Jehovah Jehovah

During my time here I’ve been making an effort to connect with locals, or rather they’ve been making efforts to connect with me. On occasion, when soju (Korean rice liquor, people drink 3 litres of the stuff then complain how toxic it is) has been involved they’ve tried to make that connection literal, but for the most part it’s involved shouting ‘hi’ at me, looking me up and down, or saying ‘American?’ before I say no and smash the nearest blunt object into their face. With broken teeth, they’ll follow up with ‘Canadian?’ The process occurs again before finally they say ‘England’ and we can be friends.

One of these connections has been with a Korean going by the English name of Brian. I met him; or rather he chased me and stopped me, on the way home from work. He was friendly, and when it came to goodbyes a little too friendly with hands, but he was pleasant enough and we arranged a man date.

That was before he dropped the bomb.

Brian took me to a spot above the city, where we shared some pasta and questions about our respective cultures. All went well until I asked him about military service, something that is mandatory in Korean law. Brian told me he hadn’t served, but instead spent his time in jail as he is a Jehovah’s Witness. Cue horror film music and gasps all around.

I must admit to limited knowledge of JWs, mainly limited to the fact they refuse blood donations and believe people walked with dinosaurs and talked to snakes. That’s usually my fill of anything Christ related and I head back home to read Asterix cartoons to bring me back to a far more logical way of thinking.

However, on this occasion he was my ride home, and so I listened. I found out that around 1000 people are currently in Korean prisons for objecting to military service. That’s a lot of JWs. Even more when you consider they believe there to be limited places in heaven. If I knew I was going for a particularly competitive job then I’m not sure I’d be spreading the word about it so eagerly at 8am each morning.

Either way Brian did try to convert me, but I showed him Buddhist merchandise I’d bought at a temple and he seemed to back away, like a vampire from the garlic, except mine didn’t smell. I’d say Brian wasn’t trying to take my soul, but considering JWs can’t play football on the Sabbath, or enjoy the wine Jesus was so fond of, he wasn’t too far off.

Lost and found in translation

A couple of days ago I was called into the office of the Director of the Academy I work for. That is Mr. Choo, the same Mr. Choo that met me at the airport.
My only real dealings with Mr Choo were pestering him in the early days to turn on the hot water in our apartment, something he forgot to do for some days, chuckling as he informed me it was another cold shower that night. I also had the pleasure of being observed by him.

I must stress at this point that Mr Choo has never taught a class in his life, nor does he speak any English. However, he observed my entirely English spoken class none the less. The class was well planned if I may say so myself. I had the students split into two teams and got them to write quiz questions from a text, for the opposing team. I supplemented this with my own questions. A question lesson if you will.
Mr. Choo’s feedback (he was somewhat shocked I asked for any) was that I should ask more questions, especially with such a young class. It was my oldest class, and so with that I learned not to take him too seriously.

All this leads us back to the office I shared with him and a translator, on a fine winter’s day. He had called me in to ask how I teach. I told the translator my methods, she proceeded to nod and stay silent. Mr. Choo began to tell me what I should be doing, namely one particular thing I should be doing. He told me, or rather the translator did: “you prepare too much, too many resources, just speak to the children.” I nodded and asked back, “OK, can you give me any advice how to go about that, what to talk about?” He nodded again when my words were finally spoken to him.
The advice I received was wise indeed: “prepare more, more resources.”

Now the quick ones amongst you may have spotted something here, but being a little slowly I confirmed my position with him. “So I should prepare less by preparing more?” I looked at him, expecting him to smile at any moment. Maybe I had the greatest boss in the all the world, the most dry humoured boss I could wish for. My appetite for irony was whetted; I’ve been starved, spending my time socialising with Americans.

Sadly he nodded in confirmation and looked quite pleased with himself. Prepare less by preparing more, it’s like a retarded version of the Cub Scouts.

The Future must end

Firstly I must make two important points, put into list form for your convenience:
1 – The Future is no longer the child I wish to father, rather the child I wish to send walking over a minefield wearing magnetic boots, if such things even exist. For his behaviour in my class, and general lack of any redeeming qualities I would invent such items.
2 – The greatest slogan t-shirt has been gazumped, and with some force. I read as I saw:
“The world is full of joy and the world is full of hardship, but the joy is only possible because of the hardship suffered by Helen Keller.”
Somebody, somewhere, wrote that and sold it to a Korea t-shirt company; sniggering at the time I hope.

