Why I Am Thankful for Your USA Job Connection, But I'm Moving Back to Korea

If you've lived abroad, you undoubtedly carry a quiver of sharpened answers to parry the seemingly infinite assault of questions: Why did you choose (country)? Are you fluent in (language)? Do they speak English there? Isn't it dangerous/difficult/frustrating/lonely? Then there is that one question, often phrased as a comment, which makes you grit your teeth and dig for a teacher's patience (that I don't quite have): Why don't you just get a job here in the US?

Why don't I get a job in the US? I will politely accept information about whatever job in whatever city you offer, one I can secure without late night interviews, without blundering through the visa process, without flying 20+ hours, without struggling to communicate everyday, without relocating my whole life, and without leaving behind family, friends, and familiarity. I have smiled and thank-you'd and politely recorded the necessary contact info. But now it's time to explain why I didn't seem too enthusiastic, why I likely discarded that piece of scrap right away. Here's why expats willingly cut through the jungle of international employment, why we choose the path less traveled: we want to.

Living abroad is not the same as going on vacation. Expats have to trudge through all the real world, real life, real boring day-to-day stuff that people at home do, and we often have to do it in a foreign language. For many of us this extra challenge to the mundane is what makes expat life exciting, interesting, and worth it, but don't get me wrong, it's not easy. If I didn't want to be adding all this extra work to my daily grind, I wouldn't be.

But why move away, aside from apparent social masochism via mispronounced syllables? Expat life has its perks, with the opportunity to travel being an obvious benefit. Weekend trips to the same old hang become treasure hunts through invigoratingly unfamiliar landscapes and cultures. Vacations are rustic backpacking+wild spring break+touristy family trip. Even a quick stop at the grocery store can be an adventure (Blueberry ice cream Oreos, anyone? Shrimp-flavored chips?). Another bonus is the unique feel of an expat community: we are simultaneously colleagues, therapists, love interests, lawyers, home-spun embarrassers, and brethren. Everyone is familiar by way of being strangers. We need each other for shared knowledge of local secrets, and scorn each other for revealed ignorance via baggy elephant print pants and rudimentary language skills. Living at home is going through the motions. Living abroad is those motions with one hand tied behind your back—a bit of a nuisance, but mostly an exhilarating, enlightening, and sometimes sexy challenge.

Aside from wanting to get out, one thing people often overlook is that at this time in my life I can get out. I don't have children, I don't have sickly relatives, I don't have property to maintain, I don't have schooling to complete...There is nothing chaining me to any particular location. Some of those chains are inevitable, some shackles I will eventually close onto myself. But now I'm not weighted by those things. I feel the push and the pull and inner drive to take advantage of my privilege, my youth, and my freedom.


More reasons you demand? Personally, I can make better money in Korea. Many expats can guarantee their financial stability before they even step on the plane. Yes I can make money at home, but more likely I'd be stuck working two jobs, sacrificing hours dedicated to my career for hours making less money doing something I don't care about.

Why do I have to move away? I want to. I can. I should. But the best answer: why not? Home is here, and it's not moving. I have my passport, I have my social security number. I have my mom's cell phone on speed dial. When I'm ready to come home, the things will I need and the people who matter will be around. And in the mean time, I'll be convincing them to take a break from normal life, and visit me in a whole other world.

How to Be a Tourist Just About Anywhere

You're bored all the time. You want to make some new friends. You need to escape the clutches of whatever screen you're looking at right now. You know nothing about your hometown despite having lived there for most of your life. Whatever the reason, you know you've got to get out...but you're not on vacation, so how can you be a tourist? I'm always itching for an adventure, so here are some of my tricks for getting off your butt and into the world, even if it's just in your backyard.

Use the internet. If you are uncomfortable adventuring alone, uncertain about where to go, too broke to go to the well-known places, or just not convinced that being a tourist is worth it, go ahead, stay home all day. And research some places to explore.

Don't limit yourself to the major newspaper and friend's Facebook walls. Read skim the comment sections of articles about the famous tourist attractions for lesser-known ideas. Google embarrassingly obvious things like "best secret spots of (insert location here)" and "(location name) blog" If you keep getting hits from the same websites, use the handy minus sign and eliminate those boring mainstream websites-- this is adventuring for bandwagon hipsters.

Let yourself be inspired, excited, intrigued by what you find. Search for videos of the event, stalk the spot on GoogleEarth, find online forums and groups that mention it. Basically, be a virtual tourist and get the itch to adventure. BUT don't let yourself get sucked into the abyss of the interwebs. Give yourself a deadline and, partner or no, get out there!

