To Market, To Market

I have just returned from the second of what promises to be many bizarre, shocking, endearing, and laughably frustrating shopping experiences at the nearby “Lotte Mart” - a mega grocery/everything complex done up in an over-the-top style of which only true Koreans could dream.

First off, the building is a full 5 stories high. The first floor – just the first floor – has a medium-sized food court, a small shoe section, and numerous tables full of uniformed salespeople trying to sign you up for some service or another. This is all before you get to any of the actual grocery, butcher, baker, cleaning supply, or bedding areas - all of which are also on the first floor. Even before you set foot in the front door, however, you have to walk past the kennels, or, more accurately, the tiny little coin-op lockers into which you can shove your tiny little dog for the duration of your shopping trip. Is this a more or less humane way of treating your dog than tying it to a pole outside? (Discussion ensues).

Anyway, the second floor has bicycles, electronics, games, lighting, picture frames, and all manner of other miscellaneous household mish-mash. It’s pretty much a full Canadian Tire, but with a nice big shoe store to boot. The third floor has a beauty salon, barbershop, florist, and miniature photo studio (for passport photos and the like) on it. Ever thought you might want to do a little Downward Dog in the middle of your shopping trip to blow off a little steam? Well, here in the zany-ass future where nothing is impossible and everything is impractical, you can! Yes, the Lotte Mart yoga studio, while small, is fully functional. It even has a few of those little Pogo Ball-type workout ball things you can bounce on to improve your what-have-yous or your whatnots.

The fourth and fifth floors are still a vague mystery to me. Upon getting off on one of them I was momentarily stunned because I thought there was a car dealership until I realised I was actually just looking out at part of the parking lot complex. (Because I live in the ‘suburbs,’ everyone drives a shiny nice new car here). The weird thing is that I totally wouldn’t have put it past them to have a Hyundai dealer smack dab in the middle of the supermarket. Frankly I’m still a little too intimidated to explore much further onto these upper floors so perhaps I may never know. Honestly, like what else could there be?

Another crazy thing about Lotte Mart is how you get from one floor to the next. It does not have normal step-style escalators as would a large mall or shopping complex back in Canada. Rather, it has very long inclined moving walkways like you have at airports (only, y’know, inclined). This makes sense for strollers and wheelchairs and the like since there is only a ramp and no stairs to navigate. What does not make sense is that everyone feels a need to entirely stop walking on these contraptions rather than continuing to utilise their personal locomotive capabilities. This is kind of understandable if you’re lazy, but most Koreans are definitely not lazy and many of them tend to always be in a big giant rush to go everywhere and are rarely walking as slow as normal human speed anyway (I’ll elaborate more on this in later posts). You would think that they would see these walkways as an option to propel themselves even faster to their obviously important next destination, but this does not appear to be the case. So extreme is this sentiment that I even saw one woman get on the walkway about 8 metres in front of her friend, who then got on it and shouted to the first woman something like “Hey, I’m here behind you!” The woman in front yelled back something I construed to be “OK, I see you there; I’ll wait for you at the top!” Both ladies then stood motionless by themselves and waited patiently for the minute-or-so slow ascent to the next floor. Upon getting there, the lady in front waited for her friend, and when she arrived they both speed-walked off into the abyss together again to make up for lost time. Weird, wild stuff.

This is all well and good for the complex, but what is shopping there actually like? Well, once you have passed the ‘greeter’ (a man in a nice suit with a headset on who bows deeply to each new shopper), you enter what is kind of like your everyday grocery store back in Canada. Except for 2 catches: everything is in Korean, and everyone is yelling at you.

As for the yelling part, my best deduction is that the ancient customs of a traditional Asian marketplace have been transposed into a Wall-Mart-esque supercentre and random people yelling at you is the result of this fusion. Traditionally, a vendor hocks his wares by yelling his advertisements at passersby in an attempt lure the shopper to his specific table. This is indeed how many markets are still run in many parts of the world and it makes a whole lot of sense. What’s weird about this tactic in Lotte Mart is that everything is already pre-packaged and being sold by the same distributor. I assume these employees are drawing only Lotte Mart paycheques and do not actually make a commission if I happen to buy their brand of frozen rice cakes over the other random ones that do not happen to be on the sampling table today. Accordingly, since Lotte Mart is pocketing all the proceeds regardless of which kind I choose, I really don’t see the point in yelling at the customers to buy one thing over the other. I’m already here – you already win. This probably wouldn’t confuse and disorient me so much if I could understand anything they were saying, but since my efforts to learn Korean have so far been very minimal, all I hear is, well, yelling.

