At special points during the year, I've provided my students with prizes for winning a class contest or volunteering for a difficult task. The week of Christmas, I held team trivia competitions in each of my classes; winning teams received candy canes, a rare item in South Korea.

After one slightly rambunctious class on Christmas eve, I gave the winning team their candy and said goodbye to everyone. But the students did not leave. Instead about half of the 36 member class descended upon my desk, arms outstretched begging for "CANDY!"

At first I tried to laugh along with them, "What? Candy? You brought me some candy?" I kidded.

But they weren't laughing. They just kept crowding in grasping at my blue tote bag filled with sweets.

I was starting to feel a little uneasy and, in my sternest voice, proclaimed "No. Out of my classroom, NOW!"

Zero effect. The kids just kept coming. One started pounding his fists on the white board making the horrible sound of a battle drum.

It was then I realized for the first time why zombies are scary. In the past I'd thought zombies were a silly horror; why not just push them down or walk around them? But these students were just like the living dead, only their thirst was for sugar, not brains. With their arms out and their cries for "CANDY!" like moans, there was a fear that I could be eaten alive by mistake.

The only reason I'm here today to write this tale is that I relented and gave up candy to the masses. While they were distracted by their sugar injections I slipped out of the classroom and up to the teachers lounge before they could regroup and besiege me for seconds.

Today, in one of my first grade classes (I teach at a middle school, so it's first grade of middle school -- or in U.S. terms 6th grade) I broke the class into groups and asked each to come up with a team name.

Keep in mind these kids are between 10 and 12 years-old.

One team decided on the name "Mr. Kotter." I even had them spell it to make sure.

No confirmation yet if they were fans of the show or just Horseshack.

For men in Korea, sexual power is a big deal.
Perhaps I should clarify.
For men, sexual power is a big deal.
No, still not totally accurate. Let's try this...
For the living anywhere on Earth, sexual power is a big deal.

The difference in Korea is that men talk about it openly and have a plethora of secrets to increase said power. Nearly anything you ingest that remotely resembles a phallus is supposed to charge up your loins, including eel, sea slugs and dog. (Yes they eat dog here... and if you eat pig, cow or rabbit I don't want to hear about the horror of eating 'man's best friend').

Last weekend I might have had the ultimate in sexual-power elixir. At a holiday party for some members of my gym, my friend Master Lee brought a special bottle of the traditional Korean liquor, soju. This massive vial of soju held a male seal's genitalia, supposedly infusing the drink with near magical sexual energy. This picture was taken after we'd finished about half the canister.

And getting this wasn't cheap. Apparently this one seal-unit infused tube of soju cost about $2500, which we figured made each shot about $75. This was a rare luxury I was really lucky to be able to try; most of the Koreans at the party admitted they'd never had the opportunity to try such a drink before.

It was about the best tasting soju I've had; it was incredibly smooth and easy to drink. But I didn't suddenly feel like a bunny in spring time, nor did women flock to me as I walked home.

As for the leftover seal parts, Master Lee is planning to refill the canister with more soju and let it absorb the remaining energies for next year. If you're interested, drop by my gym and mention my name... maybe the folks there will invite you to next year's uniquely Korean holiday party.

Just after lunch today, one of my Korean co-teachers told me a "very famous" Korean comedian named Jeong Jong-Cheol was coming to our school this afternoon.

"Why?" I asked.
"To talk to kids about their dreams. Their futures."
"Why?" I repeated, "Is he being paid? Is he a criminal doing community service?" I guessed based on the motivations of American comics performing similarly.
"No. I don't think so. I don't know why," she replied.

It seems as though the comic is kind of like a Carrot Top. Not in that he uses props, but like Carrot Top, everyone (including the students) claims he's terrible. Yet everyone was rushing to meet him when he showed up and were pushing each other out of the way to get seats in the auditorium.

It was mostly students at the show, but the principal was there looking stoic. Also, some of the lunch crew stayed to watch.

As for his actual jokes, I'll let you be the judge. This is a clip I took at his performance today of his riff on Starcraft. That was about all I could understand.

For the past three months, I've taught an after-school English class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.

There were a total of 14 students, although one was almost always absent. Usually, by the end of the school day they were sick of studying and I was sick of teaching, so most days we spent the 50 minutes playing English games like Tic-Tac-Toe-Hangman and Do You Love Your Neighbor.

The best English practice I ever got out of them were the times they'd just talk with me. For example, before my friend Emily visited, I had the class make a welcome poster. They loved the activity and spent the time asking me about her, what things she likes that they could include on the poster and offered advice on what she should do while visiting. One day last week when I wasn't feeling well, the students basically took over the class and taught me some Korean games like 3,6,9 and a kind of water-less Marco-Polo.

