View from Shinchon Station, Exit 2

Firstly, as I’ve alluded to earlier, most of the time I’m actually quite stressed and frustrated here. Not to be mistaken, there are many moments of extreme joy and excitement to be had on my ELE; however, initially, after the “awe” wore off in the first couple of weeks, what set in was a very real kind of constant frustration and bitterness. How so?

Waking up everyday in an English-speaking dormitory has been hard. Especially when the main goals of the people I live with are to sight-see, drink, party, etc. and not bother with learning the language, reading the paper, or working at NGOs, mornings can be angering. Isolation sets in early on, maybe 7:30 AM. Thankfully, my roommate has a genuine interest in learning Korean and more about the people (since she’s a Korean adoptee), however, our aims are still very different. Usually Chris Brown and other American Top 40 hits are blaring in our room come the later portion of the evenings.

In order to escape this and have a “fresh start” to the day, I jog up Ansan Mountain (where Yonsei’s Main Campus is located) at around 8:00 AM in hopes of finding some personal time for reflection. However, I’m naive in planning this; I’m still in one of the top 10 most populated cities on Earth, thus, empty space is hard to come by. Cars, mopeds, the Seoul Milk Truck, Yonsei Shuttle Bus, motorcycles, etc. clog the streets of campus after 8:00. This morning the exhaust fumes were so bad I felt as though I could grind the air on my teeth; the air is warm and unpleasant to breathe in. Thus, as I’m jogging my way up toward the mountain trail entrance, stress is mounting. Thankfully, the stress provides great motivation to run faster! Oh the upside of things?

After making it to the paths where automobiles and countless students clear out, I feel as though the atmosphere will calm down. However, once again, I’m met by another crowded environment. Many ajosshis and ajummas (middle-elderly aged Korean males and females, respectively) exercise on the mountain on a daily basis. Like on the sidewalks in Shinchon, people here are not apt to share the pathway space and in fact, on many occasions, I feel as though they want to compete with you for whatever ground you want! For instance, on a sidewalk six feet wide, I’m walking on the far left portion, leaving 4 ft of open space to the right. A man turns the corner in front of me, gauges where I am, and purposely opts to walk on the left side of the sidewalk. Why? Perhaps because I’m young, but more importantly, because I’m 외국인 (Foreigner). I ended up testing how far he would go before stepping of the sidewalk to the left to let him pass by while there was perfectly good space for both of us to share the way. This kind of behavior happens too frequently for my liking. While in restaurants or subway stations, sometimes I hear people mutter “외국인,” followed by a series of mostly curious, but sometimes scowling stares. Anyways, given the social hierarchy of respect that is maintained at all times here, when jogging among seniors on the mountain, my foreign appearance, young age, and female gender garner me many strange, disapproving glances. It doesn’t seem to matter how far I run either. Once, I was so exhausted and glad to reach the top observation point for a rest when a group of ajummas was sitting on a bench and scowled so fiercely at me (despite my bowing to them) I felt the need to depart immediately. So when I’m running, I’m frustrated, angered, and sometimes leave feeling horribly unwelcome to return the next day.

Walking through the streets of Seoul hasn’t been easy either. I definitely understand why some students here tell me that Seoul isn’t a truly Global City yet. It doesn’t seem to matter if I’m volunteering in welfare centres, eating ice cream in Hongdae, sipping coffee in a cafe, or walking along the Han River, many locals can’t stop glaring at my large, lighter-hued eyes and great stature for a partially Asian female. I don’t even want to bring up the amount of Korean males that stare at my chest size. At first I felt like a spectacle, but nowadays, it’s more like being an uninvited alien that keeps wondering aimlessly through the streets. Essentially, it’s been impossible to really integrate here (which is to be expected), but even to feel truly welcome is hard in general. The language barrier doesn’t help either, despite my genuine efforts to speak to locals. To be honest, I must pass thousands of people on the street everyday and I feel as though I have no genuine way to really connect with the population. Not to be cheesy, but sincerely, I’ve never been in a place so crowded and truly felt so alone. So with the joy, excitement, and boundless hysteria of encountering new things like electronic puppet shows and lantern festivals, loneliness, disconnect, and listlessness have been here, too. Perhaps a bit too frequently.

It might be attributed to having a roommate in dormitory, or maybe it’s just the population density, but I’m going increasingly insane in not being able to relish my own personal space for five minutes. I know it sounds like high-maintenance, but please imagine for yourself: going for ten days at a time without having a moment of absolute, and I mean absolute silence for maybe 30 seconds. The construction next to our dorms begins at 7:30 AM. All the washrooms I use are public entities. Japanese, Spanish, Korean, Russian, French, English, German and more is heard when I step outside of room door. Beyond the dorm, people inhabit every nook in the city (from the packed subway stop vendors on Line 2 to the ajummas on the peak of Ansan) plus millions of speaker systems, LED lights, mopeds, traffic lights, etc. are waiting to call out from every corner. Truly, the sensory overload causes mental exhaustion. Then it’s coming home to adolescent conversation about K-pop, relationship drama, and fashion trends in my all-girl dorm. It’s been hard to say the least, to keep my mind from exploding with the resonating sounds of the streets and buildings at night.

Overall, it’s hard to explain. I feel alienated a lot of the time. I feel unwanted by the community here (mostly by the upper generations). It goes to say, I understand, from an academic perspective, why these kind of attitudes are expressed by the people here; but to experience the stares and glances and whispers first hand, it’s an entirely different type of treatment I can’t comprehend. Maybe it stems from being raised in a mixed-race household where my Chinese ethnicity was constantly applauded by my Caucasian, Canadian mother. In Canada, our “melting pot” of cultures calls for grounds of greater equality and invitations of warmth to those of other ethnicities. Certainly, mixed-race couples here are oddities, and many encounter discrimination by locals here.

I desperately seek a small space to call my own for a moment’s tranquility, and yet, walking down the boulevards of this city, I find myself aching for something to leap out and connect with me. It’s a bizarre kind of reckoning with emotions at this point. I’m still not sure how to reconcile everything this time.

Today I continued to participate in the PLUR food handouts at Seoul Station. Today had a different feeling; instead of going in and around the central station, my group ventured into a neighbouring park to hand out packages. A man sleeping between two trees had a separate pillow beside him, but no bed. It turns out he has a pet cat that stays with him in the park. I find this highly endearing. We then make our way past some fountains with underground neon lighting, making the water appear aqua and violet coloured as it dances above the pavement. A few moments later, we’re under a gigantic bridge with red and green glowing lights. Here we find four men lying together sharing a laugh. It’s bitterly cold yet they’re managing to get by. The smell is very pungent today; urine and soju are static in the air.

I meet another Korean American girl tonight named Katie. Originally from New York, she’s a Masters student in Korean Politics at Yonsei. She asks me why I’ve come to Korea and I tell her about my Global Health expedition and how I was told that South Korea is in a state of transition. I wanted to see the world “in between.” I ask her opinion on Korea’s true state of development. She tells me that Seoul definitely isn’t “globalized” in the sense that the government still isn’t open to having migrant workers. Unskilled foreign labourers make minimum wage here at best. Also, although the streets are lined with duel signage, there are very few people that speak English and even fewer that can walk past a foreigner without taking a double take. Thus, Korea is still very defensive when it comes to opening up to a truly global marketplace.

