In Which the Author is Outsmarted by a Metro Pass Machine - Twice

A week ago, I undertook the epic voyage to choir. It was made immensely more epic by my complete failure to master the Seoul subway system, and total inability to catch a train at the right time.

First things first: getting from Daejeon to Seoul. Attempting to arrive at a certain subway stop in Seoul by 3:15, I tried for a 1:45 train from Daejeon. No such train was forthcoming, at least not with any room on it for me. The earliest possible train was at 3 (for those not up to doing the math, that would not get me to my rehearsal on time). I bought my KTX ticket and buried my feeling like an idiot in a chocolate muffin, drowning it with a latté just to be on the safe side. At long last, my train did come, and I even got on the right one this time. There was great rejoicing.

One uneventful high-speed ride later, I found myself in Seoul, full of the confidence that comes from knowing exactly how to descend the two flights of stairs (with excellent signage) to the subway station. Once at the bottom of said stairs, however, I found myself entirely stumped. I knew I was supposed to take the green line, or line 2, to my destination. Right where you enter from the train station, there is an entrance for line 1. At first, I thought the turnstiles there were for all the subway lines, so I bought a ticket and went in, only to find no line 2 and that I had aced myself into a totally wasted ticket, as the system in Seoul is to have you turn in your card at the other end of your trip. I sacrificed my brave little ticket to get out and over to where there were signs. On these signs I found many numbers, one of which was 2, so I followed the signs to 2. Now would be a good time to tell you that because the subway stations are so vast, they have multiple exits putting you out at different locations on the street. These exits are numbered. 2 was an exit, not a line.

In all my wandering, I had yet to see a comprehensive map of the subway system, time tables being much more prevalent and much more in Korean. Eventually I found what I thought was a map of the large station in which I found myself, with several lines in different places. The place seemed big enough that I walk a ways to hit the line two turnstiles, and that was fine with me. I started walking. Ten minutes later, no line 2. I think it would be fair to describe my next ten minutes as aimful wandering, being a masterful combination of knowing exactly where you want to go, but having no idea what the hell is going on.

About to revoke my big-girl status if it gave me permission to pursue that most time-honored solution of damsels everywhere (sit in the road and cry until rescued), I happened upon a fantastic opportunity for some racial profiling. I saw a white guy and really, really hoped he spoke English. He did! He was a programmer for Samsung, visiting Korea from Texas, and he and I had a perfectly mutual helpful exchange. He informed me that Seoul Station only gets you onto the 1 or 4 lines, and I informed him that he was looking for the KTX and could find it right this way, sir. Armed with such helpful knowledge, I bought a ticket to take me one stop to the green line station, and another which I thought would get me from there to my final stop. I hopped on my line 1 train (even going the right direction for I am, dear reader, so very clever).

At the transfer point for line 2, I followed the helpful signs and was ushered onto the train going my way in short order. At no point was there another check for my ticket, which was confusing, but I assumed I missed it in my mad rush to be ever so slightly less late than the hour and change it had already been. I must note at this time, dear readers, that I had totally underestimated how big Seoul is. My ride on the green line went over hill and down dale, over the river (twice) and through the woods ("woods" here being a metaphor for "lots of buildings"). 45 minutes later, I arrived at the stop for Seoul National University, where there was some confusion with the machine to which I was supposed to give my card, because I had two tickets: one that was good for one stop to get me to line 2, which I had checked in, but not out, and another which was good from Seoul Station to the one I was in, but which I hadn't checked in. Luckily, there is a machine that can fix hapless errors of this sort (sometimes) and it allowed me out, in the end.

I emerged from the specified metro exit at my proper spot and walked triumphantly up to the intersection at which I needed to turn left and then make an immediate right, which I did. This put me, as advertised by the choir's directions, on a narrow street (alley) on which I was to proceed 100 meters, whereupon I would see a nice sign in English telling me I had arrived. Well, some 70 meters along, the alley T'd into another alley, and the instructions had included exactly no information about that whatsoever. I retraced my footsteps, looking for a sign for fear that my inability to estimate distances had gotten the better of me. No luck. I walked a ways down each of the branches of the T. No luck. I went into a convenience store and asked for the name of the rehearsal hall in Korean (I'd even written it down in my planner, and showed it to the clerk). She responded with, "Bunh?" and a confused shrug, universal parlance for, "I don't know what you're talking about, crazy lady, but you sure are late!" (Okay, maybe that last part wasn't universal). Finally, I called the guy who was running the rehearsal, explaining that just inches from glorious victory, I had stumbled. He explained that I should go right at the T and that someone would be there to show me where to go. Hallelujah! (Not what we're singing).