OK so just wear your iPod and you can avoid all these frightening language problems, right? Well, kinda. You see, there is still the fact that I can’t actually read any of the packaging. Some of it is obvious enough.

Terrifying Spam-like lunchmeat product is somehow always the exact same no matter where you go.

Some of it is hilarious yet still understandable.

You play fun! hahaha OK! Fun!

And some of it is of it is just plain confusing.

Is it an apple? Is it an egg? Not even close. It's rice.
Regular everyday white rice.

What percentage of milk is this? 1%? No. I’m still unsure of the exact number, but it’s definitely higher than 1. Come to think of it, I may have just picked it up because of the hilarious pun.

Also, I had previously thought that North Americans had the market cornered on useless, excessive, and environmentally-raping over-packaging. Not so. It would seem that in some ways the excessive packaging seen in the West is put to shame by the extreme wastefulness witnessed in wrapping everything from pencils to potatoes all across this country. (Again, I am chalking this truism up entirely to the late and rapid onset of American-style capitalism here in Korea, so if there is anyone to be ‘blamed’ for this reality it is the West anyway). There is a massive amount of junk food on the shelves of Lotte Mart as well – in fact, about half of the grocery section of the store is dedicated to such. From what I have noticed, Koreans seem to have quite the sweet tooth and this shines through in everything from their pastries to their fruit, which I am convinced they inject with some form of glucose before sending to market.

Please note that the above craziness in no way reflects your average shopping experience here in South Korea. Indeed, I have been to independent grocers, fruit stands, and all manner of more traditional, less gaudy, and more respectable outlets to purchase the items necessary to keep me alive. These are all a lot more humane than Lotte World and I don’t feel quite so greeby shopping at them. The downside to such places, though, is the language barrier. Haggling over the price of a banana with only nods and ‘yesno’s can only take you so far. Until I get a little more confident in Korean I am confined to Lotte Mart for most of my needs that are above the bare essentials. It is a crazy and invigorating time, but at the end of the day when I get home to my funhouse sewer and drop off the 20lb haul of fresh nourishment, I know it’s all been worthwhile.

The First Week

Getting used to a new job is always stressful.
Changes in an organisation’s staff/routine are always stressful.
Moving is always stressful.
Jetlag is always stressful.
Culture shock is always stressful.
The inability to read, write, speak, or communicate in a local language is always stressful.

Suffice to say, my first week here can best be summed up in one word. That word is not “chesterfield.” To be honest, though, the culture shock and severe adjustment that I knew I would have to be making to a place about as different as can be from the one which I left was actually not nearly as uncomfortable as I had thought it would be.

Rather, it was certainly the new job and its own particular circumstances that left me struggling to catch my breath after my first full week here. First off, March 1 marks the beginning of a new school year in the academic calendar. Arriving one full week into classes (that is to say, one full week later than I should have), I was already slotted to be playing catch-up for the first little bit anyway. My fellow teachers who arrived 2 weeks prior to me had a full week of observation time in class wherein they watched the other teachers who had already been here for a year – picking up some useful tips of the trade in the meantime. Since I did not have this luxury, I was to observe these brand-new teachers in their first few weeks on this job, as well as oversee a few other veterans who have been at this for some months now. That’s all well and good.

Enter snag.

I already discussed the mind-bogglingly tiring first day I had here. I got a good night’s sleep on Monday evening but still woke up at around 4am because my body was still stuck in Montreal time. (Dude, like, what is time, anyway?) Tuesday was still tiring but luckily not much was expected of me beyond faithful observation/note-taking and not passing out mid-day. (The last of which proving the more difficult task). Wednesday morning, however, was a whole new ball game. Apparently one of the teachers who had been here for about 6 months just up and left in the middle of the night without any prior warning to the staff at the school. I met her during our one day overlap and she seemed like a fine person, but she had some sort of job offer or school offer or something of that nature waiting for her back in the US. The complete motives were never entirely clear to me, but regardless of the reasons her absence left a gaping wound in the school’s schedule.