Bizarre T Shirts

The first few days produced largely uninspiring material. Being whisked around to various places; training at school, medicals and meals with the new boss.
Being looked at in something that we’re becoming accustomed to; listening to Korean children in my class it’s to be expected. I was introduced to an 18 year old student. I was told I would be simply speaking to him for a lesson a week to improve his conversation English. “He likes to travel, so maybe you could speak to him about other counties” was what I was told. Outside of Korea he’s been to Japan and the Philippines; both countries well worthy of a visit I’m sure, but together they hardly constitute the entire life works of a well travelled individual. For many Koreans seeing a Westerner in the flesh is an entirely new experience. Still I draw the line at having a woman stop me in a 7/11 to look me up and down before leaving muttering to herself.
Two highlights of the opening week have been brought about through the joy of translation; namely slogan t-shirts and names of children. Children in the schools are given an English name. Most are simple (the names not the kids) such as John, Jessica. Others are better; I teach a Frank and a Betty. Some, however, are just plain genius. I teach one child called ‘Hero,’ but even that was trumped when I met a 10 year old boy named ‘The Future,’ ‘the’ being an integral part of the name. Named so because as he puts it “I am tomorrow, I am The Future.” Truly, absolutely wonderful. I can only wish to father such a child.
Slogan t-shirts written in English are rather common place in Korea. Not so common are the slogans themselves. Lindsay and I have a contest to find the greatest one. Highlights so far have been:
- Sorry I’m Late!
- When I’m mad at you, don’t be mad at me.
- Somewhere over the
and my personal favourite
- Judy Patch Me Famous
Somebody, somewhere is designing these and sniggering. I look forward to seeing what The Future’s slogan will be when he finally starts choosing his own clothes.

The Arrival

Upon arrival in Korea we were greeted by our designated chauffer, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Choo. Despite his obvious oriental appearance the fact we’d arrived in Korea for our new life had not quite sunk in as we got into his leather clad, glass darkened Hyundai. Instead minds were whirring from 48 hours without any meaningful sleep. Mr Choo did his best to distract us though with his random swerving between lanes whilst playing with various digital gadgets. Seemingly he had not been taught the concept of looking at the road whilst in charge of a vehicle. A look at the cars around us confirmed that part of the car driving syllabus seems to have been missed off all together in Korea. There isn’t really a lane for overtaking; or rather there isn’t really a lane that isn’t for overtaking in. This coupled with roadsigns in a whole new script left me feeling rather out of sorts. Still his walnut finish dash board was pleasingly familiar in its westernisation, and with that thought I drifted off to a short sleep.
I awoke to a hot and muggy country that seemed to flit endlessly and rapidly between easy on the eye lush country side, industrial eyesores and golf courses. Golf course after golf course we passed as Mr Choo sat in the middle lane, open to being overtaken from any angle, including the hard shoulder.
One thing that struck me going through the country to Chuncheon was that this was to be the first time in my life that I would be an ethnic minority. As we pulled up to a traffic lights an old white man waiting to cross nodded at me knowingly, as if we shared a secret; both in the loop that Roman script and forks are plainly far superior methods.

The Journey

Without wishing to sound like an advertising blog, I really only have good things to say about Emirates flights. Indeedm I'd go so far as to say a week long journey on one would beat Blackpool in every sense but the beach, and having paddled in said waters resulting in luminous feet, that isn't really such a bad thing.

The food was of restaurant quality and the film selection far outweighs any line up I've seen at a Cineworld. Namely it had films that didn't contain tits, explosions or a combination of the two in graphic and brutal horror film detail.

The flight went over Iraq, then just for good measure over Iran too. The stop in Dubai allowed for a brief escape from being a 100 tonne airborne target, and allowed for a mooch around the never knowlingly understated Airport.

Why use metal to hold up a chair when solid gold is so much more expensive? There was an abundance of electronic gizmos, and since we were in the Middle East, a whole shop devoted to selling porcalain camels and magic lamps. Mass produced magic; it's, well magic really.

Chelmsford

The less said about Chelmsford the better. A place where you can listen to 2 Unlimited on your iPod and feel 10 years ahead of the times.

From a far away town

My day in London began with a plan. Firstly I was to head to The Natural History Museum for the Darwin exhibit, then to Arsenal to tour round The Emirates, home to my beloved Gunners. It would be a good day before heading to meet my mate Jeff for a trip to Chelmsford to sample the sights of Essex; most of which I believe wear white heels and far too much make up.

I arrived at the Darwin exhibit to a half hour long queue full of screaming children. Slightly upset, but still in good spirits I set off to Arsenal. There a sign awaited me ‘stadium tours sold out.’ I lunged towards unhappiness. I had left the West End at 10; it was now eleven and I’d seen the inside of a tube for an hour. I have now experienced true London.

A visit to the British Museum, and onwards to an internet cafe playing the best of Simply Red (or should that be the worst of?) raised my spirits somewhat, but none the less, I simply couldn’t live in London. Last night I was woken at 2:30 am by the sound of roadworks – roadworks at 2:30am? Tired of London and life I may be, but I’ll take that for a night without the sound of concrete being split open.

It all bodes well for a year in Korea and a major city; good times.

London calling

In an effort to alleviate tension and to make sure a murder didn’t occur within the bastions of 58 Grains Road Shaw I took off to London today to see family. Lindsay likewise to Leicester; a similar place, but smaller and replacing the fun parts with racist hellholes. I travelled by National Express and spent much of my time listening to an old, ex army, man talk incessantly at a visiting Chinese woman. She did her best to make it obvious that she couldn’t care less, but he was happily oblivious and spent a good hour explaining cricket to her. I have visions of old Korean women talking to me through the latest episode of Chuncheon Uncovered whilst on the bus to work. Sadly I’m English, so I’ll have to pretend to listen, nodding my head, smiling and dying a little inside with each passing minute.

