Independence

Way down upon the Swanee River
Far, far away
That’s where my heart is turning ever
That’s where the old folks stay
All the world is dark and dreary, everywhere I roam
Oh! Brother how my heart grows weary
Far from the old folks at home

Photo: Fireworks on US Army's Youngsan military base, July 4, 2010.

I think it’s my third (but not subsequent) Fourth of July outside America, and to help set the mood I went to a pro baseball game in Seoul yesterday with two of my all-American coworkers. It helped set a happy mood, but the only American thing about it was the splintered bat that a batter sent flying and the fact that all three of us wore flipflops (and were quite likely the majority of those who did).



Food: The first most obvious (and disappointing) anti-American aspect of Korean baseball was the lack of big pretzels, hotdogs, Dip n’ Dots (“Ice cream of the future!”), and long licorice ropes. However, nachos with cheese, dried squid, and patbingsoo, a traditional Korean mash of ice and rice and sugar and spice, flowed in abundance. So we girls opted to start with Pringles (light) and vitamin water, and our male companion scarfed Burger King and beer on our way into the stadium.

What is awesome, though, is that you can carry bags of food into the stadium with you: no more sneaking in candy bars and sweating beer cans and bulging coolers under your football-sized jerseys. Wizened old men hawk boxes upon boxes of fried chicken outside the park and ajummas sit patiently with buckets of frozen beers and hand-wrapped kimbap and noodles for those Koreans who can’t survive a 4-hour baseball game without chopsticks.

Drink: BYOB?! This is such a fantastic idea! They even provide convenience stores to make this convenient for you (although selection of beer brands therein is limited). However, for those elitist of us who thinking swigging cans is redneck and trashy, once inside the park the draught is $3.00 a pop. And it comes to your seat via backpack kegs and handsome young Hanguks. A very tempting way to get drunk, even if you don’t like beer! Ironically, the people drinking the most were the foreigners.

Technology: Between every major action, the screen shows an animated replay. It makes me feel like I’m in a Wii sports game. In fact, sometimes I am really surprised Korea even subscribes to traditional, hand-to-hand sports. With the abundance of screen golf, Internet cafes, and the alternative lack of sports teams and youth sports, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Korean MLB goes completely virtual one of these days.

Tickets: The rough equivalent of $12 gets you decent outfield seats away from the forced cheering sections. And for once, subway headaches make up for the non-issue of parking and paying.

Cheer: “Forced Cheering Sections?” you ask. Here is the biggest disparity between American and Korean baseball: the fact that in Korea, everyone is on the edge of his/her seats the entire regular season, run-of-the-mill, Saturday afternoon game. You choose your seat according to your team, and each side of the stadium has its own fantastically attired cheering leader, who dances on a stage and incites the crowd to rhythmic cheering and monastic chants. The playlist is eclectic and covers everything from “Dancing Queen” to “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Occasionally, cheerleaders in spindly legs and high-necked tops make special appearances. Even with the cheep cost of beer, however, there didn’t seem to be nearly as much flow as at American baseball games. Much of the wild cheering was done completely sober.

Uniforms: In typical Korea fashion they were cheap imitations of Western team names. LG Twins? I’m pretty sure there’s no reason why Korea would come up with “Twins” as a team name, if not for America. I hear Seoul used to have a “Unicorns” team, and this I would have loved to see!

But speaking of uniforms:

Sometimes the most frustrating thing about being in Korea is the uniformity of EVERYTHING.

One of the most tangible and blatant examples of this is the popular “same-same” phenomenon: couples wearing matching shoes or shirts or both and thinking that this is incredibly cool. Last summer, I posted about how kids in Korea spend so much time in school (and school uniforms) that their only fashion identity options are footwear and cell phone charms. This is still true.

I found this amazing comic strip back in the fall and passed it on to some friends with a hearty chuckle over how well this artist was able to portray my own experiences. A few months later I happened upon the strip again, but this time I winced at the very same fact that had lightened my mood a few months previous. Further into my time and experience in Korea, I had become depressed over the fact that everything IS INDEED “same-same,” all the time. This artist has the same experiences as me and thousands of other English speakers in Korea. He captures it humorously, but after a while you realize that it’s mundane and unchanging. A few months in Korea is enough to tell/show you all you need to know.



Eel catching at a raspberry wine festival on the West Coast. June 2010.

Another way this uniformity seeps through is that at first, making friends with fellow ex-pats here is astonishingly easy. Everyone is so used to the transient lifestyle that friendships are easily formed (and just as easily broken). 98% of other native English speakers in Seoul are English teachers, so you always have lots in common with which to break the conversational ice: stupid kids, snotty bosses, language faux pas. Here, an English teacher’s social time is divided between welcoming newcomers, partying farewells to those leaving, and attempting to retain networking through inter-web socializing. We all have the same experiences. Sometimes we can tell the exact same stories about “the funny thing one of my kids did today.” Maybe we don’t even have to change the names: the quantity of made-up English names for Korean students is low, and repetitious. I can’t count how many Sallys, Eddies, Julies, and Kevins I’ve taught thus far.

Koreans themselves are quite the same. I love some of them to pieces, but in Seoul at least if you meet one, you've met them all. They all say the same things: cancer is caused by eating burnt meat. Kimchi (and any other Korean food) makes you healthy. Japanese copy Koreans all the time. Riding bikes in a straight line is simply not in vogue. White skin is beautiful and if you sit in the sun you will die. Rote memorization of facts is the best way to achieve an education and go to Harvard. If you don't attend Harvard or Seoul National University you should commit suicide. [to be continued...] There is truly a lack of independence here. There is a facade of independence, but it's really only evident through personal academic drive to be the best.



My best pals at my taekwondo class, May 2010.

Working in Seoul feels like a hamster wheel. They consider 40 hours a week to be part-time. My job is constant on-your-feet, in-your-face interaction. By the time I’m done each day I’m exhausted, and trying to squeeze fitness and other activities in has proven a challenge (that I’ve both conquered and failed at this year!) During the week it always seems as though I’m in a never-ending cycle of despair. Even on my “early” nights off, a quick dinner with a coworker afterward and already it’s time for bed and cycle repeat!



World Cup Fever, June 2010. Pegasus preschool class.

Am I ready to be done here? Almost. Friends are leaving, work is intensifying, boredom and burnout hovers constantly. Summer weather and a new abundance of adventures has been keeping the breakdown at bay, but I think another 7 months will be more than enough. At the end of February, I’ll be moving on. I just wish summer could last forever.

I yearn for American independence, whatever that means.