Sunday, August 20, 2017

Shout it Out!

Not since my first six months in Korea have I lived for the weekend.  Back then, I didn't feel like I had much choice - I didn't know any of my fellow teachers well enough to want to hang out with them, so it was my Mormon friends who kept me going that whole time.  The end of February that year we got an infusion of new blood at GDA, and those teachers - particularly my Missouri homegirl Sara - transformed my expat life.

Ever since then, I've had a pretty good work-life balance, finding friends to play games with or try out new restaurants on weeknights, and not just on the weekends.  Hopefully that will be the case here, too, but until I find my feet socially, I at least have no intention of letting my weekends go to waste.
I've written about how sometimes it is ridiculously difficult to find out about upcoming events in Mongolia.  In Japan, it seems to be the opposite.  Last Monday Savvy Tokyo published a list of events in the area this weekend.  I felt totally spoiled - would I go to a jazz festival?  Dance in the streets of Minami-Koshigaya?  In the end, though, I decided that what I really wanted was to attend a yelling contest in Yokosuka.
Now, in spite of being jam packed with people - or perhaps because of that exact thing - Japan is actually a fairly tranquil, quiet place.  Case in point, practical knowledge gained from watching anime #1: you shouldn't practice music in your apartment.  This came up in orientation and I thought, "Aha, I know that one."  Even talking on your phone on the train is frowned on.  So the kind of crazy screams I used to let loose riding my little dirt bike around the farm in Excelsior are pretty much a no-go...unless you were at Myozoji Temple in Yokosuka yesterday.

In theory Yokohama is a great place to be, and everything is relatively close together.  By American standards, for sure.  However, in practice, the 41km (25 miles) separating me from my first temple this go-round took 1.5 hours to transverse (or they would have, if I'd actually gotten off when Google Maps told me to, instead of deciding that I was fine taking the express train all the way to Shioiri Station.  Dumbass).  When I woke up yesterday, I questioned whether or not I actually wanted to go all that way, but the whole point of living in Japan is that I'm already here for all of these experiences, so I decided I could be lazy another day.

Registration started at 10, but it was almost 11 by the time I got there, thanks to my detour.  To my relief, it actually wasn't as crowded as I'd feared - it may only be two weeks since I got here, but even in that short time I've seen some crowds, man.  I'm not sure if that was because it was off the beaten path or because it was Too Darn Hot...

Actually, I'm beginning to think I have superpowers.  The past week was almost pleasant.  I mean, once you got past the rain, and I didn't actually mind the rain since, you know, vampire...  And then last night, after whinging about how hot it was a huge storm blew in and I was able to open the windows and get by with just the fan.  I'm sure nobody would be surprised if I actually turned out to be a mutant, but there ya go.
There was a tent where participants registered, receiving a number for their turn.  Another tent had chairs set up underneath, although most people were milling around the temple grounds.  My number 1 favorite part of the festival, though, was that they had a booth handing out shaved ice - for free!  Or if it wasn't free, they didn't ask me for money, so hey!  In the last two weeks I have improved my Japanese abilities by 0%, but I already knew the Japanese word for strawberry - thanks again to my anime obsession! - and if it wasn't the most delicious thing I've tasted in the last two weeks, I don't know what was.

There was also a stamp rally for the kids.  They had tiles to paint and crawdads to fish for, and probably one or two other things that I couldn't figure out because I've been living in Japan for two weeks and I still only know 3 kanji.  Suffice it to say that like almost everything in Japan, it was kid friendly.

The main event, though, was the yelling contest.  Participants stood on the front porch of the temple, in front of a microphone, and shouted whatever they wanted, as loud as they wanted.  The temple was surrounded by a cemetery, so no worries about bothering the neighbors.  I recognized "OTOUSAN!" and "OKAASAN!" in a couple of the shouts, and wondered if maybe they were yelling to their deceased parents - this week was the Obon Festival, which welcomes back the souls of departed ancestors.

The microphone wasn't for making sure they were heard, though - most people didn't need any help with that!  They had some kind of measurement going on, I'm guessing decibels, and after each person finished their shout, we all looked at the score to see how loud they were.  My favorites were the macho guys who thought they'd been super loud, only to get beat by an old obaasan (granny).  The crowd responded with laughter, and in spite of being incredibly hot and having everyone yelling their hearts out, and the mood was light and happy, which I needed after spending the week reading about everything going on back home.

