Jijok Middle School

I've realised that so far I've mentioned very little about my school, the place of my employment and the system within which my professional life hangs by a thread.
Jijok Middle School is within five minutes walk of my house and is directly between Jijok and Noen subway stations. It is a school of 1,050 approx and my classes are directed at grades 1 and 3 respectively.
Its a newish school (built 10 years ago) and a school that feels like it has aspirations for it's kids.
So, where do I fit in?
I'm an English conversation teacher, so I am there as an example of an uncluttered english accent (in my case, being from England, quite literally). Imagine my horror when on the first day I found my co-teacher for my 3rd grade class in the staff-room and tried to initiate conversation, to which she replied:
"I'm used to hearing American accents, I dont understand you."
This was an example of spoken english, even amongst teachers of the language, being a source of embarrasment. I have since had some great laughs with the co-teacher in question and my accent is less of a problem for her provided I speak slowly, but she was bashful at first because I sound different and she didnt want to get her answer wrong in front of me.
The Guv'nor (who's real name is Jong-won) thinks it is a bit unfair of the school to have no idea how to handle a native English speaker. The previous two teachers were both Korean-Americans and therefore could speak enough Korean to get by and, I suppose, not be too much of a visual distraction to the students.
Before it sounds like I'm blowing my own trumpet, I'm not. I'm no oil-painting but I'm fair haired and blue-eyed, I'm also typically western in terms of having hair on my arms and enough on my chest to get second glances when I have my top button undone. These factors, combined with my almost total lack of any Korean (EPIK never said it was a job-requisite) had led to me feeling very alienated at first, especially when I felt all my team-teachers just werent that keen on me because I was different in looks and culture.
The students are different though, kids dont lie very convincingly when it comes to liking someone. If the kids think that you're a tosser, they tend to behave in a way that lends itself to you feeling like one. I've had one or two problem kids but none that I've felt I cant handle, and here is the reason why....
No ego. That is an ideal way of looking at it, but what I mean is: dont try to feed your ego all the time and you will find that influencing people to work with you and not against you is a lot easier.
Example? My 3rd grade boys are wild. They arent bad though, they are just 13 years old oiks having the chance to have some time off. By being a hard-arse I just alienate them, by giving them sweets (something I refuse to do, its just not my thing) I make them Pavlovian and uninterested unless there's reward involved.
So, what to do?
I think people, by and large, respond to respect. It is a totally two-way thing and if you want it, you have to give it. I give my students as much respect as I can, I dont humiliate them if they're off the mark with their answers and I punish disruptive behaviour with a smile on my face. It works when you have enough guts to challenge some kid to show me and their peers that they're good at english (and the ones who are disruptive are sometimes the more willing, if not able pupils.)
Kids need someone to positively reinforce the notion that they can do something. They've been told they're no good by other authority figures in their lives, they can expect something different from me. Call me an idealist, but in every person there lies the ability to better themselves and sometimes what they need is a person who tells them that they can.

A kid came up to me with a note after class and tried to explain to me that he would not be here next week. I asked him why and he didnt answer, I asked him again and he told me:

"Auntie died, funeral is next week."

After telling him that I would inform the head of department and that I was sure it was ok, I was pretty much on the verge of tears. He bowed, and then confidentially leaned in towards me and said:

"Mr, Riley, one more thing: your flies are undone."

We both cracked up. I'm learning from these kids all the time.

Gratis Guinness and mini-epiphanies.

So the training is seriously and unequivocally pointless. I'm not going to dwell on it now though, as there are far too many other things to think about.


I had a week of huge ups and downs, punctuated by St. Patrick's day in Seoul.


A huge dust-storm had travelled from China and for a while shrouded Korea and Japan in a saffron blanket. The dust didnt make it down to ground level, at least not that I could tell, but theres something mildly unsettling about looking up into the sky and wondering if Mars has decided to break orbit or not.


Cosmological thoughts were in fact going through my head at the time the dust really hit, mainly because I was by Seoul city hall, decked out in green and drinking all the free Guinness I could muster. The Irish Embassy had decided to fund an absolutely colossal piss-up (which was fine by me) and they took great pleasure in telling me to put my wallet away when I went to the bar. It was a bit like the "Better Than Life" game in Red Dwarf, except I wasnt dressed as an Admiral.


