Charlotte is Born Part Four

Here was the room they moved us to after the birth.

One major item I neglected to mention regarding my daughter Charlie's birth was the thunderstorm. While my wife Sami was in the middle of the most productively intense moments of active labor, a harrowing late afternoon/early evening thunderstorm raged over the city of Seoul in the Republic of Korea. Later we learned that this particular thunderstorm created the worst flooding that the country had seen in over 100 years, causing over 70 fatalities and sending undetonated landmines left hidden in the hills after the Korean war, down from the mountains and into the city. At this particular time however, destruction was far from our minds as lightening illuminated the room in instant bursts through the closed blinds, much like a camera flash. Thunder rumbled soon after each silent strike and seemed to keep time with Sami's grunt accompanying efforts. The lights were turned out inside of the delivery room and the natural light inside mirrored the gray, dusky overcast storm outside. It was the perfect weather and time of day for one of the hundreds of post class/pre-drinking naps I used to take as a  college student nearly a decade ago in famously drizzly Eugene, Oregon, only at this moment I had never felt more awake.

This picture was taken shortly after the birth in the delivery room. That is our doula Stacey there and she is pointing out the torrential downpour happening outside.

When Charlotte, who we have taken to calling "Charlie", was born everything happened as quickly as those lightening flashes, but I was with it enough to snap off digital pictures of her first breathes as quickly as those lightening downstrikes. Many of those pictures will only be seen by Sami and myself. For the longest time, I could only see the top of her head, which had more hair than I had anticipated, but when she came out, it was a blur of activity, relief and outbursts of joy from not only we parents, but also the half dozen or so medical attendants who crowded the small room.

At first glimpse, she reminded me completely of baby pictures I had seen of myself so many times in photo albums from my parents house. Her, hair, eyes and mouth in particular bore a striking resemblance. Later, and upon closer observation, we began to notice physical characteristics which more closely resemble Sami's, the eyes became hers, as did the nose, chin, ears and feet" (Koreans in particular are obsessed with our baby's nose, because they say that it is "high," whatever that means. I guess most Korean babies and in turn most Korean adults have flatter noses, and so they spend millions every year on plastic surgery to change what they consider an aesthetic deficiency). After the baby's face, the next thing that I noticed were her hands. These were not the tiny hands you see on so many little girls' baby dolls, nor the hands you would expect to see on a 4 week premature baby. These were my hands in miniature form with a large palm and long fingers. When they put her into the see-through bassinet, she reached out with one paw and grappled down on the side with a kung-fu monkey grip. All of the nurses gasped at her display of strength, and I suppose it could be documented that this was when I felt the first sensation of pride as a father.

We learned in our hypnobirthing class that skin to skin contact is important, and I didn't want to miss out. Of course, I was scared a Korean nurse would walk in, think I was a weirdo, and take the baby away forever. Korean men aren't typically even present during the birth, so this must be strange for them.

After 15 or 20 minutes of bonding time with mom, they took the baby away to weigh and measure her, and give her the first in a long series of vaccinations. I was able to accompany her to the scale, and tried to take a picture of the measurements. The picture didn't turn out, but we will always remember that she was 2.54 kg and 46cm, or 5 lbs 10 oz and 18.1 inches long. I had to leave when they gave the baby her shots, and went back to de-brief with Sami. She was of course on cloud nine, and we tried to remember every little detail about her and settle on a name.

We had both agreed on Charlotte months ago. Sami liked the sound of the name and I signed off because Charlotte's Web by E.B. White was one of my favorite children's books that my mom read to my brother and me as kids, and is, of course, undoubtedly considered an American classic. However, as time wore on, we began to throw more names onto lists, and as more people began to refer to our unborn child as Charlotte, we stubbornly vowed to keep searching for the perfect fit. Because she was four weeks early, we had not yet decided on a name, and agreed that we would look at her face, and spend some time with her before writing it down on the birth certificate. When I saw her for the first few moments, I thought she was a "Mia," a name we had both discussed, but did not place high on the list. Sami even liked it and it seemed as if it would go that way, until at one point, Sami absentmindedly referred to her as Charlotte and it stuck. When I wrote the name down for the nurse to type on a birth certificate "Charlotte Cassidy Boyd" just looked right (Cassidy is the maiden name of my maternal grandmother- whom Sami and I each share a special bond with. Plus it is Irish which was always important to me).

