Filed under: books, changes, host fam, how we roll, life in Jeju, miscommunication, okay seriously Korea, reading
Considering the typhoon, it was a surprisingly wonderful Sunday.
Full disclosure, as always: We brought the storm on ourselves. My friend G’s host sister, J, told her cheerfully that a typhoon was coming Sunday, but given the fact that no one seemed to be evacuating, we all laughed it off as typical Korean hyperbole.* Also, the two weather words all my students seem to know on their own are “fine” and “typhoon.” I thought this was funny.
I was wrong.
It’s been a rough week anyway for pretty much everyone I know – my friend A said that atmospheric changes were afoot, which explained my desire on Friday to personally throttle every single student in my second grade class, but I don’t know anyone on this island who made it through the week without at least once casting a longing glance back towards American shores. So ending with a Category 4 hurricane isn’t really surprising, I guess. Yesterday was cloudy, a little rainy, but about 75% of the island crew ended up seeing The Bourne Supremacy and/or wandering around looking for entertainment and/or eating Red Mango (finally), eating Indian food, receiving a free coffee mug from the only GNC in the province, and visiting the English bookstore and buying copies of Kingsley Amis’ Lucky Jim and Paul Auster’s New York trilogy. (Okay, the last part was just me.) Then G and my friend E and I went to the jjimjilbang with my host fam, where we all fell asleep on the floor and didn’t leave until 2 AM. At this point: no evacuations, no alarms, no warnings from the Big Brother-style speaker on my wall from which the superintendent declaims. I hope you don’t think I’m joking on that last part.
We woke up this morning with a promise hanging over our heads: pudding, or “ding-pu,” as HB has taken to calling it. (The first time I made it – out of boredom, on another rainy night – he called the ingredients pudding, but after witnessing its metamorphosis into dessert, decided that the name needed a change as well.) Because it was HB’s birthday party day, E and G and I ventured out into the rain to the supermarket down the street and to Paris Baguette for breakfast. It was a walk that would cost us four umbrellas. I had trouble standing upright. By the time we realized how bad it was, however, we were on a mission. Also so wet that it didn’t really matter if we got any wetter.
So we got our chocolate and our sugar and our croissants and sticky buns and green-tea-cream-cheese-pancakey-thing, and headed home, where the power appeared to be flickering, to no one’s consternation but ours. We made pudding by candlelight. We ate pudding and fried chicken with HF and HB’s friends by candlelight. At this point, trees were falling. Then we sat around and talked and read our books, in English, and took a nap, listening to the winds batter the window. When we woke up, the buses weren’t running, so we played Uno with HS.
When we finally made it to the bus station, the streets were flooded, windows were broken, and branches littered the streets. We got E on a bus to Seogwipo and G in her taxi to Hallim, and made it home, where HD, HB, HS and I ate ramen and, because I am forever behind every trend, I read more of the last Harry Potter, again by candlelight. (Side note: I can’t put it down. I wouldn’t call myself a Potter fanatic, but what I love about Rowling is her ability to create a propulsive story – i.e., I always always always want to keep reading.) Then the lights came back on, and I was able to discover that what had actually occurred was Typhoon Nari, with winds somewhere between 131 and 155 miles per hour. Oh.
This is so typical, for us to be here and have no idea that we’re surviving a massive storm. It’s the grand-scale edition of getting on a bus and hoping it goes our way. Welcome to life in a foreign country. My American mother asked me today if people don’t evacuate, and HS said no; I’m not sure if this was the first typhoon to hit the island, or if it was just the first typhoon in a while, based on what she said (see? SEE?), and I don’t know if people are blase or if they’re actually freaking out and they’re just doing it in Korean. You know? I never imagined that I could experience a storm in this way. But then I never imagined a lot of things.
*There is no typical Korean hyperbole. Mistake Number One.
Filed under: books, crushes, Fulbright, life in Chuncheon, okay seriously Korea, orientation
1. I’m going to Jeju-do! Briefly: I am living on an island with a teddy bear museum.
2. I blew 50000 won (approx. $50) on a winter jacket with a French military vibe. This was about ten minutes after I vowed to make a budget/stop spending money like the way it likes to rain.* However, it makes me feel like a legionnaire.
If only some rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards
And the sidewalk bagatelles
It’s like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lolling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping, sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again
*Who is this? Bueller? Bueller? Also, I think I spend the money because it’s brightly colored, and subconsciously I don’t think that it’s real.
3. I bought hangul stickers for my keyboard. In addition to the American and Korean alphabets, they have glittery cows.
4. I’m almost through with Sarah Vowell’s Assassination Vacation, which I borrowed from my roommate (Jen). To be quite honest, it kind of sucks. The material itself is really interesting; she tracks the first three presidential assassinations, which makes for entertaining reading even if, unlike me, you are not a fan of both history and crazies. Unfortunately, Vowell herself is a) nowhere near as good a writer as I was expecting and b) pretty annoying. I really wanted to like her, if only because she has indirectly contributed to more than one of my obsessions (This American Life, McSweeney’s). Besides, she voiced Violet in The Incredibles. But Vowell’s voice, when it’s not taking an insufferably superior attitude towards the parts of America that don’t include the east and west coasts, is remarkably self-centered. The story is not hey-look-at-these-assassins; it’s hey-look-at-me-I’m-awesome-looking-at-these-assassins. I might be inclined to be a bit more tolerant if her snobbery was a bit more original, but really: Bush-bashing? Midwest mockery? How novel. The ultimate effect of this approach is to weaken her overall point; I imagine that her audience, more than likely, is happy that the Union won the Civil War, so her failure to address the non-slavery factors that contributed to the animosity on both sides, as well as the ambiguous views on slave ownership present in both regions, simply makes it look like she’s being willfully ignorant in an attempt to appear clever. Not even her descriptions of the Oneida Community, a 19th-century Biblical sex cult, can redeem her. I want to see Stephen Sondheim’s Assassins now. But that’s it.
“You look like the Coppertone baby,” my mother says. My lips are sunburnt.
I feel like a baby – fat and rosy and happy. So much happiness lies in Salman Rushdie* and vanilla Coke** by the pool.
PS. I keep trying to love Brendan Benson and so far it’s just not happening.
*do you have GoodReads? Now I have GoodReads. Get GoodReads and we can be reading friends together. (Note: I am only taking three or four books with me, so my list is going to be pretty much exclusively “to-reads” until this time next year.)
**Vanilla Coke is back in stores! !!!!1111!!1!1 Obviously Coca-Cola has been listening to the silent yearnings of my heart. Thanks, Coca-Cola. But guess what: the freshly mixed ones at Sonic now taste better to me. Take that.
Intrepid Girl Reporter 
