Having just completed one year in Korea, I thought I’d give prospective expats an idea of how much one can pocket and live on in a year here. You hear stories all the time about how Korea is the country to go teach EFL if you want to make money, but has anyone actually run the numbers by you? Well, I will. No commentary. Just income and expenses. Rounded for your benefit, and given in KRW, South Korean Won. I also excluded my consistent monthly expenses: TV, 6600; Internet ~30000; prepaid phone, 10000; water 1-2000; insurance, 35000.

August
Arrive in Korea with 2000USD. Everyone should bring at least 1000USD, as your first salary might not be paid until 4-6 weeks after arrival. I arrived August 7th and was first paid September 15th.

September
Income:

• 2,100,00 (after taxes)

Expenses:

• Wired home: 1,300,000
• Power: 10,000
• Gas: 12,000
• Major Travel: Busan and Japan for Chuseok holiday week

October
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 1,100,000
• Power: 10,000
• Gas: 20,000
• Major Travel: None

November
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 800,000
• Power: 80,000 (heat lamp)
• Gas: 35,000
• Major Travel: Busan and Seoul (imported Thanksgiving dinner)

December
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 1,000,000
• Power: 135,000 (heat lamp)
• Gas: 60,000 (began using floor heat, ondol)
• Major Travel: Busan (xmas party) and Seoul (New Year’s)

January
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 0 (used for xmas gifts, food)
• Power: 35,000
• Gas: 180,000 (way too much floor heat)
• Major Travel: Daegu

February
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 650,000
• Power: Unknown
• Gas: 270,000 (I must have been out of my mind, but I was warm)
• Major Travel: Seoul (Lunar New Year)

March
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 950,000
• Power: 20,000
• Gas: 190,000 (still cold)
• Major Travel: Seoul

April
Income:

• 2,100,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 900,000
• Power: 35,000
• Gas: 100,000
• Major Travel: Gyeongju, Seoul 2x
• Other: 300,000 for dental work

May
Income:

• 3,300,000 (took on morning adult classes)

Expenses:

• Wired home: 1,500,000
• Power: 0
• Gas: 40,000
• Major Travel: Busan and Japan

June
Income:

• 3,300,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 1,500,000
• Power: 0
• Gas: 25,000
• Major Travel: Ulleungdo and Dokdo

July
Income:

• 3,300,000

Expenses:

• Wired home: 2,300,000
• Power: 0
• Gas: 35,000
• Major Travel: Boryeong Mud Festival

August
Income:

• 5,400,000 (end of year bonus)

Expenses:

• Wired home: 2,200,000
• Power: N/A
• Gas: N/A
• Major Travel: Seoul and Daegu
• Other: new DSLR, shoes

As you can see, my international travel for the past year has been limited to Japan; I didn’t even go home for Christmas. If you’re thinking I didn’t get out too much, you might be right, but I didn’t include travel to small towns near me when roundtrip transportation was less than 40,000 – this included quite a few cheap adventures. Obviously, there were other small expenses like visiting the doctor, getting a massage, and overpaying for EZ Shop food, but you can get a general idea of what one can pocket after a year in the country: ~14,000,000 (currently ~13,000USD). I never starved myself to save money, I felt comfortable, I went out, I lived. Want to try teaching English in Korea?

I’ve seen a number of blogs covering their authors’ first day in a foreign country, and I have to say I didn’t really do a thorough job of it for Korea. Granted, I had arrived hot and sweaty to find it pouring rain and facing a four-hour bus ride, but who hasn’t? Rather than focus on the negatives of the adjustment from an exhausting 11-hour flight to settling in the land of the morning calm, I’d like to try and give you newbies a timeline covering both sides of the story, and hopefully provide a sense of order in what is a chaotic time for all of us. My first three days in South Korea.

Day 1, 5:00 AM

Arrive at Incheon International Airport. I’m one of those travelers who remains convinced his bags will be among those lost in transit; with every pass of that luggage carousel, my anxiety doubled: “They’re not going to be here… they must have been rerouted to Honolulu… oh god, what am I going to do…? I have a bus across the country to catch!” In actuality, my bags have been misplaced only once in my jaunts abroad, but even then, it was probably the least desirable destination to lose one’s bags: Haiti.

In this case, though I was one of the last people hanging around watching the same piece of black luggage pass by again and again and pretending to study the stamp in my passport like it contained vital information for my time in Korea, my familiar Seven Continents tag against a beige fabric caught my eye and I was good to go. Crisis averted.