The next order of business after they brought our daughter back to us was to notify our families back in the states. Before the birth, I was of the opinion that we should call our parents right away, while Sami thought it okay to sit on it awhile and enjoy the company of our child alone. Afterwards, the roles were reversed, with Sami coming up with the idea to call, and me not caring, just mesmerized by our perfect child and dog tired after 41 long hours at the hospital. The first person we called was Sami's sister Rikki, who lives at her grandma Sharon's house. We called them first because Sami didn't think that she knew her mom's phone number, as she had moved, but it turned out to be the same so we called her next. Both were understandably confused because it occurred a month ahead of schedule, but they eventually believed us and were overjoyed. Next we called Sami's stepmother and then her dad who was working in Montana. Everyone on my side of the family that I tried to call didn't answer, which was understandable, as it was 5 in the morning over there. We finally were able to reach my parents right before we went to bed, and we even skyped with them and Sami's mom the next day, which is probably not how the grandparents envisioned their first views of their first grandchild, but pretty cool nonetheless.

That night were were moved from the second floor up to the sixth, to a nice room with an amazing view of the city. Charlotte slept most of the night and her parents caught their most substantial amount of shut-eye since the weekend. The next morning, we shared the hospital breakfast that I had ordered the day before-miyakgook, which is the traditional seaweed soup that Korean mothers eat exclusively the month after birth. I made Sami take a few bites because it is supposed to have a lot of iron, but it isn't her favorite. We watched most of "Pretty Woman" with Julia Roberts on tv and were surprised when we found out that we could leave that same day. When we finally checked-out we were informed that many of the roads were closed due to flooding and that taxi cabs were going to be expensive. The woman at the international clinic helped us by writing a note for a taxi driver with our address, although we have never had trouble communicating that information before. She was also quite concerned with us getting the baby wet in the falling rain outside, so she had us walk over the skybridge. When we tried to get a taxi, a Pentecostal minister overheard us and offered us a ride home in his van. He was carrying a bible and I couldn't help but think about what he was doing at the hospital. I said sure because I was in such a good mood, and because in Korea you just trust people. He turned out to be a great guy. Along the way he chatted about his experience going to school in the states and how his youngest daughter was actually born in Chicago which means she is a dual citizen. When we were dropped off I almost asked if he would say a prayer for our daughter, which is so unlike me, but he got us to our door so fast that I didn't have time.

And after that we were home, where our baby has spent all of her life save for a few doctor's visits, a trip to the US embassy and Costco. We have learned that she loves movement- she always sleeps in the subway or when I carry her in the Moby wrap. She hardly every cries except when she is hungry and even then it is only one little squak and then she stops. She eats about ten times a day and poops twelve. She prefers to sleep on her right side, so we always try to move her to her left. We only have another month in Korea, and although she isn't going to remember any of it, but Sami and I will never forget this time.

Charlotte is Born Part Three

With the doula sent home for the night at our request, and the declarative statement from the head nurse notifying us that the baby would not come today, I finally was able to relax into a state of normalcy alone with my wife. After two years of limited company, it always feels a little strange to share an extended amount of time with friends, let alone a relative stranger. We were both happy to have our doula there to ease our worries, but sending her home for the night allowed us to reconnect and keep us feeling grounded in the reality that something special was coming soon.

We were instructed to get some rest after a full day with little progress, but while I was able to catch a few hours, Sami did not sleep that second night in the hospital. At five in the morning her contractions had intensified to the point that she woke me up and asked my to count her through them. This was something we had started practicing a few weeks ago. She found it comforting when I would count to twenty by fives. This routine helped Sami to focus and get through each surge.

"Five (two, three, four), Ten (two, three, four), Fifteen (two, three, four), Twenty."

At 6:30 a.m. we called the doula at home and she was at the hospital by 9:00. In the meantime, Sami continued to be examined about every two hours, each time by a different nurse or intern, which only confused and frustrated us as the numbers shifted between varying degrees of readiness. During the morning and into the early afternoon, Sami alternated between sitting on the toilet and standing over a chair. Between contractions, she felt the urge to use the toilet, and went and sat down. When a surge started, she would move from the bathroom to a chair between the bed and the couch. Her comfort zone was standing and facing the chair while leaning forward, hands rested on the chair's arms. She swayed her hips back and forth as either I, the doula, or both of us performed light touch massage on her back, stroking up and down with the backs of our hands. All the while, I would count off:

"Five (two, three, four), Ten (two, three, four), Fifteen (two, three, four), Twenty."

This constant routine, which also included periods of pacing back and forth while I followed along pushing the IV stand, caused Sami's legs to weaken, and the frequency of the contractions left no time for recovery. During our routine I also used a stopwatch to time the duration of, and time between contractions. That entire second day, they were coming every two or three minutes and lasting at least 90 seconds. Finally, after a five minute contraction that felt like an eternity, my wife, who plans everything out to the very last detail, and who has better judgement than anyone I know, made the decision to let the staff administer an epidural.

At first, I was a little disheartened by this, and attempted to encourage her that she could do without it. The biggest thing for me was that I didn't want her to miss out on that natural high we had learned so much about during our hypnobirthing classes. I thought that using the crutch of the epidural would undermine all of our efforts, and would render all of our efforts preparing for a natural birth by hiring coaches, studying and practicing, moot. Our doula suggested that we talk it over and come up with a decision together, but by this time, Sami's mind was made up. To be honest, I wasn't completely on board with the decision and left outside to get some air and clear my head, while the staff came and did their thing. I laid down on top of a short retaining wall on the sidewalk and dozed with arms crossed as people walked by.

