Villiage Idiot

Maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just being forced to sit still for 20 minutes, but there is something about nursing a baby that calms the spirit. When I began this post I was all ready to list the many many ways that I have appeared ridiculous to both my Korean and French neighbours, but now, having sent a slightly damp boy to his room and silenced a teething girl with milk, I am feeling better. I will focus on the cake in my cup, and not the cold dregs of congealing pre-sweetened instant coffee. I was told, upon moving to this neighbourhood, that I was lucky to have landed here. It's just like a village - everyone knows each other! In theory - this could be good, there always being someone to help you out, to give you advice etc. In practice, as I wend my usual chaotic, frazzled, disorganized way up and down the hills in my neighbourhood leaving cell phones, sand shovels and transit cards in my wake, It occurs to me that there are downsides to the visibility of village life. With my bright red stroller, my two blue-eyed babies, my uneven fashion sense, and my inability to communicate in either of the two languages spoken here - I became quickly known: "Oh - you're the Canadian" or "yes, we've heard about you." As I ran full out pushing a crying baby all the way from the subway to the school in order to catch pick-up time, at least 10 people called out encouragement as I sailed by. When, unable to use my door opener, I tore down the stairs and ran entirely around my building holding both children in my arms so I could let in a maintenance person who I wasn't expecting and whose purpose eluded me, many people bowed and said what I gather were helpful things. When my daughter threw up on me at the same time that my son peed all over his shoes and the non-absorbent ground of the local playground, I drew understanding nods from Korean and French mothers alike. So I may be developing a reputation as the village idiot, but at least they are nice to idiots here. People are always helping me strap and unstrap my baby in her carrier, they put me in taxis and give the driver instructions, they translate in stores and carry my shopping, stroller, or baby around the aisles. They invite me to their homes for coffee (not always instant) and suggest ways that I could make my life easier. So I get through the week - and then Brian is home and we can leave the village and appear ridiculous to the cityfolk.
Here we are, for example, at Gyeongbokgung (Palace). There are many palaces in Seoul; other than a couple of gates these are almost the only remainders of the layered history that preceded this current modern metropolis. Sole old Seoul. The palaces are good places to visit with children since they have wide-open courtyards, and often gardens, lawns or other green space to play in. This is one of the larger palaces and contains a folk museum and a palace museum (which we didn't visit on this occasion - but we will).
Iris, as usual, was a big hit. Here she is being surrounded by a group of tourists who found her more photo-worthy than the Queen Dowager's administrative picnic grounds or whatever. Their tour guide apologized to me since one of the ladies did stroller off with Iris, but when the group turned the corner and saw Jamie, they were at it again.
Speaking of Iris, if I am the village idiot, she is becoming the village mascot. At least three times a week I go to the Global Village Center ("life and convenience support for alien resident - Enjoy Seoul to the Full!"). There I can take cultural and language classes and learn practical information about local life. Photographers are present at all event to document the strange foreign women who know so little, and as Iris is present at all events as well - she is much photographed and appears on their web photopages frequently. Sadly she didn't have much to say for the radio interview, but the woman with the microphone held it up to her every time she gurgled. Generally the very friendly staff at the Global Center carry Iris about while I am gluing paper or learning to read, and the other day one of them sent me photos that she had taken of her time with Iris. Also here are three shots from the GVC webpages of my Hanji project, me gluing cardboard, and me receiving my own English translation of a French presentation about buses, mail, and garbage. Iris is chewing on the pen of my seatmate. In my Hanji class, the teacher spends her time either doing my project for me, carrying my baby, or practicing her English with me. None of these activities help my 8 French-speaking classmates learn the craft. In my Korean class my teacher is either dangling her earrings in front of my baby, holding my baby, or listening to my baby try to pronounce compound vowels. My 4 French-speaking classmates seem to have dropped out and we might hold the class at my teacher's house now so the baby will have more room to play.
Here is my village as seen from Montmartre (no really - I live in a French themepark). I dragged Jamie up this mountain with promises of playgrounds only to find more exercise equipment. Luckily one apparatus enabled you to hang upside down by your ankles, and Jamie found the sight of Mommy dangling arms swinging wildly as she tried to right herself very very funny (as did the four elderly Korean gentlemen, the baseball playing boy, and the small mean dog watching nearby). The middle photo is, I think, a magpie. They are large and very numerous around these parts. Two the left and right of the bird is a building project that will "achieve the connection of disconnected" green space. It will join two mountain tops. The sign is in French, English and Korean - just like the real Montmartre. The bridge is probably finished by now - they work very quickly in Korea.
Here is Brian's place of work where he goes everyday while we remain at home making fools of ourselves.
It is beside a tree, owned (and elaborately supported) by the people of Canada. It takes Brian about 50 minutes to get from home to work. The children and I can do in in an hour and a half. The staff is very very nice, and whenever I loiter about the door making a spectacle of myself, they invite me in and offer to call Brian. One of them translated by phone for me when I was locked out of my house. Sometime they send me things - like vacuums. They periodically drop by my apartment to count objects, and today they arranged for a group of 4 Korean men (two in ties, two in coveralls) to spend an hour and a half in my home flushing my toilets. Apparently they are all okay.
Ottawa (and London) residents will be pleased to see that we have a giant spider in Seoul too. Jamie was very happy that we had brought it along from our "old house in Ottawa CANADA." We have not only Maman here, but also bebe it seems. This is the Leeum Samsung museum of Art. Three buildings designed by three different architects. Here you may find the cream-of-the-crop of traditional Korean, and contemporary art as well as a children's learning space (group-bookings exclusively it seems). It used to be by appointment only, but as of a few months ago all of us may visit anytime we want. I was very happy to have found myself here in rooms full of familiar faces that neither see me, nor notice that I appear ridiculous. Though modern art is not always my cup of fur, it may well be my cup of cake.

