Never Again Land

On the Saturday just gone I, along with 16 friends, took a trip to Everland. For those not in the know, it’s a theme park about an hour out of Seoul. The website boasts of it being the ‘4^th best theme park in the world.’ The official Korean tourist website were obviously less impressed. They have it down as the ‘4^th best theme park in the Asia-pacific region.’ Trip advisor had it down as the ‘4^th best theme park an hour out of Seoul, called Everland.’ It was difficult to know who to believe.

Either way I boarded the coach excitedly and arrived at the resort feeling the same way. My students were jealous I was going. They’d told me about a mythical ride I simply had to find; they weren’t sure of the name, but they were certain it had the word ‘Eagle’ in it.

(I couldn't find a good picture about queues, so this is my tenuous best)

I’d read stories of beautiful sunshine, only ever interrupted by chocolate flavoured rain that didn’t leave you wet; stories of a Shangri-La of fun, where the only problem was how people could ever cope with leaving such a place, knowing that they would never again be that happy. It was to be a trip to a place where dreams come true, like Disney World, but without the need to remortgage your house to pay for the rickets.

Our already low entrance fee was even lower than Koreans paid, thanks to a promotion on the website that offered reduced prices for foreigners. The paper said up to 4 people could enjoy reductions of 8,000won, and that up to 3 of those people could be Korean. That led to surreal touting on the front gate.

“Waegukin, (foreigner) waegukin here, only 4,000won. Get your waegukins before they sell.”

When inside the park the group split into splinter cells, all with different wants and needs for the day. Mine was to see the Safari, and damned if I was going to take into consideration my friends on this one. I dragged them through the hoards of people to the new Safari ride, on the premise that the animals would be more active in the morning. Friends protested. They wanted to visit Friendly Monkey Valley, but I assured them the monkeys would be friendly and active all day. The Safari had to be reached.

Sadly it wasn’t to be. The queue was 150 minutes long. 150 minutes. That’s enough time to get a bus to Seoul and back, enough time to study for a genetics PhD and breed my own animals.

However, help was on its way in the form of a Q-pass. I always thought he was a rapper in the early 90s, but the literature assured me that this was a place where, for a small free, one could procure a digital ticket. This would give you a time to return to the ride, thus removing the need to queue. I was about to buy one when I saw my ride time was May 24^th, 2012, 06:30. I skulked off to Monkey Valley. Needless to say the monkeys were asleep.

This formed the basis of the day; queue after queue after queue; queues to get in other queues. I’m English, so I’m good at queuing, but this was too much even for a man of my line following abilities. The line for the biggest rollercoaster (one of only 2 coasters in the park) was 2 hours, the queue for the log flume, 100 minutes. A log flume is supposed to be a ride you go on at the end of the day when you have 10 minutes to kill. Essentially it’s a poor quality roller coaster that gets you soaking wet, yet I was expected to spend 6000 seconds of my life waiting for it.

One ride was called the Mystery Mansion. Here we queued for 30 minutes before being taken into a room. Success at last, and after only half an hour. Sadly not, the lights dimmed and a gargoyle screamed at us in Korean. Then we were moved into the second part of the queue.

One ride had us moving around a house in orderly fashion for 40 minutes. When we reached the end of the line we left the building via the back door.

Bumper cars had a wait for an hour, the two cable cars that connect the far ends of the park 40 minutes each. In desperation I turned to the arcades. I put 500won into a machine so I could shoot some endangered fish on the game ‘Ocean hunter,’ but a screen came up telling me the game would not start for 25 minutes.

Part of the problem is a lack of rides combined with a huge amount of people. Everland has 10 rides that I would consider proper rides, and not carnival attractions. That combined with 7,500,000 visitors a year (20,548 people on an average day) means a lot of people are wanting to go on not many rides. In contrast, England’s biggest theme park is Alton Towers. That attracts 2,500,000 people a year and has 8 roller coasters, with over 30 rides.

Yet the area of Everland is considerably bigger, which leaves a lot of space. The Zoo doesn’t take up much of this, considering the exhibit sizes. 3 polar bears are kept in an area not too much bigger than an average child’s paddling pool.

The vast majority of the park is devoted to gift shops, all selling entirely the same things, teddy bears, animal themed clothes and inflatable hammers that leave most adults with a desire to smash the child owners with a real carpentry tool.

Two themed areas of the park are devoted entirely to shops and food outlets, all with fanciful names, but all selling fried unidentifiable meat on a stick, or popcorn.

