The Pied Piper of Anmin

After a rather lacklustre week on the teaching front I eagerly await a Friday evening locked away in my room. Friday afternoon is spent dreaming of pizza, red wine, good tunes and a film. Four forty arrives and I exit the school faster than the kids. I sit at the bus stop listening to Underworld, whilst reading the fantastic "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and basking in the late afternoon sunshine. I am perfectly content and happy to be a member of this fine planet. Even the reckless, stop start motion of the bus cannot erase the permanent grin from my face. I feel that nothing can penetrate my pleasure bubble or defuse me from my state of euphoria. How wrong I could be!

The bus approaches my stop and I lean forward to push the stop button. In the corner of my eye I catch the sight of somebody waving at me and I spin my body around 45 degrees for a closer inspection. I am confronted by my previously mentioned slipper wearing/ tae twondo kicking, teenage friend. I politely wave and ask how he is before walking off towards my house. It turns out that he is going in the same direction, so we walk together. He asks me where I live and I point my house out to him. He is not satisfied with this and asks if he can come and see. At this point I begin to sense that my plans may be disrupted but I do not decline his wishes.

An hour later and I am feeling more than a little worried that I may have to revise my plans. The teenager has made himself very much at home and is sprawled all over my bed drinking juice and dictating which music I should play. Eventually I think that he is going to leave, when out of the blue he asks me if I want to go hiking with him in 5 minutes time. Now one part of me is greatly distressed and thinking, like f**k I want to go hiking with you. However another part of me is thinking, it's a beautiful evening, the birds are singing and this may be an opportunity for me to get right into the Korean culture. I acquiesce and within minutes I am ascending Anmin Gogae (the beautiful mountain directly behind my house). By now my mindset is in a process of transition. I am thinking, this is lovely and I should do this more often in the evening. I have been afforded a perfect opportunity to learn first hand about Korean youth culture and Korean culture in general. In my usual manner I am firing questions at him like a malfunctioning machine gun and he is candidly providing me with answers. Once again I am happy and pleased with myself for adjusting my plans at such short notice.

One thing that first captures your attention in Korea is the fitness level of the majority of the population. Almost everybody exercises in one form or another. Hiking is the number one pass time, which I guess is not too surprising with 70 percent of the country being covered by mountains. However, cycling, speed walking, running and general exercising are also extremely popular. Outdoor gyms are prominent in every city, town and village and they are very well utilised. There are even gyms on the mountain sides and they are all free. So, my new friend and I are walking up the mountain at around 7 pm on a Friday evening and the mountain is literally heaving with people performing all of the pass times that I have just mentioned. It is not uncommon to be hiking up a mountain in Korea only to be overtaken by a very old person who is literally motoring at pace. The demographic is on the whole middle aged ladies all sporting massive peaked caps which is standard issue in Korea. I point out my observations to my friend and inform him that the majority of people in England are either getting drunk by this time on a Friday evening or rushing around trying to score drugs.

Fifty minutes later we reach the top of the mountain and are rewarded by the beautiful view. The mountain divides the 2 cities of Changwon and Jinhae with a tunnel going right through it to connect the 2 cities. Looking down from the mountain top, you can see the beautiful coast line of Jinhae on one side with islands jutting out from the sea as far as the eye can see. On the other side of the mountain you can see the more industrial city of Changwon which is consequently smog filled and much less attractive. At the top of the mountain are a number of eating establishments, which are in the form of permanently set up tents which sell anything from noodles, pancakes, toasties or even more elaborate dishes. My friend informs me that they are open till 11 at night and I feel excited at the prospect of riding up the mountain pass on my motorbike when I eventually get it and eating my dinner up there. My friend offers to buy me dinner but I tell him that I have the idea of eating pizza firmly etched on my mind and I am not willing to make concessions on this.

As we walk back down the mountain his mobile rings on many occasions and upon questioning him (i am not using his name because it is too difficult for me to remember), I find out that it is his parents and that they have invited me around to their house. By this point I have given up on my original plans and therefore agree. The prospect of experiencing Korean culture and hospitality excites me greatly.

