Kidnapped and driven to the Boonies

I spent my first week in Korea trapped in a Hyundai Training Facility with 200 other "Native English Teachers" at a Teacher Training session, roughly 45 minutes south of Seoul. Though the teacher training was useless for the most part, I did learn one valuable lesson. During every session, whether it was about teaching or life in Korea, the person speaking always emphasized the fact that we will need to "go with the flow." Korea moves fast, and you often have no idea what you will be doing in ten minutes. Right now, as I write, I am sitting at my desk "working." Twenty minutes from now, I could be giving a presentation in front of my entire school about the American Education System, or maybe I will be ripped from my computer and dragged to a Kimchi museum. The point is, you never know what's going to happen in a given day, and you pretty much have to just go with it.

This past weekend, I learned first-hand just how true the unpredictability of Korea really is. Earlier in the week, my co-teacher asked me if I would join his family in going to visit his mother-in-law. I thought "sure, should be an interesting little afternoon..at least I'll get some great food out of it.” Friday rolls around and as I am getting ready to pack up shop and head back to my apartment, my co-teacher tells me to meet him at his place at 8:00am the next day. "So there goes my Friday night," I thought. Not a big deal, I need to save money anyway.

The next day, I get in the car with my co-teacher, his wife, and her brother (their two daughters had left the night before) and we all begin the trek to grandma’s house. About thirty minutes into the drive, I ask where we are going. “Cheongdo…it is about 3 ½ hours South of Seoul,” my co-teacher informs me. 3 ½ hours? Hhmm…I was starting to wonder whether I would be back in time to do anything fun in Seoul that night. Then, about an hour later, my co-teacher asks me if I will go hiking with him and his brother-in-law the next morning. “Where are you going hiking?” I ask. “Oh, the mountain is right next to my mother-in-law’s place,” he responds.

Me: “Wait…are we spending the night here?”
Co-Teacher’s wife: “You didn’t tell him we’re spending the night!?”
Co-Teacher: “I wanted to surprise him.”
Wife: “But he doesn’t have any of his things.”
Co-Teacher: “It’s ok…I packed a tooth brush for him.”

Now at this point, I am using every ounce of will-power to hide the fact that I am extremely irritated. My assumption was that we were headed to the ‘burbs for a nice little visit at grandma’s house, and then headed back to the city. At this point, I am feeling like this wasn’t so much of a “surprise” as a ploy to get me to come without really telling me what’s going on. Maybe I’m just upset. Looking out the window at the miles and miles of rice fields and mountains, I take a deep breath, and decide to make the best of it, whatever “it” may turn out to be.

Two hours later, I am sitting cross-legged on the floor of Grandma’s living room, eating a giant-sized, amazing meal and sucking down Soju with two 70-year olds who think I’m the most hilarious person they’ve ever met, even though they can’t understand a word I’m saying. “Ok,” I think to myself, fairly buzzed at 2:00 in the afternoon, “maybe this won’t be so bad.”

I spent the afternoon picking Persimmon (Korean fruit) from trees with my co-teacher’s daughters, and getting an exclusive village tour from a 74 year old carpenter whose grasp of English consisted of two thumbs up and the words “Number One.” I felt honored when, using my co-teacher’s wife as a translator, this man told me that he was so happy to have me at his home, and that, in the 30 years he had lived here, I was the first Westerner he had seen in the village. After hearing this, I started to feel like quite a little brat for having gotten upset earlier in the car. This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

8:00pm – I am sitting in a backyard patio, eating Barbeque, and taking a considerable amount of Soju shots. The number climbs easily into the double digits and, as to be expected in any Korean social gathering involving alcohol, people start to sing. One by one, people sing little acapella solos of Korean traditional songs or old pop hits, general crowd-pleasers. At first, I just sit there, clapping along and enjoying the performances. Then I begin to realize that there is a method to this madness…a clockwise circle. Panic strikes as I realize that I may be expected to participate, and it’s almost my turn. Finally, the moment of judgment comes, and everyone looks to me expectantly. “Sing American pop song!” they shout. They all start to cheer, and I realize there’s no turning back. So, I down another shot of Soju for courage’s sake, and let it happen. Don’t ask me why, because I have no clue. But, for whatever reason, I just start singing “Build Me Up Buttercup.” Now I’ve never really liked this song, nor have I heard it in probably five years, but for some reason it just popped into my head. Either way, the audience ate it up. I sang until I couldn’t remember any words and then just sort of ended it in whatever sloppy fashion I saw fit. They began to shout for an encore, but I refused.

The night continued with some card games and an intense pillow fight with a 7 year old Taekwondo master, which I lost in a bad way. I woke up the next morning, hopped on a train with my co-teacher (I had to be back in Seoul for an appointment) and headed home. Looking back, I realized that the unpredictability of Korea is something to look forward to, not prepare for with dread. Sometimes it’s hard to be taken out of your comfort zone and thrown into a situation that is completely foreign. But at the same time, that is essentially why I am here, and why I love to travel. Those 24 hours proved to be one of the strangest of my life, and that is an experience that I will share with people until I am old and senile.

So, what is the moral of this story?

Never challenge a 7 year old Korean to a pillow fight.