Showing Off

Yesterday afternoon, when the incredibly pleasant two Korean teachers, with whom I share the English office, received a phone call that caused them to pass the phone between the two of them, and make anxious, gloomy-looking faces in my direction, I knew something ridiculous was a-brewing.

"Ah-di-ael, ummm, sorry, but the, ummm, the director of the POE won the election in June."

"Riiiiight?"

"So the Educational TV in Jeju will do a news story about him. And he really pushes the development of English."

"Riiiiight?"

"And so they want to video tape your class tomorrow to show how he is doing a good job pushing the English curriculum."

"That's about right."

I suppose it's fair enough that the director of the Educational Office in Jeju wants to show off Jeju's best elementary school full of fluent English-speakers. Not only are many of them fluent in English; their parents are Jeju's richest; most of them have been overseas; nearly all of them take English classes 5 days a week at local hagwans (privately-funded 'extra' schools), which many of them have attended since their toddler days, learning Korean and English simultaneously. I suppose that's fair enough. But honestly is the wealth and opportunity of Halla Elementary's rich families any reflection of a job-well-done on the part of the re-elected director of the Educational Office? Why do I even pose questions like this anymore, one would think I knew better after all my time in Korea.

Today was my final day of Friday classes, meaning that my lesson plan outlined 5 minutes of 'Good mornings,' 5 minutes of 'Simon Says,' 25 minutes of 'Review Jeopardy,' and 5 minutes of 'Good-byes.' A lesson plan, surely not adequate for showing off Jeju's richest and finest young English speakers. My co-teachers, aware of this, argued my case to the Vice Principal, suggesting that the TV station use my prepared videoed class from weeks before. And suggested as well that a plethora of videos, including videos of last year's award-wining-teachers (of which I am not) sat in the Educational Office.

To this they answered, that the re-elected director of the Educational Office (let's call him Mr. Kim for simplicity, and for the overwhelmingly likelihood that his name is indeed Mr. Kim) insisted upon making a new video, shot by real TV cameramen, with a real TV camera.

"So, Ah-di-ael, sorry, but we have to make this video. It is okay?"

They don't really mean, 'It is okay?' They mean, "Ah-di-ael, you have no choice but to make the video because we live in a polite hierarchical society where we have to do many nonsensical things just because people in higher positions than us have requested it. But we cannot demand it of you with our words because we are too polite."

"Sure, I'll do the video, but I'm not going to plan anything new. I'll just use one of my old lesson plans, and those poor students in 5-2 will have to repeat a lesson, instead of playing a review game."

"Yes, that's a good idea!"

Is it, really?

This morning, when I arrived to school, my co-teachers informed me that all my other classes were canceled, because they were unaware of the arrival time for the camera crew. We were to sit and wait until we heard that the camera crew was coming. Also, they added that the class needed to be filmed in the English room. A high-tech, expensive, poorly designed classroom with long desks and chairs too big for children, that I opted not to use all semester because of its clumsy structure.

As I was rearranging the clumsy room this morning, I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of a re-elected director of the Educational Office trying to show off the English ability of students who didn't learn the majority of their English through the public school system. And doing so by forcing a non-award-winning English teacher to make a professional video on her last day of 'Jeopardy Review' class, which she then changed to reteach a prepared lesson to children in a clumsy room she'd never used.

And furthermore, since all my other classes were canceled, no actual English learning took place in Halla Elementary this morning, and all for the sake of showing off yet another Mr. Kim!

Flying...

I currently love overseas traveling. When I was younger, I even loved the physical airplane ride. When I was 19, and could curl my little 19 year-old self into a ball and sleep for the entire 10 plus hours with my head gently resting atop my bent knees through the beverage service, the dinner, the late night beverage service, the continual water offerings, the breakfast, and even the landing, I just couldn't understand how anyone could loathe flying.

Even into my early twenties when I couldn't sleep for the length of of the entire plane ride, I'd find a good movie to watch on the small screen placed on the backs of all seats; conveniently economy-class airplane technology was developing alongside my ever increasing inability to sleep in a curled up ball. And as long as I remembered to tell the travel agent to order veggo meals for me, the dinners were never as awful as popular culture purported. After my hot veggo dinner and complementary bottle of wine for one, I could easily fall asleep to whatever movie I'd chosen, only to be awoken by the smells of food carts full of breakfast, and at least one veggo breakfast for me.

