Caucasian Invasian

Southeast Asia: Economic Scandals

2011-11-15T21:56:00.000-08:00

*I know I've taken a hiatus from blogging, but I'm back. This will probably be the first of several blogs about my adventures in Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam.*

I've just finished a three month journey in southeast Asia as part of a five-country economic survey. My theory was that the citizens of said region, under the guise of financial duress, take advantage of foreign travelers with over-inflated prices for their products and services. I also wanted to prove that these were not isolated cases, but a deliberate, complex, multilateral trading scheme. From rip-off watch vendors of Singapore, to pointed-hat wearing fruit sellers of Vietnam, the similarities of their marketing strategies are uncanny. They can be broken down into two major categories, which I will examine in the following report. I will break down the marketing strategies and show you the devious natures of the southeast Asian "impoverished" business person and how their "grassroots" sales approach reaches a global customer base.

1: Same Same But Different

As you travel throughout the different countries of southeast Asia there are always two constant variables: tourists and hawkers. This cultural symbiotic relationship is the modern represensation of the ancient philosophy of yin and yang. Two opposites working in harmony, or that's the way it should be. With their money-based lifestyle, the aggressive businessmen of the region have tipped the scale in their own favor.

In my extensive travels I've discovered that hawkers are not only inevitable, but deliberate part of the tourist experience. Each country varies slightly, but the overall feel is the same: pushy, tenacious, opportunistic individuals with limited English skills but with preternatural understandings of finance, currency, and exchange rates. And, underneath everything, humming like an electric current is this phrase: same same but different.

Printed on blouses and tank tops from Kuala Lumpur to Hanoi, this phrase bounces on the breasts of foreign women and off the lips of local merchants. Even though it's a pretty asinine comment, it's actually a rather accurate description of their marketing strategy. No matter where you go, you get offered the same stuff. If one product is selling, it will be replicated and sold everywhere. You can count on it.

Since 'Same Same But Different' serves as the umbrella strategy for all business, and because of the ambiguity of the theory, it can sometimes cause not-so-subtle overlaps in sales pitches.

You can purchase one product, and immediately be pitched the exact same product by another vendor. Sun glasses are a classic example. In Saigon I bought one pair, and immediately another man approached and offered me the same pair for half the price. Unsure of the quality I bought one more pair, 'just to be safe', and then was immediately approached by another man who witnessed the first two transactions. "Three is too much," I say. "You're trying to sell at the margin, I don't want any more." I don't think he understood.

Another great example are the food hawkers. In all of southeast Asia, vendors will approach you while you're sitting down at open air restaurants enjoying a meal. They sell everything from the above mentioned sunglasses, to newspapers, and even ironically, food. On too many times to count I've been enjoying a meal and was then offered fresh produce. "No thank you," I say, trying not to laugh. "Pizza and bananas don't mix." When they try and press the sale, I reply, "Yes, I understand they serve the same purchase, and it's different food, but I'm just not hungry any more. Great effort, work on your timing." They always ignore my advice and try to pitch their wares to other, hopefully hungrier, customers in the restaurant.

The children hawkers of Angkor Wat were ruthless in this approach (don't be fooled by their ages and "innocent" expressions. They're swindlers) offering bracelets for a dollar. "I don't want a bracelet," I said. "Ok, three for same price," they always respond. "But I only have two arms." The humor was always lost on them.

Still, the sunglasses and the bracelets, and even the bananas, I get. I know the glasses are cheap, I may want some more for insurance. The bracelets could be gifts for friends at home. And you know what, maybe, just maybe, that restaurant didn't fill me up. A cheap banana dessert would hit the spot. What I really don't get, though, are the book vendors. Come on!

In Vietnam book sellers carry around identical stacks of paperbacks (they're all intricately made copies. There must be some serious underground Kinko's hard at work spitting out bootleg books). When they see you buy one the others rush in. "Buy more." "No, too much," I say. "This takes time to read, and two are too heavy." My words go in one ear hole and out the other, "Yes buy another." Logic doesn't work.

But, all of these examples are obvious to anyone who visits this part of the world. 'Same Same But Different;' it immediately makes sense and you move on. You see it so often your conscious mind turns it off and it just becomes a subliminal message.

What I'm interested in is the POV of the hawkers. You can turn that phrase right around on us and it also works. To them, as I've said, we all look the 'same' ,but we're all 'different' potential consumers. So, seeing and hearing this phrase everyday is a sort of hidden message of encouragement for THEM. It tells them to press on, someone will buy.

