The Good, the Bad, and the Far-From-Ugly Part 2: Vanity Fair

Japanese women care about their looks to put it mildly, but somehow the Korean women I encountered made the Japanese obsession seem normal. Everywhere I went, whether it be a public toilet on a hike or one in a metro station, there were rows and rows of women standing at the mirrors preening themselves. Every single lady I saw looked flawless and well-dressed no matter where it was. On hikes, their faces were done up as if they were about to get married. 

But... you're about to hike?

The obsession with beauty just seems completely ingrained in Korean culture. Plastic surgery offices lined streets and it was completely normal to see five beauty product stores side by side. Sometimes, even young children have surgery which baffles me not just because little kids shouldn't have plastic surgery in the first place but because their faces will continue to change as they age.

The beauty regimen adhered to by Koreans just seems exhausting. It's an endless string of steps from applying myriad creams, lotions, oils and concoctions of every other texture imaginable. One of our roommates in the hostel spent about 30 minutes slapping something onto her skin which really irritated me as it was right as I was falling asleep.

There are beauty products for everything there. The face creams contain bleach because their skin must be perfectly white. There are eyelash extenders, pore minimisers, face mask for every purpose in every colour you can imagine... anything you don't like about your face can be fixed with a Korean beauty product. If it can't, don't worry- you can just walk next door to the plastic surgery clinic. 

The Good, The Bad, and The Far-From-Ugly Part One: Why You Gotta Be So Rude?

My Korean seat neighbour described two blogs ago turned out to be an accurate representative of most Koreans I would encounter during my time in Busan. I'm going to go ahead and expect a slew of comments from upset readers berating me for making generalisations, so let me just go ahead and address that now. These are just opinions based on my observations. I know that people from every country are all unique and have their positive and negative personality traits. However, as an outsider, there were things I observed. My observations based on a short period of time, good and bad, are all that this blog details. So, everybody chill in advance.

Because it's just a blog

I initially wrote all of my observations in one long blog, but I know how short attention spans are these days, so I have turned it into a multiple-blog series. Enjoy.

Why You Gotta Be So Rude?

As I previously mentioned, living amongst the Japanese for months has likely tainted my perspective on how people should act. Japanese people are some of the genuinely kindest I have ever met. They rarely have ulterior motives driving their actions and will go out of their way to help anyone at all, even someone they barely know. Greetings are of utmost importance in Japanese culture as well as cleanliness and politeness. Had I travelled from New York to Busan, I may not have noticed a thing.

However, I was traveling from Japan to Busan. So imagine how I felt the first time I heard a Korean man hacking up a spit wad right there in the metro station. Shocked would describe it pretty well, though the more it happened the less it surprised me.

Also, in Japan people generally walk in a direct path to their destination in the train station. If they divert from said path and bump into you, they are quick to apologise. I know at least three ways to apologise in Japanese because of this. In Korea, people often walked directly into me and didn't even hesitate. No "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." Sometimes, it even seemed like they were INTENTIONALLY trying to run into me. For example, when I would walk down a practically empty hall and someone was walking the opposite direction, they still found a way to bump into me. How!? Why?!

Also, the staring. In India, people ogled me like I was a bearded lady in a freak show and didn't even try to pretend they weren't staring. Even when I returned their gaze they kept starting. Koreans weren't as bad, but some still stared at me to the point I felt very uncomfortable. That is another thing that I never experience in Japan.

Finally, the train situation. In Japan, people line up alongside the doors when the train arrives and wait for the passengers to get off before they file in. In Korea, forget it. The method there was "barge right in as soon as the doors open and don't wait for anyone to get off first."

When push comes to shove, Korea is a dog-eat-dog world. 

A Picnic in a Mine Field

So many mountains to potentially conquer, so little time.

Literally, Busan is surrounded by mountains. So, while preparing for my trip, I did substantial research on which peak to take on during my short time. The first intriguing aspect of hiking Jangsan mountain was its accessibility. Many other trails required a number of metro transfers and a bus transfer or two. No thanks. Jangsan required only a short ride on the metro and BAM, you're there.

Of course, there is always a catch. In the case of Jangsan mountain, the catch comes in the form of many old land mines scattered beneath the terrain. Therefore, you better stay on the bath lest you desire to lose a limb.

Better stay on the path!

