A Slow Monday.

I’m currently on my laptop, but here’s what’s tabbed up on my school computer: a hockey game (currently streaming full-screen), my G-mail inbox, 2 articles, 1 on drone strikes and Obama’s foreign policy, and another on the finer points of raising taxes for the American public, as well as an hour’s worth of sappy Korean drama, courtesy of YouTube, my Korean listening practice for the day.

You know, the computer I should be doing work on. For school.

Of course, for some of us expats in the Korean ESL industry, especially this time of year, this is a large part of our jobs, a great deal of what we truly have come to be so good at—being at work, but not really working. You see, most of us in the public school system have no classes these days. The kids have all gone again, this time for about 2 weeks, on spring “vacation.” But make no mistake about it, this is not so much a vacation. Not for the students of our school. They apparently go back home, where most teachers attest to a lack of love and compassion, and at times, sadly, a lack of parenting or parents altogether. They go to academies, which see little to no vacation time for both teachers and students. They most certain don’t travel further than downtown Pyeongtaek, and they most certainly get little stimulation outside of a computer game.

Today, and for the next two weeks, I have no classes. But these things tend to, at any other point of the school year, change on a daily, no, hourly, no, as-the-seconds-tick-away basis.

Upon hearing the faint rumble of what could possibly be our English room door opening (which by association means my “co-teacher” will soon step into our office and observe what I’m so curiously busy doing), I turn the volume down on the stereo speaker that, up until this moment, blasted the sounds of skates and sticks and hip checks into the boards. St. Louis leads Vancouver, 3-2, late in the 3^rd period. Vancouver has about 20 seconds left on the power play, and still shows plenty of life.

Turns out that rumble was not our door. Crisis averted. Sound is on again.

Such is the nature of a day with no students, no classes, and barely any teachers in the school. If not for the humming of the ceiling heater, one could all but hear a pin drop in the English room office.

It’s 1:31 p.m. on a Monday afternoon. My co-teacher has made exactly 2 trips to the English room today, each time alerting me that she’ll be spending most of her day in the teachers’ room. There, she’ll answer phones, make schedules, kiss a little vice principal ass, and generally stay busy and as informed as she can about all the happenings around the school. She does this because she has to. She does this because, in Korean schools, those below the principal and vice principal work their entire lives (and, consequently, their entire asses) off for a mere crack at the opportunity given to the education system’s most superior figures (one of my vice principals last year would kick his feet up the sound of 9:00 a.m.’s class starting bell, open the newspaper, and break from this routine only to stroll down the hill for lunch). My co-teacher is the head of all the school teachers at our school, and as such, she spends most of her free time back and forth between the principal and vice principal’s offices, doing a little brown nosing and staying overly diligent.

Vancouver’s really peppering St. Louis in the offensive zone now.

So today, and this doesn’t happen too often, there is no one in the office with me for the better part of 8 hours. At my job, it’s as cool as it is sad. While I was initially thrilled at the chance to mindlessly internet surf, read books as I pleased, even watch movies or catch up on recently missed episodes of useless TV shows as I saw fit, I tried to spend a great deal of this time writing, studying Korean, and preparing some classroom materials that, for myself and my co-workers, at least give the impression of an honest day’s work. I can remember a few conversations in the last month or two in which we, Pyeongtaek’s expats, asked each other “so, what do you tend to do while deskwarming?”

I watch hockey at my desk, too. I can’t deny that. But you can bet that, when I hear that distant door slide open, the volume’s off and the Korean study book is opened to a seemingly complicated page, full of new words and reading practice.

Vancouver just tied it…and we’re heading to overtime.

Just Another Thursday

     Tardy on the blogging yet again. And why? I've spent so much time at my desk these days, I've literally stated scrambling for ways to try to look busy when my eternally stressed co-teacher comes in, frazzled about vice principal this and obligations that. I want nothing more than to help her, but I've settled on the fact that her answer will be the same as it always is: "you look busy, and I don't want to burden you."

     "But Mrs. Cheon, I'm really not so busy right now, and I would really like to help."

     "Why aren't you busy?"

     Such is life here. I can't really buy a win--the students come in, and sure, I'm happy to see them, but it would be nice to be notified of such once in a while. Conversely, there will be entire days with no classes, during which I'm totally prepared in that the computer is on, the heat is blasting, and the review game .PPT is all set...