The dust came and went, we went to a really good restaurant in Itaewon (which I've heard is a rariety) and went to an expat bar where we all felt distinctly uncomfortable. I was cornered by two "lifers" (people who have clearly lived in Korea for too long) and they seemed to take great delight in telling me how my teaching experience would be so much better in Seoul.


"You teachin' in Daejeon? Where the fucks that? Huh? Daejeon, my ass. You out in boonie country, bet y'all have to take the rickshaw to work..."


The above monologue (seeings as it was the lifer's opening gambit) could only be described as yet another strange conversation with a westerner. Jakub, meanwhile, was caught in the tractor-beam of some Valley girl who's only topic of conversation was money.


Kyle had it worst though; some huge guy who was in the Marines tried to take him back to his barracks. After the first round of tequilas he thought he must be joking, after the second there was some mild groping, after the third...


As we left I saw Kyle clinging to his girlfriend and using her as a dainty blonde shield, we'd had enough and were sorely in need of bed.


On the subway however, we got a nasty shock. A middle-aged Korean man took offence to our using public transport, he was shouting and pointing in an aggressive manner everytime we starting talking to each other.


We still arent sure if it was because two of our group had Korean ancestry but were westernised, or if he just hated my face. Either way, I took offence in kind and started taking the piss out of him. Who did he think he was anyway?


I felt a tug on my coat and could see that Ashley (a very nice Canadian girl who had made the mistake of dating me) was giving me the look that said "Stop being a prick."


I tried, but as we left the train I found it hard to resist blowing him a quick kiss, his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

So, after a hectic weekend which left a hole in my pocket but some fond memories, I said bye to Ashley and co and jumped on my bus home. It was at this point I had a wobble.
Wobbles come when you least expect them, especially when you're under stress and in a new environment. I'd not had time to grieve over Grandad's passing away as it happened so soon before my relocating, occasionally though these feelings blindside you and they hit harder than you expect.
So, with a mix of tiredness, residual grief and Eva Cassidy on my i-pod, I couldnt help bursting silently into tears at the back of a bus full of old ladies. I put my sunglasses on and pretended I was asleep, it came in waves and when I felt I was done, I tried to sleep.
A faint tap on my arm made me start, it was a little old Korean lady (and Korean old ladies run the country) holding a pack of tissues. She had an expression of confidentiality on her face, the kind of face that was saying "I wont tell anyone else what a pussy you are", so I wiped my nose and drifted off into a fitful nap.
Arriving back home and facing a week ahead where my confidence was so low, I realised one thing that gave me cause for optimism: I've come so far, I can keep going, and I will.

Training for training's sake...

I dont like to moan about things unless I can be constructive.
However; we're all 28 days into the adventure of our lives, we've only just got our barings and, with some difficulty, we're finding our feet at our respective schools.
Enter the Ministry of Education for Daejeon: As of today we are expected to attend a two-hour class afterschool for the next three weeks. We get paid (a fairly measly sum, considering it is out-of-hours) and our expenses are covered, but not until after our first paycheck.
I've been lucky: I worked the hell-shifts at the ambulance service so that I had money to tide me over, the concept of being so broke that I cant catch the subway or bus to training isnt something I have to contend with. It isnt the same for everyone though. And these people are expected to find money that they may not have, to attend a training commitment that takes place before our paycheck.
I forgot to add that the training is only for Daejeon teachers, nobody else in the whole of South Korea will be obligated to give up their free-time like this and considering that we jumped through a thousand hoops for the prestige of being with EPIK in the first place (including attending , and completing, a ten-day orientation ) it just smacks of total beurocracy.
So, understandably we're all a little pissed off with the situation we're finding ourselves in. We're expected to give presentations as part of this program and considering the workload we're already under (and coming straight from a full days work) it makes me feel a bit let-down that we werent told this sooner.
I want to end on a positive note: I went into my administratin office today sans Guvnor, and with the help of my phraseook, managed to communicate that I hadnt received my settlement allowance yet. They said they'll talk to the board of education and hopefully, I can see it before my first paycheck next week.
It isnt the money I'm pleased about, I'm glad I made myself understood (even if I did have to call the guv towards the end to iron out some minor translations.)
And, the bright yellow thing is back in the sky...please stay!