When I came back inside 20 minutes or so later, Sami was asleep on the bed. I curled up on the couch and listened to my iPod. James Taylor. Easy listening. Half asleep, I heard an intern come in and say that Sami was at 6cm. This was the most progress we had made in nearly 40 hours. All it took was for Sami to listen to her body, which was telling her to relax, and that she was trying too hard. The epidural turned out to be a smart decision. If we would have tried to go without it, the doctor may have opted tfor a c-section since it had been so long since Sami had lost her amniotic fluid. Shortly after, a nurse came back and we were at 10cm.

They moved us back into the delivery room, the same room we had spend the first night and day in. It was quite the production when a procession of nurses and myself moved all of the furniture and our bags out to prepare the room for delivery. They wheeled in a plastic bassinet that the baby would be placed in, and it was at this moment when everything became real. The time was 4:00 p.m. and we had been at the hospital for 39 and a half hours. Two incredibly young interns were there with the doula and me. One of them gave us updates and instructed Sami to push. Sami was a natural pusher and the intern complimented her and seemed relatively giddy at my wife's strength.

At 4:40 the intern said she could see the top of the head when Sami pushed. I couldn't see anything because I was at Sami's side. She said that she absolutely had to hold onto my hand on her left, and the doula's on her right. I thought that Sami was entirely focused, and almost on another level of concentration, so I was surprised when she instructed the interns that under no circumstances were they to administer an episiotomy. Apparently, she was able to hear someone utter the 'p' word. Whether it was in English or Korean, I will never know.

At around 5:00 p.m. I saw the top of the head. I couldn't believe how much hair there was, and I relayed this to Sami who was thrilled, not so much about the hair, but by the fact that I could see and it was real. The doctors asked if she would like a mirror, but she declined, preferring to focus all of her energy on getting the thing out of her. Soon, a number of nurses joined in the tiny room. Too many I thought, and Sami became uncomfortably hot. One of the nurses, no doubt in need of a job, and the doula attempted to cool her off by fanning her with brochures or stapled packets of paper.

Sami getting fanned

At around 5:15 or so (whatever time it was, in hindsight, I will always remember it as the last possible second), the doctor came in. All of a sudden, Sami ceased to be the most important person in room as all of they young women swarmed to attend to the doctor. He slowly, but deliberately got all of his things in order including draping Sami's lower half with a canvass blanket that had an opening for the baby. Sami was instructed not to push while all this was going on, despite a desperate urge to. The doula had her opening her mouth and letting out short, breathy, "ha, ha, ha"s.

The doctor was extremely calm and made me feel comfortable that everything was occurring at the normal rate. It seemed like for the longest time I could only see that silver dollar sized piece of crown. Sami lifted her hips while pushing, and the doctor told her not to, but then said that she could if it made her comfortable. I was watching the whole time and thought that there was no way a baby was making it out of such a tight space.

Just as I was thinking this, however, her head popped out and a swarm of hands descended on her, one holding a suction squirter that they put into both nostrils. It was 5:36 p.m. I looked at her, coneheaded, purple and covered with slimy vernix, and a wave of love rushed over me. I was snapping pictures with my camera, no doubt thinking about this blog, when someone handed me the scissors and instructed me to cut. Then the baby was moved to Sami's chest. We looked into her tiny marble eyes, saw her red mouth and impossibly long fingers and both cried tears of joy. I was so proud of Sami this moment, and just couldn't believe how much work she put in to getting our baby out.

Pretty long baby for being 4 weeks early. Her feet look just like her mom's and her hands look just like mine.

Those are my hands there with the scissors.

I was about 5 or so minutes too slow, but you get the idea.

In hindsight, nothing really went according to plan during this, our first, birth experience. We weren't able to make it to our first choice of a birthing center, but we still had a birth plan listing all of our wishes. We wanted to avoid having an epidural, but Sami knew her body and made the correct call. We wanted to refrain from clamping the umbilical cord, but the nurses did this immediately. We wanted the vernix to remain on the baby's skin for as long as possible, but they wiped her down right away. We wanted to birth the baby in a position where gravity could help do the work, and we definitely didn't want her to strain. Instead, she birthed on her back (legs were just too tired to squat), and she pushed just like they do in the movies.

Despite all of this, we will always look back fondly on all of the steps taken during the nearly 42 hour labor. With each day that passes, we forget a little bit about the experience, but our love and understanding of our resulting daughter only continues to grow.

