Korean Contours: Circling Back, Shaping The Future

"Believe in the holy contour of life."

Jack Kerouac 

The contours of Korea have carried me across and beyond four decades. Like the twin loops of a figure eight, I have twice come full circle in Korea. At the time of my arrival in November of 1973, Gerald Ford was being voted in by the U.S. Senate to replace Richard Nixon. That month the headlines were featuring the infamous Watergate Scandal. As I prepared to depart Korea in 2017 completing another cycle there, Korea was reeling from its own presidential scandal.

The Korea of 1973 was a developing country, with a per capita income equal to that of the country that shares its peninsula, North Korea. Today, Korea's economy is the 13th strongest in the world, ranked between Australia and Spain, and ahead of The Netherlands (17), Turkey (18), and Saudi Arabia (19). As an observer, it is hard to believe how significantly this country has transformed itself in such a relatively short period of time.

I have attempted to capture reflections of these changes in both words and pictures in my more than ninety posts here on the Korean Bookends blog. But headlines and statistics aside, the contours of Korea will remain with me forever. 

An old woman leans on a piece of styrofoam to make
her way in downtown Daegu 

A Seoul sculpture reflects the youthful "hurry-hurry" culture of modern Korea

Red peppers drying in the September sun

Hand-made steamed buns offered up in an old shop in Seoul

The shapes of things to come: a new mall in southeastern Seoul

Daegu East Station makes room for the city's newest mall

New arts complex in Seoul

"I'm Korean:" Young Seoul artist leaves his imprint

Wooden stairs at Yeungnam University in Gyeongsan

Recently, I've made plans to return to Korea to complete yet another circle. I will be joining a group of former volunteers 
-teachers and health professionals-folks, who decades ago came to work with, and assist, Korean citizens. In rediscovering the past, we often sharpen our sense of the present and the future. In doing so, writer Jack Kerouac noted, perhaps we can find the holy contours of life.

The Long Road Back to Korea

It's gotten to the point where there are way too many "formers" on my Facebook bio: former associate professor, former consultant, former facilitator at a conflict-resolution camp. One "former," in that long parade, was an early one, my stint as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Korea.

Recently, I was reminiscing about the feelings I had more than four decades ago as I was preparing to depart the U.S. and head to Korea for the very first time. I didn't have much to go on. I had a sense it was far away from everything I knew growing up in the suburbs of New York City. But I knew nothing about the food, the culture, its history, only a few general things about a war we had fought there in the early 1950s.

Once again, I'm getting ready to go to Korea. In a few months I hope to return and I'm awash in feelings of excitement and reminiscence. This time, I have a million hooks to hang my emotions onto. I can picture the many places I yearn to return to in Seoul, Daegu and Gyeungsan, the latter two, locations where I taught English to Korean college students. I recall the smells that wafted along side alleys, redolent in garlic, kimchi and silkworms steaming in the pots of street vendors. The vague, implausible excitement of my youth is far different from the impatience of returning home to a familiar place.

One of my university students rests his hands on my shoulder, as
we pose with high school students in their uniforms (Spring, 1974)

Korea has filled seven years of my life to the brim. I did my first real teaching there in a heatless classroom with poor lighting, filled with students hungry to improve their English. Living in Korea I delved into my earliest understanding of another culture, one with 5,000 years of history behind it. Here I was, a naive 22-year old recent college graduate, replete with my American history major, then only a 200-year old story. Yet, due to my role as a college instructor, I was the beneficiary of almost automatic respect.

Korean village (1974)

Korea is no longer the country of dirt roads and meandering village lanes that I once explored. Its old-school tea rooms of a past era have morphed into Starbucks and popular Korean coffee shop chains. Today, Korea has the eleventh strongest economy in the world--this from a country that is the size of the U.S. state of Indiana. Korea's Internet is the world's fastest. Its literacy rate is at 98%. Korea, a country with few natural resources, other than its remarkable people, has leveraged generations of hard work, and a near unified vision of middle-class success, to become the Korea that exports its cultural, industrial and high-tech proficiencies throughout the world.

Daegu's monorail, launched in 2015, combines Korea's transportation
and high-tech prowess. The driver-less system slices through the
heart of the city connecting riders with the three older subway lines.