Before I figured this out I always thought the vendors were confusing me with someone they knew. "Hello, friend," they said, walking towards me and smiling. I always frowned, looked around, and then asked them, "What's your friend's name?" Now they frown, "No, friend. You." "Me?" Finger to my chest, "We're friends, really?" "Yes." At this point I usually attempted a hug but it never worked.

"You buy." Then full realization washes over me and I feel a little uneasy. I want to explain that I follow the age-old Western adage of 'Not Mixing Business with Pleasure,' and that they should change their sales approach, but I have a feeling they won't understand. So, instead I say (and at this point there has been an awkward silence of several seconds), "I'm sorry, but I don't feel comfortable buying from friends. By the way, nice glasses," I say, touching the pair on my head that matches what he's selling.

What really confused me were the women that LIVED this philosophy. Women here were not afraid to commit, as they shamelessly declared to love me for a long time (even though, if you're a stickler for grammar, they never used indefinite articles). They didn't even know me, I was just a different foreigner, with the same handsome face they're used to seeing.

I never felt good after such encounters, sometimes they happened several times a day. I do want to support the local economy, but I've got principles. These internal dilemmas continued until one fateful morning. Will and I woke up early so he could do some filming. We didn't see any foreigners, but we did see a big truck stopping at the local hawker stalls. They opened it up, took out the merchandise for the day, and the truck moved on, depositing identical merchandise at the next stop. Will and I turned slowly towards each other, and with the wide eyes said, "Same same but different." I slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

2: Never Try Never Know

I first heard this phrase from a tour guide in the jungles of Malaysia. He somehow managed to tie it into all of his sentences, and it's followed me ever since. This goes hand in hand with 'Same Same But Different,' but it's usually applied for activities.

The best example is the infamous 'massage.' It's probably the 'same same' massage as next door, but there is not product to look at. This is where the second strategy is so effective, because honestly, unless you try, you won't know. Genius.

One time when 'Never Try Never Know' pulled us into a massage parlor in Saigon, I wanted to embarrass an overzealous - in my eyes - Will. So, as the proprietess ushered un in I said, in my best awkward-conservative voice, "No funny business." She looked offended, and Will looked annoyed. Still, the massage was great.

A funnier example, but one that we chose not to indulge in, was the rapid-fire sales pitch of a Cambodian tuk-tuk (motorized rick shaw [covered two-seater cart hand pulled in India]) driver. "Tuk-tuk? Marijuana? Massage? Boom boom?" They get closer and closer as they say it and their grins get lewder and lewder. I asked them once if 'boom boom' meant shooting guns. They laughed and made violent hip motions. Not interested, fellah.

What's funny to me, because I was asked the same question by ALL of them, is what their impression of us must be. They must think every foreign guy wants to take a tuk-tuk ride, get stoned, rubbed, and boned. While that actually sounds like a pleasant evening, it's a pretty narrow marketing scheme. What if I just want someone to talk to? Come on guys.

The best thing, though, is to use their own weapons against them. On the jungle river in Malaysia our tour guide was hasseling the guys in the group to rope swing out into the water (I had already gone three times and successfully executed the difficult rope-swing backflip). This guy was getting a good laugh at the dudes too shy or uninterested to try it, so - standing half in the water like a glorious river Poseidon - I told himi to go. When he shook his head I smiled and said, "Never try never know." He was shamed and went.

Another time a hawker girl (hawkette?) came into our restaurant in Hoi An, Vietnam, selling Tiger Balm. Her English was OK, and she kept repeating "Never Try Never Know," like a mantra. I kept telling her that in fact I had tried and did indeed know, but I couldn't dissuade her. This was usually my go-to strategy -talk around a person, they get confused and leave- and it was working until Will chimed in. She kept pushing and I blame it all on Will (side note: never try and barter when the hawker has support. I once tried to talk the Exorbitant price of batteries down from a teenage hawkette in Angkor Wat, but her 15 friends kept cheering her on and she wouldn't budge) Will kept telling this girl I loved the stuff and grinning like a fool. Even when I talked her down from $6 to $2 and she wasn't making any profit and visibly agitated she wouldn't leave. So, I bought it cheap and sent her away angry, and then tried to make Will feel guilty.

In conclusion, Southeast Asia is poor and they want your money. Whether it's Pringles or prostitutes they'll try and find clever (and not so clever) ways to charge you extra. Had I known three months ago what I know now about the devious pychological business machinations that burn like dengae fever all through these countries, I probably could have saved the $20 I've been overcharged in that time. Damn them.

The Korean Spa or Jimjillbang

2011-02-12T07:29:00.000-08:00

With hundreds of naked bodies, awkwardness is fleeting. Like diving into a cold pool, the initial shock is the worst. As the only foreigner in a Korean Spa, it’s easy to think all of the eyes are on you. But, exposed to such a variety of flesh, self consciousness leaks out as quickly as sweat.

