Thursday, September 20, 2007

Our First Week in Photos

Apparently, we don't just like in Yongin. We live in "The First Global Yongin".














Here is the photo you've all been waiting for, our beloved toilet.




















And a closer look.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Smiling & Waving Prohibited

My wife is taking the day off and she asked me to write about my experiences so far. I think she has viewed this blog as more of a collaboration than a solo act. Only time will tell which one of us is mistaken.

It has definitely been an interesting experience so far, and much different than my time in Japan (for those interested, I’ll flush out the differences in more detail later). I really haven’t done much in class yet. I just sit off to the side and observe…occasionally adding in a comment or two. It hasn’t been the most exciting. I’m actually looking forward to teaching next week. I’ve introduced myself to each class and they’ve all gotten the opportunity to ask me some questions. Since their English is quite low, the number of questions I’ve received has been somewhat limited. Almost every class asks me: my age, birthday, if I speak Korean and whether I have any children. Most ask how tall I am, some have asked my weight, and one even asked what I thought of the kid sitting beside him (his neighbour got him back however, by asking me if I thought his friend was silly).

In my spare time between classes I’ve been researching where to travel within Korea. Korea is quite a bit smaller than I expected and therefore almost all points of interest are within reach. Even Busan (Pusan) is only a two and a half hour trip on their Bullet Train equivalent. I had thought of perhaps visiting the DMZ in the near future (though they needed our passports to get our alien cards, so we won’t be able to visit until we get them back). I’ve heard it is a very interesting tour. It sounds like it only costs around $35 each for the day trip. Not too bad for a trip into a potential war-zone… The website noted that there were some special rules for people partaking in the DMZ tour. My favourite of which was “No waving, talking, gesturing or smiling to the North Korean army”.

I’ve actually been enjoying the food. I think my digestive system had a much harder time adjusting to the fish diet I encountered in Japan that it has to the spicy food of Korea. We get served lunch at school ($2.50 a day is removed from our payment) and I’ve been enjoying it. To clarify, I’ve been enjoying the food. Not the lunches in general. At my school lunch consists of the specialty teachers (3 English, 2 Physical Education and 1 Science teacher) eating together in the administrative offices. The Administration makes themselves scarce for about 30 minutes while we eat (I have no idea where they go, or why we eat in their office – perhaps because it is fairly large?). It takes me about 10 minutes to eat, and then I sit listening to the other teachers speak in Korean to each other for about 15-20 minutes. None of them speak English overly well (not even the two English teachers). It seems like it is impolite to leave before the oldest teacher is ready to go, so we sit there until they stand up to leave. Then the younger teachers clean up and wheel the food kart away. It is an interesting process. Though probably better than eating in a cafeteria full of screaming kids (the kids actually eat in their homeroom class – not much of a break for the Homeroom teachers).

For the most part I’ve been eating more at lunch and having smaller dinners. That might change as we discover foods and restaurants that we like in the area. Also, once we get our kitchen sorted out I suspect we’ll be more inclined to have larger meals than what we’ve been eating so far.

For those of you awaiting some photos, Meg will most likely post some tomorrow. We’re hoping to venture into Seoul on the extended weekend (It’s a 5 day weekend for us – sadly, it’s come too early for us to make good use of it) and I’ll be sure to take numerous photos there. I’ll try and post them next week.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

An Adventure in Church-y

I would post our pictures, but I still haven’t quite figured out how to post them… if anyone can figure out how to change the language settings on google, let me know.

On my first day of work, my co-teacher invited me – in the way that only some cultures can – to the English service at her church, “You will come with me to church on Sunday.” As uncomfortable as I was with this invitation, I was happy to find that there was an English service at a church very near to our apartment. It’s a very large Presbyterian church, with a gigantic neon-red cross at the top of the steeple. We arrived for one-thirty, and rushed downstairs to a large room – about the size of a North American ‘fellowship hall.’ There were enormous maroon drapes behind a large, elaborately-carved pulpit, a drum set, a keyboard, and three pews. Of the twenty attendees of the service, Paul and I were the only white people present. The music was loud, but familiar-sounding. At one point, we were asked to, “sing ‘Jesus Loves You.’” A very different tune was played, we heard many languages, and everyone in the room formed a line to shake hands with each other and say, “Jesus Loves You.” It was more awkward than profound. After the sermon, we were asked to come forward and introduce ourselves as newcomers. At that point, the line formed again, and everyone shook our hands and mumbled something.

