453 Days In Korea

By Jake Hollingsworth

Bright and early on a humid August morning, Jake Hollingsworth boarded an airplane bound for the other side of the world. With his wife of 14 days, he was headed for a land called South Korea. They knew next to nothing about where they were going and what they were getting themselves into. But who cares? They were young. They were carefree. And as you shall soon see, they were in for an Asian honeymoon like no other. 453 DAYS IN KOREA is a story of lessons learned through an inordinate amount of awkward circumstances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jake Hollingsworth
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476112039

Jake Hollingsworth

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away Jake was a bank teller, restaurant manager, and barista. When he finally got his head on straight, Jake married his best friend and two weeks later took a 15 month honeymoon to Asia. He now lives, teaches, writes, and dreams in Seoul with his wife, Jessica, who is a photographer.

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453 DAYS IN KOREA

Jake Hollingsworth

Published by Jake Hollingsworth at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Jake Hollingsworth

453 Days In Korea

a travel memoir

by

Jake

Hollingsworth

_______________________

Cover: Gwanghwamun (Seoul)

Cover photo and design

by

Jessica Hollingsworth

Contact:

[e-mail]

To Jessica, my best friend.

…adventure was out there,

and it was ours for the taking.

Chapter 1

Honestly, I didn’t know any better. My wife and I were, after all, new in town. Well, new to the eastern hemisphere, but that goes without saying. Seated on the floor around the little table flush with the obligatory Korean serving dishes of kimchi, sardines, and some kind of congealed egg and potato mix, sat my wife and I, along with my principal, vice principal, and a few fellow teachers. Jessica and I were elementary school English instructors in Yeongju, a small town in the middle of South Korea. Our little community was roughly two and a half hours south of Seoul, and only 3 hours and a couple of mine fields stood between us and the infamous Demilitarized Zone. All of the action to be found on this particular evening, however, was in a tiny restaurant near the train station specializing in blowfish. The principal was enjoying himself, the way all senior members of any educational institution should. (Eyes roll). Empty bottles of Soju, Korean alcohol similar to vodka, began to quickly litter the table. The principal, as all senior members of any educational institution should (eyes roll...again), was not content to leave the restaurant sober. Nor was he content to leave as the lone drunken educator. Jessica and I were slyly informed that it is not polite in our new culture to refuse a drink, nor to let any one of the party drink alone. Korean custom is such that if someone offers you a shot of Soju, you accept. After downing the throat burning liquid, you are now obligated to return the favor by pouring a shot for your new friend. Koreans do not drink alone. And so, not one to be impolite, nor pass up a free drink for that matter, Jessica and I obliged my principal. It was the only respectful thing to do.

An hour later, after it was announced that we would continue this little party at the local karaoke bar, everyone wobbled out of the restaurant. I am quite certain my wife and I were not the only ones eyeing an opportunity to slip away. The vice principal, however, was the only successful escapee...some obviously fabricated excuse about a sick wife, or child, or...something. Typical. The rest of us awaited the principal’s orders, and then slowly began to shuffle down the sidewalk with a Soju haze in front of our eyes.

I’m sure that what happened next was purely coincidental. Simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I hope. My principal, now approaching third-degree sloppy drunkenness, and probably on the verge of taking an uninhibited and unapologetic pee in the street, quickly reached for my hand, gripping it firmly in his. I was speechless. Confused. Embarrassed with a touch of tipsiness.

Wait...what is he doing? I know he bought dinner, but…does he want something in return?

I glanced back at the rest of our party. All were watching and laughing, refusing to offer any help at all. I looked desperately to Jessica, with an urgent don’t-just-stand-there-do-something look in my eyes. But she of course did nothing. I can’t lie. I’m sure I would have done the same. It was like an extremely awkward first date with a very aggressive, arrogant, and creepy co-worker who can’t keep his hands to himself. I had read some time ago that in Korean culture, it is not uncommon for people, grown heterosexual men included, to hold hands as they walk on the city sidewalks. It is no more than a mere sign of friendship. I, however, am not Korean. Nor am I accustomed to such public displays of affection with anyone but my wife. But this mattered little to my principal. He was intent on showing me a good time in my new home.

And so we walked. Together. Hand in hand.

Adapt or die, I suppose.

_________

Rewind a few months. 2010 was a big year for me. Big in a Hey-mom-and-dad-I’m-getting-married-and-moving-to-the-other-side-of-the-world kind of way. The year began just as every other year before it. I was working a dead-end job for a dead-end boss. The world of quick-service restaurant management was quickly becoming a pit of grease and rude customers that I would never escape if I did not get out immediately. I was getting older and more miserable by the day. Dreams and goals were a thing of the past. I was, in a nutshell, going nowhere. I often dreamed of seeing the world, but those dreams quickly became burdens. Try as I may, I could not push thoughts of strolling a Turkish side street at dusk, or sipping a Bavarian beer in a quaint little village on the edge of the Alps, from my head. I also could not force out the reality that I would never be able to do such things. Travel was expensive and impractical. I had responsibilities. A job. A mortgage. My own self-induced American Dream had a strangle hold on me.

Enter Jessica, the one bright spot on the darkening horizon. We had been co-workers for some time, and now we were spending most of our free time together. We would pass hours looking over a world map on her bedroom wall, plotting our course for adventure. I knew she was the one for me. She made the monotony of life more bearable, fun even. For Christmas I gave her a coffee table book listing the top 50 wonders of the world. From New York to Beijing, Manila to Berlin, we were dreaming. And more importantly, we were happy. So I did the only sensible thing: I proposed. We were married in less than a month, which was not nearly fast enough.

Exactly two weeks after the wedding Jessica and I arrived at Incheon International Airport in South Korea. We had accepted jobs as English teachers in the Korean public school system. Our lives were stuffed into several pieces of luggage, which we carted through the terminal as our legs and brains stretched a little. After nearly 24 hours of travel, we were tired, dirty, and a bit disoriented. We could have been in Mongolia for all we knew. We exited the International Arrivals gate and just stood there.

Well what do we do now?

Seeing as though it was Sunday night, and our contact person from the foreign teacher’s recruiting agency in Seoul would not be coming to pick us up from the airport until Monday morning, I checked my pockets to see if we possibly had enough money to secure a bed for the evening. We were extremely exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. I removed the contents of my pocket and stared for a moment.

That’s it?

There was not much there. Not much at all. I quickly realized that all the money I had to my name was in my palm,