Pick up papers. Essentially the old school version of the internet, there is still paper everywhere. So pique you interest and also save the environment and pick up some papers. Newspapers, magazines, flyers, those annoying postcards people hand to you on the street right after you've nabbed one from the convenient table at the front of the restaurant, business cards, information pamphlets, tear off tabs. Be grabby, take what you want and what you aren't sure about--don't take what you definitely don't want--and recycle what you don't need. I find saving the paper I want to do and keeping it in an obvious place (next to my computer, in my wallet, or on my fridge) is a good way to remind myself that I'm interested. Bonus perk: when you read about the area that you are in, you become a more informed and engaged citizen! Who wouldn't want to be a contributing member of society!?

Hang out in public places. Public transportation should, at the very least, take you by way of some popular spots. Coffee shops, bus stops, libraries, park benches...they are made for people! You can be one of those people! Then maybe, just maybe, you can work up the nerve to do the next thing...

Talk to strangers. Yes, mama said not to. But go ahead. Ask for directions. Maybe they know a shortcut. Give someone a compliment. They might recommend the shop where they bought their shoes. Help someone with their bags and their dog and their escaping hat and the door. Perhaps they'll say thank you. Perhaps not. Whatever, life isn't a romantic comedy. But information comes from experiences, and PEOPLE have experiences, so ask about them! Pro tip: when the conversation is over, say goodbye and leave. Get their info if you (both) want, but forgoodnesssake please don't prolong awkwardness.

Become a regular. (Thanks, Gail!) Say hello to the man at the corner store where you buy your afternoon pick-me-up and chat with the happy hour bartender as she pours your drink. Chances are A. They're a long time local, in which case you need to prove your awesomeness before getting the good dirt, or B. They're new, but maybe they like adventuring too! Once again, don't be annoying. Keep it to a minimum, and always thank someone for their help.

Wander. Choose a direction, and go. Follow your intuition. Does that street look interesting? Take a gander. Does this area feel unsafe? Turn around. Obviously this is not to say walk around with your cash hanging out of your pockets and your eyes closed. What I am saying is only take out a map when you need one. I'm saying an itinerary is not always necessary.

Buy a map. My personal favorite. I love maps and hang them all over my apartment (which I know is a glorified room, don't judge! I don't spend much time there anyway!). Here's what you do. Buy a map and look at it. Look at it when you are waiting for your tea water to boil. Look at it when you are procrastinating. Look at it when you need a break. Look at it after you got lost on your wandering adventure and thank god your phone didn't run out of battery before you found the main road. You'll see something of interest, and you can go there! Door's on your left. Or right. Bonus points when you eventually develop a better sense of direction and don't need your GPS to guide you back home after a full day of adventuring.

Finally, mix it up. Sure, do what you like and like what you do. But adventuring is partially about the challenge of unfamiliarity. Would it have been cool to adventure in your living room? Maybe with the proper amount of couch cushions, sheets, and a good book....but certainly not every day. Pay attention to your patterns and inspire yourself to try something new. General adventuring categories I could think of off the top of my head are: natural/man made, inside/outside, free/ticketed, hands-on/hands-off(!), day/night/early morning, academic/athletic/musical/artistic, near/far, half-an-hour/all weekend. Take risks, and remember that no matter how cliche it sounds, failures are adventures, too.

Editor's Note: The magnificent creature featured as the subject in these photos is Winifred Rogers, who you can follow on twitter @RastaWinnie 

South Pointe Park: South Beach's Under Appreciated (and Hotter) Younger Sister

I have asked just about everyone I've met here in Miami for tourist suggestions, creating a pile of two- or three- item lists that I curate as I scratch off each destination. Of course the first thing out of everyone's mouth is, "Well, have you been to South Beach?" and of course the answer is "Yes, but it's crowded and expensive and a pain to both reach and drive away from." But I am surprised that South Pointe Park, and especially it's awesome pier, hasn't received more mention. Perhaps that's because it was only renovated in 2009, or perhaps it's because its neighbor, South Beach, is a gaudy rhinestone stealing everyone's attention. Whatever the case, I want to show this stunning park a little love. It provides a perfect view of the coastline of Miami Beach, and the beaches down there are spotless—not a shell or clump of slimy seaweed to be seen. Take a look.

There were a few photo shoots, so you'll still feel bad about yourself, just like on South Beach!

Also check out the clear sand and water, and this guy using a selfie stick like a Korean pro.

                                                                   

The entrance to the pier, which runs alongside a stone breakwater. 

