Annnndddd we're off! After orientation at a college designed after North Korean architecture (not even kidding, they designed it in that style on purpose), we were whisked away to Jeollanam-do on a psychedelic bus.
We arrived at the immigration office in Gwangyang by mid-afternoon and were soon greeted by our co-teachers. Mine was a small, experienced looking woman accompanied by a young, quiet male teacher who is reportedly the brand-new PE teacher. Both helped me navigate the chaos that was immigration. We had our pictures taken (and airbrushed, which is apparently standard in Korea), fingerprints scanned, and signed our lives away until late in the day.
After all the paperwork, my co-teachers drove me to our new apartment. When we had finally lugged all of my luggage up the three flights of stairs (the poor PE teacher did most of the lugging), we tried to unlock the door only to find we had been given the incorrect combination. So we sat in the sweltering hallway waiting for a call from the landlord with the right combo.
While we all sat profusely sweating and moaning about the heat, my co-teacher said, "Oh, no A/C", and pointed towards my new apartment. "No A/C?" I gasped, and when she nodded, my anxiety began to wake from its slumber. The landlord finally called, we entered the right code, and we stepped into a cramped, dusty space.
I went to flick on the light to get a better look at where the next year of my life would be spent. Click. No light. Click click click. I flicked the switch back and forth to no avail. I cast a wide-eyed look to my co-teachers and asked, "It doesn't work?" They merely shrugged and said simply, "No electricity." My anxiety stretched its legs and rolled its neck, now fully alive and alert. With nothing to do but wait for Zee and his co-teacher to arrive, we all sat in a circle on the dusty-covered floor and stared blankly around the room. Probably sensing my blatant apprehension, the male co-teacher kindly asked, "What else do you need?" I managed to whimper out "Food, please," as I looked over at the empty, powerless fridge. My anxiety opened its jaws and swallowed me whole.
Just before I was about unleash the tears I was so desperately trying to keep at bay , Zee and his co-teacher came to my rescue. His co-teacher is like the fairy godmother of co-teachers since she has gone through this process with multiple foreigners. It was as if she waved her magic wand around the room and things became right. Bippity, the electricity was fixed. Boppity, the A/C began to run. Boo, we were spirited away to buy groceries. My anxiety let out a disappointed growl and began to settle back down into hibernation.
Throughout the first day, our co-teachers continuously apologized for how small our apartment was. And I'll admit it, they're right; it's small. But small isn't all that negative. We have enough space to live, and we won't have to buy much furniture to fill the space considering there's so little of it. Our schools had already provided us with a bed, two chairs and a desk, and a TV, which is really all you need at the end of the day. EPIK also gives teachers a $300 settlement bonus to help with buying any household goods you might need, which is a big perk. Having a smaller space means we'll become very organized and storage savvy. Who knows, you might be looking at the new Marie Kondo.
With EPIK, whatever apartment you get is very much a luck of the draw. You may get a three-room apartment with a balcony, or you may get a tiny studio with one window. But no matter the size, it is free housing. All you have to pay is gas and electric. It's hard to beat a deal like that.
We live next to what feels like an endless supply of restaurants (which Zee loves), and we're in walking distance from a three-story coffee shop overlooking a river (which I love). We can walk almost everywhere we need to go in our "little" city, and when our legs need a break, the bus system here is very efficient. Overall, not too shabby of a place to call home.
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