Welcome to my blog! I hate to say it, but, for the sake of not repeating myself, this may replace most emails and letters. I hope you all will understand.

February 13

I leave for Korea in 12 days to work for a hagwon franchise in the suburbs of Seoul. I located a current teacher there by searching the school's name on Facebook. He's been helpful, especially since I have been able to see a few photos.

I am trying to live life pretty normally right now. It's a kind of denial. I 've been having a fantastic time going out with friends a couple of nights a week.

I'm reading Not Buying It and the author has made a choice to not buy “stuff” for a year. Reading her account-- worn out socks, her nasty old leather jacket and other items-- I start to imagine my future year. I anticipate my starvation of American goods while in Korea. A size four here in Portland, Oregon is at least a size medium there, I am told. I'm an 18 in US sizes, so there is no way I will be able to buy clothes there.

February 25

Saying goodbye to my friends and family seems harder on them than on me, as they tear up and tell me how they'll miss me. I feel awkward to receive so much attention. It just hasn't hit me yet.

My friends give me some great gifts—books, books, books, a necklace, earrings, a ring (borrowed), a handmade journal. Trying to see everyone leaves little time for packing and little room in my suitcases from all the gifts I receive. Packing is an organizational disaster. I just grab everything I can and hope it will be enough. I fall prey to last minute packing, which includes shoving in dirty clothes, saying, “Oh well, I'll just have to wash them when I get there.” I think one shoe is at home and one in my suitcase.

Arriving to the airport, I'm exhausted. It feels extreme since I have put as much as is humanly possible into two shoulder carry-on bags. I now have bruises all across my shoulders from bearing 50 pounds via a thin shoulder strap. This is all the more uncomfortable because SFO is huge and not that simple to understand, which means wandering around ceaselessly looking for a way to the international area while carrying these 50 pound burdens. Slow and lumbering, I quickly learn that the Asians around me have no scruples against cutting in line.

I exchange money at the airport and receive 100 bills of 500 won, and 86 bills of 1000 won. I think that's US $1100 all handed to me in (essentially) 5 and 10 dollar bills. I am miserably tired with two hours left until boarding.

The plane ride from San Fransisco is painful. My my back and butt hurt, really really hurt by about the 6^th hour on the plane. I fear I'll starve because I mishear the announcements about meals on board—one “meal” and a snack over 13 hours, but they feed me three meals, a snack, two cokes, and some really bad coffee.

A cabbie picks me up from the airport with the name CARISSA AMME Christensen. He and every other person on the road is insanely unsafe compared to American standards. We meet up with and follow Grace's car from the Poly school to Hotel Kobos, which I learn is a love hotel. Everything comes in twos: slippers, robes, toothbrushes. And the room is stocked with condoms, lubricants, delay creams, and douches. This doesn't deter me, however, from enjoying the enormous jet stream bathtub, or the use of the computer and 60 inch plasma TV. I find out that I will move into my new apartment (which are called "Officetels" here) on Saturday.

February 27

I meet the new teachers the following morning and sit in on their last day of school for the year. This doesn't mean much at a hagwon, since the new school years starts on the following Monday, but still there is an air of relaxation and gaity about the students. My fellow foreign teachers (eight thus far, all from the USA and Canada: Dennis, New Dennis, Mike, Patrick, Kristina, Melinda, and Dana) are upfront with the school's problems, but give me, nonetheless, a warm welcome. I learn that another new teacher Katie will be joining us in a week.

That night I eat kalbi out with the other teachers, and join in saying goodbye to the teacher I replace, Sara, as well as another staff member who is beginning work for a Korean public school. The kalbi is good, but I don't like sitting on the floor for an hour on a thin "pillow" (mat is more like it), where my hips, butt, and ankles hurt from sitting cross-legged. We then go to noorie-baang, a private karoke room and pick through the limited English section of the book. In addition to words printed on the screen, there are really bad Korean film clips playing with the music. The worst of which include: crying girls who are misused by their boyfriends, men who have been dumped holding two dripping icecreams at a park, fake tai kwon do fights in alleyways, and a robot helping a sick girl in an all white room (in heaven?). We drink soju and coke that we sneak in (its cheaper to brink your own than to buy it there). Afterwards, my fellow teachers tell me how to get back to my hotel, but I get lost and wander around for a half an hour until I find a sign that points me toward City Hall, where I discover a landmark of construction I just barely noticed earlier that day.

March 1

I move into my apartment, which has been left in a disgusting condition for me by its previous occupant (which is completely NOT her fault because they rudely kicked her out early). The mess is bad, but I am grateful to inherit a fully furnished apartment. I try to clean as best I can, but can only manage a couple of hours before giving up. I know the apartment has potential, and although I crave a full closet to hang all of my clothes, there are plenty of spaces to put everything. There was a cat here, as is proved by scratch marks all over the couch, and I sneeze repeatedly when I lay my head down on my pillow. I cover the pillow with a clean towel from home, take an allergy pill, two puffs of my inhaler, and am asleep by 7 PM.

March 2

I am locked out of my apartment by my own stupidity. I don't understand how to use the door. It's a key code slider thing, and I have not been told to close the slider for the door to unlock. I hit the same code over and over, then try variations. I ask for help on the street from a kid (logic: kids go to hagwons, they'll know better English than adults). It works, and a kid with perfect English helps me call Grace (my new Christine in every way and better), but Grace doesn't pick up. The security guard in my building helps me find a man who speaks English and he calls Grace for me. She comes over, and punches in the same key code as I did, SLIDES THE CODER SHUT, and ta da! It works. Grace helps relieve me some of the junk I don't need, carrying all that she, her sister, and her niece can handle.