Also, she feels that although the government promotes Seoul’s status as a Global City, at the heart of the matter, it’s people aren’t ready to break from their traditions. “Confucian ideals,” Katie says, shaking her head in disappointment. Indeed, ten years ago the Korean government was praising the people of Korea to be proud of their being one of the few most homogeneous ethnic states in the world! Then, come more recent years, the same institution is encouraging diversity and pushing the English language upon it’s younger generations. The strict patriarchy of Choson times still lingers subtly in the Korean culture. A friend, Leanne, gets scolded when visiting her Korean-American boyfriend’s family in Korea for “sitting down before getting him his food” by his Korean elders. Katie tells me about her many travels abroad and insists that the only developed country she’s been in where foreigners still get stared at is South Korea. Based on my personal experience, her statement holds true. Despite my half-Oriental appearance, I have vendors running up to me all day with flyers and sale pitches and subway goers can’t help but gawk at my larger, lighter-hued brown eyes, not to mention my 5’7″ height. “It really isn’t ready to be globalized, when you come down to the people’s level.”

She tells me that the bigger problem arising has to do with the low population birth rate. Currently, the birth rate is roughly 1.13/1000; remarkably low. Katie tells me that my 2050, 40% of the Korean population will be over the age of 65 if the rate doesn’t improve. To put that into more practical numbers, that means a deficit of 7 million people out of a current total population of 48 million. The kind of marketplace demands for young people will be staggering and the amount of impoverished elderly will dramatically increase. I ask her why this has come about. She gives me three reasons; firstly, roughly ten years ago, Korean analysts predicted that the country would be overpopulated if a one-child policy wasn’t introduced. Thus, many Koreans turned to only having one child, if any. Secondly, physiologically, given the mass amount of underweight females, Korea actually has a higher rate of miscarriages among developed nations. Lastly, major conglomerates such as LG, Hyundai, Lotte, etc. just started moving females into management level positions in 1999. Thus, many Korean women are opting to postpone motherhood in favour of a corporate career; in many cases, avoiding childbearing altogether.

Also, there’s a shortage of females in the countryside. I’m not sure why, but this problem has caused Korean male farmers to actually “order” brides from Southeast Asia in order to keep the population growing. In some areas, as many as 40% of males must seek foreign brides for the means of producing children.

I come back to I-House to read the Korea Herald. An article debating the presence of elite private high schools that specialize in foreign language instruction is on the second page. The author claims that prestigious schools only promote competition to higher ranking post-secondary institutions. Moreover, the exam entrance system for these schools has been abused all-around; Ironic. Following, an article citing that the poverty rate among single women-headed household is the highest it’s been since the 1997-1998 Asian Economic Crisis (then 38%, currently holding at ~20%, currently for males, the rate is 6.6%). This was measured as any household whose income falls below 50% of the median income per household. But, the paper claims, this is likely attributed to the increasing number of elderly people proportionally among the population. And among those elderly, women account for the majority… so don’t worry too much.

A country found in transition.

It’s interesting how things come together in one day.

Right now, have to admit, I’m feeling rather lonely at times. It’s been very hard to carry out my own aims in terms of trying to get more integrated with the Korean people and learn about the health issues here while also being an international student at Yonsei. Now that I’ve made some great friends at school, it’s very hard to separate myself from the comforts of my English-speaking companions. Tomorrow I’ll be heading out once again by myself to the Mapo-Gu welfare center… although working in the soup kitchen and cleaning is very rewarding, I’m wondering if there’s something more I can be doing to assist in Global Health work. There really isn’t much more for an expat to do here besides work at soup kitchens and teach English. I’m yearning for something more Health-oriented to come up. Maybe this is just part of the experience?

I’m hoping to take a day trip out to Kyonghee University. Apparently it has a medical school that specializes in Oriental Medicine. I checked it out; they host English-speaking tours, but only a couple times a month. I’ll do my best to attend the next section. Clearly the Korean population follows some traditional health practices; the Korea Herald today read that ginseng sales have gone up 20% over the past several months in response the increasing swine flu alerts. The government is considering raising the flu alert status to “Red”, the highest rating on the scale. Currently, some 500 elementary schools have been temporarily closed throughout the country due to H1N1 and a girl in my Korean class was quarantined last week after having a positive read for the virus. She won’t be coming in for a good 10 days I think…

I find that more Koreans are wearing oral masks these days when I walk in Shinchon, however, that doesn’t necessarily mean they are truly conscious of how the H1N1 virus spreads. I continue to see many locals pull down their masks to cough into the open air without covering their mouths and spitting is still as rampant as it was when I arrived.

One construction gate came down next to my residence two days ago. It startled me to not be completely surrounded my a metal wall. Now there’s a fresh pit of metal tubing and concrete blocks to peek into. It also saddens me that the leaves are falling off the trees here. In the midst of all the people, shoving, spitting, bustling, yelling, and general turmoil, the beautiful maple leaves provided the landscape with some tranquility.

JaeWoong had his tenure interview last week and judging from his text message it was a success! I will be having a reunion with him soon to hear all the details. Yonggun is doing well, but busy with his TOEFL class that runs on weeknights and weekends. He tells me there is no one-on-one instruction and that it’s very hard to learn English for they never get evaluated individually on speaking. He tells me that one day he wants to end up in Public Administration to help improve the country. I ask how so and he tells me he’s not sure; “just make things better for everyone, somehow. There are many things people are not happy with.” I’ll ask him to expand later on.

The past several weeks at PLUR have been interesting. It seems that the homeless have begun to migrate to other places in the city. This is strange for I am told that Seoul Station is notoriously the warmest place for these citizens to gather. Last Sunday, we walked for three hours, past the central park, through the underpasses of the station, over into City Hall to pass out food packages. A couple of events were new. This time, we met a lot of young people. There were also clusters of tarped, boxed enclosures that are made by the homeless via collected the unwanted boxes of shops and restaurants. Indeed, I’ve seen countless homeless people in my area pull carts of cardboard down the street to either use for shelter or sell at disposal sites for small notes (how Koreans refer to cash). A man in the park had a small pillow beside his own. “For my cat,” he tells us. The man jokingly hugs an imaginary feline in his arms. My heart sinks a little bit; companionship matters to everyone here. Maybe ten minutes later, we see a small white and brown tabby cat curled up on a park bench; perhaps this is said pet. A startling things also happens; we find a man sleeping on the ground whom doesn’t move after our supervisors shakes him. Upon a second tap, the man gargles and begins to roll upwards to say hello. Keith, a Yonsei Master’s student turns to me and says, “what a relief. Occasionally, maybe five or six times a year, we stumble across dead bodies in the park. It’s not very pleasant to experience.”

I ask one of the girls why people end up at Seoul Station with tattered clothes and cardboard boxes. I’m told there are many reasons; primarily, alcoholism seems to be a root cause. Many others have “no family, no friends” who would take them in when times turned sour. A British girl, Johanna, turns to me and tells me she can’t imagine not having a brother or sister or friend around to take her in during desperate times. I concede, I don’t know what it’s like to be truly helpless, knowing there are people who wouldn’t let me live on these soju-reeked streets. Four men are crowded together under a rainbow-lit bridge and I think “how terrible.” It’s almost as if the city is mocking them in my mind. Here, the brilliance of Seoul, the next Global City! And at it’s base? The some 1000 people who go hungry downtown at night. Truly, the image makes you believe that funding could be better spent.

I don’t know if I’d mentioned my viewing of the television footage of Separated Families in Korea. Last month, some 200 families were picked out of a lottery of 10,000 to reunite at Kanghwa Island–lost family members from North and South Korea who were separated during the war. I remember sitting over a bowl of sundubu, watching the TV with tears welling in my eyes. Two brothers, both well into their 70′s have tears streaming down their faces, hands clutched onto each other’s bodies, gripping tightly with affection. They haven’t seen each other in over ten years and are beyond thankful to see the other’s face. “We will both be dead, the next time we meet. The odds are against us to see one another again,” they explain. The elder brother was taken by North Korean soldiers during the war and the two have been separated by the North-South border ever since. There is a mother and daughter also being reunited, to my great surprise. The daughter helps feed her mother soup by tipping a spoon into her mouth; the mother is 95 and the daughter in her 70′s. Everyone has tears streaming down their faces in the footage. It’s hard to eat dinner that night. The concept of a separated family really only exists in Korea. I try to reflect on what it would be like to have my brother taken away from me for 40 years. I can’t fathom it; nothing close.

