Progres Report 2.2 (pun on Seoul not included)
Amyong kasseyo (that's Korean for ayup),
How you doing? I've been in Korea over a week now so I thought I'd better let you know my findings thus far. It's been an eventful week-or-so, full of new experiences and slightly novel types of hangover. I've met lots of new people, kept a grip on my frustration that they can't speak English, and heavens, I've even tried to teach a few of them. Korea is a suprising place in lots of ways. Like what? Let me tell you.
My initial impression of the country was that it was a work-orientated sweathouse with an inferiority complex about its standing on the international scene, and this impression, even if I do say so myself, was uncommonly prescient. However, it's also a very friendly place and the people are more than happy to go out of their way to help out a foreigner, to engage you in a chat or even just to try and get seen on CCTV with you. I tell you, I'm used to being popular wherever I go, but the Koreans have upped it a notch. They're all keen to know why you've chosen to come to Korea and what you think of the place (in a way that almost broaches neediness). They always seem a little put out when you tell them that you came here purely because it was the path of least resistance, but they perk up a bit when you tell them about Korea's virtues.
These virtues are quite hard to put your finger on, to be honest. It's clean, it's efficient, it's friendly. There's no in-your-face poverty. There's lots of tasty females. The food's good. However, all these virtues are tempered with a 'but', that I wouldn't normally share with a Korean, but I'm going to tell you now whilst none of them are listening.
Firstly, the efficacy of the Korean urban set-up: Everyone lives in big apartment blocks, each one with its assigned number painted large on its side. Let's just say that they're not exactly architectural wonders. A lot of them are owned by corporations as well (the logo usually appears above the number), so that you can still live according to the company ethos even when you're tucked up in your jimjams. My own apartment is positively soviet. It's clean, it's convenient, and it's characterless (though hopefully, without the distraction of interior design, I can become a more productive individual - I swear down that this year I'm going to learn Spanish). I live on the 13th floor, which seems somehow fitting, though I can't quite think why. It means I've got a good view of the surrounding blocks, and a distant mountain when the pollution isn't too bad.
The spartan nature of the accomodation reflects in the Korean's attitude to work. The idea is that you're not going to be spending too much time at home, so why bother making it fancy? For this reason, I'm required to start work at 6.30am so that students can improve their conversational English skills with a hideously tired native speaker before starting work. I also teach them after they finish work. And some of them sneak in a class on their lunchbreak. However, I don't suppose you get such a dynamic economy as Korea's unless you banish the feckless and make sure everyone rolls up their sleeves. It helps that Koreans have no choice but to work - there's no social welfare system, so if the bottom falls out of your fortunes, you're on your own, son. And the people really do go for the corporate mentality. Koreans don't like anything that's bad for business, so if you're looking for an opinion or sex with a co-worker, you're better off in a more sluggish, shiftless nation.
It's quite hard to teach conversational English to people who refuse to express a viewpoint. I had four guys on Saturday whom, over the course of the whole torturous three hours, failed to demonstrate the power of independent thinking in any way. There was more chance of them expressing breastmilk than an opinion. Not a hint of backbone between them. Honestly, Korean men must have testicles the size of peanuts.
But that's what Korean society is like - it's all about respect (but not the good 'gangsta' kind - it's more about giving than demanding). It's a bit different with the younger generation (my kindergarten class is positively a hotbed of willful disobedience), but for the main, holding an opinion in Korea is a waste of time - you're not going to find anyone to argue it with. Saying that though, whilst they may be strangers to controversial thought, they are perhaps one of the friendliest peoples I've met. As a for instance, the other morning, after a heavy session on the Korean beer, we asked a group of lads in the street where we could get something to eat. They not only showed us somewhere, but insisted on us all dining together, and then insisted on paying for it. Now, I've not tested this scientifically, but I would hypothesise that two drunken Koreans addressing strangers on the street in London at 5am would not come away with a free meal unless their injuries warranted a stay in hospital.
Which brings us conveniently onto the food. Being a big fan of my stomach, the food was one of the things to which I was most looking forward. Unfortunate then that Korean food in its home environment really makes you work for its love. It's not that it's not tasty, but it's certainly not pretty. Your average meal will consist of a main dish (in my case, usually tentacles), rice, soup and then side dishes. These vary but will always include kimchi (spicy preserved cabbage), and have in the past week been known to include bits of greenery in vinegar, a funny-coloured egg, a whole fish (complete with head and bones, which were far more trouble than it was worth to pick out with chopsticks), some sort of pickled yellow radish, pickled garlic, preserved chillis, seaweed, and anything else that happens to wander past the kitchen door. Every meal brings a new surprise that requires you (like so many things in life) to override what your eyes are telling you and just stick it in your mouth. Yesterday, we were presented - as a bar snack - with a plate containg three whole dried squid. The next time it happens, I promise I'll take a photo, because it has to be seen to be believed.
