Bloomin.

This one time, I started a blog. Then I didn't keep it up, which was completely unexpected by everyone in the world ever. (...sure) But here I am, in year number 3 in Korea, creeping back into the blogger game, pretending that I'm gonna keep it up this time (like I always do).

My 4-legged spikey kid,
Ms Erin Tiggywinkle

So much has happened since my first day as a teacher. Summary: I've traveled. A lot. Cambodia, Vietnam, Japan, South Africa, England, Bali, and a day or 2 in Qatar. I went bungee jumping (twice). I've rubbed mud all over my skin, gazed up in awe of ancient temples. Had an impromptu party on a beach. Fulfilled a life-long dream seeing Michael Schumacher, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Raikonnen and their beautiful machines, as well as a new hero, Sebastian Vetel. ( <3!) . I've learnt to play the ukulele, a bit of guitar, and I've had the opportunity to sing my heart out at Noraebang every other weekend. I've consumed enough soju to kill a small Korean family. I've been scrubbed and polished by old ladies in saunas, I've learnt to ski. I've lost a grandmother and gained a spikey 4-legged kid. 

I've developed a healthy relationship with exercise, an unhealthy obsessive relationship with Game of Thrones and a number of healthy but completely inappropriate relationships with some of this planet's most fantastic English teachers, who I love to death and without whom my life would be dull and lonely. 

I've laughed (every single freaking day) and I've cried (a few times, when losing people) and I've stayed out all night more times than I can count. 

Right now, it's spring. There's a sense of hope and promise in the air: the promise of clear blue skies and tumultuous electric thunder storms. Cherry blossoms are a-blooming, ripe with the promise of bright green leaves. 

I'm happy here. Blooming.

How are you?

And suddenly, I was a teacher.

Before I started teaching, I was at school for a few days just to settle in and find my way around. I chatted to the vice principal. I answered all the usual co-teacher questions. I found out all about the life and times of Korean teachers and I even met a kid or 2. Then, one day, it was time to do what I came here to do... I ironed my shirt, I ate a good breakfast, and I got ready to face the first batch of my 450+ kids.

Full of misguided confidence, I stood up and introduced myself to my class. The co-teacher had just outlined the class rules, so she gave me 20 minutes for their little round faces to stare at me. And stare they did.

ME: Uh... hi. I'm Samantha. I'm from South Africa. Say "South Africa"

Students: *crickets*

ME: Ok say "Samantha"

Students: ...

ME, panicking: "Samantha. Sa. Man. Tha."

Little girl in group 4: Sa. Man. Da.

Students: Samandda.

ME: Thhhhhhhhhh. Say thhhhhhh

Students: ffffffff.

*facepalm*

The first lesson I taught was How Are You. I was scared. I was excited. I was bumbling around finding my "teacher genes". I made the kids stand up, fist pump, and yell "I'm GREAT!" - though I think it was more to psych myself up than anything else.

As I sit here typing this, I'm about to teach lesson 14 of 16 from the Korean national English text books to the very first class that I laid eyes on. I know that the little girl in group 4 who broke the silence that day is a bit of a smartass. I know the kid who mouths the words as I say them is not being cheeky - it's his way of learning. I know Donghyun needs constant attention and Minsu is smiling sweetly because he hasn't a cooking clue what's going on.

Today, during warmup, I'll ask again, how are you?

My own reply: I'm GREAT!

Dry - the tale of my first week in Korea.

In Korea, we have four seasons. Koreans love to tell me this, following up with the required "How About You?" that follows any statement about Hanguk.

Well, I arrived at the arse-end of winter, signified by everything being brown, and everybody wanting to die (and half hoping for the toasty warmth of the seventh circle of hell). The air was dry enough to immediately crack my lips and cold enough to freeze the warmest cockles of my heart.