Upon reaching Anmin dong (my village), I am ushered to a nearby bbq restaurant where I am informed his father is drinking. We enter the restaurant and not for the first time in Korea I am made to feel like a star. The occupants of the restaurant cannot do enough for me. I take off my shoes,as is custom and take my place on the heated floor, sat cross legged with a large group of drunken men and women. I have downed a few quick soju's (potato spirit) and am beginning to feel comfortable when I am ushered out of the building by my friend as soon as I was ushered in. I say my goodbyes and then walk across to my friends house to meet his mother. I am informed that my friends Father spends every night in the restaurant/bar before staggering home to bed. I am beginning to see that this is a common pattern in Korean society.

We are welcomed into the house by my friends mother who speaks absolutely no English and then a large pizza is ordered for me. The mother retires to the bedroom whilst my friend shows me his photographs and informs me of his plans to travel the world. Before long, his father returns home completely pie eyed and he attempts to converse with me in Korean. My friend acts as translator and it turns out that his dad who is a truck driver, is getting ready for work. Yeah, you heard right -he is completely pissed and is about to start his shift truck driving. He see's my dismay and through his translator I am told that i have introduced him to English customs now he is introducing me to Korean culture i.e. drink driving. He bids us farewell and staggers off to his truck.

I am starting to think that my evening is drawing to it's conclusion, when my friends phone rings and I am told that his friend wants to meet me. I am also asked if his friend can sleep at my house and if he can borrow 10 000 won (fiver). I find this rather cheeky but feel that I can't say too much because I have just been a recipient of his families hospitality. I agree and we head off to meet his friend, who turns out to be horribly drunk They sort of give themselves an invitation to my house and before I know it, half the youth population of Anmin dong are sat in my room on a proper booze and party session. I hear the phone keep ringing and then another knock at the door and in pops another 3 people; phone rings again, 2 more people at the door -the loop continues. These are kids that live with their parents until they are 30 yrs of age, with nowhere to go. They have found a weak link and the smoke signals have been sent out.

These are the rebels of Korean society and they have found me. Rebellious they may be but no matter how drunk they are, they are still instilled with a sense of Korean etiquette. I attempt to walk into my own apartment with my shoes on which provokes a nuclear reaction. I am told in no uncertain terms that this against their ethics. Later I try to pour a drink for myself and am met by an equal if not stronger reaction. It is deeply embedded into Korean society that you are not allowed to pour yourself a drink but instead somebody has to pour it for you. I keep forgetting and am almost lynched every time. I try to educate them on British music and pull out all the classics which are met by a sea of distaste. These kids, the rebels of Korean society, want to listen to K Pop and awful American gangster rap. What is K pop I hear you ask? Well the answer is - K pop is utter drivel. Take the worst British boy band and make them even more gay than they already are, with terribly camp dance routines and you have K pop. It is just one of the many inconsistencies of Korean society. They claim to be macho and fighters, yet almost every teenager has a poncey hairdo and carries a man bag. The boys walk down the street, holding hands or sit caressing each other, it's bizarre. Last night at my little impromptu party, there were 2 guys literally rubbing each other up, arms and legs entangled and playing with each others hair. At the same time they were talking about their love of cage fighting, telling me that there was no such thing as a homosexual in Korea and demanding to hear K pop. It just does not make sense.

I am beginning to think that they are never going to leave, when one of them decides that he has had enough and makes a quick dart. The others all jump up and with the choreography of a K pop band they totally clean up all the mess. What an arresting sight! A room full of very drunk Korean youth totally cleaning my house before they left. It's 2.30 am and I sit alone in my room, my Friday afternoon dreams shattered. I am trying to work out whether or not I have had a good time, when the phone rings. I pick it up thinking that it is somebody that has forgot something. It turns out to be the one of the former girlfriends of the guy that did my job before me. She is ringing from Taiwan but this does not seem to put her off from having an half hour conversation with me. It does not appear to bother her that I am not the person that she rang up to speak to.

Another interesting day in the life of Andy Mitton.