The restaurants here though, like the people, are numerous, cheap and efficient. There's even a 24-hour tofu restaurant in the locale. If anyone told you back home that they were planning on opening a 24-hour tofu restaurant, even in the centre of London, you'd just assume that they were recovering from invasive cranial surgery. Here, they've not only got it, but it's always busy. And pretty damn good, too.
It strikes me now that posting is getting a bit long, so I'm going to wind it up without getting to tell you about how much I hate Canadians and how fit the women here are.
Oh, okay then - most other English teachers here are either American or Canadian and let me state something for the record just to show that there's no lack clarity in my view on the subject: Canadians are fucking idiots. They are bland, juvenile, self-regarding morons. You can spot them a mile off - they all walk around with the same expectant, bovine, humourless look on their faces (which are, in the men's cases, invariably embellished with a ludicrous signature of facial hair). Listen in on their conversations, and you'll simply bristle. If it's a controversial subject, they'll be passionately on-the-fence, and regard their contribution as conlcusively putting a thorny issue to bed. I'll say no more, as it's obviously an emotive issue, but if you don't hear from me for a while, it will no doubt be because I've snapped and as a result, my head will have been used to butter the pavement by a bullnecked Canadian f*ckwit.
The girls - perhaps it's just the thrill of the new but the ratio of stunners is disarming. Not many of them speak English, which is a shame, but some do, and some of them even have Western names, which saves you the effort of trying to remember whatever two-syllable variation on 'ding-dong' they think passes for a handle. A girl invited me to think up a Western name for her the other night. I spent the next half hour trying to convince her that 'Kingsmill' is genuinely a popular girl's name in Britain.
Anyway, that's more than enough from me (and in case you're wondering, no, I don't have anything better to do. I finished at lunchtime today, but it's still to early for a drink.)
Amyonghi kasseyo, fella.
S
How you doing? I've been in Korea over a week now so I thought I'd better let you know my findings thus far. It's been an eventful week-or-so, full of new experiences and slightly novel types of hangover. I've met lots of new people, kept a grip on my frustration that they can't speak English, and heavens, I've even tried to teach a few of them. Korea is a suprising place in lots of ways. Like what? Let me tell you.
My initial impression of the country was that it was a work-orientated sweathouse with an inferiority complex about its standing on the international scene, and this impression, even if I do say so myself, was uncommonly prescient. However, it's also a very friendly place and the people are more than happy to go out of their way to help out a foreigner, to engage you in a chat or even just to try and get seen on CCTV with you. I tell you, I'm used to being popular wherever I go, but the Koreans have upped it a notch. They're all keen to know why you've chosen to come to Korea and what you think of the place (in a way that almost broaches neediness). They always seem a little put out when you tell them that you came here purely because it was the path of least resistance, but they perk up a bit when you tell them about Korea's virtues.
These virtues are quite hard to put your finger on, to be honest. It's clean, it's efficient, it's friendly. There's no in-your-face poverty. There's lots of tasty females. The food's good. However, all these virtues are tempered with a 'but', that I wouldn't normally share with a Korean, but I'm going to tell you now whilst none of them are listening.
Firstly, the efficacy of the Korean urban set-up: Everyone lives in big apartment blocks, each one with its assigned number painted large on its side. Let's just say that they're not exactly architectural wonders. A lot of them are owned by corporations as well (the logo usually appears above the number), so that you can still live according to the company ethos even when you're tucked up in your jimjams. My own apartment is positively soviet. It's clean, it's convenient, and it's characterless (though hopefully, without the distraction of interior design, I can become a more productive individual - I swear down that this year I'm going to learn Spanish). I live on the 13th floor, which seems somehow fitting, though I can't quite think why. It means I've got a good view of the surrounding blocks, and a distant mountain when the pollution isn't too bad.
