I found myself staring at Dumbledore after he chirped at me with these words. Barely able to hold back my laughter. At this moment, I truly realized that I was a teacher, in Korea, for a year. So, ya, I teach a kid, and his name is Dumbledore. I also teach Harry Potter, Spiderman and Barbie. Don’t forget about Brad Pitt and Paris Hilton. All of the children have the pleasure of picking their own nickname at their Hogwan classes. I appreciate this as I would find it very difficult to remember how to say their Korean names. It would be a chore to say the least. There is one boy in particular. A short, stubby, fat boy with thick glasses glued to his eyes who I must call Betty. Every day I wonder if he knows that Betty is a woman’s name. I would rather call him Jughead or Archie but Betty keeps my humor in good spirits. A few of my fellow teachers teach a wide array of Disney characters. I am already looking forward to next semester to see if I have Aladdin, Goofy or Arial in any of my classes.
All of the children sit before me scribbling on their review tests. I sit down in my chair and close my eyes. My mind races back to that sticky plastic taxi bench. The drive would end up taking an hour and a half. A distance that should actually take twenty minutes. Grid lock like you could not believe. I sat half asleep on this bench falling in and out of consciousness. We flew over the Han River Bridge which was decorated in spectacular green, red and white Christmas lights. I was thrilled that the taxi was now moving rather than sitting on a highway parking lot. Unfortunately the other side of the river was just as stagnant. I always feel the need to grab onto something when I am in a taxi here as the driving is so sporadic, fast and potentially dangerous. My eyes bulge and I frequently find myself in mid air.
I was mortified at one point when we tried to charge through a green light and turn left onto a side street. We both jumped when we heard a loud honk on our right. My driver had cut off a white BMW and the young businessman was not impressed. He got out of his car. I wrung my hands and chattered my teeth. His mouth like an automatic weapon shot insults and Korean curses at my driver. We safely avoided a serious altercation and soon found ourselves on another slow moving street. I sat in the car for another forty five minutes wishing my ipod wasn’t in my backpack in the trunk of the car. I sat in the middle of the bench staring at the red glare of the car lights that sat blaring in front of me. I gave a sigh and my shoulders fell down and I soon found myself completely calm. Moments of calm can be found in Seoul. Little pockets of calm. You cannot plan for them but they do exist. I had just been through an exhausting week with barely any sleep. I was now sitting in one of the most chaotic traffic conditions on earth and miraculously felt completely relaxed. Sitting in chaos, exuding complete relaxation. I say there blurry eyed thinking, “everything is perfectly alright.”
We finally stopped at the side of a curb and I was told that we had arrived. Where I was not sure. I assumed I would be dropped off at my apartment immediately so I could get to bed. Instead I was greeted by my manager. A short, thin as a rail Korean man who is always smiling. Rain or shine. He is smiling. He helped me with my bags up the elevator and I soon discovered that we were at the school I would be working at. I walked into his spacious office and fell into a comfy chair. The room filtered in and out with several white faces. I recall them saying hello. We shook hands and I just pointed at my chest and said “new guy is tired.” I sat staring out into the school lobby and smiled as I saw several cute little Korean kids grabbing Dixie cups and filling them with water. After a week of mock training in front of my peers I now finally got my first glance at what my real students would actually look like.
I soon met Jay, a Korean American who is the Head Instructor at this CDI branch. He put me completely at ease. I was very nervous about what my branch was going to be like. I wanted it to be small so it was personable, allowing me to get to know all of my fellow teachers. I also wanted it to be a franchise so the “rules” we so strictly had to follow in training could relax. I was granted both wishes. I was told that the “rules” I learned at training are not so strictly abided by here at this branch. The teaching team is also small, eleven in all. The perfect size. It actually sort of reminded me of my summer days working at camp. I thought, “it’s like camp, but here I am getting paid.” A lovely change indeed. After a quick debriefing I was given my course materials, weekly work schedule and visited my classroom. It was really weird for me to see my name printed on a door. This is the first time in my life I have had my own room printed on a door. The child in me blurted out, “this is so sweet.”
I emphasized how exhausted I felt so Jay and the Manager walked me to my apartment. I have now timed my walk from apartment to work and it is roughly 73 seconds (give or take a few milliseconds). I am on the first floor of the apartment building which is really nice as I don’t have to walk up a ridiculous number of stairs every time I come home. I had my new house keys in my hands and slid the little silver piece under the door knob. I held my breath and then walked through the door. I was elated the moment I stepped into the room. The first thing out of Jay’s mouth was, “wow this is huge, nice place.” I later found out that the school had a hard time finding me an apartment and ended having to get me this more expensive spot (it is over 100 dollars more per month than what they are paying for my co-workers accommodations).
