I am trying something a little new tonight. I am posting what I hope will become a sort of online notebook about random but related things I have been considering, but have made no firm conlusions about yet. Feel free to post any responses you might have, and help me clear my head a little.
I have done quite a bit of soul-searching lately on the war of the sexes, relationships, marriage, and getting along with people of the opposite sex. I have observed the different, and very intricately convoluted "rule" book in Korea for dating, and made some tentative comparisons in my mind with how our culture perceives the connection between man and woman. Tonight, here are some of my observations of Korea:
1. In the subway, I note many young couples who seem to have an unusually sensitive connection to each other. They communicate without speaking and without excessive displays of PDA. The young man often stands face to face with the young woman, with his arms above or below her head, braced. As Westerners, we would find this a gross invasion of personal space, but I appreciate the intentions of the young men I have seen. As the subway rocks (or sometimes jerks) back and forth, the young man provides a sort of safety brace for the lady with his arms. They stand mere inches apart, but do not usually touch. I observe these attentive young men gazing down with a mix of awe and protectiveness at their demure lady friends. The women seldom look up, but when they do, the couple's eyes meet and a secret communion commences. I always wonder what they are saying to each other in their minds. It is a beautiful sight to see, how the man protects and cherishes the woman he adores, and it makes me ache and long for a man to love, honor, protect, and cherish me in the same way. So what happens to cause item number 2?
2. The infidelity rate in Korea is astronomically high. The cult of the business world demands excessive drinking, smoking, and visiting of hostess bars. Noraebong (a sort of group karaoke bar with private rooms) thrive along side the ubiquitous double barberpole "barber shops" where, I am told, you receive a wash and haircut for BOTH heads, as well as some extra manual services which I will leave to those with fertile imaginations...
On the other hand, some of the middle-aged housewives I have encountered scare ME. We know what happens to the men, as "man" is biologically wired to chase and sniff at anything that will let him, but what happens to the women? Those demure, sweet, and attractive girls turn into bulldozing, rude, and fashionably-challenged AJUMAS. It is like they give up at some point. Although childbirth certainly contributes, Korean families are not very large, so something else is at work here. There is some cultural link I am trying to piece together here, but cannot place it yet.
3. The "Cherished Woman": I hear many younger Korean women docily accept rather harsh criticism from their significant others. One particularly attractive and slim thirtysomething I know, was constantly told by her boyfriend that she was fat. Specifically, he objected to her muscular calves (her hobby is sports). I taught her a nice American phrase for the next time he criticized her, and she dutifully wrote down "shove it up your arse," giggling delightedly. Of course, she will never use it, but I am certain she will think it now and again...
Another woman I spoke to talked about a boyfriend who only liked "parts" of her body, but not the whole thing. She said she kept thinking "What about the rest of me?"
This wise woman talked some sense into me. Also a thirtysomething, she said it was worthwhile to wait until God sends a man who will treat her as a "cherished woman." This does not mean he tries to boss her around, or become overprotective, as Korean men tend to do. This means that a man cherishes what he has, and does not try and change her to fit his definitions of what a woman should be. Submissiveness, contrary to what has been said, is not a useful quality in a woman. Support and nurturing, insofar as individual women possess it, is all that is required of a Godly woman.
RANT: AN INTERLUDE
So-called Christian men tend to forget this. Barefoot and Pregnant wives are of no use to anybody. Nor, for that matter, are dictatorial, overbearing husbands. The Man is Law has no place in a society where women MUST work in order to help support a family. This in itself is a way of offering support to her life-mate. In many cases, however, it has gone way too far.
The "submissive woman" myth has done more damage to society that anything I can think of. For one thing, it created "femi-nazi-ism." While it is well and good that women declared their freedom in the late 1950s, the arc swung a bit too wide, and in doing so smashed into some absolutes of human nature.
First of all, give anyone an inch, and they will take a mile. This has perverted itself into women who boss their husbands around, overorganize their offspring's lives, run businesses, and find themselves mysteriously burned-out at thirty-five. The men take this golden opportunity to ignore their offspring and ignore their wives. They become vegetative couch slugs after 5 p.m., who, after years of a wife taking care of every little detail, cannot even conceive of why their wives resent their lazy ways. Men do not naturally appreciate anything, and the new brand of feminism fuels the fire of chauvenism, rather than quenches it.The men then trade in the burned-out old model for a newer one. Divorce soars, no one is happy, and no one gets what they want.
You see, in spite of what current American culture would like us to believe, "men and women is different." Underlying all of the prevalent feminism is a great fear, a fear of letting someone else share our lives. The fear runs in both sexes, but I think women fear loss of control more. Notice I did not say men should run our lives, ladies. I know myself well, and know I could never take an order from a man unless a) he consulted me first and b) he let me know why he wants me to do it. Do otherwise, and i would probably laugh in his face! This is not feminism, this is logic. Likewise, I would never ask something of a man unless I a) consulted him first and b) told him why I think it is a good idea. This is a more logical and balanced way of looking at things. This is sharing a life, as it should be.
The old ways, as represented in Korean culture, and the new ways, as in American culture, have both proven themselves faulty. What the fundamental link is, I do not know. There needs to be a balance of some kind.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
JOURNAL: Babies and Botox
Generally speaking, Seoul is not an easy city to multi-task in. Food, for example, must be purchased by the average person in fits and spurts. You can buy meat, for example, at the butcher, bread at the bakery, and vegetables from the vegetable stands. Limited amounts of these items can be found at so-called convenience stores or small "shupo makkets," but I wouldn't depend on anything being in stock. My local market only carries pig meat and its assorted by-products, for example. If you are brave, you can frequent the farmer's markets, but good luck in communicating. Of course, if you crave American food, you can buy it at the rather expensive Hannam Market (which caters to diplomats) or, as many of my coworkers do, buy a year's supply of Goldfish Crackers at Costco. My main point though, is that everything in this city is very specialized. The exception, as I learned, is women's health.
During the last week of November, I accompanied a friend to Dr. S's Women's Clinic (name changed to protect the innocent) for some test results. Dr. S specializes in ob/gyn matters, and her name came up through a complex web of referrals (as I understand it). The expat community in Seoul is very spread out, but word of mouth gets around. You see, women's matters are not generally an area of specialty considered necessary by the average Korean woman because they are simply not discussed. Some of the information that does leak out can be very silly. Dog and cat meat, for example, increases sexual stamina among older men. Jumping up and down after the act keeps a girl from getting pregnant. And, my favorite one, compliments of one of the sixth graders, is that teenagers are not physically capable of getting pregnant. He genuinely did not believe that Maya Angelou got pregnant at age 16.
The abortion rate has been (rather extremely, I'd say) estimated to be about 80% among sexually active women (estimated conservatively at about 30% single females). The irony is, birth control is easily obtained OVER THE COUNTER. No prescription is needed. Purely on a fact-finding mission, I asked about and verified this at my local pharmacy. Of course, the ladies behind the counter have been giving me the fish eye since then; in restrospect, I probably should have gone to a pharmacy where I was not known! I was made to feel guilty just by asking the question (they know I am unmarried). Korean men eschew condoms (I will have to take that one on faith!)so it is highly likely that women do have to make visits of shame. A rather Westernized Korean man I know spoke of a certain clinic at Jeju Island (a resort) where dark limosines carrying certain well-known Korean female celebrities have been known to drop off their eye-shaded passengers...
Dr. S's office was very pleasantly lighted, with plenty of reading material and soothing classical music piping over the loudspeakers. The waiting area chairs and couches were surprisingly comfortable, and, after a very late night and early morning, I found myself fighting to stay awake. The nurses and receptionists, as well as the doctor, spoke excellent English, and seemed to be exceptionally well-organized. This is a rarity in Korean health care; more often than not, it is barely organized chaos!
The office was on an upper floor of a well-maintained, but older building near Hannam market. Upon gazing out the window, I discovered that the neighborhood, though quiet and dignified by day, clearly had a shadier side. The telltale double barberpoles were in clear evidence along the side street, and across the street was a rather loudly (in English and Hang'ul) advertised sign for an STD clinic. "Well, we are near Itaewon," I thought.
After exhausting my resources with the magazines and newspaper on the table, I idly gazed around the room for something to do. Suddenly, my eyes stopped. Amazed, I moved over to the window to get a better look at the literature that had arrested my eyes. "Botox," I read. The pamphlet, upon a quick scan, gave a list of the healthy and positive benefits of the procedure, and urged it upon everyone who was feeling a bit elderly. Upon futher examination, I discovered that the ob/gyn clinic also offered Botox treatments.
"Well, I guess it is not so crazy an idea; after all, it is mostly women who have that procedure done, but it did seem like an odd combination of multi-tasking:
"Get your PAP Smear, STD test, and Botox all in one visit! No pain no gain!"
Maybe it is better to get it all done in one shot, so to speak. Of course, the clinic also deals with prenatal care, so a little postpartum Botox might be just the ticket after a long night up with the baby..."
As I sat there sleepily contemplating these thoughts, my friend came out to wait some more. As we sat there, blearily staring at the newspaper, a commotion entered the lobby. The strangest looking Korean woman I have ever seen burst loudly into the room, accompanied by a more sedately attired younger woman.
The first thing that impressed me about the woman was that she was very tall. Her face was shaded by a large cloche-style hat with a crimson geranium sewn to the crown. Her extreme height was easily explained by her slender, excessively spiked high-heeled boots. The woman had the longest, and most beautiful legs I have ever seen on a woman. Her extraordinary limbs were thinly covered by black fishnet hose, her skirt barely decently covering her elongated expanse of leg. Her blouse was cut low, but just on the right side of decent. A fringe of frizzy and poorly bleached blonde hair peaked out from underneath her headgear. Her hat slipped a little, and I saw with some amazement that she was far from a young woman, moreover, she was probably in her fifties. Her skin had the tight, too-many-face-lifts aspect to it. She held an ice-pack carelessly to her nose. At first, I thought the ice pack was for a beating, given the woman's obvious profession. It later occured to me that she probably had a Botox treatment. A loud and course voice boomed out from her triangular-shaped face, in broken English,
"Men only want one thing, I tell you. Did I tell you what that bastard did to me last night...."
The woman proceded to list a long list of all things wrong with her "boyfriend," men, and the world to her long-suffering companion. The performance was clearly partially for our benefit, as much of the monologue was rendered in English - Lord, knows, she was loud enough. At one point, the woman took the "Entertainment" section of the paper, and began to regale her "audience" with reading the Sex Advice column, and chortling loudly and ostentatiously over a 70-year-old man who "perfumed the bed sheets" every night to get his wife in the mood. My friend and I looked at each other sideways, but then had to look away from each other to avoid giggling over this spectacle. She switched fluidly from ghetto English to Korean, often starting sentences in one language and finishing in the other. She finally quieted down, then went to the nurse manning the phones. She said something low and meaningful in Korean; I would have given anything to know what she said, because the erstwhile receptionist turned bright red and burst out in incredulous laughter. It must have been pretty choice to make an ob/gyn nurse blush...