I am currently living in the International Dormitory at Yonsei University in Seodaemun-gu, Seoul. This has proven valuable, but at the same time, extremely frustrating in terms of feeling truly embedded within the Korean culture. The official language of the dormitory is English, so it has been very frustrating to progress at my Korean while living under such comfortable conditions (originally, I was to stay with a Korean family in the main commercial district of Seoul, but their Fall schedule changed come July and I could no longer accommodate my stay). Despite this, however, the people I share a roof with are from all over the world and it’s been a great learning experience to simply chat with people from Nepal, Denmark, Norway, Finland, Sweden, China, Japan, Australia, Brazil, and even Guam. Coming here, I’ve really learned that there are countless lifestyles one could choose to follow; I’m learning something new about the international community every five minutes, which is fantastic.

I must admit, I feel as though I drastically underestimated the language barrier when selecting the placement site for my ELE.  My non-bilingual status has kept me very limited in volunteering to my full capacity and without the use of a translator, communication with locals has been quite difficult. Despite being in Seoul for almost two months now and taking Korean classes for ten hours a week, I still feel like quite the alien. If I had to choose another placement, I would ensure English (or another language in which I’m pseudo-fluent) were far more prevalent on the street. This isn’t to be selfish for my own comfort, but having genuinely intimate conversations with locals is proving extremely difficult; actually, nearly impossible.

Nevertheless, the cityscape continues to keep me in awe and is like nothing I’ve ever stepped into. Korean mobile telecommunications are among the best in the world and cell phones here function as subway prepaid tickets, restaurant tabs, televisions, bus passes, and credit cards as various chips and charms carry multiple functions. Everything is vertical and street signs will stack atop one another up to 80 feet on the side of buildings. The lights are blinding at night and LED bulbs form beautiful moving designs on the side of buildings. Many bridges have rainbow-colored fluorescent track lighting under them and pop music blares from every corner. Street vendors sell fresh spicy rice cakes and dumplings on every block and I can’t go two minutes without slamming my shoulder into a passerby or getting flyers shoved in my face. Despite this chaos, traditional royal palaces are interwoven on the city streets and temples can be found secluded on many inner-city mountains. The urban jungle here is fascinating to explore. Two months in, I still find myself in sensory overload.

In terms of my Global Health work, thus far I have been heavily involved with the impoverished elderly and homeless people of Seoul. Through an outreach program with the university, I have been serving lunches at a senior citizens’ welfare center in Mapo-gu while also delivering welfare packages and cleaning apartments in the slums. The elderly are great to work with and thankfully senior Korean students assist in conversational translation. It’s interesting, despite the mass amounts of skyscrapers to be found here, a ten minute bus ride will carry one from a luxurious mega-mall to clumps of dilapidated housing. Given the massive population density, a lot of tragic juxtapositioning can be found here.

I’ve also been working with a local NGO called PLUR (Peace, Love, Unity, and Respect) Seoul, the expat-involving branch of a larger organization called The Resurrection Center. The Center aims to rehabilitate Seoul’s alcoholics and homeless populations through education, job skills workshops, and rehab programs. PLUR operates at the central Seoul Station subway junction where some 900-1000 homeless persons can be found in the surrounding vicinity at any point in time. Twice a week, PLUR feeds the homeless here via a Soup Kitchen program and through handouts of bread and soy milk on the streets. My first time arriving at PLUR was perhaps the most emotionally challenging experience on my ELE. As one ascends from the subway tracks, live jazz music and radiating LED-lit shops welcome you to the main terminal, yet, 100 meters away on the boardwalks, the streets are literallylined with cardboard boxes (the makeshift homes of the homeless); I can smell Chanel No. 5 on one side of the station and the reek of urine and soju on the other. Thus far, it’s taken our group no more than 30 minutes of strolling in the underpasses and boardwalks to hand out over 200 servings of bread on Sunday evenings. It’s been remarkably tragic and surreal; I’m trying to find a way to make my handouts more sustainable. One week for 추석 (the Korean Thanksgiving) we gave out thick athletic socks; I’m hoping they make it through the season.

The one great thing about being a native English speaker in Seoul is that literally everyone wants to learn the language. I’ve been approached at restaurants, cafes, subway stations, and even while jogging to assist others with their English language skills. I currently tutor an Assistant Professor at the Graduate School of Public Health, a Commercial Law student, and soon to be the elderly at the Mapo-gu Welfare Center the English language. Plus, Korean students at my university also welcome my attendance at the many language-exchange clubs on campus.

So onto the health dilemmas of an Asian “Tiger City”; through my helping of JaeWoong, the Asst. Prof., I’ve come to learn a lot about the health epidemics within Seoul. Thankfully his English is already quite proficient; he’s spent two and a half years in Baltimore conducting research at John’s Hopkins University.JaeWoong’s major is in Genetic Epidemiology, but he’s applying for a tenure position in Public Health Awareness. Firstly, as is with Japan, a staggering amount of people smoke in the city and Lung Cancer is by far the leading type of cancer in the country. Fifty percent of Korean males smoke likely due to the “salary man” lifestyle found here; comparatively only 5-10% of Korean females partake. I ask JaeWoong how the 50% quote can be so high given all of the social awareness about smoking; he tells me that the Seoul government has been very slow to change it’s stance on smoking. While he was completing his mandatory conscription service, the South Korean government was actually providing a “smoking fund” to soldiers, prompting them to smoke upon entrance in the military. JaeWoong witnessed many young Korean males commence smoking while completing their military service, most aged 18-25. That policy has since been abolished, but only within the last 5-10 years. Secondly, alcoholism is becoming an increasingly troublesome problem in the city and I can sense this everyday while walking in the streets. The causes seem to vary; escapism, pride, tradition; whatever the reason, 30% of the legally-aged drinking population in Seoul has an alcohol-related problem. What’s worse, the government operates rehabilitation centers aimed only at helping men; thus, an increasing number of women aged 20-30 are having to cope with alcohol addictions on their own.  Jaewoong tells me there may be an association between the dilemma of social binge drinking and the rise of Stomach Cancer incidence in the country (it’s the second most prevalent type of cancer). More significantly, however, I’m informed that Helicobacter (H.) pylori is more to blame (such that the Hazard Ratio from H. pylori for risk of Stomach Cancer incidence is 10-20.0) and that 50% of the Korean population carries said bacteria. The massive prevalence of the bacteria is due to the traditional sharing of soups and side dishes at every Korean meal. Indeed, from my personal experience, dining with Korean locals is far from the most hygienic form of food consumption; as many as six people may share from one pot of soup. Currently, I’m assisting JaeWoong with the presentation of his latest publication, the findings of which suggest that binge drinking greatly increases the odds of developing cardiovascular disease and hemorrhagic stroke in the Korean population. He jokes with me, “Stress is also a contributing factor. There are 24 million people in the greater Seoul area and everyone is always competing, always in a rush. …I think this could also be important.”

This update is getting quite lengthy for our homepage, so I’ll let those who are interested read my personal blog for more details. I have to admit, my experience seems quite different as I find myself in a very far from rural community. To end, it’s been extremely difficult to find a moment of personal space (even to think and reflect in silence and isolation) as Seoul is literally packed with inhabitants. Recently, I’ve taken to journaling at the campus outdoor Amphitheater around 10 PM in order to find some solitude. I find my mental stress management is compromised at times and a part of me can’t wait to return to the painfully deserted Canadian prairie landscape of my hometown (I never thought I’d find myself wishing that).

It’s midterm week here at Yonsei, so I must return to my Korean language studies. I wish everyone the best of times, I’ll do my best to update more regularly so these massive posts don’t clog up your reading time.