     And then nobody shows up, and suddenly I feel a little empty inside. I hang my head, turn off the computer, turn off the heating, close the window (don't get me started on Korean teachers and their insistence to have, yes, simultaneously, windows open and heat blasting in the thick of winter), and saunter back to my desk. I say saunter because, if I step too firmly on the floor, our little space heater starts flashing and sparking and altogether not working.

     And yet I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. I don't know where I was going with that. I guess, these days, I'm just bored. I study Korean in my free time (the grammar is starting to eat away at what brain capacity to learn a language I have left), I watch hockey highlights (happy to have it back!), I read my Hemingway book (A Farewell to Arms, good stuff), and I prepare alphabet books and simple stories for my kindergarten and 1st-2nd graders next semester. I still have 3 weeks to do...just about anything! Our semester will start again in March.

     My life has become one awkward conversation with my co-teacher.

     We have an hourly chat about an English word in which she takes some interest in using in a few sentences, we squabble about the room being cold, she takes a few calls from superiors and is visibly flustered, and I bide my time with the aforementioned attempts to look busy.

     On the bright side, although it is Valentine's Day (better spend it with the teachers!), we have a teachers dinner tonight--in Korean, this is referred to as a "회식." These are always really fun events, and I can in no way complain about how well we are all treated at such 회식s. There is usually amazing food involved, heavy drinking from the male end of one, awkwardly long table, stories told about school, life, relationships (some meant to be heard by all, some merely soju-induced spats about things that should not be uttered in such company), and even a quick 5-minute jab at American culture and customs...if we're really lucky, an elder, Mr. 최, offers a rant about why Samsung has been, is, and will continue to be, the greatest company conceived on this fine planet and why Apple can simply never match up.

     Of course, then it's on to the 노래방, literally "singing room," or karaoke, where all is forgotten and everyone's just down to have a good time, drink some more beer, get a little frisky (and by that I mean our 60-year old female principal danced pretty close to me during my rendition of the Rolling Stones's "Honky Tonk Women" at our first such get together), and just pound on the 2-3 tambourines each room is offered.

     Tomorrow the 6th graders graduate. I've got some mixed feelings on that...certainly I'll miss them, but they've been real punks as of late--surely, the knowledge of the proximity of their ceremony has not been lost on them. All teachers are pretty psyched, it seems, to have them out of the school, as they've all but given up on any form of classroom work that doesn't involve a smart phone or an open space in which to tackle each other.

     That's all from the captain's chair today, folks. Thanks for reading!

     -Sam

     Hey folks!  Time to start the final stretch of orientation blogging.  The details from the most recent post make for a tough act to follow...who doesn't want to drink beer and rice wine with their co-workers and supervisors in the hotel lobby?  Anyway, the next couple days made for some great sightseeing.  As much as we all liked Gwangju (a big city, with plenty to offer, about 1.5 million people or more, the 6th largest city in South Korea), suffice it to say we were eager to see what else Jeollonamdo Province had to offer.  And the province delivered some great stuff:

Suncheon Bay, about an hour-long bus ride southeast from Gwangju. 

The Bamboo Park in Damyang (about a 20-minute bus ride north of Gwangju) at sunset.

Another shot of Suncheon Bay, with a tour boat cruising by.

Atop Suncheon Bay. From left to right: Julia (another Ontario native), Sam (Calgary), Aaron (Wisco brother, Muggsy (Ontario), Nichole (Ontario), Toni (Ontario), Megan (Ontario...pattern here?) and me.

 Hiking around Suncheon Bay. 

Had to get a picture of this beauty.

Nagan Folk Village, nestled in the mountains southeast of Gwangju. Old 18th-century Korean houses and a beautiful lotus pond.

Chilling at the giant lotus pond.

 Checking out Nagan's famous walls from the Choson Dynasty (1392-1897) era.  These walls were more or less used to keep Japanese invaders out of small villages.

Nichole digging the bamboo wine near Damyang's Bamboo Park.  They even serve it in a giant bamboo stalk!

At dinner, even rice was served in a bamboo shoot, alongside raisins, dried beans, ginseng, and plenty of water chestnuts.  I even got to keep it, and I now use it as a coin jar.

     We had one giant field trip, which started at Nagan Folk Village (see above), continued with a 2-hour hike at Suncheon Bay (see above), and finished at Damyang's famous Bamboo Park with a bamboo-oriented dinner.  It was definitely nice to get out of the city for a day, meet some new folks, and enjoy some new company and new foods.  