Over the years many people have done their utmost to create heaven on earth, and so in this respect Everland is original. The creators have made purgatory right here in South Korea, right down the finer details, all expect the waits for heaven aren’t quite as long.

There's No Place Like Home (but I'll live anywhere if the pay's enough)

It’s not often I write in the first person. I generally see the use of ‘I’ as a sign of weakness, a sign that I should be taken to task by some blog writing guru who would beat the soles of my feet until I started to use ‘one’ and use it correctly.

My intention was to be light hearted this week, and write about something fun and shallow that has no point. My intention was to forget about issues, get drunk at the weekend, see where that would take me and then write about it. My intention was certainly not to get involved in a facebook slanging match that would result in me defending Korea as if it were London in the Blitz.

It’s best I clear the situation up before I continue. During my time in Korea a number of people I’ve come across have had, let’s put it diplomatically, more bad things than good, to say about Korea. Less diplomatically, each day I open facebook there seems to be a post saying ‘Korean children shot my mother’ or something similar. Criticising the country that is providing work in times of uncertainty, providing health care, accommodation and a welcoming attitude, seems like a hobby to many, and completely ungrateful to me.

This irritation has been growing recently until, on a fine Tuesday evening, I finally broke. No longer able to contain my anger, my rage, I cracked. I commented on somebody’s facebook status update. Social disaster. Etiquette dictates that facebook statuses are only to be addressed by clicking the ‘i like’ button or by comments such as ‘i love what you’ve said and would like to have your babies. ‘

I broke the rules and posted something with a point. The original post was highly critical of a growing issue of Korean children gaming a great deal; critical to the point of calling it ‘pathetic.’ The slanging was made by an American, so I made a tongue in cheek comment that this is better than kids shooting each other in schools.

(This video in no way represents the views of Americans with intelligence, and is included simply for comic purposes)

All hell broke loose. The world stopped spinning for an hour in Chuncheon as comments came left, very much right and centre. But still I maintain, look at a guy on a Korean subway and you’ll see him playing a game. Look at a guy for long enough on a subway in the west and you’ll most likely see a bottle swinging rapidly towards your face. I know which viewing I’d rather subscribe to.

I mean, what do I care? I’m being paid a full time wage, above the Korean national average, with no accommodation costs, for working part time hours in a job I’ve never had to prove I can do. And there lies the catch; I do care. Despite my wage being over the national average, without taking into account free housing, there has never been a hint of bitterness from Koreans. There is no political party demanding foreign expulsion. No right wing thugs walking the streets desperate to batter me into a bloody pulp.

This is like the west could be if we started again and shot all the racists. And that’s the bitter irony. Most foreign teachers here are not qualified, yet many earn more than their Korean counterparts, many with Masters in Education, and yet many still see fit to point out every flaw in Korean society at every given opportunity.

Reverse the situation and, I for one, might be somewhat puzzled as to why I bothered studying for a teacher’s certificate in the first place. I might even go so far as to suggest, ‘if you’re not happy, go home.’ Despite working the lowest jobs possible, earning a pittance of a wage and often living in squalor, immigrants in most western countries are guaranteed a number of politicians proposing their being beaten daily as national policy, and a huge number of thugs more than happy to carry out those wishes.

Korea is no Shangri-La; the people don’t claim it is. But nor do they turn up in other countries pointing out how everything is better where they’re from, whilst taking said countries’ money the whole time. Generally that’s referred to as selling one’s soul.

One of these imperfections in society is that Korean students have to study 12 hour days throughout their childhoods; excessive studying that has been proven to have no benefit to overall learning. We, as foreign teachers can do nothing to stop this. We can just appreciate, despite such conditions, that students remain honest, for the most part studious, and respectful.

When the worst you can say about students in such a position is that they are often tired, and like to take their minds off the thought of another 60 hour working week by playing a game on their phone, then it’s hard to complain too much.

Especially when as a teacher, we can wake up at 11am, go to work for 3, and be back for 9. All whilst pulling in above average wages with a free apartment. That leaves us in a position we can do something about. Be appreciative, and take advantage of the easy and financially rewarding life we lead whilst here, or, if we think it really is so much better back home, take the next flight back.

Food, Glorious Food

When I told my friends I was coming to Korea I had a mixed response.
Some informed me, should I not already know. “They eat dog there.”