I am alone. I try to run my laptop, but the converter doens't work. I try to run my iHome. The plug converter starts smoking. I try to run my iPod with the speakers I gratefully inherited. It works. I listen to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice for company.

THE FIRST 2 WEEKS OF SCHOOL

My workdays are set up as follows:
9 AM Prep
9:40-12 Teach pre-kindergarten children (ages 4-5)
12-12:40 Lunch
12:40-2:45 More pre-kindergarten
3-6:30 TuTh, 3-7:30 PM MWF Teach elementary aged students

The first two weeks are a blur and the sequence of events may get distorted. I am told by my fellow teachers that there are more classroom contact hours than ever before which have not yet been compensated, and some teachers consider quitting. The first week is also chaotic due to the fact that the school textbooks have not yet arrived from the states.

The way the first half of my day works is I have a primary pre-kinder class (called Rowling), and I have a secondary class that I switch into twice a day (Tolkien). So Mike and I are partner teachers, switching back and forth. I teach reading and phonics to both our classes. I teach arts/crafts and writing to my own class. Mike teaches both of our classes "action time" (basically its a special daily workbook and a few other things I do not yet understand), library and gym.


I am advised to be strict with my students, but overdo it with my pre-kinder students on the first day and spend the rest of the first week trying to balance kindness with structured learning. Some of the four year olds I teach are really smart and speak English really well. But some of the four year olds I teach are completely new to the language. They think I look strange since I have boobs, blue eyes, and talk funny, and a couple of them don't understand that I know no Korean. They will whisper in my ear something in Korean, and I feel a little helpless trying to explain I know only English. I try and guess--do you need to go to the bathroom? Do you need a drink of water? Where are your crayons?

One student in particular gives me trouble: Yuri. She cries and screams and begs for her mom. She's four years old, barely. She has never seen a foreigner before. Yuri's mom is kind and speaks fairly decent English. We try to work through the problem together. This project is undermined by the native Korean teachers, picking up and holding Yuri whenever she has a fit, and she spends more time the first two weeks outside the classroom than in it.

The students start testing my boundaries right away, acting up, goofing off, and being generally disruptive. I learn in my Korean culture book, that if you are having a pissing contest with someone, the most important thing is to stare them down. I do this with one student, Jason, and we probably keep eye-contact for one whole minute. Finally, he breaks it, sits down at his desk, and begins his work. He is actually one of my favorites now. I don't know why but I seem to experience the greatest enjoyment in teaching the difficult ones, especially when I can retrain behavior.

At lunches I start picking up a couple of the students, flipping them upside down and acting playful with them. The more timid students see the outgoing ones have fun and the whole class responds to me more. I say, "Are you going to be good, Sally? Promise? I'll only pick you up if you're good all afternoon." At which point she eagerly promises to be good. The kids have fun waiting in line to wash their hands for lunch, and when I get down on their level they push my face around to look silly. Only, there is a problem. The kids have never seen boobs like this before. Some are sly when they try to touch them, but others just grab and say "Whats that?!" I say "It's my body, don't touch."

The latter part of my day I teach "gifted and talented" elementary students. Don't be mislead. These are remedial classes. I teach these GT classes, plus one Returnee level 7 class. R7 is the least enjoyable class I have to teach. They're middle schoolers who don't give a crap about doing homework. They talk so quietly that I can't hear or understand them. It seems to me that these "advanced" students could learn a thing or two about school from my GT classes, especially their lively and eager participation in class.


On my first Thursday, Melinda takes me to gimjul-baan, a bathhouse and sauna. For seven bucks you can stay all night bathing, soaking in hot tubs and sweating in saunas. You can even stay the night, where they provide mats and a blanket on a heated floor. There are bathing areas separated by gender, and a unisex sauna area, a diner, food stand, and a common room, for which they give out a supersoft cotton sweatsuit thingy (pale pink for women of course). We spend two hours bathing, eat dinner, relax in the saunas, and leave at around midnight that night.

By Friday of the first week I have a violent cold, and can barely talk, or breathe without coughing. Part of it may be pollution. It definitely is NOT as clean as Oregon. Plus it's "yellow dust" season, meaning toxic dust from the Gobi is drifting over. I have worn a simple cotton breathing mask when walking outside, but it is pretty hard to do without cringing at the feeling that I am living in a post-apocalyptic movie. I spend most of the weekend alone and try to rest.

On Thursday of the second week, we go out with an ex- teacher to kalbi, then head over the the foreigner bar called "Rhythm and Booze" where we play pool.

The Friday of the second week, I go to gimjil-baan again, this time with Melinda, Mike, Katie (our newest co-worker from Minnesota), new Dennis, and Rich (Melinda's boyfriend). We fall asleep on the floor there, and don't leave til about 3 AM. I do almost nothing but sleep the next day.

On Sunday after the second week of school, Melinda, Rich, Mike, Katie, new Dennis, and I meet some of Mike's acquaintances in Seoul to do a $3 English tour of a six-hundred year old palace and grounds. The palace is pretty, the tourguide, on the otherhand, is painfully boring. We then visit Young-san Market, the largest electronics market in Asia (and consequently, the whole world, we speculate). It is pretty boring because I have no intention of buying, and I get worked up because the rest of the group goes downstairs two floors without telling me. Luckily I have a phone, and am able to find them. I haven't mentioned that yet, but the best inherited item I received is a prepaid phone from the teacher before me. After getting on the wrong train back to Bucheon, and finally making it back, Mike and I go looking for another foreigner bar (which no longer exists) and end the evening back at Rhythm and Booze, playing darts and pool (both of which he wins).

The night is now crawling on to midnight, and I have a full long day of teaching ahead. More on the progress of week three later....