At the start of the semester I asked them to write their names in English on the attendance sheet. I expected them to just write "Park Jin Wook" and things of that nature. Instead they made their own names. So I ended up with everything from Henry, to Cortez, to Obama and Gandalf and strangely enough one boy who chose "Jane."

The class wasn't all sunshine and lollipops; there were plenty of times I would have loved to ring their necks. Even now, there are at least a couple of students I hope to bar from taking a class from me ever again. But there are several of the students who I'll miss. These were the kids I saw the most often each week and therefore had the best opportunity bond with.

Here's a class photo I took after our final meeting where we ate pizza and watched Finding Nemo.

There is a horribly horrible song that is constantly playing all over Korea. Quite literally, I cannot go more than a block in the Nampo-dong downtown district without hearing this song blasting from street stands or stores. It is everywhere, all the time.

The song is "Nobody" by The Wonder Girls. The chorus basically repeats the word "Nobody" over and over. It's so bad that if I ever say the word "nobody" in class I can guarantee at least one if not a dozen of my students will start singing this song.

It's driving me nuts.

But to share some Korean culture with you, here is a video of the Wonder Girls performing their hit song, "Nobody." Enjoy...

Happy Thanksgiving from Korea, where it's not actually Thanksgiving. Here the third Thursday in November is just like any other day.

Koreans do celebrate a kind of Thanksgiving or harvest festival. Ch'usok is a three-day event beginning on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, so usually in mid-September. It's a major holiday, bigger and more significant than our Thanksgiving for us or Christmas for them.

Ch'usok is a time to give gifts, take off from work to spend with family and generally eat and drink a lot more than usual. When I'd ask my students what kinds of food they eat at Ch'usok they'd always say "Songpyon" which are small rice-cakes. I don't believe that's all they eat for three days, but no one ever offered additional answers.

Koreans are serious about this Ch'usok; virtually eveything is closed in the entire country. By comparison, Christmas is only a single-day event and people usually go out so things stay open. I went to a department store by accident before Ch'usok and it was more crowded than any American mall I've ever been to the day before Christmas or the day after Thanksgiving.

For our Thanksgiving in Korea, Danny, Brandon and I are going with some of Brandon's teachers to a vegetarian buffet in Seomyeong. We were there once before and it was fantastic, which is good since I believe it is the only wholly vegetarian resturant in the city.

This morning, one of my Korean co-English teachers came up to me in the faculty lounge and said, "You are probably sad because it is American Thanksgiving and you miss your family and friends. So I got you this present." She handed me a box. Inside was the beautiful blue scarf with white stars I am wearing in this picture.

Friday night, Danny wasn't feel particularly well, so the boy-os and I decided upon an easy evening at home. The plan was for them to come over to my place where we'd get a pizza, rent and watch a DVD and maybe have a single cocktail.

We choose my home because I've got a connector to hook my MacBook up to my television making it a makeshift DVD player. Unfortunately, I was an idiot and forgot said connector at school.

Unwilling to admit defeat, I offered to go out and buy a new DVD player; I justified it as a worthy investment should a similar situation arise again in the next 10 months.

Here's where the story gets strange. I walked from one electronics store in my neighborhood to another, and each turned me away. Not only did they viscerally deny they had DVD players for sale, they would rush me to the exit after my request. Keep in mind, DVDs aren't novel here. You can buy them on any street, in subway stops and rent them in any neighborhood. Where then do people get these players?

I called my Korean friend who lives in the area for advice. He replied, "Oh... you will have to travel very far." What? I thought, I'm not asking to buy Egyptian spices.

It gets stranger.

In at least three of the stores I walked into, I actually found DVD players sitting on the shelves. When I would bring them to the store owner, he/she would get the same uncomfortable look and send me out the door. A Korean friend later suggested perhaps these were all DVD players that were being repaired at the store and weren't for sale. That could have been the case at two of the stores (the players were just sitting out on the shelf without much care to their display) but in one store the player I looked at was still in the package.

In the end I settled on buying a VHS tape player that was literally sitting on top of a DVD player. When I asked in Korean, "How much for this one," and pointed to the DVD player, the owner simply replied, "No, no. Bad." He continued wrapping up my new old VHS player and sent me on my way.

Today in a second grade class a student was trying to use English to ask his friend to bring him a dustpan. The only problem was he didn't know the word 'dustpan' in English.

