Fitting in

Mr Kim, owns two centers. He runs the center I work at, the new one called center two. His wife, he tells me, runs center one, which is where we will be going first to meet Alex. I’m given all this information as I listen with half an ear, my focus being consumed with his driving.

When we get to center one, which is also called Little Fox, I realise it’s some kind of English language school franchise. I left South Africa in such a hurry I was almost entirely unprepared and hadn’t done my research. Very unlike me.

It looks old, and in need of an upgrade, grubby almost, and as if knowing it doesn’t make for the best first impression, Mr Kim says: “Center two very nice, it is new, this center is six years.” Despite its outdated look though, I can’t help but notice the televisions. They’re the central focus in each classroom. They’re huge, bigger than any I’ve seen in someone’s living room. I’m not entirely sure of their purpose but I’m impressed. Korean technology has not disappointed.

Mr Kim then asks if I have spoken to my family yet and I explain to him that I don’t have a laptop. That it is my intention to buy one here. He immediately offers to loan me the money, saying he’ll deduct it from my first full month’s wages. I gladly accept. He then shows me to the computer in the teacher’s room and tells me I should email my family. I happily oblige, desperate to get in touch.

We then go downstairs to meet Alex, whose waiting outside for us. I’m nervous but excited to finally have some flowing conversation, to be able to get the information and low down on what to expect. I’m also curious about the teacher I’m replacing, about who I’ll be spending the next few days with.

He’s waiting for us outside and I spot him immediately. He’s short but attractive, with an inviting grin. He looks American, the basketball playing kind, with an oversized jumper, baggy jeans, shaven head and that distinct swagger and shoulder dip as he walks. “I’m from LA,” he tells me as we wait for Maggie.

Maggie is one of the teachers at center one. She doesn’t take long to join us. Her big smile and happy attitude is infectious. I immediately relax because her chatty disposition makes for easy conversation. I notice how she’s also casually dressed. Her short hair is clipped right back out of her face, she is also wearing a big jumper and jeans. For the first time since I arrived in Korea, I feel overdressed. I’m wearing my black polar neck, black skinny jeans, my purple scarf that adds that all important touch of colour, and my styled black and white London coat. It’s a relief to know that I won’t have to compete with the Korean’s style, that as foreigners, we can be the exception.

Driving me mad

He’s a little late, my boss, I’m very aware of it as I anxiously wait for him. I have no idea what to expect and I’m about to get my first decent meal since I left South Africa. The banana I had hasn’t quite hit the spot after all the airline food I’ve eaten. I’m especially nervous about the food, I’ve heard varied opinions. Mostly that it’s spicy which I don’t mind, being my father’s daughter. It’s the kimtchi and the seafood that I’m wary of though.

I’ve decided to wait outside because I’m not sure if my boss will come upstairs to my motel room, so the cold is biting into me again and making me all the more aware of my watch. When he arrives I hastily get into the warmth of his car. “Oh, next time I will come up, you no need wait outside,” he tells me. Clearly he has no intention of being on time in future. As he drives off he tells me we will be meeting Alex for lunch. The teacher who I am to replace. I’m relieved, I find talking to my boss to be a strain, and not just because of the language barrier.

I’m very aware of how he’s driving, and utterly confused. If I thought crossing roads here seemed complicated, driving seems even more so. Like a true backseat driver I bite my tongue and tense up every time he turns a corner because I think we’re going the wrong way, because I don’t realise we have right of way, because to me, we’re driving on the wrong side of the road. He also seems to be going through red robots, I mean traffic lights, I must remember to say traffic lights, I think to myself. I assume there must be some traffic light exception that I don’t know about. That’s not the case though, after walking around the streets of Daejeon and taking taxi’s it’s not long before I realise that Korean drivers, day or night, go through red lights if there is no oncoming traffic.

Their driving frightens me a little, and everyone seems to have big, bulky cars. When I read a paragraph in the book, ‘Korea: A Walk Through the Land of Miracles’ by Simon Winchester, that refers to the Korean driving back in the 1980s I’m grateful for the little improvement there has been. I’m also pleased to know it’s not my road skills that make walking along Korean roads daunting.

