A Canada Day Like No Other

A violent storm rips through Gwangju overnight, rattling windows and turning drains into swirling whirlpools. The lightning is so intense that it as if some universal switch is being flipped off and on. Needless to say, nocturnal bliss is elusive, and as a result, I end up waking overnight, drifting off again, and then waking at 7:50, over an hour later than usual.

My students are in the same boat. Unlike me, however, they trundle in at various times throughout the first half hour of class. My TA, Se-Hee, has warned me of this potential problem, and I can't help but think what would happen if a student were to use this excuse in Canada. The postman has nothing on Winnipeggers for neither wind, rain, nor snow, will keep us from school. We force ourselves through the most extreme conditions. Snow days happen only when it's 50 below and there are two foot snow drifts, and even then, teachers are still expected to show up at school.

When I worked in radio, the most powerful blizzards that closed roads offered no reason for a day off; we'd get picked up by snowmachine . When I explained that I needed to be at home for my three year old whose daycare was shut down, my bosses told me to bring him along to work. But Rob later reminds me that in Albion, Michigan, snow days often involved nothing more than a light dusting of the white stuff.

When the students do arrive, they're animated in their descriptions of last night's storm. Memorable comments include, "Next thing I knew, flashy, flashy. My heart broke." One student teases another for being soaked, saying, "Ha, ha. Watery hair!" As an English teacher, it's one of life's great joys to hear students experimenting with language. It's both humbling and inspiring to see them thinking, and hear them reaching for new vocabulary. This morning some of the higher level students understand and correctly use words such as innate, urgent, and aggressive. At times, the quality, if not the quantity of their word banks surpass that of their Canadian counterparts.

We work through our program with Se-Hee's capable assistance. She would be a top-notch teacher, and it's something she'd love to do. However, she's not sure she can meet the rigorous standards for teacher training. I find this hard to believe, as she's easily as good, and better, than the education students I teach at the university level in Canada. But Se-Hee is like many of the more driven Korean young people I've met. She has very high standards, and doesn't take anything for granted. This is not to say that there are no deadbeats. As Ryan told us early in our visit, some students are aimless, simply studying to please their parents. However, for those with a goal, their focus is laser-like.

At lunch, Rob is amused to see students greet me with surprise and enthusiasm in the cafeteria, so exited to see a teacher outside the natural habitat of the classroom, mixing with the general public in the wild. We chat briefly, then go to our separate dining areas. Lunch today features a rich, creamy meat and potato soup with multiple layers of flavouring. As Rob heads to class, I mosey on home for a much needed afternoon nap. Flashy flashy night aside, I think the toxins released from yesterday's accupuncture and massage are still exiting my system. I need to revive myself for tonight's fancy dinner that the university president is hosting for visiting international professors.

Choosing appropriate evening attire is cause for concern due to the deep purple serpentine line of suction cup marks from shoulder to lower backside; Rob says I look like I was wrestling with an octopus. However, Se-Hee tells me not to worry, for Koreans will recognize them for what they are, the aftermath of a treatment designed to get rid of bad blood through increasing circulation. I settle on a floor length black and white number, with a black camisole to negate the effects of a V-neckline.

As the only Canadians in the dinner group, we are amused to see our American counterparts jockeying for position from the get-go. They jostle us, and one another, for positions next to Important People at the International Centre office, and then on the bus to the restaurant. The Taiwanese join Husband and me in watching the manoeuvering, both overt and covert.

During the ride, Dr. Shin, the Head of the International Centre, acts as our tour guide. He gives us a mini history lesson about the 1980 student uprising outside the main gate of Chonnam University. Citizens young and old rose up against the military dictatorship and took control of the city. They were ultimately defeated. Dr. Shin explains how terminology for the event has evolved over the years due to political, social, and media trends. As thousands of bodies of the missing are lost to time, so is the collective memory; what was once an painted a communist inspired uprising, may now be thought of as a democratic movement, depending on who is telling the story.

Even Dr. Shin cannot escape the intense need of some academics to show that they are Top Dog. When the good director offers to answer questions, several seize the opportunity to pontificate, at length, seemingly enamoured of their own voices. One goes so far as to make a tenuous connection between the American civil rights movement and the Korean struggle for democracy. It's seems rather sad that even when they have tenure, some of these eggheads still have such an intense need to assert their authority. To show that they are great intellects. I can only think of the great philosopher Socrates who mused that there were many smarter than he, but he knew how to listen.