Baby (name undecided at birth) born July 26, 2011 at 5:36 p.m. Soonchunhyang University Hospital, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Charlotte is Born Part Two

While Sami was being examined, I was given a six or seven page form to fill out. Most of the questions were in broken English so some of them were quite funny. Questions like, "Do you have vagina bleeding?" and "How often is your contraction going?" I took a quick picture of one page. One of the questions asked was "Do you want me to induce labor?" to which we replied with an unequivocal penned "no." We were both bought in to the hypnobirthing method and had every intention of performing this birth without intervention.

Here is the document I was given. A little hard to read. My heart was probably racing when I took the picture.

We chose to use a private birthing room instead of the communal area that had about a half dozen beds sectioned off with ceiling to floor curtains. This cost 250k wan more, but we felt it was worth it to be alone. Not too long after we were settled, another intern examined Sami and informed us that she had not yet dilated at all. This was confusing as the first intern had said she was at 4cm. A nurse explained to us that the first intern was less experienced, and apologized for getting us excited. This became a common theme throughout the labor as she was examined by a new person every time, each with a different idea of what a centimeter was.

Here is the room we were placed in, and then later moved from, and then later moved back into for the delivery. Like the wallpaper?

By this point, it was past 1:30 in the morning and I was exhausted. While I fought to keep from dozing, Sami and our doula seemed to be running on boundless reserves of energy. They talked and fell into calming rituals with each irregular contraction. In hindsight, we both agree that Sami should have tried to get rest that first night, and indeed all of the next day. The problem was that Sami had a difficult time laying down during her contractions, which were at this point only registering a 2 to 3 on a 10 point pain scale and came only a few times every hour. I somehow slept on the narrow vinyl covered sofa which faced Sami's bed from 3 to 5 a.m. Our doula Stacey caught a few winks sitting in a chair and Sami laid awake all night.

So little progress was made the next day that, by the evening, they moved us out of the private room used exclusively for delivery, and into the room next door. Sami worked hard all day, no doubt motivated by the threat of an unwanted cesarean section which we believed would be enforced if she didn't deliver within 48 hours of her water breaking. We settled into a comforting routine of light touch massage and swaying to help cope with the contractions. At the time, Sami felt like the contractions were powerful enough to move the process along, but the numbers didn't change.

Sami found her comfort zone (especially the last day) swaying back and forth while holding onto the arms of a chair during contractions. Notice that she had to have an IV of antibiotics put in due to her water breaking.

 Sometime in the afternoon we were visited by a group of high school students who must have been touring the hospital as some sort of job shadow assignment. The head nurse (who was very sweet and quickly became the only person we completely trusted) asked for our permission to let them come in, and we obliged, being no strangers to stares these past two years. The head nurse explained a few things as the dumbstruck kids looked on. As they left, one of the students offered up a "congraturations" which brought chuckles from the others. I kicked myself for not taking a picture of the students. How many mothers have a group of adolescents stop by to gawk? Not many I suppose.

At one point I stepped out to get some fresh air. To be honest, I felt a little useless with Stacey in the room. She was great at comforting Sami, and talking her through the day. I have always been one who needs more quiet and privacy than most, so for a few minutes in the afternoon, I walked the streets outside the hospital and took pictures of the surrounding area. The hospital is located in Hannam, which is an old section of Seoul along the Han River. Although it is a popular spot for tourists and ex-pats, it still has a very foreign vibe, and I wanted to take as many pictures as I could to capture the sense of place where my first child was born. It was astonishing to me to think that it took me 26 years to get to one of the world's major cities, and yet, my daughter was going to be born into one of the 5 largest cities in the world. It is difficult to explain, but being from a town of 10,000 residents makes me look at situations a little differently. However, the surrounding neighborhood felt smaller, with two lane streets and back alleys where fruit and fish vendors set up shop.

Sami delivered on the third floor of this building and we have been going back here for check-ups.

Just a view down one of the side streets across from the hospital.

Soonchangyung Hospital

For breakfast and lunch I ate the same snacks I had packed the night before and now my tongue was raw and salty from the Costco cache. Sami was given a decent tray of hospital food. They asked her if she wanted Korean, or Western style. Her first impulse was to go Korean, but when she realized that she would only be given the miyakgook (seaweed soup) that pregnant Korean women feast on exclusively, she went for the Western. I didn't want to steal her food like I normally do, even though she said I should because she couldn't eat. Instead, I ventured out to a Korean restaurant up the street and ordered a bowl of kal-gook-su (knife cut noodles) for only 5k wan. The ajuma running the restaurant was asleep on the floor when I walked in at around 5 o'clock. I had to wake her up by tapping her on the shoulder and saying "shi-an-hamnida." She smiled, and happily served me my noodles with plenty of clams. I enjoyed the meal immensely and got a little sentimental thinking that this would be my last meal as a non-parent. Afterwards, I walked up to Paris Baguette and bought a patbingsu for the three of us to share. I thought that Stacey wouldn't like the frozen treat because I hadn't liked it the first time I tried it either. It has since grown on me and I find it refreshing on a hot summer day.