“But my strong impression then on the road to Kwangju [Gwangju] – and it was an impression that didn’t alter very much en route - was that the Korean driver is a very dangerous animal indeed, a beast totally without understanding of speed, pathologically incapable of steering, utterly ignorant of the width of his vehicle, and eternally forgetful of such luxuries as the brakes and mirrors with which his car is invariably equipped. He knows only one device, and that is the horn, on which he seems to spend most of his time sitting if not standing.”

Now to South Africans this description doesn’t sound altogether unfamiliar, as a certain mode of public transportation springs to mind, so you should have a relatively good picture of Korean driving. It is no longer as bad as this paragraph depicts, there certainly are improvements and the cars don’t appear to have suffered many accidents as Winchester goes on to describe in his book.

It goes without saying, I arrived safely at my destination that day, and every day that week. It was not driving that became my growing concern, however, it was walking. Crossing roads without the guidance of the little green man seemed a grave risk. I was never sure which side the cars would be coming from and while the robots, I mean traffic lights, may have been red it certainly didn’t stop the cars. The little green men, however, rarely appear, and there’s no button to summon them. I become impatient as I wait, so I’ll attempt to cross but just as I do, a car careers around the corner. I step back in line, with the rest of the Koreans, waiting to obey the light, waiting for it to turn green, and when it does I rush across as it counts down the remaining time I have. I now know why we call them robots, the traffic lights that is.

Keopi please

Everything looks different in the harsh daylight. The buildings, signs and roads look dull and grimy. It doesn’t seem as attractive as it did the night before. Its spring but for me it’s as cold as winter, colder. Even my London coat doesn’t seem to keep out the chill, as I walk down the street. I decide to keep going straight, that way I can’t get lost, I don’t know the name of my motel, I don’t have a mobile and I can’t ask for directions, getting lost seems very plausible.

I feel like an intruder, there’s eyes on me from every angle, I feel like an outsider, like I don’t belong and it makes me nervous. I feel small bellow the towering buildings that line the street, it’s so unfamiliar to me, and disorientating. I’m desperate to find an internet café and am adamant there must be half a dozen, after all this is the online gaming capital of the world. I see nothing on the first floor of every building, its mostly convenient stores or restaurants. I’ve seen several bold signs displaying PC 방 on many of the buildings and I wonder if the PC refers to computers, but I can’t be sure and I’m too nervous to explore or ask strangers for any help. They were in fact internet cafes, 방 pronounced bang, means room, but I wasn’t to learn this for another couple of days.

After walking for a while I begin to give up hope of finding anything, and not wanting to be late for my boss, or get lost I decide to turn back. There was some instant coffee in a plastic tube back at the motel and as my boss had bought me milk, I figured all I needed was some sugar so decided to pop into one of the convenient stores. I could do with a cup of coffee by this point, the jet lag and early start was beginning to get to me. I pace the aisles but once again, bombarded by unfamiliar text and brands I can’t seem to find any. So I muster up all my courage and approach the man behind the counter.

“Sugar,” I say. I get a confused look and realise he has no idea what I want. I decide to try something else. “Coffee,” I say this time. He points me to the back of the shop where there’s a coffee machine. I’m impressed he knew the word and happy that I’ll be getting a caffeine fix, although it won’t be much of one judging by the size of the cups.

The Korean shop assistant had in fact no idea what I’d said in English though. The only reason he understood that I wanted coffee was because the Korean for coffee is 커피 pronounced keopi, and sounds almost identical, like coffee with a p instead of an f and he’s probably used to the poor pronunciation of foreigners.

I make it back to my motel no problem, walking straight meant it wasn’t hard to find. I have just over an hour left before my boss is expected to pick me up so I just relax on the bed, enjoying the cable television in my room. There’s a handful of English programmes to chose from and it makes me smile to hear the sound of a familiar language again.