I've not taken residence in the states for six years now, so in order to return home, it has to be an international return home. And since nearly all of my friends here in South Korea are also Native English Teachers, oceans away from their families, international flying is a common, well-researched, topic of interest often discussed around dinner tables. The general consensus reassured by every one of these conversations is that all airlines owned and run by any North American is inferior to all Asian airlines in nearly every possible way.

Airport services. Many Asian International airports have massage rooms, massage chairs (some are even FREE massage chairs), movies to watch, shower rooms, and some even have exercise rooms for the long layover-er. Oh, and these services are offered to everyone, not just those lucky enough to carry some Super Elite Frequent Flyer card with free entry access to places as choice as Narnia. Internet in many Asian airports is also free, and if not free, at least it's an affordable way to spend an hour or so of your time. I once accidentally spent $25.00 of my last $45.00 US Dollars in LAX within hour 1 of my 7 our layover using a ridiculous priced internet service on my laptop (In Korean airports, even for domestic flights, you can use airport computers for free internet services).

Bag checking. On my last trip from Chicago back to Korea in February of this year, the large fella working at the Baggage Check looked at my things, as they made their way through the rubber flaps on the secure side of the conveyor belt, "We got another one who can't listen and follow directions," he said. "Excuse me?" I asked, "Have I done something wrong?" He gruffly explained that just moments before he'd yelled to everyone that they needed to keep their shoes OUTSIDE the buckets. I irritatedly apologized and explained that it was really hard to hear anything as so many things were being yelled at us back there. Furthermore, it's difficult to know just what to do, as every American airport seems to have different rules, though the same sense of condescending righteousness among its workers. As I grabbed the rest of my things, anger boiled up inside me, and I couldn't resist telling him that I didn't appreciate him treating me as though I were a child, and that I'd done a fair amount of International travel, and no other nation had airport workers as rude as the Americans. He then told me, "That's cause American airports do it right." Riiiight, I thought.

On a recent weekend trip to Seoul from Jeju, I had failed to take my mini swiss army knife off my key chain, and as I didn't check any baggage, it was scanned, identified as dangerous and I was asked by a very pleasant employee to go back to the counter and check it through. When I showed him my boarding pass and told him that I didn't have enough time, he escorted me downstairs to my gate, handed the knife to a steward on my flight, who put it in an envelope and then assured me that I'd get it back in Seoul. If only I could have expressed in Korean that the 'American airports do it right' then these incredibly helpful, patient Korean airport workers could have seen error of their ways.

Service. Just last weekend I had to change my flight departure date for a domestic flight from Seoul to Jeju, and because the Sunday flight was originally more than the Monday flight that I was changing to, there was no fee at all. Had my flight changing happened in the states, I'd be sure to pay a fee, regardless of price difference, possibly even more than the price of my ticket.

Smiling, attractive stewards, stewardesses and counter people. In Asia, only happy people, or people who fake happy well, are allowed to serve you on an airplane or in an airport. I'll refrain from describing the physical appearance of most of the stewardesses on North American international flights, but let's just say, if they smiled more I wouldn't notice just how fat they are.

The days of curling up in a ball and sleeping for the entire course of an international flight are over for me. I increasingly find it difficult to sleep much at all on flights these days, and courteous, smiling stewards and stewardesses are becoming more and more important to me. One day, when I move away from Korea and enter life back in the West, I'm sure I'll sorely miss Asian airplanes, airports and staff.

Korean Traffic Pandemonium

I’m certainly not the world’s best driver. In my first few teenaged years of licensed-driving, I crashed the front of my car (well, the car my parents let me drive) into a brick flowerbed on a rainy slippery afternoon; backed the old thing into massive trash receptors denting my trunk; and pulled out in front of a friend’s mom’s van the afternoon of junior year prom, forever sealing the driver’s side door, forcing window-climb entries a la The General Lee from ‘The Dukes of Hazzard.’

However, in my 12 years or so of driving, I’ve not hit, smashed, slid, hydroplaned, fender-bendered, or even bumper-tapped anything since that wayward junior prom afternoon. This dramatic drop in minor accidents can be attributed almost exclusively to the fact that I stopped driving much past my high school days.

Eleven months ago, however, after living on Jeju Island for a year, I bought an old, beaten, scuffed-up, gas-guzzling car from another foreigner. And while I cannot say that I drive the beast regularly (as I also own and drive a small 125cc motorbike, which is better for gas, money, convenience, and anxiety), I can say, that when I drive, I am regularly stressed, irritated, fist-clinched and spouting a variety of cleverly-phrased (or I think so, at least) curse words!