Of course I had to add the spicy pepper paste to it. Wouldn't you? I could eat noodles every day of my life and be happy.

At 6:30 or 7ish Sami had her last exam and the woman performing it notified us that the baby would not be coming tonight and that we should get some rest. We decided to let Stacey go home, and although it didn't cross our minds at the time, this decision probably saved us some money. Before she left I got a call from one of my co-workers who said that she wanted to come by. I wasn't really sure if we could accept visitors in the room, but before long she was at the door with my Vice-Principal and two other of my closest teacher friends. They brought us snacks including a green tea cake and my VP even gave us an envelope with 50k wan. Again, I wished I would have thought to take a picture of them at the door.

Finally, they moved us out of the delivery room and into the less urgent room, which had a tv. I flipped through the channels, but nothing was on. It was nice to have just Sami and me in the room. We were slightly discouraged that no progress was made, and very tired. The process of actually becoming parents felt a world away as we sat alone in the dark.

Charlotte is Born Part One

Sami woke me up early Sunday morning, before sunrise, with what I thought was bad news. She sat in the dark on the edge of her bed and explained to me that she had lost her mucous plug. Having no idea what this meant, I took her quiet confusion as a sign that something was wrong with our baby. The due date was still a month and two days away. She researched a few things online, told me everything was fine and then I went back to sleep.

We took it pretty easy that day, chatting with my parents and one of Sami's friends on Skype. The day before we took the subway deep into Seoul for Sami's acupuncture appointment and later we ate dinner at her favorite Korean restaurant to celebrate her birthday from earlier in the week. At 10 o'clock at night, I was surprised when Sami came into the room I was reading and got on the computer. She said that she couldn't sleep for whatever reason, which was completely abnormal as she is usually out without a problem by 8:30 or 9. She went back to bed, and at some point, I tried to download a movie- a documentary about Joan Rivers. Like most people, I have a difficult time falling asleep Sunday nights with the impending work week looming ahead, and I knew that the documentary was well received.

Before I could start the movie, however, Sami rushed in and exclaimed that her water broke (or, to be more PC- "her membranes released"). The shorts she had been wearing were soaked and she left a trail of amniotic fluid oh her way to the bed. She calmly but assertively explained to me that this was a sign that the baby would be born in 24 to 48 hours. I got her the phone so that she could call our doula who was on vacation in Canada, and started to back our bags for the hospital.

All along Sami had a feeling the baby would be early. We were both surprised by the original due date given after the baby's first ultrasound, thinking that it should have been earlier. Sami was also concerned about how tight her belly had become even with five weeks to go, and she experienced contractions (or "surges" to again use the PC term) every night. We both openly wished for her to come early and alleviate any possible complications in trying to get her out of the country and remain on the national insurance plan before our contracts wore out at the end of August. Of course, we still weren't prepared for this early.

Not long ago, we had made the decision to have the baby in a birthing center with a midwife we liked and trusted. However, we knew that the midwife seldom took mothers that were less than 37 weeks along, and when Sami talked to her, she said that she would like for us to go to a hospital first, and if they said it was ok, then we could go to the birthing center.

As Sami calmly talked things out alternately with our doula in Canada, the back-up doula in Korea, and the midwife, I frantically scrambled to find items listed in the "what to pack" section of the baby book. Luckily, Sami had already packed a bag for the baby (like I said, she had a feeling she was going to be early) so all I had to do was pack a bag for us. I got all of the clothes and I knew that we had to have snacks on hand. We hadn't gone grocery shopping like we had planned to that weekend, but we did make it to Costco a few days prior so all that was on hand were American comfort food stand-bys such as plain and blueberry bagels which I toasted, schmeared, and wrapped in aluminum foil, some cheddar cheese, barbecue pop chips (which by this point I was growing sick of because the salty yet delicious seasoning was rubbing my tongue raw) and a bag of granola.

I thought I was doing pretty well until I came across a curious item on the list. It called for a hot water bottle, or raw rice wrapped in a sock as an alternative. Strangely enough, I did have a sock full of rice around from when I was going through a bout of knee soreness earlier in the summer. The book said to microwave it for 3 to five minutes. In hindsight, I should have realized that it was way to early to microwave the rice, and that it wouldn't keep the heat by the time we got to the hospital. Sami was in no visible pain now and wouldn't be needing it. Still, I popped it in for five and of course, after about three and a half minutes, it started to smoke up the apartment. I took it out with a pair of tongs, dropped it in the sink and ran cold water over it which unleashed a heavy plume of acrid steam.