My friend went back to her appointment, and I was left alone in the lobby with this strange woman. She clearly wanted someone to notice her; I am not sure why I held back. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her - about her profession, her life, Korean men, Korean women...Here was my opportunity to find out from an insider. Somehow, though, I lacked the courage. Moreover, a great pity overtook my senses, as I contemplated the great trials that this woman must have undergone in her profession. I was overwhelmed with a great love for this sad and lonely creature. Inside I knew, however, that speaking to her would only feed her need for attention, and I did not relish the thought of entangling myself in the life of one pursuing "Mrs. Warren's Profession." I stayed silent, and avoided eye contact.
Instead, I turned my focus to her companion. The younger woman, as I said earlier, was sedately and somberly dressed, all in black. Her face had a slightly hard-edged look, especially around the eyes, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about her appearance. Althoguh clearly embarrased by the older woman, there was a strange sort of long-suffering respect in her attitude. When the older woman got too loud, the younger woman spoke soothingly to her. She made sure her charge was comfortable and well-cared-for by the staff.
The young woman had an air of assurance normally associated with the well-educated. Her English was exceptionally good as she conversed with the nurses, so I was rather startled when she referred to the woman as "Oma." I thought I had misheard, so I began eavesdropping on their conversation. The older woman was rattling on, albeit in a quieter voice, to the young woman. The woman looked slightly embarrassed, so I can only imagine the theme of the conversation. Then I heard it again, this time in shocked English,
"Mama!"
Apparently, the older woman was the mother of the younger woman. There was very little trace of the older in the younger generation's face, except about the hardened eyes. Botox and plastic surgery, presumably, had erased all other traces between this strange mother-daughter team. I wondered what her father looked like, as she was very pretty in her own natural way, then wondered if she even knew who her father was. My pity shifted to the younger woman, who was clearly the caretaker of the elder. She will probably never be able to marry. Koreans children take care of their parents at all costs. Seldom do they abandon them to public charity, although in extreme cases, it does happen. Still, what a life she must have!
Botox pushing aside, the clinic itself provides excellent care. The doctor gives well-explained literature out on most female-related illnesses and concerns, and, I have been told, very detailed and instructive information to her patients. I was further assured when I saw many waygooks coming in and out of her clinic with satisfaction on their faces. I have the doctor's business card, and have no hesitation about making my regular check-up appointment in March. If anyone besides family and friends staying in the Seoul area wants her information, feel free to send me an email and I will give it to you.
During the last week of November, I accompanied a friend to Dr. S's Women's Clinic (name changed to protect the innocent) for some test results. Dr. S specializes in ob/gyn matters, and her name came up through a complex web of referrals (as I understand it). The expat community in Seoul is very spread out, but word of mouth gets around. You see, women's matters are not generally an area of specialty considered necessary by the average Korean woman because they are simply not discussed. Some of the information that does leak out can be very silly. Dog and cat meat, for example, increases sexual stamina among older men. Jumping up and down after the act keeps a girl from getting pregnant. And, my favorite one, compliments of one of the sixth graders, is that teenagers are not physically capable of getting pregnant. He genuinely did not believe that Maya Angelou got pregnant at age 16.
The abortion rate has been (rather extremely, I'd say) estimated to be about 80% among sexually active women (estimated conservatively at about 30% single females). The irony is, birth control is easily obtained OVER THE COUNTER. No prescription is needed. Purely on a fact-finding mission, I asked about and verified this at my local pharmacy. Of course, the ladies behind the counter have been giving me the fish eye since then; in restrospect, I probably should have gone to a pharmacy where I was not known! I was made to feel guilty just by asking the question (they know I am unmarried). Korean men eschew condoms (I will have to take that one on faith!)so it is highly likely that women do have to make visits of shame. A rather Westernized Korean man I know spoke of a certain clinic at Jeju Island (a resort) where dark limosines carrying certain well-known Korean female celebrities have been known to drop off their eye-shaded passengers...
Dr. S's office was very pleasantly lighted, with plenty of reading material and soothing classical music piping over the loudspeakers. The waiting area chairs and couches were surprisingly comfortable, and, after a very late night and early morning, I found myself fighting to stay awake. The nurses and receptionists, as well as the doctor, spoke excellent English, and seemed to be exceptionally well-organized. This is a rarity in Korean health care; more often than not, it is barely organized chaos!
The office was on an upper floor of a well-maintained, but older building near Hannam market. Upon gazing out the window, I discovered that the neighborhood, though quiet and dignified by day, clearly had a shadier side. The telltale double barberpoles were in clear evidence along the side street, and across the street was a rather loudly (in English and Hang'ul) advertised sign for an STD clinic. "Well, we are near Itaewon," I thought.
After exhausting my resources with the magazines and newspaper on the table, I idly gazed around the room for something to do. Suddenly, my eyes stopped. Amazed, I moved over to the window to get a better look at the literature that had arrested my eyes. "Botox," I read. The pamphlet, upon a quick scan, gave a list of the healthy and positive benefits of the procedure, and urged it upon everyone who was feeling a bit elderly. Upon futher examination, I discovered that the ob/gyn clinic also offered Botox treatments.
"Well, I guess it is not so crazy an idea; after all, it is mostly women who have that procedure done, but it did seem like an odd combination of multi-tasking:
"Get your PAP Smear, STD test, and Botox all in one visit! No pain no gain!"
Maybe it is better to get it all done in one shot, so to speak. Of course, the clinic also deals with prenatal care, so a little postpartum Botox might be just the ticket after a long night up with the baby..."
As I sat there sleepily contemplating these thoughts, my friend came out to wait some more. As we sat there, blearily staring at the newspaper, a commotion entered the lobby. The strangest looking Korean woman I have ever seen burst loudly into the room, accompanied by a more sedately attired younger woman.
The first thing that impressed me about the woman was that she was very tall. Her face was shaded by a large cloche-style hat with a crimson geranium sewn to the crown. Her extreme height was easily explained by her slender, excessively spiked high-heeled boots. The woman had the longest, and most beautiful legs I have ever seen on a woman. Her extraordinary limbs were thinly covered by black fishnet hose, her skirt barely decently covering her elongated expanse of leg. Her blouse was cut low, but just on the right side of decent. A fringe of frizzy and poorly bleached blonde hair peaked out from underneath her headgear. Her hat slipped a little, and I saw with some amazement that she was far from a young woman, moreover, she was probably in her fifties. Her skin had the tight, too-many-face-lifts aspect to it. She held an ice-pack carelessly to her nose. At first, I thought the ice pack was for a beating, given the woman's obvious profession. It later occured to me that she probably had a Botox treatment. A loud and course voice boomed out from her triangular-shaped face, in broken English,
"Men only want one thing, I tell you. Did I tell you what that bastard did to me last night...."
The woman proceded to list a long list of all things wrong with her "boyfriend," men, and the world to her long-suffering companion. The performance was clearly partially for our benefit, as much of the monologue was rendered in English - Lord, knows, she was loud enough. At one point, the woman took the "Entertainment" section of the paper, and began to regale her "audience" with reading the Sex Advice column, and chortling loudly and ostentatiously over a 70-year-old man who "perfumed the bed sheets" every night to get his wife in the mood. My friend and I looked at each other sideways, but then had to look away from each other to avoid giggling over this spectacle. She switched fluidly from ghetto English to Korean, often starting sentences in one language and finishing in the other. She finally quieted down, then went to the nurse manning the phones. She said something low and meaningful in Korean; I would have given anything to know what she said, because the erstwhile receptionist turned bright red and burst out in incredulous laughter. It must have been pretty choice to make an ob/gyn nurse blush...
My friend went back to her appointment, and I was left alone in the lobby with this strange woman. She clearly wanted someone to notice her; I am not sure why I held back. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her - about her profession, her life, Korean men, Korean women...Here was my opportunity to find out from an insider. Somehow, though, I lacked the courage. Moreover, a great pity overtook my senses, as I contemplated the great trials that this woman must have undergone in her profession. I was overwhelmed with a great love for this sad and lonely creature. Inside I knew, however, that speaking to her would only feed her need for attention, and I did not relish the thought of entangling myself in the life of one pursuing "Mrs. Warren's Profession." I stayed silent, and avoided eye contact.
Instead, I turned my focus to her companion. The younger woman, as I said earlier, was sedately and somberly dressed, all in black. Her face had a slightly hard-edged look, especially around the eyes, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about her appearance. Althoguh clearly embarrased by the older woman, there was a strange sort of long-suffering respect in her attitude. When the older woman got too loud, the younger woman spoke soothingly to her. She made sure her charge was comfortable and well-cared-for by the staff.
The young woman had an air of assurance normally associated with the well-educated. Her English was exceptionally good as she conversed with the nurses, so I was rather startled when she referred to the woman as "Oma." I thought I had misheard, so I began eavesdropping on their conversation. The older woman was rattling on, albeit in a quieter voice, to the young woman. The woman looked slightly embarrassed, so I can only imagine the theme of the conversation. Then I heard it again, this time in shocked English,
"Mama!"
Apparently, the older woman was the mother of the younger woman. There was very little trace of the older in the younger generation's face, except about the hardened eyes. Botox and plastic surgery, presumably, had erased all other traces between this strange mother-daughter team. I wondered what her father looked like, as she was very pretty in her own natural way, then wondered if she even knew who her father was. My pity shifted to the younger woman, who was clearly the caretaker of the elder. She will probably never be able to marry. Koreans children take care of their parents at all costs. Seldom do they abandon them to public charity, although in extreme cases, it does happen. Still, what a life she must have!
Botox pushing aside, the clinic itself provides excellent care. The doctor gives well-explained literature out on most female-related illnesses and concerns, and, I have been told, very detailed and instructive information to her patients. I was further assured when I saw many waygooks coming in and out of her clinic with satisfaction on their faces. I have the doctor's business card, and have no hesitation about making my regular check-up appointment in March. If anyone besides family and friends staying in the Seoul area wants her information, feel free to send me an email and I will give it to you.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
JOURNAL: Hindang
"Who are the people in your neighborhood?" Sesame Street
THE WHITE DOG
Last week, as I was walking home from work, I saw something moving in and among the garbage sacks behind the school. Curious, I went over to investigate. It was a beautiful white dog, with pale tan spots on his shanks and hindquarters, and he was digging in the garbage. He was a little, but well-built thing, and I recognized him as a pure-bred Korean dog; I have seen them all over the place, but do not know what the breed is called. They are a gentle, loyal, but not overly "dog-like" dog; they are more cat like in that they are very particular as to whom they associate with. The dog seemed vaguely familiar, and I wondered if he was one of the ones I saw daily on my trek to work. I also mentally cursed the people who could abandon such a lovely animal. He was slightly dirty, but did not seem undernourished or sick.