There are various reasons attributing to Korea’s chaotic driving culture; for example, its relative short history. Cars were not a family staple in Korea until about 20 years ago. Now, every family has at least one car, and at least one driver, possibly self-taught, and almost certainly not a product of heavy childhood car-culture like that found in the West. Korean adults today didn’t grow up climbing in and out of cars, like most Westerners. My grandparents knew how to drive, and so taught my parents, and so taught me. I had 2 generations of driving-knowledge passed down to me in my youth, whereas many of the adults driving in Korea today possibly had no car experience before they began driving.

Furthermore, and possibly also because of its brief history, driving common sense is that of fiction here in Korea. I imagine that most Koreans were taught to drive with one hand so as to keep their other hand free for phone duty. I’ve seen a woman with her baby on her lap, driving her car at night, dome light on so she can see the lip liner she’s applying, with her cell phone wedged in between her shoulder and ear. Not only is it still legal to talk on your phone while driving, the Korean government just passed a law maintaining the rights of taxi drivers to keep satellite TVs on their dashboards, so as to keep the taxi drivers entertained when without a fare, despite a few crash-related deaths due to distracted, ‘entertained’ taxi drivers.

‘Blind spots’ has no translation in Korean (at least that I know of), as driving instructors have no lectures on the subject. It is common to drive in Korea and have the car in front of you completely cut you off, for if they cannot see you in their mirror, you do not exist! A friend of mine relayed a story about a young Korean woman, riding in the passenger seat of a Westerner’s car. My friend was sitting in the backseat, and as the Western-driver, when changing lanes, kept checking her blind spot for approaching cars, the Korean woman also turned around, with a very confused look on her face. When my friend and the Korean woman were alone, the Korean woman confided her confused question, “Your friend is a good driver, but why does she keep turning around all the time? What is she looking for? She should keep her eyes on the road in front of her.”

In Korea, it is perfectly normal to park your car, on a main street, if you need to run into a shop, a bank, or your home (and nap for hours). It seems that if one puts hazard indicators on, it’s no hold’s bar on any parking and driving laws one may violate. Within my very first hours of arriving to Korea, a Korean co-worker picked me up from the airport, and drove me into Seoul. When we missed our exit on the massive interstate, he simply slowed the car a little, pushed on his indicators, and reversed from 60kph on the interstate to make it back to our exit.

To further compound this young, uninformed driving culture, there is a complete lack of law enforcement where common (though serious) driving violations are concerned. When traffic laws like running red lights, parking on busy main streets, pulling out across three lanes of traffic to turn, u-turning on main roads into on-coming traffic, (the chaotic list could continue forever, I fear) are infringed and the local police happen to be there, they do nothing. A friend of mine, while sitting at a long, quiet red light, checked both directions of traffic and slowly pulled through the light, only to realize that she’d not checked the car next to her before doing so. When the cops watched as she ran the red light, they whooped the siren for a moment, and then remained stopped at the red light, as she slowly drove away.

A young driving culture and a lack of law-enforcement can account for a certain degree of the Korean traffic pandemonium, but something must be said for the uncanny similarities between their driving and the way Koreans walk, line-up, and organize themselves in open spaces. In the same way that it is not rude in this culture for an adjuma (an older woman) to bump into your back, elbow your side, groan ‘Bali Bali’ (Faster!) at you then speed past you as you try to enter the front doors at Lotte Mart (Korea’s Target), so too is it socially acceptable to side swipe someone’s parked car, knocking their side mirror off, and scuffing their doors then simply drive away, guilt-free.

Korea’s most effective driving/parking solution to the seemingly unsolvable chaos, is that of posting a telephone number on the dashboard of all cars. Since the police rarely ticket illegally parked cars, and tow-trucks cannot tow un-ticketed cars, the only way to move a troubling vehicle is to ring the person it belongs to, ask them to come outside, and park their car elsewhere!

If only this were the status quo of America, 1998. I very easily could have left my car in that brick flowerbed of my neighbor’s yard, ensuring my phone number could be easily viewed from the windshield and awaited their pleasant phone-call request for my car's removal!

Rebel Hair Woe

I had this wee ingrown hair in my armpit that I noticed about a month ago. It didn't really hurt, and I wasn't too worried about, though I did try to squeeze it out and even subjected my boyfriend, tweezers in hand, to have a go at removing the little annoying hair. Still, after reading a bit on that new thing we call the Internet, I learned that ingrown hairs really don't get better on their own. Either they always stay the same or they get infected, worsen, and cause heaps of problems. So in my proactive, 'I don't want heaps of problems later' manner, I used one of my mornings off work to get the little curly fella checked out.

