Boseong and Yulpo

Standing in the ocean at Yulpo Beach

In the middle of August some of the foreign teachers at my school planned to go to Boseong on the southern coast during the August 15 holiday (Korean Independence Day. Unfortunately, like so much of August, there ended up being rain on that day, making it less than ideal for climbing around the green tea fields.

A couple of weeks later (four weeks ago now), Lily was kind enough to guide me down to Boseong to see the green tea fields and see the nearby beach at Yulpo. We met up on Sunday morning and caught a mostly empty bus for the 90 minute ride to Boseong. It was the first time I'd left Gwangju since going to Yeosu, and it gave me a bit of a thrill to get out of the city. I'm really enjoying Gwangju and I love exploring the city. There's still so much I need to discover and experience here. Still, I'm a sucker for that feeling of escape, so riding out through the mountains and into the countryside brought a smile to my face.

Boseong is a small town on the southern coast that is famous for its green tea plantations and is a popular daytrip from Gwangju. I found and read through several posts by foreign teachers about their visits there, but I was still a bit unsure of how to get around after getting to the Boseong bus station, so it was good having Lily along. She'd been there last year and made navigating the area much less stressful.

The Boseong bus station seemed about the polar opposite of Gwangju's terminal, known as U-Square, or Gwangcheong. U-Square is a destination in and of itself. In addition to several dozen platforms, it is filled with shops and restaurants. It is also connected to a movie theater, department store, and some sort of cultural/arts display gallery that I need to find out more about.

Boseong's station, on the other hand, consisted of about 6 bus platforms outside a well-worn building containing the ticket window and a convenience store. It wasn't a bad little place, but it definitely set the tone that we were not in the relatively big city anymore, which I appreciated. There was some time to kill before the bus to the tea fields would leave, so we walked through the town while we waited.

The street was lined with vendors, as are many Korean streets on the weekends. For a while I felt a bit self-conscious. There are enough foreigners in Gwangju that I sometimes don't think too much about my foreignness, but we hadn't seen any foreigners since leaving Gwangju. It's an odd awareness because I haven't really had any bad experiences, and most people I've interacted with have been very accommodating and welcoming. Most likely I was overthinking it in Boseong as well, because I realize now that a great deal of foreign teachers go down there, so we probably were not that uncommon a sight. And really, it was a nice, quiet little town. We walked over some railroad tracks at one point, which made it feel almost familiar by reminding me of so many rural American towns I've been in without giving them a second thought. Sometimes I didn't even think about them while I was there.

The green tea fields were beautiful, despite it being overcast and dimming these pictures a bit. Admission to the plantation was 3,000 won, and there were many families out trekking around the fields, taking in the views. The fields are terraced on some pretty steep hillsides, so exploring them can be a decent workout.

There were workers out harvesting leaves that day, working their way down the rows with a machine that trimmed the outer parts of the leaves and collected them in bags. After going most of the way up this slope to get a better view of the forested mountains surrounding the plantation we cut through some of the rows to descend to the shops and tables below. One of the shops sold green tea ice cream and shakes. I opted to try it in ice cream form, and it was absolutely delicious. I imagine they had to add a lot of sweetness to get it to the point where I would like it, but it still had that green tea flavor. I was pleasantly surprised, and I will definitely be indulging again should I find my way down to Boseong again. The whole experience reminded me a bit of going to a pick-your-own orchard back home, like Eckert's. Granted, you don't pick your own green tea and eat it out in the field like you can do with apples, but it has that laid-back, look around at your leisure and then have some delicious snacks aura. There are probably enough paths to explore for the better part of an afternoon, but we still wanted to find the beach so we went back to find the bus after the ice cream. Maybe if I'm feeling extra homesick some weekend this fall I can pretend I'm going out to pick apples or find a pumpkin and go back down to Boseong for an Eckerts-esque afternoon of autumn weather.

The bus route we'd taken earlier (which may be the only local bus in the area, I'm not sure) goes on from the plantation to Yulpo beach, so once we were back on board it wasn't difficult to find our way there. Lily mentioned Yulpo as we got on, and the driver told us once we'd reached the right stop.

Row of shops and restaurants near Yulpo beach

Admittedly, Yulpo has a rather modest beach. My notions of being submerged in water were quickly dispelled. There was no real surf and the water was shallow for at least several dozen meters out into the water. Still, it was comforting to walk on the sand and into the water, even though much of it was covered by the shells of the clams the ajummas had been harvesting. I have a penchant for staring into nothingness when I'm in the water, and I zoned out on several occasions while looking into and out over the water here as well. Feeling that water makes me feel warmly small at the thought of how vast and inhospitable the oceans can be and at imagining how they can connect everything. Across the Pacific, through the Panama Canal, up to the Gulf and into the river past New Orleans right on up to the barge docks. From there I can cross a few levees and follow some corn-lined gravel roads to the bluffs. Simple.