I did go right, there was someone there, and he kindly ushered me into a building just a few doors down from the convenience store which had not proved convenient. You would think, dear reader, at this point I could not screw it up any more. Your underestimation of my directional incompetence flatters me. I managed to get into the right building, down to the right floor, and still I turned right where I should have turned left. The nice man set me on my path again. A mere 2 and a half hours after I should have arrived, I found myself in a room with other people, about to sing. (I will save my thoughts on the music company for another time).

On the way back, I thought myself in fine shape, as I knew where I was going in terms of walk-y bits and thought I now had a handle on the trains. Alas, it still hadn't sunk in that I was dealing with a much smarter breed of ticket machine than I'm used to, so I failed to buy the ticket I needed (one ticket from A to B, transfers included). I bought a ticket from where I was to where the lines converged, putting me one stop shy of the KTX promised land. I assumed, as I mentioned, that there were machines to check through, but that I had missed them on my first transfer, being overwhelmed with the shock and awe that affects all Americans facing well-maintained public transportation.

On the bright side, I discovered that my observational skills are indeed sharp. On the dark side, I exited the train a metaphorical dollar short. I had transferred without putting enough money on my card to do so when I tried to leave at the other end. When I tried to get out of the subway station, scant feet from the gateway to freedom, the machine insisted I was in error and refused to open. I tried to use the "Please fix my stupid fare" machine, but it told me my card could not be modified. I did everything except light candles and invoke the spirits, but it would not take my money. Finally, someone was having trouble getting into the station, so an attendant appeared from wherever they lurk to help her. I presented my best "I am a lost sheep. The one with its head stuck in the fence." face and the man calmly waved my card over the machine and I was free. I soothed my wounded pride with ice cream, bought a train ticket, and went home to Daejeon. There was some brief confusion with a taxi driver over whether or not I lived in a real place, but eventually, oh so eventually, I got home.

Just think, I only have to do that once a week. Yay!

Who has...

...two thumbs and still has a high C? This girl right here! Whew.

Flouting Communism, Practicing Korean

Certainly buying stuff has both allowed me to use my limited Korean and shown me where it's deficient (pretty much everywhere, see: oven-buying debacle). I think I would weep for joy if I were suddenly dumped into a Romance-language speaking country. Comparatively, it is so easy. There was actually a French film on t.v. a few days ago, and I ended up watching it for a few minutes just to hear a foreign language in which I'm not functionally retarded. Oh, the linguistic humble pie is served hot and fast here.

I look up really anything I think I don't know the word for on my shopping lists, but I usually write them down, to curtail any misunderstanding that may be a result of my mispronunciation of the Hangul. (I also think there's something to be said for the notion that paradigm shifting to accept a white person speaking Korean makes it hard to understand, even if the pronunciation is perfect - indeed, it may be harder!)*

Holy God, what a disaster is the Korean supermarket. There seems to be some mass incomprehension of the laws of physics as they apply to persons wielding shopping carts in narrow aisles, not to mention proper supermarket etiquette. There's no, "Oh here, let me stay on the right so traffic doesn't get totally bolluxed up" or even "let me not STOP RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD BECAUSE I AM OBVIOUSLY THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON HERE" (not that I'm bitter, you understand). It's a nightmare. A complicated nightmare with tiny children running around like they do and adults sort of moseying like big, chatty cattle with no sense of flow, combined with the deafening cacophony of certain goods-hawkers. They don't just have free samples in the stores, they have people trying to convince you of their merits at the top of their lungs. It's kind of like the worst possible combination of the modern supermarket with an old-world bazaar. It's all together appalling, and I defy a flow analyst to make it work. These people behave like an extremely viscous fluid with gas-like properties when it comes to expansion (they can occupy any area). For sure, it is a cultural experience, coming as I do from the cherished background of the East Coast, where we perform the traditional People Avoi-Dance every day. (PUN! Do you still miss me?)