After struggling for a moment, the student said, "Bring me broom's best friend."

And it worked.

You know how holidays in the West like Valentines Day are manufactured by big business trying to unload over-priced greeting cards and sub-par candy? Well here in Korea it's just the same, only better.

November 11th (Veterans Day back in the States) is Pepero Day; a day to buy your loved ones, friends and teachers a particular cookie from the Lotte company. It's a long pretzel stick dipped in chocolate.

It's November 11th because it's the 11th day of the 11th month and when you put four Pepero sticks next to one another, it looks like 11 11.

What's great about this "holiday" is that it's completely manufactured. Nobody has any false notions that it's about love or some historic incident. It's just about getting and giving one particular cookie. And it works! Marketing genius!

So if you're sick of commemorating the sacrifice of veterans on November 11th and would rather celebrate the true hero of the west, commercialism, pick yourself up some chocolate-covered pretzel sticks.

After an evening out with Brandon, Danny and Emily, I descended into the subway to make my way home. I waved my Hanaro card over the turnstile reader found an empty bench and waited for the train to arrive.

Moments later, a small elderly man who looked as though he hadn't showered or changed clothes in a few days came and sat next to me. Considering the limited number of benches in the station, this wasn't unexpected, except that this particular man seemed to want to strike up a conversation with me.

I smiled politely. Apparently, this gentleman took that as an invitation.

He pointed at my hair. Flattered, I smiled politely. Another invitation apparently.

He reached over to pet my hair. Now thin, naturally blond hair is unusual in Korea, but no one's ever tried to pet me before.

Luckily he only pet for a moment or two. The train arrived and we both boarded, he offered me a seat next to him. Not wanting to be rude, I took it, although tried to position myself so further hair-touching would be difficult for him.

Instead he simply started talking. He spoke at length. About what I'll never know, it was totally in Korean, and mumbled for the most part beyond that. I just smiled and nodded as he pointed again to my hair and carried on. At some point he looked at the book I was carrying World War Z a fictional account of a zombie-infested world. He seemed to start talking about either war, or books or zombies. Again, I just smiled and let him carry on...

In the last part of our conversation (though that's a generous term since I hadn't said more than a few words) he rolled up his sleeves to show my his Popeye-sized forearms. Then he rolled up his pant leg to show me his equally large calf muscles. I had no idea how the conversation could have led here, but again, I laughed politely and showed my incredibly skinny forearms. He laughed too.

We reached my stop. I waved goodbye and scooted off the train.

This blog post is dedicated to my aunt Judy who I once believed followed the stock market too closely for her own good. Now I think I'm even worse.

A week or so ago, a couple of friends from back home who I hadn't heard from in a while sent me an email on the same day. The impetus: they'd both heard a program on NPR discussing the South Korean economy's historic slump during the current crisis. "Well," I thought, "at least I'm getting some friendly letters out of this."

The South Korean economy has been on the same roller-coaster ride as most of the world. But since I've got steady employment, my rent is taken care of and no health care costs, you'd think I'd be one of the last people affected.

The problem for me is a matter of currency. The South Korean currency (the Won) has been making unpredictable plummets and gains against the U.S. dollar, but mostly plummets. At one point, when those two friends emailed me, the Won was at a 10-year low against the U.S. dollar; an exchange rate unseen in the country since the 1990s Asian financial crisis.

Let me use my monthly salary as an example -- this is how I think about it on a regular basis. I make approximately 1.8 million Won per month. When I first arrived in Korea at the end of summer, that translated to approximately $1700 per month. Today, it only translates to about $1500 and at the lowest point it was only worth about $1250.

Even this horrible exchange rate wouldn't be an issue for the time being if circumstances were a little different. I could I would simply sit on my savings of Won here in the country and wait to exchange them for U.S. dollars when the markets stabilize.

But I've got a number of student loan payments I must make each month in the U.S. Very soon I'll be forced to transfer some of my Won to my Bank of America account, exchange rate be damned.

Most folks I've talked to here expect the markets to settle at the start of the new year with a much better exchange rate. I'm not sure if this is self-delusion or blind optimism, but let's hope they're right.

Each year, Busan hosts an enormous "fireworks festival" on Gwangalli beach, probably the most beautiful strip of land in the whole city. The relatively short beach is backed by stores and resturants of all kinds and just out over the water is the beautiful Gwangan bridge.

"Festival," is a largely misleading term. There are some musical/performance art shows ahead of time, but really everyone is there to see the hour-long fireworks spectacular. And I'm not using the term "everyone" figuratively. Literally hundreds of thousands of spectators crowd every tiny plot of land on the short beach and crowd into hotel rooms and office buildings that overlook the scene.

