If you haven't seen the mailbag, scroll down and it's below this post.

Seoul Musings.........

I have been in and around this city for a whole THREE weeks now and people never cease to amaze me. The scooters will be the death of me. They come out of NOWHERE and they will race by you, with inches to spare. I constantly check over my shoulder to make sure one isn't coming. If you didn't hear about the Bus-Scooter brawl, it's in an early post. I also have to check every alley I walk by, just to make sure Evil Knievel isn't trying to jump over me.
Those guys are fearless.

Cars-They are mostly white and silver. I am getting sick of seeing that color on a car. Black is popular, too, it's an honorable color and it shows class, at least that's what Koreans think. I read a poll in The Korean Times saying white, silver and black were the most popular colors, with red coming in dead last. The reason being, not too many of the car companies are using that color yet, but it's changing. Hyundai's are the most popular brands, that's what the Police use, too. Not like the Crown Victoria, but there is no crime and if someone wanted to outrun a police car, they wouldn't get too far. The traffic is insane and couple that with the scooters, a criminal would spend most of their time waiting for the light to change. I have seen a few Mercedes, Volkswagens, Saabs, Audis, and a couple Jags, but too many, they are outrageously expensive over here. Besides, who would want a white, silver, or black version?
Red is the way to go for Volkswagens.

Horns--They are the most effective way to get the car, stuck in the middle of an intersection, out of the way. OK, maybe not, but they still love to honk.

Little Old Ladies--They work on their Kimchi right there on the sidewalk. They have these big barrels they clean the cabbage in and they stack it on the sidewalk. People have to walk into the street to avoid it. I guess it's for a good cause, huh? It's Kimchi season right now. they are preparing for the winter and the Kimchi will sit in the Pots, specially designed for the delicious side dish. Not only do they work on their Kimchi, they stop traffic by holding out a hand as they cross the street. I saw a little old lady do just this. She was about four foot nothing (that would be 1.3 meters, Pat) and she walked out into the street, on her cane, holding out her hand and proceeded to walk into traffic. I had to stop and watch. I couldn't take a picture, for fear I would have her last moments on Earth on my camera. BUT. It worked. They must be Kryptonite for cars. People stopped. No bloodshed, no screeching tires, no honking, no cussing. Just a little old lady, holding her hand out. I am not going to try it, I don't know if I have the power myself, but I will cross the street with them, I know full-well I will be safe.

Drunks--There are a couple in my neighborhood. I see the same lady passed out in front of The Family Mart , all of the time. Usually an empty bottle of Soju next to her. They have tables and chairs, so she passes out in a chair. I will get a picture next time I see her. There is a guy up the hill, near Singuemho Station and he makes me long for a Plaza stroll--"Y'all got a down payment on a cheeseburger?" All-in-all, not too many homeless, at least in my neighborhood. With every society, there will be some, but I don't see too many. They take care of their own here. I would bet there is an area of congregation of them, but I haven't seen it.

Immigration--HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! It is my belief, the Korean Immigration offices did their interning at the Missouri Department of Motor Vehicles (and NOT the old AAA branch). You would think red tape would be seen here. it is horrific. One of my fellow teachers is leaving our school to teach at another school, so he needs a new Visa. He went THREE days in a row. Wrong paperwork, this and that, he needs a plane ticket as proof he is leaving the country, he needs a copy of his old Visa, copy of his new contract, blah, blah, and blah. He needs to go to Japan to the Korean Consulate there to get his Visa paperwork processed. It is required for Non-Korean citizens to get an E-2 Visa, proving they are employed and NOT military. Military people cannot get one. (They have a curfew, too. Midnight. I guess there were some bad apples a while back and the Korean Government installed the curfew and NO military cannot be out past that time).