I stepped right onto my little marble tiled foyer and looked out at the empty room. The floors are covered in faux hardwood. And yes, they are heated floors so every morning I can step out onto its soft, cozy surface. To the right is my open concept kitchen which includes a microwave, stove, sink, ample cupboard storage and a ridiculously small mini fridge. My bed sits in the corner right in front of the apartments sliding glass door partition. I can slide the doors to the side and make the entire room about three feet deeper by opening up this space. The slender room is framed by three huge sliding windows and mini balcony. I am using the space as a storage area for my luggage, laundry, cleaning supplies and clothing racks.
As soon as I was alone in the room I plugged in my laptop and started blaring Madonna’s Ray of Light Album. I was so excited to unpack my life into my new home. I felt an adrenaline rush of excitement. I hung cloths, set up my bathroom with all of the essentials and jumped on my bed several times. I was able to steal a wireless internet signal from a router named, unicorn. For the next few weeks unicorn would provide haphazard, yet much appreciated, free internet services from my apartment. Once all of my belongings had found their proper resting place I pulled myself under the covers of my new bed spread and fell fast asleep.
I woke up in Korea. It is still shocking at this point. I ran out to my window and peaked outside to find out who was screaming outside. A little man was rolling a kart down the street selling tangerines and socks. He has evidently found his competitive advantage in these two very different product lines. I opened up my work folder and smiled when I realized I only worked 27 hours a week this term (I am being paid for 30 hours of work a week so this is indeed lovely). It turns out that every staff member at my branch gets a few hours off a week. I am also elated to announce that I have weekends off! Many of my other friends working for CDI work Monday to Saturday. This allows me to take weekend trips throughout the year to explore the countryside.
I spent most of the weekend walking around my neighborhood entirely lost. I had yet to formally meet my coworkers so I sat in my room finishing off my novel and staring at a map of Seoul which I had pinned to my wall. I also started a collage over my bed which currently consist of a small Korean movie poster, Singapore Airlines postcards and a few pictures I picked up in Vancouver. I intend on watching this collage sprout across my room like a garden full of Daisy’s. Every postcard I receive in the mail I intend on adding to this growing collection of pictorial pleasures.
I sat on my bed in the early afternoon staring at the several exercise books and novels I would be teaching this semester. I am teaching three different courses and flipped through their first chapters to familiarize myself with the content I would be teaching on Monday. I was ever so excited to realize that I have the great pleasure of teaching my Memory English class the story of Hamlet. I had flashbacks to my Grade 10 English class where I sat in a huff over my copy of Hamlet as I was never selected to role play the lead. I decided I would have all of the boys in the class read the female parts (Gertrude and Ophelia) and all of the girls would read the boys parts (Claudius, Polonius, etc.). I think gender role reversal is always healthy. I was certainly playing the role of the ghost. No questions asked.
I got in contact with Erin and threw my shoes and jacket on after finding out that she was about to head to Costco. This was my first time traveling on the Seoul Metro by myself and it ended up being somewhat of a gong show as I got myself lost several times. Not so much directionally, more so lost in crowds of people. The closest Costco to the Guui train station is about a twenty-five minute ride. I found Erin waiting for me at the number two exit and we both walked out onto the street headed for the famed North American wholesaler paradise.
Costco is a huge deal in Korea. As soon as we walked into the front entrance my jaw dropped as I saw a traffic jam of grocery karts up and down the aisles. Koreans love the cheap prices and huge value pack quantities. I don’t blame them, seeing that all of their other grocery stores are ridiculously expensive. I was able to buy a bag of ten apples for five dollars (instead of buying one apple for six). The top floor was full of electronics and home ware items. The bottom floor really had me excited as we walked right into the wine and liquor department. I bought several bottles of Californian Zinfandel and German Riesling. Koreans are entirely stuck up with regards to their beef. Restaurants and grocery stores charge over double the price for Korean beef. I have no qualms with American cattle so I opted for the cheaper meats from Yank-town. I skipped down the Cheese aisle throwing a huge block of Sharp Cheddar and Swiss Emmentaler into my basket. It mystifies me that chicken is this cheap. I bought twenty-one chicken breasts for nine dollars. The only main difference between Korean Costco’s is there overwhelmingly large seafood department. I stared at the slithery slimy eels and decided to head towards the bakery. After all was said and done, I rolled out with over 300 dollars worth of groceries.