Note – apparently this ‘midnight run’ (or so it’s called) tends to happen fairly frequently with ESL teaching contracts in this country because of the specifics of the employment offers. Most schools require you to reimburse your flight here if you cancel your contract within the first six months, thereby ‘encouraging’ the problem of not giving your employer prior notification of departure (since if you leave without telling them it is easier to avoid having to retroactively pay for this ticket). It’s an inherent flaw in the system but most people are kind enough to hack the duration of their contracts so it’s not as big of a problem as it could be.

Anyway, the gap left by the former teacher meant that by Wednesday afternoon I was up and teaching in front of my very own class with no training beyond the previous day-and-a-half’s worth of observation. This was a situation with which I was less-than-pleased but I realise that it was entirely circumstantial and was not the school’s fault in any way. (Indeed, they seemed quite apologetic to me let alone mega-stressed with the bureaucratic headaches themselves). As I knew instinctively and was told by pretty much everyone else there, it would only get easier over the course of the rest of the week and indeed it did. I am still adjusting slightly to the job but each day is definitely much easier than the last and I am finally falling into the ever-important daily routine.

If underprepared teaching wasn`t too great, at least one awesome thing happened on my first Wednesday here: my lost bag from Asiana finally appeared. Around 11pm (man it was a CHORE to last that long with the jetlag, let me tell you), I got a knock on the door of my apartment. On the landing stood a short, huffing, and extremely flushed Korean man carrying my 70lb bag in his aching arms. The beaming smile he flashed upon seeing I was home implied he was less happy to see that the bag had finally been delivered to its rightful owner than he was at the prospect of not having to lug the behemoth back down the 3 flights as he would have had to do had I been out. Everything in the bag was safe and accounted for; I`m now happy to report that I’ve finally got all the toiletries and fresh undies I could ever need. Sweet.

Back at school, one fantastic thing about my employer that I really had not expected when I came here was that it offers us teachers free lunch every day. It’s simple and fairly cheap traditional Korean-fare, but it’s decent and convenient and there is a quaint little rooftop terrace upon which we enjoy it daily. (Also, did I mention it’s free?) The odd thing about this rooftop (aside from the fact that it is completely carpeted in Astro-Turf) is that it offers us an open ear and eye to the sky. This wouldn’t be strange at all, but the fact that it is constantly being patrolled by imposing military helicopters these days makes us all feel just a little bit less at ease than we otherwise would be. In case you’re not up with world news, tensions along the most heavily-fortified border in the world have been mounting over the past few weeks in part because of a routine-ish annual drill being launched by the joint South Korean/American armed forces in the area right now. (But due in larger part to Kim-Jong-Il’s hilariously dangerous and deranged megalomania). In fact, the BBC front page headline from the day before I left Canada informed me that my flight here might be diverted slightly because of the turmoil, and indeed it was. I already feel like I’m living a part of history – I just hope it’s as a passive witness to the curious swan song of the cold war, not as one of the first civilian casualties in the world’s next hot one.

Neighbourhood views from the roof of my school

Safe to say the week was a crazy whirlwind of adjusting and generally flying by the seat of my pants in pretty much everything I did. Between catching up to the rocky new job, settling into my new apartment, and getting over the jetlag I didn’t have a second to spare to even think about petty culture shock. Perhaps the pleasures of adjusting to that aspect of Asia are still to come, but so far everything I encounter is little more offensive than ‘novel’ or ‘illogical’. Plenty of time to get enraged remains, though.

NB. I’d just like to say that I truly appreciate and eagerly anticipate all of your comments on all of my posts. Although I do not respond to them directly, please know that it is great to hear back from all of you. I will try to answer as many of the post-specific questions as possible in this and future updates . Otherwise I just give a heartfelt thanks and send my best to everyone.

Suji-gu

The following are snapshots taken from various spots around my town. I have decided to make this entry a small photo essay of sorts with minimal commentary, as many of these pictures speak for themselves. One thing I should point out here is the colour of the sky in many of these pics. Apparently there is a health-hazardous, uber-disgusting meteorological phenomenon here that descends upon the peninsula every spring and turns the sky a rancid shade of ass.