My Immigration Time--My experience at immigration was interesting, to say the least. I went with Eun In, my boss' wife; Carlos, the teacher leaving; and Brian, Don's and Eu In's son on my first trip to Immigration.
It is a madhouse.
People from Korea, trying to obtain paperwork to leave; ex-pats getting their new Visas; other foreigners getting their Visas; a Muslim in the corner praying; a pregnant lady behind the counter, moving like, well, a pregnant lady; and TWO, yes, TWO people working the counter. So. I walk in, grab a number--thinking, GOD, I hope it the right number (for the Visa line)--and proceed to wait for 30 minutes. I was watching the TWO working and one of them was a lady, she didn't seem to pleasant, so I wanted to go to the guy, he was at least smiling--be careful what you wish for......
Anyhoo, my number finally gets called, it's the Smiling Man. I have all of my paperwork in line, he takes my passport, and all I need is a 'stamp'. Great!! Where, what, how, when, and why? He points to the stairs. Nice. I read NO Korean and if I did, I still don't know where to go. I go up the stairs. More people. No praying Muslims, though, and I wander for a second. No luck. I have NO clue where or what to do. I go back downstairs to the guy and he tells me the corner. Sweet, there are only four corners in the room. Which one, DAMMIT?!??!?!?! I finally get it figured out and go to the right window. As I am standing there, someone bursts in front of me and gets theirs, so I am NOT going to allow that to happen again. I nudge this guy out of the way and force my way into the window, "When in Seoul....", right? I get to the window and it costs 10,000 won. Before you freak out, that's $10, not a bad deal, I guess.
So, with stamp in hand and feeling good about slamming the guy against the wall to get mine, I feel as though I have accomplished something. I walk back into the room, the Muslim is done by now, I walk to where Smiling Man should be and I find out he went to lunch. Remember the Missouri DMV reference? Well, a new lady is sitting next to where Smiling Man was and she takes my stamp, my 10,000 won stamp.
AND they kept my passport.
I wanted a courier to bring it to my school, so I didn't have to go back. I would have to pay 7,000 won to have it brought to me.
A B-A-R-G-A-I-N. TOO LATE. I find out, I have to go back, in seven days.
WHAT????? Greeeeeeeeat, I have to deal with this again? You have got out be out of your mind. Smiling Man's lunch better have been outstanding.
Now.
I have to return November 22nd, with a piece of paper, that I was guarding with my life. If anyone just happened to look at my backpack (the paper was in my possession the WHOLE time), I would glare at them and growl. There was no way in, well, you get it, I was going to lose the piece of paper. My Visa, my passport, and my life depended on it. I got into a couple a tugging matches with my backpack, some people wanted to look at it,
"OHH!! It's niiiiicee!!!!"
"Yeah, buddy, it is, now quit looking at it or you'll get my foot plastered on you chest."
"Mean Americans!!!!"
"Yeah, well, I have no I.D., but my UMKC student I.D. and I get laughed at in Kansas City for even having one!!!!"
So.
The days crawl, I am constantly looking over my shoulder, not only for scooters, but some clandestine government branch who knows I have no I.D., except for the UMKC one and it's only come in handy once-- I accidentally locked one of my bedroom doors on 59th Street and I had to break into with my UMKC I.D.. That's the most use that thing ever got. Everyone looked like a government agent, then I would see a Korean Army truck, I would look at the ground, "They know, they know."
I felt like I did that time I came home in High School, my dad asks, "Have you been drinking?"
"Um, No." I say falling against the wall. He knows, he knows.
Back to the backpack and THE piece of paper. I sleep with it right beside me. Checking to make sure it's there every time I wake up. Which happens to be every hour-on-the-hour. This goes on for a week. Do you know what that piece of paper looked like? My grimy fingers have been touching it, at least 150 times a day. I think I cried once when I reached in to the pocket of the backpack to check on it. IT'S NOT THERE!!!!! Panic. Oh, wait, wrong pocket. Nice, it's there, I think I passed out, I don't remember.
November 22nd rolls around. Two years later.
I have mapped out my subway route. Studied it. Memorized it. Omokgyo Station. Exit 521. I get on at Singeumho. Exit 538. Both on the 5-Line. 17 stops. Easy. I go over it and over it. Lord help the person who gets in my way. I am on a mission. I get to the station to get on the subway, knocking five or six people out of the way in the process. I got mine, huh? I get on the subway, going the right way, mind you. That was a deliberation inside my head. So. I am on my way. Every stop, I look at the number on the wall, they are declining!!! I is a smart dude. 529, 528, 527, 527, 526. Now I make my move. Fighting my way the three feet to the door, I stand there. Not moving. People missed getting on, because I stood there. I am on a mission from God, only this time, I have a full pack of cigarettes, no sunglasses, no gas in the tank, and a clenched fist. 525, 524, 523, 522, 521. Look out Nelly, I am getting off the subway. I still don't know if that guy was able to get up. I head for the stairs.