I arrived at school early on my first day of work. I printed off all of my handouts and stapled each neatly in the top right hand corner. I sat at my computer desk and stared out at the empty classroom in front of me. I thought, “ok this is going to be interesting.” I really had no clue what to expect but was ever so happy when the kids started to arrive at just before 4pm. A few kids arrived early and peaked their head into my classroom door. They all seem to be so inquisitive about new teachers. One cute little Korean boy pointed at my face and told me I was handsome. I told him that I enjoyed his mullet. The clock stroke four and I closed the door and stood in front of my class of fifteen little Koreans.
I teach seven to twelve year olds. I prefer the elementary school children over the middle school children as they are cute, loud, friendly and most of all outgoing! After two weeks of work I have now started to loath my middle school classes. A classroom full of pubescent boys and girls is horrific. It is like pulling teeth to get any of these girls to speak. They’d rather fail their speaking exam than have to talk in front of a class. They are the shyest lot I have ever come across. Seems as though they all have a fear of saying the wrong thing and being laughed at by their peers. So instead of talking they all whisper and refuse to look at me in the eye. I tried my best to change this by writing on the board, “teacher is deaf, speak or he will make you sing out loud in front of the class for an hour.” I find myself running around the classroom screaming at the top of my lungs to keep the children entertained and interactive. During the first week of class I was as animated as possible but always remembered to crack the whip with my stern “I take no bullshit attitude.” We were told from the get go that teachers in Korea have to be strict. They even encourage us to be mean for the first two weeks so the children understand that you are the authority figure. If not, they end up walking all over you. I have found a comfortable balance between funny/helpful and mean/disciplinarian.
I like to use as many examples from home as possible. Korean kids are aghast when I tell them how long a flight from one end of Canada to another is. Seoul’s population alone is as large as Canada’s entire populace. Yet Korea’s landmass seems to be no greater than Lake Ontario. You can drive from the border of South and North Korea to the countries most southern city in five hours. Regarding size and populations of our respective countries, I have grown to realize that I am as shocked about Korea as my students are about Canada. The kids are also shocked when I explain, “when teacher went to school in Canada his classmates were from all over the world.” I listed Pakistan, Israel, Asia, Mexico and all over Europe. They all stared at me in disbelief. I am now well aware that these kids go to school and experience the true definition of monoculture. Many Koreans gawk at the African immigrant workers who live in the city as they have never seen a “real black person” before. Wild.
After my first day of work all of the teachers took me across the street to the local Korean BBQ restaurant. We sat for three hours gobbling up soya ginger marinated pork, purple wild rice, kimchi and pickled onions. I had prepared myself for Korean hospitality. I had read, and heard, many times that when eating out in Korea with the boss it is considered rude to refuse a gift, whether it be food or drink. I spent the night trying to keep an eye on my glasss as I was constantly finding them full. I sat with a glass of water, beer and a shot glass of soju. This was my first time drinking soju. Koreans are obsessed with this bevearge, its practically all they drink. Soju is a 20% spirit that is sold in beer bottle sized containers. One bottle sells for less than two dollars at the convenience store (no wonder they drink it so readily). It tastes of watered down sake. Its clear liquid is made from distilled rice wine and tastes rather bland on its own. Most drink it with a mixer of juice or pop as it is rather tasteless. But the proper way to drink with co-workers at a restaurant seems to be straight out of a shot glass. The meal was fantastic and I found my face aching from laughing and smiling for such an extended period of time. After a long first day of work I waved goodbye and headed to bed just after 1am.
I found out the following day that they had all gone to a karaoke bar to sing until 4am! After finishing my classes I walked up the street to Techno-mart. This was my first real experience with a Korean shopping mall. This mall was rather small with only eight floors. The top two floors sells domestic electronics, the two bellow them sell imported electronics. The fact that a mall has four floors dedicated to the sale of electronics goes to show that Koreans love their gadgets. On the first floor there are some lovely Urban Outfitter style boutiques. My heart jumped when I found a vintage clothing rack and spotted a Christian Dior Navy Trench coat. I closed my eyes and prayed over and over that it would fit me. I slid it on, opened my eyes in front of the mirror and smiled with glee. After buying my new coat I took the elevator to the bottom floor to Lotte Mart.
Lotte Mart is Korean’s version of a North American grocery store. The two major differences are the prices and services you receive. I have now become accustomed to having at least two or three employees at each aisle yelling out in Korean what samples they are frying up. You could probably walk through a grocery store in Seoul for an hour and feed yourself lunch for free. I nibbled on sliced Asian Pear, fried tofu, deep fried chicken, sushi and sweet sesame pastry. I had written out a list of things to purchase and stared down at my scrap piece of paper with a frown. I was entirely unable to find a laundry drying rack or sticky tack for hanging pictures and post cards up on my wall. I asked several employees (you can find one standing every few feet) to no avail. Finally a young Korean man told me to wait (I read body language fantastically these days). He returned with an older gentleman. I soon found out that he spoke English! For the next hour this man would pop out of nowhere to help me, ask me questions, or practice his English.
