1st day at Bandi

Wow. I have to take a moment to let the tornado settle.

Bandi English School is about 30 minutes (by bus or taxi) from the Suwon subway station. It’s painted in a charming yellow with a red trim. The school is between another elementary school and a church/cultural center (I haven’t figured out which yet).

When I said in my last post that I didn’t feel like a foreigner in a country full of Koreans, I lied. In my first few minutes of being in Bandi with 5-7 year-old kids running around, giggling and pointing at me, and with the other teachers (all Korean) hustling about reprimanding the children, in Korean, I felt like maybe I fell in the wrong rabbit hole. The school was loud. It was busy. It was very unlike my days at my former job where I worked in an office, by myself, in peace and quiet, and where people spoke English.

Bandi is a private school, completely taught in English, opposed to my assumption that it was a school to only teach the children English. There are classes for Kindergarten-aged children (about 6 years old in American age – yes, there is a difference, look it up here), for children aged 7 years old, and in the afternoon, classes for children about 5 years old (in American age). Basically, they’re all fiesty, energetic, and did I mention loud? balls of cuteness. And they all speak English, understand English, and write in English – just as well as American kids their age. So what am I doing here?

I have a very special position in the school. My job is not to teach English as I had assumed, but…wait for it…to tell stories and do arts & crafts with the children. That’s right. Here I am, with a fresh Master’s Degree in Communication, on my hands and knees helping the children cut out holly out of green construction paper so they can make their Christmas wreathes. And the clincher is that I get paid more than the Korean teachers simply because I am a foreign teacher. The Korean teachers instruct the children on phonics and grammar and writing in English – you know, the hard stuff. And I, the foreign teacher, who help the kids color in pictures and turn on their imagination and tell them the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, get paid more simply because I am American. I can speak English without a Korean accent.

All the children call the teachers “Teacher.” Even the teachers call another teacher by “Laura Teacher;” the American name always precedes the title. This is custom in Asian languages. Usually, you call someone by name and their job title (or rank). When I told a couple kids my name (I said “Kristen Teacher”), they promptly asked me for my Korean name. My face does not lie. I pointed to myself and said “I am American.” And they giggled and ran away.

The teachers at Bandi rotate classrooms. Classes are about 40 minutes long.  A bell chimes to indicate when the teachers rotate. I followed Tammy Teacher around (who I was replacing) and watched her struggle with a crate of coloring books, construction paper with origami peacocks loosely glued on them, a bag filled with candy (her treat to the kids on her last day), and wondered how I was going to manage. Not all the classes were working on the same projects. Some classes were drawing out a story they had read the week before, something about “Going on a Bear Hunt.” Other classes were learning about the difference of “big” and “small” and the word “not,” as in, “this is red, not black.” (I’m not sure where this fits in with arts & crafts or storytelling, but hey, I’m just here to teach.)

The children are darling. One little girl named Jennifer tugged on my pants chanting, “Teacher, teacher” and I looked down at her and in her outstretched palm was a piece of paper. It was her phone number. During snack time, two girls who saw that I wasn’t eating anything came up to me and gave me some of their snacks. It was the cutest thing ever. And I was grateful because I was starving.

I had to skip lunch because Stella, one of the Korean teachers, had to take me to the hospital so I could get blood work taken in order for me to get an Alien Registration Card. It is Korean law for anyone residing in the country for longer than 90 days must have an Alien Registration Card. I cannot open a bank account in Korea without one nor start phone service, etc. The hospital in Korea is amazingly efficient. My appointment was at 1:30 pm and I was seen at 1:30 pm. There was no waiting. We got to the receptionist desk, filled out paperwork, changed into a gown, and was immediately escorted into the 1st booth. There were 5 or 6 booths set up. One to take my blood pressure, weight, height and urine test. One to draw blood. One to take a chest X-ray. One to check my teeth (yes, they are very complete and I had to go to a different floor where Dental Care was). Finally I had to see a female doctor who asked about my history of illnesses, etc. I was out in 30 minutes. Amazing.

