Memory Lane (Part III)

All I wanted to do was sleep. I had never been so tired in my life. My academic director, Krista*, kept asking me questions ("why did you decide to come to Korea?" "How long was your TESOL course?" -- questions one would think she should have asked before hiring me) which I answered distractedly. I seriously couldn't think of anything but a shower and a warm bed. My hair was greasy, I had BO, had been wearing the same jeans and shirt for far too long, and had the headache to end all headaches.

The original plan was to take me to the school to meet my fellow expat teachers, but Ethan, an American teacher who accompanied Krista in greeting me at the airport, seeing how exhausted I was mercifully suggested they take me to my hotel (the new apartment I would be sharing with Ethan and another teacher, scheduled to arrive the next day, wouldn't be ready for another week) so I could get some rest. God bless his soul. Krista was hesitant, but finally conceded.

Cultural mistake no. 1: upon arrival at my hotel room (actually a decent yogwan) I walked into the room with my shoes on. Oops. Krista was worried about me being on my own so soon after my arrival -- and me walking and looking like a zombie probably didn't help allay her concern -- but Ethan assured her that I'd be OK, telling her that he'd be by to take me to the school at around 2 o' clock. Problem was that, after they left, I couldn't close my eyes. I couldn't get over the fact that I was actually in Korea. I took a hot shower (bumping my head magnificently on the low bathroom doorway), popped a Gravol, and eventually fell asleep.

Reliably, Ethan showed up at 2. I was still sleeping and have no idea how long he must have been waiting at the door, knocking gently. I got up, groggily, and threw on some clothes. We took a ma-eul bus to the hagwon, a four-story institute in the heart of Hongdae. I met again with Krista, who went over the basics of the school and its curriculum. I remember wishing I had a pen and notebook. There's no way I'm going to remember any of this. Then she took me to the staff room to meet some of the other teachers who had already arrived that day for work. There was Rob, a 27-year-old Canadian from my home province, Ontario. Also from Ontario were Derrick, Jake, and Paul, who I was told looked remarkably like Bruno, a then-popular, Italian-born celebrity on Korean television. Patrick from Massachusetts arrived soon thereafter, having just finished teaching an early 1:30pm class. The only foreign female on the staff was Samantha, a red-head from Australia. She was the only foreign teacher younger than I was.

I observed Patrick's next class, then went to lunch with Paul.

"You like Korean Food?" he asked.

"I've never tried it before," I admitted.

He took me to a restaurant (I still remember the name: Do Cho, or 도초) where we had bulgogi. Awkwardly handling my chopsticks (I've since rectified that lack of skill) the ajumma/owner gave me a fork. She forked me. I was in Korea too short a time to be much embarrassed.

The rest of the day I spent observing the other teachers' classes. It was good because I had time to ask them a lot of questions, and I got to meet a lot of kids, whose questions to me, at the time, I could barely understand.

"Don't worry, you will soon," Jake reassured me.

That evening all of us, plus Krista and a few Korean teachers, went out for dinner. I wasn't very hungry and barely touched my food, but it was a momentous occasion of sorts: it was my first taste of both kimchi (which I liked instantly) and soju (which I was ambivalent towards, and pretty much still am).

Arriving back at my yogwan that night, I remember thinking this is pretty cool. Everyone seems great. And that impression hasn't changed a bit. Though I have only 2 years experience as an ESL teacher in Korea, I doubt there has been a better, more likeable bunch of expat teachers. I still keep in contact with some of them (I actually have a business relationship with one), but I have a fond memory of all of them.

The coming year would prove to be one of the greatest, if not the greatest, year of my life.



* all names have been changed to protect the innocent