All the best,

Jenny E.

Chairman, North Korea Freedom Coalition & President, Defense Forum Foundation: Susan Scholte

“How North Korea Maintains Control of its Citizens”

Today I decided to skip half of my Korean Language class in order to attend a public conference featuring Susan Sholte, a woman who has dedicated the last 13 years of her life to human rights awareness in North Korea. While I know of the atrocities going on the other side of the border, my understanding is limited and I’m curious to hear what kinds of stories Sholte has to offer. Moreover, as a young foreigner, I have been told by countless students and family friends to not mention the North to locals. I am far too young and far too foreign to understand the conflict at its roots.

Scholte begins by recalling the tragedies of the second world war and of the war crimes committed in Sudan earlier this year. She reads many statistics, mainly the fact that some 40,000 North Koreans will die this year in ways far crueller than simply “dying off.” What she says disturbs me and proves haunting to outsiders. She tells the story of many North Korean defectors (those who have managed to escape from the North and find freedom in the South). Today’s topic is specifically related to the way in which Kim Jong-Il maintains his totalitarian grip on the day-to-day lives of the North Korean people.

Essentially, to put it into perspective, she tells the audience of the extreme bouts of propaganda that are bestowed on North Korean children at an early age. In school, she tells us, the mathematics textbooks literally read, “If you throw one grenade and kill 2 American soldiers and your friend throws another grenade and kills 5 American soldiers, how many American soldiers have you killed?” This sounds so unbelievable to me, I don’t know if she’s joking or telling me the truth. Until I see the textbook, I can’t really say, but given all that follows from her lips, I can’t be surprised if this is true.

The first fact we have to believe, she tells us, is that North Koreans genuinely believe that living in North Korea will keep them “safe from the Americans”, and that life outside of North Korea is miserable; everyone who lives in a democracy is only living for the means of a “white man capitalist state.” In order to live a true, honest life, one must live for the ultimate being, Kim Jong-Il. Defectors told Scholte that before reading media pamphlets that had been leaked into North Korea, they genuinely believed these facts to be true. One Korean defector was afraid to fly to the United States because she legitimately believed she would be killed upon arrival into the country. This is the kind of terror you can’t ask someone to fake.

Today she wants to focus on the crisis that is ongoing along the Chinese-North Korean border; human trafficking, particularly the trafficking of Korean women. Women are lead across the Tumen River with the promise of food, education, and freedom for their children. One woman recounts how she was lead across the river by a trafficker with her two young children only to have her daughter taken away and her son forced back into North Korea. She was then sold to a mentally unsound farmer as a farmhand for a mere 5,000KRW (equivalent to $4.25CAD). Her life was miserable and if not for the want to be reunited with her children, the woman claims she would have killed herself. She manages to escape from her buyer after several years only to be captured and sold off to another man, this time for 7,500KRW. Her new husband constantly yells at her and tells her how she isn’t worth the price he paid. She lives in what Scholte calls “absolute misery.” Eventually, the woman escapes and manages to live for several months on her own before being discovered by the Chinese government. Subsequently, she is handed back over to North Korea and sentenced to 20 years hard labour for having attempted to flee the country. One day her supervisor finds her slacking at work and beats her senselessly with a spade, leaving her left leg mangled and with permanent disability.  I can’t believe what I’m told. I almost start to cry if not for the looming presence of a 12 pound media camera behind my head. I’m trying to imagine this in my mind. I’m really trying to envision such a place, but I can’t. To be honest, it sounds reminiscent of the boogeyman stories my father used to tell me at bedtime; things so terrible, you can’t even imagine them coming to life.

The most important question raised by a young German man standing close to me (mainly for Scholte’s response) was that of, “why hasn’t there been an uprising by the North Korean people yet? Why has no attempt at a coup d’état been made if the people realize they are now being oppressed?” Scholte lets out a frustrated laugh and looks down for a moment. “I know it’s very hard for us to imagine what it’s like to not have freedom.” What she says terrifies me. Among the elites of North Korea, Scholte says that life is “luxurious.” Families drive Mercedes Benzes, eat lavish meals, get a good education, etc. One day, the wife of an elite made a comment to her husband while looking out their car window; “isn’t it unfair, how we can have all of this while they (the majority of enslaved North Koreans) have nothing?” That was it, a simple, yet extremely poignant question to be asked. Somehow this comment made its way into Kim Jong-Il’s ear and he invited the couple to his office for a private meeting. After having several minutes of casual conversation, Kim states that he knows about the comment made by the wife several days earlier. The couple sits in shock, unsure of what to say. Kim pulls out a revolver from his desk drawer and places it in front of the husband. “I want you to prove your loyalty to the Empire. Shoot your wife.” The man does as he is told; picks up the gun and fires a bullet at his spouse. A husband kills his own wife at point-blank range for the sake of one man with an obscene amount of utilitarian power. Scholte reminds the audience, “There is no other place on earth like this country. That is why there are no uprisings; that is why there are no attempts to question authority.” I suppose otherwise you become either the victim or criminal yourself.

I leave as I often do from these talks. I want to do more, but I don’t know how. I return home to read up on the topic and come across a documentary series called “On the Border” established by The Chosun Ilbo media outlet. I watch a desolate scene of the North Korean-Chinese border play on for several minutes before the frame zooms in on a particular image. A woman’s body lies frozen in the ice of the Tumen River; a North Korean seeking refuge in China. The reporter notes that the body has been there for roughly ten days now; no one’s come to dispose of it properly. This footage confirms Scholte’s stories today. The crisis is real and the need is grave. I sleep tonight pondering what can be done with my own two hands.

Again, it’s been too long since my last account of life in Korea. In the last two weeks, I’ve done quite a bit more than in my first record, particularly pertaining to Global Health.

Last week, I volunteered as a member of both BEAN Seoul (an expatriate community of volunteers) and PLUR Seoul (a mixed group of both Korean natives and foreigners).

9월13일

1:00-3:30 PM

With BEAN Seoul, I travelled to an orphanage in the Northern part of Seoul (중계역) and spent the afternoon with the orphans. While the children there were charming (my personal youngster is named 기유, a very shy little girl) and energetic, once more, I felt that my lack of Korean language mastery left me at a huge disadvantage. What’s more, the children seemed somewhat disinterested in learning English or participating in the theatre sports I attempted to initiate. To be honest, I felt that since I was unable to connect with the children through language and they simply wanted to read Korean children’s books, I wasn’t really necessary that day. Moreover, I felt very transient in their environment; I felt like another foreign tourist who has come to spend a day with some orphans “for the sake of it.” The children seemed accustomed to playing with strangers and it wasn’t unusual for them to just flake around the building with their buddy in tow. The orphanage is run by nuns who maintain the centre very well and teach the children how to read and write until they enter elementary school.  The facilities are very clean and there is a lot of playground equipment, books, and open space available for the children to grow in. Ages ranged from as little as two to as old as sixteen. I have to admit, as an outsider, it is very disheartening to know that these children didn’t have conventional parents to turn to for guidance. While this is of course ordinary to them, in my knowing of their blood parents’ previous neglect or abandonment or inability to care for them which caused them to become orphans (whatever the case may be), I feel sympathy for the children. Maybe sympathy isn’t the right word; perhaps it was more a realization of how much I’ve taken my parents for granted. Even to see the face and hold the hand of the parents that natured me, it now seems like a privilege.

