Home again home again hippity hop.

As I write this from the most comfortable bed that I have slept in since nearly thirteen months ago at 4:17 am local time, I know a little more than I did yesterday about jet lag and internal alarm clocks. They both suck, by the way. I’m looking into having the two abolished, but frankly I do not know the correct avenues.

So, I am back in Calgary. It is the same as I left and I feel only slightly different than when I left. Mostly I feel older and somewhat wiser, you know; if in my brilliance I thought that the latter was possible or necessary. So, yeah. Mostly older. The whole Korean bed situation did a number on my back and the company I kept did a number on my face and can be credited for a wealth of laugh lines.

Prior to my return I had quite a few predictions about what would be my process of reacclimatizing to the culture at home after my year in the Durrrrrty J. A lot of them have proved super accurate in that I am dropping eaves worse than Sam Wise Gamgee outside of Bilbo’s place. I’ve always suspected that I have rather bionic hearing and my skills in this respect have had to lay more or less dormant over the course of the past 12 + months since I was surrounded by the constant buzz of hacking and spitting of a language I didn’t understand.

So far I have witnessed a rather hushed breakup in Starbucks, a woman’s confession to her sister that her daughter was pregnant and unmarried, as well as a debatably racist comment towards a barista. In truth the culprit of latter of this list was I when I busted my anyeong skills on the barista at the local Starbucks just because she was Asian. I don’t know if the fact that she didn’t understand me makes it better or worse. I was also clutching my right elbow with my left hand and bowing while handing her my debit card. Were I any thinner she might have thought I was concealing my track lines and hanging my head in shame while in a drug-induced delirium.

What I didn’t think would be strange were small everyday things like paying for things with debit and having to a) swipe your own card and b) type in your pin number instead of just doodling genitals on a sign-pad and pretending that it is your initials. In reality, I’m lucky enough for my actual initials and genitals to be the samesies. Type a lowercase d and and p in succession and try not to giggle, why don’t you? Then write the same two letters in cursive. HA! Maturity! Anyone know some good fart jokes?

These are all just the ramblings of a mad white woman less than 24 hours after returning home. I'm sure as time goes on there will be more to report. I'm less sure that I will find the time and/or motivation to do so. All that I can do is promise to try, and I’m not even going to do that.

drip, drip, drop

So, this one time, when my friend from home was visiting:

We were slightly sleep deprived and very much used to spending time on buses. During one such bus trip, while on the way to Gwangju from Yeosu (a common leg, for me), we fell asleep for the majority of the trip. I was awoken, rather rudely, while Becca slept on beside me. As for what woke me up, there is no delicate way to put it. I was woken up by the sound of a constant stream of urine being expelled by the man next to me into a plastic bag. In his defense, I think he thought I was sleeping; I was wearing shades, after all. In my defense, I was not sleeping, and ewwwwwwwww.

Grocery sh-ping in the land of dried squid.

In South Korea, there are a number of foreign foods that are in fact available for purchase. At least this is true in the areas surrounding Seoul, Busan, and some of the other big players. Such bounty is not available in Yeosu, however. As far as restaurants go, the only foreign fare is McDonalds, which is at the bus terminal. In Yeochun, our neighbour city, they opened a Quiznos last weekend. This fateful day is to be recognized among the expat community of Yeosu as a revered holiday.

When it comes to grocery shopping, things can be even more dire. The things that pass for "cheese" around here offend me as a Marc Prymack raised cheese snob. Often times I get excited for "foreign" food - like nacho chips. Then I read the label and realize they are the product of DENMARK. Is. You. Surrrrrious. When I think fiesta, I truly do think Scandinavia.

The key to successful grocery shopping in Korea is to buy every foreign product you see, whenever you see it. If you don't, E-Mart/Lotte Mart will not continue carrying it, and you will rue the day you didn't buy whole wheat pasta just because you wanted to walk home unencumbered. Having learned from my experience with the whole wheat pasta, I once spied Canada Dry Gingerale and bought-out E-Mart. The same was true with Tobasco sauce. The latter was a terrible miscalculation on my part since the one bottle will likely last me all year. It's not like it's Frank's Red Hot, or anything.

And, my absolute favourite thing about grocery shopping in Korea, besides the Korean Betties wearing white leg-warmers and trying to sell me laundry detergent, is the Spam aisle.

Because, really...if there's one thing that should never be made generic, it's canned pig parts.