Guest Post-- Michael Eats Fruit for Thought

I made my own calendars where the year begins on the day I ate my first banana (17/3/2014 FYI, or 3/17/2014 if you’re wacky). Before I moved to Korea I never ate fruit and it was just one of the many firsts Korea would demand. As it is, I don’t really want to tell you about Korea’s firsts. I want to tell you about coming home and how my returning home compares to Korea through the medium of fruit.

Mangoes just scream sunshine and good times. So, when I saw mangoes in a Korean supermarket I was sure they would be delightful. Oh how wrong I was. I’m told I was low-balled on mango quality because these were terrible mangoes. They somehow managed to taste both fresh and putrid. The expectation of mango and the actualisation of mango were as far apart as the transport in Korea and the transport at home. In Korea, you pay for transport with a smart card and everything is cheap and clean and efficient. Journeys join up so you don’t have to pay full price for every transfer. If ever the Korean public transport system grinds to a halt, I’m sure they’ll have something less convenient to get people around. Maybe personal floating clouds or something.  In Glasgow, the transport is expensive and definitely not user friendly. Buses require exact change to pay their expensive fares (fares like £4.30 – who has 30p just lying around?) and the subway has not been extended since it opened in 1896 or upgraded in decades. You pay for each section of your journey anew and it all starts to add up. Similar journeys are 4 times more expensive in Glasgow and about 100 times less convenient. We’re paying for Korea and somehow getting Cambodia.

Kiwis are a bit like big testicles, but that’s not currently relevant. When I tried kiwi I found it a bit bland and then it had a tang and then it got enjoyable. I didn’t enjoy kiwi much at first, but it got better as I went. This fruit of contradictions maps well with the difference in my nights out in Korea and in Glasgow. In Korea I found it difficult to find one particular place I really enjoyed going, but as I went out more I got more used to the scene and enjoyed that things were open late. At home the journey is reversed. I know all the awesome places to go, but because of Glasgow’s alcohol problem and the stupid way we deal with it, all clubs and bars must be closed by 3am. This means nights out are curtailed and you’re left to try and get home when everyone else in the city centre is doing the exact same thing. Add the bad public transport and tens of thousands of people (who would really rather still be drinking) trying to get a handful of taxis and it makes getting home a dangerous proposition, even if it’s just because you’re waiting outside in the cold for ages. 

Dragon fruit was supposed to be exciting. Have you seen a dragon fruit? It looks like Ryu’s fireball from Street Fighter or, you know, a dragon’s fire! Wow! How amazing is dragon fruit going to be? I couldn’t wait to try dragon fruit. Seeing all my friends again was supposed to be exciting. Do you remember all those amazing times from before you left for Korea? How amazing is it going to be to make a whole new bunch of memories? On the surface, dragon fruit was all raz-ma-taz and full of exciting promises. Once you cut into it, it looks a bit like an Oreo McFlurry and you think you’re about to have a taste sensation. Ultimately, dragon fruit was disappointing. On the surface, seeing my friends again was all exciting and full of adventurous promises. Once you get into making plans, you think things are looking good, life will be sensational. Ultimately, seeing your old friends becomes disappointing. Dragon fruit is a little bit underwhelming. My friends all had their own lives which had settled while I was away. It’s hard to unsettle your friends and while they agree to adventures on principle, agreeing the specifics and matching up disparate schedules is almost impossible. The closed bubble of being an English teacher in Korea meant everyone was in the same boat - people were always looking for things to do and places to go. Coming home is kind of dragon fruit (it’s an adjective now).

When I tried persimmons I tried plural. I bought different shapes and colours and sizes. I thought they would all taste different. Unsurprisingly they all did taste different. This was another fruit of extremes. The first I tried was a small yellow persimmon that I thought would be the worst. I was wrong. It was sweet and much better than I expected, and didn’t even taste too fresh. The big red persimmon was another story. I cut it up and it looked a little juicy. I thought the brighter colour would mean it was sweeter. I was wrong. My first reaction “mmm,” and then all of a sudden my teeth felt weird and a bitter taste invaded my mouth. It felt like all the moisture in my mouth had been sucked into the persimmon I’d just chewed up. One of my friends suggested that is probably what it would be like if you ate one of those wee bags of silica gel that comes with new shoes. 

Living with my mum has had a similar effect on soaking up all the fun I wanted to have when I got home. In Korea I lived in a small, one-room apartment, but it had a sweet broadband connection. Plus it was only about 7 minutes from bed to work. Living in one room doesn’t sound awesome, but the nature of life in Korea is that you don’t have to spend too much time in it if you don’t want to, since getting everywhere was easy and people were up for activities. My wee room was much better than expected. Living with my mum is more like the big persimmon. At home there’s no sweet internet connection, but the bitterness of being without any internet connection except my phone. It is miles away from anything and, thanks to the extortionate transport prices, it costs a fortune to go anywhere for anything. Add to that the fact I happened to get stabbed not far from here so I don’t feel entirely safe getting off a bus late at night. Living with my mum has had it’s nice times, but it’s largely been big persimmon.