Most doctors in Korea speak English decently (though I have been told by an acupuncturist that my neck pain is 'cereal'). For this particular affliction, however, I wanted to clearly explain my problem and ensure he knew what to do for ingrown hairs. Furthermore, if he was sick that day of med-school where they explained ingrown hair procedure, I knew of a great website we could read together (in English) that outlined, what seemed to me, a very easy method of exfoliating, tweezering and yanking to rid my armpit of her rebel-hair woe!

Unaware of skin doctors capable of speaking this advanced level of English, I headed toward the foreigner clinic inside a hospital not too far from my house. When I arrived for my very first visit to this English-welcoming clinic, I was disappointed to find that the nurse couldn't say much past, "Your name?" and "Your ID card?" Though she did try her best, and continued to repeat "Dok-tah la-bol-la-tol-li," which obviously means that the doctor is in the laboratory, though I was having troubles discerning this obvious statement as I sat in front of her, slowing duplicating her constant repetition. "Dok-tah la-bol-la-lol-li?" I said. Now, it was my turn to sound stupid as I explained in my poorly spoken, pigeon Korean, that I was sorry, but I didn't know what she was saying. She smiled, picked up the phone, dialed a number, huffed a bit, set the phone down, and asked me, in Korean, to wait.

40 minutes later, she handed me the phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hi. I am the doctor."

I explained everything about my renegade armpit hair. And he explained everything about 'Dok-tah la-bol-la-lol-li.' He said, "Ok, well I am in the laboratory all day today, and will not come to the foreigner clinic. So I suggest you go see a skin doctor at another smaller clinic."

"Rightio, Doc, but I came here because I wanted to communicate clearly in English."

"Yes, well I suggest you go to a skin doctor in another clinic, who speaks English." explained doctor obvious!

"Sure, well do you know of any English-speaking Skin Doctors?" I asked.

"Ummmmmmm no. Do you read Korean?"

"Yes, but how will I find a skincare clinic with a doctor who speaks English?"

"Ummmmmm, I suggest that once you find a clinic, go inside and ask the doctor."

I laughed out of frustration and at my obtuseness, told him I could figure things out on my own, and hung up with the ever-so-helpful Dr. Obvious. I left the hospital angry, and marched back toward my house, where I remembered seeing a building full of different specialized clinics. My cell phone's Korean/English dictionary translates quite a bit better from Korean to English, so as I stood in front of the 5 story building, I typed in the names of each of the clinics. Floor 5 was a skincare clinic. Golden. Now to ask the question of English!

Luckily enough, on my very first 'find an English speaking Skincare Doctor' attempt, the doctor spoke English, as did one of his nurses. So he set me up with some minor laser surgery, and fried that rebel curly-hair out of her cyst-like home! During the extremely brief procedure, a nurse stood above me with a hose to suck out the smell of burning flesh. However, the hose didn't quite reach to my armpit, so she placed it next to my nose, ensuring that neither the doctor nor the nurse could capture the alluring whiff of my blazing armpit, but failing to prevent the smell from wafting up my nose! Fortunately, I endured only moments of the quesying odor, as laser-burning small ingrown-hair cysts takes merely moments.

Relieved that I no longer had to breath in my own burning flesh, I redressed, and made my way to the check-out counter, where I paid my whopping $12 bill. Realizing, that despite the frustrating conversation with Dr. Obvious, searching for an English-speaking doctor on my own, and inhaling my own singeing flesh, the morning's events were far more pleasurable than they could have been back home. All that hassle is worth a mere $12 bill. With seriously flawed healthcare 'reform' bills back home, I'm happy to be in government-funded healthcare-for-all (even for English teachers!), Korea.

Hello Mr. Kang!

Korean children study, a lot. Fortunately enough, for those of us looking for jobs here in the 'land of the morning calm', Korean parents force their children to study, a lot. Unlike back home, where after school activities typically include playing some sport, socializing with friends, walking home, riding bikes around town, and so forth, Korean 'youngins' study anything and everything from robot building, to playing musical instruments, to English, to Maths, to Lego building (in English!). Hagwon is the Korean name for such after-school private institutions, where little Korean kiddies flood, between that last school bell, tae-kwon-do practice, dinner, homework, and sleep. Hagwons even offer Kindergarten (English Kindergarten) classes for Korean children as young as 3 years-old (western aged 3, anyway).