A few of the witty ones came back with jokes like, “mmm, sweet and sour dog for tea.” I laughed heartily.

Whilst other, more open minded and liberal, friends responded with, “ahhh, cool, a new culture. That’ll be really interesting... They eat dog there.”

It’s a shame that Korean cuisine is known only for it containing canine, for a number of reasons. Firstly Korea isn’t the only country that dog is eaten in. Indonesia and East Timor both count it as a delicacy, and it’s a frequent fixture on menus throughout China. But then China is known for so many other things, such as Dim sum, bamboo and executing the mentally ill.

The main reason that it smarts to hear Korean food has such a limited reputation abroad is that it’s so good; fresh, spicy and full of flavour. The British really could learn a great deal. In Chuncheon city there is a market stretching 500m along a road side. It’s open every morning and sells seasonal fruit and vegetables grown within the city limits. Go in winter and you’ll see entirely different produce than you would in spring, summer or autumn.

It’s not limited to just one market either. On any number of backstreets, in any number of cities there are small stalls selling locally grown produce or snacks made to order. Snacks made from fresh ingredients; fast food as it should be.

Incidentally, most of the stalls are run by women, who are generally referred to as ‘adjemars;’ the translation being ‘old woman.’ One wonders about the reaction of a woman in England, over 40, should she be referred to in this way. Some kind of beating would most likely ensue, together with harpy like shrieking. A result of the Confucian system is that Korean people know their place in life and are happy with it.



Eating out in Korea is a group affair. Most meals are ordered for a group, with individual choice not available in most evening restaurants. A meal is a social event, bringing people together, rather than just a time to fill up on calories. Indeed, the sight of somebody eating alone is rare, and if you ever do see them, it’s restaurant policy that they sob between mouthfuls, and wish openly that they had friends. Or so the lady told me ... honestly.

In most eateries the main option for groups is meat; slab upon slab of meat, each with a different name. Ask most Korean children what each name means and they can happily tell you, along with what part of which animal said meat came from. In the UK children would most likely respond to such a question with ‘you what?!? It’s just chicken innit!’ Regardless of the meat in question.

However, should you manage to get beyond this defence against knowledge, then you may see there is a growing trend of children not being able to recognise onions, or knowing that chips come from potatoes. Rumours have it that some children have even started to inject liquidised ready meals. The gap between producer and eater has become a chasm, and is widening with each sale of Tesco chicken poppers.

In Korea the restaurants generally have a picture of the animal you’re about to eat, on the sign outside. This animal is usually in cartoon form and looking far happier than I imagine it would be if it knew its end. This is also the case with places that do serve dog. But beware! The cartoon dog can also mean pet store, where they sell overgrown and coiffed guinea pigs and call them puppies. Asking for them in a soup can have disastrous consequences.

However, there is a flip side. Despite the knowledge of where food comes from, there is no effort to ensure the quality of life, and meat of animals through free range or organic production. Finding free range meat is impossible. Indeed there have been a number of cases of bear meat still being eaten, by council officials no less. The bears are clubbed to death on order, having been taken from cages containing up to 20. Shockingly bear cubs can be ordered for takeout meat, for home slaughter. Boiling them alive has been reported as the preparation of choice, in a number of cases.

Whilst this isn’t a lecture on how free range meat production is far more beneficial, not just to animals, but to the human as well (nutrient levels are increased, fat lower and protein higher in free range) it is a true shame that a nation that has everything in place to be an undiscovered culinary great is being held back by such an atrocious disrespect of where staple restaurant food comes from.

I’d love to say that this is the sole reason that Korean food isn’t world renowned, but sadly it’s probably just because Korea itself isn’t. Maybe it’ll take the execution of some rebellious students to sort that out.

And the beat goes on, and on, and on, and on...

In the last two weeks in Korea I’ve been given two days off work for national holidays. Two Mondays, much like the bank holidays in England. However, these are slightly different; they actually have purposes other than excuses to go on a Sunday night and sink beers. (Although they are also used for that purpose here too)

The first holiday was Monday 15th February, to celebrate Lunar New Year. In ancient Korean tradition the calendar is dictated by the moon, and so it seems silly not to have another New Year’s party.

Although not a holiday, on the 28th February I bore witness to a procession marching through the city. Men in traditional costumes played various drums. Sadly they all seemed to play the same 10 second beat over and over and over and over and over, but they were followed by a 200 strong army of regularly dressed civilians, all bearing torches. Torches that were swung, waved and given all manners of movements that had the westerner in me thinking lawsuit, get a claim in.