Koreans rarely, if ever, forget a good deed. The Korean government, in a singular show of appreciation, graciously hosts former Peace Corps Volunteers who served there. I plan to return to Korea in October for a reunion program in Seoul, and the chance to visit the campuses where I once taught English. I gaze ahead with excitement and the humbling realization that the very road that leads me to Korea circles back to where my wanderlust first took hold.

With a Yeungnam University student, Gyeongsan, Korea (2014)

Becoming Myself: A Korean Photographic Essay

"Home is not just the place where you happen to be born. It's the place where you become yourself."

Pico Iyer

On my 22nd birthday, my relationship with Korea began on the wings of serendipity. On that day, Sept. 2nd, 1973, I received an official acceptance letter from the U.S Peace Corps in Washington, D.C., telling me I was being assigned to serve in South Korea. 

Several months later, in Daegu, a city I had never before heard of,  I was about to complete my in-country training. As he did with each of the other fifty or so volunteers, Dr. Chae, the Korean director of our program, gave me a Korean name. That name, Song Su Nam, gave root to its own nearly novelesque imagery: an old wise man who lived on the Korean peninsula during the time of the Chinese Song dynasty. So I ask rhetorically, when exactly did my relationship with Korea really begin?

A family aboard an overnight ferry bound for Cheju Island (Spring, 1975)

Dining in a Korean Chinese restaurant (1974)

Is being home a place, a presence, or is it more like a journey? And what do we make of the places in between? 

Couple on a Daegu public bus (1974)

Korean elders. This man wears the traditional Korean horsehair hat (1974)

"Am I closer to some other power? Is some other source, some other energy, closer to me than I am to myself?"

Meister Eckhart

Downtown Daegu (1974) before the era of private cars

Downtown Daegu in 2013. In today's Korea, luxury cars hardly draw a second glance

The old and the new in the northeastern
coastal city of Kangnun

Young women in rented Hanbok, Korean traditional dress.
Here taking selfies in Seoul (2016)

Busan's Haeundae Beach during the off-season (Sept. 2014)

Living in Korea makes other parts of Asia much more accessible. By air, Japan is less than two hours away, as is Beijing. For non-Korean citizens, that city provides access to North Korea. Taiwan and Hong Kong are also popular destinations for Koreans and expats alike. Southeast Asian countries like Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar, are following, or attempting to follow, South Korea's recent path from a developing country to a shining example of economic success. South and North Korea had nearly identical per capita GNPs as recently as 1974. Today, South Korea's GNP, per capita, is fifteen times that of North Korea.

Fashion makes a modest entrance on the streets of North Korea's capital
Pyongyang. This scene is on the main thoroughfare at the entrance of
the city's main subway station (Summer, 2014)

College students at Wonsan Agricultural University, Wonsan, DPRK (2014)

Hanbok-clad tour guide at Juche Tower in Pyongyang (2014)

Buddhist monks visiting ancient temple in Mandalay, Myanmar (2016)

The King of Chinese Chess reigns over all, Temple of Heaven Park, Beijing, China

Yeungnam University is one of Korea's largest universities and boasts a magnificent, sprawling campus. I spent 5-years here teaching, and learning to no end.

The university library is a campus focal point.
The pond in the foreground is a favorite spot of mine for
watching turtles sunning themselves and for enjoying
fried squid and potatoes sold by a local woman.

Tranquil "Lovers' Lane." Here pictured during Cherry Blossom season.

A quiet moment for a gentleman who sits alone
 in the stands of the old soccer field.

With a student during a Saturday Seminar when I had the opportunity
to give a presentation on my trip to North Korea.

"If the only prayer you can ever say in your entire life is 
'thank you,' it will be enough."