Exiting customs, I quickly searched for the golden arches associated with some of the most disgusting food on the planet, and a pretty surefire way to ensure foreigners meet a company representative. At this time, I was unaware of my recruiter’s role in my coming to Korea. Although their company did email me the necessary paperwork, it seemed, compared to the certificate of authenticity required for Japanese visas, that I could have handled most of the bureaucratic nonsense on my own in Korea. Nevertheless, I was grateful a Mr. Kang soon met up with me and was there to guide me to the airport shuttle.

While waiting, I couldn’t help but feel so totally content at being back in Asia. Here was Family Mart, with its… oooh, not so familiar products. Once again, I was one of the few white faces in a sea of Koreans. Random western celebrities endorse Korean products and services; Pierce Brosman’s 007 persona seemed to beckon me towards the Lucky Seven Casino in Seoul. I was just standing there, in the middle of the arrival lounge, grinning like an idiot at anything and everything. And loving it.

Mr. Kang soon brought me back to reality, however, as we finally boarded the bus and made our way to east Seoul. I can’t remember too much about that journey: giggling at the Korean on the highway signs; ignoring my instinct to keep my eyes open as I dealt with exhaustion and the sound of rain plastering the windows. I might have slept, but I can be sure I didn’t say a single word to myself or my fellow travelers. Just too early for conversation (ironic that I now teach classes at the same time).

I was completely disoriented coming into Seoul. The only things that stick are a bunch of identical grey apartment buildings and the yellow guidelines on the sidewalks for blind pedestrians. Having seen the movie Inception the week before, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would awake from this dream of being in Korea and find myself in my bed, fifteen years old, ready to go to high school. Korea was preferable.

8:05 AM

My bus to Bugu, though I didn’t know it at the time. The only thing I had to go on, destination-wise, were the Korean characters I had written down in my moleskin journal in Dallas, the arrow pointing to —> 부구 on my ticket, and a general sense of where I’d be on the east coast. I had no clue as to what route the driver would take getting over there, and followed it as closely as I could on my Moon handbook map. I’m usually not so pent up about taking transportation in what I know is a reliable country, but I wanted the travel part of my journey (yes, there’s a difference) to be done with. Take a nap. Surf the internet. Go for a run in a new city. Try some Korean food. Having taken two airports for 15+ hours and ridden a bus into the heart of a foreign city, I had no patience left. Sad.

However, I couldn’t help but notice my driver seemed to be completely insane, darting in and out of traffic, driving on the access road, braking suddenly and gunning it whenever he could break away. Although my stomach took to it rather well, my brain was still trying to wrap itself around this concept: “Is this how all Korean bus drivers are? I never read about this!” Yes, they are. ESPECIALLY if they’re late.

12:30 PM

After ignoring the assigned seats, positioning myself closer to the front of the bus, and asking the driver two times to be let off in Bugu, we finally reached the small, small, small town. With each village we passed en route, I started imagining it to be my future home: “Oh, they have a giant crab statue, I can use as a landmark for Couchsurfers. Oh, there’s a hot springs; I’ll love going there every day. Ooooh, look at that beach! That’s gotta be my town!” Not so, but Bugu still had plenty of character for small-town Korea. For one, I knew it to be the home of a nuclear power plant, which provided big city amenities to workers. And second, it was a short commute to Deokgu Hot Springs, one of the main reasons I had decided on this area.

My bags were safely stored underneath the bus, so I assumed the driver would exit and open the hatch, as I had seen on countless Greyhound buses and MegaBuses in the US. When I said “bag” to the driver twice, he simply gestured down the stairs, probably curious as to why I was telling him about my bags. In Korea, you load up and offload your own luggage. Anyone who’s seen an ajumma hauling her wares on a local bus can confirm this (though sometimes a stranger helps out). It just hadn’t occurred to me.

Fortunately, I found my boss waiting for me with a car as soon as I had removed my black duffel and began pulling out the rolling luggage. He greeted me in English, and seemed very amicable, guiding me to the car where his four-year old boy was waiting, watching cartoons and picking his nose… later, he tried to rub them on me, but I’ll save that story for another day. Chan, as he told me to call him, drove me about 100 meters east to the apartment which would be my home for the next year. Inside, Ben, the outgoing teacher, was waiting with bags in hand. In retrospect, I wish I had been a little friendlier to him, maybe asking him out for a beer or something. But with my fatigue and his reluctance to talk, we kind of fell into a pattern of using Chan as an intermediary.

Lunch was 돈까스 in the “city” designed for the nuclear power plant workers. It’s one of the more elaborate meals I’ve had in Korea, with appetizers, side dishes, the main course, and dessert. After that, I couldn’t do much more than sleep for a few hours, telling Ben I’d like to meet up with him later that afternoon so he could show me around the town.