The central hot tub is my first stop. The water is scalding and packed with dozens of bodies. I can’t smell any chlorine and I pray for filters. I try to relax as my skin screams and I search the room for distraction.

I find it.

I see hot tub frog squats, gasping cold water dousing, sauna lunge stretches, and even a speedo-clad Korean masseuse. The activities are all so alien that my mind begins to slip into a surreal state. The more I see soaked, dangling comb-over’s and sagging elderly flesh, the more comfortable I feel.

With a head spinning lurch I stand to try some of the other pools. There is so much moisture in the air that condensation drips off the ceiling, like the room itself is sweating.

I sit next in a reclining Jacuzzi with its probing jets. This is followed by the dirty puddle look of the Pine Sap Soak, and then the teakettle experience of the Green Tea Tub. When I finally stand my skin is red from the neck down and my muscles have taken on a consistency of tofu.

I bypass the clay tiles under the heat lamps where grown men sprawl completely exposed, and make my way to the Charcoal Bamboo Sauna. Thousands of burnt bamboo stubs are cemented into the walls and ceiling, creating the sensation of sitting in a pile of ashes. The aroma of charred wood sinks into the pores and lingers for days. I sit still trying to breathe in the furnace air as withered Koreans do squats or triceps dips. By then it seems completely normal.

When I feel ready to puke I know it’s time, but the room beyond offers no relief. The spa is hazy with steam, like the opium tents of the old Orient, and I stagger in a dazed state. The room itself seems to want air. I feel it pulling the oxygen straight from my dilated pores. There isn’t enough for proper muscle function.

I head for the exit.

The clouded door to the outdoor spa opens and as my skin prickles in the chill my lungs seem to burst with the cool, fresh air. I breathe deep, smelling pine and melting snow in the open air enclosure. I stand in the cold until the hot water is soothing again, and let the goose bumps on my flesh smooth out slowly. I lean my head back and gaze at the twilight sky through a lattice-work of bamboo leaves. By then I could have been anywhere. My inhibitions fade completely with the light, and I drift into an oblivion of relaxation.

Kim Jong Un is a DBag!

2010-11-27T10:07:00.000-08:00

Herro!

First of all, sorry for the long delay. I've read all of your fan mail (more like hate mail now, those ear jokes were too much) and I understand that you are upset at my hiatus. I know, if I were in your shoes, I would miss my blog, too. Part of it is because I've been busy: intense social life, traveling, hiking, Hapkido (yes, I'm becoming a dangerous martial Artiste), and the occasional video game session. But, for a while I just couldn't get into as much.

I’ve been meaning to write more consistently, but every time I try to put something down I just stall out. The main reason, I think, is that I was trying to follow my old formula: silly narrative filled with crass examples. The problem is that Korea just doesn’t crack me up like it used to. So, as I try to find enough material to in my free time to chuckle about, I draw a blank.

Don’t get me wrong, Korea can still be a hoot. For example, I still laugh every time I see a man on a moped driving down the sidewalk tossing piles of “business cards” in shop doorways so passerby’s can see the deals at the local brothels (Relax, it’s advertising, not littering). That still gets a little giggle out of me. But most of the things that happen here that I initially found so entertaining - the fashion, the mannerisms, the commercials, and their reactions to my size, skin color, hairline, brow line (and I’m not even that bad, you should see some of the other Cro-Magnons I work with) , and facial hair – are more endearing than anything else now. They are what make Korea special. Also, they’re so commonplace that I don’t even notice them anymore. Like anyone being repeatedly exposed to the bizarre, I’ve become conditioned.

And, you know what, that’s ok with me.

I really enjoy being comfortable. I’ve got a good job, close friends, just enough money to pay bills and not stress, and the added perk of a looming war with our narcissistic nuclear neighbors to the north (can you say alliteration?). Life is good.

So, I think this blog may take a turn to normal-ville. Well. . . it’s ME we’re talking about, so “normal” might be a stretch, but more Bloggy in the general sense. I’ll still include the funny Asian moments when they arise, and my own personal interpretation of said acts, but I’m going more for routine. Something you can rely on when you think “Hey, I wonder how Chris is doing over there in Asia?” (I’m fine, by the way. Those North Korean shells didn’t even come close.) So yeah, stay tuned.

South Korea: Breaking Cultural Update

2009-07-18T11:28:00.000-07:00

As short as it is, this bit of news was too pressing to wait for a longer post.