Despite the awkwardness, it was actually quite nice. We were happy to be able to go to church, and happy with the possibility that we could have a church community very easily. What was most difficult was not giggling each time the pastor prayed to the “Holy Spit.” “Holy Spit, be with us today. Holy Spit, make us pure.” I’m glad my siblings weren’t there. (So is my mother – she can’t sit between all of us.)

After church, we attempted to find food. This is actually a bit of a problem. There are hundreds of Korean restaurants, but we don’t yet know how to order food in Korean, or even how to read in the Korean language. We ended up at a Korean fast-food joint, which served the worst hamburgers we’ve ever eaten.

I have to admit that I’m having a bit of a problem with the food. I like asian food. I like Korean food. And yet, adjusting to a new time zone doesn’t always go well with spicy, foreign food. And it smells!!! It’s one thing for a dish to be spicy; it’s quite another for the entire country to smell of a particular spice. Last night, we went to the local ‘large’ grocery store. We could smell fish for a block away. Nothing in the store was appetizing, because the smell of the salty dead fish was overwhelming. Plus, there was a man yelling into the microphone the entire time we shopped. I was nearly in tears by the time we left. I ate ice cream and Pringles for dinner.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Pain?

Because of the way the Korean language is structured, when Koreans speak English, they often add a ‘y’ to the end of a word, like ‘orange-y juice’ or ‘trash-y can.’ Thus, Meg becomes Meggy, the name I was called until I was nine. The teachers and students have laughed when I have been introduced as Meggy; today my co-worker told me that Meggy is a type of Korean fish. It’s like I’m being introduced as “Salmon” or “Tilapia.”

I’ve been walking a lot – I walk to and from school, and I’ve spent the last two evenings exploring the shops in our neighborhood. I fear a bit for my life when I’m walking, not because of I stick out or there’s a high crime rate (I don’t and there’s not). I’m scared because most intersections only have a blinking yellow light. There’s no order to going through a blinking yellow - cars, buses, pedestrians, bikers – they all just move in their direction and hope for the best. It’s as though someone thought, “There are a lot of people who want to get through this intersection. Why not let them all go at once? That would be the best way.” Fortunately, I’ve braved Bloor street and Queen’s Park Crescent often enough to know how to boss my way through. Or just run.

Yesterday was my first day teaching. I thought I was just introducing myself to my students for a few minutes, but after I talked for fifteen, I realized that my co-worker had nothing planned for the day, and I was meant to keep the kids involved for fourty-five minutes. Since I’m not a natural talker, and I’m jet-lagged, it was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The first class was absolutely dreadful, but I got much better by the end of the day. I wasn’t so happy about the sink-or-swim situation, but I got to gage how well they can speak and how shy they are; which ones are too scared to speak, and which ones can’t keep quiet.

After lunch yesterday, my coworker took pity on me and sent me to the “female teacher’s lounge,” a long, rectangular room with only a leather sofa to furnish it. I took a cup of green tea and my book. (It’s amazing how refreshing reading English can be after hours of listening to only Korean and broken English.) I noticed, however, that my pretty mug with daisies on it, also had some English writing:

The flower
I think I grow tensions
like flowers
in a wood where
nobody goes.

Each wonn (one?) is perfect
encloses itself in a tiny
imperceptible blossom
making pain.

Pain is a flower like that one,
like this one,
like that one,
like this one.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

A Beginning

Our blog is hosted on google. By some miracle of the internet, all of the buttons are now in Korean. It made posting this a lot more interesting.

After a two-hour drive from the airport, we arrived at our apartment around 8:30 last night. My coworker and another local English teacher met us and took us for dinner and a bit of grocery shopping at E-Mart (the Korean version of Target or Wal-Mart). Even though we were eating at a little fast-food place, our food was still served in a cast-iron pot. We bought some fruit and bagels (and coffee) and went home.

Our apartment is big, even by Toronto standards. They’ve installed all new appliances – microwave, toaster oven, refrigerator, tv, washing machine. Our furniture is pretty nice, too; they’ve given us a bed, dresser, table and chairs, sofa, and a desk. We have two bedrooms, a living room, a main room (where the kitchen is) and a back room that functions as a sort of walk-through closet – it runs the length of the back wall and has shelves and a thingy to hang our clothes on). Our toilet has a squishy cover with a picture of a girl walking in a field of flowers. It says “The Cosmos means the purity and love. Let’s feel the clean cosmos.” Paul wants to replace it.