If I had chosen to participate in the contest, I would have had plenty to yell about.  As it was, I thought my pent up anger about my batshit crazy countrymen might put me at a distinct advantage.  Instead, I found myself wishing I was home, to counterprotest this insanity and add my voice to everyone else's saying, "This is wrong.  This is not what our country is about."  Instead, I'm half a world away, and I just hope that at some point I'll be able to make a difference.

When I first moved abroad - thinking it was only for a year, hahaha - that was my justification, that when I came home I would be able to share a broader perspective with my students.  I'm not sure anymore if I'll ever go home, and if I do whether I want to deal with the enormous shit-storm that constitutes teaching in the good ol' US of A, but I still hope that all my years as a prodigal will teach someone something, even if it's only the niblings.

Til then, Japan has it's everyday delights to balance out the everyday frustrations.  Walking back from the temple, I came across a little walking path criss-crossing a stream, and instead of hurrying to get on the bus back to the station, I took the stairs down and walked along it.  This is the kind of discovery that speaks to my soul - a little slice of nature hidden between the jumbles of houses.  

Sunday, August 13, 2017

The World Ahead

It's one week tonight since I stepped through the arrivals door at Haneda Airport and into my next great adventure, here in Japan.  It's been a long time since I dealt with the upheavals that go along with rebooting your life from a new server, so to speak, and over the last week I've been dealing with a dawning realization that goes something like this:  being a tourist may be better than being an expat.

Okay, stick with me for a while and hear me out.  The whole premise of my so-called career is that I'd rather see the world long-term, rather than the snapshots you get breezing by in a week or less.  However, the last seven days have presented some rather compelling evidence that perhaps I would have been better off staying in Mongolia and spending every vacation here instead.
For starters, there's the major issue of not having the internet.  Which is to say that I, in my very humble abode (pictured above, and a lot better looking on the inside, but you should know better than to think I'll show you that until I've got everything the way I want.  Yes, Babysis, I am looking at you), have no hope of getting an internet connection for possibly months.  Apparently the Japanese bureaucrats like to jazz that shit up with red tape.  Now, I dealt with this very issue once, many many moons ago when I moved to the UAE, but it was Ramadan and I had no options but to suck it up.  This time around, I cracked after 3 days and ordered a pocket wifi router, which is why you're getting this blog tonight.  You're welcome.
There's also the fact that I have been in Japan for an entire week and not visited a single temple.  Last fall I think I made it to at least one every day, but no.  Even when I haven't been at work, I've been too busy setting up my apartment and finding my way around Yokohama, particularly to the Ikea...yeaahhhhhh, who am I kidding?  My first excursion was actually to the Animate at Yokohama Station, and it was a glorious experience.  I mean - look at all the Gachapon machines!  Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?
I did manage to stumble on this section of a walking/sightseeing trail my first morning at around 6:30 while looking for someplace open that would break my 10,000 yen note so I could get a coke.  It spit me out onto a street that had a 24 hour cafe called Jonathan's.  I enjoyed both the trail and the "drinks bar" at Jonathan's, which featured free refills of coke, but I haven't seen more of it, because it's Too Darn Hot, and no part of me is interested in sweating that much.  There is only so much a fan and a hankie can do for you.
Working also kind of sucks.  Not the actual job of course - so far, I like everything about my school - but rather, you know, working.  Instead of running around all day seeing cool shit I spent Wednesday and Thursday getting orientated for said job.  And here's the thing: I haven't actually been a newbie in five years, and I forgot how incredibly, painfully awkward it is, not to mention the vast information overload that goes along with it.  Meanwhile, Pikachu Outbreak was happening right over in Minato Mirai while I was sitting in meetings.  Admittedly I had a three-day weekend to check it out, but it was rainy, so the airship didn't take off, and although the Pikachu cruise went when I first got there I was too far away from it to wave to them and they apparently cancelled the next launch - at least the people in the official shirts said some stuff in Japanese and everyone went away so I assume that's what happened, and the big ass carnival parade is tomorrow, and I won't make it down after work in time for it...