Wait.
Where do I go when I get up there. OH, NOOOOOOOO! I forgot that part of the plan. I have been up since 4:30, sitting on my bed, repeating over and over, "Omokgyo, Omokgyo!!!!" I forgot where I needed to go. OK. It's south of the river and I know where that is. Where's the sun? OK, got it!! It still rises in the East, right? You dope, of course it does. Unless Kim Jong Il has done something while I was below ground.
He didn't.
I find the sun. It's 9:30, so it should be in the Southeast region of the sky. HA!!! There it is, I am blessed with a great sense of direction. Nothing looks recognizable. NOTHING!!!!!! AAHHHHHHHH! Go South, young man, go South. I do. Walking. Walking. Walking. Oh, no. I get tired of going the same way. I go a block over. I know it's (Immigration) at a busy intersection. This I know. Immigration is somewhere, it has to be. I mean, they wouldn't move a whole building, would they???? I shouldn't have pushed that guy down in the subway, but he was moving slow. Get a faster cane, next time.
I am starting to panic. Stop, breath. Breath, stop. Don't stop breathing. Just get your bearings. I look around. Yep, still Korea. I knew I should have left the day before.
Wait, wait do my eyes spy? The beautiful, silver building, with KOREAN IMMIGRATION sprawled across the top of the building. Dummy should have stayed on the street you were walking down. It lead right to it.
I cross the street, doing my best 'Little Old Lady' impression.
It worked, this time.
City buses slamming into cabs, scooters running right into the bus, cars over turning, ladies screaming. I was on a mission. I get to the front of the building. Now I have to deal with all of the people handing out calling cards. I stomp out the first three, in succession, wounding two, knocking out the other. I do my best Christian Okoye impersonation (before the Atwater hit) and blow through the group of people still trying to give me a calling card I DON'T want.
I have Skype and Yahoo!, ya know.
I get through the line, hold my hands up like Larry Johnson and some big Korean lifts me up like Tony G does to LJ. I go jogging up the steps into the office, screaming, "TOUCHDOWN!!!!" You know, you tend to get strange looks when people have no clue what you're yelling.
Koreans have no idea what it's like to score, they're still waiting for the national soccer team to score in The World Cup.
So I go bounding into the office, the same one as before, only no Muslim praying. I look to window Number Nine (Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine) and see the number 33. I pull the number thing, after pounding on it like a monkey trying to get a banana out of a locked box. The slip with my number slowly comes out, "C'Mon, c'mon, HURRY UP!!!!" It slides into my fingers.
34
SUUUUUUUUUWEEEEEET!
As soon as look at it, the number on the board changes to.........Yep, you guessed it, 34.
I stroll up to the desk, handing over the now worn out PIECE OF PAPER, "An-nyeong-ha-se-yo!!!"
The lady growls at me, yanking MY PIECE OF PAPER out of my hand. The seconds tick away like sounds through the hour glass. One Second, two seconds, three seconds.....They keep tick, tick, ticking away with my life.
She returns.
My Passport, take that BUDDY!!!
My Visa, and you, too, PAL!!!
I have everything I need to lead a successful life in Seoul.
And I was only in the office for about 20 seconds. People were pissed at me. SUCKERS. The lines were long and people's patience was running out. Plus, it doesn't help when an American walks up to and yells in your face, "HA!!!! I got mine!!!! Where's yours??????"
I can open a bank account, which you need a Visa to do.
I can get a cell phone, which you need a Visa to do.
I can stay until October 31, 2007, that's when it expires.
BUT.
I have to go back next October to get a two-week extension, as my contract runs out November 1, 2007 and I have to stay to get all of my money, my bonus for completing my contract, and my pension--those stories to come later. A LOT later.
So I have put aside a whole morning for this excursion. I have a ton of time left to get back and get to work.
So, I walk out of the building. A triage unit has been setup in the wake of my previous actions, so I step on people's chests as I walk out.
The calling card people? I am Moses. They are The Red Sea.
I walk, ne, skip, through the crowd.
I hit the street where I started walking, you know, the one I got tired of walking down. I take a bunch of pictures of signs, since I have time. I lallygag my way down to Omokgyo, Omokgyo, Omokgyo Station. Ambulances are rushing my victims away as I saunter down the stairs. Showing everybody my Visa.
The ride home was pleasurable, but word is out. Stay out of the big American's way. So I stand in the middle of the subway car, as the rest of the passengers move to either end. I just smile and show them my Visa.

