Monsooned

The sticky, damp blanket of monsoon season has descended upon Korea
yet again. Outside the window of the teacher's office where I while
away the time between classes mountains, hillsides and sometimes even
the dirt sports field next to the school are obscured by weighty mist.
The air is heavy with moisture even when buckets of rain aren't
pouring down from the sky. My breath catches walking out of the air
conditioned school library or my apartment, crashing into the clingy,
humid air that hangs on me like a net, like a weight pressing on my
chest because it's so much harder to pull into my lungs.

After just a week of true monsoon season everything already smells
slightly of mold. I've placed white plastic buckets of charcoal and
other humidity-eating substances around my apartment, but still it
never seems quite dry. The Korean shower system -- a shower head that
comes out of the sink above a drain in the floor making the entire
bathroom the shower stall -- leaves my bathroom constantly soggy.
Everyone's hair is limp and frizzy. Green-gray stains drip down the
white outside walls from the roof of my school. Doing laundry is
nearly impossible because everything must be line dried so towels and
jeans could stay wet for an entire week. My most prized scooter is
pretty much useless in this weather

It may seem strange for me to write a blog about the weather,
especially the second time I've gone through it, but perhaps you'll
forgive me since I grew up in the desert. Things do not mold in
Colorado, at least nothing but bread. The air is dry, thin and nearly
always clear. Fog is just as threatening as a blizzard and three times
as rare. I can remember just one impenetrably foggy night in my entire
Colorado childhood. So even the second time around, monsoon season
shocks me. However, I'm pleased to say that my memories of last year
are so scarring that it doesn't seem quite so bad yet.

In addition to the whinge factor, weather deserves a mention because
it is a point of pride for many Koreans. Since my first weeks here I
have heard all about Korea's four distinct seasons. The truth of this
claim is somewhat debatable (this spring, for instance, was notable
for its show of flowers, but it stayed just about winter cold until at
least the end of April) but worth mentioning because it is so often
debated.

These seasons dictate everything from wardrobe choices and temperature
control to heating. No matter how hot or sunny it might be in May,
beach season does not start until July, and regardless of gorgeous
September weather, it ends August 31st. Even if it's still hot in
mid-October, Korean girls are wearing knit caps and baggy sweaters. If
your co-teacher tells you your outfit is "very summer" in April, it's
not a compliment, it's a disapproving reminder that you're dressed out
of season.