What I've learned so far...

1) No matter how much you want to lay-in bed for five more minutes (as you live five minutes frm school) it simply isnt worth it. Especially when you have forgotten to iron a shirt.

2) Having Western food once every now and then does not make you unadventurous; I was full of myself for eating everything Korean until my little bus trip (which left me feeling, for want of a better phrase, quite empty.)
Now I realise that your digestive system has some form of muscle-memory and that to deny it things that it is used to (wheatgerm etc) is just asking for trouble. Try new foods, but sometimes we all need the comfort of something familiar.

3) You stand out more than you think. Everytime I ride the subway into town I am struck by how many times I have seen two women board, look for spaces, and realising that the only ones are near me, choose to stand.
I'm not victimising myself, its clearly just one of those things. I dont look dangerous or scary I hope, but some people arent as comfortable being around Westerners as others are. Hey-ho.

4) Always buy the round. Be it iced coffee from the local shop, beer, fruit, your co-teachers are much happier for you to attempt to buy them something after the lunch-cafeteria has been abandoned than for you to buy just for yourself. It may be Confucian, it may be just good manners, but offering everyone a drink is a great way of buiding relations (plus, unless you're buying for the whole school, it isnt going to break the bank.

5) Allow something to frustrate you, if it frustrates you. Bocking it out isnt really the answer, you're in a new country and everything is brand new. Some of it is amazingly painless and exciting, some of it is dour and irritating. Take the rough with the smooth and remember how weird your own culture must seem from the outside.


Far too philosophical today, I blame the weather.

How Not To Shop

I'm not one for blogging twice in a row, but I've got a free period and last night I experienced a very funny situation which needs to be commited to type (not as funny as the bus ride, but close.)
Wandering around the Lotte Mart, looking for things to put in my new fridge (and, it must be said, a slight erection) I went a bit overboard.
Those who know me will be thinking " yeah yeah, how much beer did you buy?" and the answer is: not much. I did buy a slab of water, a load of fruit, milk, orange juice and some snacky things, forgetting in my excitement that I had to walk home in what had begun to be a blizzard.
I'd also been for pizza and a few beers earlier, and was carrying the doggy box of pizza I didnt manage to finish. I'd left these wit the clerk at the front of the store and as I came bounding up the escalator with two huge bags and a load of water, he tried his utmost to help me carry them.
I tried to explain, as he walked towards the exit doors with my water pack and a pizza box oerched merrily atop it, that I dont have a car and he can leave them at the door. He nods and grins and steps out into the raging sleet storm in his shirtsleeves. I grab my umbrella and struggle to open it whilst holding onto the remaining two bags, then, in a moment of madness, I decide to play the wildcard.
Tucking the umbrella down my back, I create a hands-free sleet-beater. I then pick up the remaining bags and the water and am still miraculously dry. I look like Rayden's slightly retarded English cousin. The attendent isnt grinning quite so much now, he's utterly soaked and is still gingerly clutching my pizza box like a delivery boy who delivers to Atlantis, his face is screaming "take the pizza, you fucking shleb, I'm not even on overtime here!"
I reach forwards with one arm of shopping for him to put it in my bag and the shift in position means that the umbrella rockets out from my back as the wind gusts in from underneath me, it flies skyward and in that moment I realise that it will probably make it to Gangwon before it comes down.
The attendent and I look at each other and both collapse in gales of laughter, a truly international exchange has just happened as a result of my total inability to make myself initially understood. He points to the flash looking Hundai estate across the street and says "your car?"
I say "Yes" in a defeated sort of tone, and let him keep the pizza. I'd laughed with a Korean, which was good enough for me.