The beaten track

Well, we're new here - so we're still trying out the Ten Top Tourist Trips (or Traps) around Seoul. The Visitors Bureau is promoting Seoul as "a Clean and Attractive Global City," (not as catchy as our home-gu mission statement: "World Best City! World Happiest City!") so their Top Ten doesn't get us down and dirty, but here's some stuff we've done so far (in reverse chronological order due to uploading quirks):Here we are at Namsangol Hanok Villiage. For FREE you can visit 5 furnished traditional houses and learn about crafts, costumes, games, and food and folkways. We enjoyed the purpose-designed baskets like the one on the left just for eggs. Brian learned to roll a hoop and do a bouncy teeter-totter jumping sort of thing, and I got to pose with some fuzzy Traditional Koreans. According to the guide book I would meet people designated as "Seoul Tangible Cultural Property" who would assist me to "enhance understanding of the daily life of the past." These were probably not them.

Trouble is that the village was very hard to find. We thought it was on the top of the mountain - it was at the bottom. There were many finger posts, some in Korean, some in Braille, but only about a third pointed the way to the village, and the directions and distances were pretty random. We saw many things on the way; some nice purple berries, a time capsule designed to be opened 400 years after sealing, a big village complex we thought might be the museum, but was merely a performance space, and many many steep stairways to descend carrying a stroller.

The reason it was a long way down, is because we were a long way up. We started our descent at the top of N Seoul Tower. Panoramic views of the city remind you of just how big Seoul really is. A combination of walking, climbing and cable car got us here, but it turns out the walking and climbing could have been replaced by shuttle bus and inclined railway. We saw more this way though. As they said in Olde Korea "Salted and dried knifefish is good to eat and cheap in price."

Mt. Namsan also has a pleasure ground where you may enjoy sky sculptures, royal guard antics, "unforgettable moment in life" restaurants, souvenir-stands selling angry ethnic baby dolls, and a place where you can leave a lock. We don't know why. I guess when the mullet leaps, the goby leaps too.

