Students in China, Photo: Steph & Adam

We had set our sights on Japan. Yes, a year of hiking, karaoke, bento boxes and hyperdisciplined students. We researched cities and companies. We polished our resumes. We cast our nets into the online world of TESL job postings.

I thought it wouldn’t be hard. With a few years’ experience under our belts, I thought we would be able to cherry-pick TESL jobs. The offers didn’t exactly come rolling in; it was more like a desperate trickle. Part-time jobs, jobs that started that very week, jobs that didn’t sponsor a work visa. We read about the bankruptcy of a major language school; how hundreds of teachers were suddenly jobless in Japan. We attended a group interview where young applicants had flown in from hundreds of miles away for the chance to secure a job. We got some offers, less than I hoped, but they weren’t great. After months of looking, we set our sights on a different country.

I had heard countless job sites and recruiters refer to teaching ESL as “recession-proof,” and I had figured it to be true. Education is always in demand, right?

Well, not so fast. TESL has been impacted by the recession too. There are no daily layoffs, no ghost towns where language schools once stood, but as I learned during my Japanese job hunt, the industry has changed. Here is a guide to understanding these changes, and knowing how to prepare yourself if you want to teach English overseas in the current job climate.

More Competition

It used to be said that if you spoke English, you could find a job teaching it somewhere.

This may still be true in some countries, but by and large, the industry is getting more competitive. Sure, most language school applications list bare-minimum requirements; a passport, an undergraduate degree, a native speaker’s proficiency in English. There was a time when the bulk of ESL teachers were fresh university graduates, and these requirements were all they had.

Nowadays, more and more people are switching (or being forced out) of careers, and “recession-proof” TESL is growing in popularity. You may meet the requirements for a great-looking job, but other applicants may pack additional ammo on their resumes: TESL certificates, Masters degrees, teaching experience, or foreign language fluency.

It’s good news for language schools, who can be choosier about who they hire. It’s good news for students, who are getting well-qualified teachers. But if you don’t have extra flair on your resume, it’s bad news for you, the applicant.

Prepare Yourself: At the very least, get a TESL certificate. You can take an affordable 100-hour course online or at a community center. For some teaching practice, you can volunteer at a language school or offer free language lessons or English conversation practice in your area.

Photo: prufrock27

Low Teacher Turnover

In a precarious job climate, people know to hold onto a good thing. In the past, travelers have been inclined to take a TESL job for a year, experience a new culture, then go home again. Now, ESL teachers know that going home might involve months of thankless job-hunting and living with their parents. More and more teachers are staying overseas for years at a time, hoping to build up savings and ride out the recession in their home country.

In South Korea, the Ministry of Education’s EPIK program offers 1100 public school positions for ESL teachers. According to one recruiter, less than 500 positions were open for this academic year. Over half of EPIK’s teachers re-signed their contracts, meaning fewer spots and more competition for prospective teachers. In some regions of the country, a year or two can pass before these teaching jobs become available.

Even teachers who don’t want to stay at their current schools are at a vantage point by being in the country and building a year’s worth of contacts. On-site teachers can apply for jobs in person, and scoop them up before the position ever gets posted online.

Prepare Yourself: Allow yourself plenty of time to apply for jobs. Most countries have specific hiring periods; typically in late winter (for September contracts) and late summer (for January contracts).

Fluctuating Currencies

Many currencies worldwide have fluctuated heavily in this recession. Even now, we can’t be sure that they have stabilized. For ESL teachers, though salaries may remain constant on paper, your savings may be worth less than you thought once you take that money out of the country.

In Brazil and South Korea, teachers’ salaries are worth less because of falling currency rates. In China and Vietnam, however, the currencies have fared well in this economy and your salary will be worth more when you change your money.

Countries that were once known as ESL moneymakers might not be as lucrative nowadays. The opposite is also true; you may be surprised with how much you can save in a less affluent but economically strong nation. If money is a big factor in how you choose a TESL destination, then research the currencies of countries that appeal to you.

Prepare Yourself: Sort out your finances before going overseas. If you owe monthy payments on credit cards or student loans, look at the current exchange rate and budget how much you’ll have to wire back each month. Also, remember to budget an emergency airfare fund, in case you need to fly home for any reason, or in case your school closes down unexpectedly — it happens more than you think.

Trouble for Schools?

So how does enrollment fare in a recession? Tough to say. It would vary from country to country, city to city, even neighborhood to neighborhood. On one hand, if companies or individuals are reducing their budgets, language lessons may be a trimmable expense. On the other hand, if people are out of work and looking to add pep to their resumes, they might dive into language studies as way of gaining edge in the competitive job market.

Language schools may boom, bust, or remain steady. If you’re being paid an hourly wage and not a set monthly salary, this means boom or bust for your income as well.

What does this mean for teachers? Bree, an American teacher in Italy, observed the stability of government work in 2009, the depth of the recession. “The majority of our work came in the form of contracting teachers out to local high schools,” she says, “paid by the government. So while businesses and corporations seemed to be cutting back on providing English classes, the government seemed to be requiring more native teachers in the public school system.”

The most secure jobs are said to be through public schools and government programs. Funding is backed by the state, and even in a recession, the demand is constant.

Prepare Yourself: Unless you have contacts at a private school, working for public schools is the safest bet. Japan’s JET program, for example, is a renowned ministry-run initiative. Some private companies will also sub-contract their teachers to local schools. Remember that these are plum jobs, and you may need to start the application process up to 8 months in advance.

Community Connection

Do you have a story of how your teaching career has been affected by the recession? Share in the comments below.

If you want to learn more about teaching English overseas, check out Matador’s Teaching ESL Focus Page.

Photo and Feature Photo:quinn.anya

Before travel, I never realized how little I like to be touched.

Sure, hugs are fine. I don’t even mind a cramped car ride or overstuffed elevator. I thought that in terms of physical contact, my comfort zone was average.

Last year, I learned my limit.

In Turkey, even in the thick heat of an Istanbul summer, my ESL students would greet each other with earnest hugs and kisses. I do the same, if I haven’t seen a person for a while, but this was an everyday event, the Turkish equivalent of my North American eye-contact-and-nod greeting. Here, bodies were always getting close. I didn’t like it one bit, especially in the summertime of bare skin and perpetual sweat.