First he showed me where the laundry racks were and then helped me find double sided tape. I bid him farewell at this point (making sure to bow as many times as humanly possible). I walked through the grocery department and started to laugh as I noticed he was following me. Every few minutes when I was staring at something on the shelf he would jump in front of me and offer to explain what it was. I told him where I was from and he stared at me as if I was some sort of exotic specimen. He took me to the cash register (skipping me ahead of the line) and handed my VISA to the cash girl. I shook his hand and said thank you. I thought I had seen him for the last time until he sneaked up on me again. He told me “sir you can take your grocery kart to the top floor. Don’t carry your bags from the basement they will hurt your fingers.” I spent the next twenty minutes hefting my bags back to my apartment thinking how wonderful it was that Korea had such efficient customer service.
I woke up early the next morning to take a one hour metro ride to the other side of the city. I was eager to visit the Korean Immigration Office so I could apply for my ID Card. I stared out at the city as it flashed by the train windows. I always love crossing the Han River as you first find yourself in a dark tunnel and suddenly feel as though you are being catapulted into the sky, flying over the river as the sun light blinds you. The sheer size of Seoul has now revealed itself to me. It is the largest city I have ever visited and in a simple one hour trip I feel as though I saw the entire population of Canada pass by. A city full of skyscrapers, Samsung Billboards and green mountain peaks. Foreigners cannot get a cell phone or internet service until they have a government issued ID Card. That is why it was a main priority for my first week at work. It takes at least ten days for the Immigration Office to mail the card to your place of employment so I was looking at over two weeks without internet or phone access!
I found the building alright, it wasn’t at all hard to miss after I walked out of the subway station. About a block before I arrived at the front entrance I felt as though I was walking towards the finish line of the New York City Marathon. Thrifty Koreans lined the sidewalks with their hands outstretched. Instead of handing me water or Poweraid I was offered subway maps of the city and international calling cards. I couldn’t help but laugh it was such an unexpected sight. I walked right up the stairs, bought my ID payment stamp, had my picture taken and waited in line downstairs. I spent about an hour at the office and stepped out into the afternoon sun elated that I had checked that chore off of my to do list.
I spent the rest of the week counting down the days until the weekend. After about three days teaching I had caught on with the flow of things at work and felt relaxed and at ease. We are fortunate at our branch as the owner orders food for all of the teachers in between our three hour classes. We have had a wide array of Korean dishes including dumplings and sesame rice noodles with kale and oyster mushrooms. We gobble up pizza usually twice a week which is always a treat as it reminds us of home.
I sat at my desk staring at the clock. Thirty minutes until my Friday night class was over. I was so excited for what fun I would experience my first weekend as a local inhabitant of Seoul. I stood up and walked over to the window which overlooks the busy intersection bellow. I felt lack luster festive as I stared out at the street with its Korean-ized Christmas decorations. As my students scribbled down their weekly summary I thought back to a few of the odd things I had witnessed from this classroom in the past five days.
Every day I can stare out of my window and watch children skipping down the street holding Hello Kitty lunch boxes. I always smile as I see ladies holding huge platters on their heads as they rush down the street. This is Korea’s version of restaurant delivery service. They drop of the food at your home or office and pick up the dirty dishes the next day. These ladies can balance just about anything on their head. They make it seem incredibly easy.
On the first day of each of my classes I asked each child to stand up when called their name during attendance. I asked them to introduce themselves to the class and then tell me what their favorite food and least favorite foods are. I thought it would be an excellent way to conduct a survey on food trends of today’s Korean youth. I was shocked by the results. Almost every child said their favorite food was pizza, hamburgers or spaghetti. One child stood out in the crowd by announcing that he loved tofu. Most children hate cucumber, onions and beans. Ninety percent of the children in my classes hate beans. Korea hates beans. Note to self, do not bring Pork n’ Beans to Christmas potluck.
I get the most enjoyment in the classroom when I distribute handouts. I walk up and down the aisle stopping at each child’s desk as they reach up for their papers with both hands and bow their heads. It is this sign of respect that really makes me feel lovely as a teacher. In Korea one never accepts something from a superior with one hand. As a student each child knows they must accept everything from their teacher with both hands, followed by a respectful bow of their head. It is a gesture they have been conditioned to follow since they uttered their first words and a baby. Sometimes I feel like waving the paper right under their nose to make them giggle. I would return their laughter with a smile and nod as both of their tiny little hands grab a hold.
