Korean Manners And The Meaning Of Dreams.

Many westerners who have spent some time in Korea would tell you that Korean manners is an oxymoron. Koreans don't queue in shops, they push in. The older Koreans spit on the street openly and push you out of their way if they are trying to get somewhere.

But there are in fact many rules of etiquette that are just different to our own. Obviously I ensured that I was well acquainted with most of these as soon as I arrived so that I knew the best possible ways in which to be obnoxious and offensive to people around me.

For example it is a huge faux paus to write someones name in red. Red means death and only the name of a dead person should be written in red ink. I found this out in my first week by the screams of protest from my students when I wrote their names in red marker, and I have heard it every day since then, when I cheerfully select a big red marker anytime that I have to write one of their names.

This may seem unnecessarily cruel, but it is actually necessarily cruel. The only time I have to write their names on the board is when they are misbehaving, and as I'm not allowed to thrash them with sticks in the manner of a Korean teacher, a small death threat seems quite fair.

But despite my deep knowledge on Korean culture and manners, I was shocked to learn of one of the necessities of good manners a couple of weeks ago. My students had to create a poster guide on Korean Manners to inform foreign people of how to behave. The usual by-products of Confucianism were all there...

Bow
Older People Eat First
No Shoes In The Home

And then a rule that stunned me and reeked of horrendous prejudice.

TWO HANDS.

I looked closely at the poster, and sure enough there was a drawing of exactly two human hands next to the rule. How did this physical norm become so important to being seen as well mannered? Was there a dark time in Korea's past, when a rabble of vile, one handed bastards tore through the cities and towns with repulsive behaviour?

I began to imagine this mob of one handed scum and the disgusting acts they must have carried out. But they are long gone, surely Koreans must move on and recognise that you can be courteous and well behaved and yet only have one hand.

What if a one handed person wished to visit Korea to do good deeds or spread their wisdom? Imagine someone like Britain's own Abu Hamza, fresh from prison and simply looking to visit South Korea to speak politely about global jihad and to respectfully rant about his hatred of Jews? Why, he would be seen as rude and abhorrent simply because he has only a single hand.

It made me wonder how many iconic and great one handed figures of literature and history may be reviled in Korean culture. Captain Hook, Luke Skywalker...perhaps even Jeremy Beadle?!

The explanation for this two hands demand was that it actually meant you should always hold a bowl or cup with both hands when passing it to someone or when a person is filling up your drink etc. That's the official line, but I'm not sure I buy it. Afterall I have not seen a single person with one hand or less since I have been here, and that seems somewhat suspicious if you ask me.

I wondered whether I had stumbled across a hidden, dark secret of 21st Century Korea.

Talking of wondering, a day dream is also a type of wondering and a day dream is in many ways closely linked to dreams, which brings me smoothly onto the topic of dreaming and dreams. That sort of seamless, literary segue is the type of talent that most writers can only dream of.

But whilst by day I am a blurring whirl of activity, educating, quipping and pondering; by night my brain evidently takes some time off, because my dreams appear to fall into two categories. Needlessly violent or mind numbingly mundane.

The violent dreams have seen me punch walls and wake up flat mates or neighbours with my expletive riddled rants. Until recently I had never been able to remember what these evidently terrifying and brutal dreams consisted of and then I swore so loudly in one of them that I woke myself up. I remembered the dream and what had caused me to become violent, and I'm not sure if I should now feel relieved at the content or more concerned.

To cut a medium sized story short, I met a girl and agreed to add her on Facebook. I should point out that this is what happened in the dream, obviously in real life I don't meet girls and certainly don't add them on Facebook.
Anyway, as I was adding her, the ghost of her deceased father entered the room and told me not to add his daughter.

Now she had not even told me that she had a dead Dad, let alone that he would start interferring in our blossoming friendship. I ignored him. So he began to pull my foot and insist I stop adding his daughter, which I found quite rude. In fact he could not have been ruder if he had had one hand.

So I kicked him in his ghost head and screamed "Fuck off".

