Yellow Dust, Medical Exams, and Triceratops Chopsticks

Week one in Korea tried to take me out.

On the exact weekend I arrived, there was a yellow dust alert. Yellow dust blows in from deserts in China, Mongolia, and Kazakhstan—basically a long-distance allergy attack. Naturally, I found this out while power-walking around the city like an overconfident tourist.

By Wednesday, my cough and clogged sinuses were putting on a full Broadway performance. I left school early and went to a pharmacy, because in Korea all medicine goes through pharmacists. Two spoke English. One spoke “we’ll figure this out.” The other spoke “here’s the correct dosage.” We also discovered his dad went to the University of Colorado. Apparently, I cannot escape Colorado.

I went home, took the meds, and collapsed. Woke up. Ate grapes and potato chips (culinary excellence). Slept again.

Then came Friday: visa medical exam day.

Our instructions? “Go to the hospital.”

No escort. No plan. Just vibes.

Three of us took a taxi and walked into a building where English was a rare species. Google Translate became our fourth teammate. After several rounds of charades, I filled out a medical form entirely in Korean.

The exam included bloodwork, a urine sample, chest X-ray, suction cups on my chest (??), vision test, hearing test, a dental check, and more charades. It felt less like a physical and more like I was being cleared for NASA.

At one point, the other teachers left to fix a broken phone, and I was alone navigating the system. Nothing builds character like nodding confidently when you have no idea what’s happening.

When I finished, I couldn’t call a taxi. Couldn’t find the right bus. So I walked 30 minutes back to school using Apple Maps and sheer determination.

Helpless? A little.
Proud? Also yes.

On the bright side, all the English teachers live nearby, so we had dinner together. I tried a noodle and beef soup that was delicious and aggressively spicy. We swapped adjustment stories and “trauma bonded.” Highly therapeutic.

Weekend mission: establish domestic stability.

A fellow teacher showed me Daiso—30 minutes away on foot (why is everything 30 minutes away?). Most items are ₩1,000–₩5,000. I bought towels, dishes, hangers, candy, and random essentials for ₩34,000 and felt like a financial genius.

Next door was a 12-floor mall full of expensive brands. I practiced the art of window shopping.

Reward? Three scoops at Baskin Robbins for $6.00. While eating ice cream, I cracked the bus system and located HomePlus—Korean Walmart meets mall. I bought sweaters, a jacket, a pillow, and more life supplies. Solo mission: successful.

And finally: chopsticks.

I saw my students using training chopsticks with finger guides. Naturally, I bought a ₩1,000 pair with a triceratops on them stored in a Mickey Mouse case. If I’m going to struggle, I’m going to struggle in style.

Yellow dust. Language barriers. Medical mystery machines. Excessive walking.

But I survived week one.

And honestly? I’m kind of proud of that.