Banana was far and away my favourite food. In fact, now that I’m home I often share a banana with my nephew who loves 'nanas'.  I have nothing bad to say about bananas. They are delicious and I’ve been a fool to not have them in my life. In that respect, Korea’s bananas was my job. I loved my job, even if my workplace wasn’t awesome. Teaching kids is probably the best thing I’ve done with my life and going to Korea gave me the clear career goal I’ve wanted for years. No Korea would have meant no bananas and no plan to become a primary school teacher. Glasgow’s bananas is probably...Tinder? I’ve not really gotten to the end of Tinder in Glasgow yet and that can’t be a bad thing. Not really. The real bananas at home is my nephew. He is awesome and growing up and talking and doesn’t give me as many cuddles as I would like, but he makes me laugh all the same. He loves being chased. Sometimes he thinks (or pretends, who knows) tree branches are dinosaur bones. He’s bananas.

Bananas aside, my life must sound pretty gloomy, but it isn’t that bad. Sure I didn’t like lots of the fruit I tried and there’s plenty to complain about at home, but I came home for a reason. As much as I look forward to trying new fruits, I’m looking forward to getting back into teaching here at home and becoming a better teacher. Once I stop living like a 14 year old, I’m sure I’ll stop complaining like one. 






Michael O'Donnell would be a polar bear if he could be any animal, but he'd feel bad about eating exclusively meat. He has nothing personal against seals or walruses. He recently tried broccoli for the first time and didn't hate it.

Pulse of Miami: New World Symphony Takes on the Party Scene

Never date a musician, right? Or is it "date a musician, but don't expect to live a life of glamour"? Well, whatever it is, last night my musician boyfriend took me to Pulse at the New World Symphony. And it was indeed glamorous, as in Miami Beach clubbing, heels, a dress, and a cocktail glamorous. I didn't bring a water bottle of wine but I should have, and I didn't fall asleep which, if you've ever attended a typical orchestra concert, is usually within the realm of possi- borderline probability.

Orchestras have been an endangered species for a while now. Its audiences are wrinkled and wealthy and hard-of-hearing. Its musicians are dinosaurs of people who are generally underpaid, but will only hand down their seat to the long line of eager applicants if Death himself is in the audience. There have been dozens of articles speculating about the demise of the orchestra. For me, it's my own fault. I didn't grow up truly listening to classical music; it was always background ambiance. I don't know most of the composers, the history, the stories. I don't have the musical training to analyze before, during, or after hearing a piece, and at concerts I struggle to divine the church-like rules of classical music: When do I clap? Is it rude to cough? So yes, the orchestra is dying, but I'm sure the orchestra would say it's my claim to being 'cultured' that is passing on.

Then last night happened. Having attended many an 'orthodox' orchestra concert, even I was disoriented. We were ushered past a pop-up bar and into an intimate performance space by the throbbing beats of a DJ in a tuxedo. The musicians, in traditional black, bared a bit more skin than usual, and the young German conductor played double-duty as an energetic MC. The rules had been broken. Audience members cheered and chatted. Giant dancers, enhanced by 70s-esque special effects, were projected across sails suspended from the ceiling. I audibly and physically reacted to the music, gasping and dancing, and I even wolf-whistled at the end of a piece.

I'll take the Bach door into this club.

New World is a serious organization. It is a training orchestra, which may sound elementary, but its members are the olympians of the classical music scene: young, talented, and frighteningly hard working. Tickets to their next Friday evening concert start at $70 a piece, perhaps another reason why their audiences are more my grandmother's peers than my own. Nevertheless, New World is doing something that even my musician boyfriend didn't anticipate. Pulse made the orchestra accessible to a more modern, energetic, and culture-hungry crowd. The audience last night was in party mode, and they were obviously having a good time. There were even promoters handing out ads for an afterparty at a nearby club. Pulse could be reviving the orchestra. Pulse could be classical music's fountain of youth, its fresh spring of wealth.