The spartan nature of the accomodation reflects in the Korean's attitude to work. The idea is that you're not going to be spending too much time at home, so why bother making it fancy? For this reason, I'm required to start work at 6.30am so that students can improve their conversational English skills with a hideously tired native speaker before starting work. I also teach them after they finish work. And some of them sneak in a class on their lunchbreak. However, I don't suppose you get such a dynamic economy as Korea's unless you banish the feckless and make sure everyone rolls up their sleeves. It helps that Koreans have no choice but to work - there's no social welfare system, so if the bottom falls out of your fortunes, you're on your own, son. And the people really do go for the corporate mentality. Koreans don't like anything that's bad for business, so if you're looking for an opinion or sex with a co-worker, you're better off in a more sluggish, shiftless nation.
It's quite hard to teach conversational English to people who refuse to express a viewpoint. I had four guys on Saturday whom, over the course of the whole torturous three hours, failed to demonstrate the power of independent thinking in any way. There was more chance of them expressing breastmilk than an opinion. Not a hint of backbone between them. Honestly, Korean men must have testicles the size of peanuts.
But that's what Korean society is like - it's all about respect (but not the good 'gangsta' kind - it's more about giving than demanding). It's a bit different with the younger generation (my kindergarten class is positively a hotbed of willful disobedience), but for the main, holding an opinion in Korea is a waste of time - you're not going to find anyone to argue it with. Saying that though, whilst they may be strangers to controversial thought, they are perhaps one of the friendliest peoples I've met. As a for instance, the other morning, after a heavy session on the Korean beer, we asked a group of lads in the street where we could get something to eat. They not only showed us somewhere, but insisted on us all dining together, and then insisted on paying for it. Now, I've not tested this scientifically, but I would hypothesise that two drunken Koreans addressing strangers on the street in London at 5am would not come away with a free meal unless their injuries warranted a stay in hospital.
Which brings us conveniently onto the food. Being a big fan of my stomach, the food was one of the things to which I was most looking forward. Unfortunate then that Korean food in its home environment really makes you work for its love. It's not that it's not tasty, but it's certainly not pretty. Your average meal will consist of a main dish (in my case, usually tentacles), rice, soup and then side dishes. These vary but will always include kimchi (spicy preserved cabbage), and have in the past week been known to include bits of greenery in vinegar, a funny-coloured egg, a whole fish (complete with head and bones, which were far more trouble than it was worth to pick out with chopsticks), some sort of pickled yellow radish, pickled garlic, preserved chillis, seaweed, and anything else that happens to wander past the kitchen door. Every meal brings a new surprise that requires you (like so many things in life) to override what your eyes are telling you and just stick it in your mouth. Yesterday, we were presented - as a bar snack - with a plate containg three whole dried squid. The next time it happens, I promise I'll take a photo, because it has to be seen to be believed.
The restaurants here though, like the people, are numerous, cheap and efficient. There's even a 24-hour tofu restaurant in the locale. If anyone told you back home that they were planning on opening a 24-hour tofu restaurant, even in the centre of London, you'd just assume that they were recovering from invasive cranial surgery. Here, they've not only got it, but it's always busy. And pretty damn good, too.
It strikes me now that posting is getting a bit long, so I'm going to wind it up without getting to tell you about how much I hate Canadians and how fit the women here are.
Oh, okay then - most other English teachers here are either American or Canadian and let me state something for the record just to show that there's no lack clarity in my view on the subject: Canadians are fucking idiots. They are bland, juvenile, self-regarding morons. You can spot them a mile off - they all walk around with the same expectant, bovine, humourless look on their faces (which are, in the men's cases, invariably embellished with a ludicrous signature of facial hair). Listen in on their conversations, and you'll simply bristle. If it's a controversial subject, they'll be passionately on-the-fence, and regard their contribution as conlcusively putting a thorny issue to bed. I'll say no more, as it's obviously an emotive issue, but if you don't hear from me for a while, it will no doubt be because I've snapped and as a result, my head will have been used to butter the pavement by a bullnecked Canadian f*ckwit.
The girls - perhaps it's just the thrill of the new but the ratio of stunners is disarming. Not many of them speak English, which is a shame, but some do, and some of them even have Western names, which saves you the effort of trying to remember whatever two-syllable variation on 'ding-dong' they think passes for a handle. A girl invited me to think up a Western name for her the other night. I spent the next half hour trying to convince her that 'Kingsmill' is genuinely a popular girl's name in Britain.
Anyway, that's more than enough from me (and in case you're wondering, no, I don't have anything better to do. I finished at lunchtime today, but it's still to early for a drink.)
Amyonghi kasseyo, fella.
S
posted by Stephen Beckett at 1:10 PM
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