One of the teacher's from Danny's school, Mr. Hamn was kind enough to invite Danny, Brandon, Ria (a mutual friend from Japan) and me to a private party in an office over looking the beach. We had a great vantage point without fighting with the crowds. I repayed Mr. Hamn the only way I knew (and the way he had previously demanded) in vodka.

My mother has always been a pretty big fan of fireworks, so I've seen quite a few shows over the years. I was even partially responsible for fundraising and promoting a fireworks show for the Sesquicentennial. Nonetheless, it is absolutely safe to say I have never seen anything like this.

The show began with a bird-contraption soaring around the bay. It ignited and became a blazing phoenix, burning as it flew.

There were at least three barges (I thought at one point I counted a fourth) shooting fireworks up, as well as spectacular pyrotechnics on the bridge itself. The show came in four acts, each with its own story about Busan told through music and fire.

I couldn't possibly post the entire show here, but I am including the video I shot of the finale. This gives you just a taste of the nearly 60 minutes we consumed. Watch for the lights and flares coming from Gwangan bridge in the background.

This is just a short post. My apologies to those of you who have been following my blog for not putting up more lately.

A few weeks ago, Koreans celebrated Chuseok, their harvest festival or Thanksgiving. It was a short week and most of my students were anxious for free-time and rice cakes.

So we took it easy. I showed them a short video and played a number of games intended to compare Korean Thanksgiving with American Thanksgiving. Most of my lessons were unremarkable. But in one, I was left completely dumbfounded by either my students' confusion, or their ability to play some post-modern practical joke on me...

One of the games we played in this lesson was a modified spelling bee. I would ask about words having to do with Thanksgiving in America. An obvious one was "turkey."

But in one class, the first person to raise his hand to spell turkey exclaimed "R-A-B-B-I-T."

"Um... no," I said, thinking perhaps this student had misheard or had some other problem. I went to the next student.

"R-A-B-B-I-T."

"No. I said. That's how you spell rabbit..."

Third student. "T-U-R-C-A-Y."

"No," I said, "but closer."

I went to the fourth and final student before I began questioning reality.

"R-A-B-B-I-T."

My only possible explanation is that another teacher decided to play a horrible trick on these students and teach them that you spell "turkey" as "rabbit," simply hoping this exact tale would play out.

Well other evil teacher... if that's true, I hope you find this story and see your devious plot was successful.

Yesterday, I ate an orange at school. It was a rather small orange, like a clementine and I could peel it with my fingers. The orange had the look of being recently plucked from a tree, not the varnished finish of a store-bought fruit, which made me think it was probably home grown.

This is a pretty dull story, I know. The only thing that makes the story noteworthy was the orange's source. It, along with a few dozen like it, were left in the teacher's lounge of my middle school by a representative from a local high school.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. A week or two ago, someone from another high school left a packet of grape juice on my desk. The item is still in my fridge if anyone wants it...

I've been told these are lobbying efforts, where representatives from high schools try and bribe we middle school teachers into sending kids to their school. I've yet to figure out how exactly the system works... for one thing it seems as though the students ultimately decide their high school choice, not the teachers.

Furthermore, the gifts are so small it's hard to imagine one convincing a teacher to prod students in one direction or another. In fact, when I asked my co-teacher Hee Jin if the gifts ever affected her recommendations to students looking at high schools, she laughed.

I don't get it, but I don't mind either. It was a very good orange.

Before anyone gets too upset with this entry's title, let me say that I don't believe Koreans are inherently more intelligent than any other group of people. However, they have made a number of group decisions that demonstrate an understanding of the challenges a globalized economy presents.

Exhibit A: English Language Education

Although the story of my employment is long and involves a variety of players, suffice to say I was hired to teach English by the Korean government. The way I understand it, the Korean government wants every child in public school to know English by his/her graduation from high school.

Side Note:
High school is not compulsory in Korea, however upwards of 95% of students attend.

In addition to mandating English language classes for all their students, the government has sunk millions, possibly billions into people like me; native English speaker teachers. Consider this anecdotal evidence... there were probably 200 such teachers at our orientation. The government paid for all of our airfare, housing, salaries, health care, just to name a few.

That's big bucks behind just one facet of the Korean education system. Such strong backing for a relatively experimental program is hard to fathom for most Americans. We're used to constant battles between teachers' unions and administrators and conservatives campaigning for the destruction of the department of Education.