DJ Floppy Bow Tie

But Pulse hasn't entirely grasped the beat yet. Their ticket prices are rightfully increasing, but the event still only occurs about twice a year. Imagine a scenario in which, charmed by the excitement of Pulse, members from this new audience are enticed into purchasing a ticket to a more traditional concert. If New World wants, it could set up a program through which a person earns a discount on regular tickets after attending say, three Pulse events. The organization could also use the opportunity to educate us laymen and women about classical music. They did have convenient program notes displayed on the sails, but the conductor conspicuously caught himself before saying the word 'concertmaster' and replaced it with the more familiar term 'first violin.' Creating comfort for the more formal performances is key to reeling concert-goers into the ticket counter.

Pulse is an excellent date idea, certainly one of the most interesting things I've done in Miami and also one the of most unique things I've done just about ever. It oozes potential as an example for orchestras around the world to begin solving their problems of disappearing audiences and emptying endowments. But these events need strike to balance between basic appeal for their target audiences and respect for the musicians and their art. It shouldn't merely be a gimmick to sell tickets, but a platform on which to build interest, understanding, and perhaps from there begin the new congregation of classical music devotees.

Mixed up in Miami: Pros and Cons

Sick of winter? Jealous of those of us in tropical climates? Miami seduces even the toughest Canadian with the temptation of a permanent escape from the Abominable Snowman. But if you are thinking of moving, don't waste time comparing a list of pros and a list of cons. What you need is a list of Pros and Cons because yes, Miami is that confusing.

1. Spanish is Everywhere

On the radio, across billboards, in the restaurant and the supermarket and the streets. As of the 2010 census, 63.77% of the population in Miami-Dade County speaks Spanish. Am I practicing? Not really. Sure, the woman taking our order doesn't speak English, but it doesn't seem like she'll be charmed a gringa struggling to sputter some Spanish at her.

2. Diversity
Miami has one of the highest percentages of foreign born population in the world. This doesn't mean that it's the most diverse, but it blasts many other places (like South Korea) out of the water. For example, there is access to basically any kind of food you could want. In the past few weeks I've enjoyed Korean, Japanese, Greek, German/Austrian, Mexican, Cuban, Italian, Brazilian, Indian, Thai, and probably more.

3. Weather
You (could) wear shorts every day, seeing as it's 80 degrees most of the time. I don't even own a jacket anymore. Sometimes that doesn't work out so well, but it's a luxury to be warm every morning when you get out of bed. I get sweaty on my walk to work even though it's 8:30 AM in January. The constant climate for body-baring does lead to some places basically becoming Barbie Land. I happened upon a Model Beach Volleyball competition, and probably see a Maserati per day, on average.

4. Tourism
The beaches are here and you can go all the time. Sparkling water, direct sunlight, and sand. The water is everywhere but you can't have it. There's no parking, or there's only expensive parking, and you have to drive past miles of privately owned seaside before you reach a public, tolled, and likely crowded beach. Tourist attractions cost money, and not chump change. It's about $20 a person to get into two of Miami's most lauded destinations, Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden and Vizcaya Museum and Gardens. Hope they didn't want me to visit more than once, because I'm gonna avoid spending that lunch money and keep my eyes peeled for the rumored free admission days.

5. Landscape
There are adorable little lizards and other surprising and fascinating flora and fauna everywhere. Check out this short documentary about fluorescent local coral! However, many of these creatures are either invasive or endangered... and if not that, then they are going to be underwater in about 100 years.






























6. City Layout

"The time is always now!"

The city is sprawl, limited here and there by either ocean or alligator territory, and the traffic is a formidable and seemingly unpredictable beast, from work day rush hours to random fifteen minute back-ups for no apparent reason. On top of this, people drive like they're Sterling Archer, or like they can only see the edges of the road, not the lines or the other cars. This shouldn't be too big of a problem because Miami has both a metro line and a bus system, but despite that fact public transportation is essentially nonexistent. I admit I might be simply spoiled from my residence in Seoul, a public transport utopia, but the facts are unavoidably underwhelming. You can't take the metro to the Miami Beach, the city's most important tourism spot. If you take a bus, there's a good chance it's late, inordinately expensive, and the air conditioner has probably been dripping water all over the empty seats at the back of the bus.

To conclude, Miami isn't like Korea, which isn't surprising, but it isn't like the U.S. of A, either. In Korea I was a 'real' foreigner, and it garnered for me all kinds of sympathy, assistance, friends and excuses for my embarrassing moments. In Miami, I'm a 'fake' foreigner. Still searching for the hip spots to hang? Don't know the most efficient ways of getting around? Can't communicate effortlessly with someone? Wait a minute...aren't you from this country?! A redeeming quality: this unfamiliarity is where I can begin to explore, and (hopefully) find that keen feeling of accomplishment, the one that comes at the end of the day, when your ankles are dusty from walking, your feet are tired, and your mind is buzzing with the aftermath of adventure.