abe will officially take office on December 26th.  We'll see then if he is capable of action, or if his administration will be yet another reinforcement for Japanese political apathy. 

At least one positive thing has come from the end of the election: no longer will the campaign trucks with loudspeakers be trolling my neighborhood at all hours of the day and night, screaming their messages.  Sweet, sweet relief.

*An interesting factoid: why Japanese politicians (and sumo wrestlers) pose in victory photos with large fish.   

IN THE WORLD OF EDUCATION

I've been thinking a lot about this piece from NPR that friend AB sent me last month.  The segment focuses on the different pedagogical techniques and philosophies utilized in Asia and America.  It makes me reflect on my own experiences as a teacher in Japan (and my contrasting experience as a student in America), and the profound ways in which education teaches our kids what to prioritize, how they should learn, and what society expects from them.  

A couple of points in the article resonated with me and echoed what some of my Japanese coworkers have remarked, specifically that our students aren't terribly creative.  I find that my students really struggle with the creative projects I assign (envision your ideal vacation, and make a presentation on your itinerary; create an advertisement for a product, real or imaginary, and perform it in front of the class).  What's more, they don't seem to enjoy the assignments at all, not just because they have to give a presentation in English, but also because they don't seem to know how to imagine things.  In Japan, teaching involves lecturing, and learning involves wrote memorization.  Questions that seem fairly simple, like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" lead to blank stares.  One teacher told me that he supported me asking these types of questions and wanted me to pressure the students to think more about these topics.  "They don't really think about their future," he said, "Maybe they think about getting a good grade or going to university, but they don't think about their lives."  

For me, the most fascinating premise from the article was the following:

Obviously if struggle indicates weakness — a lack of intelligence — it makes you feel bad, and so you're less likely to put up with it. But if struggle indicates strength — an ability to face down the challenges that inevitably occur when you are trying to learn something — you're more willing to accept it.

I agree with this statement wholeheartedly; the problem is, convincing these kids that the struggle is worthwhile is, well, a struggle in and of itself.  There are certain stories that you hear over and over again when you talk to JETs.  One is what I call the "muzukashii" story.  JETs will give an assignment or ask a question in English, and the students will shake their heads and say, "Muzukashii," ("difficult").   That word is a death knell in any lesson, unless you can figure out some way to walk the students through what you want them to do.**  Otherwise, the class will give up and revert to a state of silent passivity.  For example, if I ask the question, "What will you do this weekend?" and wait for someone to volunteer an answer, I can wait the entire class period without anyone speaking.  I can ask the question a million times. I can shout. I can jump up and down.  I can address the students individually.  And all that can be heard is the sound of another teacher lecturing in the adjoining classroom.  If my students don't want to do something, they will simply shut down.  There will be no tantrum, no theatrical gestures.  They might not even say the word "No."  Instead, they will institute a silent rebellion that rivals Gandhi's protests against British imperialism.   

Still, their strength-in-numbers approach to classroom subversion is admirable, in its own way.  And this is something that the Japanese education system does really well: promoting unit cohesiveness.  No one gets special treatment.  Everyone must help during soji (a half hour period during which everyone cleans their classroom).  School events, like sports day, are designed to help students bond.  If there are interpersonal issues within the classes, the teachers work to change those dynamics.  The collective is what is most important.  


I see the differences between western and eastern students too in the ways my students change when they return to Japan following a period of studying abroad.  When they leave, they are often shy, quiet, and nervous about using English.  They are completely different people when they come back: confident, fluent in English, and full of slang and the bravado that characterizes most western high school students.  And while I'm thrilled that they've gained confidence and ability and had great, eye-opening experiences, I am a little saddened by how jaded they are, and how they clearly judge their Japanese classmates who haven't had the same experience.  The English comes in, but the innocence leaves them.    

Disciplinary styles are different in Japan as well.  Delinquent students are required to do extra chores around the school (mowing the grass, weeding the grounds, washing windows, etc.), or to attend in-school suspension.  The teachers are not shy about expressing their displeasure at students' behavior.  Some of the more "passionate" teachers can be heard screaming at the top of their lungs at students for late work, tardiness, etc.  Yet the relationships between teachers and students can also be incredibly close and meaningful as well.  Homeroom teachers are completely responsible for their students well-being at school and act as surrogate parents, whether that means disciplining them, providing counseling, discussing problems with parents, taking care of them if they get sick.  Teachers have an extensive knowledge of which students are having a tough time at home, and what those issues outside school are.  If a student gets picked up for pick pocketing or a petty crime, one of the teachers will meet with the police, and then the student and his or her parents.  They call to check on students when they have extended absences, sometimes even going to the student's home.  This is not to say that western teachers care less about their students; it's simply that the Japanese teachers I've worked with are more hands-on and involved as a whole than any teaching staff I've encountered.  Part of that may be because western teachers are encouraged to be more hands-off in some respects of student's personal lives.  However, I think the amount that Japanese teachers care for their students, and the amount of time and work they put into that care, is remarkable and laudable.  