*I don't say that just to point out, subtly, that my pronunciation is probably fine, or to give myself another target for blame when I'm not understood, but seriously, some words I am really not getting wrong, and I still get the Look of EGAD (Exceptionally Great Amazement and Dumbfoundedness), That White Girl is Trying to Speak to Me!

I HAVE A STUPID PUN FOR YOU: P said he got croissants in a tube (we can shudder about that later) but he said they were called crescents, and I said, "That's just how Pillsbury rolls." DO YOU STILL MISS ME?

I got a 200 on the SAT - Social Aptitude Test

A little while ago, I made my first batch of cookies in the Magic box (my oven's name, lest you forget, is Magic)! I had people over to celebrate, or rather, I tried to. I could only reach two guys I work with, and I think perhaps they were concerned about the awkwardness of being perceived as being two gentlemen callers to their one female coworker. One of them brought his Korean cousin, who I'm sure is a lovely person, but who doesn't speak much English, so E, my coworker, was either translating or his cousin was sitting and feeling left out. J didn't arrive until after E and his cousin had left, so it was shifts and awkwardness enough for all.

I think the layout of the place really makes a difference. (In Chicago, P and I hosted relatively frequently, and it was really fun). It's hard to entertain in this space. I have two chairs and my bed to sit on, and the layout is not conducive to comfortable conversation. Additionally, I have spent years among my people, the nerds, and I realized I have no idea how to talk with normal people my own age. I can talk to older people much more easily, and younger people, but normal people my own age remain an enigma. In Chicago, P and I could play off each other, and other nerds are always accessible on nerd topics, but here I am alone in a sea of social competents.

Someday, perhaps, social eptness will be mine. Not today, though. All those genes went to my sister.

All the children are (expected to be) above average

Hello, Internet, it has been a while. Sorry for the delay in posts, you'd think with all the nothing going on here, I'd have lots of time to write.

So the news from Lake Woebegone is slim. We are finally out of intensive period, the month-long pseudo-vacation from regular school during which our students come earlier and stay longer than they do during regular classes. (This is ostensibly so they can be so awesome that every specialized high school in the country will beg for the glory of their attendance and they will be guaranteed success wherever they go. I think there is some absence of comprehension about the notion of averages at work here). I no longer have to arrive at work at the unGodly hour of 1:00 p.m., but have returned to the infinitely more reasonable 3:00 p.m. (don't hate, people, I worked 1 - 10:40 on most days and 12 - 10:40 on Wednesdays... Wednesdays full of children whose behavior can only be explained by their repeated possession by a variety of demonic spirits so creative in their spreading of discord and horror that it defies documentation). Today marks the second day back in the 3 - 11 swing. Admittedly, the world is emptier when I go home at night, but I consider it a worthwhile sacrifice, wild partier though I am.

In non-school news, I may soon be part of a choir. The Camarata Music Company is a Seoul-based organization of foreign-born and Korean singers who get together and sing classical things. They even have a mostly-expat orchestra. I arrived just in time to miss their performance of Messiah, but they are starting a new season, the first major performance of which will be the Faure Requiem (forgive my lack of accents, I have no idea how to make that magic happen on Windows). The first rehearsal is on Saturday at 4, and those interested in performing with the group for the first time are to show up at 3:30 for a range test. I have to say, oh my readers and oh the delight of my inbox, I am remotely unnerved by the prospect of joining a group without auditions. For those not aware, my performance standards are obscenely high. In extremely specialized circumstances I have managed to ignore them, but they are still, by and large, a roadblock to my enjoyment of group performance. I fear that a part-determination is not a stringent enough test to ensure optimality. On the other hand, would I rather not get into a choir with high audition standards and have to find another place to sing, or suck it up and enjoy what I can? Ask me again in April.

In yet other news, friends and relations, my schedule is not the most fascinating thing in the world. I have talked phonetics with some of the other teachers, regarding how to manufacture sounds in English correctly, and that was fun, but now there's a lot of thumb twiddling involved. I kind of want to kick past-me in the pants for saying, "I want a strict curriculum for which I am not at all responsible!" because it's making for a lot of teaching to the book and teaching to the test, and a lot of it is really boring and frustrating. I spend at least five minutes per class correcting the textbook with which I must teach. I am displeased. Between that and the "no fun" rule, I feel a distinct hard place forming just opposite the rock of TOEFL prep. Suggestions welcome, as always.

So that's the news from Lake SeoDaejeon, where all the women are strong, and all the men are good-looking...