Chatting over dinner tonight with a group of Koreans, the term “well hung” popped up – no pun intended. Don’t ask how or why, just the random stream of topics pulled the conversation into that particular current. The important thing, though, is that the Korean’s were dumbfounded. Even after explicit explanations as to the meaning of the phrase, complete with hand gestures and barely articulate sounds of awe, the Asians showed only delighted shock and surprise (ironic, because that is the same expression as those who have witnessed the beauty of a “well hung” individual). They also admitted that there was no corresponding phrase for such a physical description in the Korean language. I was astounded at this find. Not only is this a significant step in filling all the gaps lost in translation between the Americans and Coastal Chinese, but the cultural implications for the Korean male are extremely embarrassing.

South Korea: Crouching Cell Phones Hidden Fees (Part One)

2009-07-07T23:13:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the long delay in between postings. I also apologize for beginning a new thread before finishing the previous. Don't worry, they will all be completed, and with much shorter intervals. I promise. Enjoy

Like any Asian country, Korea possesses many rights of passage, that if successfully completed, grant the individual certain privileges. Some of those rites include the first locker room shower where one must scrub the back of another without flinching, and be scrubbed in return, and at the same time do not grimace as ones penis size is mocked – standard coming of age tradition in Korea. Or, when a college graduate gets his first professional job, the ceremonial first “Shiny” suit is purchased. Some men go blind in the process, and it is so emotionally damaging that 99% of those who pass go on to be raging alcoholics, drowning the terrible experiences with countless shot-glasses of Soju and then passing out in the street on a daily basis. For women, there is the first Ajima (older woman) Perm, which denotes class standing as well as a stretched labia manora.

With all of these rituals, another common thread between the Lands of the Perpetual Squint is the exclusion of foreigners from these cultural practices. These small, mysterious, yet powerful acts separate the Korean from the distrusted Waygooken (foreigner – which I think is an ironic word considering it contains an American derogatory term for Asian). It is almost impossible for a stranger to pass such rigorous tests, let alone attempt them, yet in my desire to penetrate the Korean psyche I faced hostility, danger, and insurmountable odds in order to understand even a little more this intriguing and sometimes gay place. So, go grab your popcorn, and maybe some takeout Panda Express, because another Korean adventure is coming at you hard with two fingers!

The martial art of choice in Korea is Tai Kwan Do, which like other fighting schools, indicates rank through a belt system. This is a representation of the underground cultural battles that individuals must pass to be “worth a damn” in this country. Some are easier than others, and to take the more advanced tests, the simpler ones must be passed first. My experiences were no different.

Because I am Waygooken, no ounce of leniency was shown. They did not start me out easy. Oh no, they wanted to break me right out of the gates. They sent me right into the showers, with a bottle of Herbal Essences in one hand and Johnson and Johnson Body Wash in the other. It was at the public pool facility, and short, wrinkled, older men crowded in with pruned fingers and glistening black hair smelling of chlorine and booze. I know, I know, I’ve heard Vietnam stories that couldn’t compare. But, I was not phased. Three years at a Catholic elementary school had more than prepared me for such a situation and I took it all in with a stony face and clenched buttocks. Of course, anyone knowing me from my high school days will understand when I say that not a single snicker emerged from their pretty mouths about the size of my privates. Rather “oohs” and “ahhs” filled the shower like the steam from the hot water. This Horse is still healthy.

I bypassed the shiny suit routine, which my judges considered irrelevant because they consider any job a Waygooken has as “unprofessional.” Instead they threw me into computer lab full of vicious, mocking, scathing, and completely dorky teenagers and told me that I had to last a half an hour in a battle royale of Starcraft. Unbeknownst to those administering the test, and to most people who meet the charming and devilishly handsome man I am today, I was a complete nerd as a child and years of the original warcraft had taught me some necessary survival skills. Still, imagine Michael Phelps in a pool of dolphins and being told to swim to the other side without being struck. Now, instead of Michael, imagine someone who isn’t nearly as good, like a college grad with a receding hairline that has swam maybe half a dozen times. Then, instead of dolphins, Korean teenage boys. Oh yeah, instead of a pool, a computer lab. Plus, they don’t have to touch me, just beat me at the game. If you can imagine that, then you’ve got a pretty good idea of what I went through. Needless to say, a half an hour I never want to repeat.

All in all, it was an extremely trying week. I’d never felt so exposed or violated in my entire life. But, that was just the preliminary round. The real deal was about to happen. When it comes to a Waygooken in Korea trying to infiltrate the culture, nothing is more difficult, nor more looked down upon than some tall, good looking, muscular, foreigner strutting around carrying native electronic accessories. I’m speaking of course, of the elusive and seemingly unobtainable, Korean Cell Phone. Jealously guarded by the natives, lusted after by the westerners, it is the one modern piece of pop culture that, for whatever asinine reasons, the locals protect to the last man.