What's that?  You feel no sympathy for poor old me?  I suppose you probably shouldn't.

I can NOT overemphasize the fact that adjusting sucks.  It is a ginormous pain in the ass, especially when you're out of practice, but the ability to be in the front seat for all of the wonderful, weird things that happen in Japan - and the Pikachu Outbreak is a quintessential one - is exactly why I gave up working with people I absolutely loved and jumped into the unknown.  And it turns out that the hardest part thus far is not having those people around.  I'm not the most social person by any means, and although my introversion suits me well in my lifestyle of choice, I've been around my family non-stop for the last month, so I feel a little untethered.  What I really want is the chance to chat with Engrish about my impressions of my school, Blondie about the trials and joys of living in Japan, and my little Weebs about all the cool shit I see on a daily basis.

From experience, I know it takes me a while to find my place, and that when I'm patient, I find the people who appreciate me - not in spite of my craziness, but because of it.  Til then, I'm lucky to have extended friends around.
It's funny how when you announce that you're moving somewhere everyone comes out of the woodwork.  I'd already tracked down a family I went to church with in Shanghai, but I learned I have a distant (as in, I'm not sure what ordinal to assign him) cousin in Nagano, that the Evil One's nephew is in Yokosuka, and that a dance sister from Seoul's best friend lives right here in Yokohama.  When I posted a photo on Facebook at Minato Mirai, he replied that he was there too, and I had the chance to meet him and two of his friends.  Even though they weren't Engrish, or Blondie, my Weebs, or the others now scattered to the four winds, they were my kind of people, and it made Japan feel a little more like home.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Con Artist

Next time, pre-register, dumbass.
I had all sorts of great things I was going to write when I got home, but once I finished my farewell to Mongolia posts, reality set in.  I was supposed to be taking an IB MYP training - it was too late to get a refund, and I didn't feel like throwing away that kind of money - and somebody (ahem, me) left some work unfinished at her last job.  The rant that was may still be...we shall see.

Instead, let me tell you about my con.  Last summer I wrote about attending AnimeIowa, the anime convention closest to my permanent address.  In April I found myself seriously considering whether or not I could be a professional nerd.  The positives are that I would be awesome at it - I have tons of ideas, and am enthusiastic, particularly (at the moment) about anime.  I don't have much street cred (at least, not outside of Mongolia), but when I arrived at our moms' Peeps Bunco Night,* Baby Chicken Wing (my aforementioned high school rival) exclaimed, "Oh good, now I'm not the only weird person here!"**  On the negative side, I'd be getting a late start and...oh yeah.  I hate people.

But, you know, it takes all types.  Right?
Last year, as I was walking around the exhibition hall, I found myself thinking, "Maybe when I move to Japan," and realized that, for me at least, this was a realistic thought.  One year onward, that's exactly what I'm doing, and it was hard not to feel a little smug and wonder if I was wasting my time Stateside by coming to AnimeIowa.  Why should I shop the exhibition when I'll actually be an hour from Akiba?  I'll be living the dream, after all.  Well, if you are one of my six faithful readers, you know I've spent the last year honing my skillz for what I personally consider to be the main event - the Mini-Festival.

This event started last year, and was one of the things I most enjoyed about AnimeIowa.  If you are one of those people that finds dolls creepy, you'll probably want to skip it.  There's a lot of lore in Japanese culture about dolls, and if you want to learn more, this video will tell you all about it, but the TL;DR version is this: dolls have souls, which may explain why so many people think they are creepy.  But the Mini-Festival involves more than just dolls.  Gundam model kits are also a pretty big part of Japanese culture, and are also a part of the contest.  Last year, there was just one category, with awards given for first, second, and third place.