The competition increases once we reach Tani Nomadic Bistro, for now the biggest question of the evening looms large: Where to sit? Gale, the clear alpha of her group, bleats out that organizers should, "Mix it up!" An interesting thought, but unfortunately for the Fearless Leader and her compatriots, the arrangements do not work out in their favour, for it is the quiet Canadians who stand at the back of the room who are shown to the prime seats in the house. Rob and I end up directly across from the University President, Dr. Kim, with Dr. Shin next to me. Gale, as the only member of the group of 15 or so teachers who visited Chonnam last year, is next to Dr. Kim.

The meal is five star perfection. We have eleventeen courses, including sushi, steak, chestnut soup, and a piece of cheesecake the size of my thumb. (Not big dessert eaters, these Koreans.) In a final flouristh, Dr. Kim orders pizza, in honour of an American woman last year who pronounced the meal just fine, but indicated pizza would have been even better.

Through it all, Gale whinges about, well, everything. The wine is too sweet. Dr. Kim orders a 200 dollar Chilean bottle. California wine is the best. Dr. Kim orders another bottle. As for the meal? "Well, it's better than dorm food." By the end, I'm as exasperated as our gracious hosts must be, but I continue to try to downplay and defect as much negativity as I can. All the education and money in the world cannot buy class.

But wait.. There's more. Doctors Shin and Kim distribute gifts to all in attendance. They are so exquisitely wrapped, it will be a shame to open them. Then, as pre-arranged (I'm complimented for having the manners to ask for permission), Dr. Shin invites Rob up to present our Canada Day gifts, pins representative of our fair city and province. We have two for each person. Rob quietly offers a few simple comments, before distributing the gifts. If there's one thing Rob and I have learned when traveling, especially in Japan, India, and now Korea, it's just good manners to reciprocate, if only in a small way.

Before Rob is even seated, the Americans are buzzing. They view our gift giving not as a simple gesture of friendship and respect, but as a Major Political Incident in which they have been upstaged! There's much fuss and bother, and suddenly, the Americans are taking the stage. While Rob's few words are respectful, and from the heart, their comments are self-aggrandizing and painfully transparent. They blather on using all the diplomatic buzzwords, but sadly for them, it simply looks like they're scrambling, and have a bad case of sour grapes. They distribute only three pins, one to each major player, which is fitting, as to them, those are the only people in the room who really matter. If Letitia Baldridge, the American etiquette expert, public relations executive and White House Secretary to Jackie Kennedy were to comment, she'd say, "Bad form."

That Rob and I stumbled into this tempest in a teapot of an international incident is truly amusing. We are the least political people around. In fact, we are staunchly apolitical. Unlike our colleagues, we had absolutely no agenda going in, and I think the powers that be sensed this fact. More importantly, what we lack in political acumen, we make up for in cultural sensitivity. The little things, like recognizing how to properly shake hands, with one hand on the forearm, and the other outstretched, how to turn one's head when drinking before a superior, and how to hand over items with both hands, go some distance in a culture built on tradition and respect. While others have clung together like lemmings before a cliff, Rob and I have spent our time immersing ourselves in Korean culture. And this hasn't gone unnoticed.

On this Canada Day, two things occur to me: 1) I don't dislike Americans. As they say, some of my best friends are Americans. In fact, we have a couple of really nice Americans right at our dinner table. However, I do dislike the ugly American stereotype, especially when someone lives up to it, And, 2) Canadians really are unique and distinct in this world. I say this not with arrogance, but with a quiet pride in knowing that we have an innate ability to accept and welcome the world, not on our terms, but in a mutually agreeable fashion. We go out into the world in the same way that we invite people to our little corner of the globe, by opening our hearts and minds. We don't expect people of various nationalities to give up their identity to melt into Canadian society, nor do we expect them to convert to our way of thinking when we visit their homeland. And the interesting thing is, we really do stand out. A Taiwanese dinner guest knew, at a gut level, that Rob is not an American. He thought Rob might be French. When I told him we're Canadian, he simply said, "Aaaah." And he smiled.

Happy Canada Day, indeed.