A beautiful sunny day

If you thought the aesthetic was unpleasing, just wait ‘till you hear about the havoc this toxic air has wreaked on my respiratory system. More on that later; for now, just enjoy the pics.

Where Southwestern Ontario meets Northern Michigan

Keep in mind this is supposed to be suburbia (sorry about the quality)

The view from space.
(If you type "Suji-gu, South Korea" into Google Earth/Maps, you can locate this part of town)

Many more pics to come.

The Digs

I am not going to say the place is flawless, but I am definitely more impressed than I am disgusted with my new flat. First off, it is larger than my apartment in Montreal was, which is nice, and is in a fairly well-maintained new building. I’m on the top floor of a 3-story walk-up and am acutely aware that it was previously inhabited by another Canadian English teacher. In addition to the Canadian flag on the wall, there is an abundance of girly paraphernalia like lavender sheets, hand creams and body washes, and flowery and/or pink trinkets (such as pens, a telephone, etc.) scattered about. I really don’t mind these adornments and am taking the ‘it’s really funny to live in a place like this for a year’ stance on it.


In addition to a fully-functioning gas stove I was pleasantly surprised to note that there is actually a double bed for me to sleep on. It offers much better back support than any other mattress I have ever owned. This being a country of small-ish people and my apartment being free (to me) temporary accommodations, I had feared that my 200-lb, wide-shouldered frame would be forced to squeeze into a single mattress all year. Luckily, however, this uncomfortable nightmare seems to have been avoided.

There is a low Asian-style dinner table at which I can eat my few home-cooked meals, and sitting on the floor for said time is a pleasant experience indeed considering my place is equipped with ondol, or underfloor coil heating. This logical ground-up heating system warms the toesies in the chilly morning and will also undoubtedly act as an adequate substitute for a bed when I fail to make it there some intoxicated evening over the next few months.


Like nearly everything here, I am struck by the hilarious novelty of a lot of the furnishings in my place. As you can see, the pillow with which I was provided was either robbed from some Korean child’s cradle, is a cultural oddity I don’t get, or is otherwise simply a hilarious joke. I’m going with the latter. In addition to a flimsy paper mase on a chain that I won’t even bother asking about, the former tenant also left me some really great practical objects like a coat rack, hand towels, and speakers for my computer.

The view is also pretty decent. I am kind of close to a major road, which isn't great, but I do have a first-hand view of some nice clean basketball courts upon which some youts are always playing. It is right beneath a space-age looking building which I have assessed to be some sort of community centre or gym. There are low rolling mountains in the near distance which can be seen on clearer days from one window, and from the other I look out onto a row of new, pastel-coloured funky apartment high-rises. Each and every one of these I have seen from Seoul to Suji seems to bear an individual serial number branded in giant font across its exterior in case you happen to forget where you live.

One thing I am less keen on is my former tennant's choice of wallpaper. It looks as though she ripped apart one or two Korean-language manga books and taped them to the walls. At best, the walls could be classified as ‘busy’ when you first see them, and at worst they can sometimes be downright terrifying. My friends who have been here for a few months now and saw the place before my previous tenant put these posters up, however, claim that the walls are actually really disgusting in my apartment, so perhaps I am better off. Again, this oddity is totally liveable, but if I were spending any more time in my place than I plan to (read: little), I would likely undertake a redecoration of sorts.

Can't get to sleep? I wonder why.

If the manga was weird but doable, there are also objective downsides to the place. First of all, it smells distinctly like sewage. The smell emanates from all the drains (kitchen sink, bathroom sink, and bathroom drain) and can be diminished but never quite eliminated by keeping stoppers over these things when not in use. Each time I return to my place from work or errands my olfactory system gets an uppercut of gross, but luckily my nose adjusts shortly after returning and I don’t notice the reek. This will likely be much more of a problem when I want to start entertaining any sort of guest. I plan on doing a complete scrub-down of the place soon to see if that helps, but otherwise it looks like I may have feces-smelling accommodations for the next 12 months. C’est la vie.