Here is Iris, "a springwind to everybody." She is my ticket in, or the red pepper sauce on my lettuce-wrapped rice, the watermelon on my eggplant vine or something. When we crashed (sort of) a BBQ in an upscale neighbourhood teeming with the sailing, shopping, horsey set, although I couldn't speak about the last time I chartered a private yacht for my family vacation, Iris was a hit. She was carried and coddled by the beautiful people and grabbed handfuls of their hair and jewels and got away with it (well, not right out the door and down the mountain, but you know what I mean.) Waitresses hold her while I eat; shop-keepers carry her about while I buy pastries. I can talk to people about Iris, people will forgive my trespasses if I am carrying Iris. People will help me because of Iris. When the batteries on my door-lock went dead and I was locked out of my house with no money/cell phone/ ability to speak Korean or know who my landlord was or what my husband's phone number was - It required only one Iris smile and a driver I found in the parking lot came (with cell phone and Korean language skills) to help me find a way back through my own front door. With a heart like fine brocade, she enjoys everything and everyone, and even when our tourist ways are riddled with potholes and detours - she still makes them fun. Though small, say the Olde Koreans, pepper is hot. Here is one of those 'detours' in the back lanes of Itaewon, where you can get candy, beer, and Ladie's as well as Indian curry, hand-made big and tall suits (Brian was like pine-nut gruel to the street-hawking tailors), and English-language used books. It is very hilly and the winding narrow old streets often open to surprising vistas of new "Clean & Attractive, Global" Seoul down below.

Here is a bridge leading from Global Seoul back home to Seocho (World Happiest City!). Dancing Rainbow Fountain, complete with Disney soundtrack and coloured lights at night, makes our walk home even more spectacular. That's a yellow flood line tracker in the middle right - can't wait for monsoon season! We found a playground on our side of this bridge, so off the beaten track can have some advantages.

Drying peppers, pepper plants, market peppers everywhere we look. There are many sayings about peppers; black pepper is hotter than red pepper, small pepper is hotter than large peppers. Some pepper-maxims involve dogs, sorcerers or daughters-in-law. Some do not. Tiny Jamie, for example, is light enough to swing on a pepper plant and ride on a boat made from a pinenut shell. Keys to Korea (for when your keypad goes blank): bring a baby and understand hot peppers.

Here we are at Children's Grand Park - FREE and on our subway line. The educational aids and activities were all in Korean and it took me about an hour to get there after picking Jamie up from school, but the animals, playgrounds, fountains and shady walking paths were a welcome Wednesday break.

Also they had tiny and big pottys in the cubicles, and many private air-conditioned comfy-couched nursing rooms. For a giant city, Seoul seems to have many child-friendly green spaces - easily accessible and cost-efficient. Both on and off the beaten track we are slowly collecting for our own Top Ten, and even if, as fish out of water, we can't join the seance - we can still watch the sorceress dance and eat the feasting cake. We can paint chrysanthemums on our straw shoes? I'm sure this would make more sense if I actually learned Korean, though according to Olde Korea, "anywhere you live is your native country."