I could stare at this all day.

I eventually awoke from my mesmerized state and retreated to dry land. We got some kimchi jiggae and seafood side dishes for dinner and hopped back on the bus to the Boseong bus station. We had about half an hour to kill before the next bus to Gwangju, so we walked back through the town and I was able to get a few photos from a hilltop park to include at the end of this post.

Thanks for reading and thanks again to Lily for taking time to show me around. I was feeling great already, but seeing the ocean always makes me feel even better.

Happy 100th FBC Dupo

I've been meaning to write this post for almost a month now, but delayed doing so because I was unsure of how to frame it. I was reminded this morning of an important event back home this weekend (see title). Before you read on, please realize I don't really have any pictures to accompany this blog, nor does it contain accounts of exciting travel or beautiful scenery. Check back Sunday night for that. This one's about God.

Several Sundays ago I was invited to an English-language service at a nearby church. Really it's probably somewhere around three miles from my apartment. I was excited by the prospect of being in church for the first time since leaving home, but also nervous at the prospect of trying to find this location on my own, and then following that endeavor (if successful) with the task of meeting and interacting with a sanctuary full of new people. I fully expected to be warmly welcomed. The church likely specializes in welcoming newcomers, as so many of the native English speakers here are foreign teachers. A great deal of these teachers are in and out of the country within a year, and though I don't have the numbers, I imagine a great majority are gone within two years of arriving.

Thus, my anxiety was not a result of fear of being unwelcome. It was just my usual reaction to new. (To this point, I was explaining the word "nervous" to one of my classes this week, and to get them to understand I said it's how you feel "when you have a test, or when you meet someone new".) Adding to the effect was the fact that I would likely need to hail a cab here for myself for the first time. The night before while perusing the directions to the church I had flirted with the idea of walking there, estimating I would need at least an hour to get there and allow time for what seemed like at least one inevitable wrong turn.

Unsurprisingly, when my eyes opened for the first time Sunday morning to see the clock I decided that extra hour of sleep would be worth the cab fare (which is very reasonable here) and the admittedly not-that-daunting challenge of getting into a cab and telling the driver where I want to go. When I did wake up and get dressed I copied down in my notebook the Korean directions to show the cab driver in case my pronunciation proved to be indecipherable, as it often has, and headed down the stairs. (Here I would like to thank my neighbor back home for teaching me how to read and write Hangul. Although I still know very little of the meaning of what I can read, it helps tremendously with pronunciation and having some idea of what I'm writing when I copy things down. The Romanization of Korean words and names can still be rather confusing. I think it might take me almost as much time to learn that system as it did to learn Hangul.)

Turns out I did need that notebook. It was pronounced more "Yaum" than "Yum", I realized later, and that was just the first syllable. I'm sure I muddled much more of it too. Luckily, once I showed the driver what I had written he had me at the church in under ten minutes. At first I didn't realize it was the church, but after about twenty seconds of standing in place on the sidewalk and looking up and down the street for clues, I was spotted by a man who had been directing traffic. He led me inside and handed me off to an English speaking church member who led me up to the English-language service.

Wolgwang is a large church, with several thousand members. They offer services in several languages, including Chinese and English. There were several dozen people in the English service that day (somewhere between 50 and 100...I'm better at estimating distances than crowds), and they were indeed very welcoming. I was greeted by the pastor and many other church regulars. I particularly enjoyed the small group meetings after the service, which allowed me to converse a bit with a few other men there, including a couple of American teachers. The service was good as well, but the most striking moment for me came during the opening musical worship time. The songs were listed in the order of worship, but I didn't recognize any of the titles. The church I grew up used mostly traditional hymns, so I'm unfamiliar with much of the music performed in more contemporary services. I enjoy it, I just don't know it as well.