It wasn’t just the sweat factor, of course. It was the kissing too. All that kissing! One cheek and then the other, the two faces weaving dangerously close, the noses almost touching. You could study your friends’ pores if you wanted to. You could sniff in an instant your friends’ last cigarette or kebab lunch. Definitely not the stuff of a good student-teacher relationship, in my books.

Some students would embrace me as they would any teacher. I know they could sense my body stiffening as my head whipped around, trying to get it over with. I wanted to return this amiable gesture somehow. I would try to offer closeness the ol’ Canadian way; cracking jokes, asking questions, giving compliments. The more I opened up verbally, the more daily embraces came my way.

How do you greet people in Canada? They asked. I demonstrated a wave, a nod, a handshake, knowing full well that it seemed comparatively frosty. The conversation that ensued sounded like a teenage boy trying to goad his girlfriend to first base. So, what about kissing? Not even a little? But it’s nice to kiss someone, it shows love. Have you tried it? You should try it. You might like it.

I knew my resistance was more personal than cultural. Though we aren’t a huggy bunch in Canada, I knew many North Americans who could adapt to this Turkish custom. I would see expat friends on the street and in cafes, greeting their friends with smacking kisses. It was a small adaptation for me to make, but it just wouldn’t sit right.

I would talk about it with other teachers after class, rattling off excuses.

“It’s summer! Everyone sweats! I’m smelly, they’re smelly.”

“It blurs the teacher/student divide, I can’t grade the exam of someone I hug daily!”

“How about a compromise? I’ll only do it with females, and they have to be over a certain age or it feels weird. Eighteen? Nineteen?”

I sounded obsessive, fixating on this tiny cultural difference, this hiccup in what was otherwise a fine, friendly relationship with a lovely group of people.

Photo: Jesslee Cuizon

I tried to make a lesson out of it, a teaching point coming out of cultural difference. We read articles on personal space, we talked about physical contact in different cultures: the handshake, the bow, the hug, different forms of the same sentiment. The class took to the information with interest, but in my case, it all felt like excuses.

“But in Japan, they just bow!” I’d say, textbook in hand like a flimsy white flag. I was desperately justifying my stiff hug while a kind Turkish student stood before me, looking confused. Their past English teachers had done it. Their foreign friends did it.

But why? Why don’t Canadians like to touch? I could see them turning the logic over and over in their minds, trying to decipher this stubborn fact. It’s cold there, you should be touching more than us, keeping warm!

“We don’t dislike it, we just don’t do it so often.” To my students, this was the epitome of frigidity. To them, constant physical contact was as natural as breathing. One day, a quiet businessman in the class piped up. “No wonder Canada has a small population,” he said, “you can’t make babies if you don’t touch your wife!”

And that, thankfully, was when tension gave way. My anti-embracing became another class joke, the way Emre was always late, or Bashak’s nose was always buried in her Turkish-English dictionary. Each day, someone would jokingly lean, and I would play up my part with rigid shoulders and bulgling eyes. It paved the way to more discussions about Canada, Turkey, and their differences.

Months after the class ended, I ran into some of my former students at a cafe. There, hugs were exchanged, and each one was sincere.

Community Connection

Have you ever realized the differences in personal space or greetings while traveling or living abroad? Share your experiences in the comment section.

Feature and above photo: sellyourseoul

Every day at eleven, a cheery instructor would lead a hip-hop dance class at my tiny gym. Every day, I would watch them, listening hard for some recognizable Korean words (“…left arm, right arm, left foot, right foot…”). I didn’t yet have the nerve to join the dance classes, to be the only non-Korean in front of those huge, scrutinizing mirrors. Already, I was the tallest person in the gym, the only woman who, for sizing reasons, had to wear the mens’ gym kits. Dancing around might bring more bad attention than good.

One day in the locker room, a woman from the class approached me. Her name was Sunny, an English teacher turned stay at home mom. “We see you watching the class,” she told me, “so tomorrow, why don’t you join us?”

I had been in South Korea for a month, and felt no wiser than the day I arrived. I had always thought of myself as a sociable, adaptable traveler. For some reason though, I wasn’t meeting anyone. Simple tasks, like buying a bus token or vegetables, were unnervingly difficult. I had splurged on a gym membership with my first paycheque.

With a bare social calendar, I was free to spend long hours getting in shape. Even if I could barely navigate the subway, even if I could barely order a simple dish, the gym gave me my footing again. At least I knew how to use a treadmill. At least, I thought as I nodded to Sunny, I know how to dance.

The next day, stretching on the floor, I studied my fellow dancers. Most were housewives like Sunny, spending long hours socializing at the gym while their children attended school. They wore the kind of bright, sequined costumes you’d find on a figure skater. Camouflage, ruffles, mesh, more sequins than I ever wore in all my childhood dance recitals combined. They stood close to the mirror, fixing their ponytails. One woman wore a a plastic bag on her torso, like a child fingerpainting in a garbage-bag tunic. This was apparently a do-it-yourself method of sweating off the pounds. Her dance moves were accented by a squeaky plastic sound.

Photo: WanderingSolesPhotography

The instructor called us to attention and we found our places. Sequined women in the front, older women and me at the back. Never mind that I was half the age of the people around me, we were in it together, moving through the warm-up stretches. This wasn’t so bad.

Warm-up complete, it was a whole new game. Korean pop songs filled the room and the group transformed into a single entity, moving through a routine in perfect time with the ever-grinning instructor. I flailed around, red-faced, trying to keep up. It felt like I’d just jumped onstage at Cirque du Soleil. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and I didn’t.

The class, I later deduced, consisted of choreography that built on itself, week after week. These women had been learning and practicing these routines for months. What did newcomers do? Well, it rarely came up. I was the only newcomer to enter the group in a while.

Sunny approached me after the class, “that was fun, right?” She looked at the shining sweat on my face and arms. Her own skin was beautifully bone-dry. “Have you ever danced before?” Of course I didn’t tell her yes, that I had danced for most of my childhood, that it shouldn’t have been so hard.

She took me by the hand and introduced me to the group, translating their welcomes into English. Someone handed me black instant coffee in a tiny paper cup. A woman in a ruffled flamenco blouse and leather shorts eyed me up and down, then offered to take me shopping for “better clothes.” The instructor gave me an encouraging pat; the kind you give to a toddler who makes a shapeless pile in the sand and calls it a sandcastle.