This year there were four categories, and with probably three times as many entries, mostly in the doll costume and doll customization categories.  There was also a category for plushies - my specialty.  If you haven't been following my descent into madness, I started sewing because nobody was making the things I wanted to buy...and then it got fun.  But since last year's con, I've also had the goal to create a plushie that was capable of competing with the OP level of some of the entries from last year, while still retaining my kawaii aesthetic.
I decided he had to be a bishie, and have a pretty ornate costume, and who fits that bill better than Sesshoumaru-sama?  (Okay, actually I was a little torn - I came up with another character who would work, but decided I should stick with Sesshoumaru this year).  Almost from the beginning he was a pain in the ass.  He has a pattern on his face, which I first made with Sharpie, which promptly smeared all over his ears and hair, so I had to re-do his entire head, making the stripes with an airbrush instead.  I also decided to make him with only one arm, since early in Inuyasha his brother cuts his arm off - and that threw the body shape off.  During the last year I've made a couple of plushies with kimono, so I knew the basics.  However, Sesshy's has a pattern on the sleeves and shoulder.  I considered painting or printing the pattern, but when I found it on a handkerchief I bought in Kyoto last fall, I decided to applique it on instead.  But the true challenge was his armor.  I had silver Sculpey, and thought that would work perfectly, but I had the hardest time attaching the arm pieces to the breastplate without it breaking, so in the end I had to remake them by needle felting.

It was a huge pain in the ass...but guess who won the plushie category?  And when they announced my win, the judge who was the most supportive a year ago said, "You've really upped your game."  All the prizes were fantastic***, but I think that meant even more - she's next level.
Last year she also encouraged me to offer a plushie panel at this year's con, and sometime this spring I decided to go ahead and do it.  I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking - probably that it would be a good way to build up some of that street cred I'm lacking.  Suffice it to say that by the beginning of July, when I realized that if I ever got finished with my curriculum maps and IB training I still had to put together a presentation, I was a little panicky.  And when I went into the room where my panel would be, I was kind of terrified.  Here's the thing: I'm a teacher, and getting up in front of a bunch of people and showing them how to do something is kind of what I do.  But usually those people are less than half my age, and there are 20 or so of them.  When my panel started, every seat in the room was full - 10 at each of 8 tables, plus some around the sides.  I put together a presentation, and that worked alright, but there were things that I would have done better to demonstrate.  I probably should have taken my document camera when I left Mongolia...next time...  This is not to say that it was a catastrophe - lots of people told me how much they enjoyed it, and it was definitely something different.  But I know I could do better.
Before the Mini-Festival a couple of guys did a presentation on Gunpla (Gundam plastic models - that word-shortening-joining thing is very Japanese).  It was really interesting to hear them talk about the different kinds - AND I got a small kit out of it as a door prize.
This year's theme was the Dark Carnival of Pigs.  After taking my first look at the exhibition hall, I had a little over an hour before I was meeting my mom for dinner...

...yes, my mom took me to an anime convention.  Negative one million adult points.

Anyway, seeing that their haunted house was about to start back up, I decided to wait in line and check it out - I mean, who doesn't love a haunted house?  After an hour I'd made it to the front of the line, and was ushered in.  And was a little disappointed, but I'm still trying to sort out why.  AnimeIowa is a family-friendly con, and I'm sure that they could have made it scarier, but it was okay.  I guess it just wasn't enough, and I think that's my problem more than theirs.  I think my expectation is that a convention should be the most amazing thing ever, but after traveling around Japan, I have pretty high expectations for "the most amazing thing ever."  To make me happy, it would probably take an art show by Akane Yano, special guest seiyuu Kamiya Hiroshi, and an exhibition hall reminiscent of at least Denden Town (although I wouldn't give up all the crafty goods, it would be nice if they at least focused on anime).
Or, you know, these weirdos.  A year after ASU's first anime night, they put on another activity focused on Naruto.  Every Wednesday during their lunch, they met in my classroom to plan it out, calling them "Weeb Meetings."  On the road back to Glenwood, I found myself thinking next year, we'd have to take the best events from AnimeIowa and make a mini-con...and then I realized that my little weebs weren't moving to Japan with me.  I'm incredibly excited for everything I'm going to get to see and do when I get to Yokohama, but it's a little hollow because I know exactly what I left behind - a good school, great admin, and the best damn students in the world.

*Bunco = some kind of fast-paced dice game.  For the Peeps, it's a monthly excuse to one-up each other, showing off their culinary skills and homes.

** Babysis was offended by that statement, as she had been talking to Baby Chicken Wing when I walked in, but she and I have spoken before about where she falls on the acceptable range of normality, and that is firmly in the middle.