But this isn't simply a top-down educational fairy-tale.

In the Korean daily newspapers, every page features a sidebar with a single sentence taken from the text and translated into English. Again, this isn't just for show...

At least half-a-dozen times in the past month I've been approached by strangers at the gym or on the subway. They've all been older folks and therefore finished school before English education was compulsory. But they want to practice English with me, and they often reference the newspaper as one place they frequent to study on their own.

And finally there's radio and television. Every morning on television there is a show for adults, not just children, that teaches conversational English. On my drive to school each day I often hear a program which features two native English speakers and one Korean. They discuss current world-news stories in English and take time to break-down and explain difficult or uncommon English words or phrases.

This kind of commitment, seemingly on a culture-wide scale, to education and self-improvement is impressive. It's difficult to say how effective it will be; so far I'm still hard pressed to find new friends comfortable enough with English to talk with me for more than a few minutes. But if it does work, in say 12 or 14 years this generation that grew up surrounded by this constant focus on English education will make up the majority of the populous. They'll have an entire working class prepared for international affairs and able and anxious to communicate with people from all over the world.

And how are we (Americans) getting ready for that future?

A city boy by birth and upbringing, I dislike things with exoskeletons. My hope was that with Korea’s often-chilly climate and my location in its second-largest city that these creepy-crawlers might not be a problem. No such luck…

Even here in the heart of Busan the bugs are thick. I am constantly battling mosquitoes. Although slow, this breed is persistent and intelligent. It’s taken weeks to rid my apartment of the suckers and I was only able to do so after resolving to keep the windows fully closed all the time; somehow they were still getting in when there were only screens. Worst of all, the monsters would wait until I went to sleep. Sure I might kill half-a-dozen before bed, but throughout the night I’d wake with a buzzing in my ear and find bites all over any exposed skin (including my face) in the morning. While I may have finally exterminated them from my apartment (at least for the time being) the battle left its marks across my home. There are tiny bloodstains on almost every wall, reminders that I wasn’t able to smash the devils until after they’d devoured me.

There are spiders too. Big spiders the size of a woman’s hand, and probably just as deadly. They create massive webs in trees almost everywhere including around my school. Yesterday I was dumping some coffee grounds out the window and a crumb fell onto a spider’s web. She bolted for what she probably assumed was dinner with bear-trap speed.

So if anyone reading this has some spare DDT they can send me I’d greatly appreciate it. Or if you’ve got a suggestion of a new soap or type of rotten fish I should bathe with to make me unattractive to the bloodsuckers, I’d love to hear about it.

Sunday, Brandon and I visited the Jagalchi Fish Festival here in Busan. An annual festival, thousands of Koreans (and probably dozens of Westerners) flood the well-known Jagalchi fish market for deals on fish, games, shows and general seaside revelry. You can get a basic overview of the festival here, http://english.visitkorea.or.kr/enu/OO/OO_EN_13_1_2.jsp?cid=347370.

Besides eating our weight in crab legs, Brandon and I had at least one mini-adventure. I entered a fish catching contest where I was given a pair of wader pants, helped into an aboveground swimming pool and handed a butterfly net. Then I was told, "Catch one of those green fish."

My thank goes out to Brandon who captured some great photos as well as this video. Also, if I thought they were going to read this blog I’d thank all the locals who cheered me on and offered fish-catching advice.

Before you judge my struggle too harshly, keep in mind that these were really fast fish, and that there were only about a dozen of them in a huge tank. It wasn’t until the very last minute that I finally captured one. The secret: don’t try and bring the net up from under the fish as you might if you were trying to catch them with bare hands. Instead, spear the net down just in front of the fish so he accidentally swims into it.

In the end, the game host put a microphone in front of me and asked two great questions.

Announcer: “How do you feel?”
Tane: “Incredible…”
Announcer: “How are you going to cook it?”
Tane: “I will pan-fry him.”

One Saturday, after two rather riotous nights (Friday had been a holiday), all parties agreed an afternoon of regeneration was in order. The method was the only dispute. Typically, we’d probably each simply stay home, play video games, read and eat comfort food without leaving our pajamas. But we could have done those things anywhere and at any time. Korea was calling.

According to at least one guidebook on the Land of the Morning Calm, one hasn’t truly experienced South Korea until he/she has ventured into the public bathhouse. I spent my previous post describing some of the culture and background surrounding the spa/bathhouse phenomenon, so I won’t do that here. This post is the story of my first visit to the nude, aquatic-relaxation center.