“So we will see you tomorrow?” Sunny asked. “We all want to see you tomorrow.”

The next day, I came back to the class. The day after that, I came back. I would glimpse at myself in the mirror, my men’s T-shirt sweat-stained, my ponytail frizzing, my mouth tensed in a thin line of concentration. I didn’t have any sequins on my clothes. I didn’t go on post-class lunch dates with girlfriends. Here, I didn’t have any girlfriends. I didn’t know enough Korean to understand the teacher’s instructions, or the class banter. But I could get better at dancing.

At night after work, I would scour YouTube for the latest K-pop videos and mimic the dancers for hours. The Internet was full of homemade clips, teenage girls dancing in their living rooms to Tell Me and So Hot. I would use my glass balcony door as a full-length mirror, not caring that passing pedestrians could see me hopping around.

At my language school, I would round up the little girls in my class and dance with them. “Na Yeon, do you have your mobile phone? Good, play Tell Me. Everyone line up…aaand, go!” The children, despite eight hours of school and four hours of supplementary classes daily, had found the time to memorize that choreography too. Their eyes would bulge at the sight of me copying them. “Anne Teacher!” they would say, grins on their faces, “do you want to be Korean?”

It sounds a bit obsessive, slaving over the dance moves to saccharine pop songs that I didn’t even like. But to me, it became a mission. Bouncy hip-hop dancing would be my “in” to Korean culture. Some expats sample every type of kimchi under the sun or study Korean until they’re fluent. Some take to karaoke rooms and rice liquor binges. I would get to know the culture through its pop.

I knew that with my fellow gym-goers, I would never fully fit in. I would never be able to follow their rapid locker room chats or stomach the bittersweet instant coffees they drank with gusto. Even without the language barrier, I wouldn’t relate to those young mothers with workaholic husbands. But while I was a cultural outsider, I vowed not to stand out in our dance routines. I would dance just like them.

Each morning at the gym felt a little better. One day, at a post-class party, Sunny served as my ever-keen translator. Though my Korean was still shaky, people were chatting with me. Even the woman in a plastic body-sheath gave me a tight nod.

“They want to tell you your dancing is good!” Sunny said, poking me amicably on the bum, “like real hip-hop.” The instructor said something and everyone looks at my bum this time, smiling. Sunny piped up proudly, “she says you can dance like this,” – wiggling her narrow hips stiffly – “like Jennifer Lopez. With your bottom. For Korean women, it’s hard.”

By this time, I had widened my social network. I had told my new friends about the hip hop classes, and how hard I had studied these pop dances in order to fit in with the class. When I reenacted the bum-admiration, they laughed. “Maybe that’s why they wear the bright costumes,” one friend mused. “They want to look like hip-hop dancers, even if they just don’t have the shape to dance like one.”

It seemed I wasn’t the only one struggling to fit the part. In fact, I was one of thousands. The keen expats labouring over Korean grammar books, the housewives shopping for leotards together, the teenage girls dancing in sock feet in their living rooms. Maybe we’re all fitting in slowly.

Feature Photo: John Pavelka Photo: author

Recently I attended a group interview for ESL teaching positions. There, I met a handful of applicants who were young, cheery, and new to the field. The ink was still drying on their undergrad degrees, their passport pages were still unstamped. There was a giddy, nervous energy in the room. It was all familiar.

Back in 2005, before the iphone and the recession, before Lady Gaga and urban Ontario’s pho craze, I too was a newbie to the world of TESL and travel. I had been in their shoes before.

It made me feel wise. Soon after, it made it feel old.

These interviewees got me thinking about the past five years, how I entered the teaching world without much thought to it. To me, it seemed like a great way to spend a year after university, a way to travel without going broke.

A year turned into many years, and somewhere along the road there was a turning point. I realized that I actually loved teaching. It wasn’t just as a means to live overseas in cool places anymore. Somewhere in the course of time, it had become a proper career. I started flicking through old travel diaries, looking back on the first days in the classroom.

Apparently, I took to teaching as most take to long-term travel; not in one gushing high, but as a process of adaptation.

Photo: John Pavelka

First, there was the honeymoon stage, teaching in a small town in Thailand. I had never before been to Asia, or any tropical country, and every little thing in my daily life was fascinating. In the diary, I gushed and gushed. I loved the other expats, the tropical fruits, the motorcycle taxis, the teakwood houses by the river. I mention monkeys or elephants on every single page. At first I didn’t ponder the teaching job much. After all, there was so much else to take in. But I never grew bored of the job either. I liked the hokey pokey and barnyard animal flashcards. I grew hooked on making Thai children smile.

November 2005:

Today I taught my first class at a government school and absolutely loved it. The schools are huge and the kids are so sweet – they literally run after you and watch your every move like schoolgirls to the Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night – a crew of them followed me into the bathroom and giggled while I washed chalk off my hands. The classes have like 45 students in them, but they’re pretty cute. I always knew I wouldn’t mind this job, I never thought I’d truly like it. Who would have thought….

Next, came was the rut. Five months later, and the freshness of the unknown was fading. It had been my intention to write. Teaching was a means to a paycheck so that I could write. But after long days of work, biking from school to school and shouting over classrooms of 50+ kids, I was too tired to pick up a pen.

I would meet backpackers en route to Laos, just back from Cambodia, and their stories filled me with travel envy. The cheery students were not longer a novelty. Now, when they ambushed me in the hall and tugged at my clothes, it felt invasive. I was less of a novelty to them, too, and they weren’t afraid to tune me out mid-lesson. A foreigner, they had learned, couldn’t punish them. Not really. Yep, this was the grouchy phase of culture shock. I had it bad.

April 2006:

Teaching requires just enough imagination to drain the creativity from me. I think ESL hurts my vocabulary. And I feel like a babysitter. Maybe I want to go home?

So what happened next? Eventually, I did go home. I finished my contract, traveled around Asia, then returned to Canada again. I worked a crummy barista job, didn’t get into grad school, and took off for more teaching instead. Teaching ESL was my Plan B; I was making some money, traveling again. The plan was to go abroad and bide more time trying to figure out how to get back on track in academia. But oh, life’s surprising.