A foreigner cannot just walk into a cell phone store and attempt to purchase a mobile communication device. Sorry, amigo, that is a big fat Anio Anio (no no). You will first be ignored, then, if you persist, you will be laughed at. Publically. Serious, all the workers will point their fingers at you and laugh out loud, gales of it. They will even pull people off the street to laugh. If they have a loud speaker in the store, which most of them do because they pump annoying Asian pop music all day, then they will announce to everyone what is happening. This is sixties Civil Rights Movement front of the bus sort of behavior. Guess which color of skin I have in this analogy. No, the other one. Yeah, that one.

I know the question you all have in your sweet, inquisitive minds right now: OMG Chris, if it was that awful, how could you ever get a phone? Or, Chris, are the Koreans really that dangerous? Or, Chris are you single? The answer to the last two is Yes, and to the first one, I’ll Tell You Right Now, Amigos!

First thing, if you ever find yourself in Asia desiring a phone, you have to find a sponsor. This is not the same as getting a sponsor to enter a bar in Utah, that’s child’s play compared to this. Plus, the last think you want is impaired judgment by alcohol; you want to be Iceman in this situation. That’s Top Gun Iceman, kiddos. As in, “Why do they call him Ice? Iceman. It's the way he flies, ice cold, no mistakes. He wears you down, you get bored--frustrated--do something stupid and he's got ya.”

The sponsors are hard to come by because of how much risk they have to take upon themselves. You see, if you fail the tests not only do you not get a cell phone, but your sponsor loses face, his friends, maybe his family and/or job. You think that with so much at stake it would be near impossible to get one of them to help, but because of who they are (Koreans) and who we are (Americans) they think we cannot fail. At anything. Needless to say, many have been fooled into a false sense of security with under-prepared Waygooken. They paid the price for their ignorance.

Initially, I too may have been one of those over eager, over confident, Waygooks, who thought I could just waltz in and demand phone service. But, luckily, the sponsor I found was not to be fooled. He is a great man, known to those who work with him only as Mr. Lee. (His first name is actually Min Hyun, but I will call him Bruce.) Bruce took me under his sweet and sour wing, and with Mr. Miyagi efficiency, taught me the secrets of the Cell Phone Initiation and prepared me for the trials ahead.

The rest of the adventure will be posted soon. I appreciate your patience and support.

June 2009

-Chris

South Korea: Do these pants make my butt look American? (Part One)

2009-07-07T22:55:00.000-07:00

If there is one underlying rule to Korean culture it is this: Image is Everything. If you want to be somebody, dress the part. Or rather, if you want everyone else to think you're somebody, dress the part.

If everyone believes you to be one thing, regardless of what you really are, do you become it? Does your true self become suffocated under the stifling opinions and stereotypes of your environment and cease to exist altogether, leaving a soulless, yet well dressed, creature? I know this sounds very deep, and philosophical, eastern and Buddhist, etc. But, in Korea, the answer is Yes. This is my attempt to understand the psychology behind such a country-wide mindset.

Maybe "soulless" creature is taking it a bit too far. I think a better description is "Fashion Chameleons." In the jungle of Korean society, apparel is the camouflage. If you want to survive, you'd better blend in, and make sure your outfit is hip and up to date, or the predators will swoop in before you can say "clearance sale."

The idea of a hand-me-down does not exist.

Every equinox there is a traditional wardrobe purification ceremony where all of last years looks are removed and burned. If anyone is caught wearing an out-of-date style (God Forbid) they get beaten with Gucci belts, then held down, and Dong Chimmed repeatedly with four inch Prada stilettos! No joke. Spring was officially announced last week and I saw six "poki-poki" attacks (as they refer to them over here) over the weekend. The worst was this poor colorblind girl who accidently wore a black skirt with a blue blouse. It's brutal over here, survival of the fittest. Any weakness is exploited, however carefully hidden.

I was even cornered one night. There I was, walking around, when suddenly, out of nowhere come ten, No, fifteen bloodthirsty, yet impeccably dressed, fashion vigilantes smelling of genuine leather and Channel No. 5. I'd been in a hurry and made the mistake of wearing black shoes with a brown belt. By the time I realized my blunder I was already outside, and I thought no one would see in the dark. But, how wrong I was. The streets of Gwang-ju are like the African Savanna, the deadliest ones are out at night. So, there I was, surrounded, and I'd left my steel diaper in my room after class so resistance was out of the question. Luckily, the week before I left the states I'd taken a "Dangerous Asian Customs Self Defense Class" and had a trump card hidden up my sleeve.