***I came home with a new Nendoroid, a Fullmetal Alchemist cup, a Charizard plushie, and a figurine from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, plus a medal for me and a little one for Sesshoumaru-sama

Monday, July 10, 2017

Buy It Here: Art Supplies

So...this is a post I meant to publish over the last few months, but even though I pretty much had it finished, I never actually got around to hitting the orange button.  Better late than never, right?

You can never have too many art supplies.  When I was in Osaka to make prints at the Kamigata Museum, I visited an art supply store, because of course I visited an art supply store.  The best markers in the world - Copic markers - are made in Japan.  I ended up dropping $100 on art supplies - I bought some new Copics, for half the price they'd cost in the States, watercolor postcards, tracing paper, half-tone screens for adding the grey areas in manga panels, more waterbrushes.  It's possible I went a little crazy, but in my defense, I found more in one small shop there than I can get anywhere in Mongolia.
This only looks like a lot of art supplies...
One thing about being an art teacher is, you never know when you're going to need more.  I do a pretty decent job of ordering, and my school is very generous with the budget, but I either have kids who come up with new ideas for what they want to do, or what I ordered gets worn out faster than I expected, or else I realize that if I had a particular kind of pen it would work better.  So there are options in Ulaanbaatar - you're not going to have to grind your own pigments and mix them Rembrandt style...just be prepared for the fact that the selection is not as wide and may not be as high quality.
The party is actually three doors north of here now.
For example, you won't find Copic markers, which is a shame, but the art store near the State Department Store has Touch markers, which are a comparable Korean brand of alcohol-based markers.  If you walk up the right/east side of the State Department Store, across the street is a yellow sign that says "Art and Antigue."  This was originally where all of the materials were - in the basement.  Now there's a second shop, three doors north (away from the SDS, if you don't speak cardinal directions), which has most of what I'm looking for when I go looking.
Another shop I managed to stumble on (about a year ago when all I wanted to eat, ever, was pho) is the Marie's shop, sort of across and up from the Chinese embassy on Baga Toiruu.  Marie's is a Chinese brand of art supplies - when I lived in Shanghai I wasted an entire day going up and down Fuzhou Lu (I think) looking for stuff, only to later learn that their big store on Xikang Lu was basically my one-stop shopping destination.  The store here has quite a bit to offer as well.  I don't get over there often anymore, thanks to the Pho House moving, but when one of the brats mentioned wanting to work with spray paint for AP last fall, I remembered they had airbrushes, and was able to pick one up for 150,000 tugrugs.
After writing most of this but obviously before I got around to publishing it, I found another art supply store up the street from the State Department store, but on the opposite side of the street. Like many things in Ulaanbaatar, if you keep your eyes open and wander around enough, you'll probably find it.  Keep looking.

Monday, July 3, 2017

The End of All Things

I was sitting in Ulaanbaatar's Chinggis Khaan airport as I began this post.  My flight was scheduled to leave in an hour and ten minutes, and I was completely shattered.

It's been five years since my last leaving.  I remember thinking at the time that things seemed to go remarkably easy.  Maybe it was because I accepted the job with the American School of Ulaanbaatar in early March.  Knowing where I was going made it easier to accept the fact that I wouldn't be in Shanghai.  Also, the fact that I kind of hated Shanghai...

Mongolia, on the other hand, I loved.  I didn't expect to be there five years, but ASU supported me and my students were the best.  About a month ago I found myself asking why the hell I gave up my job.  I was paid well, had friends, loved my work - but I just HAD to go looking for something else.  >le sigh<

A few days later, I got up early on a Saturday morning to try and get a grip on my packing.  My own personal procrastinatrix showed up to crack the whip only after our fine arts banquet, graduation, the end of year camp were looming (I probably should have backed down and let a few things go this year...but that just wouldn't be me).  But during my morning look at the interwebs my delusions of productivity smashed to pieces when I saw a job posting for an art teacher at a school in Yokohama (if you've been paying attention, you've noticed I never mentioned the name of my former school up to this point.  This is where the new school becomes It Which Must Not Be Named and it's okay to reference the old one).  Instead of spending my morning packing and cleaning, I put together a cover letter and sent off my documents and prayed.  The answer to my prayer came that evening in the form of a facebook message from a guy I knew my first year at ASU whom I wasn't very close to, so at first I was a little pissy about being offered help, but eventually I told myself not to be a bitch and replied, thanking him for the offer but that unless he knew someone at School X, I didn't know that there was much he could do for me.

