The foreign teachers are very privileged at the Daegu Gyeongbuk English Village (DGEV), from the beauty of our surroundings to the general ease of our jobs. As I’ve been undergoing training and starting to teach the past two weeks, I’ve been able to explore the campus in my free time both inside and out.
The campus is relatively large and the architecture is unsurprisingly Western. The main building looks like a government building with tall pillars in the front and marble-patterned tiles. There are many windows and glass doors in every building, allowing for a profusion of natural light. On weeknights, lights glow from the gazebo and lampposts that stand along the walkway from the fountain in front of the main building to the fountain by the stationary airplane (forever stationed at the airport situational gate) on the other end of campus. A pebbled, man-made river runs through the middle of campus, though its usually dry.
In the situationals, the impersonation of a Manhattan street can be noisy from the traffic of students following their Village Guides to their next class. They might go to a grocery store, a bank, a police station, a hospital, an airline terminal, a video store, a gift shop, a zoo–all rooms where teachers use these themes and any corresponding props/sets to teach English vocabulary. It’s kind of like a children’s museum.
I’ve learned that the Village is full of quirks. It caters not only to students, but also to flight attendant trainees. They have a room specifically for instructing young women who fit their strict physical requirements. This explains everything. The room is equipped with vanity mirrors in rows that at first look like computer screens. The floor is marked with two lines to form a catwalk so that flight attendants can practice the proper way to walk down cramped aisles and ease past grumpy travelers. It also has a station where you can weigh yourself and measure your height. I’m fairly certain I would meet zero of the qualities they look for (the fact that I’m not even Korean aside).
There is also a combat room, which some of us interpreted as a laser tag arena when we were told about it. After shimmying through a gap between two walls (because the room was locked and I was curious), walking through some dark rooms, and exploring them with a flashlight, to my dismay I discovered there was no arena, and rather I found myself in a room with a bunch of rifles pointing at me, which sounds like a scene in a thriller, but really the guns were just stationed on the floor to target practice on a screen on the opposite wall. I think I heard that the military sometimes uses this room for training, because if there’s a class on gun-wielding, I have yet to hear about it.
Another quirk of the Village, in the most comical of senses, is that the Korean administration of the school feels children’s nursery rhymes must boom from the speakers during transitions between classes, which, to the foreign teachers’ chagrin, is every 45 minutes. Right when silence seems normal, a woman’s voice busts out (to the tune of “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round”), “Dad is taking us to the zoo tomorrow! Zoo tomorrow! Zoo tomorrow!” and it echoes inside the buildings and across every parking lot, sidewalk, or hole in the ground you try to bury your head in to get away from that music. Some of the lyrics to the three or four songs they play are up to interpretation. Some people hear “sausage in a bag” while others hear “toss it in a bag,” when, apparently, the lyrics are really, “sausage in a pan.” Either way, I don’t know what it has to do with “sweeties in a jar” or “jelly on a plate.” Didn’t the U.S. once use the repetition of the Barney “I Love You” song as a method of torture?
One thing, which I guess you could call a quirk, is the lack of interaction the foreign teachers have with the Korean staff. They have separate offices that we’re not allowed inside and a segregated cafeteria, as well. Our supervisor told us it was because Koreans have loud, frequent conversations on the phone, and we would find it distracting. While this may be true, this concern about distraction probably goes both ways. It would be a fun experience getting to know the Korean staff and learning from each other, but I’m trying to be understanding. Two languages clashing with each other in the same office might prove to be more of a hassle, at least for the Koreans, than a benefit to their fast, hyper-productive culture. Additionally, we don’t really have reason to collaborate with the Korean staff on much, so the chain of command also ensures this separation.
As I expected, there’s a lot I’m learning and trying to figure out about Korea, but I’m happy to be teaching in such an interesting school with beautiful surroundings.