Speaking of feces, another major drawback to my place is the bathroom. It is tiny but functional, but my main gripe is the shower. This is one of those “hose coming out of the sink so that you hold it in one hand while washing your body with the other” dealys so often seen in European flats. Come to think of it, it seems to be the non-North American international standard. While it’s still entirely functional, to be honest, I just don’t see the logic behind not having it affixed to the ceiling so you at least have a hand-free option, but perhaps this is my decadent, soon-to-hubristically-destroy-myself Western decadence coming through here. I was able to rig up a simplistic solution to this problem with some plastic dollar store hooks, elastic bands, and silicone sealant (dad would be proud). A problem I am yet to overcome, however, is the hot water issue. The thermostat is entirely in Korean, and even though I received a rough translation guide of it from the high-strung but kindly go-to guy at my school named ‘Scotty,’ I am still in the dark on how to ensure my showers aren’t hair-pullingly frustrating. The hot water starts out well enough, but soon after has a predictable pattern of turning scalding hot for a few seconds before the temperature drops off drastically and I am stuck washing myself in barely-hot-enough-but-not-entirely-unheated cool water. At first I thought I was just using too much hot water and expending the small tank (the decadent Western in me coming out again). But then I realised that this happens after only about 40 seconds of use, which is a small amount of hot water by any standard. Also, you can start the whole 40-second process again if you turn off the tap for about 30 seconds and try again. I think the problem might lie partially in the fact that the ondol uses the same water tank as the shower and there’s a fluctuating sharing system going on in the piping, but I am also thinking the thing might just be busted. Any suggestions? Again, this problem is liveable but not optimal by any stretch.

Comprehensively I’m entirely content with my place. The smell and water thing are kind of annoying, but I am definitely not complaining. If there is one thing I seem to have lucked out on with my apartment is the fact that I can actually stand up fully erect in my shower. Most of my friends who live in similar places have to duck throughout the duration of their bathing times since their bathroom ceilings are only about 5”10’ at the highest point. All things considered, I think I fared pretty well in the housing lottery. The other plastic lotto balls are still floating around in their respective giant plastic tanks of my experience here, but the winning numbers will likely be called later this month. Don’t touch that dial...

The Arrival

So the moment of truth had finally arrived. After a few seconds of silence spent following the short Korean man leading me through the airport parking lot, I jogged up beside him and asked “so do you work at my school?” He responded by narrowing his eyes and grunting “no English.” So that answers that question. Blindly following him to a newish-looking minivan taxi, I piled my gear into the trunk and got in the front passenger seat.

Still in zombie mode from the flight, it was all I could do to stare quietly at my inauspicious vehicular surroundings and keep from falling asleep. He climbed into the driver’s seat and whipped out his cell phone, reaching a number and launching into a 30 second spiel in quick Korean. Shortly thereafter he took the phone away from his ear and gestured it toward me. It was my recruiter. He informed me that the taxi would now take me the hour-ish drive necessary from the airport to my school and not to worry about the fare as it has been prepaid. Grand. The next hour or so is now barely more than a blur in my memory. Aside from the excitement of internalising the fact that I was now in Asia for the very first time, though, I can confidently say that the drive was no more interesting than any generic Monday morning rush hour commute.

I finally arrive blinking and bleary in Suji around 915 am. Upon stopping in front of a non-descript 7-floor building in the centre of a semi-bustling town, my driver makes another phone call and gives me the ‘just wait here’ index finger/nod combo upon hanging up. Soon my school’s director, Melany, comes down to meet me and treats me to coffee and a breakfast sandwich at a nearby restaurant. Her English is less than fantastic, but she is very kindly and leads me to the main floor of our school’s building to meet my Western co-workers. (My school is the entire 6th floor). We settle down in a very cozy little café run by the sweetest woman you can imagine. Through my jetlagged haze I grunt out a greeting to the genuine, kind, smiling young people who will soon become my new coworkers and best friends.

It would seem as though I have lucked out with my placement. I could not be happier with the 11 other teachers at my school. Meeting them and hearing their own reasons for embarking on this adventure rekindled a little bit of the wanderlust and general affection for humanity I had too quickly forgotten after my wanderings through Europe a few summers ago. Everyone here seems to have the mentality of the Couchsurfer – another global project whose praises I cannot sing loudly enough – and that is a very good thing indeed.