Hiking in Korea is quite a bit different form hiking elsewhere. Trekkers don themselves with matching hiking gear and stop at a number of "fitness parks" en route to the peak to fit in some bench press reps or crunches. Also, there are some fire hydrants alongside the path in case of a forest fire. Gotta pee and don't feel like roughing it? Don't worry- there are also relatively nice bathrooms along the trail.

I enjoyed the solitude provided by the hiking experience. The bitter cold temperatures kept me moving quickly towards my peak in a desperate attempt to generate internal heat. It worked. I didn't pay any attention to the strange looks my outfit attracted- apparently wearing a sweatshirt, gloves, and a scarf that are all different colours is frowned upon in Korea.

Breathtaking (noun): This view.

The most entertaining moment of my hike came when I was on the decline. As I stopped to snap some photos of a breathtaking view, two old Korean women enjoying a picnic began talking to me and motioned for me to join them. I kept pointing at myself to make sure they really meant me, and they nodded so I took a seat. They handed me an orange. At that moment I really wished I'd known the word for "thank you." Then they poured me a hot beverage.

"Coffee?" I asked in a hopeful tone.

One of the Korean grannies wagged a finger. "PREMO coffee." Oh. My bad. Gotta emphasize its premium quality.

In the end, I received a hard-boiled egg, a few cups of PREMO coffee, and an orange. Yay, sustenance! Prior to meeting those ladies, I felt like a beaten and weary traveler. Their kindness gave my body and mind a 180, turning me into a post-spinach Popeye.

During our mountain picnic, they continued gabbing amongst themselves, and I figured they had forgotten me. Then they began pointing at my face and saying a word that sounded like "ming." I pointed at my face and made an angry expression and said "mean? I look mean?" and they shook their heads and continued to say "ming." As each woman said the word, the other nodded in agreement.

Perhaps I resembled someone named Ming? No way. There's nothing Asian about my face whatsoever. Perhaps they were inquiring if my ancestors were part of the Ming Dynasty? That would be cool, but nope. They just kept repeating the same words over and over. And I just remained confused.

Eventually I just gave up on my futile attempt to understand. It was useless. I just hope they weren't insulting me. In spite of their food-related kindness, I wouldn't have been surprised if they were calling me fat, or ugly, or some other insult. As I came to discover, Koreans are "a bit" vain. Also, a bit rude. Of course, I am not attempting to generalise an entire people, simply to state what I observed after being in Korea for a couple of days. Honestly, perhaps they only SEEMED rude in comparison for the Japanese, who would give you the shirt off their backs in below-zero temperatures without a second thought.

So... stay tuned for my next post: a detailed analysis of the Korean people.

Korean Cab Driver

A selfie-obsessed seat neighbor. A no-nonesense Korean cab driver. Two grannies gossiping while taking a break from a hike. Yes, I've met all sorts of colourful characters in Busan, South Korea, and I've only been here for one day so far.

My seat neighbor was one of the two worst kinds of seat neighbors. The two types of seat neighbors I dread are the extremely chatty ones who talk to you from tarmac to tarmac, and the obnoxiously rude ones. Yes, people, there is nice middle ground. My seat neighbor was a Korean girl who looked to me to be about 20. However, she may have been 40 for all I know- Asian women are blessed with wrinkle-free baby skin until they are like, 70. I want those genes... Anyway, I was sitting in the aisle and she had the window seat. Instead of saying "excuse me" in any language or at the very least gesturing to the window seat so that I could get up and provide her access to her seat, she climbed over me and whacked me in the face with her purse and didn't say a word. Real nice. She then proceeded to take the pillow from the spare seat between us, because of course I wouldn't want it, and then she put all of her belongings on the spare seat. Real nice. When the dreaded turbulence of death started, all I could think was that she was the last person I'd want to crash sitting next to. Because yes, I always assume that turbulence equals inevitable crash.

Prior to taking off, she spent about 10 minutes arranging every single strand of hair on her head and practicing a number of pouty faces for a number of selfies she took. What is this world coming to?

Dear God, please make this woman stop

Anyway... eventually I landed, giddy to be in a brand new, shiny country. I immediately loved it, but felt like I was back at square one as far as being completely unable to communicate. It felt like I JUST got to the point where I could understand and converse even the slightest bit in Japanese. Time to start all over. I blew through customs quicker than a determined tumbleweed, and was ready to head to my destination.