As they closed in i shouted, "I'm Canadian!"

Trust me, under any other circumstances I would have said anything BUT that, but to fashion blinded Asians, that's like dunking their heads in cold water. It's a known fact that Canadians, possessing maybe the world’s worst fashion sense, are treated like Kryptonite by Asians. They don't want the style blindness, or the quasi-American accent to rub off.

They melted away into the darkness like hyenas when the male lion arrives. But, their glowing, slanted eyes followed me all night and I had to randomly shout "Eh!" or "Aboot!" just to keep them back. By far one of the scariest nights over here, second only to my group transvestite date. (I didn't know, and yes, I was wearing my steel diaper then!)

But really, over here they take their image very seriously. I've noticed general patterns that people abide by and then branch off from.

For example, men have a peculiar image: flashy yet sensitive, impressive but not intimidating. They all dress very well, looking extremely dapper all the time, but none of them want to look tough. For the first time in my life, I’M the tough guy. I know, I know, you're all laughing hysterically, but they're all really skinny and carry a mirror. (But please don't laugh too much, I’m actually enjoying it a lot)

But, seriously, the complete image of guys is not just well dressed, but also sensitive and emotional. In TV and Movies over here, all the main actors I've seen cry. They might be doing martial arts in one scene, and then crying in the next. It blows my mind. The worst part is, most of the movies here are not action, they're dramas. So, only in a small percentage do you get guys beating each other up. But, in 100% they ball. I understand being in touch with your feminine side, yes, but letting it take over? Big No-No, Fellas. I think the book on Man Law fell off the boat bringing the Nike running suits over. They really could have benefited from Chapter One: Don't Be a Pussy. . . . and Chapter Two: Refer to Chapter One!

Still, maybe it's a good thing that there isn't much Machismo over here. Crime rate is extremely low and the people here seem to be genuinely happy. Then again, my mind keeps going back to that Ddong Chim thing. . .

The image I see in women is be cute, sweet, and submissive. And if you're wondering, that involves a lot of crying, too. Believe me, the tissue industry over here is cutthroat. But, if you think I've been a little degrading in my portrayal of women, sorry, but that's how it is over here. They doll themselves up and try to get the guy with the most expensive clothes and car, just so she can be seen with him. Oh yeah, and personality is irrelevant.

But, when you think about it, Personality is a human invention. It doesn't really have a place in the Animal Kingdom. So, when you revert back to the Law of the Jungle, as Korea has, it goes out the window with last years shoes.

The guy/girl relationship thing over here makes me think of birds, like on Planet Earth. The males are loud and flashy and the females are duller, looking to avoid predators. Remember those birds of paradise, the males looking all wild and bouncing around when the female comes by, i don't think he's saying, "Hey, and I'm a Sagittarius, and I'm member of Oprah’s book club, and I love kids." No way, Jose, he's saying "Look how big my feathers are. Look how I bounce around, all the energy and stamina I have, look how veiny my legs and feet are, how long my beak and talons are, oh yeah." That's more like it.

Korean women want birds like that. I want a bird like that. In fact, i think i want to BE a bird like that. So, stay tuned until next time, where I will dive into the specifics of fashion and reasoning by the heads of government that may have lead to such a mindset on image. In the mean time, i'm going to go buy some name brand clothes.

April 2009

-Chris

South Korea: One Finger or Two?

2009-07-07T10:41:00.000-07:00

At the risk of sounding a bit pedofile-ish, I'm going to say that this note was inspired by school boys. Lots of them. But, in my defense, I work as a teacher, so I work with a lot of the little SOB’s (and I am by NO MEANS attracted to them!). Anyway, it's not so much the kids that I teach, but others that I see around the town. They're easy to spot, they all wear matching uniforms. I teach evening classes at a private, English institute, so in the afternoon when I'm walking around I always come across these kids just getting out of school. What happens next happens so frequently it could be scripted. Whenever there are a group of these kids together the following conversation takes place:

The most daring of the giggling school boys will say "Hello," to which his buddies will giggle even more.
I will then reply, "Hello." They also find this very funny.
Then, and this happens basically every time, that same ring leader, now encouraged by our profound conversation, will say, "You're handsome." The giggling continues.
I usually just say thanks and walk away, or just don't respond at all.

I'm not quite sure how to take that. Flatter me once, thank you. Flatter me twice, depending who you are, i might like it or i might be weirded out. Flatter me thrice, especially it's roaming catcalling teenage boys with heavy Asian accents, yeah, that's a little odd.