6:30-9:00 오후

The second event was working with PLUR (Peace, Love, Unity, & Respect) Seoul. The task was to hand out food to the some 200 homeless people living in and around the central Seoul Station subway junction (서울역). Myself and two friends, Emily and Alyssa, make our way from신촌역to 서울역and are in awe of the central station’s grandeur. Everything in Seoul that has a commercial component is something to be spellbound by in terms of the intricacy of the marketing vehicle, however, Seoul Station opens up to the foot of mega skyscrapers and glass panels of moving, glowing LED lights. It is really something to take in; the sounds of live music coming from local bars and the overpowering glow of the LotteMart really hit a newcomer with blinding light. We go into LotteMart in order to buy bread and soy milk to hand out to the homeless and all three of us are blown away by what’s inside. I mentioned previously that Seoul has been a city of accessibility and this department store epitomizes said statement.

Firstly, Lotte happens to be one of Korea’s biggest conglomerates and operates department stores, an amusement park, and has become a big player in the food industry. Whether one is looking for La Neige cosmetics, car parts, fresh pork ribs, a barbequed squid, cereals, sofas, televisions, wooden panels, coffee, etc. it could be found on one of the two gigantic floors inside. Not to mention that, but at 7 pm on a Sunday, the store is packed with shoppers. We can barely move while inside of the produce section and everyone is pushing to catch the last minute sale stock. What’s more, to market the sale goods, Lotte has decided to bundle the sale items with other free products in order to help them sell. For instance, the cereal I decided to purchase came with an 8-pack set of pencil crayons. Of course, when completing the maze on the backside of the box, I do need some pencil crayons at the ready!  In other words, there is an immense materialistic air surrounding all of this department store. People purchase coffee makers with bowls, spoons, and napkins taped to the box. People buy gallons of milk as six-pack yoghurt and two mini-litres are also contained in the same package.

As we leave carrying boxes of soymilk and bread bags, I am shocked. You walk perhaps 10 metres from the exits of 서울역 and there are literally hundreds of homeless persons wandering in the vicinity. We make our way into a small security outpost and repackage the bread into individual sized bags for distribution. We also adorn yellow vests with the 다시___ 센터 VOLUNTEER logo. Our Korean guide, a man of perhaps 50 years of age, lays out the rules prior to our departure. They are as follows:

• Do not converse with the homeless
• Do not respond to any remarks or comments made by the homeless
• Give no second helpings; no exceptions
• When the guide says it’s time to leave, immediately turn around and walk out of the area at once

At first these instructions strike me as extreme. How hard could it be to hand out bread bags and milk cartons to some homeless people?

We leave the small shelter and enter the underpasses (지하도) that connect the subways in front of the station. Immediately, the air sours with the scent of urine and in between the columns that support the tunnels, literally, lines of homeless are gathered. Some have sleeping bags; others have just a cardboard flat bed to lie on top of. Regardless, I can’t help but look up at the looming Seoul Station lights, brilliantly glowing in shifting LED bulbs, to see that perhaps 20 persons are lying on the raw concrete below. I am very fearful to approach these people, there is something very dirty and muted about their living quarters that gives me chills.

As I’ve noted previously, regardless of one’s social state in Korean society, respect is always given to elders. Volunteers are scolded if you don’t deliver items with two hands and bow your head in concert. No bread bags are allowed to hit the open pavement; it should be placed on the cardboard flat housing a particular individual. “The homeless are people too, not dogs, they don’t eat off the ground either.” As we walk back up out of underpass, I note that several individuals had forcefully asked for second helpings. Some try to conceal the first serving by stuffing it into a jacket pocket or underneath a sleeping bag, so we make note of who has already received food. “Otherwise they will start to compete with one another. It won’t be equal and the new people won’t get anything,” our guide explains.

Most of the homeless are men, perhaps between the ages of 45 to 70. Some couples are here, too, keeping two bodies inside of a ripped sleeping bag. I haven’t seen any young people, which is somewhat comforting. I feel that seeing the face of someone of my own age would be too relatable. It’s easier to shake off the faces of the elderly for some reason. Actually, the faces are what are most shocking. There are expressions of sadness, boredom, happiness, but especially indifference that paint the faces here. What did I expect? I don’t know, I suppose more general distain for the volunteers and the handouts.

Leaving the underpass, we turn maybe 200 m. from the main stairs of Seoul Station and enter the boardwalks. This was harder for me. Night time is in full swing so it’s dark and the odours are overpowering. Scents of urine and soju reek from the walkways. There are people literally lining the sides of the boardwalk. Makeshift beds are built with cardboard slabs and haphazard blankets. We drop off foods on the sides of beds and give with two hands into another set. Given the language barrier and everything else, it’s very hard to connect in this environment. The glow and bustle of the LotteMart can be seen in the megabox complex adjacent to us. “A really tragic juxtaposition,” someone said that night.

After handing out food halfway down the walkway, our guide asks us to stop and turn around. “Too many of them know what we’re doing. They’ll flock to us and you don’t want that.” Indeed, there is something very eerie about performing this kind of service. Not that I am fearful of the people here, but the whole aura of the night, boardwalk smells, weight of the cartons in my hands, and personal frustrations makes me feel very uneasy.

Next, we head toward Seoul Station itself. For some reason, as night came, so did the homeless. Sitting on the stairs up to the station we see some hundred people scattered about. This number may seem shocking, but I’m told by the volunteers that at any given point some 900 people inhabit Seoul Station and the vicinity around it. They mention that there’s a park nearby where the groups are more communal; the homeless there have made families with one another. “They come here because it’s warm at night.”

A man startles me on top of the stairs. He’s already received his portions the evening, but sees I’m lugging the box of soy milk cartons with me and grabs my right arm. “Hana teo juseyo!” he demands (Give me one more!). Our guide looks at us and I mutter “No…” in Korean, but it’s difficult. Our guide comes and shoos him away. Now I’m very startled. Apparently the people here aren’t afraid to use physical contact. Emily refuses a man a second helping who claims it’s for his partner. When she says no for the second time, he throws the packages back at her feet. There’s no confusing the matter; these people are still people of pride and dignity.

After supplies run out, we make our way back to the main shelter and our guide debriefs us. PLUR is actually the expat-involving branch of a much bigger movement trying to relocate the homeless from Seoul Station. Overall, the umbrella charity organization aims to assist two types of groups: 1) Those who want to work and 2) Alcoholics. Coupling with these aims, the center provides three resolutions, 1) Alcohol rehabilitation counselling, 2) Education and job skills training, and 3) the provision of low-income housing. See rough notes for remainder, produced Sept. 29, 2009.

Overall, as we leave, the LED light show doesn’t seem as incredible. Albeit frustrated, I do feel enriched with my having done something to give back to the community. Living in the college dorm setting often skews your perspective to always want to sit in the “foreigner” position; it becomes an excuse for one to stay idly in place. The events of tonight remind me that my experience is one that exists in another’s very real world. For them, life on the boardwalks goes on.

What are some of the things I’ve noticed since I’ve been here?