Here is the sock I burned

At 11:40 I sent an e-mail to my co-worker explaining what had happened and that I would not be in school tomorrow, and probably not Tuesday either. Soon after we were out the door with a backpack full of overnight stuff, a bag of snacks and the baby bag. I wanted to grab an umbrella, but Sami said no let's go. It was dark and quiet outside and usually there is a row of taxis that line the street outside our apartment. It is kind of like their hang out place where they smoke cigs and drink heavily sugared cups of coffee out of the 400 wan (40 cent) machine. At this moment, however, they were nowhere to be found and we had to walk an extra 10 minutes up the the busier area of town near the train station. We eventually found a taxi, and to show you what prudes we are, I have to explain that our biggest apprehension was that he wouldn't take a credit card. Here we are in the year 2011, and Sami and I are paying for everything in cash. The driver did take plastic, but he wasn't too friendly, even for a Korean taxi cab driver. Also, it started to rain a little bit on the drive and I was thinking I knew that we should have grabbed those umbrellas.

We got to the hospital at 12:30 am. First we went to the emergency room and they re-directed us to the Maternal and Child Health Center across the parking lot. We met Stacy, the back-up doula on the walk to the parking lot and then went in the the examination room where a young intern told us that Sami was 4cm dilated. I guess we wouldn't be transferring anywhere tonight. In our minds, we were half way to being parents already.

Chungcheongbuk-do Part One

On Tuesday I celebrated the start of summer break by joining my fellow Guji Elementary school faculty and staff members on an overnight trip to Chungcheongbuk-do Province. Chungcheongbuk-do is south of Gyeonggi-do, and is the only landlocked province in South Korea. I have tried my best to remember the names of the places and towns we visited on the trip, but it hasn't been easy, and I may mess up here or there. One thing I won't forget is what a great send off it was for me, as I prepare to reassimilate to the states in a few weeks' time. The weather was perfect (after weeks of hot, endless rain), the food was incredible and the people, of course, are unforgettable.

The first restaurant we stopped at for lunch was the only place I didn't take pictures of. I regretted leaving my camera on the bus when I saw the spread of food the ajumas brought out. Korean cuisine is famous for its banchan (side dishes), but this was overkill. They actually brought out table tops loaded with dozens of communal plates that they slid onto the empty tables we occupied. It was crazy watching them skillfully maneuver the carts used to wheel the tops. The meal was great- whole fish prepared two ways, pork belly, tofu soups and kimchi galore, but I can't help but pity the person responsible for washing all those tiny dishes.

It wasn't too long after we got back on the bus that our vice principal queued up the karaoke machine. Actually, it started when one of the teachers in charge of the logistics of the trip (the youngest or rookie teachers) came up to me and asked me to pick a song to sing. I thought that I could get out of it by saying that I was shy, but it didn't work. Eventually, I had to step up and belt out some Peter Frampton. Karaoke is funny here, everyone just steps up to the plate and does it. The best singers usually make a show like: "no, no, not me, I am no good." and then they step up and just kill like an Asian Tom Jones or Tina Turner.

Here is my VP up at the front of the bus getting the karaoke started. The best part is the images they show on the screen that have absolutely nothing to do with the words the scroll below. Sometimes during a soft love song you will get images of a car chase scene or something. No one seems to mind.

Our first destination was a ferry boat tour of what I believe was Chungjuho Lake. On the loading dock, I teased my friend Kwan Yang about his lack of a girlfriend, and when I saw one particularly attractive young female with a fat boyfriend, I told him that there is still hope for someone as pudgy as himself. It is nice to be able to joke around with someone, even if they don't completely get what you are saying. Anyway, here are some pics from the ride:

The weather was so nice that most people went out on the narrow deck to observe and take pictures. This was taken when the captain was making his announcement which of course, I understood none of.

Our next stop was to Gosudonggul Cave. This incredible cave is located near the film site of one Korea's most popular historical dramas. There is a huge set that looks just like one of the palaces in Seoul or Gyeonngju, but we walked right passed it to the entrance of the cave where we put on our hard hats. In the last year, I have visited some incredible caves, and they never cease to fascinate me. This one didn't have any bats, but I will always remember how cramped some of the tunnels were.

Walking down to the rack of hard hats which saved my dome more than once inside the cave that featured clearings less than three feet high. You can see the entrance of the cave off to the left in this picture.

More than any cave I have explored in the past year, this one had a solidly built walkway and hand rails. It even had this glass roof over a portion of the cave that receives continuous drippage from above.

After the cave, our next stop was to be the Guinsa Temple at Sobaeksan Mountains. We ate lunch earlier than normal and it became clear that with our pace and agenda, dinner would be late, so someone passed out ears of corn that they purchased from a streetside vendor. I had only tried Korean corn once, and it was gummy and I hated it, but the second time wasn't so bad. I think it is gummy because they steam the hell out of it.

At the temple I walked for a ways with my vice principal who saw a sign offering help to English speakers. I went inside and got set up with a personal tour guide- a young man from Ulsan. He told me of his plans to open a private English academy in Ulsan and said that the reason he visited the temple all the way up here was to pray for the future success of his new business. He is a Buddist of the Cheontae Order. The only thing I learned about that particular branch Of Buddhism is that female monks do not have to shave their heads. My tour was cut short when my vice principal said that we only had five minutes to get back to the bus, so my new friend kindly game me an English book with all sorts of info about the temple.

