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.