6:00 PM

I remember nothing of this tour as I was getting ready to pass out. Ben showed me where the five-day market would be, the local grocery store, the Family Mart, and pointed out the school and gym. The only thing that clearly stands out is me giving off the impression I was a pervert; I couldn’t help but notice that the apartment was attached to a noraebang, and asked Ben if he ever saw signs of prostitution in a town this size. He must have thought I was inquiring about the quality of service… ew… When we wrapped things up at the end of the day, him to the Green Motel and me to my new apartment, that was the last time I saw any foreigner for two weeks.

More to come… maybe I should have called this entry the first 24 hours?

A kid, maybe 8 years old, was walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street when I must have caught his eye.

“HELLO!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

I didn’t do anything. Didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t say hello or 안녕하세요. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk (though I’m sure some will comment that I was); I was just tired. I had just finished a long run and wasn’t in the mood to condone what was absurd behavior – the fact that many hundreds of people do shout “hello” at me from a distance doesn’t make it any less unusual. So I kept walking.

“HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! HELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLO!”

Jumping up and down, this boy didn’t let up until I was about 50 meters away and widening the gap. Did he honestly think I hadn’t understood him? I just wanted him to behave in a civilized manner. There’s nothing wrong with someone casually walking up to me and saying “hello” straightforwardly, but screaming it across a street? Why should I give credence to the idea it’s acceptable?

There are many types of people who choose to participate in the “hello” game across countries. Wherever a differently-colored face is in the minority, and English is always the default language, kids and adults will give greetings to their foreign friends in reasonable and not so respectful ways.

1. Hello’s that defy logic

If the purpose of saying “hello” is to greet and expect to be greeted, I can’t understand why some locals would choose to just shout it at the most inopportune of times:

- As I’m skiing down a black slope in Japan
- Today, from the back of a moving truck
- Across a busy street (see above example)

If it’s your first time living abroad, I know you’re probably still excited by strangers speaking your language so loudly and without shame. But you will get numb to it, and start to wish grown men (yes… they do it too) would act their age.

2. The ‘cool kid’ hello

A group walks by, and someone wants to impress the others by being international and saying “hello” to the random foreigner. I say ‘kid’, but this can happen with groups of men in their fifties and old ladies.

“Aren’t I cool? I just said ‘hello’ to that guy!”
“YEAH! I want to be like you!”

3. The hello that grows

The same idea as #2, but once one person starts, the group starts chiming in to the point you can only respond once.

4. The soloist

Nothing wrong with this one. A single person walking along, giving a greeting in a measured tone. It’s entirely possible they’ll want to say more.

5. No English?

Even when a local doesn’t know the word “hello”, he or she may still try. These are my favorite greeters of the lot, as they require you to speak the language. In my three years living in Asia, this has only happened twice; I’m not referring to any greeting in bars, restaurants, or situations you place yourself in, just random people on the street. Once in Thailand, when the most muscular old man I had ever seen put down his cart and “wai”ed to me. And once a few weeks ago, when a Korean boy actually said “안녕하세요”. Bloody miracles, they both were.

Am I forgetting anyone?

“Shibuya in Action”, digika

Of course I had outings with Americans, Kiwis, English, Aussies, Canadians, even the occasional Jamaican… but 90% of the time, the Japanese language was my sole source of communication with others. I can just imagine my typical evening after AEON hours:

1. Finish my office paperwork and bid coworkers farewell with the customary “otsu kare sama deshita“. Emerge from the building on a cold winter’s night, just opposite a gas station.

2. I might pass a student, a kid, or a random passerby. Perhaps a friendly “konbanwa“.

3. Lawson convenience store for my usual turkey and pasta bento, with a heated bottle of green tea. Do I want it heated? Hai, shite kudasai. Any chopsticks with that? Hai, ippun o kudasai. Arigatou gozaimasu.

4. Finish the walk to my apartment building. I’ll probably catch another tenant in the elevator:

“Ahhh… Kimura-san. Ogenki desu ka?”
(I’m fine, Turner-san. How are you?)
“Genki des yo. Oyasumi nasai.”

Only when I’m back in my cramped 6-tatami mat quarters do I truly relax. After all, the internet is language neutral, though I’m sure most would agree English dominates. And this is a light, carefree evening. Imagine a full day of all Japanese. Now imagine a week. A month. A year. Five years…

There’s more to living abroad than embracing a different culture and being comfortable with your changing environment; the pressure of communicating in a foreign language builds up inside your brain without any realization. After all, you’re in Japan! An amazing, exciting experience! Who wouldn’t trade places with you?