I took a teaching job in England at a summer ESL camp. The campus was stunning, a place I came to refer to as Hogwarts. The students, like all teenagers, did not want to spend their summer in a classroom. At times it seemed impossible, trying to engage them in English lessons. But I spent hours planning, hours picking the brains of other teachers, and at some point things fell into place. The classes became a lot easier, a lot more fun. We had debates! We performed plays! We learned grammar points and we didn’t even mind! The once sullen students had become some of the funniest people I knew.

Halfway through the summer, I put the A-Ha! moment on paper.

August 2008:

Today Elisaveta told me I’m her favorite teacher. Celine came knocking on my door because she was homesick, just wanting to be in someone’s company, not alone in her room. Tomas hung around shyly after class, asking for advice with a girl problem. Today I sat in teacher’s room for two hours planning lessons and getting so excited thinking about how these sweet and intelligent kids will take on the materials I’m preparing. Maybe I really love this job.

Two years and two countries later, I still do.

All photos by Anne Merritt

In the weeks before I moved to Thailand for an ESL job, I sank myself into guidebooks, memorized tourist phrases, and tried to piece together the basics from the other side of the world. Tonal language? I thought, sure, I can do that.

It didn’t work at all.

When my new boss met me at the Bangkok airport, I greeted her with a proud “suh-WAT-dee-ka,” pronounced just as my Lonely Planet phrasebook wrote it.

Nada. Her brow furrowed, as if she was reading the syllables that hung awkwardly in the damp air between us. I tried again.

“Hello!” She laughed. It was a gentle, amiable laugh that I would learn to love. “Your Thai sounds so good! Yes, yes, sa-wat-DEE Ka. You’re learning already!” It was the sort of kind white lie you tell praisingly to children.

First, there was food

In my first week, word spread quickly that there was a new foreigner in tiny Ayutthaya. Fellow expats, Anglophilic Thais, hair-gelled young men and bored housewives would introduce themselves with a standing invite to grab a bite together. My mind was swimming with culture shock, new names and faces to remember, and of course, the food. The dizzying, wonderful food.

Fruits that I had never seen before became breakfast staples as I gaped my way through the food market each day for juicy rambutan and dragonfruit. The nearby night market became a post-work hangout. I would watch the quick-handed cooks, asking a shy “nee alai?” for every new dish. The answer would come, a pattering of syllables like rain, lost on my ears. I would nod, pretending to understand, and order a plate.

I carried a notebook everywhere, its pages flecked with food stains and warped from constant touch. I scribbled every new food word, and recited them like a nursery rhyme as I walked to work. Glooay, mamuang, tangmoe.

Soon I could order vegetarian food, ice for my soda, less spice, more spice, the check (chek-BIN). I could compliment the cook, thank the waiter, ask for change. I could even have the usual small talk with other diners. “Where are you from? Why are you in Thailand?”

They were the same questions every night, the same questions anyone would ask a foreigner, alone and off the tourist trail. You speak Thai well. “No,” I would joke, “I only speak Menu.”

Then, there was slang

My Thai friends were a cheery group studying English at the local university, and we would meet often on the bar street. There, they would feed me everyday Thai words, and I would try to parrot their tones. Their pub talk wasn’t exactly the stuff of a formal language class. My little notebook was filling up with footnotes: * = only use with friends; ** = crass; *** = use only in dire emergencies.

It was a whole new kind of language learning. I had studied French in school, the proper textbook form of a language that you could use politely with a postman or mother-in-law. With Thai, I was learning bits of proper speech and bits of street talk, each section of the language stirring and overlapping in my mind.

At one point, a local man started following me around town in his truck, um, pantsless. I stood up to him by sputtering all the relevant Thai words that came to mind. “I don’t like that! I don’t want that! You terrible man!”

Later, I reenacted the confrontation to my friends, who collapsed in laughter. “Come on, it was scary, I was being harassed!” I moaned.

“Your sentences are so simple, like a child,” they told me. “To him, you sounded just like a toddler with a dirty mouth.”

Then, the rest

My fellow expats were a well-traveled bunch, and no strangers to immersion language learning.

“You have to use it constantly, even if you don’t know much!” Lisa told me, gabbing with every taxi driver and barman with her growing vocabulary. “Do you like swimming?” “How old is your brother?” “Is that a fork?” Her house was covered in post-it notes when a Thai friend came over and labeled everything. Gaa on the teapot, khohm on the lamp, dti-ang on the bed.

“Learning the written form helps you understand the tones,” Nicole said, as we dragged language textbooks to a cafe. The waiters, ever amused, would lean in to listen as we tried to speak tonally, tried to abandon the inflections that English speakers so naturally use. One gave us Thai names. “You are Thai now,” he said. My name, Nam-phon, meant “rain.”

My learning was slow, discouraged sometimes by the tones, the way one syllable could mean five different things. Sometimes when speaking a simple sentence, a shopkeeper would shake her head firmly, calling to a nearby friend that a falang was trying to order. The “foreigner blinders,” as we called it. She had assumed that any words coming out of a white girl’s mouth would be incomprehensible. Often, with my garbled tones, I’m sure they were.

English always found its way to me, not just my language but the novelty of my foreignness. Children would stare as I walked by, yelling “Hel-lo! Hel-lo!,” then running away like kids at Boo Radley’s doorstep.

Sometimes, vendors would call out to us in scraps of English gleaned from western radio. “Yes, okay! Rock and roll! Very beautiful! Come on baby light my fire! Everything I do, I do for you.” The English language itself a gimmick, a part of the salesman song-and-dance.

I wanted to learn Thai, in part, to cross that divide, to get beyond the tourist label, to get more than an arm’s length insight into the culture. Living there, I never became fluent in the language, though I learned enough to get around and have a chat. Living there, I never became fluent in the culture either, forever scratching my head at the tiniest daily events.

The popular Thai expression “jai yen” means to have a cool heart, to stay even-tempered. Calmness, especially in the face of frustration, is a key trait in the Thai mentality. When I struggled for words, when Thais giggled at my poor pronunciation, I tried to keep a cool heart. Sometimes, my friends told me, it’s all you can do.