"Believe it or not, I do," he replied, and after three interviews and some cost-benefit analysis I accepted the job.
Now, over the last six months I have told myself many, MANY times, "You need to clean your apartment."  Because I did.  I never actually fully cleaned the damn thing, which made dealing with the detritus accumulated over the course of five years much harder to deal with, but since we can only manipulate time going forward, my options were limited.

I left Shanghai after moving about three times.  My first year I lived in an apartment right next to the school, and moved about 5 minutes by bike away for my second, onto Laohongxing Lu.  My realtor negotiated with my landlord to let me out of my lease early, and so a few weeks before I was scheduled to leave Shanghai, I had to move out of my apartment.  This turned out to be the practice round for leaving the country, since I wasn't bringing all my crap to my friend Meen's, who was letting me take advantage of a spare room, and the momentum really did help me get ready for the big bad goodbye.

Moving out of the teachers' apartments never actually crossed my mind during the last five years.  While they weren't super-deluxe high-rises, and my view left much to be desired (because who wants to look out their window at work everyday???) there was plenty of room and I was comfortable.  I was never too cold, it was a quick walk to work, and I felt secure surrounded by my colleagues, even the more eccentric ones, of which we had a few.

Admittedly there were more than a few times when I wished I were on the side of the building that wasn't directly across the parking lot from where one of these eccentrics would practice his sad sax every evening, and perhaps because I spent so much time going between the two, there were times when I used the wrong key.  But when I needed to run home at lunch for a coke (or occasionally at the beginning of a class because I promised to bring a kid my markers or some other supply for their project) it was hellaconvenient.  Nonetheless, the inertia of a life lived well in one spot was hard to break, and I was still dealing with tic tac shit the morning I flew out.  (If you're wondering what it looked like when my apartment wasn't empty...this was wrtiten in my first year, so it wasn't anywhere near as full, but it gives you the idea).
A wise woman (named Engrish) once told me, on my very first ger camp, that Mongolia gets under your skin and makes you fall in love with it, and it was true.  It's a beautiful country with wide open skies, but I think more than anything it's the people that make it the place that it is.  My frantic packing and cleaning over the last week was broken up with goodbyes - one last brunch at Blondie's, a final massage with Five, dinner with a family I'd known since the first year, and being driven to the airport by my principal. 

That aside, though, if you've been with me for these last five years, you've probably noticed that even though this blog is supposed to be about traveling there is an endless string of references to my students, and the hardest part of leaving has been leaving them.  The end of the last day of school was brutal, a massive attack as they stopped in, teary-eyed, for a final hug as I promised that I was coming back, that I'd see them in next year's musical.  And then there were my brats.  The original, "accept no substitutes," kids who have been with me since day one organized a farewell dinner for Time Lady and I, and came to the airport to say goodbye two days later.  It's been a long road since we first sat in the teeny-tiny classroom that was mine that first year.  Many of them are gone - studying in the US or England - and they've had their challenges along the way, but I'm proud of them and wouldn't trade the pain of saying goodbye for anything in the world, because it's a testament to how much it meant.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Last Ger Standing

So last fall I wrote about revisiting Tsenkher Hot Spring with Engrish and Five, and how it was one of those things I wanted to do again before I left.  I imagined going on several more ger camps before my last flight out, but after our dogsledding weekend it never happened.  Once we started working on the musical, it seemed like time sped up, and wrecked me in all sorts of ways.
I would have liked to camp one last time with Engrish and Five, but my actual last ger camp, as it turned out, was a pretty kickass substitute.  One of my colleagues decided that the end-of-school activities for our middle schoolers should be camping trips, and since this was a thing, I volunteered pretty quickly to accompany my nerds out to Gun Galuut, a nature preserve that I hadn't yet visited...mostly because I'm not a fan of "tenting" and the only ger camp - Steppe Nomads - is pretty pricey.  Fortunately, the previously mentioned colleague has a Mongolian wife whose family runs it, so they gave us a great price.