There were talented musicians leading the songs, including guitarists, a keyboarder, a drummer, and several singers. It was a joy to hear, and it really lifted my spirits, not that I'd been feeling low.This has been a fantastic experience thus far, even better than I had hoped and imagined it would be. I do at times think of how much control I have over who I am here, however. Other than what was on my resume, what people here know about me is a result of what I decide to tell them.  I've felt this way before, particularly when starting college (and off to that two-week course in Montana, which will probably have a post all its own in the future). The sensation is mostly thrilling, but it can at times be disorienting as well. In the most harrowing moments I realize just how much who I believe I am at home can be my reading of how I think the people I've known for a long time see me. It's a mosaic of impressions made intentionally and unknowingly over years and years. I've been here seven weeks. No one is going to show me who I am. I have to show them. Yes, I know it should be this way at home too, and it's more nuanced than this, but I can't say everything now or I'm sure to repeat it later this year, so allow me this oversimplified aphorism.

The last song listed in the order of worship before the announcements and sermon was titled "What a Fellowship, What a Joy Divine". It didn't strike me until they began to play it that it was that old comforting standby which I'd sung with pint-sized gusto since my earliest days from the hymnals ("Leeeeee-inning") and which was the main source of my enjoyment of the Coen Brothers' remake of "True Grit" - "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms". I soon joined in with a widened nostalgic smile, having had a bit more of myself shown to me as from an old photo album. It hadn't been such a long time since I sang it, but being so far away can make everything feel like it was longer ago.

This brings me to the impetus for my finally writing this blog post. I wanted to write one this week after I missed last Sunday. This morning while talking to my parents before work they reminded me that this weekend my church at home, First Baptist Church in Dupo, IL, will be celebrating its 100th anniversary. This church has been more important in my life than any other institution. I was raised in this church, as were my parents. In fact, members of my family have been involved in the church for most of the past century.

As I understand it, my paternal great-grandmother (my grandmother's mother) began attending the church as a young woman. She raised her children in the church, and they raised their children in the church, and they raised my generation in the church. On the other side, my mother's mother began attending the church not long after moving to the town when my mother was a kid. My parents got to know each other through the church. As a kid, many Sundays ended up being like decent-sized family reunions, with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, cousins, cousins, cousins. In a town of 6,000 and a church service with less than 200 in attendance, in many cases a couple dozen of those would be my relatives.

My extended (and even my immediate) family has spread out a great deal since then, though you'll still find a consistent core of those still in or back in town most Sundays. No matter how far flung we become, however, I am thankful for the foundation that I found there and that I can take with me wherever I go. I am inspired by the thought my family before me finding their way into the church and showing such commitment to doing God's work and maintaining a vital community of believers in Dupo. Happy 100th anniversary! I'm sorry I can't be there to celebrate with you this weekend, but I look forward to sitting in the pews again soon.

Here's a link to the church's website. It was just recently launched and is in the process of being updated, but the basics are there.
http://www.fbcdupo.org/


P.S. As I was mulling over this blog post and preparing to write I struggled with many conflicting feelings and ideas. While I've never denied being a Christian, it is a part of my life that I often don't discuss unless I'm asked directly about it. It did feel a bit odd, therefore, to consider posting something like this in a place where theoretically, anyone could see it. I realize most readers who get to this point probably know me pretty well already and may even be somewhat of a captive audience (I still thank you for sticking with me this long). But my faith still felt awfully personal to discuss here as I thought of those who might not know me so well (and if that's you, I also appreciate your hanging in here for this long).

The day after arriving here in Gwangju I pulled all the clothes I had brought out of my two suitcases. In one of the bags I found a piece of paper ripped from a yellow legal pad and drawn on in crayon. Spread over a rough sketch of East Asia my brother had listed Bible verses for me to look up, all related to brotherhood.

A few weeks later, as I was walking home from work, I ran into one of the former Korean employees from the school. Unfortunately, I arrived here just as he was preparing to leave the school and begin his next adventure in life, so I didn't get a chance to know him very well. He was the first person from the school I met here, as he picked me up from the bus terminal and took me to my apartment and the school, and he was a big help to me in getting settled in the weeks that followed. He always seemed to me like an incredibly friendly and fascinating guy, and by all accounts from other teachers, he is.

That night on the sidewalk as he was saying goodbye he told me he'd seen that note when he was setting up my television in the apartment, as I'd left it sitting out right next to the TV. I remember now thinking as I set it down that if anyone were to be in my apartment I would want them to see that note more than anything else I have here, so I was actually pleased he'd noticed it. He told me he'd seen what my brother had written at the top of the page: "Don't forget your roots."

Then he told me that although he didn't know me well, he thought I probably wouldn't. I was flattered.

As I said, I have to tell people who I am, and this really is the most important aspect of my life as I see myself. I don't even list my religious views on my social networking profiles, which are (somewhat) private. So here I am, revealing myself.