Enter Mr. Choi & The Fridgeman Cometh

Unlike some girls I've dated, I've never been sexually excited by kitchen appliances...until now.
If you're reading this and are wondering if you've stumbled onto a thread that might be a little risque, you're only semi-right.
I'll explain: I've been fridgeless for nearly three weeks. The first day I moved in, there was a big empty space where a fridge could be. I was assured it would be delivered "on Tuesday", which was three days away.
Still reeling from general culture shock, I didnt really grasp just how vital a fridge would be. Even in my poverty stricken University years, I always had somewhere cold to put my beer (though some days it was my bedroom.) Three days without a fridge wasnt exactly a gritty life on the never-never, so I decided I'd just make do.
Tuesday came and went, no fridge magically appeared on my doorstep and the fact that I was unable to keep food in my apartment without it being prone to going bad (or at the very best, warm) started to get to me. I asked the school admin office, and they all giggled in the customary manner that is Korean for " I'm embarrassed" which was when I knew something was wrong.
The company that the school had ordered the fridge from were not playing ball, they'd become oversubscribed as early March is the start of the new University year and freshmen were their main priority, apparantly. All of this was said to me by the admin staff who were all smiling as they heard this (I understand that it is a sign of acute shame/embarrasment for Koreans to smile in these situations, but it made the experience no less disconcerting.)
Then, as the school bell rang, around the corner came a guy in air jordan flip flops, a small stick in his hand, and a look that suggested he ate 1st graders with his kimchi every morning, raw.
His name was Mr.Choi. I later nicknamed him "The Guv'nor", it seemed appropriate.
The Guv'nor turned out to be the nicest man anyone could hope to meet, he'd done some of his schooling in Utah and was well travelled in Europe too. He heard about my fridge scenario and offered to go and "bust some ass" over it. I politely agreed.
After half an hour of hearing him busting backsides in the office, I realised that I was probably in danger if looking like a moaning git, it was only a fridge, I lived close enough to some eateries and I wasnt exactly starving. Looking like a diva isnt my style (despite the heels) and in a new jo, in a new country, I didnt want to make the wrong impression. I inhaled a deep breath and as I exhaled I imagined calming, enlightening things and felt very zen.
At that moment, Mr.Choi turned to me and said "Bad news: the delivery wont be until next week, theres nothing I can do."
The group of meditating monks in my mind all sat up in unison and shouted "What the fuck?!"
I rolled my eyes and went outside, we chatted for a while and he expressed his distaste at the school's beurocracy, and then offered to take me to a good pizza place he knew.
In the next week he managed to get me my ARC card back quick, hook me up with internet, get me a phone and generally look after me and make sure I wasnt totally alienated from the Korean workplace.
Last night, with two days to spare before the supposed due-date of my fridge arriving, LG phoned Mr.Choi and said they could do it in the next hour. I could have wept.
Incidentally, its the Guvnor's birthday this Saturday, I think I owe him a few cold beers...

Following through on my commitments...

******WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST HAS CONTENT REGARDING BODILY FUNCTIONS. EASILY OFFENDED PEOPLE, BUGGER OFF.******

Wanting to enjoy my first proper weekend in Korea, I decided to take a trip to Seoul on Friday night. I'd agreed to meet some friends and presumed that the 2 hour bus ride was a cinch considering it only cost me 9,000 won (£5) to travel to Kangnam Station.
I'd been settling in at my school and the principal had taken me to a very traditional Korean establishment at the end of the week to make sure he hadnt scared me too much with his "big boss" routine (which, in all honesty, he had). We were knelt down on thin cushions and in front of us there must have been in excess of over forty raw oysters each.
Not wanting to look like a poof, I gobbled them down with lashings of tabasco sauce and hearty helpings of kimchi while my principal, clearly impressed, picked at his plate and deferred to the rice and spinach soup after a couple of clams.
We ate swiftly as we had to get back to work, so I was waiting to finish my last class of the day when Mr Choi (who I have since nicknamed "The Guvnor") offered to give me an earlier ride to the bus station so I could hit Seoul with more time to spare.
An hour later, I was on the bus and feeling very worldly. We hit a slight bottleneck of traffic around the outskirts of Daejeon and suddenly, without prior warning, I felt my stomach lurch.