Photos: author

Everyone who has taught English overseas has heard of the “midnight run.” A teacher who is homesick, fed up with culture shock, or fed up with work leaves their job (and the country) in secret. I know it’s common, but personally, the thought makes me queasy.

If you didn’t like your job in your home country, would you just stop showing up? Likely not, and it should be no different overseas. You may be avoiding a whole heap of awkwardness, but leaving unannounced makes things more difficult for everyone but you.

My boss at a South Korean language school declared that he would never hire an American for their “reputation” of abandoning the contract without notice. A head teacher I met in Thailand never hired teachers fresh out of university for the same reason.

Quitting is never a picnic, but it doesn’t have to involve sneaking around or leaving people with poor impressions of you or your countrymen. Below are some tips on how to leave a job overseas.

Think it through

Obvious advice, but it bears saying. Breaking a contract may seem inconsequential, especially if you never intend to work in that country again. You did make a commitment though, and something did draw you to that job in the first place. Sit down and have a good think about the situation.

What is it about the job that doesn’t float your boat? If the materials are weak, the schedule is grueling, or the discipline problems go ignored, then a calm-but-firm meeting with the boss just might help. If your boss likes you, he will be more than willing to make changes so as not to lose you.

Is the administration a mess? Is the boss tyrannical? If the working conditions are truly unpleasant and change is unforeseeable, you may be working at the expense of your sanity. Quitting really should be a last resort, but if you’re miserable, terminate the contract sensibly.

Ask around the teacher’s room

All sizeable language schools have stories of rogue ex-teachers and their nutty antics. Ask your colleagues and fellow EFL teachers about past quitting stories. Will the school pony up the last paycheque, or will you find yourself evicted from your flat the next morning? Does your work visa allow you to switch employers in case you want to work for a different school? If your flights were paid for, do you need to reimburse the company? Is there a fine for early termination? Is it enforced?

If the school has a good reputation and has always treated you fairly, then be fair in return. Read over your contract’s termination clauses, give notice, and quit by the book. If you have it on good authority that things will turn ugly when you give your notice, be prepared. Arrange to stay with a friend if you’re evicted, book your flights if your visa may be cancelled, save money in case you don’t see that last paycheque.

Be as clear as you can

The company deserves to know if they’re doing everything right and your reasons for leaving are personal, such as homesickness or a strained long distance relationship. If you’re just not into teaching as a career, give the boss an “its not you, its me” talk, cheesy as it sounds.

However, if the job itself is crummy, explain this in the simplest way possible. Don’t rant or make sweeping comments like “it’s impossible to work here!” The management might not be clued into their foreign staff’s standards of work, and may never have realized that last-minute meetings or unpaid overtime are out of the norm for you.

Lastly, please oh please don’t drum up a dying grandmother story just to get out of your contract. Language school owners talk just as much as teachers do, and everyone knows that nine out of ten “family emergencies” aren’t real. You’re just crying wolf and ruining the credibility of teachers who do get struck with tragedy while overseas. Not cool.

Don’t sleep through the final weeks

You may be mentally finished, but that doesn’t mean you can show up late and play movies in each lesson while Facebook-planning your welcome home party. Train your successor, don’t leave rotting food in your desk, treat students well and respect the time and money they put into their lessons.

If the school is a good one, ask around the expat community and see if anyone can take over your job. They’re likely scrambling a bit to fill your position, and a helping hand speaks volumes of your professionalism.

Feature and Above Photo: alex_s

The other day on the subway, I saw two suitcase-laden travelers thumbing through a Lonely Planet Turkey. One caught my eye immediately and gave me The Nod. Oh, you know the nod; the silent exchange between two tourists that says “…sooo…traveling, huh?”

As a blue-eyed, large-nosed, pink-skinned white girl, there are few countries in which I could pass for a local. Even here in Turkey, where blue eyes aren’t a total rarity and some blondes are natural. Every day I get called out as a foreigner, and as a result, I’m no stranger to The Nod.

This exchange can vary greatly on the amiability scale. I’ve ranked them below, from most hostile to most friendly.

Dead Eyes

Photo: rich115

This is when your fellow tourist sees you and looks right through you. Who, me? Their eyes say in that split-second connection. You think I’m like you? Sucker, I blend into this culture like [local uncommon spice] into [local uncommon dish]. Just to prove it, I’m going to tell a joke to this chestnut vendor in the local language. Yeah, just TRY and laugh along, tourist!

A variation to Dead Eyes is outright, unconcealed disappointment. This occurs when a tourist fancies themselves to be a trailblazer off the guidebook path, and hates the thought of another foreigner doing the same. Once, in a tiny alley in Beijing, a backpacker actually groaned in disappointment when she saw me.

The Sympathizer

It’s like the “shucks, small world!” nod you would give in a coffee shop to someone reading the same novel as you. I once rode a 20-minute subway in Korea, seated across from a white guy who didn’t once speak to me. Instead, he glanced at me throughout the ride with co-conspiratorial gestures and faces. Whoa, look at that guy’s pink jeans! Those schoolgirls giggle loudly, huh? Whoo, this foreign currency is confusing!

It was an oddly nice experience; a shared joke between two strangers. It’s an attitude of unity. “What surprises me surely surprises you too, so let’s get a kick out of it together.”

Photo: Smart Destinations

The Weak Chit-Chat

Sometimes you’ll meet the hyper-social, hyper-friendly traveler who is thrilled with the opportunity to relate to someone. Once they spot a fellow foreigner, they’ll sprint across a crowded museum or park to come and chat. About what? About being fellow tourists.

“Where are you from?”

“Are you here on holiday?”

“What have you seen so far?”

“Oh yeah, we saw that. Wasn’t that great?”

…it usually flatlines when you realize there’s little common ground beyond both being foreign. So it ends, awkwardly, around here.

The Burning Ears

Another form of the foreigner nod occurs in travel when you realize that the people beside you are chatting in English. Aha! Fellow tourists! You glance at one another, exchange some form of The Nod, and then your conversation is finished. Why? Obviously, the other English-speaking party will eavesdrop, and vice-versa. It’s almost impossible to tune out your native language when it’s spoken in a foreign country.

Community Connection

And you, Matadorians? Does this resonate with your experiences abroad? Share your encounters with foreigners below.