1. I wish my original homestay arrangement hadn’t dropped out on me in mid-July because living in the Yonsei dormitories is killing the true “embeddedness” of my experience within the Korean culture. Although getting to classes is convenient (and I’m grateful for that because I have a Korean Language course two hours/day), I feel like I’m living in “mini-America House” while studying in the Koreatown of Los Angeles. Everyone in the residence is from (mainly California) the States, several from Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, etc. but regardless where they are from, everyone here speaks English.  Moreover, I feel like my interest in Global Health and Korean culture is very different from the other girls that I live with. While I have been trying to find a Buddhist Temple around campus to visit, the other girls in my residence have attempted to memorize the dance steps to the latest Hallyu (Korean popular music culture) megahit. To say the least, I’m experiencing some frustrations whilst living here. There are several girls who wish to volunteer more in the community, but thus far I’ve been the only one to venture out. Albeit less embedded, however, I am very thankful to have made friends with the girls in my dorm who have helped ease my transition to living in (and getting around) Seoul. I am attempting to arrange a weekend-based homestay program to participate in on a regular basis.
2. On that note, yesterday was my first volunteering experience in Seoul. Through the Global Angel outreach group at Yonsei University, myself and several others went to the Mapo-gu Senior Citizen Welfare Centre. There were approximately 15 volunteers and we were divided into three groups; the general duty was to serve lunch to the needy seniors of the Mapo-gu district. I was in the serving team while others cleaned dishes and prepared food to be sent out. I have the say, it was the first time I’ve felt spectacular to be in Seoul. Lately I’ve lamented the fact that I didn’t go to Namwon to teach at the Buddhist school in the mountains (because Seoul has been a city of accessibility to me thus far), but yesterday, I felt of use here in the big city. We served roughly 200 elderly citizens that come to the centre everyday for a cheap meal. The meal itself was wholesome: curried meat and vegetables served over rice with a side of lotus root soup and kimchi. The elderly here are very friendly and many asked where the foreign students had come from. When I mentioned that I was Canadian, one man exclaimed “You’ve seen the WATERPAUL!” (meaning waterfall, I assumed he meant Niagara Falls). Overall, it was a very gratifying and humbling experience. Since the Korean culture is built on a hierarchy of respect towards their elders, it was great to be in full service of these senior citizens. Particular rules like bowing and never raising a food tray above a senior’s head were strictly followed. Thus, despite having little material wealth, the hierarchy that is earned with age was accommodated at the welfare centre. It was pleasant to see that unlike in North America, the needy elderly of Seoul are still treated with the utmost respect.
3. Yesterday evening I also met with my Korean Language exchange partner, Yong Gun Kang. Yong Gun is phenomenal at English and is taking Industrial Engineering here at Yonsei. Despite being 26 and so called “too old to have fun” in Seoul, our time together was very enjoyable and we had many laughs. After discussing our common interests and the minor details, I ask Yong Gun about growing up in Seoul and what kind of social pressures are forced upon Korean youth. He tells me that the college entrance exams for Korean students are the most stressful times of their entire lives. Really, if you want to “make it” as an academic or schooled professional in Korea, you MUST attend one of three prestigious universities otherwise (as Yong Gun said about some of his less fortunate friends) “you’re pretty much finished.” Job opportunities are slim enough with the current recession, many of his friends at other colleges are taking additional semesters on top of their degrees in order to avoid the job search market. This too, comes at a great cost. The annual per capita income in South Korea is only $16,000 USD and annual tuition at Yonsei is roughly $14,000 USD. Thus, the trade-off of getting into a promising university versus waiting for an economic boom means everything. Moreover, the push to learn English is immense here. Yong Gun tells me that now parents are teaching their children English before their native Korean, starting at the ages of even 2 or 3 years old. He asks me what I think about Korean people and I tell him that generally, they have been very hospitable, however, given the mass population density, I get struck often in the street without the culprit apologizing for having slammed into me. Yong Gun laughs at this and says that Koreans are “just shy, too shy to say sorry” and so instead will awkwardly bow their heads as they pass by. I feel he is trying to humour me.  Yong Gun tells me how he missed getting into the top ranked Seoul National University because the math portion of his interview, despite having achieved the correct answer in front of the interview committee, was rejected based on his bad penmanship. I feel sorry for having brought up the topic. I ask Yong Gun about his health and if he smokes. He, like many others I’ve asked, tells me he does, but that he’s trying to quit. He started when he was 15.I ask why he hasn’t done so yet. He insists “its just not the right time.” I ask what he means by this and he says “you want to look professional, strong, and manly when you go for a job interview. Smoking gives off that impression.” I tell him he’s manly enough and that he just needs to stop wearing pink t-shirts. Despite smoking, Yong Gun does practice Chinese Acupuncture on a regular basis. His wrist gets tense from writing at school and he tells me it eases the pressure and he feels fine within a couple of days. “Perfectly healed!” he proclaims. He echoes Dr. Shin’s words from before. Yong Gun wants to go to Hong Kong and Singapore soon for business and IT work. He traveled to New York City four years ago to learn English and when he arrived in the States, he tells me he “couldn’t even order a hamburger!” His ambition inspires me to keep reading up on my Korean at night.
4. On the 4^th day I’m in Seoul, I meet with my dad’s long-time Korean client, Dr. Bill Shin. Dr. Shin is a very meek, gentle man of fierce intelligence. He works with the TRIUMPH team at UBC and lives on the Endowment Lands of the campus. He is alumni of Yonsei University and wants to take me out for lunch in celebration of my arrival at his old stomping ground (perhaps also on my father’s request). Dr. Shin tries to take me to his favourite Korean restaurant but it’s booked up for the graduation ceremonies happening that day. Instead, we settle for Chinese and Dr. Shin buys me a five-course meal. Back in his earlier days, Dr. Shin was on a research team that was short-listed for the Nobel Prize in Physics. His team has mathematically proven that you can turn back time by the fraction of a second. If this is possible to amplify, the results could be astonishing. Thus, I was fairly intimidated to meet this man. To my pleasant surprise, Dr. Shin is a very small-framed, taller man wearing a blue shirt and slight grey hat with a warm smile. As we dine, I tell him about my interest in Global Health and the study of different health care practices (traditional versus modern medicine) and Dr. Shin scoffs. He clearly favours the traditional way of managing illness and tells me “Today’s doctors don’t care about you. They care about what the textbook says they should do with you. I have diabetes, you know, and when they prescribed me these pills I said, ‘but what are they for?’. They tell me, ‘they are for your diabetes old man.’ No one  could give me a specific answer. Jennifer, I’m a scientist, I understand science and a doctor should be able to tell me exactly what I want to know about my medication. They say ‘you need to take one pill every 2 hours’ and I insist ‘but why 2 hours? Why not one hour or three hours? How to do you know its two hours?’”. I laugh at this point and insist that not everyone is as wise as Dr. Shin and he corrects me, stating that “not everyone is up to the challenge” of being as intelligent. Dr. Shin had finished medical school and become a certified physician before deciding it was too boring for him, didn’t leave him challenged, and so he returned to school to take nuclear physics instead. This is not your typical senior citizen. I am humbled by his words and he continues, “they tried to tell me ‘well, the normal dosage is one pill for every 2 hours’ and so I stopped them and told them about what the normal distribution curve was all about. I said ‘in a population, the healthy people fall closer to the norm, they are normal. Me, I’m not healthy, you tell me I have diabetes, so how can I be normal when I’m over here?! (he getures to the invisible ends of a distribution curve)”. I laugh and insist he would be a pain in the ass to work with. He laughs back and says “yes, well they need it now and then.” I ask what he does to maintain his health. Dr. Shin partakes in acupuncture and traditional Chinese herbal medicine as he claims “it has never failed. In all the research, it has never failed.” I believe he’s read up on his facts. He then tells me he takes his prescriptions home and administers his own dosage! “How can they give an obese woman the same amount of medication as me? I am not the same person, but modern medicine doesn’t realize that.” He has many reservations about how Western doctors feel they possess a Godhand and don’t realize the true meaning of overall well-being. He advises me to go into the countryside (not by myself) in order to see more of the traditional practices of Korea. As we leave one another I am shaken by his brilliance and confidence of knowledge. I am grateful for having had our conversation, although, it makes me regret selecting the missionary-founded western medical instruction that is taught at Yonsei’s infamous Severance Hospital.

General notes on my Korean experience:

The young people here on campus know everything about their ancestry. When Alyssa and I traveled to the heart of Seoul (literally the central city landmark, GyeongBokGung Palace and Museum), our Mentors David and Tae In, walk us through each artefact with a knowledge about its history. We’re amazed but they insist it’s “just common knowledge,” despite having told us about the Korean ritual practices of the 14^th century. Thus, the respect for elders and Korean ancestors is heavily rooted in each new generation, something I admire about Korean society. It makes me resent some Canadians who are too ignorant to learn our second national language. What a shame. The palace is beautiful and sculptures of phoenixes, white tigers, dragons, and cranes adorn each entranceway to bring prosperity and protection. The Royal grounds behind the central palace are tranquil and full of lush greenery. Mountains can be seen in the distance, interwoven among the skyscrapers of Jung-gu. It’s a fantastic day.