All things must pass

That once shiny toy now litters the stream
The very same item that once was a dream
Bicycles owner no longer a boy
Is out chasing girls no time for the toy

That coveted job is now such a drag
Five years later and you've acquired a tag
If only you'd taken a different direction
You may not be showing such morbid reflection

Remember that holiday when we had so much fun
We talked all night long about the things that we'd done
These days we argue about the things we don't do
I'd rather watch porn than make love to you

That fantastic movie you watched everyday
It changed your life, you used to say
You watched it last week your mind at a loss
How could you have appreciated such utter dross

That beautiful girl that you pledged your soul
Has long gone and taken it all
She's now in her thirties, married with a kid
Totally oblivious to the harm that she did

Those dreams we had of changing the world
Of opening the oyster to reveal the pearl
The world stole our dreams and washed them away
They lie with the oyster on the bed of the bay

That bontempi organ covered in dust
That Volkswagon Combi now etched in rust
All gentle reminders of who we once were
The days are long gone, the memories a blur

The new born child once once swathed in love
Has departed this earth for the heavens above
All things must pass, this I have learnt
No time to regret those bridges we've burnt

Jimjibang experience

My first foray into the charms of the jimjibang came a mere fortnight ago during my first trip to Busan. This it turns out was an inspired decision because I happened to chance upon the biggest Jimjibang on the Asian subcontinent. Circumnavigating the building for around half an hour, partly through fear and partly through not being able to find the entrance, I finally emerge into the complex. Is this the right place ? I ask myself. I appear to have arrived in an Austrian/German beer Keller. There is something rather disconcerting about seeing hundreds of Orientals adorned in lederhosen and serving steins of imported beer. The name of the place escapes my soju , saturated mind right now but was certainly of Austrian descent. The clues were there in advance but I missed them, possibly through fear.Anyway, back to the story. I walk through the Germanic complex and take the elevator to the second level. Here, there is a gender division and I am beckoned to the male section. Leaving my shoes at the door, I am given a locker key. Eventually I find my locker and remove my clothes. My mind is cast back to those awful high school days when there was an untold rush back to the showers so that nobody would see your pathetic childlike member. God help us if Wayne Nicholas was in there first with his enormous , hairy man thing.

It turns out that my fears are unfounded and in actual fact I am like the John Holmes of the changing rooms. Consequently, I positively stride through the changing rooms with a confident air that is alien to me. Upon a more profound inspection I decide that I am average but for one moment I am king of the penis world. In fact I am so carried away by my wave of phallic euphoria that I miss the jimjibang entrance and end up in the toilets. I am retrieved by a janitor, who casually examines my wares before directing me to the spa complex.

The next 2 hrs are spent wandering this enormous , glass domed complex, whilst dipping my body in pool, sauna, spa and bar both inside and out on the roof. I start to think, fuck it I'll pay a quid for the pyjamas and stay all night (perfectly feasible). when a guy of Afro Carribean origin crosses my path and totally steals my 15 mins of penis glory. I double take, quickly change direction and head for the changing room. Within 10 minutes I am on the tube, Changwon bound -tail firmly between legs.

Yangkock sports day

What a day! The day started with a fanfare from an army division in full regalia. This included one troupe that were in a traditional uniform and did this weird dancing that resembled the whirling dervishes of Turkey. A full scale marching band paraded across the sports field throwing their rifles in the air and catching them in sort of little dance routine. I was awakened to the grandiose affair by the fanfare and emerged from my office to be confronted with thousands of parents and kids. The kids were all up one end and when they spotted me they erupted into spontaneous cheering and chanting of my name (it's easy to feel like a rock star over here). I did a little bow and took my place in the first aid tent.

A long speech later by the principal and a few bows, national anthem and lots of clapping and the games begin.
First event, tiny , cute kids pushing a massive inflatable ball around an obstacle course. An error in planning I was told, had meant that the ball was too big. Consequently, the kids were getting knocked down all over the place. The cutest game of the day involved tiny kids getting pulled around in little metal bathtubs with wheels on one end. Their parents (all on national holiday) pulled them around and obstacle course. One little girl went flying out of the tub and landed on her head. She was pulled around for the remainder of the race in floods of tears. When she finally emerged from the tub, she punched her dad. One of the parents fell and smashed his head open, blood everywhere. This happened much to the amusement of the rest of the crowd who fell around laughing whilst the guy was patched up.Throughout the whole day, one of the kids grandads with no teeth, glazed eyes and a rather large ear ring, staggered around the sports field pissed, reaping mayhem. Nobody seemed to mind and to be fair he was a very happy drunk.