The doctors and patients occupied the same main room – the waiting room. There were tables at the back of the waiting room where the (doctors?) staff organized (bills?) letters and files. They worked on laptops while patients were seated waiting their turn. This mixing of work and waiting would never be seen in the states. Doctors work behind closed doors, completely separated from the patients.

All of the teachers at Bandi are Korean. Even the foreign teachers are Korean. I am the only one who cannot speak nor understand Korean. The other 2 foreign teachers are Korean-American, both half Korean and half white, but they have one Korean parent so they grew up hearing the language and understand it. I wonder if I was hired because I am Korean. I have read about the divide of “Korean teachers” and “foreign teachers” and how often the 2 groups stay separate. I am not the type to “side” with one group over another but it will be interesting to observe the dynamics of the groups.

So far, everyone has been incredibly nice to me. I am looking forward to getting to know the children but am a bit hesitant to jump into these new waters. Monday will be a test.

getting around

Today was my first venture out to Suwon alone. I have concluded the following: It is so much nicer to travel in a foreign land with an English-speaking companion than to do it alone. If you smile and keep asking “Do you speak English?,” you will eventually find someone who can understand what you’re asking – somewhat. When speaking to someone who speaks little English, do not use compound sentences. I have trouble being brief, but this is a good lesson for a new ESL teacher. Brevity is key.

I took the Korail to Suwon. Similar to Amtrak, but it offered more leg space than on American trains (!!). The whole trip was 20 minutes from Pyeongtaek. I decided to take the subway back to Pyeongtaek. What should have taken about 40 min. (I’m guessing here) took me more like an hour and a half. With the help of a Korean gentleman, I found the platform where I was to wait for the train. A couple stops later, that same gentleman motioned with his hand for me to get off. I was confused. Why get off when I was on the right train going in the right direction? Call it naivete or trust, but I obeyed. After asking a couple more gentlemen whether they spoke English, one said he spoke a little. Told me I was on the right platform for a train to Pyeongtaek. He told me there was a “better train,” one that rode “much faster” to Pyeongtaek. So, I found out there is an Express subway train. That was why the first guy told me to get off. I suppose. Who knows.

I made it to Pyeongtaek and were it not for the business cards that Michelle’s company made up for her, complete with address and a small map of our apt. with driving instructions in Korean on the back, I would still be at Pyeongtaek subway station. I hopped into the first taxi in queue at the station, proceeded to hand the driver the business card, and the elderly driver waved his hands and shook his head. I asked, in English of course, “No? You don’t go there?” Maybe I don’t read body language as well as I thought I did. I still have no idea why he was shaking his head and motioning as if to say “No.” But eventually, he said a word I recognized from our apt. address and I said, “Yes.” I should have said “Ne” which means “yes” in Korean, but regardless, I am now home.

So, back to the lessons learned today.

Koreans are very friendly, but curt people. The lady at the information booth at the subway station patiently explained to me why foreigners do not get membership cards for the rail system (like a frequent commuter card). Simply, you don’t save any money, or as she said, “make profit.” The gentlemen who helped me figure out the subway system were extremely polite. I was surprised when the first one found me on the train (I didn’t want to stand too close to him and make him feel like I was stalking him) to motion that I should get off at the next stop. I say Koreans are curt because they are. If they cannot understand me, they shake their heads and say something in Korean and that is that. I suppose what else could be said if they don’t know what the hell I’m talking about?

I find myself looking around for Americans. I was relieved to find a few American guys on the train home so I could ask them about the subway system. That’s how I found out about the Express subway train (which I was on). It is a relief to be able to speak and be understood.

That brings up an interesting point. Even though I am in a foreign place, where I cannot read a single sign (unless there’s an English translation), I do not feel out of place. I bring this up because I anticipated that I would feel out of place simply because everyone is Korean. This may not make sense, but there have been times when I felt out of place in a room full of Asian people. I attribute this to being raised in places where there are few Asian people. But I am smacked with the reality that I am a foreigner when I need to communicate with someone. That’s when I scan the crowd for a familiar face, an American face. I wonder if those American guys on the subway were surprised to hear me speak perfect English. It’s funny to think about.