I left the North in shorts with the sun on my back, and arrived in London with rivers running down the street. Due to the coach moving 10 feet towards our destination in 20 minutes, I jumped off at Oxford Circus and walked the remaining journey to Covent Garden. It took 30 minutes and the flooding of my shoes before I arrived at the apartment. People in London seem to stand under covers and hope that one day the rain will stop. One man had told me he’d once spent 6 days at the same stop, waiting for a break in the downpours before he could walk the remaining journey home.

Despite the long journey and Amazonian conditions the journey was made worthwhile as soon as I started eating the dinner, and drinking the cold beers my cousin Benedict had prepared for me. The rest of the evening was spent catching up and watching a promo for a TV show Benedict is presenter of. He lived for some time with a tribe in Benin, and the footage made for memorable viewing. I saw amongst other things, Ben’s scrotum, a man being circumcised by a man who was very very bad at doing circumcisions, a baby being ‘scarred’ and voodoo dancing. I’m hoping South Korea will be slightly less of a culture shock in comparison. There’s only so much family genitalia I can watch before it all starts getting slightly strange.

I'm have a happy homelife - honestly

Our last two days have been spent clearing numerous bits of crap out from around the house, something that has led to numerous arguments, with heated topics including: where will we put all our rubbish bags? Whose idea was it to buy cheap, shitty wine glasses from IKEA that break when gripped with a level of force just below what is needed to keep something within grasp? And last but not least why it isn’t a good idea to try and carry 30 kilos of junk in one box up a loft ladder on your own.

All led to much the same conclusion; we’re both twats and never want to see each other again. I’d love to say the making up was worth it, but sadly it just involved packing in relative peace before somebody stubbed a toe and the other person was blamed as they looked at the other in a funny way when the kettle was boiling.

Move to another country at your and your relationship’s peril.

Northern Ireland

The last few days have been spent blagging our way back into England with substandard ID. Our passports are with the Korean Embassy, and since Lindsay has that as her only photo identification an hour of sweet talking airport security was anticipated. Practise was taken in front of the mirror and we even had backups in the form of bills and debit cards. We needn’t have bothered. The ID in question was Lindsay’s work swipe card, but it could have been a condom with eyes and a nose drawn on the end with a false moustache for all it mattered. It had a picture, so we were in.
Considering the amount of Union flags on show, Northern Ireland represented what I would imagine the country would look like if the BNP ever got into power; either that or a royal walkway. A neo nazi party, the royal family and Ultra Unionists: the only people who love the Union flag. Perhaps they should all get together and do something sometime; may I be the first to suggest a long walk along a short cliff top.

the final push

With flying cows entirely non existent in their work, we were offered work with teach esl. A quick google search brought up a website called www.slarecruiting.com they offered us jobs in Chuncheon - jobs we've taken.

Some friends have already lived there and loved it. www.teacheslkorea.com were very good, but the jobs in Chuncheon were too good to turn down. We've got a 2 bed apartment between us - which in Korean terms, I'm told, is on Stately Home level.

Thanks to the joys of facebook I've got 3 American friends already. They've asked me to play in a their 'soccer' team. I'll the token Englishman who swans up, refuses to run and mutters about having invented the game.

We're due to fly on the 12th August, Visa allowing.

Applying

We're on the verge of a move Koreawards.
With the nukes causing a problem we've asked a bunker to be put into our contract, but apart from that it's full steam ahead.
We've been offered work in Cheong Ju, which is pretty much in the middle of country - the Korean version of Brummys; not sure if I like that, but as long as I can't understand what they're trying to say then I'll be OK. It's also the rainiest place in Korea I'm told, which won't be much change for hardy Yorkshire folk.

We're going through 2 agencies - teacheslkorea.com and flying-cows.com Teach esl since we applied and they've offered us the role. No word from the cows people.
Teach esl have tried to put us in a couple of jobs we've not wanted - in the middle of nowhere, living in a tiny room together, teaching fully trained aggresive ninja kids - that sort of thing, but we've managed to keep them at bay.

Hopefully this job will be more what we're after, but I'll keep you up to date.

The Starting Line

Hello and Welcome to the first post in what will be a diary of the change from working in education in England, to teaching English in South Korea.

To give you a rough backstory myself and my partner have been planning for some time to travel. Finances, as always, have proven to be a stumbling block. Not just affording it, but what to do with the house etc. Teaching ESL abroad seemed to us like the perfect opportunity to both see another part of the world, and not only afford it, but to be able to save up whilst doing it.

Through the coming months I'll be documenting our preparation, and when we finally get to Korea, our time there.

Hope you like it, you find it useful, or just visit it to keep the hit numbers up. Any of them and I'll be happy.