So I was going to a new place with a great group of kids, and my fellow chaperones were four of my favorite colleagues (albeit obvs neither Five nor Engrish, who actually would have come if she weren't so busy).  So far, it was a pretty sweet set-up.  Bonus: I got to see the Chinggis Colossus one last time along the way.
Now, lest you are a new reader, or else have forgotten exactly what camping in the wilds of Mongolia is like, here's a little breakdown: you drive way the hell out into the middle of nowhere, on roads that back home we would optimistically classify as "B-Grade", to stay in a tent made of felt, and possibly burn dried animal poop for warmth in the cold, cold night.   This time we had wood fires, but that didn't keep me from telling the kids on the way out that their first task would be to collect dung for their fire for the night, and suggest that if they didn't want to touch it, they could turn a plastic bag inside out.  LOL
If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: whoever said getting there was half the fun ought to be dragged out into the street and shot.  The Voice and I were in the bus with most of the boys,  and they were pretty quiet.  The chaperones in the bus with most of the girls, on the other hand...they suffered.  And then we went off-roading in school buses - always a fun time, especially when your intended route takes you under train tracks, but the clearance isn't high enough for a school bus.  We had to try three underpasses before we were able to break on through to the other side.  Luckily nobody got carsick, and we'd stopped for snacks and the bathroom along the way.  In the end, our supposedly 2-hour ride ended up being over 4, but we got there in the end.
Once we got the kids assigned to their gers and the buses unpacked, we went on a hike.  And by hike, I mean a really long walk.  I counted myself fortunate to be with the kids who were done pretty quickly, and when they wanted to stop and chill and play in the water, I was happy to oblige.  One of my hardcore nerds decided to try "fishing" by stabbing at minnows with the stick he'd been carrying around.  (Apparently reading Hatchet in fifth grade had a huge impact, because they could tell me all about it).  Another of my nerds joined him, and their third technique - using a handkerchief for a net - was a success!  They were disappointed that I wouldn't actually let them eat their catch, but hey, responsible-type adult person here.

The hike back to the camp took about twice as long.  Possibly because at one point I turned around and realized that the other two chaperones and I were together with a big group, and there were quite a few stragglers spread out across the distance, so I went back to fish shoes out of the mud and tell them that no, they could not walk back to camp in their muddy socks while carrying their shoes.
We had some down time before dinner, and afterwards organized a game of capture the flag.  The space really wasn't big enough, but we didn't want to annoy the other guests and had to give the kids at least some cover to work with.  Since they didn't grow up with fairly hardcore Mutrux relatives who demanded perfection in their survivalist games, the kids didn't really care - they got to run around and chase each other, so they were happy.
We were pretty disappointed, though, that we couldn't have a campfire.  It was too windy, and a lack of rain meant that we were liable to burn down the steppe if we tried.  Instead, the camp let us use the...actually, I have no idea what to call it.  Common room?  An enclosed space where we could make a little noise without bothering others and being exposed to the elements.  Sadly, there was no fire, so the s'mores ingredients I brought didn't get used, but The Voice had an awesome game called Musical Charades that he led the kids in, where you speak/sing/act as many songs or musicians as you can in a minute.  My ghost stories had to wait for the ride back, and if it was not as satisfying as telling them around the fire, at least by the time "Tailybones" was giving them nightmares they were somebody else's problem.
I brought my flute and The Voice brought his morin khuur, so we were able to finish the night with some music, and since both of us are decent musicians...

Okay, fine.  I'm a decent musician who can play by ear.  He is a highly trained professional who basically kicks ass on whatever instrument he picks up.  I could take him in a dance off or pictionary, though...

Anyways, between the two of us we were able to take requests, and it was a nice way to end the night.  In fact, it put me in such a restful mood that two hours later I slept through my alarm and missed my turn on watch.  Oops. After breakfast the next day we had just enough time for a safari before we had to get ready to go back to UB.  A change in the students on each bus meant that mine was a little livelier, but since I got the group that wanted to tell ghost stories and talk nerdy, I didn't really mind.  When we got back to the school, I found it to be a disappointment more than anything, because it meant that everything was over, and these kids that I absolutely loved weren't mine much longer.  But I couldn't be sad for too long - I was in the middle of finally interviewing with a school I actually wanted to work for, and I had the last interview the next morning.  More on that later.