The drive to Chungju with my co-teacher and the school nurse was dry as hell. And that was just the conversation (groan). I was informed by my co-teacher that my apartment was a little bit far from school because all the other foreign teachers live there... It's close to a big store, and just above a market. Above. A. Market. I had a mental image of waking up at 4am every day to the joyful cries of Korean fruit sellers, and the immediate subsequent image of me boarding a plane, bloody, handcuffed hands, sobbing "I'm just not a morning person..."

Luckily, it is not so. My apartment is simply near an agricultural co-op chain store. I got to my apartment as the admin staff were screwing the last of my Ikea-style furniture together. My thought process from that went something like this:

Omigod it's only one room. Oh it's a pretty big room. I have a TV...Oh... the remote for my tv and dvd player are both exclusively in Korean, as are the instruction manuals....ooh a shoilet - I was expecting that. How does the heating work? It's f**king cold! Do I have curtains? I don't have curtains. I have 2 blenders but no curtains. Huh?!

I got dragged to E-Mart, the big department store in town, to buy anything that wasn't provided for me, and puzzled my way through all the pictures to find which one of the thousand detergents was dishwashing liquid.

Then it was just me, and my apartment. I unpacked. I scrubbed. I arranged. I set up my dvd player and tv to play through reel of pictures The Ex gave me as a parting gift. I read the lovely cards from my friends and family, got some insight from Dr Seuss's Oh! The Places You'll Go!

Met up with some of the people who I had no idea would become some of my best friends in the world. Thought some of them were kinda weird. Realized I was too. Passed around some awkward balloons.

On Monday, I would see my cretins for the first time. For the weekend, though, my primary task was surviving the cold.

In The Beginning, There Was Kimchi.

Eight months ago, I had packed up my things into three big cardboard boxes. I had sold my car. I had stored my furniture. I had eaten my own rather considerable body weight in Spur food and boerewors. As I cheerfully, tearfully said goodbye to my People, I knew I was finally making progress in the eternal game of chicken between myself and the world. I closed my eyes and jumped. It was time to travel.

Wide eyed, hopeful, bags stuffed and cling-wrapped (you never know, those baggage handlers are all clearly petty thieves after your lady-bloomers and/or any narcotics carefully stashed in your checked luggage) , I boarded the plane 20 minutes after receiving the visa that would allow me to teach English in Korea for a year. 2 planes across 14 000km and 7 time zones later I arrived in Kimchi-land tired, sick and minus anything and anyone familiar. Except, you know, the McDonalds at the airport.

Finally arriving at the Epik teachers orientation building late that night, I looked around a pretty big and seemingly deserted University campus, forlornly wondering in which of these hundred darkened buildings I was supposed to rest my travel-weary head.

Out of nowhere, I hear a strong Bellville accent. I looked around, confused, then finally looked down to see a tiny pixie of a girl grabbing a quick smoke break outside when she happened upon a lost waegookin (foreigner in Korean) and decided to help me find my way to my dorm. I registered, put my stuff down, laid my head down and ...

Jet lag is a bitch.

Woke up the next day for breakfast, had my first taste of kimchi, threw up my first taste of kimchi, had my first taste of Korean soup, threw up my first taste of Korean soup, and stared into the dead glassy eyes of what has become my Korean nemesis: anchovies. The sneaky little bastards are everywhere.

Cut to 2 days later, and I'm shyly eyeing my new co-teacher searching for social cues and hoping against hopes that she and I can be besties. We go for lunch. There's kimchi. I look at it, chopsticks poised. She looks at it, then studies me, expectantly. I reach for the radish. She's crestfallen.

In the beginning, there was kimchi. Eight months later, I've survived the kimchi onslaught, bonded with the co-teacher and even learnt to speak a little Korean. These past eight months have sped by in a blur of belly-laughter, soju cocktails and strangely acted out Konglish, but most of all, adventure.

My Cretins And I is a blog that charges straight down the cobbled stone road of nostalgia, on a black horse, with swords and armour, passing by the stories of my Life In Korea.