Meister Eckhart

Standing in a field of cosmos (Seoul, 1975)

In a field of cosmos (Gyeong-ju, 2014)

My Korean name, Song Su Nam, 
freshly tattooed (2015)

"Oh, how incomprehensible everything was, and actually sad, although it was also beautiful. One knew nothing. One lived and ran about the earth and rode through forests, and certain things looked so challenging and promising and nostalgic: a star in the evening, a blue harebell, a reed-green pond, the eye of a person or of a cow. And sometimes it seemed that something never seen yet long desired was about to happen, that a veil would drop from it all; but then it passed, nothing happened, the riddle remained unsolved, the secret spell unbroken, and in the end one grew old...and still one knew nothing perhaps, was still waiting and listening."

from Narcissus and Goldmund, by Herman Hesse

Su Yeung Jang: Swimming Pool

Her diagnosis threw a wet woolen blanket over my spirit. "That will be it for running. You'll probably be able to continue with biking and walking. But, I'm afraid running is out," she said. The next time I saw my doctor she was draining two huge syringes worth of Coor's-like liquid from my right knee. This was indeed looking serious.

Yep, this was looking serious. Sucking
what looked like Coors Lite from my knee

To be sure, running has been much more than a sideline interest in my life. I started running as an 8-year old Cub Scout in New York City, winning silver and bronze medals which I still have stashed away somewhere at home. Just last November here in Korea, I ran my best 10-K in years. I envisioned myself as one of those ageless wonders, running forever, pocketing awards in my age group, until I moseyed-off into that last glorious sunset.

Coors imaging notwithstanding, I am not one to sulk in my own beer. Good thing. A 500-mike walk across northern Spain, known as the Camino de Santiago, is in my not-too-distant future. I don't have much time to turn this lemon of a predicament into a lubricating lemonade. Speaking of solutions, and back to my doctor, I had three rounds of what must be the world's most viscous solution injected into my knee. That concoction, brand named, Euflexxa, is part of my recovery strategy for being able to walk that pilgrimage from the village of St. Jean Pied De Port, on the French side of the Pyrenees, 800 kilometers southwesterly to the Spanish city of Santiago de Compostela.

But biking and walking alone won't get me there. Swimming, that other low-impact exercise, is well known as an almost magical physical therapy. I'm exhaling now. I hate swimming indoors: the roof, the vibrating sounds, the moist changing rooms, the slippery floors. Nothing could be further afield from the things that sustained me as a runner: the one-on-one communing with nature, the sound of my running shoes meeting the pavement, the ability to run anywhere in the world at almost any time.

The public Korean swimming pool I go to is about a 2-mile bike ride from our apartment. I am the only male expat sharing the lanes of this high-school affiliated facility. Of course, I had to undergo initiation rites of passage. During each of my first several visits there, the attendant came up to me and admonished me for not showering before entering the pool. (I had.) Guys in the locker room sent grimacing daggers my way for dripping water on the floor. Small prices to pay for the much needed benefits that swimming affords.

The Gyeungsan public swimming pool

The venue occupies an industrial-like site in a tired, but dignified, old part of Gyeungsan, a rapidly growing suburb of Korea's 4th largest city, Daegu. As is the Korean custom, shoes are removed upon entering. I place 1500 won (about $1.30) in a vending machine, get a ticket and exchange it for a locker key on a rubber elastic cord. Minutes later, I am in another world--a soothing aquatic space. The lanes are filled with mostly Korean ajamas (married women) and grandmothers who, by turn, either completely ignore me like some annoying floating flotsam, or smile and say,"good morning" in Korean. Essentially, it's quite like any pool anywhere in the world.

At the entrance, you place you shoes in a wallside cubbie.

Swimming, as advertised, has proven to be the best thing going for my knee. My old running tactics of setting goals and punching my stop-watch function, apply nicely in these watery lanes. The before and after ritual of biking along the working class streets of my district, provides some solace too. I realize before long, this will all be a memory--flashbacks that will carry me from town to town across the Spanish countryside as I walk the Camino.

Accessories to my aspiration:
walking the 500-mile Camino de Santiago

The Tim Horton Exemption

“It is naively assumed that the fact that the majority of people share certain ideas and feelings proves the validity of these ideas and feelings. Nothing could be further from the truth. Consensual validation as such has no bearing on reason or mental health.” 

Erich Fromm

Expats and travelers fill cafes and squeeze into restaurant booths around the world. Their tales and opinions saturate the air like heavy particles hovering over the Beijing skyline. The local culture is dissected and diagnosed by these physicians certified by their wanderlust and sanctioned by the consensus of the group and the evening's rites.