Never was this more apparent than two weeks ago, when one of my third year students, N-kun, died very suddenly and violently.  The faculty, the staff, the students: we were all shocked.  This young man was so kind and sweet and smart and driven; he had just been accepted to a university, and was the captain of the aikido team.  In Buddhist tradition, there was a wake held for him, and a funeral the following day.  The school immediately sprang to action, organizing a route that students could walk from a train station to the funeral home to pay their respects.  Teachers lined the route, standing for hours in the cold, guiding students.  When N-kun's classmates broke down, some of them having hysterical fits, the teachers gathered around, covering students with their coats and trying to calm them.  Other teachers were called in to drive emotional students back to their homes or local train stations.  There was lots of counseling and individual meetings and talks with parents.  As with any tragedy, the community came together, and I felt so grateful to be part of such an incredible group of people.  

**On the other hand, if you walk them through the process and then praise them for their work afterwards, they are very pleased with themselves.  The key road block to them learning English is the same of learning any language: they are petrified of making mistakes.  One of my third year students wrote me a note on her final exam that said, "I didn't like writing in English until Eri-sensei told me that mistakes were OK.  Now I can write in English."

THE TWELVE PUBS OF CHRISTMAS

Japan has affirmed certain cultural stereotypes for me, one of which is that the Irish are always good for a good time.  Last weekend Paul (who is Irish) organized a pub crawl in Osaka titled "The Twelve Pubs of Christmas."  What followed was one of the most magical and memorable evenings of my life.  Between the hours of 6pm and 4am, we visited 12 "establishments."  [One "pub" was actually on the subway, and we all stood quietly sipping our beverages as our fellow Japanese passengers smiled at us with genuine good cheer and took sneaky photos.]

The fourth pub of Christmas

T'was also a night of Christmas competition.  Homemade Christmas jumpers (that's sweaters in Commonwealth English) were encouraged, and we kept a running tally of which one various bartenders/clerks/obliging passerby judged to be his or her favorite.  The contenders were impressive: some lit up, there was an arm wrestling Santa/snow man, two Christmas trees, hand-stitched bells, and a Santa face.  I wore an actual Santa suit, beard and all, and carried around a sack of "toys" for good girls and boys (whoever was the first to finish their drink that round).  Finally, we distributed stick-on bows for people to place on unsuspecting strangers.  The clear winner was a silver bow placed on the posterior of a girl who was outrageously drunk at 8pm. 

The sixth pub of Christmas

These were the twelve Christmas miracles of the evening:

1. No one died.  

2. No one got arrested.

3. No one got sick.

4. No one exposed themselves.

5. Everyone stuck together.  

6. Everyone made it home.

7. Everyone made it home either alone or with the person with whom they began the evening.

8. Everyone remembers what happened the night before (this may be the greatest miracle of all).

9. Everyone remained jolly.

10. While lustily singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" in an Osaka subway station, a highly inebriated Japanese woman heard us and joined in, words and all. 

11.  As we exited the 8th pub of Christmas (a local convenience store), it started snowing.

12. The twelfth pub of Christmas, though it had been closed for half an hour, still let us in for a quick, final drink.  However, had they turned us away, our tale would have had taken on Biblical parallels.

We came away from the night with a multitude of great stories, but my favorite involved two little Japanese girls on the subway, who were shocked to encounter a gaijin in a Santa suit.  They were clearly confused, but became very animated when they saw I wanted to speak to them, and their mothers were beside themselves with delight.  However, the jig was soon up: the youngest quickly pointed out, "You're not Santa!"  To which I had no response, but to chuckle heartily.  LAL gave them stickers (she's so thoughtful), and they gave us all high fives in return.  Go go Christmas magic! 

CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE

Shortly before American Thanksgiving, Yosh-sensei approached me to discuss the oral exam for the first years.  Each student was to meet individually with me and DL, and Yosh wondered what the rest of the class would do while they were waiting.  "Well," I said, "I was thinking we'd do some sort of Thanksgiving worksheet or puzzle."  "Ah. Hmm," came the response with a side tilt of the head (a dead giveaway of disapproval).  I waited.  "I was thinking..." he said with a glint in his eye, "they could make CHRISTMAS cards!!" I opened my mouth to point out that it was still November, and then realized that this was a meaningless battle, and in fact, introducing Christmas before Thanksgiving was entirely culturally appropriate considering that most American stores had their Christmas decorations out before Halloween. So instead I said, "That sounds great.  I'll bring the paper and markers."   

And so I sit, with a stack of 120 Christmas cards on my desk, many of which are absolute gems.  Hallmark should market these, if not for the aesthetics, then for the wonderful wording and sentiment.  Please enjoy.

This card was drawn by one of my favorite students.  When I told him the difference between "Marry" and "Merry," he slapped his forehead and said, "Mistake! Big Mistake!" When he handed in his card, he had added Santa hauling an "E" to replace the "A." Ingenious. 

"Let's party. Today comes Santasan."

When the student turned this in, she made a big deal of showing me the Christmas "moncky"

Front of the card.

Inside says: "It's unbearably cold."

A bunch of boys got together to draw this one.  I'm not sure why Santa looks like The Gimp from Pulp Fiction. Or why he has a sword.

"Merry Christmas. Christmas will be on Tuesday this year.  I wish you a Merry Christmas!"

Written by one of the boys.  "Thank you! I enjoyed date with you. I'll send this card with a gift for you. I hope you happy."

"Dear Ms. Erizubesu, I go to dinner with me. Let's a party."

MEETING THE ZAO GONGEN

First frost in Nara last week, and now we settle into the inevitability of winter. I'm already nostalgic for the fall.  The Japanese are incredibly proud of their four distinct seasons, and rightly so.  Autumn in Japan is a glorious affair, with fairly temperate weather and riotous color.  As I make a return to sleeping in long underwear and fuzzy pajama pants, wool socks, 2 shirts, a fleece, and a ski cap, I offer a photographic homage to fall's peak this year.

Nara Park, Nara

Nara Park, Nara

The Yoshino Mountains, the most infamous viewing spot in Kansai for cherry blossoms in the spring, was a prime spot for fall foliage this year.  We followed the winding trail up Mt. Kinpu to Kinpusenji Temple, reportedly the second largest wooden structure in Japan.  I had been told that it was well worth it to see the "Blue Buddhas," which are unveiled only once a year for a few weeks.  Except they aren't Buddhas.  These three fearsome blue statues are actually called Zao Gongen, and are Buddhist representations of a Shinto mountain spirit.  Each figure represents a different period of time; past, present and future.  Their blue skin signifies ego, and the vajra (thunderbolt) is held in a threatening gesture meant to symbolize the striking down of evil.  

The Blue Buddha, Yoshino

Further up the trail, we hit a row of shops, and slowed to inspect the horagai, or trumpets made from conch shells.  The horagai are played by the yamabushi, Buddhist warrior monks, who incorporate the instruments in various rituals.  We stopped outside one of the shops, and the owner, a dapper and friendly man, offered to give us an impromptu lesson in conch-blowing.  

First, grip the conch shell with two hands, so that the fingers of one hand curl into the shell.  The other hand wraps around the mouthpiece.  Keep your lips together, and breathe into your diaphragm, forcing the air from your abdomen instead of your mouth.  Alas, the notes that I blew were high-pitched and scratchy, not the deep, bass tones I had hoped for.  However, the shop keeper seemed pleased that I had produced any sound at all, so I took it as a small victory.   

Victory!

We dallied for a while after our lesson to talk to the shop owner, Ota-san.  He was delighted to learn that we were from America, and immediately decided that we must be from San Francisco, ignoring us when we told him that we hailed from Chicago and Texas.  His father, he said, had traveled to San Francisco in 1939 as part of the Golden Gate International Exposition.  His father had been chosen to represent Japan as a wood carver, and Ota-san had a wide range of memorabilia from his father's trip, including passport photos, maps of San Francisco, pamphlets and brochures from the fair, etc.  He then offered us tea and took us through photo albums of various trips he had taken over the course of his life: Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, China, Australia, etc.  Here was this man who lives in a tiny village on a remote mountain in Japan, but has traveled all over the world and is genuinely fascinated by foreign cultures.  It was remarkable.  We spent far longer than we meant to in his shop, but it was absolutely worthwhile to hear his stories and to form a surprising connection over our homeland.