ensued as I moved towards the back seat.
‘He’ll get his head punched in soon,’ said a man whom I had seen often but had never had a conversation with.
‘I’m Robert, would you like the window seat?’ he said as he moved to the middle of the back bench.
‘Thanks, Robert.’ I offered my hand and introduced myself.
‘What’s all this about, do you know?’
‘My guess is that these young guns have not long finished their military training and they’re putting it into practice. It’s a miracle that there hasn’t been serious trouble so far.’
‘I suppose because it’s so close to the end of orientation. We’ll have our own places next week so it’s hardly worth making too much of a fuss; especially with all the comments being written about us,’ I said.
Robert grunted. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. It’s a bit of play-acting. They already know ahead of time where everyone is going. Only people who seem as if they are psychologically unsuited to the job are weeded out. In the meantime the bully boys are having a ball.’
The bus began to fill up and the motor started up. Robert was telling a group of Canadians about himself. He was an Australian who had been working in Korean hagwons, or cram schools, for the past three years. He’d been based in Seoul so he wanted to be sent back there where he knew people. He seemed certain that this was what would happen but I wondered.
‘So which are the best cities to work in?’ one of the Canadians asked. Robert had very definite opinions. He outlined the features of Busan, Daejeon, Gyeongju, Incheon, Seoul and Daegu. The worst of these, he said were Seoul, even though he wanted to be there, because the accommodation was too expensive, and Daegu because it is a dirty, industrial city with chemical pollution and was built in a valley that trapped the hot air and factory gasses.
‘Aren’t we provided with our accommodation? Why does it matter if it’s expensive?’ asked one of the Canadian men.
‘That’s true,’ said Robert. ‘But it means you get smaller and generally worse places.’
Most of the others on the bus tried to doze but Robert kept talking. It seemed after a while that he was mostly talking to himself. Then he turned to me.
‘I noticed your rings. Is your husband with you here? They didn’t push him on another bus did they, the mongrels?’
I smiled and answered guardedly, ‘No, that’s all right. We’re divorced.’
‘Any kids?’
‘No.’
‘Well that’s good. I hate to hear of split ups where there are kids involved.’
I nodded politely and turned my head to the window and feigned sleep. I wished I could have been with my friends.
The buses pulled into the parking lot of the Hall of Peace, our first sightseeing stop, and lunch boxes were handed out. Amos left his bus stretching and shaking out his long legs; it had been a long trip. He called out to me.
‘How was your trip? Olga’s still curled up at the back in there, dead to the world. Why don’t you go and shout in her ear.’
‘Sounds like the sort of thing I do,’ I laughed.
Marilyn soon joined us and we walked together to the entrance of the Hall of Peace. This, we knew was not just another war memorial but an impressive museum including a waxworks.
‘I’m glad I brought my trusty camera,’ Olga said, waving it about, as she joined us.
‘Take it from that woman now,’ said Amos, ‘before they turn the ancient cannons on us all.’
In spite of the warning Olga did get into trouble for trying to get a photo taken with a waxwork Chairman Mao signing a treaty.
On returning to the buses everyone chose their own bus and place on it. There was no sign of Kim’s macho men. I told the others what Robert had said about Seoul and Daegu. We decided to avoid those two cities and to try for Busan, which sounded so good; on the seaboard and very cosmopolitan.
The final few days of touring before finishing up at the university were busy and crammed with activities. After looking forward to being somewhere exotic and stimulatingly different most of the group felt surfeited with culture. So much information crammed into a short time was like eating too much rich food. We longed to be elsewhere amongst familiar sights and sounds. Although it was still early days we were recognising the beginning of culture shock and could see that we would need to provide support for each other.
‘We have to make sure that we stick together. That is, in the same city at least and if possible sharing accommodation,’ Marilyn said as we sat around a large hotel dinner table after the evening meal on our final night in Seoul.
‘We should be able to do that. We just have to be firm about what we want. After all that’s what the contracts promise. We are to share apartments in one of the major cities of choice,’ Olga pointed out.
‘But whose choice?’ Amos raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re very quiet tonight, Elaine. What are you thinking about?’
I let them know what Robert had told me on the bus. ‘Maybe we won’t have the chance to choose where we go or who we share with.’
‘Why is everyone getting so glum?’ said Olga. ‘It will all work out. We don’t have to ask Mr Kim for any favours; there’ll be the head honchos there to organise all that when we get back you know.’
‘To change the subject, where did you disappear to today, Elaine?’ Marilyn asked.
She was referring to the time I had strategically got separated from the group in Piwon, the Secret Garden. It had captured my imagination, this hidden world created for the princesses and concubines of the royal family. Instead of following the bobbing red flag and listening to the guide’s never ending commentary I had slipped off down another pathway and enjoyed my own view of the quaint bridges linking little islands in the artificial lakes. It was so nice to stand in silence in the sweet smelling garden and imagine myself alone in such a perfect world. I wondered how many women and children had walked here before me.
‘It didn’t take long before they noticed I was gone did it?’ I said, ‘I hope I can go back another time and just see the garden. What spoilt it was having to look at the women’s quarters of the palace. It reminded me of battery hens.’
Marilyn agreed solemnly. ‘I know what you mean. The garden was so lovely but it would have been the only bright spot in their lives, caged up in the palace with windows too high to see out of and never knowing when they would be sent to spend the night with the fat old king. How old did the guides say they were … about eleven or twelve? You’re right. Just like battery hens.’
‘I’m glad you changed the subject.’ Amos rolled his eyes. ‘It was getting depressing there for a while.’
On the way back to the university everyone slept. It had been an exhausting few days, two palaces, two museums, a music performance, a dance performance and a day of activities in the Korean Folk Village, a simulated village of centuries ago. Added to physical tiredness was the tension of uncertainty