Feature Photo: atilla1000Photo: author

4:30am

The first call to prayer of the day. The nearest mosque is one block away, and on nights of restless sleep, it wakes me up. It’s a reminder that slowly, slowly, the city is waking up too.

7:00am

I leave the apartment to catch the service bus that will take me to work. The private high school where I teach English should be a twenty minute drive away. With Istanbul traffic, it can take up to an hour.

At the bus stop, I chat sleepily with the physics teacher. She tells me about her boyfriend who is in his compulsory two years of army service. Her stories are on the lighter side; how she hates his regulation haircut, how he couldn’t even wash a dish in his pre-army days. She misses him.

8:00 a.m

Once at school, the teachers crowd into the neighboring bakery, Bum, whose name always has me giggling like an 8-year-old boy. Turks are highly social folk, and though the teachers are all still sleepy, they flock to the cafe tables to plan lessons and chat over tea and breakfast. The pastry is inexpensive and fresh from the oven. I buy a warm, buttery peynirli poagca (a bun with white cheese) and orange juice.

9:00

In the school, students are buzzing about. Their uniforms are maroon and blue, the colors (so it’s said) of the principal’s favorite football team. Between lessons, the pop English of TV and music trumps the classroom stuff any day, and I’ll hear the odd catchphrase of, “legendary!” or “it’s all good.”

A group of girls are singing “come on Barbie, let’s go party,” and they see me cracking a grin. “Miss Anne, do you know Barbie Girl?” I find myself starting a sentence with “when I was your age…” It’s something I’ve never said before, but these students have an odd interest in 90s music.

Here, if the importance of English is stressed, it’s being done lightly. The students seem to pursue English for their own motives. Some are dying to learn English in order to study abroad, work for international companies, or marry Robert Pattinson. Some are slackers whose obsession with pop culture has them turning up to my class just to chat about Lady Gaga lyrics.

In my beginners class, we talk about home vocabulary. “How many rooms are in your house?” I ask. One student puts up her hand. “I talk about my apartment or my house, or my villa?” she asks. Hoo boy.

12:10

Lunchtime in the cafeteria. On my meal tray, the white carbs are bountiful and the meat is unidentifiable. Here, spaghetti is served with a great dollop of yogurt. Lemon juice is as common a table condiment as salt. The juice boxes contain apricot or black cherry nectar. It seems no one has ever heard of a nut allergy. We’re not in Ontario anymore.

4:50

The homeward commute goes by in a haze, and I’m happy to breathe some clean air as I walk home from the bus stop. I pass the mosque whose garden is always full of cats. Even in the cool autumn, the vendors on my street will set up plastic tables and chairs on the sidewalk, between parked cars, anywhere they can squeeze a few seats.

They’ll sit and chat over tea and cigarettes, jumping up when a customer enters their store. I wave hellos to the Turkcell clerk, the brothers who run the greengrocer stand, the bored salesman in the camera shop. The always-cheery deli vendor waves me in to sample a new batch of olives; green ones stuffed with white cheese, floating in oil with chili flakes and lemon slices. I buy an enormous bagful. The cost? Just under three lira ($2USD).

7:00

My boyfriend and I get dinner at the restaurant known amongst our friends as “the homecooked place.” It has a name, but none of us know it. A small buffet of creamy desserts and vegetable-heavy dishes are displayed, and we point and choose our favorites.

The restaurant is run by a chatty family, but the dining room is cozy and always quiet. The mother-daughter team in the open kitchen always pause from their cooking to say a warm hello and bring us bread. Our plates are piled high with tangy potato salad, spinach pastry, bulgur patties and eggplant stew.

8:30

After dinner, we pop into the convenience store beside our building for beer. We buy an Efes and Efes Dark, one of each, and the clerk patiently engages in our Turkish textbook small talk. I’m told that locals refer to a basic grasp of the language as “Tarzan Turkish.”

It’s an apt description for our simple sentences; “Me go cinema today.” “You happy?” “What is your girl-child name?” It’s probably painful to the ears, but our clerk kindly plays along as he packages the beer in a black plastic bag.

At home, we sip our beers on the couch and chat. I’ll write, he’ll play music, or we’ll watch a movie together. When it’s warm, we move our chairs onto the balcony, where the breeze is refreshing and the view of the mosque is perfect. At half past ten, we hear the final call to prayer, usually as we’re brushing our teeth or washing dishes, or else lying in bed with our books in hand. Slowly, slowly, the day is ending.

Community Connection

If you like these windows into expat lives, take a look at A Day in the Life of An Expat in Copenhagen, Denmark, A Day in the Life of A Writer in Zagreb, Croatia and A Day in the Life of An Expat in Oaxaca, Mexico.

And remember, Matador Abroad is still accepting submissions for the Day in the Life of An Expat series – if you’re interested in submitting a day in the life story, send it with “A Day In The Life of An Expat in….” in the subject line to sarah@matadornetwork.com.

Feature Photo: rapphorstPhoto: kafka4prez

Many ESL teachers are lovely, open-minded, hardworking people…but of course, those aren’t the characters you write home about.

The ones who stick in your mind are the ones who exist far on the outskirts of social and psychological norms. Below are profiles of some typical characters that you’ll meet in the teacher’s room of an overseas language school.

*Note that gender pronouns were assigned randomly; dubious characters of both genders exist.

The Peter Pan

Wow, this guy sure likes to drink. And chain-smoke. And tell proud stories of blacking out and waking up on a park bench wearing someone else’s blazer. He’s been out of university for a long long time, but still has a keen Animal House interest in raucous nights out.

Photo: wolfgangkuhnle

He doesn’t mind being a decade or two older than his drinking buddies, and won’t think twice about telling a non-imbibing twenty-something that they need to “loosen up already.”

He can’t speak much of the local language, but has picked up enough vulgarities to out-curse a sailor. Likewise, his students always seem to pick up English vocabulary much more colorful than the textbook dictates.

The Immersed

This specimen may not talk much at work, but once her cellphone rings, she’s chattering away in the local language to one of her many friends. Sure, she’s only been here for five months, but she can tell you everything about your neighbourhood, the national education system, and linguistic idioms unique to the region.

That is, if she wanted to. Instead, she smiles politely and walks away when you and other newcomers make broad, simple observations about the country (“they really honour the elderly here, huh?”).