My tour guide was nice, but he insisted on having me pose for a picture on this spot. I tried to convey my thoughts on the unattractiveness of the construction site, but relented anyway.

At sunset we stopped off for dinner and a karaoke contest. The beers and soju started flowing at dinner, and I was asked to be a judge. Tipsy and clueless as to what constitutes a good Korean singer, I gave arbitrary scores- 99.876 and 99.875 for example. I did give out a 100 and a 101 to a couple of my favorite teachers, but it had nothing to do with their singing ability. Later, awards were given for the highest scores and for the worst singers as well.

Instead of sitting on the floor, we used these bad boys.

A spicy fish soup which was quite tasty.

My scorecard

Some panties were given out as awards. I have no idea why, but it was funny.

After the awards had been handed out half of the teachers took a bus home while the rest drove to the spot we would be staying for the night. We got to the "pension" which is what they call the outdoor sort of hotels or cabins in the countryside here after 10 or so. We six men had our own cabin and got started taking showers and watching baseball highlights. I didn't really feel the need to shower, but didn't want them thinking that all Americans are dirty slops, so I obliged. Then we met up with some other teachers and drank into the night. I used an excuse to sneak out early when my bedtime was near. I knew that the rest of the crew would be up until 3:30, but that just isn't in this old man's arsenal anymore. I was told I stayed up until after 2 in the morning, but I think they were just being nice.

The cabin the boys stayed in

Upstairs loft

Teacher party

I was proud to see that someone brought a bottle of wine from my neck of the woods. However, when I explained that I live near this vineyard, no one was that impressed. Also, the picture quality is terrible because I was good and drunk by this point.

Click Here for Part Two 

A Less Cynical Reflection of Teaching in Korea

I woke up this morning at 5:30. For the last couple of months the baby seems to sleep when I go to bed, but she usually starts moving at around 5 am making sleep impossible. I always start my morning the same way: breakfast, e-mail, stretching, and then a shower. This morning I decided to see if Joe had written a blog last night. He said he wasn’t going to, but sometimes he changes his mind. As I read through his extremely cynical, borderline angry blog entry, it was evident that this semester hasn’t been the most enjoyable for him. I believe over time he will forget the negative experiences he had solely teaching 6^th grade this semester, mostly without a co-teacher, but for now they are still fresh in his mind.

Though Joe is finished teaching, I still have 2 days to go. Unlike Joe, I teach 1^st-6^th grade. This means a lot more lesson planning, but I only see each class 1 time per week. I realized at the start of this semester that I have now taught every age of student except for kindergarten. Pretty crazy considering I have only been teaching for 6 years! Technically I have been a part of three school years in Korea despite only being here two years (school years starts in March and we came here in August). I have watched my little 3^rd graders become 5^th graders, and my 4^th graders become 6^th graders.

Something happens to 6^th grade students in Korea. They go from being completely wonderful as 5^th graders to almost impossible to like (hence the tone of Joe’s blog…) I finished teaching my 6^th grade students this morning. The experience was completely underwhelming. A few students said goodbye, but for the most part there was no acknowledgement that I was leaving the school after teaching them for 2 years.

I also finished teaching my 5^th grade students today. I have a special bond with the 5^th grade students because I taught them this semester without a co-teacher. Their homeroom teachers usually stayed in the classroom to help me with classroom management and the language barrier, ensuring that their behavior was impeccable. I said goodbye to my first 3 classes of 5^th graders last Friday. They were shocked to find out that I was going home, and many students gave me letters or cards to say goodbye. The goodbyes commenced today as I said goodbye to my least favorite and favorite 5^th grade classes. I arrived today ready to teach the 5-6 class, without a doubt the worst class I have ever taught, to find that they had all written me goodbye letters or cards. After they presented them to me, their homeroom teacher told me to, “Go take a rest.” I dreaded teaching them every week, so I am glad I have a positive final memory of that class.

However, without a doubt I had one of the most special moments of my teaching career when I taught the 5-5 class today. We started with a quick warm-up reviewing the songs, chants, and vocabulary we learned this semester. My plan after that was to watch excerpts from Mr. Bean. Korean children absolutely LOVE Mr. Bean. They laugh hysterically (to be honest, I do too), so I figured it would be a great way to end the school year. About 10 minutes before the end of class, one of my students approached me and said, “Sorry teacher. We stop the movie now.” I quickly made my way to the computer and stopped the DVD. All of the students were tittering excitedly, so I knew they had something planned. As 1 student navigated the Korean version of youtube, the rest of the class started passing forward letters and cards. One even included a gift from a boy consisting of a used glue stick and 100 won coin (the equivalent of about 10 cents). Once they found the right website, the classroom erupted into 30+ Korean children singing along with a music video in Korean. In addition to serenading me, they had also choreographed a dance consisting of mainly arm movements that the entire class participated in performing. As I looked around the classroom many students busted out signs that said, “We love you,” “Good bye,” and “We’ll miss you!” Those who know me well know that I rarely cry for sentimental reasons, but I fully admit that I had tears in my eyes. As the song came to an end, I was at a loss for words (not necessarily a bad thing when no one can understand much of what you say anyway). I thanked them, told them I would miss them, and then waved goodbye as I left their classroom for the last time. I feel so blessed to have had such a special moment.