Here in Korea, we might overhear talk of Koreans' driving foibles, or the nature of Korean marital dynamics where women invariably become the family CFO and take forceful and unequivocal command of all monetary matters. You can sometimes hear talk of the local disregard for minding litter, the conversation invariably drifting off to Japan by way of comparison. "You can't so much find a cigarette butt on the streets of Japan," someone will say. And yes, likely too will be the mention of the eating of dogs, an ignominious cultural artifact that is rarely practiced these days.

On the other side we have the cultural defenders, the sympathizers who, having done their homework, herd most of the naysayers back into their culturally insensitive corrals. A Peace Corps document from the early 1970s served to remind newly arrived U.S. volunteers of the foolishness of their cultural missteps: "Korea is generally judged to be a less than developed nation. This judgment is based on many factors, but mainly those dealing with economic or materialist measurements. In the field of education, and from a Korean viewpoint, it might be difficult to accept a less developed label. If you had produced movable block printing in the 12th century, a written phonetic alphabet before Columbus discovered America, and had revered education with intensity of almost religious fervor, then you might not consider yourself less developed with regard to education."

Well, touche! And we will graciously ignore your culturally insensitive comment about Columbus "discovering"America.

Sometimes, we just need to give these cultural-dialectic, this back and forth criticism and defensiveness, a free pass; a "Get out of jail free" card like in the board game, Monopoly. Instead of vitriol, allow the prevailing westerlies to do their thing and blow the smog out of Beijing naturally.

The other night I went out to dinner with three Canadian friends. The food, drink and conversation were awesome. Somehow (am I guilty?), the conversation turned to Tim Hortons, the ubiquitous coffee and pastry franchise that adorns nearly every intersection across that grand country. Canadians forever sing the praises of their beloved "Timmy's." As an American, who has driven hundreds of miles and many hours, craving coffee and something, anything, to eat, and finally seeing a Tim Horton's on the horizon, well, it was an ugly experience. I could have been had so easily. But alas, the coffee was nearly undrinkable and the donuts, literally a cardboard substitute. Here, let some closet Canadians speak for themselves:
"They just built a Tim Hortons in the Midwestern town where I live and I would rather eat a box of donuts that I found on the side of the road than ever return there."
"Tim's could sell poop on a stick and out of Canada loyalty, Canadians would still buy." 

But I smiled and kept my opinion to myself. My Canadian friends were happily adrift in their reverie for their national symbol. Going to "Timmy's" was like a religious experience for them. It was then that I realized I had needed to take out my Get out of Jail Free Card and figuratively hand it over to my Canadian friends. Why trespass on their cultural delusion? Was I going to judge Canada as being a less developed nation because of their blind faith toward Tim Horton's? Certainly not. After all, they have maple syrup and national health-care, don't they? And besides, when our most popular exports are McDonalds and Donald Trump, I have good reason to keep my tongue.

"Korea 3.0": Korea's Economic Future is Linked to Changes in Its Education & Business Sectors

If Apple founder Steve Jobs applied for a job in today's Korean job market, would he be able to find employment? In a word, "No," according to a human resources professional in a leading Korean company. The now famous business entrepreneur was a college drop-out. He couldn't have presented credentials from one of Korea's top three universities, or any Korean college for that matter.  That fact alone would have "deep-sixed" his application to the employment wastebasket.

Would Steve Jobs be able to find employment in Korea's current
job market?

Today, Korea's economy and social structure are facing rising income inequality and high levels of relative poverty. A significant portion of the labor force occupies precarious jobs, earn relatively low wages, and remain stuck in tenuous economic straits that often derail them for their entire careers. Gazing at these troubling conditions, only 14% of Korean companies believe that their existing education system is suitable for fostering the creative talent they need to sustain their companies. According to a recent OECD report, the current Korean education system must be balanced with greater attention to fostering creativity and entrepreneurial skills-widely seen as the essential ingredients of a thriving business climate, if Korea's economy is to regain its once globally recognized vitality.

Korea's university classrooms have far too long been spaces devoid of discussion. There is however a significant bright spot in this otherwise disconcerting landscape. A teaching and learning approach, vastly different from the traditional lecture model that is so widely entrenched in Korean academia, is taking root in a handful of Korean universities. One of the leaders in this effort is KAIST University in Daejon, a school increasingly seen as perhaps the best university in Korea. The program, known as Education 3.0, is being offered in 100 ongoing classes, classes that require professors not to give lectures during their classes.

