Andong Mask Dance Festival

It is rumored that in 1999, Queen Elizabeth asked to be taken to the “most Korean place in Korea”. She was brought to the town of Andong to celebrate her 73rd birthday.

Famous for its traditional folk village and annual Mask Dance Festival, Andong attracts visitors from near and far each September.

We were no exception.

After catching an early morning bus, we made our way to the festival grounds where we found our friends waiting with a local delicacy in hand - toothpicks skewered with bugs.

You can often find locals stirring a pot of these steamed and seasoned silkworm pupae at festivals, selling cups of them to curious foreigners and hungry Koreans alike.

This salty street food, known as beondegi, is often paired with beer… perhaps if you consume alcohol at the same time, you might not mind the fact that you are eating bugs?

Our friend came back from the “bug stand” with a heaping cup of these once creepy-crawlers.

I tried not to think about it as I popped one in my mouth.

So how did they taste, you ask?

(Caution: if you have a weak stomach, do not read this next part. You have been warned.)

It was very salty and crunchy at first - kind of like popcorn… not bad, right? Well, after the crunch came a juicy, oozy surprise. And the taste was something like you’d expect from a bug. I swallowed as quickly as possible, but the aftertaste wasn’t any better than the gooey-ness… bitter and almost fishy-tasting.

I don’t think beondegi will be a regular snack of mine.

After sufficiently ridding our mouths of the buggy remnants (and capturing the moment in photograph form of course), we meandered through the festival tents and settle inside one where we were able to make our own Korean-style mask.

Though the mask designs we chose were traditional, the method of decoration definitely wasn’t. We reverted to children as we designed and molded our masks with floam - yes the brightly-colored, sticky foam balls from the nineties. Apparently I missed out on this crafting trend during my childhood, but this mask-making session made up for it.

After two hours of “floaming”, we made our way through the food stalls for a quick lunch and hopped on a bus, bound for the traditional village made famous during the Queen of England’s visit.

The Hahoe Folk Village is nestled in a valley of the Taebaek mountains, and its perimeter is etched by a winding river on three sides. With a mix of tiled and thatched-roof dwellings, its no wonder that this charming village recently received UNESCO World Heritage status.

We wandered up and down the narrow roads, exploring this quaint town that is still home to 240 residents.

Just before dusk, we joined the crowds in a wooded area near the river where the mask dance was about to begin.

Now, the term “dance” is a bit deceiving. The almost all-male cast wore traditional masks and costumes, and strutted around stage telling a story. Aside from a few choreographed movements, it was more or less a play.

Now I don’t understand the Korean language, so most of the storyline was lost on me, but what I did pick up was a little disturbing.

There was one scene where a man, dressed as a woman, squatted mid-stage and “peed”. Meanwhile, another rather creepy character watched. When “she” stood, there was a puddle of presumed “urine”. The strange man proceeded to scoop up it up and smell it.

Like I said, disturbing.

In the next scene, a seemingly drunk character danced around wildly and locked eyes with me. He called a Korean woman on stage and pointed in my direction, whispering something to her.

I knew what was coming next.

The woman grabbed by hand and brought my friend, Alex, and me in front of the crowd.

Don't worry, for all our little dance number, we were given this creepy necklace. Totally worth it.

The man coaxed us into dancing around stage. He then said something in Korean that made the audience erupt in laughter.

Oh, to be a foreigner in a crowd of locals. You never cease to stick out.

After the performance, we had time for just a short walk along the river’s edge to watch the locals set up for the traditional fireworks show that was to follow. Ropes were strung from a cliff on the opposite side of the river which they would later light on fire.

Unfortunately, most of us had to miss the fireworks show in order to catch the buses heading back to our respective cities. Our friends who stayed though, raved about the fireshow that included flaming bushes being thrown over the cliff’s edge and into the river.

It doesn’t sound like any firework show I’ve ever seen, and I’m still pretty bummed we had to miss it.

More pictures from the Andong Mask Dance Festival:

This tree is said to have a goddess living in it.

My finished mask

Korean Struggle

Though we are beginning to feel settled in, there are many parts of our daily lives that are still a struggle.

Grocery shopping in general is a daunting task. At home, I can walk in and out with what I need in a matter of minutes; but here I find myself standing in an isle, staring at the Korean symbols until my eyes cross.