The dog did not seem alarmed at my presence, so I drew closer, and cautiously put out my gloved fist for him. He gave me a rather indifferent "sniff over," then went back to rummaging. His body leaned into to my petting and scratching, but his nose was too busy to acknowledge me personally. I wondered again who had abandoned such a lovely and docile creature.
As I was giving him attention, a man stepped shyly out of the shadows. He appeared to be searching for something. He saw the dog, and came over. I absentmindedly asked, in English, if it was his dog. To my surprise, he answered me in English. It was NOT his dog, but he knew the dog. It was a street dog, and the man had come to give it shelter and food for the night. I recognized the man as working at one of the shops on my route, and suddenly realized that this was the dog that sometimes sleeps in front of the shop. Intrigued, I asked how the shop had acquired the dog.
It seems the dog had been found wandering around the streets some months ago. The shop men had noticed it, but no one could approach it. One day, they found the dog cowering in the back of the shop. They coaxed it out, and cleaned it up. In their spare moments, the shop men had built a dog house (heated!) and began to feed the animal. The man sheepishly admitted that the dog even had a sweater! I wondered if the man had knitted it himself...He seemed very fond of the dog. The dog became accustomed to humans again over time.
The man picked up the little white canine, who snuggled into his down jacket contentedly. I asked the man what the dog's name was. The man blushed and giggled, replying,
"Huindang."
I asked a Korean friend later what it meant, and he laughed and said it meant "white dog."
Huindang apparently remembered me the next morning. On my way to my pre-work sandwich shop, I saw him and the "shop boys" lounging around outside. Huindang came up to me, gave me a few delicate sniffs, and wagged his tail. He then gently nibbled my fingers in a mock play tug-of-war. I gently coaxed him to jump up and nip my fist a few times, and after a few final pats and head scritches, began to walk away. Huindang, like many dogs in Seoul, is not leashed, so he began to follow me. He followed me all the way down to the door of the sandwich shop,amusing his caretakers greatly, but I did not let him follow me inside. He was still in the area when I came back out 20 minutes later.
There is something endearing about a country where people care for even a humble street dog.
THE WHITE DOG
Last week, as I was walking home from work, I saw something moving in and among the garbage sacks behind the school. Curious, I went over to investigate. It was a beautiful white dog, with pale tan spots on his shanks and hindquarters, and he was digging in the garbage. He was a little, but well-built thing, and I recognized him as a pure-bred Korean dog; I have seen them all over the place, but do not know what the breed is called. They are a gentle, loyal, but not overly "dog-like" dog; they are more cat like in that they are very particular as to whom they associate with. The dog seemed vaguely familiar, and I wondered if he was one of the ones I saw daily on my trek to work. I also mentally cursed the people who could abandon such a lovely animal. He was slightly dirty, but did not seem undernourished or sick.
The dog did not seem alarmed at my presence, so I drew closer, and cautiously put out my gloved fist for him. He gave me a rather indifferent "sniff over," then went back to rummaging. His body leaned into to my petting and scratching, but his nose was too busy to acknowledge me personally. I wondered again who had abandoned such a lovely and docile creature.
As I was giving him attention, a man stepped shyly out of the shadows. He appeared to be searching for something. He saw the dog, and came over. I absentmindedly asked, in English, if it was his dog. To my surprise, he answered me in English. It was NOT his dog, but he knew the dog. It was a street dog, and the man had come to give it shelter and food for the night. I recognized the man as working at one of the shops on my route, and suddenly realized that this was the dog that sometimes sleeps in front of the shop. Intrigued, I asked how the shop had acquired the dog.
It seems the dog had been found wandering around the streets some months ago. The shop men had noticed it, but no one could approach it. One day, they found the dog cowering in the back of the shop. They coaxed it out, and cleaned it up. In their spare moments, the shop men had built a dog house (heated!) and began to feed the animal. The man sheepishly admitted that the dog even had a sweater! I wondered if the man had knitted it himself...He seemed very fond of the dog. The dog became accustomed to humans again over time.
The man picked up the little white canine, who snuggled into his down jacket contentedly. I asked the man what the dog's name was. The man blushed and giggled, replying,
"Huindang."
I asked a Korean friend later what it meant, and he laughed and said it meant "white dog."
Huindang apparently remembered me the next morning. On my way to my pre-work sandwich shop, I saw him and the "shop boys" lounging around outside. Huindang came up to me, gave me a few delicate sniffs, and wagged his tail. He then gently nibbled my fingers in a mock play tug-of-war. I gently coaxed him to jump up and nip my fist a few times, and after a few final pats and head scritches, began to walk away. Huindang, like many dogs in Seoul, is not leashed, so he began to follow me. He followed me all the way down to the door of the sandwich shop,amusing his caretakers greatly, but I did not let him follow me inside. He was still in the area when I came back out 20 minutes later.
There is something endearing about a country where people care for even a humble street dog.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Out of Commission
I apoligize for my lack of posts - I have been ill and very busy. I will begin posting weekly again after Wednesday.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
JOURNAL: Noses
A Korean friend pointed out to me something that should have been....well, as plain as the nose on my face, about Koreans and kissing that might explain the mystery (see "Cellphones and Kissing" 10/06/05).
Not being particularly attracted to noses, or for that matter, not having ever even considered noses, I failed to notice that, generally speaking, Asian noses are not as big or deep as Western noses. Once this was mentioned to me, noses became a bit of an obsession. I watched people get on and off the subway to observe this phenomenon, and found it to be rather valid. No big schnozzes, though a few flat and broad ones.
There is no problem with full on straight kissing, then. Westerners have to tilt to kiss because, well, our honkers are big, Roman, pointy, hooked, button, or otherwise less than delicate. Mine seems to exist only to get sunburned or allergies. Noses are not sexy or cute, but they do need consideration when contemplating a sweet end to a romantic evening.
Not being particularly attracted to noses, or for that matter, not having ever even considered noses, I failed to notice that, generally speaking, Asian noses are not as big or deep as Western noses. Once this was mentioned to me, noses became a bit of an obsession. I watched people get on and off the subway to observe this phenomenon, and found it to be rather valid. No big schnozzes, though a few flat and broad ones.
There is no problem with full on straight kissing, then. Westerners have to tilt to kiss because, well, our honkers are big, Roman, pointy, hooked, button, or otherwise less than delicate. Mine seems to exist only to get sunburned or allergies. Noses are not sexy or cute, but they do need consideration when contemplating a sweet end to a romantic evening.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
JOURNAL: Paying Bills in Korea - A CPA's Worst Nightmare...
Well, if you read this blog tonight, it is only through the good graces of my local PC Bong, as I have no other form of communication at present. You see, something got horribly lost in translation with my phone company. My Internet and phone line have been completely shut off, thanks to KT Telecom's lack of ever sending me a bill. How did this happen? Moreover, shouldn't Rebecca have noticed that she was not getting a phone bill? Well, I was getting a phone bill...and paying it. There is a lesson in this, I just don't know what it is.
My Internet and phone suddenly went goodbye on Monday morning. This happens sporadically, but only one goes out at a time usually. I asked our office manager at work about this. He pretty much acts as interpreter in all things practical, assisting all the foreign teachers in finance, apartment management, and getting along with the locals. I have had a difficult financial month, but he assured me that I had about a month grace period where I didn't have to pay any bills; it is just added to the next month's bill, with no penalty. Although my pride was wounded by the idea of letting debt accrue, I nervously accepted this advice. He said that they would never, in any circumstances, cut off phone, heat, or water unless more than a few months had passed. He said to try my phone and Internet the next morning. So I did. Nothing but a message saying that my number had been temporarily disconnected. No Internet either.
I went to "Joe" again this morning. I brought proof that I had paid my phone bill last month to ONSE Telecom. That is the only bill I have ever seen that has a "Telecom" on it; everything else is in Hangul. I assumed it was my phone bill. It comes about every other month. "Joe" said it was not my regular phone bill, but long distance; this made no sense to me, as I always use a phone card to call the U.S. The bill is never very high (about $20), so I figured it was for local calls. It never occured to me that it was anything other than a regular phone bill, or that in Korea they separate local from international calls.
"Joe" called the phone company, which I later found out was KT Telecom. I have never gotten any bill from this company, except for my Internet Installation fee, which I had paid immediately. They claim (rightly) that I have not paid a phone bill for four months, and that they will not restore service until I pay them 138,000 Won ($132). I have never gotten a bill from them, other than the first, so this stunned me. "Joe" verified that they had the correct address, which they did, but the fact remains that I have never gotten a bill from them. They accused me of never checking my mailbox! This is a ridiculous, as I cannot avoid checking it when I come in the building - it will hit me in the face, as it sticks out of the mail slot in the narrow (Korean-sized) lobby of the building. Also, the adverts will bury you if you don't check your box regularly; they stick them on doors and hang them on doorknobs as well. Great advertising strategy, but subtly annoying.
This gets more complicated (CPA's nightmare)so bear with me. I have exactly 68,000 won to get me through until the 15th, due to a slight, and rather stupid (back to Subtraction 101 for me), miscalculation of my monthly budget. I had planned out how to use every penny, and, were it not for this calamity, would have made it through easily. I usually have a very nice cushion of finance at the end of the month; this is very unusual for me. I also have a credit card, but this is not necessarily an asset in Korea, as credit cards are not widely accepted.
It is no wonder that KT Telecom's figure astounded me. They would not take credit card, and, from the arguing going on, were apparently giving John a hard time on the phone. Unless I deposited the sum right away, no phone service or Internet. Period. I then had one of my ridiculously ill-timed PCA (Public Crying Attacks) because of all the stress. Whichever ancestor passed this odd tendency on to me ought to be horse-whipped; perversely, it only happens when my pride, which I have quite a bit of, is at stake. I felt very cornered by my ill-fortune, and quite frankly have been nervous and embarrassed about my lack of funds all week. Oh, I have joked about it, but it really stung this afternoon. This latest development was just too much for me. I was very aware that I was alone in a strange land, with no money, no options, and the threat of "ugly American" stamped on my defaulted telephone bill.
I asked about cashing traveller's checks or getting money wired to me, but was told this would take 3-4 days. Finally, "Joe" suggested I ask the director of the school for an advance on my salary. This thought was almost too humiliating to bear. It turned out that she was not in her office all day. I finally got the nerve to call her on her cell phone. She was quite gracious about it, aside from a comment about foreigners not checking their mailboxes...This has to be Korean code language/translation for something....maybe it is a rough equivalent of "the check is in the mail..." Apparently, this has happened to other teachers, some to the point of losing both electricity and heat during winter. I shudder at the thought of being lumped in with young, immature people fresh out of college who decide to spend their money on soju and makju (beer) rather than paying bills, but I guess it works to put the final nail in the coffin of what was left of my admittedly occasionally excessive dignity. The money will be deposited in my account tomorrow morning.