KAIST students engage in a group discussion under its Education 3.0 program. (KAIST)

Teachers must shift from their traditional role as content experts in the classroom and become more like facilitators or symphony conductors. Students read content and view relevant media prior to class meetings and use class time for discussions, problem-solving, teamwork and projects. Many classrooms have been redesigned to support such engagement with round tables and glass walls suitable for posting ideas, solving problems and encouraging teamwork. This approach to education teaches students the kinds of skills we now know are essential for building a more creative and entrepreneurial economy. This represents nothing less than a transformative shift in Korean education. 

This approach to training and learning has long since been popular in both U.S. universities and corporate environments. Witness The Evergreen State College, part of Washington State's university system. According to its website, "The Evergreen State College has earned a national reputation for innovative teaching and academic excellence." Furthermore, its highly interactive classes encourage students "to experience a better way of learning with processes that explore the many sides of a theme or topic." Corporations too have invested in training that targets the kinds of skill development that increases productivity for both current and future jobs of their employees.

The Evergreen State College, Olympia, Washington

Confucian philosophy based on the importance of family and social structure continues to hold sway in South Korean businesses. This means acquiescence to the boss at all costs, perhaps best (or worst) exemplified when employees stay late at work because leaving before their higher ups depart is often seen as betrayal to the boss and the organization. Employees feel the frustration of this work norm and organizations see lower productivity on their bottom line.

While Korea's tradition and culture helped power it to prosperity, sticking to old ways in both its classrooms and corporations is unlikely to help it moving forward. Korea must change and create new models in its education and business sectors. A "Korea 3.0" will not be easy, but it will be necessary if Korea is to return to its heady days of economic leadership. The DNA for Korea's future economy will rely less on which universities its youth graduate from, and more on what skills they've learned along the way.

Expats

Expats know this place...living where language and culture are often confounding. The days can be wonderful, filled with rich memories in the making. But the future always looms.

Expats here can be found plying social media with complaints and criticism born largely, I think, from the frustration of living and working in Korea. English teachers and professors, easily the largest expat contingent, sometimes chide their schools online for their hiring practices and overall treatment of foreign teachers. "It's not just Korea," a friend assured me. "Expats around the world do the same thing. It's a common phenomenon."

I found myself growing annoyed with what seemed to me to be a kind of xenophobia in reverse; a group of expats who more than occasionally give voice to what is ailing Korea, what is broken, dysfunctional, and needs to change. Their lives, they believe, would be easier, if only they were treated more fairly, more like what constitutes propriety in their home countries.

"Living abroad requires certain  measures of self-reliance
and strength of character"

In fact, satisfaction at work is key to a positive expat experience. English teachers spend many hours in the classroom or in other locations in their respective schools. If Korean schools, whether hagwons (language institutes), public schools, private schools or universities, were inclined to better understand and respond to the needs of expat teachers, many expat concerns and grievances could be ameliorated. Problems both in and out of the workplace can distract expat teachers, adversely effecting their productivity, and contributing to shorter stays in Korea.

The reality of course, is that most of us are not citizens here. We are instead simply guests, working stiffs, doing the job, contract by contract, at the discretion of our employers and on the receiving end of government policies here. We are not Koreans and we are treated differently. And we are, almost always, treated "less than" native Koreans.

Living abroad requires certain measures of self-reliance and strength of character. Each expat location has its own unique idiosyncracies. Here in Korea, while certainly less of an issue than 40 years ago, being stared at is still commonplace. Korea is also infamous for its crazy drivers who ignore driving laws and seem to abhor the very idea of pedestrians.

Denmark, currently home to more than 41,500 expats, regularly undertakes research on the unique experience of expats in that country. The country is genuinely concerned with the expat experience. Denmark, it seems, wants to leverage the added value that expats bring to their economy.  In sponsoring "The Expat Study," ongoing research authorized by the Danish government, it recognizes that "companies, research institutions, and nations must search for competence and knowledge world-wide if they are to gain or maintain a competitive advantage." The research findings include what expats there generally find positive and negative. Expats, for example, often find Danes "closed-off and difficult to form friendships with." On the other hand, they find the good work-life balance in Denmark to be quite positive. Positive and negative experiences, it appears, are inevitable.