Is that all they learn in school? I can understand "Hello." Easy, that's the first thing they teach. But "you're handsome?" Every time? Come on. OK, granted, i am an attractive human being, but again, every time I walk by a group of students, always boys, to compliment my looks. . .

Maybe the kids all just think it's funny? Hmm. Maybe it's a cultural difference? Koreans are super heavy on image and looking good, so that could be the first thing they see and they want to let me know. Yeah, could be.

But my trembling supple buttocks is unconvinced.

Or, it could be that this country has an incredibly high rate of adolescent homosexuals. Then again, that could be my incredibly conservative upbringing speaking, saying that I should not be so close minded and embrace the changes with open cheeks, uh, arms.

I'm undecided.

Then again, there is that game.

By "That Game" I'm referring to this thing the kids do. I have no idea what the purpose is (even though I've speculated and I'll let you do the same), but from an extremely young age, the most entertaining activity of any child is coming up behind someone, preferably bent over and vulnerable, and with two hands clasped together, (I'm talking Double Index Fingers, people!) poking them right in the ass!

No Joke! No joke! Forget the bar of soap in the shower! That battle spilled out of the locker room and into the streets!

Then they shout out "Ddong Chim!" I don't know what this means, either. But, from the kids expression, it's something like "gotcha," or "take that," or "how did my ring feel!" Something Korean and foreign and frightening.

This happened to me my first night in Gwang-Ju. I'd just spent a week of training in Seoul, and then was shipped off. I took a bus across the country, and got to a much smaller and much more Asian city. I didn't even have my apartment yet and had to spend the night at a swanky hotel (completely different story, but to give you an idea, there were complimentary condoms in the room. . too small!), so I was in a pretty weird state of mind. So, a fellow newb buddy of mine and i decide to go get some food in a burger-ish joint nearby. Because everything is in Korean we have to order via picture. There I am, bent over the counter, trying to pick out the most appetizing image, and the next thing I know something slams right into my sphincter! Wham!

I shout out loud and spin around, and there's this little six year old Asian kid shaking two victorious fingers at me and laughing in my face. I've never hit a child before in my life (except Cory) but I almost socked that kid right in the face.

I don't know, maybe they're just nice and naive and friendly, maybe they all want to be proctologists, maybe they're all gay. Who cares. They can do what they like. As far as I'm concerned, I’m going to try my hardest to never wear a hospital gown while I'm here.

April 2009

-Chris

South Korea: First Impressions

2009-07-07T10:29:00.000-07:00

I've been 'in country' for about a month now. I'm still a little shell shocked but I'm getting better. The big-foot-sighting expression has left my face and I don't always feel like I’m in some wild sci-fi film with tiny, pale, dark haired aliens. But, sometimes the feeling resurfaces. I feel more like a mental patient in some enormous hospital where all the nurses wear jeans with suit jackets and high-top sneakers. I read recently that insanity is just not being able to communicate your thoughts to anyone. So, I'm just this tall, handsome (depending on who you ask, I'm not that vain people! Still, the man in the mirror gives me two thumbs up!) poorly dressed, crazy bastard wandering around the streets. There's not that many foreigners in my city, Gwang-Ju, so the best way to describe it would be those "The End is Near" guys in New York or LA. Mostly I'm ignored, but I get the occasional "what the hell is he doing here" look.

I flew into Seoul, the capitol city, and stayed there for a week to receive job training as a new English Teacher. Seoul is an enormous city, reminded me a lot of New York. Mainly because, like my visit to the Big Apple last New Year’s, Seoul was as cold as hell! A lot of tall buildings and a huge wind chill. Just like waiting for the ball to drop on Times Square I was underdressed and froze my ass off all week. One difference, though, is I didn't have my beard to keep my face warm like last year. Oh yeah, another difference, I'M IN ASIA!

I spend that first week in the lovely Coatel Hotel, which really wasn't that lovely at all. And I'm not sure if Coatel means anything in Korean, or if it was just something clever to attract westerners because it sort of rhymes with Hotel. Still, I guess it wasn't that bad. But, it was my first time in a completely foreign country. What do I mean by that? I'll tell you. I mean I don't think that there is anything in our culture that is influenced at all by Korea. Except for the Hyundai, and besides, everyone thinks those are from Japan. For example, go to Mexico. Most big cities have an American area. You can go to a bar and even if you don't know that "cervesa" means "beer" you can still say corona or tequila, or you can go into a restaurant and say taco or burrito, words that have just found their way into our vocabulary and they've become familiar to us. But, not in Korea! I didn't even know how to say hello or thank you. Frickin five year old American kids can say hola, gracias, and count to ten in Spanish just by watching Dora the pinche Explorer! I'm not saying this so you can feel sorry for me, I'm just trying to show that I had no clue about anything in this country when I got here, and no reference point to build from. A total mind job to say the least. (Mind job, you perverts, mind job! Gosh, get your heads out of the damn gutter!)