Murphy's Law is still in full effect as I sit here and type while courting lung cancer in the smoky PC bong... My cell phone ran out of minutes this evening, so I am completely unreachable by phone for the moment. I bought a new phone card, but then discovered that my cell phone battery was dead. My spare was still plugged into the wall, but mysteriously, was not charged. I sincerely hope I do not have an accident tonight, as I have no means of calling 119 if something happens...
Living in a foreign country makes you humble, as I guess we should all be. South Korea is full of generous and helpful people who will go out of their way to help you even before you have asked for it. Community is strong, and I am finding my niche in it. The restaurant guys on the street greet me and flirt/joke with me everyday (not sure which way it is intended, truthfully), even though we don't always understand each other. The bakery lady where I buy my bread always slips something a little extra in my bag because I performed a random act of kindness for a customer - never mind what it was, it is not important. She also admires my bargain hunting skills, and so we trade fashion secrets of Seoul. The ajuma at my subway stop always takes time to chat with me in her broken English when I stop to buy my phone cards. It is nice to be acknowledged by the people you see everday.
My Internet and phone suddenly went goodbye on Monday morning. This happens sporadically, but only one goes out at a time usually. I asked our office manager at work about this. He pretty much acts as interpreter in all things practical, assisting all the foreign teachers in finance, apartment management, and getting along with the locals. I have had a difficult financial month, but he assured me that I had about a month grace period where I didn't have to pay any bills; it is just added to the next month's bill, with no penalty. Although my pride was wounded by the idea of letting debt accrue, I nervously accepted this advice. He said that they would never, in any circumstances, cut off phone, heat, or water unless more than a few months had passed. He said to try my phone and Internet the next morning. So I did. Nothing but a message saying that my number had been temporarily disconnected. No Internet either.
I went to "Joe" again this morning. I brought proof that I had paid my phone bill last month to ONSE Telecom. That is the only bill I have ever seen that has a "Telecom" on it; everything else is in Hangul. I assumed it was my phone bill. It comes about every other month. "Joe" said it was not my regular phone bill, but long distance; this made no sense to me, as I always use a phone card to call the U.S. The bill is never very high (about $20), so I figured it was for local calls. It never occured to me that it was anything other than a regular phone bill, or that in Korea they separate local from international calls.
"Joe" called the phone company, which I later found out was KT Telecom. I have never gotten any bill from this company, except for my Internet Installation fee, which I had paid immediately. They claim (rightly) that I have not paid a phone bill for four months, and that they will not restore service until I pay them 138,000 Won ($132). I have never gotten a bill from them, other than the first, so this stunned me. "Joe" verified that they had the correct address, which they did, but the fact remains that I have never gotten a bill from them. They accused me of never checking my mailbox! This is a ridiculous, as I cannot avoid checking it when I come in the building - it will hit me in the face, as it sticks out of the mail slot in the narrow (Korean-sized) lobby of the building. Also, the adverts will bury you if you don't check your box regularly; they stick them on doors and hang them on doorknobs as well. Great advertising strategy, but subtly annoying.
This gets more complicated (CPA's nightmare)so bear with me. I have exactly 68,000 won to get me through until the 15th, due to a slight, and rather stupid (back to Subtraction 101 for me), miscalculation of my monthly budget. I had planned out how to use every penny, and, were it not for this calamity, would have made it through easily. I usually have a very nice cushion of finance at the end of the month; this is very unusual for me. I also have a credit card, but this is not necessarily an asset in Korea, as credit cards are not widely accepted.
It is no wonder that KT Telecom's figure astounded me. They would not take credit card, and, from the arguing going on, were apparently giving John a hard time on the phone. Unless I deposited the sum right away, no phone service or Internet. Period. I then had one of my ridiculously ill-timed PCA (Public Crying Attacks) because of all the stress. Whichever ancestor passed this odd tendency on to me ought to be horse-whipped; perversely, it only happens when my pride, which I have quite a bit of, is at stake. I felt very cornered by my ill-fortune, and quite frankly have been nervous and embarrassed about my lack of funds all week. Oh, I have joked about it, but it really stung this afternoon. This latest development was just too much for me. I was very aware that I was alone in a strange land, with no money, no options, and the threat of "ugly American" stamped on my defaulted telephone bill.
I asked about cashing traveller's checks or getting money wired to me, but was told this would take 3-4 days. Finally, "Joe" suggested I ask the director of the school for an advance on my salary. This thought was almost too humiliating to bear. It turned out that she was not in her office all day. I finally got the nerve to call her on her cell phone. She was quite gracious about it, aside from a comment about foreigners not checking their mailboxes...This has to be Korean code language/translation for something....maybe it is a rough equivalent of "the check is in the mail..." Apparently, this has happened to other teachers, some to the point of losing both electricity and heat during winter. I shudder at the thought of being lumped in with young, immature people fresh out of college who decide to spend their money on soju and makju (beer) rather than paying bills, but I guess it works to put the final nail in the coffin of what was left of my admittedly occasionally excessive dignity. The money will be deposited in my account tomorrow morning.
Murphy's Law is still in full effect as I sit here and type while courting lung cancer in the smoky PC bong... My cell phone ran out of minutes this evening, so I am completely unreachable by phone for the moment. I bought a new phone card, but then discovered that my cell phone battery was dead. My spare was still plugged into the wall, but mysteriously, was not charged. I sincerely hope I do not have an accident tonight, as I have no means of calling 119 if something happens...
Living in a foreign country makes you humble, as I guess we should all be. South Korea is full of generous and helpful people who will go out of their way to help you even before you have asked for it. Community is strong, and I am finding my niche in it. The restaurant guys on the street greet me and flirt/joke with me everyday (not sure which way it is intended, truthfully), even though we don't always understand each other. The bakery lady where I buy my bread always slips something a little extra in my bag because I performed a random act of kindness for a customer - never mind what it was, it is not important. She also admires my bargain hunting skills, and so we trade fashion secrets of Seoul. The ajuma at my subway stop always takes time to chat with me in her broken English when I stop to buy my phone cards. It is nice to be acknowledged by the people you see everday.
Monday, October 31, 2005
JOURNAL: Looking for Pusan Part 2
I got up early (for me) Saturday morning, and headed to Dunkin' Donuts for an ever- so-healthy breakfast of donuts and coffee. As I took a seat, a noisy group of men in blue uniforms came in. They were all rather young and fresh looking, and at first I thought they were military; Busan is a naval port also. Upon closer examination of their uniforms, however, I discovered that these young men were actually policemen. Tall and skinny Korean policemen, but policement nevertheless. In a donut shop. Apparently, it is universal.
Their youth was explained later to me by the posters that boasted, "new police, new start - Dynamic Busan." One of them kept staring at me and nudging his neighbors. I smiled at him and made eye contact; he nervously smiled back, then looked down with a slight flush on his acne-mottled cheeks. It was very endearing, but also pointed to this new force's inexperience.
I heade towards the beach, a soft, cool, mist cloaking the water in a curtain of grey. The threat of rain hung in the air, and a heavy fog began to trickle down. The beach was all but deserted. A softly rounded ajuma meditated quietly. A slender middle-aged woman in a pink sweater dandered along the surf, pausing in reflection from time to time. She looked weary, but not sad. A couple of businessmen sat on the sand, careless of their expensive suits.
These men fascinated me. They were in perfect harmony with each other, in the way that only a long friendship or marriage can bring. They spoke to each other little, but when they did, their tones were warm and nurturing. They grasped each others hands, and slapped each others knees with occasional mirth. They then quieted down, sitting in silent communion with their arms around each others shoulders - a perfect David with his Jonathan.
I wandered north on the boardwalk to see if I could find the "Little Mermaid" statue. It is only mentioned briefly in my guide, and as far as I know, nowhere else. I have always loved this story of unrequited love, so I had to see the Korean version. Copenhagen, Denmark also has a famous mermaid statue in honor of the author of the story. Actually, the guide said the statue was south of the beach "below the cliffs," but I got turned around and headed north by accident. It turned out to be a pleasant, if unintended, detour.
The legend of ancient times tells the heartbroken love story of the Princess of Topaz. The Princess of Topaz was from the "Naranda: country, a country of mermaid, and married the King of Favor from the Mukungnara. She sheds tears of longing for her kingdom, reflected in topaz on each night of the full moon.
As I got closer and closer to the end of the sand, the few people on the beach thinned out. I began moving quicker when a group of noisy school children came to the edge of the water. I watched them and took photos for awhile, then moved on. I passed empty restaurants and kiosks, their owners hopefully glancing at me as I passed. It was lightly sprinkling, and a man "tsk tsk"ed me for not having an umbrella.
I came to a narrow winding street that twisted up from the boardwalk. I held my breath as I passed an area which apparently served as a fish-cleaning station. Idle fishing boats were parked Korean-style, that is, haphazardly, in a small inlet. Some of them were quite derilict, while others seemed more serviceable. I turned back, and meandered my way back to the beach.
Not having forgotten my original purpose, I stopped in an incredibly cheesy tourist shop to get directions. The lady spoke no English, but I bought Andy's joke gift with a grin, followed by some hysterical laughter. The lady looked like she was about to call the police, so I quickly paid and left. She gave me free postcard, I think to ensure I didn't come back.
The information office turned out to be on the other side of the shop, so I went there. The place I wanted to go, Donbaek Island, was closed to tourists because of the APEC summit, but, I was told, if I went with just a camera, they might just let me in. The kind ladies gave me directions to a department store with lockers, but when I got there, no lockers. I decided to try my luck with the guards, so I took a taxi up the hill to the fancy Westin Chosun Hotel on the island.
The island is actually not an island anymore; it was filled in by a land bridge several centuries ago. The guards let me go in the park surprisingly, but only on the outskirts of the island. Men (possibly snipers) in camoflauge squatted in the bushes, their beady eyes glaring out at the families enjoying the summer day. More obvious guards stood at attention around all the important monuments, not allowing people to go down the stairs to get to the rocks and cliffs, or the monuments, for that matter. Hearbreakingly, the Princess of Topaz Mermaid Statue was closed to visitors. It could be seen from a distance, but only just.
I saw the fancy hotel from the other side of the statue, and was struck with inspiration. The hotel property met the beach, so if I went back down to the beach, I could climb up the other way! I finished my tour of the island, and strolled back down to the beach. Sure enough, there was a steep stairway, really a bunch of rocks, with a handrail leading up to the top of the cliffs behind the princess. Maybe I could get a closer shot at the Princess of Topaz. I covered my grungy tourist gear with my nice leather jacket, brushed my hair, and put on my most important stroll. I casually meandered through the hotel property and private to the stairway, and no one stopped me, the "Mission Impossible" theme running through my head... I scrambled up the naturally-made stairs to the top of the cliff, meeting two ajumas selling water along the way. They looked up hopefully at me, but I kept going. Finally, I reached a lookout point, two noisy women chattering on the bench. I peered down, and there she was.