For most expats there is that unavoidable "looming future." After living in China for many years and marrying a Chinese woman, Mark Kitto, then 46, one of the best-known foreign entrepreneurs in China at the time and fluent in Chinese, wrote about his expat experience in an essay, "You'll Never Be Chinese."  As an expat, he fell out of love with China as his fears about the increasing pollution in northern China, water shortages and issues around food safety brought his disenchantment to a head. Moreover, as his young children got older, he wanted to give them what he felt was "a decent education."

Expats, I think, can sometimes become afflicted with a self-inflated superiority. We can lose our humility and open-mindedness. I know this well and personally.  Having lived here in Korea from 1973-1975, I experienced my share of challenges and frustrations. In that era before the internet and computers, getting a letter home to family and hearing back took, at best, 4-6 weeks. Sitting on a western style toilet was a dream. Just eating a hamburger or pizza, our go-to fast foods, was not possible, unless you had a close buddy on one of the military bases. There were nightly curfews that required you to be off the streets by 9:30PM. In an environment with few westerners, young children regularly ridiculed my beard calling me "monkey." I left Korea in 1975 worn out, frustrated and bitter, swearing I would never return.

Today, Korea has an expat community of more than 1.5 million. We are clearly helping Korea satisfy their need for specialized workers, most usually in the area of English education, a critical competency for Korea's continuing leadership in the global marketplace. Like Denmark, there is an unmistakeable opportunity for Korea to better understand and respond to the needs of its expat community. But like it or not, we remain ambassadors from our home countries. Our behavior, positive or negative, reflects on the expat community overall. While there is certainly no shortage of things to complain about, at the end of the day, it is worth recalling, most of us are here as guests. "For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves," author Rebecca Harding Davis offered, "we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread."

After The Cherry Blossoms

As small as it may be (it's the size of Indiana), Korea is a land filled with countless contradictions. There's a high tech edge to the place, with its nearly universal wireless access on the one hand, and its inability to provide simple, basic safety for the hundreds of student victims of the Sewol Ferry Disaster, on the other. There's the remarkable and clearly delineated respect shown to elders, teachers and parents here, and then, there's the unbelievable anarchy and terror of its roads, where caution and sensibility are thrown to the wind.

Captivating cherry blossoms as far as the eye can see

Korea is also the setting for an extravaganza each spring when cherry blossoms do their magical, short lived dance.  Shades of pinks, drifting to near whites, mesmerize nearly all citizens here. I think everyone can find agreement on this topic; there is nothing quite as beguiling as cherry blossoms in spring. Yet their petals are soon set free, creating a glorious but fragile and fleeting light-colored carpet.

And then, the remains of the day reveal yet another Korean contradiction. In nearly every nook and cranny: piles of trash. Walking around an otherwise scenic lake? Empty coffee cups on benches. Turning a corner in a pleasant residential neighborhood? Small mountains of trash adorn every intersection. Watching dozens of kids playing in a park? Shards of broken glass and spent cups from last night's revelers abound. Sadly, and in spite of every modern technology tool, Korea's streets are awash in trash.

Cherry blossom petals surround a pile of trash

What pray tell is behind this offensive cultural phenomenon? Like the lag time between its technology prowess and its safety awareness, some might say that this highly developed country still hasn't given birth to a sense of environmental stewardship. Others would say that Korea infamously spoils its children, especially its sons, who have come to expect that their mothers will do everything for them. Got trash? Well then, just leave it there, someone else will come and clean up after you. Some observe, quite accurately, that there are few garbage containers to be found anywhere in this country. Communities have tried, Koreans claim, to place garbage receptacles in public places, but people overwhelm them with their own household trash as they seek to save money they would have to spend on their own surcharged garbage bags.

Discouraging, if not dangerous, pile of trash adjacent to children's park

As spring's cherished cherry blossoms come, and then, ever-too-quickly depart, we are left, sadly, with another, less glorious aspect of this country, its year-round, ubiquitous trash "bouquet." Korea, I think it's time to clean up your act.