Le choc culturel

Phonetically France, in Korean, is "puh-ran-suh," or prance. Jamie started school at the P-rance hak-yo, the Lycee Francais de Seoul last week, and I have been seeing a new Korea of prancing French women ever since. Some of you are familiar with the very uneasy relationship I have had with the French language ever since I moved to Ottawa and discovered the limitations that my failure to speak French placed on my employment prospects and hopes for monetary gain. Apparently I have decided to compound this by coming all the way to Asia and perversely setting myself and my children up in the one neighbourhood where the only other Westerners hail from France.
This has some advantages; I am surrounded by French pastry shops and have good access to wine and soft cheeses. There are also disadvantages. For example, I live very near a Global Village Centre, designed to help we non-Koreans learn our way around banking, bill-payment, transportation, garbage routes etc. I went to their introduction to new foreigners, only to find it was three hours of lengthy explanations (including bus and walking tours) all in French. I understood very little, despite the fact that I had been provided with my own young Korean girl who kneeled beside me and offered whispered translations from French to English. She held my bag and stroller during the bus and walking portion of the introduction, but I can't really say for certain where I went or what I was supposed to have learned there. I was presented with a very large binder full of important Seoul information, all in French, and I think that my Korean classes that starts next week (as well as my traditional Korean paper crafts class) will be held in French as well.
I have trouble following the parent meetings at Jamie's school (luckily his teacher speaks English to me) and the mothers I see in my morning and afternoon visits to the school merely nod politely at me as they burble to each other about potentially useful things like how strange the principal is, where to find the best housekeeper/nanny combo, and how they manage to be 8 months pregnant and still show up to drop their children off every morning with perfect hair, makeup, and high-heeled-silk-blouse posture. I have tried to make contact with these prancing women. Perhaps pointing out, in broken French, the size and quantity of the earthworms in the gutter, wasn't the right way to begin. Perhaps nursing my crying baby on the steps of their gated garden home as they were introducing their upcoming social events (tennis picnic, champagne brunch, fashion tour, horseback riding spa day?) might not have won me any prance-points. But I have tried to go on their walking tours, I have tried to enter into a shared discussion about the difficulty of moving with kids, sending your first-born off to his first day of school, or learning Korean.
During my twice daily excursions to drop-off and pick up Jamie, I tend to speak to the other two or three English-speaking women who have also decided for various reasons to put their tiny children in an all-French school, and we talk about how we don't know French, while the prance women gaze at us from the corners of their eyes and wonder how we manage to mother two children and still show up to drop our eldest at school looking like we had lost a fight with an angry troll. I wouldn't have thought that my culture shock would come from being surrounded by wealthy French women rather than the fact I now live here in Korea, but c'est la vie I suppose. For Jamie, the culture shock is not so much the French, but the school. Five days a week (half days on Wednesdays) off he goes, stuffed bunny in his school bag, to a world away from his mommy and his baby sister. I don't really know what he does in that world - he plays with a stroller, his frog-teacher (I think she brought in a frog that day) put his slippers in a basket, he used the big boy potty one or five times, he eats egg sprinkles for souper, Mister Xavier (his English teacher) may have sung a song and the words were blah lal la blah like that. Did he watch a show about a turtle? Did he run on the beds at nap-time? Did he read a picture book with a little girl whose name was Cece? He says very little about it, and very little he says makes sense. But off he goes every morning through the gate and out he comes every afternoon wearing the same clothes he went in with. His teacher reports that he is calm, and quiet and doesn't yet join the group, but he doesn't cry and comes when she calls. I guess that's good for now.
He has 177 school days in the year, and has finished 6 already. I cross them off on his calender and try to bear it - but it is very hard for me to be without my tiny boy. He sleeps by himself all though the night, he uses the potty on his own, he tidies up all his toys when he is done with them, and he goes off every day to a world without me. He still won't walk up and down the hills, but he happily lists all the things that "when I am bigger I can do that." I am glad he is getting bigger, and that he is bravely facing all the new challenges in his life, but his mommy might not be ready to be away from him yet. I bring him snacks for the walk home after school; I ignore "don't kiss me mommy" and give him many hugs; I try to arrange fun things for his Wednesday half-days. (Last week the kids and I went to Children's Grand Park for the walks, fountains, playgrounds and free zoo - Jamie "loves penguins, they have no teeth"); I try to remember that this is good for him, and that I get to devote more time to Iris, but I spent almost three years with Jamie by my side and I am not fully prepared to face this new world without him. However, it's important not to lose both the crabs and the crabbing bag, as they said in olde Korea, so Aza Aza Fighting!