Although I work for the public school system here in Jeju, my job is more similar to that of a private institute. The Jeju government has established 'The Centers' in an attempt to offer an alternative to Korean families, who do not have the funds to send all of their children to expensive English hagwons. The Center is free for all students, ranging from 1st graders to middle schoolers, and even adult students. My job entails then, teaching a maximum of 16 children (or adults) per class, four times a week for 50 minute classes. The differences in English level I see each day ranges from 2nd graders who are happy to ask each other 'How are you' and giggle when they scream in excitement, 'I'M HAPPY!!!' to middle schoolers who sift through English newspapers in order to complete my assignments. The Center has been a fabulous place to work for my first two years in Jeju, but it, like all things in Korea encompasses some annoying aspects that can be truly hilarious.

A couple of weeks ago, the second in command here at the center, Mr. Kang, was strolling the hallways during our last class hour. Mr. Kang is a smiley, silver-haired, short Korean man, who, despite working in the government-funded language institute, can speak no other languages besides Korean. Before beginning class, I was showing 2 members of my whopping 6- student-class a video on the internet about polar bears. Mr. Kang walked past my open door, peered in suspiciously, and looked at his watch, signaling to me, that he thought I should be teaching now, instead of showing my students a polar bear video. I waited a few minutes more, as 2 of my students had not arrived to class yet, and when the last of my middle schoolers arrived, I asked (surely because of Mr. Kang's disapproving eyes) that she close my door.

We began class chatting about their all-school, all-subject exam day each of them had just finished; how they thought they'd done, if the tests were difficult, if the English section was difficult and so forth. Ji Eun, the chattiest of my students was explaining how they could check the answers to their tests after school, so everyone pretty much knew how they'd preformed when mid sentence, she noticed the the window behind my white board opening and she said, "Ummm Arielle Teacher, that window's opening, mind if I check out who's behind there?" I smiled and said, "Go for it!" Ji Eun crept up below the window, slid the white board to the side stood up in front of the window, and yelled 'boo!' Her face quickly turned to terror, she shut the window, started laughing uncontrollably, and quickly made it back to her seat. She pointed toward the door. "Your boss, your head boss!" She said. I opened the door, saw Mr. Kang, smiled and said, "Hello Mr. Kang! If you'd like to observe the class, please have a seat. We'd be happy to have you in here." Certainly understanding little to nothing of what I said, he shook his head, smiled out of embarrassment, and quickly turned the corner out of my sight.

A few minutes later, Mr. Kang was back to his old shinanigans, opening more of my windows. This time, at the rear of my class, behind the students, in the direction I was facing, he slid open another one of my windows. This time, however there was no white board to hide his sneaking little face. When our eyes met, I repeated my offer, "Really, Mr. Kang, if you'd like to watch the class, please come in, and have a seat." He uncomfortably laughed again and quickly slid the window closed.

I know there must be some cultural, generational, possibly even gender differences here that make it very hard for me to understand the motivation behind Mr. Kang's sneaky window sliding! But, I reckon I don't even want to completely comprehend his class checking impetus, after all, these diversities and misunderstandings make for such sweet stories!

Jogging along the streets of Jeju...

I, like all amateur runners, have a love-hate relationship with jogging. Every time I go for a run, I have to force myself to strap-on my shoes, get my hip-hopy, loud, fast, energetic playlist ready, fasten a watch with numbers large enough for my eyes to read at a bouncing distance, lock my door, store my key in my sports bra and hit the pavement at a pace so slow walkers have occasionally passed me. Despite all this struggle, however, I continue to run. I've been amateur-ally running for nearly 10 years now, and have taken the occasional monthly break, but always return to forcing myself out that door and hitting the pavement.

My relationship towards being a runner is a little more straightforward. I simply don't like it and I refuse, to look like a runner. My sportswear (for every athletic activity I participate in) consists of old, holey, black leggings, sports bras with little to no elasticity, a tight Adidas tennis dress that I found for $5 at an op-shop a few years ago, and until a few weeks ago, running shoes purchased nearly 5 years past. And as the winter has crept its chilly breath into the air, my running attire, with each old layer has, I fear, only become more ridiculous.