     The next set of pictures is from our final days of orientation.  The first batch of pictures were taken on a hike that Muggsy and I went on on our second to last morning of orientation.  We figured a nice 6:00 am hike was in order after some late nights, and found a trailhead quite literally in the backyard of our hotel.  After about 50 minutes of solid vertical, we reached the top and were treated to some great views of Gwangju.  It put our small lives into perspective a bit...

     The next few are of various future teachers enjoying some time at Wa Bar, which is one of Gwangju's 4 or 5 really easily recognized foreigner-oriented bars downtown.  Plenty of familiar tunes, decorations, and beers on tap.  Wa Bars are actually found all across South Korea, but I can't say I've been to any others.  It's usually a pretty mellow place where people can just socialize and drink a bit before moving onto bigger, louder, drunker places.  

View of Gwangju from atop our climb. Oh baby.

View of some mountains close to our hotel.

The South Korean flag flapping. 7:00 am.

Successful morning hike.  Got a nice lady to snap a photo of us at the top!

Muggsy and Sam at Wa Bar.

More happy people at Wa Bar.  From left to right: Toni, Julia, Mike (Ontario), Lindsay (Ontario), Melissa (Ontario), Amanda (Ontario).

Aaron and me enjoying some brews.  Might as well be back in Wisconsin!

More fine people of the Canadian Connection program on our last night in Gwangju together.  From left to right: Rozanne (South Africa), Brad (Florida), me and Shari (Ontario).

     All things considered, orientation was probably the most interesting 10 days I'd had in some time.  In just a week and a half, I'd met 85 brand new strangers/friends, tried dozens of new foods, and been able to see and do many of the things Koreans themselves are proud to see and do.  I can honestly say that everyone I've met here seems to have a similar personality and a similar mindset--about teaching, traveling, and life.  Even nearly two months later, I still cannot for a second believe that I'm 6,995 miles from home.  These people, however, make me forget that distance on a daily basis.  Although I haven't met too many South Africans, Brits, Australians, and even Canadians in my life, it turns out we're all generally kind-hearted people who came here for the right reasons and want nothing more than to have the best year of our lives traveling with each other and making kids laugh, smile and speak English.  

     The final day of orientation was by far the most nerve-racking.  Although the butterflies were fluttering hard for those first few days, nothing could compare to that moment at which I actually met my co-teacher and was officially assigned to my new job.  Thursday, August 25th was our final day of orientation, and it all happened quickly:

     We were to have our bags packed, room cleaned, ready for check-out and looking as professional as possible at 11:00 am.  Aaron and I were pretty packed up the night before, but definitely made sure we were looking as fresh as possible for our co-teachers.  At 11:00, all 85 teachers lined up according to school/county between the hotel elevators and the main events room, our co-teachers eagerly awaiting us to join them for one final orientation lunch.  I wish I'd snapped a picture; imagine 85 people, some of us hungover, some of us barely awake, sweating bullets in suits, skirts, blouses, you name it.  We joked about it, but it felt like a draft!  As if my ticket to that conference room was "...and with the 53rd overall pick in the 2011 Jeollonamdo Language Program draft, Hampyeong Elementary selects Samuel Hartley Hurd, 22-year-old recent history graduate of UW-Madison who has NEVER TAUGHT A DAY IN HIS LIFE AND HIS THOROUGHLY NOT CUT OUT FOR THIS POSITION."

     I joke, but I really can't convey just how awkward we all felt.  There was the lottery analogy, there was even a cattle-being-herded-to-the-slaughterhouse analogy.  Our schools/counties (my home school is Wolya Elementary, which is in the town of Wolya, which is in the county of Hampyeong, which is in the province of Jeollonamdo, the same as Gwangju) were assigned tables, and we were given a number.  Upon arriving at our table, Erin, Erik and myself (the three of us in Hampyeong at our orientation) met three relatively young Korean women, nervous as ever.  One particularly friendly woman among these approached me with a big, nervous smile on her face, and introduced herself as Kim Sang-hee.  I knew this was my co-teacher.  I had never been so nervous, excited, or sweaty in my life.  Nothing can really prepare you for the moment you meet your primary Korean lifeline for the next 11 months.  We'll stop there, on a nice cliffhanger.

     So there you have it.  Orientation was a blast, but nothing could entirely prepare me for what came next: actually teaching children and living the life I came here to live.  My apologies for the heavy load of pictures and not a lot of explanation, it's another late Sunday night of lesson planning here in Hampyeong, and I should get some sleep.  I'll be right back tomorrow with a new post about my apartment. 

     Thanks for reading!  All the best, and love to all.

     -Sam