The hotel was actually fine, the rooms were clean and the beds were comfortable, if a bit narrow, and I got a complimentary quasi-American breakfast all week. It’s been the only place that's served eggs, breakfast potatoes, and toast since I've been here, however bad, and I think it was just for us. I'd never thought I'd say this, but I miss Denny's!

The company I work for is called the Chung Dahm Institute, or CDI for short, and it's a well organized and legitimate program. I was impressed by the things the company has achieved. In Korea, English Teaching is a highly competitive industry. CDI has excelled in this cutthroat environment and has even opened an immersion center in Canada for kids to get total English exposure. Well, rich kids that want to learn how to pronounce their O's incorrectly! It's even a publically traded company in Asia. Still, for all its exciting progress, the training part was extremely boring. They forgot to take into effect that we were all super jet lagged. South Korea is a twelve hour time difference from the east coast, and 14 hours from where I'm from. I was so screwed up. I was sleeping like 3 hours a night that week. I was almost hallucinating by the third day. It wasn't until I mentioned it to my buddy that I realized that the parrot on my teachers shoulder wasn't real! It was an odd mixture of emotions, being bored and overwhelmed all at the same time.

After that week I took a bus down to the southwest corner of the country to a little city called Gwang-Ju. It's funny; I crossed two-thirds of the country in just under three hours. They say it's about the size of Indiana, but trust me, no corn fields, and no red necks! Gwang-ju is a decent sized city, but nothing compared to Seoul. It's got a little over a million people, and it is like comparing the Greater Salt Lake area to New York City, and instead of Mormons you have Asians! I wonder how'd they convert me to Asianism? Probably I’d have to learn the language and start enjoying all the shitty food I've been eating! Gwang-ju is nice, I guess, I still don't know my way around very well. The public transportation is good and there are plenty of taxis, but where the hell would I go? And if I hop in a cab, how the hell do I say "Take me here"?Rhetorical questions, folks, please don't respond with answers!

I live on the sixth floor of an eight story apartment building, and I have a small studio-ish apartment. It's not too bad, for one person it's fine. Snug. Let's just say that it would make a glamorous jail cell. The girl who lived here before was a teacher and left the day I arrived. She was a smoker, which was obvious by the cancerous odor attached to everything. It's gotten better, I aired out the room quite a bit. She was also, from how my coworkers describe, very fat. Which explains the depression in the middle of my bed which I roll into every night. Also, there wasn't a scrap of food anywhere, not even crumbs. She cleaned it all up. But, the garbage was full of empty pizza boxes and candy bar wrappers and the only thing in the fridge was an unopened mineral water with a tiny card that read "Happy Birthday!"

I hear she was very nice, but that she was rather plump. Still, she left me some nice stuff that I now don't have to buy. Like blankets, comforters, pillows, a TV, a vacuum, some dishes, some speakers, and even some pots and pans. You all know how much I like to cook!

My job is very close. It's actually on the second floor of the building I live in. They converted about half the rooms on the floor to classes and an office. So, everything is very convenient for me right now. Well, as convenient as they can be under the circumstances.

My coworkers are all very nice and come from a variety of backgrounds. I'm sure my opinions will change as the year progresses, but right now I've got no dirt on them! There is this natural camaraderie that exists between the native English speakers (in my school there is a South African chick [don't worry, her parents were ANTI apartheid, I asked] and I’ve met a bunch of others from Canada and the UK) probably because they're in the same boat as I am. Plus, they're all just very friendly so it's a nice place to start.

I'm adjusting well, if slowly, and I’m in good health. I know this was a long entry, and I'll try to make the following ones shorter. Thanks for reading, I miss everyone and I appreciate all your comments and messages. It keeps me in touch with the world I know. I hope you enjoyed these first experiences and stay tuned for more.

March 2009

-Chris

Welcome

2009-07-07T10:17:00.001-07:00

Dear Reader;

To introduce myself, I am a not-quite-so-young-anymore American man who has been lured into the mysterious Orient. Fresh out of college I came seeking gainful employment, and found so much more. What follows is a random collection of my thoughts, impressions, and adventures - rather misadventures - in what I refer to as, Coastal China (Korea).

By way of warning, my writing style is full of sarcasm, and may even be considered crass to some. But, all of the experiences that I discuss are based upon, and occasionally exaggerated from, actual events.

Enjoy

Chris