Last year, Dunkin Donuts, here on the island, had a promotional Christmas package, where lucky customers could purchase these enormous earmuffs equipped with headphones inside the white fluffy muff. To accessorize accordingly (and in a very Korean fashion), the earmuffs also sport a small chord-storing, bum-less, meant-to-be-adorable (blah) teddy bear attached to the chord. The earmuffs also have sewn into the sides, with golden threads, a decorative DD, sure to alert any jealous onlooker as to the origins of the wonderful multi-purpose earmuff-headphones! I was lucky enough to receive this incredible invention last Christmas, and sport them enthusiastically in these cold winterly days, as I jog along the streets of Jeju.

In Jeju, street joggers are not a common site. Joggers, and walkers stick to the sidewalks of a few designated 'running' and 'biking' roads, or jog around the tracks found in most school yards. I've reasoned that most of them drive to these roads, park their vehicles nearby and walk or run back and forth along the socially accepted jogging paths, as it's hard to spot Korean runners and walkers anywhere else but on these roads and tracks. And one need not search carefully to discern a Korean jogger or walker from ordinary pedestrians, as Koreans are prone to wearing the exact same attire when out exercising. They sport long, dark-colored, brand name trackydaks accessorized with clean, white, reflective, brand name runners. In the winter months, many Korean joggers and walkers wear large scarves and winter beanies, though some still sport the brand name cap.

Needless to say, I look different. Even if my hair weren't blonde, my large eyes weren't blue, and my legs weren't a bit longer than the average Korean woman's legs, I look different. I jog on un-designated jogging roads, paths, and sidewalks. I wear earmuffs so big that when walking through a small door frame, I have to turn my head sideways to enter! I don't wear trackydaks, ever. And brand name clothing, unless purchased at an op-shop, ranks pretty high on my list of things most wrong with people in the world today. And when you look different in Korea, people, all people stare.

So my love-hate relationship with my amateur running hobby is further compounded here in Jeju by those curious onlookers unaccustomed to seeing anything out of the ordinary. What I want to do is run like a maniac, screaming nonsense at the top of my lungs, chase them down the street, and then give them a big hug and sloppy kiss. But I continually fight these urges, occasionally making a 'what the flip are you staring at?' face. Sometimes I even pull my shirt over my head or cover my face with my hands, and then run home...faster. At the very least, jogging along the streets of Jeju has improved my pace as I angrily race away from the numerous confused stares!

Jeju Fortnightly

I write one pretty insignificant, pretty short article twice a week for Jeju Weekly, the English newspaper here on the island, that despite its misleading name, publishes just fortnightly. 'Newspaper' is possibly another misnomer, as the glossy, all-colored print, rectangular paper appears more like a magazine full of uncritical content that merely praises the positives aspects of life on Jeju. Please don't misread my cynicism, there is an abundance of brag-worthy content to report about on the island, as it is undoubtedly beautiful and full of exciting tourist-friendly activities. And I'm more than happy to venture off every other Saturday, to a new part of the island with a Korean translator to meet and greet quasi-famous Jeju locals like traditional pottery-makers, artists, organic farmers, singers, orchestra members and so forth. But a real 'newspaper' would investigate and run stories that showed the grits and guts of the island juxtaposed with its flowery tourist exterior. So magazine it is then, I write one pretty insignificant, pretty short article twice a week for the English magazine, misnamed Jeju Weekly.

A couple weeks ago, Jeju Weekly offered me something a little less insignificant: the chance to write a cover story. And I got greedy and accepted. I enjoy writing for the paper because it adds nearly no extra stress to my life and presents opportunities for me to learn new things. But with fame and glory comes responsibility and hardship, right? I had scheduling and rescheduling problems with this story, emailing problems, incompatible software issues, and semi-frequent guilt trips via email from my contact at the paper.

The Tuesday before the deadline, I decided to outsource all the Jeju locals that could possible help me organize an interview with a tangerine farmer before my Saturday morning deadline. Help came via Rae Won, an adorable, petite, mother of two, who used to attend my adult English class that I taught out in Seongsan (farm country) last year. When she replied to my desperate-text pleading for help, she said, "Thank-you, Arielle, for remembering me to ask me to help you! I have a friend organic tangerine farmer!" After reading her text message, all the week's irritation immediately dripped away. Whatever annoyances I may have felt early faded with the prospect of spending a morning with Rae Won and her organic-tangerine farming friend!

So in my cover-story debut, this fortnightly edition of Jeju Weekly, should run my pretty insignificant, pretty short cover story on Jeju's tangerines, thanks to a woman who thanked me for asking a favor of her!