Soju Sonsangnim

Anyone who has been in South Korea for more than six months experiences a sort of “buyer’s remorse” when it comes to living here. When you first get off the airplane, you’re struck with the sense that things won’t be so different here: signs are in both English and Korean, many American fast food chains are represented, and employees generally speak enough English to accommodate customers. However, that veneer of sameness slips away as soon as you leave the airport – especially once you leave Seoul.

South Korea is, for all intents and purposes, two different countries. the first is Seoul, where roughly 60% of the  country’s population resides, and the second is the “provinces.” While Seoul is a bustling international metropolis where bumping into someone on its crowded streets is such a common occurrence that one simply does not say “excuse me,” the provinces are where the true meat and potatoes of Korean culture can be found.

It is in the provinces that one finds hidden gems like 낙천갈비 (Nakcheon Galbi), a pork restaurant my wife and I frequent. It is in the provinces that one finds Korea’s wide open spaces, its sprawling mountain landscapes and endless rice fields. It’s in the provinces that one finds a population where the only fluent English speakers are the Korean English teachers.

The provinces can be horrifying for the foreigner going it alone, but they can also be immensely rewarding places. It is in the provinces that you meet someone like my wife’s co-teacher, a truly awesome guy who takes his job seriously, enjoys spending time with foreigners, and drinks soju like nobody’s business. He’s the type of guy that makes living here for more than one year so worth it.

Having dinner (and soju) with him last night, I realized all the difficulties that come with teaching English in South Korea can’t outweigh the sheer awesomeness embodied by some of the people you meet here. Yeah, you’ll surely make at least one lasting friendship with a foreigner you meet here, but you can make those friendships at home, too. It’s the Koreans you should be working to make connections with. It is in those connections that you’ll find the true spirit of this country, and you’ll find that your experience here will be richer for it.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that, yes, South Korea is dynamic in some strange and frustrating ways, but don’t let those problems close your mind to good that can come if you just throw a little kindness to some Korean people and see what comes back your way.

Co-teachers in South Korea are beautiful, unique snowflakes; they’re all different, and you sometimes want to swat at them to keep them out of your face. Your relationship with your co-teacher will be equal parts joyous and frustrating. Sometimes they will do things for you that are so nice that you’ll get a bit misty-eyed (but you really shouldn’t because, nine times out of ten, they’re doing nice things for you because it’s their job). Other times, your co-teacher will withhold vital information from you until the last possible moment, contribute nothing to your class, and/or possess a tenuous grasp of the English language.

If I sound even the teeniest bit cynical, it’s because, after a year and a half in this country, I think I’ve finally hit the point where I’m no longer able to contain it. Like the buttons on a morbidly obese man’s under-sized t-shirt, I’ve popped. If South Korea and I were in a relationship, this would be the point where I would say, “It’s not you, Korea, it’s me.” But that would be a bald-faced lie because South Korea is the problem.

But let me wipe away the foam that’s forming at the corners of my mouth and resume talking about co-teachers. First, however, let me say that I’m an optimist. I have no doubt in my mind that the Koreans with whom I interact on a daily basis have nothing but the best of intentions in their dealings with me. Even when I’m frustrated, I refuse to think of them as inherently bad people. But I also recognize that there are people out there who are, to put it lightly, poorly equipped to deal with the rigors of life under the guidance  (or lack thereof) of a Korean co-teacher. This post is my way of throwing out a life preserver to those poor, unfortunate souls. (Continued)

It’s the first day of the school year at Yecheon Boys’ Middle School. I’m currently sitting in the computer lab, typing this post, because my primary co-teacher isn’t sure where my desk is. To make matters even more interesting, my previous co-teacher – who now teaches at a high school in Yeongju – informed me that my school would be completely restructuring classes by sorting students according to ability, not grade. I have no idea if I have class today, nor what grade/ability levels I’m supposed to teach.

Welcome to teaching English as a Second Language in South Korea – an exercise in equal parts joy, frustration, confusion and inebriation. I didn’t think it would be right to reboot this blog without getting at least one post in about life as an EPIK employee, so here we are. But where do I begin, really? I guess every good journey begins with a beginning, so we’ll take it from the top.

Incheon Airport is one of the best airports in the world. Its wide open terminals, comfortable seats, and pristine shops paint a picture of a country with endless possibilities. A country where the people are relaxed and time moves to the slow beat of a Sade track. A country that makes Singapore look like a giant landfill.

Unfortunately, the airport, like almost everything else in South Korea, acts as a delicious frosting masking the bitter chocolate cake below. South Korea is Wonderland, and you, the unsuspecting Alice, are about to leave the safety of the normal world and enter a world where up is down and left is right. Is South Korea a horrible place? Nope. I wouldn’t have spent a year of my life here if I didn’t love almost every minute of it. Is life in this country different from almost everything you’ve known prior? Yes. (Continued)