My Apartment--Small. Too small. The bathroom is the size of a phone booth. I still can't get my cape put on correctly. The bedroom/living room/office's walls are closing in on me. The kitchen, er, cubby-hole is barely big enough for the fridge. The washer is outside. No dryer, they don't have them in Korea. I won't even go into the way it was when I got here. BUT. This week I move into a new apartment. I will be the high-seniority guy, who needs the apartment. There's a teacher who has been here 2 1/2 years, but he lives in another part of town. So I get the big apartment. Separate living room. Bigger bathroom, although the washer is in it, which is cool, I guess. It's up a hill that makes the Double-Black Diamonds at Breckenridge look flat. But, hey, it's bigger. AND I get a view of a garden, not a brick wall, like I do now. Pictures will be posted as soon as I am out of here. Which leads me to my neighbors.

The Neighbors--Think Carrie Fisher and John Belushi in "The Blues Brothers". Only worse. One day, they are happy, as the sounds they make relay this info to me. The next day, they are fighting like two Hyenas fighting over an Oryx body. Doors slam. He screams, she screams right back. I wish I really knew Korean, better, I would love to know what it is they are fighting about. Wait, maybe I really don't want to know. In fact, as I type this, they are at it again. Slamming the outside wrought iron door, she screams like the lead singer from Sepultura. Brutal, juuuuuuust BRUTAL. I think stuff has been broken over there, there has to be broken things.

The Mosquitoes--Still alive, in November. Huge. I killed one, and he blew up in a ball of fiery blood. I mean, are you kidding me?

The People--Pleasant. Welcoming, well, except the ones I trampled. Overall, they are a nice culture, and Americans are well received. Not a bad decision to take a year here. I am pleased.

Chopsticks--I am getting used to them. Although, they tell me I hold them like a kid holds them. What do I care, the food gets in my mouth? I have learned to wear dark, when going out to dinner. My boss takes us out at least once a week and we go to a place where you sit on the floor. Yes, a 195cm tall man, sitting on the floor, at a table that is maybe 30cm off the floor. I wear dark shirts, I don't care what the rest of you do.

Food--I have not tasted anything too bad, although, this little seafood side dish last night was a little suspect. I noticed no one tried it, except me. I tried it once. At some of the restaurants here, you cook your own pork, squid, Kimchi, whatever else is placed in front of you. I like these places. They find no humor in it when I turn to the waitress, owner, whomever they are and ask, "Could I get more chips and salsa please?" All the while, shaking a bowl, with crumbs on my shirt and salsa dripping down my chin, pointing in the bowl, as if it isn't obvious enough. "OH!!! And a diet coke, too."

My School--I really lucked out. I have a great boss. He is genuinely kind-hearted, likes his teachers, the kids love him, the parents love him (which they should, they're the ones paying for it), and the staff respects him. I am really lucky in this aspect. I could have gone to a Hagwon, where the teachers have classes of 30 and don't have any support. I have classes of 8-9 at the most and sometimes as little as 2-3. I have 'Free-talk' hours, where we discuss anything and everything, with the students, mostly adult, doing most of the talking. I really enjoy what I am doing. I am blessed.

My support System at Home--Again, I am blessed. I have a girlfriend who 'gets it', she knows I need something like this. A Change. Granted, it's 8,900 miles from home (13,350km, Pat!!!), but she supports me. I have a lot of catching up to do and I owe her and Love Her, BIG-TIME.
DEBBY RULES!!!!!!!
My parents support me wholly, they know I have always chose to do things my own way and they have always let me. It's not like they had a choice, but they went along with me. And if I made a mistake, they were there to brush me off.
Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up again.
My friends have been very supportive, too. They all know I will do what I want, when I want, but they never guessed it would be Korea. They knew I wanted a change, as well, they just wanted it to be in KC. We'll have a lot to talk about in November, 2007.
Thanks to those of you who have taken time time out of your busy lives to drop a line, I enjoy coming home and seeing my gmail notifier lit up.
To the rest of you who read and don't reply, keep reading and try to reply sometime, it would be really nice to know who is reading this, other than the South Korean Government and The United States government!!!!
Keep an eye on this space, more to be added. And if you don't have the web address of the online picture, drop me an e-mail or post and I will get it to you.
Brad, er, I mean,
Axton