October 6th

My first day of work also happens to be my birthday. Forty seven years old.

My first birthday present is being told that the students are in the middle of exams until Thursday, so I won’t be teaching until then. Instead I’m quickly introduced to the other staff and shown my desk. I have a stand alone PC connected to the internet so I rapidly check emails, whisk off a few messages and print myself a map of Korea. My second birthday present: I am on the very Southern tip, opposite Japan, exactly where I would have wished to be if I had chosen my home for the next year or two.



After an hour or so, Sun-mi whisks me away to finish some more administration. We drive to Jinju, the nearest big city, where I verify documents and sign more papers. It’s an embarrassing moment when I fill in my date of birth, then today’s date and Sun-mi and the Board of Education man realise it’s my birthday. They both offer profuse congratulations and apologies that they didn’t know before now.

My third birthday present: the man at the Board of Education goes through my contract and tells me I am a Level One teacher – the highest pay grade plus countryside allowance. Hunting down all those certificates and references paid off. We go from Jinju to Samchoenpo to register my presence in Korea. In a week’s time I’ll get my alien registration card and I’ll officially be an alien. As if I need a card to verify that.

Driving to and from Jinju I get my first real impression of the island, which is bigger than I thought. It takes about twenty minutes to drive to the Namhae bridge and on to the mainland, but coming back via Samchoenpo which is further east along the coastline, we cross the Changsoen bridge and follow the road that does almost a full circuit of the islands back round to Namhae town, taking about forty five minutes.

Changsoen town, though smaller than Namhae, looks more tourist oriented. The sea pops into view at every turn in the road, always with hazy mountains on the horizon. Green and forested mountains are everywhere, the valleys filled with fields of garlic, chillies and rice. Terraced paddy fields are cut into the hillsides and every now and again we pass through some small community of high rise buildings mixed with pagoda roofed houses and neon-signed shops.

Back at Namhae we eat the most fantastic Udon noodle soup and bimbap – Korean sushi. My biggest birthday surprise is saved until last. Earlier in the day I’d been stupid enough to show Sun-mi my latest collection of bites – my middle finger was a swollen lump of blood, two more bites on my hand and wrist were weeping and sore. Another small bite on my upper arm was surrounded by a raised, red patch that stretched from my armpit to elbow. Added to a touch of sunburn on my face and chest, Sun-mi decides I need urgent medical attention. Despite my protests that this is a pretty standard state for me to be in on arriving in a hot and unfamiliar climate and that all would regulate itself with nothing more than my super-regenerative healing powers and a bit of acclimatisation, she whisks me off, first to the chemist and then, on their advice, to the hospital where I receive a shot in the arse and a dose of tablets. I can’t refuse –she pays; a birthday gift. As a salve for my pains and with Sun-mi as a witness, the doctor adds the ominous but welcome words - ‘don’t eat meat’.

As a person who rarely takes as much as an aspirin, lives by the motto that you should save antibiotics for the next outbreak of the Plague and generally avoids doctors, I feel more than a little pushed-around. Doing my best not to feel resentful, we finally arrive back at my building and I am eager to be home and alone.

“Just before you leave,” Sun-mi says hesitatingly as I open the car door, “your clothes – they aren’t… appropriate”.
I’m stunned. She tugs at the neckline of her buttoned up shirt and looks at mine. I look down at, in my opinion, my most modest work shirt – a loose fitting long sleeved v-necked shirt and my just-above-the-knee skirt.

“Korea is a very conservative culture and our Principal is a very conservative man – trousers or below the knee skirts would be better and no..,.” she taps her palm on her chest. No cleavage, I surmise, though I swear I have not a single centimetre of cleavage showing. “and,” she continues “tomorrow is school photograph day, so wear make-up, look pretty. Today I wore no make up and they said ‘why aren’t you wearing make-up today Sun-mi? In Korea it’s important to look pretty.”

“Oh god,” I think “she’s going to book me in for plastic surgery and a breast reduction next”.

“Oh, thanks” I say She was clearly upset at having to be the bearer of a reprimand and I had to admire the tact of telling me just before I got home rather than having me walk around all day feeling like a brazen hussy. “If you ever need to tell me anything else, if I do something wrong or offensive, just tell me Sun-mi, I appreciate it” and with smiles we say goodnight.

With my front door shut behind me, I light my first cigarette of the day and ponder - allowing a whole variety of emotions - anger, bemusement, frustration, embarrassment, joy and wonder to flutter through me. On the whole it’s been a good day. But what the hell am I going to wear tomorrow?