I also caught myself seeking out men when I needed help. Why didn’t I approach any women? I assumed that men would be more confident speaking English. I was surprised at myself, seeing that I’m all for women’s rights and equality and independence. There must be some sociological study on this phenomenon.

random observations

I have been in Korea for 4 full days, but with the jetlag, it feels like a week. I’m having trouble mentally sorting out all of my observations I’ve collected so far (not because of jet lag but because of the many tidbits of information and visuals I have to share), so I think it best to just spew them out.

I have organized them to the best of my ability and having only 3 sips of coffee (which tastes more like coffee-flavored water. Side note: most Koreans drink instant coffee and they like it. There are Costco-size packages of instant coffee in the grocery store! (Bill D. – you would not survive one day in Korea.)

On Driving:

There are very few rules of the road. Koreans drive on “the right side” of the road – what Americans are used to. The driver sits on the left side of the car and drives on the right side of the road. During normal conditions, traffic lights guide the drivers as to when they can go, they flash yellow to warn drivers to expect a red stop slight, and turn red when it is time for the drivers to stop. I repeat, during normal conditions, the drivers would stop. But, it is Korea here. And there are not always normal conditions. Here, drivers slow down when the light is red and if there is no immediate obstacle (i.e., oncoming car, a pedestrian within 10 feet), then they proceed to go through the red light. And that’s in the best case scenario. Many do not even slow down at a red light and just whizz by on their merry way.

There are cute little Tonka trucks on the highway. All the cars are black, white or silver/grey. On the way to Suwon (where I’ll be teaching), we followed a very old (and teeny) truck transporting 2 dairy cows. The truck rocked whenever the cows slightly lost balance. Below is a photo of that very truck. If you look to the right of the photo, you can see a blue Tonka truck.

dairy truck

On Recycling:

Koreans recycle everything. There are separate containers for plastic items, aluminum/tin items, paper items, glass items, and food. Yes, food. I assume the food scraps are used as compost for nearby vegetable fields (of which there are plenty) and contribute to the funkiness of the country. Side note: Pyeongtaek is more rural and there are random fields of lettuce and rice and hot red pepper crops.

There is also a bin for just plain trash. But what constitutes trash? To us Americans, everything is trash that is not distinctly tin, plastic, glass or newspaper.

It is a definite task to sort the trash after using any article. Where do tea bags go? Food or paper? What about used tissues? Paper or just trash? And styrofoam noodle containers – where do they go? (We just throw those in the plastic waste bin. If you have another suggestion, please let me know.)

On Shopping:

Shopping is BIG in Korea. There are tons of outlet stores, Target/WalMart type of stores, and mom & pop stores that looks like they’re selling second-hand everything. The highway and streets are studded with vendors selling oranges, puffed rice cakes, and whatever else.

When you check-out, the cashier always asks if you want a bag. In Korea, you pay for your bag. It comes to about 10 KWR (Korean Won) which is roughly 8 cents. So, we always decline the bag. In the larger grocery stores and dept. stores, there is an area near the entrance/exit where there are boxes and shipping tape for people to box their items – for free.

On Efficiency:

Koreans are efficient people. Everything is energy-efficient. The escalators in AK Plaza only move when there are people on them. Otherwise, they stand still. In our apartment, the hallway light automatically turns on when you enter the door and turns off when you leave the hall area. There is a setting on the heat/AC control for “going out” so the system automatically lowers the temperature of the apt. while we are away.

And since I’ve been here, I’ve always been given stainless steel chopsticks at restaurants. They are washed and reused instead of having to throw away millions of wooden chopsticks. Koreans are even trash-efficient! Note: This may not be good for those unfamiliar with chopsticks-use since metal and slippery noodles do not make a great sticky fit.