There’s one thing we’ve all noticed about Korea after coming from North America. Koreans don’t use enough trash cans or napkins. In restaurants, some “napkins” are simply rolled off of a roll of toilet paper hung on the wall. Trash cans are few and far apart because “if the city were to install them, they would fill up in a second and the city wouldn’t know how to manage it.” This is paradoxical for me. Since there are no disposals on the busy streets, Koreans simply pile random trash in big piles every couple of blocks. This has made for many strange odours to have emanated throughout my shopping experiences.  Moreover, in ALL washrooms, flushing the toilet paper is frowned upon because it wastes excess water and energy. Instead, you have one of two options. You can either install a futuristic low-flow toilet in your home that comes complete with a water spraying fountain that descends from the back rim of the bowl, followed by an automated air dryer… OR (as is the case in my dormitory) Korean simply have a wastebasket (with no lid, mind you) conveniently located beside your futuristic toilet in which you discard your used (i.e. fecally soiled) toilet paper. These fill up quickly in the dormitory and I have the utmost pity for our cleaning women on a daily basis. I flush the anomalies down the toilet anyway.

Although Seoul is modern in some cases, as my Korean Society professor had put it, “we don’t know whether to call South Korea a developed or almost developed country.” The signs of that are clear. I speak with a Japanese friend, Toshiko, about her opinion of Seoul. She insists it is far louder, dirtier, and people much ruder than in Japan. It’s true. The tranquility of Japan isn’t really found in Seoul as can be noted by the merchants frequently yelling in the streets and blindingly loud advertisements play outside of mega department stores. Toshiko insists that despite having more people, Japan is far less noisy and that people actually apologize when they run into each other by accident.

I’ve also found the city to be quite dirty. Perhaps my thinking was too generalized when I envisioned Japan and South Korea to be of the same standards in terms of hygiene. Here, the trash piles up in heaps throughout the day to be frantically taken away by city trucks in the wee hours of the morning (this is also the time when the streets are hosed down). Many buildings have rust stains running along their walls from the rooftops and the dormitories of the all-women’s Ehwa University across the street look as though they should be condemned. It’s almost as though many places are coated in a slight layer of dirt or soot that doesn’t seem to wipe away. The sidewalks are filled with potholes and dirt as well. Sometimes I worry that my feet may get infected by the grime in the streets. Thus, although the cell phones of Korea are multi-functional and Korean girls adorn themselves to the nines before stepping out for the day, the amount of dirt found in the general living space is shockingly bountiful. I have yet to step into the “Pig Villages” of eastern Seoul, but something tells me the conditions will be worse than I had initially imagined.

You can’t drink the tap water in Seoul due to the pollution. In terms of air quality, I find running outside here very difficult (although this may be because Yonsei is situated on an inntercity mountainside) and after having blown my nose from a run, I find sooty mucous has gotten clogged in my nostrils. Did I mention that everyone here smokes? It’s no surprise that respiratory diseases are the most frequent among Koreans and that the “Asthma Epidemic” is currently sweeping over Seoul and the other megacities of southeast Asia.

I’ve also heard that stomach cancer is common here due to all of the fermented foods that are consumed. Kimchi, Korea’s national iconic side dish, is a type of chilli-peppered, fermented cabbage that is literally eaten with every single meal. Other vegetables such as cucumbers, radishes, and leeks also undergo the same process and it would be hard to limit there consumption among the Korean people.

Today, Sept. 6, a couple of girls and I went to Ilsan in search of Chinese dim sum. Despite having ventured 30 minutes outside of Seoul plus an additional 45 minutes of walking later, we find the Chinatown district is still under construction and that nothing is open for business. Although disappointed, I don’t mind. Ilsan is northwest of Seoul and located more in the countryside suburbia of the greater metropolitan area. I actually was able to see something I had only read about in magazines: Massive blocks of urban residential apartment living communities for the workers of major Korean conglomerates like LG, Hyundai, and Lotte. As we exited the Ilsan subway station, miles of massive apartment complexes could be seen, each one stamped with a number and company logo of the employer who owned the buildings. We walk through one of these urban man-made neighbourhoods and at the base of these bunches of apartments we find public park spaces for exercise and recreation. Children play in manmade streams while women chat in cafes next to open fountains. The climate is pleasant, but after living in Canada, this comfort feels too synthetic to enjoy.

As we trek back after having lunch, I am shocked by the scenery we see on our way back into Seoul. Ilsan is a good 30 minutes outside of Seoul, but along the 5 stops prior to entering the Seoul metro line, I see the same thing that was found in Ilsan. Tens of miles of square apartments with stamped company logos and number posted on them. I must have seen hundreds of these apartments today. This is the “Salary Man” concept at work. Work for and in return, live by and through your loyalty to your employer. If you provide the labour, they provide the housing, schooling, and medical assistance for you and your family. This was how it played out for millions of Seoulites. Somehow, these congested communities sadden me despite many Koreans preaching the “security” these neighbourhoods provide. I wonder if some Koreans will ever know what it’s like to own a single-family home. According to my Professor, they won’t. In the population boom of the 1970s and 80s, the government of Seoul launched massive campaigns to convince the Korean people that apartment living was exponentially more comfortable and enviable than single-family housing. As a result, many people moved into the vertically expanding city and left their suburban homes to be demolished for more apartments to be erected. I can’t say I blame them. How else should the State manage a metropolitan core of over 24 million inhabitants? Either way, the campaigns were successful and now many Koreans will tell you they prefer living in the clusters of apartments within the city rather than in a single-family home. Whether they’ve experienced both, I can’t really say.

Up until this point of my life, I had never been outside of North America. No international flights, no customs declarations, no flying over any oceans. Overall, in the Vancouver terminal I felt relaxed–mainly due to the presence of some Canadian semblances. The plane was Canadian. Passengers: Canadian. The air still smelled fresh and crisp before boarding.

On board I sit next to a Korean man who speaks basic English phrases, but with a heavy accent and so I assume he will be of no assistance to me in terms of council. This is a terrible notion to harbour, but at the time, I was only looking to grab at commonalities. Later on, I discover that my initial judgement would be the first of many wrong assumptions to come.

Given the 15 hour time difference from Vancouver to Seoul, I mapped out that having the first 8 hrs of the 11-hour flight devoted to sleep would allow me to overcome jetlag.  Clearly, I drastically underestimated the effects of both adrenaline and turbulence. I try to sleep on the flight, but it’s not working. I watch a couple of movies during the ordeal, but somehow they aren’t as thrilling this time; mere distractions taking me away from the current status quo.

I get up to use the washroom and things really begin to get strange. Everyone waiting in line has jet-black hair and is nowhere above 5’6″. No English syllables are uttered for my salvation. This was the realization point–I was going to inhabit Seoul, South Korea, a city of 24 MILLION people within its greater metropolitan reach, for the next four months, and it sure as hell was going to be nothing like Canada.

As the flight nears, I feel essentially numb and panicked. My mouth is dry and my legs are cold. I’m given an Immunization form, Customs Declaration, and Arrival Card. How on Earth do I use these and where do they go?! Again, looking back, these motions are elementary to perform, but at the time, I’m positively losing my senses over their purpose and place.

Despite this, I glance down at the Korean countryside and am calmed by the vast amounts of rolling green mountains along the eastern coast. Rural farms can be seen from above as well as winding dirt roads. I make note of this serene landscape and hope to visit it on a weekend detour from my studies. The clarity of the eastern seaboard is soon left behind as we inch closer to Seoul. From above, I note that a haze not present in the Eastern sky looms over the cities of the West, now highlighted by clusters of skyscrapers. I anticipated the pollution to become evident upon landing, but even from above, the pollution in inherently present in Seoul is noted.