Thankfully there were no burns, and no claims. This was simply to celebrate the first full moon of the lunar year. There were also no werewolves; I would imagine all the switching of calendars left them all rather confused. (Note to poor Easter European countries, where these sort of things still exist)

On March 1st came another holiday. This time the day is to mark a series of demonstrations that took place in 1919. They were protests against the tyrannical Japanese rule. The Japanese responded to this slanderous taunt that they might be iron fisted, by slaughtering 7000 Koreans. It truly is one of the last modern horrors that go unreported.

Now this isn’t simply a history lesson. In fact I know all this, not because I went to the labour intensive efforts of researching all this, but because I asked Koreans, and all the Koreans I asked knew all the minute details; even the youngest children.
Tradition is part of the culture here, so much so that it’s taught in schools. Children know how ancient musical instruments are played, what holidays mean what and how to howl in delirium, just like their parents, at terrible Korean slapstick comedy.



One wonders how many British children know what a carnyx is, or that the dates of Bank Holidays are connected to traditional village cricket fixtures, although a great number of children still laugh at terrible TV slapstick comedy like My Family, just like their parents. Bad taste is universal, it would seem.



It brings a sense of belonging. It took Britain and England years to wrestle their flags back from racists like the BNP, but why were they not under public ownership in the first place? Children in Korea are brought up to be proud of their flag and their customs. At times it may be to the detriment of flexibility in attitude towards new customs, but that is a small cost for national pride. Not racist, not bigoted, not superior, just simple patriotism. That could go a long way to taking groups like the BNP out of the equation in Britain.

However, some traditions are simply too baffling for even me to promote. In Dorset cider growers partake in an ancient ritual at the beginning of the apple growing season. They go out to their orchids at midnight, and on the trees’ branches, women put pieces of toast soaked in cider; this in order to ward off evil spirits. The thoughts of said evil spirits are hard to imagine.



Mmmm, tasty apple trees for me to destroy. Mmmm yes, destroy them I shall. Wait a minute ... what is this? Toast on trees? .... soaked in cider? .... and it’s been placed here by women! AHHHH My kryptonite. I am doomed, no more tree destroying for me, AHHHH!

What's yours is mine, and what's mine is Korea's.

Recent games of football here in Chuncheon have left me frustrated, not for my lack of prowess on the pitch, or indeed the Korean’s reluctance to allow me to play in one position for more than two minutes before moving me on to another role. It’s been on the sidelines that my rage has been growing.

We play quarters here, which means a longer game. However, it also means more drink stops, and so each game I arrive, ready to play, with my Gatorade in tow; all two litres of its luminous green majesty sitting on the touchline. The sugar content is addictively corrosive (I’m sure I saw Lindsay bleaching the toilet with it last week) and even the bottle is designed to fit into your hand, should you struggle to pick up those pesky regular cylindrical bottles. In comparison Lucozade simply doesn’t measure up.

With each passing quarter I enjoy the walk to the side, knowing I’ll have a sip of the nectar and experience a sugar rush enough to paralyse a small panda.
Sadly this experience has been tempered in recent weeks.

I’m a private person by in large. I like to share, but when I choose to share. My house is open, but when I want it to be open, so imagine my horror when I walked over after a particularly taxing 30 minutes of chasing people aimlessly, to see a Korean drinking Gatorade, my Gatorade, my beautiful, luminous Gatorade. My giver of life, my taker of teeth, being consumed, not by me, not even by a teammate, by an opposition member. My jaw dropped, birds stopped singing and in the distance Wagner was playing. I walked up in a rage; expectant of apologies, of a face belonging to a man caught with his penis somewhere it shouldn’t be.



Instead he just passed me the remaining fluid, smiled and walked off. I had made the mistake of leaving my bottle uncovered, and, such is the Korean way, he helped himself. It could have been my drink, chocolate, my last supper; if it’s in the open, it’s for sharing in Korea.

It takes a little getting used to. Students dip into my pencil case to use my eraser, fellow teachers offer tangerines to me when they’ve quite clearly been brought to work for their snack, Korean friends come to my apartment when I’m not in and buy books on my credit card. It really is share and share alike in this glorious nation.

I’m trying to adapt my ways to fit in, so should you ever hear of an Englishman caught stealing money from a Supermarket till, then rest assured, I’m just doing my best to share the wealth.