That is one determined tumbleweed.

The first thing I came to adore about the lovely city of Busan was the abundance of free WiFi. Seriously, Japan needs to get on that. Even when I do find free WiFi in Japan, it is extremely slow. I know, I know- first world problems.

It's a hard-knock life. Just ask Annie.

So back to my story! I planned to take the metro. I had it all mapped out. But, sometimes, plans change. In this case, someone changed my plans for me. As I exited the airport, a stout little Korean man began yammering to me. I realized he was asking if I needed his taxi services, and I said I was alright, but he didn't understand me and kept insisting, so I asked how much it would be and he kept saying "one zero." I didn't know if he meant 10,000 won, or 10 won, or 100 won or what other mixture of ones and zeros he meant. A little fuzzy on the conversions still, I caved and let the determined little man take my suitcase and place it in the trunk. As I got begn to get in the back seat, he shook his head and wagged his finger at me and pointed at the passenger seat. Okay, sure, I'll sit next to you, sir.

The ride was a hilarious event during which he talked on and on in Korean, and I replied in English, and I had no idea what he was saying whatsoever. At one point, he reached in the glovebox and handed me a piece of gum. I hope he wasn't trying to tell me something about my breath. Anyways, once we arrived I realized that yes, the 30 minute cab ride was only $10. I loved the little man so much that I gave him a little extra because he was so rad.

The next morning I decided to conquer one of Busan's many peaks. I almost diverted from my plan, however, when I stepped outside into the frigid air.

I have been in Colorado, Minnesota and Chicago in the wintertime. I know cold. This cold made all of those colds look like a Miami beach vacation. This was the kind of cold that violently rips through your layers, renders your handwarmers useless and freezes you to the deepest depths of your core, down to your very soul. Okay, that sounds dramatic. But it's not too far off. The frigidness of the air was augmented greatly by the harsh wind, as well.

Finally, I decided it was all about the attitude. I was all like:

Actually, it did, like five minutes ago...

Tune in next time to read about my epic hike!

 

Fight Do!

Move aside, hot yoga, I’ve fallen head over heels for a new kind of workout.

Okay, okay, perhaps that is a bit rash. I’m not ready to thrust aside my beloved yoga, which has served me so well for over two years now. But, it will certainly be sharing time in my workout schedule with a newcomer: kickboxing.

I would have never ended up participating in a kickboxing class in Japan if it hadn’t been for one of my students inviting me to his gym after my Sunday morning class. I somewhat reluctantly agreed.

My reluctance stemmed from a rather disastrous experience at a dance class I attempted last week. I say attempted, because by no dictionary’s definition did I complete a single dance step correctly. I was a horrible whirlwind of spastic motions flailing about the studio, posing a massive hazard to those around me like a renegade tornado.

I felt crushed after and vowed not to attend a dance class in Japan ever again. Sticking with yoga seemed a safe option: despite my lack of comprehension of the instructor’s directions, my previous knowledge of the postures enables me to succeed to some degree.

So, back to the story at hand: kickboxing class. The class is actually called Fight Do, or フアイト゛ウ, because it is a brand name like “Bikram yoga” or “P-90X.”I should prefix this by saying we attended a yoga class beforehand. So, I was already a bit tired physically, thus augmenting my anxiety about my ability to do “Fight Do” class. Yet, my anxieties were, as usual, completely unnecessary.

I plan to.

Jabbing, punching, elbowing, and kicking the air is one of the most cathartic and stress relieving workouts I’ve ever done. Also, focusing on the instructor meant I had no extra mental capacity to think about my daily woes.

I hope I look this cool...

Not only did I enjoy the experience, but it also turns out that I am shockingly apt at doing the moves properly. That has never happened before, as I am completely uncoordinated. In middle school, I had to stay late after the rehearsal for musicals because I needed extra lessons to learn the dance moves. The only dance class at which I have ever slightly succeeded is Zumba, because it requires no grace whatsoever. Or, perhaps it does, but it also doesn't matter if you flail around like an uncoordinated baboon, like I do. On that note, are there graceful baboons? I always think of primates as flailing creatures. Especially when I think of myself.

Thankfully, my gym has its own Fight Do classes. And I plan to attend every weekend. 