Finding salt, for instance, took us a good two weeks. There were a couple bags of MSG accidentally purchased before we found actual salt.

We finally found salt!

And that is just SALT. When it comes to condiments, sauces, meat, or well, generally anything other than the basic fruits and vegetables, I rely on my trusty translator app to reveal what exactly is in my hands.

We found out this gargantuan vegetable is a giant Korean radish. Cheap and tasty.

Tackling laundry was yet another beast. It took us a few failed attempts before we (and by “we”, I mean Ben) figured out the settings.

The first time we washed our clothes, we just kept pressing buttons until water started flowing. We were pretty impressed with ourselves for getting it to work so quickly. Fifty minutes later, when the load was done, we realized we had done something very wrong.

Our clothes absolutely reeked.

You could smell our moldy, musty stench from across a room. This doesn’t bode well on a packed bus or in a classroom full of students with no regard for personal space.

We decided that we couldn’t keep smelling like that, and we vowed to figure out our alien washing machine no matter how long it took.

You’d think that you could simply translate the Korean words to English in order to figure out the settings – low, medium, high, hot, cold… it shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

Wrong.

Like many other mundane tasks (ie. buying salt and taking the bus), it is a lot more complex than you’d think.

For example, the word for “heavy load” on our machine roughly translates to “river”. Being that there are exactly 30 different settings on our washing machine, and very few are remotely recognizable even when translated, it took us (ermm… Ben) a good chunk of an afternoon to figure out what should have been a 2-minute ordeal.

We would be seriously lost without the post-its on our washing machine.

Oh, and forget about ordering in restaurants that don’t have pictures on the menu. 

A few weeks ago, we were stuck at a train station for a couple of hours and I attempted to order lunch at a noodle shop.

I marched up to the counter and pointed to a picture of what looked to be noodle soup. I felt like a helpless child, unable to communicate, but the rest of the menu was written in Korean and undecipherable to a newbie like me.

Hot noodles sounded divine, and I sat (in)patiently awaiting for my meal. And then it came. Noodles, broth, and… ice chunks?!

It wasn’t terrible. I know if could have been worse – sketchy seafood or dog meat, anyone? But it really wasn’t what I meant to order.

I looked at the people around me slurping their steaming noodle bowls with serious food-envy.

Yes, those are ice cubes floating in my soup.

While this may sound like the beginnings of a rant, I can assure you it’s not. It’s true, there are times I get frustrated because I feel incapable of completing even the simplest of tasks.

But as irritated as I may get, I wouldn’t change a thing. These struggles are all part of living in another country.

When Ben and I decided to move to South Korea, we knew we would face challenges. And it may sound silly, but I prefer it that way. What would be the fun of living overseas if it was the same as living at home? 

I can tell you that from our struggles has come an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

From the littlest things.

You wouldn’t believe the feeling of triumph when your clothes come out of the washing machine smelling mountain breeze fresh.

You’d never know the joy of tasting real salt after opening one too many packets of pure MSG.

And I think I almost cheered when the waitress delivered food that I actually intended to order.

As time passes, the challenges are becoming fewer and easier to handle. And little by little, we are learning to turn this unfamiliar place into home.

Korean Surprise!

Our beautiful, hectic, vibrant, and crazy new home - South Korea.

This past month has been a whirlwind. Thirty days of complete and utter chaos, confusion, excitement, frustration and bliss.

There have been moments where I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life; and others where I question my sanity for picking up and leaving the familiar behind.

To call this an overwhelming experience would be an understatement.

There is no way I can sum up the last month in words, but I’ll do my best.

Let’s start with orientation.

After a full 26 hours of flights, airport food, and attempting to sleep on the floor of San Francisco’s international terminal, we finally set foot on Korean soil… err, tiled airport floors.

We were whisked away, not long after, in a bus bound for Daejeon – our home for the next week.

We arrived at the campus just after 10pm and were given keys to our dorm rooms. My eyes shut as soon as my heat hit the straw-filled pillow.

Yes, our pillows were stuffed with bits of plastic straws. Not as uncomfortable as you’d expect.

The next days began and ended with lectures. And when the lectures were done, we had Korean class.

Add a daunting schedule to adjusting to the 14-hour time difference, and combine it with the chaos that ensues when meeting a bajillion new people… We. Were. Exhausted.