My school`s locale as well could not be better. It is a mere half-kilometre walk from my home and the funky little café (Café Chloi) on its main floor is honestly nothing short of perfect. The kind woman who runs it (whose name I finally found out is something that sounds like ‘Rem”) made an effort to learn my name after only my first day there and since then I have been a regular every morning. The delicious 3000 won, hand-ground-and-brewed-before your-eyes coffee is well worth the warm atmosphere, and Rem unfailingly brings out some sort of goodie with your coffee – be it a cookie, banana slices, or some sweet potato soup – on the house. It's entire exterior wall is a window so there's plenty of natural light, and there is always some soft, perfect café music playing through the small stereo – usually mild classical or what can best be described as Korea’s answer to Feist in her softer songs. That is to say great. The walls are adorned with all manner of cool trinkets, posters, and art pieces, and there is always a kettle brewing over an enclosed flame in the middle of the room.

A taste of home

This is the kind of place I feared I would be bound to leave behind in gay ol’ Montréal. With abrupt, faceless, sweeping capitalism having quickly sunk its teeth into this country over the past 20 years, I am very lucky to have not only found a Mile End-ish café of this nature in my town, but also that it happens to be unavoidably close to the entrance of my workplace.

Anyway, after meeting the crew I headed upstairs to get a brief look around my new workplace. It entails one full floor of a building with 11 classrooms and the usual administrative, gym, library, and storage areas. Luckily I did not have to start teaching that day, however, and Melany and my supervisor Lucy graciously allowed me to go check into my new apartment after all the introductions had been made so I could pull the badly needed triple S. I returned to school that afternoon and was treated by my directors to a delicious phở lunch at a nearby Vietnamese place. I spent the afternoon observing other teachers in the classroom and was back at my place for some well-needed rest by 7pm. I was told to try and stay up as late as possible so as to get my body adjusted to my new time zone. After the action-packed day(s) I had just endured, however, I was proud that I was able to even make it home on my own two legs. Smiling at how well this new adventure seemed to be shaping up as I hit the pillow, I was stone-cold unconscious by 730.

Semantics

Before continuing much further on my actual story, I should clarify a few things about my contract. As with nearly all teaching contracts in South Korea, the school both pays for your flight over here and supplies you with an adequately-equipped rent-free apartment for the duration of your stay. In my case, my school also supplied me with a cell phone, but I have to foot the bills for that (only around C$10/month) as well as cover the electricity and internet costs for my apartment myself. (I am obviously yet to receive such a bill but since I am not much of a TV man and won’t be getting cable the entirety of my bills will likely total no more than C$60 a month). They also tend to offer a full month's pay upon completion of your contract, so there's definitely some good moneys to be had if you know how to budget yourself.

The currency of South Korea is the won; after pro-rating for the exchange it is clear that the cost of most things here is substantially less than in Canada. The best system the expats have devised for quickly converting things mentally is about 1000 won to 1 dollar. The actual number is obviously fluctuating, but even then this 1000:1 conversion still gives us about 15 extra cents on each dollar. So, for instance, a bottle of water (2L) is about 1000 won. A loaf of bread (which is hard to find) is about 2500-3000 won. A cup of coffee about 2000-3000 won. You get the idea. Again, after the exchange the prices are comparable to cheap and we have become accustomed to calling something that is 4000 won simply “4 bucks.”

Note – I am, in fact, a huge critic and vehement protester of commercially bottled water. Since the tap water here is fairly unsafe for non-accustomed Westerners to drink, however, it is one of the few options. I have managed to circumvent this problem by regularly boiling and refrigerating large quantities of my own tap water. Since it tastes entirely fine and is completely safe to drink after this process, I will not be buying any more bottles than absolutely necessary when in a pinch. Also, about 700mL of (fairly bad) beer is only 1500 won, so if I really want I can do it up Medieval European styles and just drink that instead of water the whole year for the sake of both safety and fun. Sucks to your asmar, bottled water industry. Pretty nifty packaging, though.

Now consider, however, that there is no sales tax (or at least, like any sane country, it is already listed in the price), and that it is downright offensive in Korean culture to tip your waiter, taxi driver, or other service worker for services rendered. So a delicious and already-cheap meal out on the town becomes a veritable delight to my frugal sensitivities. There is a dynamite sushi joint just around the corner from my school at which you can get a healthy dose of some fantastic sushi (limitless tea, kimchi, and danmuji included) for 6000 won. Rememer, that's about C$5.50 TOTAL - tax, tip, and everything else besides included. I will post much more on the heavenly gastronomy of my area soon, but suffice to say that I am constantly impressed by the price, quality, and value of nearly everything I come across – nourishing and non-edible consumables alike.