One of my fears is that some people may learn this about me and feel some discomfort with me as a result. If you've met me already, you've met the real me. If it seemed like I liked you, I liked you. Even if it seemed like I didn't like you, I probably liked you. I'm often not the most adept at displaying to people that I truly enjoy their company, though I usually do.

Many, many terrible sins have been and continue to be committed in the name of Christianity and other religions, and the loudest voices claiming to represent us often spew hate. Meanwhile a great many of us go about our lives seeking the fulfillment that comes from being good to people. I don't always do it, but when I don't I always wish I had.

P.P.S. I need to send a special birthday shout-out to my best friend of 25 years, one of those cousins I was always excited to see at church, David! Miss you, bro!

A Quick Update and Anticipating Ruminations on My Time Abroad

This was a week in which time mercifully slowed down.

Despite the fact that I was able to sleep in on Monday morning with the start of regular hours at work (which means I don't go in until early afternoon), I had basically succumbed to a cold by the time I woke up. It wasn't too serious, just enough to be a bit of an annoyance and to make me sound even more nasally than usual while teaching Monday evening.

School was cancelled for Tuesday in anticipation of dangerous conditions caused by Typhoon Bolaven, so I took the opportunity to try to get some extra rest to battle the bug. At 8:30 I awoke to a voice over the intercom system saying something, I don't know what. A few times over the next few hours this happened again, with different messages that I could not decipher. I really need to learn more Korean. Although at one point around noon I did pick up one word, which I was pretty sure was sixteen (shib-yook). Interestingly enough, the next message came over the intercom around 4:30 (or 16:30 on the 24-hour clock). I counted this as a small victory, but waking up during potentially dangerous conditions to words I can't understand has always been one of my fears about being in a non-English environment.

The storm did turn out to be dangerous, and sadly, there were fatalities in the area due to strong winds. Fortunately everyone at work came through it fine, although there were some leaky roofs and windows and some potential close calls with flying/falling objects that I heard about. I also noticed several downed trees in the ensuing days, including a small tree that was toppled right in front of our school. I took the photo below of a tree in a park-like area while walking around on Saturday.

Fallen tree

The extra rest helped tremendously. By Thursday afternoon my sore throat and congestion were gone, with only a minimal headache remaining. Thursday morning also brought some winds and heavy rain as  Typhoon Tembin moved through the area. This time the winds were blowing in such a direction that the rain was hitting my windows and I ended up with a tiny leak, which I soaked up with a towel. The rain had passed by the time I walked to work, and in its wake was a gorgeous, cool end-of-August day.

Feeling cool weather outside here for the first time immediately conjured memories of autumn back home, both relaxing and stressful. As I traipsed along the few blocks to the school many of these dropped by my consciousness, uninvited but not unwelcome. I could write an entire blog about cherished autumn-time memories, and I may have a need for space-filling material before the year is out so I won't squander them here. Suffice it to say that by the time I walked into work and switched gears I was again acutely aware of just how short a year really is and how much I really hope (and expect) to enjoy this fall.

The preceding days had primed me for such feelings. Three of our teachers left this week: two finished their contracts and a third moved to a different school.  Last Saturday I attended a going-away dinner for a teacher who finished his one-year contract this week. He really seemed like a wonderful teacher and a very interesting person, and I enjoyed the few snatches of conversation I got to have with him during the month we worked together. When I walked into the office on Thursday (which marked my fifth full week here) he was finalizing the last of his business here in preparation for his departure on Friday. He said goodbye, bid farewell to the bosses, and I watched him walk out of the office and head for the stairs. I couldn't help but contemplate how I may feel when I walk out of those doors for the last time. I know it will arrive quickly because I've imagined moments like that in the past, and they always happen so much sooner than I imagine.

My dorm room during my freshman year in college looked directly out onto the church steps that serve as the stage during commencement ceremonies. I would often look up from my desk and out that window, trying to imagine how I might feel four years from then. It's cliche, but four years later I remembered those moments vividly, despite all the extraordinarily wonderful and challenging experiences that had filled the interim. This blog, then, will be my attempt at examining all those wonderful and challenging adventures and thoughts/feelings I encounter and pursue. When I walk out the office doors for the final time I hope to have this to remind me of just how full my time here will have been.

Now I promise to stop being sappy. I touched the ocean today! I spent hours walking around the city yesterday! I went out with coworkers on several more occasions this week! I actually took pictures! Give me some time to digest and contextualize it and we'll see if I can wait until next Sunday to update you. In the meantime, here's a photo of the view from my apartment, and here's to me spending much more time out there than in here.