She was very large and beautifully rendered. The artist had taken time to naturally sculpt every scale and angle perfectly. Her face held an expression of deep longing as she gazed into her ball. She blended naturally into the rocks, almost invisible, but for the slightly greenish cast of the bronze. She belonged there, a part of the sea and spray.
Another precarious stairway of rocks led down towards her, so I began clambering down. About halfway down, however, I paused. The Princess of Topaz was not in mourning alone. A well-dressed man in a grey business suit stood on the rocks at her feet, looking out to sea. In his hand, he held a bright bouquet of wedding flowers. His companion, also in a business suit, sat discreetly to the side. The man disappeared in front the statue, and when he came back, the flowers were gone. I did not see whether he laid them at her feet or threw them into the sea as a sacrifice. He then sat on the rocks, tragically alone, and silently smoking a cigarette. I quietly tiptoed back up the stairs to give him his privacy. I had gotten my photos, but I am not sure it was worth the misery of a broken heart.
I headed back to the train station, figuring it was a good place to find better lodging. I checked into the Hotel Ariarang, a place that had seen better days, but it was still quite comfortable. The paint was peeling, and the gold in the elevator was quite startlingly rendered, but I had a porter who showed me my room with much gusto. I had free Internet access, and a coffee shop and restaurant, so I was content.
I decided to take a bus tour of the city, and met up with some very amusing Taiwanese businessmen. Actually, they were engineers. They spoke excellent English, but no Korean. I found myself in the strange position of giving them key survival phrases, and irony that was not lost on me. I also gave them travel tips for Seoul. We all watched the sunset from the top of a mountain. The fishing ships muttered their way home in the dusk, and we could see them all from very high up.
After a rather spicy Korean dinner, I went back to my room. I grew restless, so I went down to the bustling Busan Station Plaza. People came and went from all walks of life, and a group of street preachers gathered to sing praise songs. I genuinely enjoyed hearing praise music sung in Korean, and drew nearer to the group. They stood in a circle of communion, their hands and voices raised to the night sky. The neon lights came on, and this phenmoenon showed how beautifully rendered Busan Station really was. Unfortunately, my mood was shaply broken when a crazy man began harassing people. He saw me, made eye contact, and came purposefully towards me. I got up quickly and melted into the crowd. Crazy people seem to like me.
I watched some television, then went to sleep.
Their youth was explained later to me by the posters that boasted, "new police, new start - Dynamic Busan." One of them kept staring at me and nudging his neighbors. I smiled at him and made eye contact; he nervously smiled back, then looked down with a slight flush on his acne-mottled cheeks. It was very endearing, but also pointed to this new force's inexperience.
I heade towards the beach, a soft, cool, mist cloaking the water in a curtain of grey. The threat of rain hung in the air, and a heavy fog began to trickle down. The beach was all but deserted. A softly rounded ajuma meditated quietly. A slender middle-aged woman in a pink sweater dandered along the surf, pausing in reflection from time to time. She looked weary, but not sad. A couple of businessmen sat on the sand, careless of their expensive suits.
These men fascinated me. They were in perfect harmony with each other, in the way that only a long friendship or marriage can bring. They spoke to each other little, but when they did, their tones were warm and nurturing. They grasped each others hands, and slapped each others knees with occasional mirth. They then quieted down, sitting in silent communion with their arms around each others shoulders - a perfect David with his Jonathan.
I wandered north on the boardwalk to see if I could find the "Little Mermaid" statue. It is only mentioned briefly in my guide, and as far as I know, nowhere else. I have always loved this story of unrequited love, so I had to see the Korean version. Copenhagen, Denmark also has a famous mermaid statue in honor of the author of the story. Actually, the guide said the statue was south of the beach "below the cliffs," but I got turned around and headed north by accident. It turned out to be a pleasant, if unintended, detour.
The legend of ancient times tells the heartbroken love story of the Princess of Topaz. The Princess of Topaz was from the "Naranda: country, a country of mermaid, and married the King of Favor from the Mukungnara. She sheds tears of longing for her kingdom, reflected in topaz on each night of the full moon.
As I got closer and closer to the end of the sand, the few people on the beach thinned out. I began moving quicker when a group of noisy school children came to the edge of the water. I watched them and took photos for awhile, then moved on. I passed empty restaurants and kiosks, their owners hopefully glancing at me as I passed. It was lightly sprinkling, and a man "tsk tsk"ed me for not having an umbrella.
I came to a narrow winding street that twisted up from the boardwalk. I held my breath as I passed an area which apparently served as a fish-cleaning station. Idle fishing boats were parked Korean-style, that is, haphazardly, in a small inlet. Some of them were quite derilict, while others seemed more serviceable. I turned back, and meandered my way back to the beach.
Not having forgotten my original purpose, I stopped in an incredibly cheesy tourist shop to get directions. The lady spoke no English, but I bought Andy's joke gift with a grin, followed by some hysterical laughter. The lady looked like she was about to call the police, so I quickly paid and left. She gave me free postcard, I think to ensure I didn't come back.
The information office turned out to be on the other side of the shop, so I went there. The place I wanted to go, Donbaek Island, was closed to tourists because of the APEC summit, but, I was told, if I went with just a camera, they might just let me in. The kind ladies gave me directions to a department store with lockers, but when I got there, no lockers. I decided to try my luck with the guards, so I took a taxi up the hill to the fancy Westin Chosun Hotel on the island.
The island is actually not an island anymore; it was filled in by a land bridge several centuries ago. The guards let me go in the park surprisingly, but only on the outskirts of the island. Men (possibly snipers) in camoflauge squatted in the bushes, their beady eyes glaring out at the families enjoying the summer day. More obvious guards stood at attention around all the important monuments, not allowing people to go down the stairs to get to the rocks and cliffs, or the monuments, for that matter. Hearbreakingly, the Princess of Topaz Mermaid Statue was closed to visitors. It could be seen from a distance, but only just.
I saw the fancy hotel from the other side of the statue, and was struck with inspiration. The hotel property met the beach, so if I went back down to the beach, I could climb up the other way! I finished my tour of the island, and strolled back down to the beach. Sure enough, there was a steep stairway, really a bunch of rocks, with a handrail leading up to the top of the cliffs behind the princess. Maybe I could get a closer shot at the Princess of Topaz. I covered my grungy tourist gear with my nice leather jacket, brushed my hair, and put on my most important stroll. I casually meandered through the hotel property and private to the stairway, and no one stopped me, the "Mission Impossible" theme running through my head... I scrambled up the naturally-made stairs to the top of the cliff, meeting two ajumas selling water along the way. They looked up hopefully at me, but I kept going. Finally, I reached a lookout point, two noisy women chattering on the bench. I peered down, and there she was.
She was very large and beautifully rendered. The artist had taken time to naturally sculpt every scale and angle perfectly. Her face held an expression of deep longing as she gazed into her ball. She blended naturally into the rocks, almost invisible, but for the slightly greenish cast of the bronze. She belonged there, a part of the sea and spray.
Another precarious stairway of rocks led down towards her, so I began clambering down. About halfway down, however, I paused. The Princess of Topaz was not in mourning alone. A well-dressed man in a grey business suit stood on the rocks at her feet, looking out to sea. In his hand, he held a bright bouquet of wedding flowers. His companion, also in a business suit, sat discreetly to the side. The man disappeared in front the statue, and when he came back, the flowers were gone. I did not see whether he laid them at her feet or threw them into the sea as a sacrifice. He then sat on the rocks, tragically alone, and silently smoking a cigarette. I quietly tiptoed back up the stairs to give him his privacy. I had gotten my photos, but I am not sure it was worth the misery of a broken heart.
I headed back to the train station, figuring it was a good place to find better lodging. I checked into the Hotel Ariarang, a place that had seen better days, but it was still quite comfortable. The paint was peeling, and the gold in the elevator was quite startlingly rendered, but I had a porter who showed me my room with much gusto. I had free Internet access, and a coffee shop and restaurant, so I was content.
I decided to take a bus tour of the city, and met up with some very amusing Taiwanese businessmen. Actually, they were engineers. They spoke excellent English, but no Korean. I found myself in the strange position of giving them key survival phrases, and irony that was not lost on me. I also gave them travel tips for Seoul. We all watched the sunset from the top of a mountain. The fishing ships muttered their way home in the dusk, and we could see them all from very high up.
After a rather spicy Korean dinner, I went back to my room. I grew restless, so I went down to the bustling Busan Station Plaza. People came and went from all walks of life, and a group of street preachers gathered to sing praise songs. I genuinely enjoyed hearing praise music sung in Korean, and drew nearer to the group. They stood in a circle of communion, their hands and voices raised to the night sky. The neon lights came on, and this phenmoenon showed how beautifully rendered Busan Station really was. Unfortunately, my mood was shaply broken when a crazy man began harassing people. He saw me, made eye contact, and came purposefully towards me. I got up quickly and melted into the crowd. Crazy people seem to like me.
I watched some television, then went to sleep.
Friday, October 28, 2005
JOURNAL: Looking for Pusan (or Busan) PART II
About two months ago (at least they gave me warning), I was told that I had two days off at the end of October. Although I have vacation days, Korean hagwons dictate when I can and can't take them. I had about 200,000 won to work with, which isn't much. I looked into international flights to other places in Asia, but they were ridiculously out of my price range. Taipei came close, but I decided against it for now.
As I sit here typing, I am in awe about how smoothly this little trip of mine came together, although it did not start out that way. On Tuesday night, I rather randomly decided I would go to Busan, a port city in the southeastern part of South Korea. I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about this, you understand; going from a city of 11 million to a city of 4 million (the second largest in Korea) does not sound like much of a break to anyone, I would imagine. When I announced my intentions to people who asked me where I was going on vacation , many people, even the restaurant guys said, rather tersely, "Why?" Beleive me, I asked the same question. The best I could come up with was, "Because it is there."
I overslept on the morning I was to leave, which was fine, as I had made no reservations whatsoever (too intimidated by my limited Korean). I hopped on the 3:00 KTX train (bullet train). Th ride was pleasant enough, save for one small incident. I was sitting next to a plump ajuma who promptly shut the curtains (she had the window seat) and fell asleep. Too polite (but slightly peeved, nevertheless), I quietly bemoaned my obstructed view and slowly drifted off to sleep. About an hour into the trip, somewhere between sleep and awake, my head was jostled painfully, and a soft pair of hands caressed my forehead, clucking sounds emerging from a disembodied person. I opened my eyes, but saw stars for a few minutes. I finally asked, in English, "What happened?" The ajuma next to me then did a pantomime of a businessman swinging his briefcase a little too freely and clocking me on the head as he "whoosshhh...!" out of the train. The lady was very kind and soothing and I forgave her for obstructing my view of Korea. Finally, 600 km and two and a half hours later, I emerged in Busan.