Danny, Brandon and I had been discussing bathhouses since our arrival in Busan. They’re integral to Korean life and are literally everywhere. But there was the obvious hesitation, largely if not solely, because it’d require dropping trou. The fear stemmed not so much from nudity in the presence of strangers, but in front of one another. I believe there’s modesty among male friends unique among my generation.

Personal note:
Not to minimize my friends’ reticence in matters of the flesh, but I found myself far less apprehensive in this regard than either Danny or Brandon. Perhaps it was my rather socially liberal upbringing (at least rhetorically so) that numbed my sense of shame. Anyone who knows Danny, Brandon and me would probably agree they are much closer to the social-modesty norm of boys our age than I.

Back to the story:
After a morning of instant messages, the stink and dehydration of a long weekend overcame the fear of male nudity and Danny and I settled on venturing to Taejondae Spa on Yeongdo Island, probably a mile from his apartment. Brandon did not join us this time, but would when we returned later in the week.

Just up until we walked through the massive entrance, it was difficult to determine that the Taejondae spa was in fact, the Taejondae spa. The massive building looked more like a small convention center than a spa and in front was arguably the largest parking lot I’ve seen in Korea.

The entrance was bustling with adults and kids coming and going, looking weary or refreshed accordingly. In exchange for a mere 7,000 won (approximately $5USD) she gave us each set of cotton pajamas and a numbered locker key and pointed us stage left – women were sent to her right.

Just outside the locker room was a small man on a stool, polishing some men’s dress shoes. Since Danny and I were both wearing sandals, there was little he could do for us, other than bark when we forgot to remove said sandals when walking onto the hardwood floors.
The first thing inside was a small convenience store stand selling everything from hard-boiled eggs and juice to fresh undershirts and socks. Danny and I moved across the room to our joint lockers. We opened them, perhaps half expecting to find some English language Blue’s Clue as to our next step. Everyone else in the room seemed to know what they were doing and where they were going. Beyond getting to our lockers, we were lost.

Not particularly anxious to disrobe, we tried exploring. But before we could walk through even a single set of doors, a man stopped us, pointed us back to our lockers motioning that we needed to remove our garments. Resigned, we turned back and upon reaching our lockers and began the process, giving each other one last look before removing our final coverings, just to make certain the other was still in on the pact.

Eventually we found our way out of the locker room and into the main bathing area. The room was a sight to behold with half a dozen pools, just as many sauna rooms and an enormous skylight. Again, I won’t go into too many details of the components of the bathhouse as I did in my previous post on the topic.

Danny and I entered the first pool in the room that we agreed was probably a warm-up pool. Just around 40° Celsius, the pool was comfy, warm but not hot or scalding. After soaking that in for a while we moved to the ‘health pool’ where a variety of different stations provide jets of water that blast your body’s aches and pains from all different directions.

We tried each of the pools, except for the ice cold one. We did go back and brave that one when we returned later in the week with Brandon. While each pool was relaxing and wonderful, the general atmosphere was less so this particular Sunday. Children ran through across the deck and cannonballed into the pools, splashing and generally roughhousing their friends. Our return visit in the middle of the week was far quieter. One interesting note, there were young children and adults from about age 20 to 90 in the bathhouse, but not one apparent teen.

Eventually we showered and retired back to the locker rooms to put on our comfy cotton robes. Venturing upstairs, we entered the massive co-ed hall where couples and families reunited. There were more saunas in the form of stone igloos. There was a Korean mini-restaurant selling gimbap and more hardboiled eggs. There was a sleeping room, an empty cove with dim lights and white noise where folks sprawled out and napped. Danny and I enjoyed that for at least thirty minutes.

For one last hurrah before we left, we sought out the masseuses. For 30,000W apiece, Danny and I each received extensive back massages that freed all types of muscles. These ladies knew how to pull on one arm or hand to get under and around knots are really break them up. There wasn’t any funny business, just a really fantastic massage.

And then it was over. Danny and I walked back up the island’s main drag to his apartment, ready for another night on the town.

In a lot of ways, Koreans are far more reserved than your average westerner. Adults and teens dress relatively conservatively compared to their counterparts in the U.S. Couples rarely if ever display affection publicly, even a boy and girl holding hands on the street is noteworthy.

But despite this seeming sexual repression, Koreans are open and upfront with at least one thing that makes most ex-pats blush from head to toe, and ironically the act lets one see every inch of that full-body blush manifest.