I fully understand if at this point you decide it is probably best to never read one of my blogs again, but please rest assured that my more vivid dreams are not so unusual. In fact there have been times when I have had a dream and not realised that it was not something that really happened until days later. The most recent example being so dull that even my own brain must have been kicking itself for coming up with such a dreadful dream.

I dreamt that someone I knew couldn't wink. They would try, but it always resulted in a blink. That's it. I got to work and couldn't remember which teacher couldn't wink, so I asked around and sure enough everyone could wink. It gradually dawned on me that I had actually dreamt the entire cannot wink episode complete with the identity of the poor individual being forgotten.

What sort of person dreams that someone they know but cannot quite remember, can only blink? Apparently the same sort of person who dreams of overly protective, dead fathers and dreams that kicking their spirit will resolve a conflict.

In contrast, both Little Spoon and one of my students known as "Hotdog" have had far more interesting dreams of late. In the past week, Little Spoon dreamt that she was a detective on a murder case, the local mayor and in an upgrade from the mayor, also that she was running as the next US President.

Ambitious? Or delusions of grandeur? Neither could apply to a man who dreams about winking.

But the dream of the week must go to 10 year old Hotdog. One of the most energetic and talkative students that I have, she interrupted the opening gambit of Tuesday's lesson to tell me about her dream and she even managed to insult my general knowledge with her initial question.

Hotdog: "Teacher, you know Hitler?"

Me: "Yes Hotdog I know who Hitler is."

Hotdog: "I have the dream of Hitler teacher."

Me: "Really? What happened?"

At this point, Hotdog leaps from her chair and proceeds to act out the rest of her dream to the classes delight.

Hotdog: "I see the Hitler, kick him, kick his leg, and kick the hand. He says 'No no, sorry, I am sorry', but I kick him again. Then computer...you know computer? Computer to crash on the Hitler's head. So dead."

So even a ten year old ADHD sufferer has better dreams than me. She got an apology from one of the 20th Centuries most evil men simply by kicking him, and then killed him with a computer over the head.

I didn't know what to say, so I just said "Well done" and decided that when I had to write her name on the board, I would use green instead of red. She deserved that much at least.

Food Poisoning, Rules and Korean Salt.

Well it has been a month since I last blogged. After such a triumphant return you would think that I would have leapt back into the hustle and bustle of my teaching life and been eager to share it with the handful of people following my exploits. You would have been wrong to think such a thing.

I have been so busy that I felt sick at the mere thought of sharing anything with you. In the mood I was in, I would have spat in your face if you asked to share a light snack with me, nevermind my innermost thoughts and feelings.

My school gave me a horribe schedule. No surprises there and then I got food poisoning. It is difficult to explain why getting food poisoning is worse for me than for other humans, but I will attempt to enlighten you. Up until September 2009, I had never had food poisoning in my life and I had certainly tried. I ate from squalid road side huts in Cambodia, I ate old yogurts at home that were 2 months past their use by date and I even ate a sausage from a barbecue that had been left on a plate in my backgarden over night.

And not a hint of food poisoning. This led me to announce to anyone who would listen that I was "immune to food poisoning". A number of people tried to reason with me and suggest I had been fortunate. I mocked them and ridiculed their way of life.

Then one fateful night in September 2009 I bought a chicken (yes a whole chicken) from my local kebab shop. I ate it, as one tends to do with chickens. I got salmonella. I was obviously very ill, but more importantly I was psychologically damaged. My world view had been rocked and I was not the man who sneered at salmonella and scoffed at E-Coli; I was a normal man, a man who could get food poisoning.

My critics crawled out from under the rocks they had been hiding under and told me that they had tried to explain to me that my boasting was foolish. You would think that I would be humbled and begrudgingly accept my folly. You would be wrong to think such a thing. That is the second time in one blog that you have thought something and be quite wrong about it, but I shall not hold it against you.