The terminal for Busan, by the way, is a fantastic display of architecture. The building can be described as somewhere between a football stadium and Chicago O'Hare. This is not as obnoxious as it sounds; somehow, it works. It is especially lovely at night (I can see it from my window right now). There is an urban park and plaza surrounding it, with interesting abstract sculptures, a fountain, and plentiful seating. There are hotels and motels scattered along the busy street, surprisingly reasonably priced, if a bit seedy around the edges.
Tired, and with a headache fast approaching, I decided to take the subway to Haeundae, the beach resort area of the city. As I reasoned, it was off-season, and probably pretty quiet. The tourist information lady gave me a rather condescending and pitying look and suggested I take the bus. I asked about the subway route, which she reluctantly gave me, but warned that there was a transfer involved as well as a 10 minute walk to the beach (oh no, not that!). I set off looking for the bus depot, but found the subway first. The big "transfer" she was worried about was the ONLY transfer on the entire line (I make three transfers just to get downtown Seoul!), which runs in a sideways "X" shape. I made the transfer fine, then managed to get off at the wrong stop. I paid my fare AGAIN (only 1000 Won)and went two more stops.
I came out of the subway, only to find myself on one of those back streets that every tourist dreads, and only the locals know. The street seemed a bit shady at best, but as I got closer to the beach, it got a little better. Although there was quite a bit of activity still going on in the night, it was very peaceful. There were definately some interesting characters about, being a seaport and all, and I saw the first bearded Korean I have ever seen outside of pictures and Korean melodramas (men are meticulously clean-shaven in modern Korea). I clutched my red bag close to me as I wandered the labyrinth of haphazardly planned streets. I stopped at a McDonalds for dinner, then wandered on. I suddenly found myself in a "motel row." This, I must explain, usually means that a redlight district is not far, and I was not disappointed in this guess, as it turned out.
The "love motel" as it is known here, is very cheap and comfortable, if you have the nerve. They are not skanky or dirty by any means, and families will sometimes stay in them "on the cheap" (about $25). Even so, their purpose for existence is somewhat more blatant than most Koreans would like to admit. They are signalled the same way your typical Vegas strip joint is - loud, colorful neon signs, themes (castles with turrets seem to be popular), and titles. I saw the "Relax Motel," the "Queen Motel," the "SandaFe" (oof...bad unintentional pun!), "21 Themes" (hmmm), "The Seventh" (where are 1-6?), and my favorite "Novios" (Spanish for "lovers," but your average Korean wouldn't know that). I avoided these like the plague, as well as some of the seedier unnamed motels. I could see the "Grand Hotel" getting closer, and began contemplating whether my credit card could bear its lofty weight.
Earlier in my wandering, I had noted a nice-looking, but nameless, motel of the amorous type. It was on a busier street, and the lobby (and the $25 price) looked clean and inviting enough. The walls were lined with aquariums; clearly, sea life was the theme. I headed back there after a few more wrong turns, and paused at the door. Well, here goes nothing. I took two steps forward, and stopped dead in my tracks. There, on the threshold, were three folded "calling cards." The photos were similar to the type you find on the back pages of free publications in any major city, "Feel Frieda for free," and the like. The cards were creased in the center and laid neatly, but pointedly, on the doorjamb. My best guess is that this is a signal that the ladies are at "home" but with clients at the moment. Well, I wasn't having THAT! No drunk Korean businessmen for THIS lady.
I stomped away, peeved at my limited choices. I gazed longingly at the "Grand Hotel" again, and inadvertently wandered down a random side street. Suddenly, I saw an "APEC" banner on the side of one of the motels. That sounded promising. The 2005 APEC (Asian Pacific Economic Convention) is meeting in Busan this year to put Busan, already the third largest port in the world, on the map of tourism, so to speak. I followed the banner to the "Lord Beach Hotel" (not "motel"). I presented myself
to the desk clerk, and she issued me a key. The price, although double that of a "love motel," was well worth my security of mind that I would not get molested in the night by a big bottle of soju. The room was neat, clean, and tidy, though a little careworn around the edges. The only reminder of the district I was in came when I reached into the bedstand drawer in search of magazines, and came out with a handful of "Gold Circle" condoms, manufactured in 2001, according to the package (expiration 2006). There was also the telltale big box of Kleenex by the bed. "Well, at least they play it safe," I thought. I had cable t.v., a warm shower, and a comfortable bed. The neon lights from the love motels around the hotel were a little distracting, as well as the drunk businessmen coming out of the bars, but all in all, I spent a quiet, restful night.
As I sit here typing, I am in awe about how smoothly this little trip of mine came together, although it did not start out that way. On Tuesday night, I rather randomly decided I would go to Busan, a port city in the southeastern part of South Korea. I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about this, you understand; going from a city of 11 million to a city of 4 million (the second largest in Korea) does not sound like much of a break to anyone, I would imagine. When I announced my intentions to people who asked me where I was going on vacation , many people, even the restaurant guys said, rather tersely, "Why?" Beleive me, I asked the same question. The best I could come up with was, "Because it is there."
I overslept on the morning I was to leave, which was fine, as I had made no reservations whatsoever (too intimidated by my limited Korean). I hopped on the 3:00 KTX train (bullet train). Th ride was pleasant enough, save for one small incident. I was sitting next to a plump ajuma who promptly shut the curtains (she had the window seat) and fell asleep. Too polite (but slightly peeved, nevertheless), I quietly bemoaned my obstructed view and slowly drifted off to sleep. About an hour into the trip, somewhere between sleep and awake, my head was jostled painfully, and a soft pair of hands caressed my forehead, clucking sounds emerging from a disembodied person. I opened my eyes, but saw stars for a few minutes. I finally asked, in English, "What happened?" The ajuma next to me then did a pantomime of a businessman swinging his briefcase a little too freely and clocking me on the head as he "whoosshhh...!" out of the train. The lady was very kind and soothing and I forgave her for obstructing my view of Korea. Finally, 600 km and two and a half hours later, I emerged in Busan.
The terminal for Busan, by the way, is a fantastic display of architecture. The building can be described as somewhere between a football stadium and Chicago O'Hare. This is not as obnoxious as it sounds; somehow, it works. It is especially lovely at night (I can see it from my window right now). There is an urban park and plaza surrounding it, with interesting abstract sculptures, a fountain, and plentiful seating. There are hotels and motels scattered along the busy street, surprisingly reasonably priced, if a bit seedy around the edges.
Tired, and with a headache fast approaching, I decided to take the subway to Haeundae, the beach resort area of the city. As I reasoned, it was off-season, and probably pretty quiet. The tourist information lady gave me a rather condescending and pitying look and suggested I take the bus. I asked about the subway route, which she reluctantly gave me, but warned that there was a transfer involved as well as a 10 minute walk to the beach (oh no, not that!). I set off looking for the bus depot, but found the subway first. The big "transfer" she was worried about was the ONLY transfer on the entire line (I make three transfers just to get downtown Seoul!), which runs in a sideways "X" shape. I made the transfer fine, then managed to get off at the wrong stop. I paid my fare AGAIN (only 1000 Won)and went two more stops.
I came out of the subway, only to find myself on one of those back streets that every tourist dreads, and only the locals know. The street seemed a bit shady at best, but as I got closer to the beach, it got a little better. Although there was quite a bit of activity still going on in the night, it was very peaceful. There were definately some interesting characters about, being a seaport and all, and I saw the first bearded Korean I have ever seen outside of pictures and Korean melodramas (men are meticulously clean-shaven in modern Korea). I clutched my red bag close to me as I wandered the labyrinth of haphazardly planned streets. I stopped at a McDonalds for dinner, then wandered on. I suddenly found myself in a "motel row." This, I must explain, usually means that a redlight district is not far, and I was not disappointed in this guess, as it turned out.
The "love motel" as it is known here, is very cheap and comfortable, if you have the nerve. They are not skanky or dirty by any means, and families will sometimes stay in them "on the cheap" (about $25). Even so, their purpose for existence is somewhat more blatant than most Koreans would like to admit. They are signalled the same way your typical Vegas strip joint is - loud, colorful neon signs, themes (castles with turrets seem to be popular), and titles. I saw the "Relax Motel," the "Queen Motel," the "SandaFe" (oof...bad unintentional pun!), "21 Themes" (hmmm), "The Seventh" (where are 1-6?), and my favorite "Novios" (Spanish for "lovers," but your average Korean wouldn't know that). I avoided these like the plague, as well as some of the seedier unnamed motels. I could see the "Grand Hotel" getting closer, and began contemplating whether my credit card could bear its lofty weight.
Earlier in my wandering, I had noted a nice-looking, but nameless, motel of the amorous type. It was on a busier street, and the lobby (and the $25 price) looked clean and inviting enough. The walls were lined with aquariums; clearly, sea life was the theme. I headed back there after a few more wrong turns, and paused at the door. Well, here goes nothing. I took two steps forward, and stopped dead in my tracks. There, on the threshold, were three folded "calling cards." The photos were similar to the type you find on the back pages of free publications in any major city, "Feel Frieda for free," and the like. The cards were creased in the center and laid neatly, but pointedly, on the doorjamb. My best guess is that this is a signal that the ladies are at "home" but with clients at the moment. Well, I wasn't having THAT! No drunk Korean businessmen for THIS lady.
I stomped away, peeved at my limited choices. I gazed longingly at the "Grand Hotel" again, and inadvertently wandered down a random side street. Suddenly, I saw an "APEC" banner on the side of one of the motels. That sounded promising. The 2005 APEC (Asian Pacific Economic Convention) is meeting in Busan this year to put Busan, already the third largest port in the world, on the map of tourism, so to speak. I followed the banner to the "Lord Beach Hotel" (not "motel"). I presented myself
to the desk clerk, and she issued me a key. The price, although double that of a "love motel," was well worth my security of mind that I would not get molested in the night by a big bottle of soju. The room was neat, clean, and tidy, though a little careworn around the edges. The only reminder of the district I was in came when I reached into the bedstand drawer in search of magazines, and came out with a handful of "Gold Circle" condoms, manufactured in 2001, according to the package (expiration 2006). There was also the telltale big box of Kleenex by the bed. "Well, at least they play it safe," I thought. I had cable t.v., a warm shower, and a comfortable bed. The neon lights from the love motels around the hotel were a little distracting, as well as the drunk businessmen coming out of the bars, but all in all, I spent a quiet, restful night.
JOURNAL: Oh what a Night! PART I
I have been away from my computer quite a bit this last week, so I apologize for the delay in posting. Things should be calming down now, and I will hopefully be able to post more regularly. I'm afraid this post will be a long one, so bear with me...!