As I reflect on the experience of teaching in Korea for the last two years, there is no doubt in my mind that it has been completely transformational. Despite the daily challenges of living in a foreign country, I know that this experience has helped our marriage get off to a solid start, and I am a better (and much more relaxed) person as a result of my experiences. While I am excited for the next chapter of our life to begin, I am so happy that Joe and I got to have this experience together.

Now, for your entertainment, I typed up my favorite quotes from the different letters I received.

- Congratulations! I heard you are having a baby!

- I heard the news, I am so surprise. Teacher, I think you will have a pretty baby. Good bye teacher!

- I’m sorry to hear that you have to go back to your country. After giving birth, please come back to Mi-geum school.

- I love you and your baby cute.

- One student gave me a card that simply said “Goob” (goodbye)

- Congratulations! Because you has baby. Baby will be very cute. I’m so happy you teach we. Teacher! You lay after! You have to come in Korea. Okay?

- Chear up I will miss you

- Teacher baby very good!

- Goodbye. Where are you going?

- I wish teacher and baby will healthy and baby grow kind and handsome or pretty.

- I like you. You like me? You are very beautiful. Me too.

- How are you today? I’m fine thank you and you? Do you like banana? I’m yes I do. Good bye!

Teaching

Today was my last day being a fake elementary school teacher. Actually, I have to teach three weeks of half-day English camps starting Thursday, but for all intents and purposes, I am done-zo. All things considered, I shouldn't really complain, but that doesn't mean I won't. Let's just start off by saying I am going to miss my school lunches ten times more than any of the students.

When my wife talked me into teaching English in Korea, the actual work was an afterthought. Getting away from the stresses of life at home and the opportunity to travel were what sold me on the experience. Yeah, I knew I was going to be spending the majority of my time in a classroom, but I'd have a co-teacher to translate, and the subject matter is so simple I figured I wouldn't have to worry about prep-time.

In hindsight, the first year moved along rather smoothly. I taught 3rd and 5th graders that were eager to learn and I had a co-teacher that was a true disciplinarian. My contract started at the end of the first semester, which meant I only had half a year with these particular students before they moved on. The next year's 5th graders sucked. Individually, they are all nice kids, but together they are satan's bastards. They were even worse as 6th graders and, as luck would have it, I was informed by my Vice Principal at the end of the year that I would be teaching 6th grade exclusively. Also, they will have English three days a week instead of two. Also, I was assigned a new co-teacher who left me alone 95 percent of the time.

As I said, individually the kids are great and there are a few really good ones- maybe two or three in each class. But teaching sucks and here are five reasons why: (note: I am only talking about teaching ESL in Korea- and my opinion is probably skewed because I don't like kids as much as some others might and like I said, I taught only 6th graders who were the highest grade in the school and thought they were badasses- 3rd, 4th and even 5th are great)

1. They never stop hitting each other. And not just the boys either. Boys hit girls, girls hit girls, girls hit boys and boys hit boys. Mostly hard, open handed slaps to the back and punches to the arm. It takes all I have not to throw my weight around in the mix. In the states, if you hit a girl you would be in big trouble. KEEP YOUR GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELVES!!!

2. The students never shut up. They can't even shut up during silent ball. They just don't get it. The only time I have ever had complete silence is after I have lost it and screamed at the top of my lungs. I felt a little ashamed after and went outside to cool off, but when I came back in the room you could have heard a mosquito fart. IT WAS BLISS.

3. Korea has a messed up private academy system where parents who can afford it send their kids to hours and hours of extra schooling. That along with students who have parent that speak English or have spent time abroad created a huge learning gap. I have students that can read Shakespeare (ok not really, but maybe J.K. Rowling), and students unfamiliar with the alphabet.

4. God, I hate it when they look over my shoulder at my computer screen before class starts. YES, SO MANY WORDS IN ENGRISH-EY OOOOH FASCINATING!!!

5. Even after two years, students still shit their pants when they see me walking to school or in the hallway. YES, I AM WHITE AND NO I AM NOT GOING TO EAT YOU. Unless you peer over my shoulder at the computer screen that is.

So yeah, I guess it is a good thing that today was my last day. For the sake of my health and the students' safety.