On almost any street in Busan you can find buildings with towering blue smoke stacks and adorned with a small red symbol that resembles a bowl holding three flames. These are the universal signs of the inexplicably popular public bathhouses – spas of varying opulence with hot tubs, saunas and a host of other amenities. From everything I’ve heard, read and learned since coming to Korea, the public bath is the thing to do for young and old alike in Korea. Parents take their kids, friends from work and school to together or one goes alone looking for some time to relax and perhaps meet a new acquaintance.

It all sounds normal enough, just like going to the mall perhaps or the beach. The only difference is that here everyone is naked, starkly and comfortably naked. In a recent New York Times travel article about the bathhouse phenomenon in Korea, one Korean man explains, “We don’t consider someone a real friend until we take a bath together.” Please check out the full article here, www.nytimes.com/2008/10/05/.

But the bathhouse experience gets stranger. Same sex friends of all ages (kids, teens and adults) hold hands and lead each other around like married couples. Small children perform all the horseplay one would expect from kids in a pool, with birthday suits in place of bathing suits. Sons help scrub their fathers’ backs and other hard to reach places as they shower together.

It is very important to point out that these activities are in no way seen as sexual, much less homosexual, in any way for that matter. Koreans of the same gender often hold hands while walking through the streets or school halls. While seemingly cold to members of the opposite sex, same-sex friends often share a physical closeness I’ve rarely seen in America. But it is never sexual.

Personal Note:
I feel guilty talking about the nudity and strangeness of the bathhouse. The frequency with which expats bemoan the terror of getting naked is telling of our general prudishness. If anything, I admire Koreans’ comfort with their bodies and the absence of the homophobia that is an accepted norm in America. If anything, readers should look to stories about bathhouses not as spectacles of a bizarre culture, but rather a shining example of the freedom shedding preconceived notions of shame (as well as one’s clothes) can provide.

Back to the background:
While bathhouses differ in size and amenities, the basic principle is the same; a public space where strangers and friends gather to clean up and relax. There are rows of showers to use, some patrons choose to use them in the traditional standing mode and others use small plastic stool to sit as they shampoo, shave, and general wipe the grim of the day away. From what I’ve heard, they almost all have at least one hot tub for soaking and one icy-cold tub to cool off. And most bathhouses have at least one sauna or steam room that gives patrons a number of ways to shock their body’s temperature in cruel ways.

These are only the basics. The higher end public bathhouses offer special baths with jasmine infused water, mud baths, natural springs, massage therapy, special “sleeping rooms” with heated floors and white noise machines and much more. They are palaces of excess designed to inspire the utmost relaxation-induced pleasure. Here in Busan is Asia’s largest bathhouse that boasts more than three hundred different baths.

This is the first in a two-part series. Last weekend, my friend Danny and I went to the spa in Taejongdae Spa together for the first time. Later in the week we returned with our friend Brandon. Check back here soon for a full report.

Below is a short video from Busan's English Tourism website. It's a good jaunt through the city and will give you at least some idea of where I'm living these days. I've already visited many of the places this video covers and the PIFF downtown area is Danny, Brandon and my usual meeting point.

Enjoy the video...

But then come visit me and I'll give you a real tour.

Friday is a holiday here; Constitution Day or Founding Day... I can't quite remember. One of my co-teachers, Ms. Park tried to explain it to me. It's supposedly the day "the son of God" broke open the sky and created the landmass that we call Korea. In short, it's a day off from school.

Thursday, after a painful afternoon with students anxious to get to their computers and soccer balls, I met Danny and Brandon for dinner near their homes on Yeongdo island. Normally on a night before a long weekend we might try going out to find more adventurous activities, but Danny had been invited by several of his co-teachers to visit a Buddhist temple on Friday and didn't want to make a long evening of it. Which was fine with me since I wanted to wake up and watch the VP debate.

We met at the Tuna Sushi place Danny raved about for so long. In fact, it was my third visit their with the boy-os; but the first two times we'd failed to order what we really wanted, raw tuna. Instead, through missed communication we managed to order everything else on the menu, twice.

This time we were able to get the tuna, and while good perhaps not enough to want relocate to 'boring island' as my main co-teacher Hee Jin named Yeongdo.

Keeping in the spirit of a quite, early evening we headed to a nearby PC bong to play Starcraft and Warcraft. After setting up a Battle.net game of Starcraft and failing to get any other players to join, we gave up and decided to try my particular favorite, Warcraft 3. Although only playing against the computer, I'm embarrassed to report we lost miserably.

After only one game, we left. I walked with Danny and Brandon up the hill towards Danny's apartment and left their company to board bus 71 to get back to the mainland. 20 minutes later I was in Nampo Dong where I walked down to the subway terminal and hopped on the line back to Dongdasindong.