Well, to update:
Last weekend, the recruiter who coerced me into coming to Korea had a big event at Carne Station. We had a scavenger hunt, but that turned out to be a bit more than we bargained for (and the recruiter). Some of the items on the list, shall we say, were a trifle warm...I don't know how people got orange traffic cones and I don't want to know...I met some, well, UNIQUE, people; my partner in the scavenger hunt was very nice, but a trifle bit eccentric (he was wearing a Fredricks of Hollywood lace up shirt!). He had been in Seoul for only three days, and had come from a town of only 25,000 people, so he was a bit shell-shocked by the crowd (and a recent divorce, as it turned out). We did very poorly in the game, as he was new and I was brought up Protestant - no traffic cones, mops, and chairs for us!
The evening went well; I met some Wisconsin folks, which was strangely deja vu of my early college days...especially as the beer (Hite - horse piss at its best!) was flowing freely. I am afraid I overindulged quite a bit; the next thing I remember is salsa-ing at a Mexican-themed bar in Itaewon. Ah, well, you only live once.
Out of this whole deja vu experience, I met a charmingly "shy but open" Connecticut man, and we hit it off rather well. I hope he is reading this...
Well, that is the end of Part I. I am doing this in installments.
Well, to update:
Last weekend, the recruiter who coerced me into coming to Korea had a big event at Carne Station. We had a scavenger hunt, but that turned out to be a bit more than we bargained for (and the recruiter). Some of the items on the list, shall we say, were a trifle warm...I don't know how people got orange traffic cones and I don't want to know...I met some, well, UNIQUE, people; my partner in the scavenger hunt was very nice, but a trifle bit eccentric (he was wearing a Fredricks of Hollywood lace up shirt!). He had been in Seoul for only three days, and had come from a town of only 25,000 people, so he was a bit shell-shocked by the crowd (and a recent divorce, as it turned out). We did very poorly in the game, as he was new and I was brought up Protestant - no traffic cones, mops, and chairs for us!
The evening went well; I met some Wisconsin folks, which was strangely deja vu of my early college days...especially as the beer (Hite - horse piss at its best!) was flowing freely. I am afraid I overindulged quite a bit; the next thing I remember is salsa-ing at a Mexican-themed bar in Itaewon. Ah, well, you only live once.
Out of this whole deja vu experience, I met a charmingly "shy but open" Connecticut man, and we hit it off rather well. I hope he is reading this...
Well, that is the end of Part I. I am doing this in installments.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
JOURNAL: Where There's Fire...
I officially had a very bad, but interesting "movie clip" weekend.
I went to the KOTESOL Conference last Saturday (hence the late posting), and the minute I stepped out of the door, things began to happen. I went down the subway steps to the ATM machine that is right before the turnstiles. The ATM is all in Korean, so I tried my usual suicide cocktail of random buttons to get some cash. None of my usual combinations seemed to work. After about the fifth or sixth rejection of my card, I fiannly got it right, and took our 60,000 won to pay my entrance fee to the conference. At least I think I did. I was very flustered, and it is possible I left the money in the ATM...I hope that is what I did.
For some reason, the trains were running a bit off schedule, and it took me quite a long time to get to my destination - Sukmyung Women's University. At Dongdaemun Station, an obnoxious, loudly singing beggar woman began harassing the crowd delayed by the missing train. She pushed gum into my lap as well as other laps (those of us fortunate enough to have seats), then demanded chun won (about a dollar). I tried to give it back to her, but she put it on my lap again. I said firmy "No, no, no!" but she kept pushing it at me. Finally, the language barrier occured to me, and I said "Anio!" She went to the next person, wailing her song, and I shared a glance of amusement with the women sitting next to me. I felt a little guilty for not giving her anything, but this feeling did not last much longer. The overdue train finally arrived, and I squeezed into a standing room only spot.
From far away, I heard the old woman singing. Suddenly, the singing got louder, and I realized the woman was on the train, walking through the already overcrowded carriages. Sure enough, she came through our carriage, repeating her gum-in-lap routine. She also approached the standing crowd. She approached me again, getting hopelesly hung-up on my large tote-bag...or so I thought. She recognized my face, and, after a hopeful glance, turned to the next carriage.
I was wearing heels, so I was a bit disgruntled to discover that the way to the university was up a steep, worthy-of-San-Francisco, hill. On my way up, I began scoping out possible lunch places. I firmly vetoed "Popeye's Chicken" in my head, but noted a Subway (good in a pinch) and a small bibimbap (Korean stir fry - very delicious) joint behind a boutique that also looked promising. I arrived at the conference very late, but only missed a few seminars.
The line was short for registration, so I got through pretty quickly. A woman asked me if I would like to join KOTESOL (Korean Teachers Of English As a Second Language), and I rather brusquely replied that I would join after the conference if I liked it. I hate pushy people, and in retrospect, regret my answer. In my defense, I was a bit flustered. I registered online, with a little help from the Korean volunteers.
I went to the cashier, and drew out my wallet. I opened it, and discovered all my bills, except for a few thousand won bills, were gone! I looked through my bag, my purse...I looked everywhere, but they were just gone! At this point, I am afraid I broke down and cried, in front of volunteers, staff, and important people. I don't know where it came from; I think it was just all the stress. We all have our embarassing habits, and this is my big burden (my other is calling people by the wrong name!). One of the managers was under the impression that it was stolen at the conference, but I quickly cleared him of that notion. They offered me tea and sympathy. I said just wanted to go back home, but they convinced me otherwise.The ATM on campus was broken (naturally), and the nearest one was down the hill. Another volunteer helped me find it. Upon discussion, I discovered that he was a student at San Jose State University! He even showed me his I.D. (don't even ask me to pronouce his name!). He is an English student there....I spoke to a woman there who wanted to know which academy I worked for. Embarassed about my "losing it" in front of all those people, I blurted out that "I would rather not say," which she took to mean I was embarassed by where I worked (which I am not, by the way), and gave me a mini-lecture on not being ashamed of my workplace. I kept my cool this time, made some lame excuse, and got away.
I got the money, trudged back up the hill (in heels!), and paid my fee. The lady I snapped at earlier apparently was the event coordinator (why, oh why, do I always look like an idiot in front of important people?). I apologized for snapping at her, explaining that I was overwrought. We even had a laugh over the "movie clip" absurdity of the situation. When she saw the name of my institution on my name tag, she seemed to be curious. My academy had no idea I was at the conference, so I was still a little reluctant to say much (not being authorized), but did say that I liked it there,they treat the teachers well, and the students work hard and do well (which they do). I gathered from her response that my institute's franchise (which shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) has an excellent reputation because of how it works, and that there is a lot of curiosity about the "insider view." She asked if I would write an article for the next newsletter, but I gave her a vague "wait and see" answer.
I missed all the morning conferences, so I went back down the hill for lunch. As I walked, I smelled a horrible, acrid aroma coming from futher down the street. I suddenly saw a crowd in the middle of the street, and fire trucks milling around. The mains were open, and there were firemen spraying hoses halfheartedly at a building. As I got closer, I realized the restuarant (and nightclub) where I had palnned to go to lunch was their target! The horrible smell of burning plastic was very overwhelming. I missed the big fire, but the charred remains of the inside of the building were completely under water. The outside was lightly scorched, but the botique had suffered some smoke and water damage (including some of the clothes). I hiked down to Subway, my second choice, but discovered everyone else had the same idea.
Resigned to my fate, I trudged back up the hill to Popeye's Chicken for the first, and I sincerely hope, last time. I chatted with some people in a work-and-get-your-MA-TESOL program, including the director if the university, Mr. Lee (a very pleasant but stern looking man). He seemed interested in me as a potential student, and asked me very leading questions. Truthfully, I don't know what good a second M.A. will do me...It is a thought worth considering if I stay in Korea longer.
The rest of the day went smoothly. I got quite a bit of useful information from the seminars. I was, at, times, overwhelmed by the thirst for knowledge that I have always had. It felt wonderful to be back in classes and learning.
I took a cab to my band rehearsal, and enjoyed all the city lights on my way. Seoul is truly a lovely city at night.After rehearsal, I treated myself to another cab ride back to my side of town and over the Olympic Bridge.
I went to the KOTESOL Conference last Saturday (hence the late posting), and the minute I stepped out of the door, things began to happen. I went down the subway steps to the ATM machine that is right before the turnstiles. The ATM is all in Korean, so I tried my usual suicide cocktail of random buttons to get some cash. None of my usual combinations seemed to work. After about the fifth or sixth rejection of my card, I fiannly got it right, and took our 60,000 won to pay my entrance fee to the conference. At least I think I did. I was very flustered, and it is possible I left the money in the ATM...I hope that is what I did.
For some reason, the trains were running a bit off schedule, and it took me quite a long time to get to my destination - Sukmyung Women's University. At Dongdaemun Station, an obnoxious, loudly singing beggar woman began harassing the crowd delayed by the missing train. She pushed gum into my lap as well as other laps (those of us fortunate enough to have seats), then demanded chun won (about a dollar). I tried to give it back to her, but she put it on my lap again. I said firmy "No, no, no!" but she kept pushing it at me. Finally, the language barrier occured to me, and I said "Anio!" She went to the next person, wailing her song, and I shared a glance of amusement with the women sitting next to me. I felt a little guilty for not giving her anything, but this feeling did not last much longer. The overdue train finally arrived, and I squeezed into a standing room only spot.
From far away, I heard the old woman singing. Suddenly, the singing got louder, and I realized the woman was on the train, walking through the already overcrowded carriages. Sure enough, she came through our carriage, repeating her gum-in-lap routine. She also approached the standing crowd. She approached me again, getting hopelesly hung-up on my large tote-bag...or so I thought. She recognized my face, and, after a hopeful glance, turned to the next carriage.
I was wearing heels, so I was a bit disgruntled to discover that the way to the university was up a steep, worthy-of-San-Francisco, hill. On my way up, I began scoping out possible lunch places. I firmly vetoed "Popeye's Chicken" in my head, but noted a Subway (good in a pinch) and a small bibimbap (Korean stir fry - very delicious) joint behind a boutique that also looked promising. I arrived at the conference very late, but only missed a few seminars.
The line was short for registration, so I got through pretty quickly. A woman asked me if I would like to join KOTESOL (Korean Teachers Of English As a Second Language), and I rather brusquely replied that I would join after the conference if I liked it. I hate pushy people, and in retrospect, regret my answer. In my defense, I was a bit flustered. I registered online, with a little help from the Korean volunteers.
I went to the cashier, and drew out my wallet. I opened it, and discovered all my bills, except for a few thousand won bills, were gone! I looked through my bag, my purse...I looked everywhere, but they were just gone! At this point, I am afraid I broke down and cried, in front of volunteers, staff, and important people. I don't know where it came from; I think it was just all the stress. We all have our embarassing habits, and this is my big burden (my other is calling people by the wrong name!). One of the managers was under the impression that it was stolen at the conference, but I quickly cleared him of that notion. They offered me tea and sympathy. I said just wanted to go back home, but they convinced me otherwise.The ATM on campus was broken (naturally), and the nearest one was down the hill. Another volunteer helped me find it. Upon discussion, I discovered that he was a student at San Jose State University! He even showed me his I.D. (don't even ask me to pronouce his name!). He is an English student there....I spoke to a woman there who wanted to know which academy I worked for. Embarassed about my "losing it" in front of all those people, I blurted out that "I would rather not say," which she took to mean I was embarassed by where I worked (which I am not, by the way), and gave me a mini-lecture on not being ashamed of my workplace. I kept my cool this time, made some lame excuse, and got away.