To my surprise, the Korean man next to me senses my emminating, ghostly terror and begins to make casual conversation with me. He asks me where I am from, why I am going to Korea, if it’s my first time visiting, etc. and I ask him the same. I am very grateful for this. Even as we touch down and the captain reports our “speedy” arrival time, the gentleman next to me jokes about how 11 hours must be an earth-shattering record time to say such a thing, the both of us clearly suffering from the beginning stages of atrophy.  His patience and kindness toward me are extraordinary for a new acquaintance and I feel as though I’ve arrived with a friend.

As I deboard, we pass through Quarantine and someone takes my Immunization form and places a small machine next to my ear, pushing an electronic device closer to my neck. I assume I’m read off as normal and pass through, thankful to be rid of the first of these three check-point documents. Chris, the gentleman sitting with me on the flight, passes beside me and continues to guide me through the Arrivals area. My first lesson is taught: never assume a foreigner will write you off as a lost cause. Chris escorts me downstairs and together we take the “unmanned Starline vehicle” to the passenger terminal to continue through to Immigration. The express train comes once every five minutes and I see people from all kinds of different cultures in line waiting to board.  A Chinese acrobatic group waits with posters for their September show.  Many people wear face masks for fear of H1N1 infection.

At this point, I should justify some of my anxiety by noting that Incheon International Airport in Incheon, South Korea, was recently named the #1 Airport in the World for 2009… as well as for the past four years in a row.  Judging from my printed Airport Guide, Incheon Airport is secretly the world’s realization of the Star Trek Enterprise and so explains my constant emotional shaking prior to landing. Incheon is gigantic and services some 30 million passengers per year. Essentially, before touching down, I felt the dense crowding was about to begin… as well as the sensory overload. Given its great reputation, I assumed Incheon would be complex and buzzing with technology.

To be frank, given the robot videos I had seen on youtube and the great ranking of Incheon… I was slightly underwhelmed.  The route through the Arrivals section is stunningly easy to maneouver through. The signage was (thankfully) both in Korean and English, yet, despite the refreshing clarity, I felt as though Incheon lacked personality. Although I had arrived at 4:30 pm local time, the airport felt dark and the ceilings, heavy. I stood for 45 agonizing minutes through Immigration, although I was able to meet a young Texan named David who needed to get through Baggage and Customs onto Gimpo airport in time for his 6:30 departure to another city. I wonder if he made it in time…

Once passing through Immigration, to my surprise, Chris was waiting for me on the other side! I insisted that he shouldn’t have waited, and at this point he told me that he had a son, aged 18, who was studying at a private school in Victoria, BC… so he understood how daunting it can be for a foreigner to make it through a new airport. I was thrilled (to say the least) and felt blessed for having met such a patient Seoulite to assist me on my journey. Chris helps load up my bags and walks me through Customs to be greeted by a member of his staff willing to find me a taxi to Yonsei. Although Chris’ gestures were bountiful, I had to decline in order to pick up my rental mobile phone, and so he left me with his phone number and a simple “if you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” Thus, some Korean hospitality was demonstrated as soon as I walked in the door.

After calling home once to say I had made it thanks to the help of an extremely patient local, I found a taxi bound for Seoul and headed for Yonsei University. This was also very cumbersome as various types of taxis exist in the Seoul region (ranging from luxury to deluxe to standard to express, etc.) and will drive to different provinces within South Korea from the airport. Finding the 6C area with standard, non-black topped taxis took some effort, but I was able to shoo away the deluxe drivers and find a “regular” taxi.  My cab driver is a small man in a vest and shirt with a kind face. Despite his meek appearance, we drive no less than 160 km/hr on the Incheon-Seoul Expressway!  I felt we were going to break through the toll booth barricades rather than stop and pay; once more, initial judgements can be deceiving!

It’s interesting. If you were to wikipedia Seoul city, you would read about its rapid industrialization and swift economic growth that have helped it attain the”Asian Tiger City” status of Hong Kong and Tokyo. However, as the cab crosses over into the outskirts of Seoul, I note the blatant discrepancies between the rich the poor. We drive by slum neighbourhoods where Korean youth are seen kicking around soccer balls and old men ride on shoddy bicycles. Five minutes later, we pass by avenues of flashing lights and designer handbag shops. Although it may be selfish, I am glad to see this. I chose Seoul with purpose in mind. As a Global Health project, Seoul is the most recent Tiger City to have evolved into a megacity and yet, among the Asian economic power states, I had heard it is still the slowest to evolve in the cultural sense. Slum neighborhoods are still heavily apparant and one can see the wealth distribution gradient simply from the initial taxi ride into Seoul. I also noted the haze and grit that seemed to coat even the glossiest skyscrapers on our way in. This may be due to the pollution or something coined the Yellow Dust that blows in from China late in the summer season. Either way, the wikipedia blip failed to note these distinguishing features of the city.

After seeing blocks of concrete buildings, I am delighted to see that Yonsei University, one of the three “Haven” universities in Seoul that are said to guarantee one’s career achievements, is nestled within trees and lush greenery. I am told this is one of the more beautiful, nature-oriented scenescapes in this area of Seoul, something for which I am again, very grateful.

I pay my driver the 60,000 won fare and walk into Yonsei’s International House dormitory to be very surprised by its living quarters. Apparently, I had been viewing pictures of International House II instead of International House I when I applied. I had envisioned redwood cabinets, a full-length desk, armoire, track spot lighting, and a perpendicular side to my roommate’s quarters. Not knowing any better, I open my door to a 10′x15′ room which I am to share with another girl, our beds parallel to one another with maybe 1 metre between our mattresses. To say the least, the room is tiny. The tiniest I’ve ever seen in a residence. Not to mention that, paint is coming off of the walls and furniture and there is no shelf space to boot. Scratch marks are seen along the walls and construction of the new dorm takes place daily from 6 AM to 6 PM directly adjacent to our building.  Joy. I unpack my things and shove my belongs into and overtop of every object in the room… clearly I did not anticipate how little space Seoulites need to live. It’s 8:00 p.m. here and I’m exhausted. After briefly saying my greetings to my roommate, Emily, I fall asleep around 9:30 p.m. I’m too tired to consider how far I’ve really traveled in the last 15 hours. I’m still shaking on the inside. I’m parched and my stomach is growling. I’m still mulling over what I’ve gotten myself into. I can’t help but feel very, very alone. A desperate part of me wants to pack everything up again and fly home the same night, but for now, sleep comes first.

Good night, Seoul; Good morning to the dawn of my Global Health experience.

This is troublesome.  As of right now, I have yet to hear back from Yonsei University, Yheesun Orphanage, or the MIZY Youth Centre in Seoul.  I contacted all of them via email in English a good two weeks ago and have had no reply.  My brother raised a good point; “Perhaps they aren’t replying from Seoul because they can’t read English, Jenn.”  Ah, indeed.  This is proving very problematic.  And my cell phone plan doesn’t allow for international calling…

So what’s next?  Errmmm. Finish Risk Management forms, upload docs in PDF format, get travel insurance, sign up for KOR-100 back at U of R, ship out application packages to Yonsei and KU, find legit job for the summer, somehow contact Yheesun and MIZY, and arrange for a homestay. 

In eight days?  …I’m going hard kids!

In other news… I should really sign up for a hip-hop class.  Seriously.  I’ve been thinking about it for years now and I’m just so friggin stagnant on the issue.  Rather, I could hold off and do b-girling when I get to Seoul since its the global arena for breakdance.  Hmmm… I forsee the need for more international calling minutes.