So disgusted was I at my bodies weakness to salmonella that I masked my insecurity with more bravado and proclaimed that I would "never again get food poisoning". My friends and family shook their heads and sighed. I laughed, waved my finger and told them that I was indeed tempting fate but that I would never get my comeuppance.

My comeuppance took less than two years to arrive and it arrived promptly on Sunday March 20th after I had just been to Seoul to watch Little Spoon, Rudeboy Yatesy and Chocolate Orange put in an outstanding effort to complete the Seoul International Marathon.

The Friday night before this, our two faced, money grabbing employer had tried to sweeten us up with a meal out. A meal of seafood. A meal that involved watching a slug like, shell fish being cooked alive on a grill. If you are prejudiced against slug like, shell fish you would love this. As a man who has long admired slug like, shell fish I felt slightly uncomfortable watching it spin and writhe on its shell and attempt to crawl off, only to feel the even greater heat of the grill and jerk back onto its increasingly hot shell.

Some of the teachers chose not to eat this poor little blighter. I however, decided that his suffering should not be in vain and I ate a good deal. It tasted nice, and Little Spoon and Blancquita tucked in too.

But the tortured slug was to have the final laugh. Because moments after Little Spoon finished her marathon, she began to feel ill. Being a general know it all and self proclaimed medical expert, I informed her that it was simply dehydration. She began to vomit violently. I nodded. Definitely dehydration. Then Blancquita began to be sick. I raised my eyebrows, because she had not run a marathon. Just a coincidence then.

Then I was sick. And as it turned out so was everybody who ate the little slug like, shell fish. When I find out the correct name, I will inform you, but I also intend to return and eat one again. Because we are now mortal enemies. You might be thinking that I would stay clear of something that gave me food poisoning, but let's be honest you have not been very accurate with your thoughts so far have you? As it happens you would be wrong for a third time, because I am not in the least concerned about getting food poisoning again, for a simple reason.

I will never get food poisoning again. Ever. That is a bold claim, but one I make, confident in the knowledge that I will never get my comeuppance.

Talking of unusual Korean foods, I should warn anyone planning on coming here about Korean Salt. I'll be honest, I had not encountered any problems with Korean salt myself, but a major one was drawn to my attention by Little Spoon.

As you may recall she likes to eat limes with salt. As you may also recall I had smuggled a bag of limes into the country at the risk of five years imprisonment, and Little Spoon had bought herself a large bag of salt for the occasion.

I watched her prepare her ludicrous snack in the way you might watch a beetle on its back struggle to get back onto its feet. But I did not envisage the problem that was to emerge...

Little Spoon: "Mmmmm....hmmmm...strange."

Me: "What's strange, other than this entire snack?"

Little Spoon: "It tastes different than at home. It's not horrible, but...it tastes not right."

She frowns a little and then dips her hand into the bag of salt and tastes it.

Little Spoon: "Yep, it's the salt. Korean salt is weird."

Me: "It can't be, salt is just salt."

Little Spoon: "NO, Korean salt is weird, come here and taste it if you don't believe me."

So I did.

Me: "You're right. Korean salt is weird. Korean salt is sugar."

As you can imagine this issue with Korean salt is quite inconvenient. It could ruin an entire trip and certainly would ruin many meals. But thankfully I have found a solution. If you fancy something with salt on it, then don't use Korean salt (because it's sugar remember), just use Korean sugar. Because Korean sugar is salt. Strange eh? Well either that or Little Spoon just picked up the wrong bag, but I doubt that could have happened.

So as another week began at work on Monday, it was time for another staff meeting and a quick reminder from our employers about what was expected of us. The usual things were mentioned, such as make sure you are on time. Finish student reports by the deadline and a few guidelines on grading.

But then a bombshell. A totally unreasonable and outlandish demand.

"Remember not to touch your kids".

WHAT? Don't touch the kids? You will be telling me I have to wear trousers during lessons next. Everyone seemed a bit surprised to hear that we shouldn't fondle the children, but if that's what the Koreans want then fair enough, when in Rome and all that...

Anyway I am off to have a cup of Korean coffee. That's tea to you and me.