So how does my paycheque play into all of this? Well, the standard salary for a Western English teacher here is about 2.0 - 2.2 million won/month. Since I work longish hours at a high-calibre school, I get slightly more than that. Suffice to say, I will be able to both live it up in high style and simultaneously put money aside for legitimate real-life savings. This is something I have been unable to do since working in Jasper a few years back, and I must say it feels damn good.

It’s all about the Sejongs baby

Finally, as mentioned, I located my contract through a recruiter. This recruiter promised to ensure that all expenses were paid for me to get safely from the airport to my school, so aside from the fact that it would be free I really had no idea about what to expect from this commute. I would soon find out.

Getting Ready to Go

Packing, planning, and bracing oneself for a year’s trip is no easy feat. In addition to the usual problems (stuffing 100 pounds of shit into a 50 pound bag, packing for 4 different seasons, ensuring mother doesn’t freak out at the prospect of not seeing me for a year, etc.), Korea specifically had its own peculiarities to prepare for. They say to pack a tonne of deodorant because it is practically impossible to find here and if you do it will be preposterously expensive. Fair enough. But they also suggest packing your own prophylactic wrappers because of the texture, material, and size differences between the options shelved in the different countries. That may be, but have you ever considered just how difficult it is to pack a year’s supply of condoms? How many should I bring? Depending on my circumstances, luck, and mood, the number could range anywhere from a flat zero to upwards of 300. I decided to pack on the low end and play it by ear if I happen to run out.

(Note – before leaving, a disturbingly high number of friends and family members warned/advised/implored me not to return home the father of a young baby – half-Korean or otherwise. I am unsure where all these procreative concerns came from, but I promise all of you that I am a sane and competent individual with proper decision-making capabilities and an adult brain on my shoulders. Enough said).

Saying goodbye to friends was the next big hurdle. After finally getting rid of the lease obligations for my Montreal apartment (a nightmarish long story unto itself), I had to bid farewell to the people and city I love so dearly. I would have to say that I definitely enjoyed the going away parties thrown in my honour, but I surely did not enjoy having to admit that I will not see so many good friends for at least another year. Nearly every time I went out I had some friend or other insisting that dinner and at least two rounds of drinks were on them. Aside from packing on a few unwanted and definitely unearned pounds, this gluttonous existence made me think that perhaps I should leave town every weekend simply for the free parties.

Finally ripping myself free of my long-running love affair with the city of Montreal, I drove all my earthly belongings back to Ontario with dearest mumsie on February 28. Enjoying another hedonistic through stressful week, I finalised all my affairs in Dundas and saw off the last of my remaining good friends by March 5. I will miss you all very much, but at least I will have all the (mostly alcohol-tainted) nights to remember you by.

Finally finally finally, on March 7 I drove to the airport in Toronto with about 120 lbs of luggage in tow and left mumsie in tears at the departure gate. Clearing US customs in Toronto (please don’t get me started on the dubious parameters of US air jurisdiction and the wonders of their homeland security program), I boarded my 4-hour-late flight to Chicago where I had another 3 hours to wait for my 15-hour flight to Seoul. O’Hare was an American marvel that just shouted “U S A” from its every orifice and offered a very intriguing insight into the goings-on of the world’s 2nd busiest airport. (The answer to your question: Atlanta).

It was checking in for my 1am flight to Seoul at the Asiana counter that I encountered my first non-encouraging response to the question of why I was going to Korea. While friendly enough, the woman behind the counter, seemingly making small talk, suggested that my undertaking was just about the worst thing I could be doing for my prospective kids. She implied that by helping Asians learn English today, the next generation of Westerners will just face all that much more competition in an entirely globalised world about 25 years from now. Indeed, I was helping design the weapon that would destroy my race. I smiled meekly and perfunctorily said ‘that’s a good point,’ but in truth there is definitely something profound in those words. This statement, which I had mulled over in a tongue-in-cheek fashion with some friends before I left, was now being said point blank to me by an Asian service woman working for an Asian airline in the United States. I am not sure where or if there is any point to be made in all this, but it is food for thought nonetheless.

