Exploring futher

My second Saturday in Namhae I spend lesson planning, washing, cleaning and shopping. I’ve tried many of the shops now, and everyone is helpful and friendly. The girls in the bakery love to shout “See ya, have a nice day” as I’m leaving, though they wait till I’m almost out of the door before they dare. I greet everyone with ‘annyong haseyo’ whenever I can, though most people want to practice their ‘hello’, nudging each other and whispering it under their breath before one individual is forced to say it out loud. When I respond with ‘hello’ I get fits of giggles and a chorus of ‘hello’s from the rest of the group.

Toddlers in supermarkets are my favourite source of amusement. As they race around the aisles they stumble across me and stop dead in their tracks, staring wide-eyed and motionless until a parent drags them away. Old people also stop and stare, but always in a kind and curious way. The town is small enough to bump into my students. They are still unsure if I’m ‘Morgan’ or ‘Daryl’ as Koreans put their family name first followed by their two syllable hyphenated personal name, so I’m often greeted with a loud ‘hello Morgan’ as one of my students joins me in the supermarket queue, casting a proud glance to the cashier to be sure they’ve noticed he knows this foreigner by name. It’s like being a minor celebrity, with all its advantages and disadvantages. The last time I was greeted like this by a student I was hurriedly stuffing beer and fags into my carrier bag.

Sunday, and with all my jobs out of the way, I set off with the tourist map and go to find the sea. I should have set off earlier, but by the time I get my act together it’s about noon and the sun is high in the sky. I wish I’d bought one of those wide-brimmed sun-peaks that many of the women wear. Like the better-off in 17th and 18th century Britain, tanned skin is avoided as a sign of peasantry working the fields; pale as possible is the desired skin tone. Sun-burnt red has, as far as I’m aware, never been attractive in any century or culture.

I buy batteries for my camera. As soon as I get paid I’ll buy a new one, but it’s an opportunity too good to miss to try a few shots with the simple one I have. I set off to the far end of town – it takes me about fifteen minutes to reach the main road that marks the town boundary. I look back and orientate myself with the two landmarks I know – my school, easily identifiable with its pink and green colour scheme and the college behind it. I live behind the college.

I cross under the main road via the subway and follow a long country lane that I hope leads towards the sea. On either side of me are mainly rice fields. Every inch of land, even small patches of what might otherwise be waste land is filled with produce of some kind. Where the rice has been harvested, garlic has been planted. Where it’s too small for rice, chillies or cabbages or pumpkins are growing.


I carry on walking. On this side of town people are even more inclined to stare. Scooters slow down to take a better look at me. An old man on a tractor almost mows me down as he swoops in too get a closer look. Passing through a village, a group of older women sitting out in a garden call out ‘annyeong haseyo’ and when I call back they answer ‘hello’ and giggle.

Nearly an hour and a half later, after seeing the sea in the distance, I finally turn a corner to be greeted by a small harbour. Two men are sitting, smoking, on benches under a tree. More men are doing things in boats on the water. It’s almost silent and very beautiful.


I walk a little further and find a place to sit on the sea wall, trying to make out the northern tip of Namhae and the northern tip of Changseon but the mountains blend into one another on the horizon.

Further down the road I see two men picnicking under a tree, disability scooters parked on the side of the road. I greet them with ‘annyeong haseyo’ and they call back inviting me to sit with them. I decline as politely as I can and keep walking. I have no idea how far back it is to Namhae on this road, but I’m feeling good and the scenery is amazing. I look back inland and can see the town in the distance. Between me and home looks like partially reclaimed land – an inland salt-water lake and some swampy ground at best – the only way back is to follow the road ahead.
Finally the road begins to curve inland again and I can see that I’m heading back towards the main road. By now it’s very hot and the flying insects are buzzing about in gangs. Like all the insects here, they seem oversized. Huge spiders hang in webs in trees; these little beasties look like miniature red helicopters.


On the way back to the main road I pass more fields of chillies close enough and ripe enough to pick.




Finally, after about two and a half hours of walking, I hit the main road that runs past town.



It’s Sunday, but the garlic still needs to be planted.


I’m almost home. Even from this approach, I’m familiar enough with the town now to recognise that I live just to the right of here.


And I finally discover the distances on the island, or at least some of them. I’ll come back another day to take a better photograph of this sign. It’s some of the most useful and detailed information I’ve had so far.



The Sangju Silver Sand beach is the most southerly tip of the island and I live about in the middle so I estimate the island is a little less than 40k long and not quite as wide. The whole population is 52,000. About the size of the Furness Peninsula with a population smaller than Barrow? I’ve never been good at estimating distance, but that seems about right. It’s certainly Hicksville here, but a beautiful and unusual one. With the small town scrutiny being magnified a thousand fold by virtue of the fact that I’m an obvious foreigner, it will be interesting to see how well I survive under the microscope here. With a year contract and a lucrative salary, it seems I have little choice.