A couple of weeks later we found ourselves at a sacred Korean holiday, one where they celebrate their liberty from Japan and essentially use it as an excuse to take the day off work and play ping-pong. I envy countries that have myths and heroes and all, but when Canada has a national holiday it seems we at least do something better than play ping-pong. Anyway, my friends and I invited ourselves along for the post-game company dinner, which, upon arriving at the restaurant it was made abundantly clear that we weren’t welcome. One Korean sat with us out of pity, but the rest avoided us like the Bubonic Plague. We didn’t terribly mind, though. We were there for one reason and one reason only: the promise of fresh dog. The cultural experimentation that I craved at the outset of this pilgrimage was about to increase exponentially.
I spent the afternoon drinking whatever I could find, knowing that many of my past and current friends have pets they care about a great deal. So the main course comes and they start serving up birds. “Duck” it turns out to be. My source wasn’t unreliable, but her pronunciation tripped me up a bit. “Whatever,” we grunt, as we mercilessly tear through the three ducks presented to us. Then comes dessert.
“What you want?” one of the Korean math teachers asks, using whatever English he can muster. The non-English speaking Korean teachers at our school don’t speak particularly well but we appreciate their attempts, especially as my attempts at Korean are laughable at best.
“Whatcha got?” I reply.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh,” (the favourite expression among our Korean friends when dealing with English people and they’re at a loss for words) “Cake, noodles, kimbap (veggie sushi) and dog soup.”
“Pardon!!??”
“Dog Soup,” he replies, emphatically.
The lads and I share a look. “Game on” we say, as though what we’re about to do is little more than sharing some shots of tequila.
All I can tell you is that it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t tasty. But, if I wanted to get drunk everyday and watch new releases from the video shop I could have done that at home. The whole point of doing anything is to do something new. It may be rude and it may be disgusting, or it may be perfectly normal. Whatever it is it’s living in that moment, and as we all know there is no perfect way to describe that moment. That’s something we can all share.
Back to the teaching, there is nothing as heartwarming as a class of 8 year-old Koreans screaming “Yo Yo Ma!!” and pumping their fists in the air with the same vigor as a pervert in a peep show at 3:30 in the afternoon.
Teaching truly is the most honourable profession. Still, I wonder who is getting the better end of the deal. I can’t help but think that the education I’m receiving far outweighs the one I can offer.
I quickly realize there’s only one way to look at it: at the end of the day it all evens out. I wake up to the same sun that I did at home and finish the day with the same clock-counting weariness. Doing what’s natural no matter what side of the world I’m on, I grab a beer and stare outside, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before I find myself someplace else.
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