Anyway, I boarded my flight without any more problems and spent the next 15 hours of my life sitting in a chair in the sky. To be honest, the flight was not nearly as painful as I had imagined it would be. Asiana has absolutely stellar service, well-deserving its 2009 commendation as airline of the year. Everything from the delicious bibimbap in-flight meal to the service of the gorgeous, dutiful, pristinely-uniformed stewardesses (flight attendants if you’re a PC jackass) was top-notch. The majority of the 737 was filled with Asians, but right beside me was – you guessed it – another Canadian around my age going over to do the exact same thing as me for pretty much the exact same reason (she wanted some adventure and, more importantly, could not find any decent form of employment back home despite being well-educated and well-qualified). So is the modern age, I guess.

We pulled up to the gate in Seoul around 7am on Monday the 9th and I had my first bleary-eyed look at my new continent (it looked a lot like an airport). Stumbling off the plane I painlessly cleared customs and went down to the baggage carousel to claim my luggage.

Minus 1 for Asiana - they lost my bag.

Filling out the lost bag form and grabbing the one pack they did not lose, I groaned my way out into the reception area of the arrivals terminal. (Note – I could not find a better verb here for that walk that zombies do than ‘groan.’ You know that walk – where they stagger around grunting about brains and such? That was about how I felt. Any suggestions for a better word)? I walked up to the guy holding my name on a sign and, with a silent nod, followed him out into the cool, damp Korean morning.

I had arrived.

What Am I Doing?

This is a question that I have been asking myself ever since graduating from University this past May. I finished my BA at McGill in History and Cultural Studies with high hopes and a healthy (lethal?) dose of promise for the real world. I spent my summer searching for ‘the perfect job’ in addition to simply enjoying the freedom of newly-graduated life. After many “silly Blake, the real world isn’t like that” realisations about working life and the true functionality of a Bachelor of Arts in modernity, I finally landed a 9-5 communications position in Montreal around late-July. While definitely not my ideal job, this position certainly helped wise me up to just how a 9-5 office job feels and exactly what is expected from a cubicle-based existence and all that goes along with such. (I can feel your collective shudder).

Within a few months of starting this gig, I soon found myself reaching the soul-searching point that every 40-something office worker experiences. I cursed my growing gut and shrinking hairline whilst de-clogging my drain of grey hairs and thought: is this really what I want to be doing right now? (Note: I will be turning 23 in May).

(Un)luckily, this existential crisis was quickly solved for me with the arrival of our good friend Mr. Recession in mid-October. This grand entrance shook the foundations of corporate ladders across the globe and those on the bottom rungs of such (myself included) inevitably got flung off into the unemployed abyss.

Being out of work was frustrating for a time, but it inevitably allowed me the opportunity to reflect on my life and properly prioritise my short-term needs and desires. The 9-to-5 was doable enough to make a living and build my resume for a future career, but it is something that I will be able to swallow much easier once I have a station wagon and a yard and real-life adult responsibilities of that nature. I guess that I can reluctantly concede my 30s, 40s, and 50s to slitting the throats of my friends for the sake of getting ahead and selling my soul to some Soylent Green-esque corporation. I’ll be damned, however, if I am going to while away the rest of my 20s in some fluorescent-lit cubicle listening to Rick talk about what a hottie Janice from HR is in the next stall and being grilled on whether or not I’ve finished updating last week’s figures on the y2-7 form yet. The answer will undoubtedly be no.

When the calendar changed to ’09 I decided I had better get to the ‘doing’ stage of changing my situation and I actually set the ball in motion for my Korean adventure in earnest. The requirements are simple: an undergraduate degree (from any University in any field), and English as your native language. Since every single primary school in South Korea (public or private) requires at least one (usually white) Westerner to teach English, the country is bursting with employment opportunities for the adventurous young American, Canadian, Brit, Irishman, Aussie, Kiwi, or South African (the only countries allowed to teach by the Korean government). I located a favourable contract with the help of a pretty good recruiting company and, after some light red-tape cutting and paperwork hocus-pocus, was on a flight within less than a month. What follows is an account of my various (mis)adventures here in Suji and the many wonders of a modern vagabond existence. Please enjoy.