On Pyeongtaek:

I have described Pyeongtaek as more country than other areas I have seen, however, the downtown is still quite city-like. Here is a view of Pyeongtaek from the subway station that also houses AK Plaza, a 7-floor department store, similar to Macy’s, complete with a huge cinema that sells churros! and plays American movies:

the view from Pyeongtaek Subway Station's sky garden

Other Random Tidbit:

The sun in Korea, when it’s closer to dusk, looks like the sun in Asian movies. If you are familiar with martial arts movies or any movie that takes place in Japan or China, you’ll know what I’m talking about. In the movies, the sun is huge; it is orange; it is the most perfect sunset type of sun that makes your heart stop and and you turn to your passenger and gasp “Look at the sun! Isn’t it beautiful?!” Yep, that’s how the sun looks here. Like you’re in the movies. I took a picture, but it doesn’t give the real thing justice. Just take my word.

dusk in Gyeonggi-do province

first impression

I have made it to Korea, after 14 hours of being in flight, 5 of which I spent asleep, 2 of which I spent eating (bibimbap at 1 am, half a ham & cheese sandwich 5 or 6 hours later, then pancakes for breakfast at approximately 4 am local Korea time), 6 of which I spent watching movies (Julie & Julia – cute, 500 Days of Summer – very cute, Taking of Pelham 123 – ok but not as good as I hoped), and the remaining 1 hour I spent wide awake eager to land already.

Seoul/Incheon airport is huge, modern and representative of the proud quality that is embedded in Korean culture.

The highway reminded me of home. Funny how a road feels familiar. The only things that reinforced the unknown in my new home were mountains in the distance, the never-ending curves in the road, and distinguishably-funky-but-can’t-tell-from-what smells. My first impression of Korea? Korea stinks. Literally.

There are random smells of sewage, kimchee, gasoline, sulphur, and once I got a whiff of potatoes. You never know what your nose will come across while driving through the Korean country.

After a few hours of rest, I ventured into neighboring towns of Pyeongtaek (where I am living). Songtan (spelling?) is about 20-25 minutes away by car. A mini-NYC, it is filled with neon lights, big Korean signs, restaurants with more pungent smells, shops with music blasting onto the street, and a lot of young Koreans walking around eating seaweed-wrapped rice balls they bought from street vendors.

Michelle and I ate dinner at a Pizza Hut because both a Japanese restaurant and Canadien-style pub were packed. We will never eat at a Pizza Hut in Korea again.

First of all, the place was a mess. The service was a mess and the food was a mess. The waitresses scuttled around, frantic. They would have been fired if they were working in the U.S.

There were people huddled at the salad bar and I figured they must have good stuff, so we ordered the salad bar for 2, too. We only got 1 plate. When we asked for another plate, we were told (through universal hand motion language) that we share 1 plate and can go back and forth for more food. And boy, were the choices enticing! Corn flakes, whole baby bananas, jello mold squares, pickles, yogurt, iceberg lettuce, green salad dressing (we guessed it was kiwi dressing), sunflower seeds, smashed yellow who-the-hell-knows-what-that-is, and jalapeno peppers were our salad options. We piled our sad little salad onto our teeny salad plate.

Our margherita pizza topped off the whole experience. Instead of basil, there was lettuce arranged onto the center of the pizza, in beautiful formation, but IT WAS LETTUCE.

So, I learned a few lessons in my first day. Wear perfume to fight off bad smells. Don’t expect to get what you ordered at an American knock-off restaurant.

Don’t expect what you would expect in the U.S., period, because this is Korea, my friend.

the big move

It has been about 25 years since I’ve last been in South Korea. The only thing I have carried with me from my birthplace are mental polaroids, snapshots of a playground and brick building with blurred edges and vague emotion, that make me wonder if I made them up or if they are, in fact, real memories.

I moved to the U.S. when I was a couple months shy of 5 yrs old. Now, I’m 29.

I will teach English to darling 5-7 year-old cuties in Suwon City and I have no idea what to expect.

People who have taught English in other countries warn me of exhaustion. They also tell me it was the best experience in their lives. It’s amazing how many people have taught ESL overseas. I would say, and this is no exaggeration, that 1 out of 2 people have told me that they have taught overseas before or they know someone who has/or is.

I am more excited than nervous for the big move. I hope to make English fun for the little ones and learn a bit of Korean myself. I can’t wait to devour all of the delicious Korean foods – every day - and be awed by zen-like temples. 

I’m not sure what will happen to my memories of Korea, whether they’ll sharpen and be in focus, as if made alive by my actually being there, or if they’ll disappear altogether since I will be breathing, speaking, seeing, living Seoul on a day-to-day basis.