Friday, May 19, 2017

Art & Seoul

Living in Korea was a different time in my life.  Or at least, that's the best way to explain it that I can come up with at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, although it probably sounds pretty cliche.  I've been interested in art since I was very young, and up until that point it seems like I never passed up an opportunity to visit an art gallery.  In Korea, though, I was an expat for the first time, and an ESL teacher by trade. While it is true that my first solo excursion into Seoul was to see the Chagall exhibit at Seoul Museum of Art, and I often wandered into galleries when I was in Insadong, not to mention the fact that I loved getting off the metro at Gyeonbokgung for church because they often had displays of children's art, the fact remains that I didn't really art much in Korea.
That, of course, has changed.  Back when I went to Seoul for Tsagaan Sar I was looking for new things to do, and although I didn't actually do most of the things I came up with, I did visit Hyeri Art Village.  It is up by the DMZ in Paju, and the idea of an artists' community intrigued me, so after leaving Silloam Sauna bright and early on one of my last mornings there, I caught a bus heading north.
Did I mention not only the brightness but also the earliness of the morning?  I alighted at the Hyeri Village bus stop around 9:30 in the morning, possibly grumbling a little to myself because a Korean couple got off with me and were walking hand-in-hand all lovey-dovey down the street, and on an adventure such as this, I like to have the place to myself.  But as I walked on, away from the "crowd," past each closed cafe and gallery, I realized something.
It does you absolutely no bloody good to have the place to yourself if everything is closed.

I get a little fed up with tourists, it's true.  A month later, when Five and I were running around Osaka, I possibly lost my cool a couple of times because there were too damn many people, most of whom were not uber-polite natives.  I do understand (on some deep, shall-not-be-named level), that I'm one of those fat, stupid, loud tourists, and businesses exist to make money off us, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes I just want to get away and be by myself.

If you ever have times like that, try Hyeri Art Village at 9:30 on a weekday morning.  Just make sure to pack a coke, or - better yet - a hot chocolate.

Anyways, from a shopping/cafe-sitting perspective, this jaunt was a bust.  However, it wasn't a total waste of time.  I wandered around the village for about an hour before I decided there were definitely more interesting things to get up to in Seoul, and got to see some interesting sculptures...this rhinoceros, for example, which made me think of the play I read in my AP Lit class as a senior in high school - I almost posted it to Drim's facebook page to ask for extra credit.
I'm honestly not much of a sculpture person and it took listening to Bill Lishman at the ACAMIS conference three years ago to help me appreciate the importance of public art.  Not that I'd explain the meaning of this one to you - I didn't really give it much thought because I was cold and caffeine-deprived - but, you know, I could talk to you about the use of the art elements and design principles, and the processes the artist might have used, and ask you some questions to help you construct your own meaning.  Because, hey!  Art teacher! ;-)  Although I won't, because I'm still caffeine-deprived, since I decided it was a good idea to drink my last coke at 10 last night and the shop's not open yet.
By far this was my choice for the most interesting work there.  When I was walking around and viewing it from a distance, it seemed to be just a bunch of mesh forms in a copse of trees.  When I got closer, though, I realized it was a colossal recumbent nude emerging from the earth.  (How's that for using some art jargon?)  There were holes in many of the pieces, allowing you to enter them - or at least, I'm pretty sure that was their purpose.  The thing about public art is, you're not going to be sitting there policing it, so if you don't want people interacting with it - climbing inside it, in this case - you can't put holes in it.

On the other end of the equation, though, is the fact that you may have a hard time getting people to interact with it in the way you want.  A few years back, when I attended the Summervision DC seminar, I took off my shoes and walked through a water feature in the courtyard of the National Portrait Gallery.  Then I looked up feeling childish and guilty, but the museum educator who was working with us that day encouraged me, saying that most visitors walk past it, ignoring the artist's invitation to play in favor of the sanctity of the art museum.