It was only about 10p.m. at this point, so I figured I would go out for a little while more. I had forgotten my french press coffee maker at school and thought I'd at least look around for a coffee maker. I was also itching for a cup of Baskin Robins Blueberry Cheesecake ice cream.

I stopped at the HomePlus express near the Guedok stadium, but alas no coffee pots. I headed across the street and picked up that Baskin Robins ice cream, finding only Twinberry Cheese cake as opposed to Blueberry.

I crossed the street by heading back down through the subway terminal, came up at exit number seven and walked up to my apartment. I reached into my pocket and found nothing. "Must be in my backpack," I thought. But after some digging, no key turned up. "Oh I'll bet their in my jacket pocket," I correctly concluded and simultaneously realized my jacket was not on my person. In a state of more annoyance and frustration than panic, I mentally retraced my steps and realized the jacket must either be in the restaurant or the PC bong; at that point I wasn't entertaining the idea I'd left it on the bus.

I ran back down the stairs to see if my maintenance man was around to unlock my door. I'd need my keys back eventually, but right then I found the idea of heading to bed and searching for them in the morning far more appealing. He was no where to be found. There was a number posted on his office door that I gave a call on my new cell phone. Of course a machine picked up and of course its message was in Korean.

With no other choice I decided to wave down a taxi and go back to the island. Luckily, one stopped just on my corner and let out a woman with a huge bouquet of flowers. I hopped into the front seat and said "Yeongdo Island," which the driver easily understood. But then when I tried to explain to head back towards Danny and Brandon's area using the landmark the KT Apt. Building, he seemed less sure. Luckily for me, he was a friendly guy, and although he knew very little English he motioned a question I'd translate as "Is it near the bridge or do you have to traverse the island roads to get there." I told him we needed to go to the other side of the island, along the winding sea-side roads.

About 15 minutes later and a taxi-fare approaching 8,000W we arrived. The taxi driver took a moment to point out a bank nearby I could use in the future as a landmark for directions. Very kind.

I ran from the cab, up the stairs of the PC Bong and to the first employee I could find. "I think I left my jacket here," I explained. "Oh jacket," he replied, reaching under the desk and pulling out a black and white stripped jacket. Not mine. Panic did start to set in at this point. If my jacket was at the restaurant which was undoubtedly closed at this point, I'd have no way to get it until some time the next day. My only options at this point then would be to call Danny, surely waking him up, and asking to stay at his place. An inconvenience I didn't want to impose the night before his big Buddhist adventure.

"Oh other jacket," the employee said, marvelously holding up my green "Detroit Lakes" hooded jacket. But sweet relief didn't come just yet. There was still the chance that my keys weren't inside. I thanked the shopkeeper, ran out the door and reached in both pockets. Wonder of wonders the keys were there.

So I began my trip home. I was down to 6,000W in cash and couldn't find a functioning ATM. It was just enough cash to get a taxi from the island back to Nampo Dong. There I hopped on what I believe was the last subway train of the evening (it was after midnight at this point).

I sat on down on the train, pulled out my iPod and reached for my headphones. My ear-encompassing stereo muffs were their, but the cord to connect them to my iPod was gone. I dug around through my backpack all the while realizing that the cord had probably been dangling around my neck during my frantic return to the PC Bong. Sure enough, it turned out to be gone.

I climbed the stairs of the subway and the stairs of my apartment building one more time and opened the door. More than an hour later and about 10,000W poorer, I was home again with a tension headache and a self annoyance I wasn't sure how to subdue.

Greetings from "the land of the morning calm," (I've yet to learn if Koreans are familiar with the phrase 'the calm before the storm' and if they are what they're attempting to imply about their afternoons).

First thought not foremost I must apologize for my delay in creating this blog and putting up a first posting. Having found internet access immediately upon landing in Seoul, I was technologically able to create the blog some days ago. However, our orientation has kept me quite busy these past few days, leaving me with virtually no chance to concoct a decent title for this blog. As you can see, I've still yet to find anything terribly snappy, but I am open to suggestions. (Brandon was the wiser in this task and drafted his blog title -Grove On in Busan- weeks ahead of time).

To answer the initial questions everyone has for anybody who travels a long distance... yes I have some jetlag. I'm not hallucinating or waking up in strange places, however I find myself dead tired by 8p.m. each evening.

The food is plentiful if difficult to identify. More on this and spicy pickled cabbage later...

Speaking of which... it is dinner time and I must go and get while the getting is good.

--From the land of +9 GMT,
Tane S. Danger