Again, for those of you that arent keen of toilet humour, even at the expense of the dear author here, I suggest you go and read something about little fluffy kittens for about 5 minutes.

Feeling the colour drain from my face, I grabbed the headrest in front of me and shut my eyes. My gut was building like a pressure-cooker and without some form of relief it felt like I was going to pop.
I looked at the elderly Korean gent next to me, I felt like a suicide bomber having second thoughts, would he mind? He's probably lived through a war, it might just send him to sleep for the remainder of the journey.
So, sliding in my seat for some ease of release, I hit a snag: I was planning to open Pandora's Box only a crack and stop it from yabbering, but we all know how that turned out, dont we?
I arrived at Kangnam station with the sneaking suspicion that I may have shat myself, and as always with these suspicions, I was Holmes-like in my manners of deduction.
Popping some pills was the answer, though I got the feeling that the Korean chemist was more interested in if I could be cured with Ginseng. I politely told him, with a bit of persuasion from my insides, that the only way to cure my current state with Ginseng was to take a big root of it and...well.

A day after, once we'd seen the royal palace and hopped from subway to subway, we decided to get a bite to eat at a little traditional eatery around the back of this side-street we were perusing. I never learn...

One of our party, as we were halfway through a meal of gorgeous and succulent meat, suddenly uttered a gasp and stared hard at the menu.
After some garbled translation, we were unsure as to whether or not we were feasting on fatted calf, or if we had accidentally ordered a meal of finest pooch...it was particularly sweetened and (is it wrong to say this?) very tasty.

All will be revealed, in the next installment...when I have changed my underpants (for the fifth time.)

Korea, thus far.

This is going to be fairly long but obviously pretty condensed, if I wrote down everything in long-form I'd be here until the end of the world.

So, Korea! I said my goodbyes (which nearly killed me) hopped on a plane and before I knew it, I was in a Noraebang (karaoke bar) with a bunch of other sad prats who'd decided to teach EFL and singing 'Jailhouse Rock'.

We went to a folk village, I was singled out by the guides to be the subject of some traditional Korean punishment: being strapped down to a cross and having my arse paddled by some huge oar-like devices. I wasnt as tightly-tied as I thought, but I still stayed for a bit longer than was necessary...everyone has to get their kicks in some form dont they?

After a long and arduous week of partying until curfew, attending lectures all day and being told how much of an adventure we were about to embark on. I poo-pooed it, mainly because I had a stinking soju-hangover, and because I arrogantly thought that culture shock was something that happened to someone else.

How wrong I was.

I arrived in Daejeon for my first day in a new city, and what followed felt like a domino-effect of bad things.

I met my co-teacher, MJ. She wasnt wearing white socks and dancing the moonwalk (but then, neither is Jacko anymore.)

She was leaving for Cheongju later that week, and so would not actually be my co-teacher at all until August. She took me to the apartment I was to call my own, and I honestly was looking around for the candid TV cameras.

She explained to me that there was no fridge, and that it would be delivered in a few days. The bathroom was very korean (a wet room, no shower curtain etc.) and the previous occupant appeared to have left a gratuitous amount of pubic hair on and in every nook and cranny. I also realised within about an hour of being there that the walls were paper-thin and there happened to be a family with at least two screaming kids right next door.

So, with nowhere to put my beer and with a feeling that I was the only one undergoing these feelings of helplessness, lonliness and a sense of 'what the fuck is going on?!' I went to the new downtown on the subway.

Jijok subway station is 5 minutes walk from my flat, it takes about 15 minutes to get to the new downtown and it also happens to be extremely cheap. I later found out that some people have been handed an extremely raw deal (one lady was shown a room with a bed, and asked to buy all her own furniture!) Also, some people were placed a long way out of town and not on the one subway line that thankfully runs west to east.

It also is worth mentioning that after some tearful moments, and some extremely doubtful hours where I looked at the hand I'd been dealt, I realised that it wouldnt be a real adventure if it was all put on a silver platter...stay tuned, here comes the sun.