I love Japan and I love traveling, but I get tired. There are long stretches when I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else on the planet, but there are also plenty of times when I would give my heart and soul to be surrounded by countrymen who understand my words, my upbringing, my way of thinking. How did I combat this in Japan, once I had learned to live well?

GetHiroshima Classifieds and Events

Hiroshima doesn’t exactly have the largest population of foreign residents in Japan, but there is a sizable number… enough to warrant the publication of a online resource for expats: GetHiroshima. Culture salons, 10Ks, Japanese wanting friends… I even got replies for a Texas Hold ‘Em group; we were soon meeting once a month for a nice cash game.

Nightclubs and Bars

I admit it, I went downtown many Saturday nights in effort not to hook up with random Japanese girls, but just to sit at the bar of an Irish pub and listen to background conversations… in English. Call me a language whore.

Blog Searches

By using Google Blogsearch, I was able to find many expats in my general area, and learn a great deal about them and their travel experience. You never know who’s reading.

I followed these same techniques in Kagoshima, and found the prefecture’s JET participants had a decent Facebook page; without that, I never would have ended up volunteering at an orphanage in Aira or cycling all the way around Sakurajima for the first time.

Everyone has their own ways of coping with this pressure of feeling like you’re the only one on the planet. Lost in Translation was such a success for showing this through film. Sometimes you do have to travel halfway around the planet… to come full circle.

“Vibram Fivefingers”, EricByers

I was so lazy this past weekend in Auckland and didn’t even find the details for the Human Race (why didn’t they post the starting time/place?) Also been oversleeping for morning runs a lot lately. My body is still getting used to all the physical activity required as the caretaker of a forest monastery – weeding, construction, heavy lifting, hiking – and I’m torn between getting up early and running on an empty stomach or heading out immediately after my shift when my body is worn out and dehydrated.

Still, with my weekly total at zero on a Thursday, I felt compelled to go for a long run. Setting the goal of obtaining a coveted Bundaberg ginger beer in Bombay certainly helped. I was literally past the point of no return from the moment I slipped on my Vibram Fivefingers and began the ascent to Paparata Road.

What a day. My legs were heavy, but more in a pleasantly-used sense rather than worn out. The wind was incredible and against me as I set out towards the setting sun. I love the sensation of barefoot running – in fact, I caught myself landing on the balls of my feet (as opposed to the heel, with shoes) as I dashed around downtown Auckland on Saturday looking for a friend. I know it’s better for form and endurance – burns fat, not carbs – but every now and then along the paved road I’ll let a rock slip under the arch of my foot and make me consider the virtues of “normal” running shoes. Still, the fact that I am writing this at my starting point with a cup of green tea and weary yet perfectly comfortable legs suggests I might be on to something with the Fivefingers.

In any case, the thought of drinking an ice-cold beverage is my driving force as I edge onto the side of the road for car after car. The wind is rustling the trees so loudly I can’t hear anything approaching until it’s right on top of me, but drivers in this area are pretty observant; well, I’m still alive, anyway…

The 3k mark at the T-junction gives me pause… I hadn’t gone past 6k for a few weeks, and although I knew I could just run one way for another few kilometers and hitchhike back, the smarter part of me knew I could never let myself get that close to the finish without pulling through.

The hill at the 4k doesn’t even change my heart rate – a good sign; I must be in better shape than I had thought. A quasi-vegetarian diet and seven hours’ physical labor every day will do that, even if both your legs aren’t off the ground. But now the challenge begins: a big dip to the 5k mark at the turnoff to the Simunovich Olive Estate and from there it’s all uphill for 2-3k. I’ve tried to make the trek over to the store along this route before, only to get winded about 500 meters into the uphill. Not today. Not with ginger beer, chocolate, and a good story at stake. I shift to the left side to take advantage of the sunshine, and try my best to keep pace with the changing grade: 1%, 3%… as the final stretch looms, I can see it’s at least a 5-6% grade, mocking me, daring me to conquer it with my feet. Not so easy after all. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way while running: CHALLENGED.

And I see, I remember that these moments in training or in races are the only parts worth running for, when you’re really not sure if you have the ability to keep going, but will tear yourself apart to find out. One foot in front of the other…

After that little test of humanity, I’m free and clear, a gentle coasting 2k to the convenience store, where I happen to catch the latest headline: someone is training to run the Taupo Ironman wearing a full Darth Vader costume? Craziness. Oh, and if you don’t believe in karma, I should point out it took a full two minutes for a familiar face to give me a lift back to the monastery.