Photo: yorj

It’s not clear where she found this pack of local friends, but together they hang out at non-expat bars playing local card games that you couldn’t follow if you tried.

The Luster

Everybody lusts and there’s nothing wrong with it. What makes this guy stand out is his unbridled need to discuss it so candidly with his colleagues.

This person fetishizes the exoticism of the local people, be it burkas on women or Buddhist chest tattoos on men. The object of desire could be a shop worker, pedestrian on the street, or (ick!) a teenage student in his class. They all get a big indiscreet leer.

Photo: <"http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinkmoose/">pink moose

The curious thing about this character is that, while it’s the foreignness of these women that floats his boat, he has little patience when these lady-friends obey parental curfews, refuse to hold hands in public, or behave in other non-Western manners typical of their culture.

The Child of the World

This woman has taught in eight countries on three continents, and her character is a strange cocktail of worldliness and naivete. She owns property in Bucharest and Tangiers, but doesn’t know how to drive and has never heard of Conan O’Brien.

She’s pretty good at chatting with new friends on a superficial level, but because of her transient lifestyle, deeper connections aren’t her thing. Her wardrobe will include Thai fisherman pants, Peruvian amulets, Korean eyeglasses, and Finnish shoes.

Photo: houseofsims

So why is she a vagabond by choice? Sometimes it’s a great, complicated passion for travel. Sometimes she doesn’t seem that wild about travel at all, and will readily criticize any previous destinations.

If that’s the case, you’ll have quite the time trying to figure out what’s keeping her from her home country (jilted lover? arrest warrant? start sleuthing!)

The CV All-Star

This plucky young university grad studied art in Italy, spent a summer volunteering in Honduras, and has taken this overseas teaching job as a way to “get some more life experience” while he applies to grad schools for International Development.

Though new to the field of teaching, his energy and sexy-by-any-cultural-standard physique makes him an instant student favorite. While you play scratchy audio recordings to your class on a Cold War-era tape recorder, your plucky new colleague brings in his guitar and teaches a rousing lesson on Michael Franti’s song lyrics.

Yes, it’s hard not to roll your eyes a little at this newcomer and his apple-pie optimism, but you have to appreciate his enthusiasm.

Community Connection

About to delve into the wild world of ESL? Check out Matador’s list of the the 18 most scenic places to teach overseas. Already in the classroom, and have a student who’s shooting you googly eyes? Find out what to do when your student has a crush on you.. And see if your students show up in this list of usual suspects.

Feature Photo: torres21Photo: chloerae

So you’ve decided to go teach overseas, you’ve read up on different countries, and maybe you’ve even taken a TESL course.

Foreign TESL jobs can open the door to travel and adventure, but no matter how lovely the country may be, it’s the job that will make or break your experience. And arranging a job from halfway around the globe makes it tough to tell whether it’s quality or not.

Some teachers walk unknowingly into poorly-run schools and have to spend months struggling with few resources, crowded classrooms, and dodgy pay schedules. Others make the mistake of assuming workplace practices are similar to those in their home countries, and are then hit with cultural barriers when issues like overtime and sick days come up.

Below are five tips to help you ensure that the job you’re about to take is credible and (hopefully) hassle-free.

1. Go over the details.

Most contracts will cover the policies for vacation time, overtime pay, and grounds for dismissal; all good rules to know, especially in a foreign culture whose work ethic may differ from yours.

If you’re signing up with a larger chain of language schools, your contract might simply say that these important details are administered “as per the policies of [Language School X].” Before you sign, find out what those policies are, and get them in writing. This can mean the difference between two days and two weeks of vacation time in a 12-month contract.

2. Ask about resources.

There are nightmarish ESL stories floating around involving untrained teachers being chucked into a classroom with no book, no materials, and forty pairs of expectant eyes starting at them.

Photo: bionicteaching

Before you sign anything, ask about the materials used in your school. Public schools might have a set-in-stone curriculum, whereas private schools sometimes ask teachers to prepare all of their own lessons. A simple inquiry might save you the trouble of spending each day designing whole lesson plans from scratch.

3. Discuss the visa

Some schools will help you arrange a work visa in advance, while others will ask you to enter the country on a tourist visa and process the paperwork on their side. In the latter case, this can involve long unpaid days in bureaucratic waiting rooms, or “border runs” where you travel to a neighboring country and back in order to legitimize the new visa.

In any case, your employer should tell you what to expect in the visa process, whether the school will pay the fees, and how much work you might have to miss while this processing occurs.

4. Contact your predecessor.

Ask your potential employer if you can have the email address of the teacher whose job you’ll be filling. Write this teacher a simple inquiry about their experience, and why they’re leaving the position.

Photo: rivard

You’ll get a fellow foreigner’s perspective, and he/she can give you more general tips about living overseas, like what to pack or which Western items are rare/expensive in the place you’re interested in. Know that if you’re being hired by a new language school or through a recruitment agency, they might not have contacts to give you. If that’s the case…

5. Google

Try searching the name of the school online, and read the results with a grain of salt. There are discussion boards and forums aplenty in the ESL world, from Dave’s ESL Cafe to employer blacklist sites such as tefl blacklist.

Bear in mind a few things while you’re searching. First, people usually take to the message boards when they’re angry. For every teacher writing slanderous posts, there might be dozens of employees at the same school who are thrilled with their jobs, but keeping those thoughts off the Internet.

Second, try to get a sense of the person behind the complaints.

Photo: desheffer

A lot of people enter the ESL field with more interest in travel than in education. Of course they’ll have trouble with the jobs, as they would with any teaching position, because it’s not the job for them. Private message or email people and ask them what they search for in a position, and why they did or didn’t like their previous job.

An overseas teaching position is one of the best ways to get inside of another culture, but like any experience of cultural exchange, it can be tricky, complicated, and frustrating as well as exhilarating. Do your research beforehand to ensure you’ll be off to a smooth start in the classroom.

Community Connection

Hey, all you teachers out there! Help those who’re thinking of making the plunge into teaching navigate the labyrinth of possibilities! Sound off about your experiences with different schools, contracts, and countries.

Thinking about teaching in Asia? Check out Matador’s guide to teaching in China, Korea or Japan.