Then came my moment of glory. I was tannoyed onto the sports field and joined in this game involving about a thousand people. It was like Simon says with a rather lively MC jumping around and shouting out a series of instructions with very loud crazy Korean house music in the background. If you lost the game you had to stand in a circle of about 50 people and dance a very silly dance. Every now and again one person was summoned into a circle of a thousand people and had to do this dance for about 2 mins whilst everybody laughed and clapped. The most silly dance was the object of the game. Well, bloody hell my turn came. The MC shouts "Mr Andy, do we have a Mr Andy ?". I was cheered into the arena and spent the next 2 mins waving my arms and legs around in a fashion not too dissimilar from Tim Booth from James. Actually, it was my normal dance but the punters loved it anyway. It attracted most attention from the drunk who decided to join me in the circle and hug me. I was rewarded with 2 bars of laundry soap for my efforts.

What a fantastic day!

Fame, signatures and the fabled arse rocket

Warning, living in Korea can seriously inflate your ego. You could be the spawn of John Merrick and still be told that you are "a handsome man" on a daily basis. Granted this is generally by 10 year old boys but hey at my age, I'll take any compliments that are sent in my direction. Then there is the ritual parade through the village. Recently I have taken to wearing my headphones so that I don't have to endure the chanting of my name anymore. The novelty of rock star status soon wears thin let me tell you, in fact ask Victoria Beckham (hang on , bad example). I would like think that it is just me but I am assuming that is not. The kids in this country seriously love the the English speaking foreigner. I was alerted to this strange phenomenon on my first day in Korea, when hundreds of kids came to investigate my arrival to my school car park. I hear a fracas behind me and turn around to be mobbed by hundreds of kids "Hello, what is your name", "hello, how old are you", are you married?" - "no single" , gasp -shocked faces , "but you are so handsome" (brain ticks --well, thank you, could you please inform the female Western world for me).

I catch a bus to my second school on Thursdays and Fridays and have recently made a new friend at the bus stop. This is a young, well manicured man around 18 yrs of age. He first caught my attention when I saw him doing Tae kwondo kicks, using the bus shelter as his enemy. At this point I mentally labelled him as a thug and avoided his gaze. Miraculously, the next week he rather coyly crept up behind me and asked for my mobile number. In Korea the people generally only let their feelings out when they are rip roaringly drunk. In this case, the angst ridden teenager was trying to initiate contact in the only way he knew. After the initial conversation he sent me a text within the hour to say that he enjoyed our interesting conversation. To my knowledge he had not understood a word that I had said but i guess that could be deemed interesting. Anyway, fast forward 2 weeks (yesterday). I am stood waiting for the bus and the teenager in question comes darting down to the bus stop with sweat on his brow and an exaggerated breathing pattern. It is obvious that he has been in a rush although our bus is not due to arrive for 15 minutes. He sparks up the conversation by saying "Andy, Ive missed you so much". I've met the kid 3 times and he is already declaring that he has missed me. It is only now that I look down at his feet and notice that he appears to be wearing his mums slippers. He follows my gaze and immediately raises his hands to his head. It turns out that the kid was in such a rush to see me that he has run out of the house wearing his mums slippers. We laugh it off but there is no way that he is leaving me now. The bus arrives 15 minutes later and this guy, who was kicking the bus shelter with gusto a mere 2 weeks ago, now enters the bus adorned in his mums slippers. Today, he borrowed his dads car and drove me all the way to school. Innocent, bizarre and beautiful, I love this country.

Not to digress, let me begin to unravel the title of this story. Normally I teach enthusiastic 5th graders and "too cool for school" 6th graders. However on Thurs and Friday, I have 2 classes of 3rd graders (7 yrs old). Well, by god if I am a hero to the older students, I am a demi-god to the youngsters. In fact, so much of a demi-god that I am only allowed 15 mins with them as oppose to the 30 mins that I am paid to do. Apparently, if I do the allocated slot, they are too excited all afternoon and liable to wet themselves. I finish my 5/6th grader lessons and stealthily make my way down to the domain of the 3rd grader. On the 3rd floor there is a small staffroom which I use as my retreat but to get there I have basically got to run the gauntlet of 3rd graders. If I am spotted, which i always am, I have to take the hit and literally get mobbed by legions of small kids to whom, I'm a hero. Now, this may sound cute and for the first 2 minutes it is but after 10 minutes of being pulled in every direction by at least 50 kids, you start to fear for your life. It gets worse, somehow these little people have decided that it would be really good to get my autograph and I now spend 30 mins on Thurs and Fri signing autographs. I make a mental note of the length of the queue and 15 mins later look again whilst shaking my wrist to aid circulation of my overused limb. I realise that same children are turning up more than once and on many occasions they are asking for a minimum of three autographs. One little blighter wants ten autographs a week, apparently for his mum, dad, brothers, sisters and pet dog. Well, just when you thought this tale could not get more ridiculous, let me add the worst part of all.