Korean Haircut How-to

Despite my deep-rooted and lasting desire to grow my hair "mermaid long", I recently submitted myself to my first Korean haircut. Hot dog, was it ever an experience. After asking my ever-so-helpful ko-teacher to write down the Korean translation for "trim", only to have her write down what google translate later revealed as "big cut", I venture out into the mean streets of Yeosu in search of a hair salon. This was probably the easiest mission ever since "hair clubs" dot the streets of Korea like hole-in-the-wall restaurants. So, in I walk. I check my umbrella at the door; as is the custom in Korea, where during monsoon season every and all salon/restaurant/store has an umbrella condom machine and receptacle at the entry. I am then greeted by the nicest and least English-speaking personnel. Win. Here, I engage my inner Korean and drop a bow and a greeting on them before basically exhausting my knowledge of Hangul by saying "조금". This means 'little'. When paired with sign language, I am sure that this adequately expresses my desire for a trim and my aversion to "big cut".

I sit in the chair, and the I am introduced to my stylist. He is at once the most effeminate and heterosexual man I have EVER met. His scissors, combs, and blow dryer call a bejeweled HOLSTER at his hip their home. And really, why wouldn't they?

Then, he gets to work on the cut. One man, 5 pairs of scissors. Hair in my face for the duration. I have no idea whether or not my broken Hangul and sweet gesturing has indeed conveyed my desire for "just a little off the ends", I start to worry that my Ko has phoned ahead to ensure that I leave with a Korean bowl-cut..

The hair is parted, I still have hair. Phewf. Thinking the fun is over, I stand and start to walk towards the counter. Too soon, first, I am supposed to follow an underage child worker into the back to have my hair washed. Slightly backwards by my standards, but hey, in Korea you do call 119 in case of emergency. So, I sit down and put my head in the sink behind me. It is now that my height becomes a problem in Korea. Again. Sweet sassy molassy, is that sink ever far from where my shoulders naturally sit. No matter, I'll power through.

Then, following the wash that followed the cut, comes the towel dry -this preteen girl has her WAY with my ears. She sticks her fingers right in there. It was not entirely unpleasant, though she may have made contact with my brain, thus robbing me of my ability to do basic math. I am ushered back to the first chair, and my super-fem hair dresser is fetched from his smoke break. No less than 3 asians with no less than 5 blow dryers between them get going on my hair. Korean efficiency is real. Hair dry, my stylist shoos away his help and proceeds to curl my whole head of hair.

When all is said and done, I saunter questioningly over to the counter. I only have about 50, 000 won in my wallet, so I reach for my bank card and don't even try to decipher what price she tells me before handing it over. I get the receipt, fully prepared for the whole song and dance to amount to anything over 50, 000. Not a chance. 12, 000 won and a "trim" later, I walk out of the salon with the nicest hair I've had since prom...into a monsoon.

Double win.

'glamour' and 'maybe' according to Koreans.

Ah, Korea. True, they are the Asian country that spends the most per-capita on English education. However, they remain the least proficient. This is evident in the way that the sign outside my very classroom is misspelled. Expanding on this idea, let me educate you further on English's standing in this here country. For starters, there are some English words that Koreans all know. Words like: cute (pronounced cutie), beautiful (pronounced beautipuhr), love (pronounced luh-be), and so on. While these words are often mispronounced, the understanding of their meaning is on target. Such is NOT the case with the following words in particular: 'glamour' and 'maybe.'

Okay, believe it or don't, it is first necessary that you know how important volleyball is here. School is let out early on Wednesdays for it. Here it is important that you know that Koreans REALLY like school. So, yeah. Big deal. Lucky me! I am literally the closest thing to Kobe Bryant that my school has ever seen in terms of athletic ability. When I dove for the first time, my principal's heart may have literally stopped. Okay, now be amazed as I link volleyball to the topic of glamour.

Turns out, I got to Korea just in time to play in the ultimate Yeosu-wide volleyball showdown. Sweet. We get team jerseys for said showdown. Also sweet. Along comes a shy Korean woman on the volleyball team to explain to me the school-wide concern about me having a shirt that would fit. Direct quote: "You not fat....just...you so glamourous." Looking beyond the obvious best-news-ever (I'm not fat by Korean standards! woooot, woot!) I am told, largely via gesturing, that 'glamour' means boobs. Straight. Up. The day I learned that this indeed was the Korean interpretation of the word was the day that I started hearing that word eevvvvvverrrywhere I went. To be fair, in Korea, Calista Flockhart might be 'glamourous' by Korean standards. Cutting to the chase - the shirt they ordered me was an XL. It is shown above. It was still a crop-top when I served, blocked, hit, or breathed. Win.

Moving on from 'glamour' to 'maybe.' Basically, in Korea is means 'yes.' Pretty much absolutely, at that. Even though it is said with an upward inflection at the end. It can be terribly misleading.

"Do I have to pay my own bills?" "Maybe?"

"Can I go now then?" "Maybe?"

......shuffle awkwardly out the door.