If you’re just beginning to explore the thought of heading abroad to teach, look over these 8 hidden benefits of teaching English abroad to motivate yourself.

If that isn’t reason enough to look into ESL work, here are eight hidden benefits to teaching English abroad.

1. The training is painless.

A TESL certificate can be attained through a 100 hour course, and most schools offer evening/weekend sessions or online courses. The fees start at about $500 USD, and many schools have services to help with the job hunt.

If you have some extra cash and want to start your travels immediately, larger ESL schools offer four week TESL training in exotic locations around Europe, Southeast Asia, or Central and South America.

2. You can be a student in your own classroom.

Regardless of age, the students you teach will be excited to see a foreigner take an interest in their culture. Most will gladly offer tips about local foods to eat, places to see, and things to try.

Young students can teach you a lot about pop culture or local slang, and simple conversations will give you insight into their family lives and customs. For just one example, check out Matador member Teresita’s blog, I Heart Our Global Pop Culture Icons.

Photo of Iraqi student by Army.mil

3. A year is a long time…

…to experience a whole calendar’s worth of festivals, holidays, cultural events, and seasonal foods. You’ll get much more insight than a single trip. Also, worldwide holidays like Chinese New Year or Christmas are a bit different in every country. You’ll get to experience a unique version of a familiar holiday.

4. It’s a crash course in cultural sensitivity.

Most expats reach the “Their society makes ZERO sense to me!” phase at some point. It’s a normal step in one’s adjustment to a new culture. Getting past this phase of culture shock means opening your mind to new and unfamiliar things. Whether the traffic laws are driving you crazy, or new acquaintances ask questions that seem invasive to you, be patient.

Photo of Korean students by watchsmart

You’ll come to appreciate the ways in which this foreign culture operates. Most often, you’ll note customs that strike you as far more practical than those in your native country.

5. You’ll get an instant network of local acquaintances.

Whether you’re teaching in a language centre or public school, you’ll be amongst colleagues who speak English. Regardless of their level of expertise, they’ll likely be keen to practice their English conversation skills with you. Not only will you have new friends, but your coworkers can help you navigate the area and its customs better than any guidebook.

6. You’ll be tapping into an excellent grapevine.

A lot of good ESL jobs, and general travel tips, are accumulated by word of mouth. By meeting other ESL teachers, you can get advice about new destinations or jobs from people who have been there, lived that.

Whether you wonder which South American country has the fewest work visa hassles, or you’re curious about how rainy Vietnam’s rainy season really is, other teacher-travelers can help.

Photo by dcJohn

7. Travel is simple with a great home base.

If you’re based in Thailand, you can visit Cambodia or Laos for under $50 USD. If you’re teaching in a European country and you’re close to an airport, a weekend in Prague or Berlin is a cheap RyanAir flight away. Once you’re set up in a foreign country, the journey to other exotic locales becomes much, much easier.

8. It’s a resume-booster, even if you don’t want to teach long-term.

You might worry that this job will look like a blip on your resume. Even if your teaching experience consisted of sing-alongs and barnyard animal flashcards, don’t underestimate the skills you developed along the way. Communicating across cultural barriers, using leadership skills to conduct classes, and picking up a new language (even just conversationally) are great assets.

COMMUNITY CONNECTION

Lots of Matador members are either teaching abroad now or have past ESL experience. Whether you want to teach in Istanbul or http://matadorabroad.com/?p=49

Feature photo by Quinn Mattingly. Photo above by blmurch.

So you’ve moved to a new country for work/study/self-growth, and culture shock has hit. It’s all too easy to hide from the world in that expat pub, speaking English and bonding with others over your cultural hurdles. Instead, follow our tips for immersing yourself in this new country, through food, friends, and language:

Find a native roommate.

If you’ve gone overseas to work, ask your employer for help. Otherwise, check housing websites like Craigslist. A native roommate will keep you connected to the country through language, food, and mannerisms.

Even if you don’t become the best of friends, a roommate is a great asset for all those little questions. (“Where can I buy lightbulbs?” “How late do the subways run?”)

Practice a new word every day.

Language immersion is crucial. Learn a new word or phrase every day, starting with basics like “Excuse me” and “That was delicious.” Practice on as many people as you can. It takes time, but it will stick.

Photo by blmurch.

Eat like a local.

Instead of familiar chain restaurants, hit the local eateries. You’ll eat the most authentic local dishes when they’re not catered to a tourist palate. And when ordering, forget the phrasebook. Listen carefully to the way locals order their food and imitate them as best you can, even if you’re not 100% sure what they’re saying.

The same goes when shopping at local markets. Imitating the way locals make their transactions is the gateway to language acquisition–you’re not translating, but already “speaking” their language.

Set up a language exchange.

A language exchange is an opportunity to make friends and to learn local slang and idioms. Post a flyer or online advertisement for find a partner. If you’re living in a city with a university, contact the English department, as they may have information.

Steer clear of gloomy expat bars.

When your new culture gets overwhelming, it’s all too easy to hit the expat bars for some American music and familiar comfort food. But when culture clashes strike, the best course of action is to sit back and learn from them. Griping with fellow foreigners about the things you dislike in your adopted country will only alienate you from it.

Photo by philyook.

Find an ally or two.

Still, there’s no need to avoid other expats altogether. A good expat friend will want you both to navigate this new culture together, not join you in shying away from it. Seek people with the same interests as you and the same curiosity for the country you’re in.

Close the guidebook.

Keeping your nose in a guidebook means you’ll be meeting other travelers at guidebook-recommended places, but not many locals. Instead, ask a local for his or her recommendation on restaurants, sights, or maybe his / her favorite place to go and relax.

Nine times out of ten, their insider tips (for example, your coworker’s cousin’s art show) will take you places that a guidebook never could.

Accept all invitations.

At least as many as you can tolerate. Go to dinner with your zealous boss. Take that flyer for a student battle of the bands. Have tea with the eccentric housewife next door.

These interactions can give you insight to different viewpoints of the culture. It might not be an offer you’d take back home, but now is as good a time as any to break routines.

Community Connection:

Looking to meet some locals on your travels? Check out 6 Essential Items to Pack if you Want to Meet the Locals or 6 Strategies to Connect with Locals Through Sports.