While some of the lectures were entertaining and provided us with helpful resources, there were some that were a struggle just to make it through without closing my eyes and drooling.

Because we all know that’s the way to make a good first impression.

Orientation wasn’t all lectures though. EPIK did a really good job of making time for cultural experiences.

In Taekwondo class, we kicked, punched, and broke boards (though it took a few tries for some people… errrmm… me)

We learned basic Korean, and even took a field trip to nearby Jeonju Village where we made traditional fans, learned how to play the Korean drums, and ate the famous bibimbap.

You can't be afraid to share food with strangers because all meals are communal.

Bibimbap

Oh, and I’m almost forgetting the rather odd medical checkup that was required. We gave blood and urine, did vision and hearing tests, had our chests x-rayed, and were at some point supposedly evaluated for our psychological well-being.

(We both passed, in case you’re wondering.)

During orientation, there were two main things I learned about life in Korea.

One of the more insightful lecturers warned us about a phenomenon she amusingly referred to as the “Korean Surprise”.

She explained that in Korea, it was typical to find out things at the very last minute.

Important things.

“Hey, instead of teaching your normal 6^th grade students today, you will teach their parents. They will be here in two minutes. Oh, and your lesson better be good.”

Surprise.

“I know you booked your flight to the Philippines for winter vacation months ago, but we are going to need you to teach those days instead.”

Surprise.

The lecturer told us we will all inevitably experience the magic of the “Korean Surprise” many times during our stay here. Her method for coping in these situations is to close her eyes and picture confetti raining down. A practice she suggested we all adopt.

She explained that it wouldn’t necessarily change the situation, but at the very least it may illuminate the humor and help you realize it is beyond our control.

Another common theme throughout the week was “it depends”. It seemed to be the answer to almost every question we asked.

Will we have a co-teacher? It depends.

When are we able to take vacation? It depends.

Will we be teaching at more than one school? It depends.

Will our school serve us dog meat at lunch? It depends.

I think I actually left orientation more overwhelmed, confused, and well… more disoriented than when I arrived.

Life After Orientation

During my last months at home, friends and family asked incessantly about where we would be living.

We had no answer to give them.

How are you going there without knowing where you’re living? They’d ask.

EPIK places nearly 1,500 applicants each year, and we all must be slightly crazy. I say this because we all boarded planes without knowing where we would be living for the 365 days.

We went through all nine days of orientation before finding out our fate.

That final afternoon, we waited nervously to get our contracts and finally get answers to the questions we’d been pondering during the last several months.

SO. NERVOUS.

 This is what we learned:

1. We would be living Gumi – a city of 400,000 in central Korea.

      2. Both Ben and I would be teaching elementary school children.

We packed our bags nervously that night, preparing to leave our little bubble of other English speakers. We had gotten comfortable.

But that all changed the next morning.

We woke up bright and early and boarded a bus with friends who, just a week before, had been strangers. After a lunch charged with butterflies and nerves, we headed our separate ways with our new co-teachers and principals.

Our last meal together. Bibimbap again!

My first view of Gumi, my new city.

 That afternoon was a blur.

My co-teachers shuttled me around from my apartment to school to a gigantic store and stood by my side as they patiently helped me pick out essential items like toilet paper and pots. They even treated Ben and me to dinner before dropping us off at our new home.

Our apartment was completely empty… that is, aside from the huge tube television set (which picks up just two English channels), a shopping bag filled with wooden takeout chopsticks, and two 10 kilogram hang weights.

“Your bed will come tomorrow,” we were told, “so tonight you will have to sleep on the floor.”

Surprise! * confetti falls from sky*

We unfolded a cardboard box and laid out jackets and sweatshirts for padding. It was more or less a dog bed.

Thankfully, this was only our bed for one night.

Let me tell you, the confetti trick works. It made the whole bed situation seem humorous. And I slept like a baby.

Well that last part was a lie. I woke up every 32 minutes to shake out my sleeping limbs.

However, after learning about the concept of the “Korean Surprise”, I thoroughly expected to sleep on that makeshift bed for the better part of a month; so I was truly ecstatic when our bed really did arrive the next day as planned.  

As it turns out, not all “Korean Surprises” are bad ones.