Sexist Language

My ears are open wide every time I am in the teachers' room at school. I listen constantly, hoping to absorb Japanese in any way possible. The English teacher next to whom I sit frequently said "よし," or "yoshi" (but it is drawn out, and sounds like "yoshhh") before he would go to class. I thought about what it meant, and eventually realised that it was used as a way to mentally prepare yourself for something. I grew to love the word, especially because it is one for which we don't really have a translation in English. So, of course, I adopted it into my vocabulary. I began to say it before class and before anything that I was nervous about doing. 

Saying よし became as much of a habit as breathing. I used it when I was alone. I used it in public. Yoshi! Just thinking the word made me feel so much more prepared for the task before me. 

YOSHI!

Then, today, my spirits sank.

On Sunday mornings, I teach a class in Konosu. The students are Japanese men aged 60 and over, and teaching them is extremely fun for me. Their English is already at fluency level, and they love listening to my grammar rants (people generally hate when I correct their grammar, but not these guys). They also enjoy answering my questions about Japanese.

So, today I decided to ask them about "yoshi." They stared at me wide-eyed and didn't hesitate whatsoever to inform me that ladies NEVER say "yoshi," and that it is something ONLY men can say. I felt panic come over my face, perhaps a bit extreme of a reaction. But, but....よしwas something I came to love! I couldn't fathom the idea of parting with such a wonderful word! I begged them, irrationally, asking if there was any way I could use it. Perhaps my status as a foreigner meant it was okay and I could get away with it? Please?? They simply shook their heads. They told me I had to let go of よし. I had to move on. But, I simply can't grasp that idea. I just can't let go of my beloved よし. 

Why must Japanese be so sexist? As I spoke a slew of other colloquial phrases I had picked up in the teachers' room, they informed me that 85% of them were not acceptable for females to speak. I felt so unbearably crushed. I just can't accept that. 

So...regardless, I say よし! Perhaps not in front of them, however...

I Followed a Cartoon Cat

I discovered the place where I would want to live if I ever decided to settle in Japan. I feel reluctant to share it with the world. This little town is a lovely little secret which I almost want to keep that way.

I have always loved the Miyazaki film 耳をすませば, or Whisper of the Heart. It features the John Denver song "Country Roads" (the result of which being that every Japanese person knows that song by heart) and is a charming and touching tale of young love. 

I decided that while I am in Japan, I should check out some of the places that inspired Miyazaki films. I did some research and found that Whisper of the Heart takes place in a small city in West Tokyo called 

多摩ニュータウン, Tama New Town, accessible by the rail station Seiseki-Sakuragaoka on the Keio line. 

When I arrived, I felt discouraged. It took about an hour to get there, and the small city seemed nothing more than a typical city with way too much concrete and not nearly enough foliage. Little did I know, this was merely a farce, for hiding behind the expanse of buildings lie the loveliest neighbourhood nestled into the hills.

After wandering aimlessly around the station and taking a photo of the famous Keio store sign from the movie, I decided to give up on finding real life areas of town portrayed in the movie. 

However, just at that moment, I saw a little sign near one of the entrances to the station. It depicted the path that the cat in the film takes when the main character decides to follow it. I made up my mind to follow the path of the animated cat as well.

Doing so turned out to be a wonderful decision. It led me away from the heart of the city up a winding road and multiple steep staircases into a beautiful and neighbourhood. 

The homes were massive by Japanese standards and nestled inconspicuously into the hillside. Stunningly beautiful trees of every colour formed a canopy over many parts of the neighbourhood and gave off the earthy aroma of the earlier rain. As a side note, one of my hands-down favourite things about autumn in Japan is the intense juxtaposition of colours. Some trees are void of leaves, some are vibrant red, some yellow, and some are still as green as they were in summer. 

Walking through the silent streets brought me immense peace, and led me to the decision that if I ever decided to stay in Japan forever, it would be in that neighbourhood.

One of my favourite parts of visiting that town was how off-the-beaten-path of a destination it was. The only other foreigner I saw was a man sitting in the Starbucks in the station. 

I am sure the locals were figuratively rolling their eyes when they saw me snapping photos of the buildings featured in the Miyazaki film, thinking “yep, another American obsessed with Japanese animation.” I also imagine they are sick of hearing a digitized version of “Country Roads” playing every time a train arrives at the station, but I found it charming.

I’m immensely glad I decided to follow the cat from the movie. Even if it is just a cartoon.