This morning, Paul went off to training in another city for a few days, and I went to meet the teachers and administrators at my school. Gorim Middle School is a fifteen minute walk from our apartment -- just past Yongin stadium and the local driving range. The school is enormous and brand new and really, really nice. The students kept coming by the office today just to say “hello,” to see if I would talk back to them. When I would reply, they would laugh and run away. I said “goodbye” to one girl, and she went screaming with her friend down the hall. In the cafeteria, everyone looked and shouted and waved when I walked in. Being a seventh-grade English teacher is the closest I’ll ever be to being a rock star.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Our Day at the Consulate

The story of our time in Korea should really begin with our visa troubles. At the end of July, Paul and I signed teaching contracts with Gyeonggi province and sent them to our recruiter, along with resumes, transcripts, two passport-size pictures, police checks, and our most recent degrees. Our company in South Korea took our documents to the Korean consulate and emailed us confirmation numbers. “Just take the confirmation numbers – along with your passports – to the Korean consulate in Toronto,” they told us. “It will make the visa process very easy.”

We visited the Korean consulate on the first morning we were back in Toronto, passports and confirmation numbers in hand. We waited ten minutes in line before we were pointed to a table in the back corner of the room where we found visa application forms. After filling out the forms, we got back in line, this time, we were told to sit on the bench at the back of the room. Fifteen minutes passed, and some new people were standing in our line. We stood up again. This time, the clerk asked us to photocopy our passports for them. She pointed to a photocopier in the corner. Since neither one of us had Canadian money, we left the consulate for the nearest corner store and ATM, returned with only quarters, and photocopied our passports for 25 cents a page. We returned yet again to the desk. “Where are your pictures?” she asked.

“We sent them with our other documents to Korea,” we replied. “We have a confirmation number.”

Without looking impressed with our confirmation number, she replied,“There’s a photo shop at Yonge and St. Clair. Bring back pictures and sixty-five dollars cash.”

We drove to the photo store because we didn't know how far away it was (it’s not far enough to warrant getting in a car), had to find a place to park, found another ATM, and got in line at the photo store. Thirty minutes; thirty dollars. Back to the consulate.

“Do you have the address of your school in Korea?” Our recruiter’s address was on Paul’s laptop, sitting in his dad’s office, along with his cell phone. We used the consulate’s pay phone and Paul’s dad found the address for us. We each finished our forms, and went, yet again, to the desk.

The clerk took our money, pictures, applications, photocopies, and our confirmation numbers. She typed our numbers into her database. There were the pictures we had sent to Korea, along with all of the information we had sent, and everything we had filled out on the application. “This says you have a degree from the University of Toronto. I’ll need to see that.”

We had sent our degrees to Korea. It was supposed to be easier that way. We had a confirmation number. And yet, we were stuck. They were disappointed that we couldn’t see our degrees, but seemed satisfied with the idea of sealed transcripts. We both had extra copies of our transcripts -in Etobicoke, a forty-minute drive from the consulate. A few hours later, we returned to the consulate a fourth time, carrying our transcripts.

They put all of Paul’s paperwork together in the file, and then looked at mine. “We don’t normally work with Americans. This will probably take longer than five days.”

It was not a happy drive home. I tilted my seat back, and we listened to Harry Potter while Paul navigated rush-hour traffic. We were frustrated, annoyed, nervous. We had managed to apply for our visas, but it had taken much longer than we had supposed, and there was very little hope that I would have mine in time to travel on the 28th. We were already anxious about our trip: our company had just let us know that we wouldn’t have an apartment when we landed – we would need to stay temporarily with a family in the next town over, or perhaps in very small temporary housing. Not to mention the fact that we had not left ourselves enough time to see our friends and family in Toronto before we took off the next week. We were feeling more than a bit stressed.

Providentially, we got an email the next business day saying that our Korean company had found us housing beginning on the 10th of September – would we mind coming a bit later? It was perfect. Paul’s visa was ready on time, but mine wasn’t ready until the day after we were scheduled to leave. We would have had to cancel my flight. But we have our visas in hand now, a place to move into when we land, and plane tickets for Monday morning.