I had been warned of the fabled arse rocket by fellow teachers but assumed that is was school specific. It was at least 3 weeks before I was anally assaulted. The young boys have come up with a little game which involves creeping around the floor in an army like manoeuvre, before popping up underneath me with their grubby little fingers in a rocket like formation (i.e 2 fingers protruding). This rocket has only one destination in mind and that is right up your arse hole. So I am signing autographs under duress, being dragged up and down the corridor by a battalion of kids, under the threat of an anal raid. Their strike rate is much more accurate than Operation Desert Storm, especially because I am visually impaired from the waist down and trying to sign autographs. They come from nowhere and once they start they cease to stop. Like a pack of hounds attacking a fox, a pride of lions summoning an antelope to it's death, a murder of vultures circling their carrion, these kids make their rectum sorties. How about the Korean teachers you ask? Well, they stand by and take in the spectacle. What better way to while away a Thursday and Friday afternoon than watching an Englishman getting anally prodded en masse?

Korean Superloo

My colleagues decide to take me out for a meal which in actual fact turns out to be an apology for missing my birthday the previous week. Their reasoning for the event goes unspoken and is only unravelled by my intense questioning, upon their reluctance to let me pay for any of the bill. We go to a hotel into Changwon, a venue which is famous for children's first birthday celebrations ( a major event in Korea). The location is far classier to that, that I am accustomed and is also packed to capacity, as I am informed is the case every day. Thankfully my co-teachers have taken note of my vegetarianism and opted for a buffet style meal with lots of meatless options.

Although we are still waiting for one latecomer, we take our plates and begin foraging for food. There is no grace, no enjoy your meal, in fact the only etiquette is to fill your face as soon as possible, whilst making lots of noise, before darting off for seconds. I try to make polite conversation throughout the meal but I am left with the feeling that their hurried responses are reflections of their inner irritation of my small talk. With this in mind I set about filling my face. By the time the latecomer arrives everybody is finished. The next twenty minutes are spent in polite conversation, set to a background of the late comers, slurps and grunts. I take this interlude to quietly slip off to the toilet.

The toilet itself is a fancy affair, marble tiled, modern hand dryers and porcelain bottles of hand soap with gold gilded caps. I find an empty cubicle and take my position. Halfway through the unspoken act I notice that I am in fact sat on a very space age contraption with lots of buttons and flashing lights. Me, being me, I give no thought whatsoever to the consequences of pushing all the buttons at once. At best I think that the seat may warm up or the toilet will speak to me. There follows a period of nothingness, which in retrospect I would describe as the calm before the storm. I would estimate that this time lapse was 4/5 seconds. Suddenly I am hit straight up the rectum by what can only be described as an jet wash of water (it seems that I have inadvertently set everything to full). In total panic I leap from the seat (I guess you could say it literally scared the shit out of me). With the stealth of a ninja I spin on my axis only to be hit full in the face by the water cannon. I duck, and the torrent the scale of Niagara bombards the cubicle door. I am in a total flap by now and my mind goes blank. I throw my whole body into the path of the the water jet and am quickly soaked from head to foot. I fight my way through the jet and slam my hands down on all the buttons until eventually the water stops as suddenly as it started.

I emerge from the cubicle with much resemblance to the proverbial drowned rat. Things are worse than I could have possibly imagined, my bizarre bathroom behaviour has alerted the other patrons of the toilet, who are plentiful and eagerly waiting to perform their ablutions. To hide my inner turmoil, I raise my head, look them in the eye and positively stride out of the cubicle as if this is my normal routine. I hasten to inform, that water is by this point, flooding under the cubicle door and in danger of flooding the whole bathroom. Undeterred by my sodden state I stride back into the corridor, past legions of first birthday babies. They are alerted to my presence by my squelchy shoe noises and all go quiet. I then return to my seat and try and blend in with the conversation. However my co-teachers have also been drawn in by my squelchy shoe noises and have looks of total horror on their faces. I am forced into an explanation of my shit house shenanigans and expect to be met by rapturous laughter. What actually happens is, they all fall silent and I get the feeling that I have brought great shame upon the teachers of Anmin elementary school.

There is a moral to this story but I doubt that I will adhere to it.