I got the money, trudged back up the hill (in heels!), and paid my fee. The lady I snapped at earlier apparently was the event coordinator (why, oh why, do I always look like an idiot in front of important people?). I apologized for snapping at her, explaining that I was overwrought. We even had a laugh over the "movie clip" absurdity of the situation. When she saw the name of my institution on my name tag, she seemed to be curious. My academy had no idea I was at the conference, so I was still a little reluctant to say much (not being authorized), but did say that I liked it there,they treat the teachers well, and the students work hard and do well (which they do). I gathered from her response that my institute's franchise (which shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) has an excellent reputation because of how it works, and that there is a lot of curiosity about the "insider view." She asked if I would write an article for the next newsletter, but I gave her a vague "wait and see" answer.
I missed all the morning conferences, so I went back down the hill for lunch. As I walked, I smelled a horrible, acrid aroma coming from futher down the street. I suddenly saw a crowd in the middle of the street, and fire trucks milling around. The mains were open, and there were firemen spraying hoses halfheartedly at a building. As I got closer, I realized the restuarant (and nightclub) where I had palnned to go to lunch was their target! The horrible smell of burning plastic was very overwhelming. I missed the big fire, but the charred remains of the inside of the building were completely under water. The outside was lightly scorched, but the botique had suffered some smoke and water damage (including some of the clothes). I hiked down to Subway, my second choice, but discovered everyone else had the same idea.
Resigned to my fate, I trudged back up the hill to Popeye's Chicken for the first, and I sincerely hope, last time. I chatted with some people in a work-and-get-your-MA-TESOL program, including the director if the university, Mr. Lee (a very pleasant but stern looking man). He seemed interested in me as a potential student, and asked me very leading questions. Truthfully, I don't know what good a second M.A. will do me...It is a thought worth considering if I stay in Korea longer.
The rest of the day went smoothly. I got quite a bit of useful information from the seminars. I was, at, times, overwhelmed by the thirst for knowledge that I have always had. It felt wonderful to be back in classes and learning.
I took a cab to my band rehearsal, and enjoyed all the city lights on my way. Seoul is truly a lovely city at night.After rehearsal, I treated myself to another cab ride back to my side of town and over the Olympic Bridge.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
JOURNAL: Facial Products and Badmitton
Well, I have to say that "gift with purchase" takes on a whole new meaning in Myung Dong. I went to Missha (a Japanese-based company) to restock on facial cleansing products. I bought about 30,000 Won worth, as I had run out of everything all at once. At the register, there were a variety of gifts-with-purchase available - the usual travel kits, mirrors, cosmetics, and carrying cases. Two weeks ago, my friend scored a free umbrella, which was pretty nice, but I have to say that tonight's gifts were even more impressive.
We each received a set of....badmitton rackets! No birdie, just the rackets! They had the name and logo of "Missha" tastefully displayed on the cover (yes, there was a cover)and handles, but they are of decent quality. I have no idea what badmitton has to do with skin care - maybe promoting a way to get that healthy glow? My (Korean) companion and I kept straight faces until we left the store, then laughed ourselves silly.
I also got my hair trimmed today, and I have to say that the salon did a terrific job. Of course, I had a translator, which helped. The stylist was fascinated by my natural curl, incredulous that it was not a "body" (perm). I will make an appointment next week to get my highlights updated.
We each received a set of....badmitton rackets! No birdie, just the rackets! They had the name and logo of "Missha" tastefully displayed on the cover (yes, there was a cover)and handles, but they are of decent quality. I have no idea what badmitton has to do with skin care - maybe promoting a way to get that healthy glow? My (Korean) companion and I kept straight faces until we left the store, then laughed ourselves silly.
I also got my hair trimmed today, and I have to say that the salon did a terrific job. Of course, I had a translator, which helped. The stylist was fascinated by my natural curl, incredulous that it was not a "body" (perm). I will make an appointment next week to get my highlights updated.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
JOURNAL: On Cellphones and Kissing
CELLPHONES
Celphones (han-du-pones in Korean) are ubiquitous, and quite complicated. I have no idea how to text-message, as the instructions are all in Korean, but have received them from a few people. I have a camera on my phone, and, as I recently discovered, a video camera. The problem is, I have no idea how to download them, or transfer them, or whatever. There is a prominent web service provided with the phone ("Nate"), but no English instructions to go with it. My photos are permanently stuck in my phone...Wow, I never thought I would say that...
I love the fact that I am not bound by any contract...or so I thought. I pay 10,000 Won for about 200 minutes, but, as I just found out, there is a catch. At the end of the month, if you do not pay another 10,000 Won, they suspend your service "at the customers request" (how polite) even if you have leftover minutes. The leftover minutes are cummulative, but you still have to pay what amounts to a monthly "fee" of $10. I am not complaining too loudly, as this is still a good bargain, but I wish SK Telecom had told me this information! I now have to search for a local branch where people speak English, as my cell phone is now nonfunctional. To add insult to injury, my landline is now not working - I suspect this is due to the changeover to eight digit phone numbers, in which case my old phone number is now null and void. No one has given me a new phone number, so this is quite frustrating.
KISSING
After observing some Korean television shows, and some discreet "dark places" lovering, I have discovered that Koreans do not know how to kiss. In fact, the way they do kiss looks quite painful. I was musing on this phenomenon whie observing an ad for a sappy Korean soap opera at my favorite, relatively American-style sandwish shop (aside from having eggs and half a head of iceburg in every sandwich). The boy braced himself on top of the girl, in a non-sexual, "cute" way, and proceeded to smash her nose and lips in with his own corresponding parts. His nose ground into hers as he smashed their lips together - I am sure her inner lip was painfully crushed against her teeth. I suspect he may have even drawn blood. There was no movement of heads or lips, just a steady, hard pressure. I cringed for her.
I have observed this in stolen moments not for public view (I seem to stumble on it quite a bit), as P.D.A. is strictly improper, and wonder if anyone asked the question all American adolescents ponder, "Where does the nose go?" I do not see French-kissing (though perhaps that is reserved for behind doors), which is probably a good thing if no one knows where the nose goes...Overrated, anyway - imagine it with kimchi breath! Actually, Koreans are obsessed with oral hygiene; given their diet of strong-smelling (but not necessarily unpleasant) foods.
I have found that many Koreans I have spoken too are, sensually speaking, stuck permanently in middle school, even some of the married ones. The topic is not discussed at all, really, but when it is, it seems to be in hushed tones. Forget sexuality - it is not talked about at all. It is often "Brady Bunch" meets "Sex in the City" in most instances. I actually like this, but on the few occasions the subject comes up, have been put in the awkward position of keeping my knowledge to myself. Most of my sexual knowledge, just for the record, comes from books, public health articles, and listening to people, not from extensive experience.
I do worry sometimes about the contact with Western men. More than one Korean woman I have spoken to has expressed shock when her American/Canadian boyfriend asked her to move in with him...without benefit of marriage. Some of them think that moving in is exactly that - they are not thinking about what usually goes with it. I sometimes want to strangle certain men when they speak of this charming naivete as a good way to "get laid." It's bad enough when they try to pull this on American girls.
Celphones (han-du-pones in Korean) are ubiquitous, and quite complicated. I have no idea how to text-message, as the instructions are all in Korean, but have received them from a few people. I have a camera on my phone, and, as I recently discovered, a video camera. The problem is, I have no idea how to download them, or transfer them, or whatever. There is a prominent web service provided with the phone ("Nate"), but no English instructions to go with it. My photos are permanently stuck in my phone...Wow, I never thought I would say that...
I love the fact that I am not bound by any contract...or so I thought. I pay 10,000 Won for about 200 minutes, but, as I just found out, there is a catch. At the end of the month, if you do not pay another 10,000 Won, they suspend your service "at the customers request" (how polite) even if you have leftover minutes. The leftover minutes are cummulative, but you still have to pay what amounts to a monthly "fee" of $10. I am not complaining too loudly, as this is still a good bargain, but I wish SK Telecom had told me this information! I now have to search for a local branch where people speak English, as my cell phone is now nonfunctional. To add insult to injury, my landline is now not working - I suspect this is due to the changeover to eight digit phone numbers, in which case my old phone number is now null and void. No one has given me a new phone number, so this is quite frustrating.
KISSING
After observing some Korean television shows, and some discreet "dark places" lovering, I have discovered that Koreans do not know how to kiss. In fact, the way they do kiss looks quite painful. I was musing on this phenomenon whie observing an ad for a sappy Korean soap opera at my favorite, relatively American-style sandwish shop (aside from having eggs and half a head of iceburg in every sandwich). The boy braced himself on top of the girl, in a non-sexual, "cute" way, and proceeded to smash her nose and lips in with his own corresponding parts. His nose ground into hers as he smashed their lips together - I am sure her inner lip was painfully crushed against her teeth. I suspect he may have even drawn blood. There was no movement of heads or lips, just a steady, hard pressure. I cringed for her.
I have observed this in stolen moments not for public view (I seem to stumble on it quite a bit), as P.D.A. is strictly improper, and wonder if anyone asked the question all American adolescents ponder, "Where does the nose go?" I do not see French-kissing (though perhaps that is reserved for behind doors), which is probably a good thing if no one knows where the nose goes...Overrated, anyway - imagine it with kimchi breath! Actually, Koreans are obsessed with oral hygiene; given their diet of strong-smelling (but not necessarily unpleasant) foods.
I have found that many Koreans I have spoken too are, sensually speaking, stuck permanently in middle school, even some of the married ones. The topic is not discussed at all, really, but when it is, it seems to be in hushed tones. Forget sexuality - it is not talked about at all. It is often "Brady Bunch" meets "Sex in the City" in most instances. I actually like this, but on the few occasions the subject comes up, have been put in the awkward position of keeping my knowledge to myself. Most of my sexual knowledge, just for the record, comes from books, public health articles, and listening to people, not from extensive experience.
I do worry sometimes about the contact with Western men. More than one Korean woman I have spoken to has expressed shock when her American/Canadian boyfriend asked her to move in with him...without benefit of marriage. Some of them think that moving in is exactly that - they are not thinking about what usually goes with it. I sometimes want to strangle certain men when they speak of this charming naivete as a good way to "get laid." It's bad enough when they try to pull this on American girls.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
JOURNAL: Anyone for Tennis? Enter, a Rant...
This Saturday I went to a tennis match with some of my new Korean friends. Friday night I spent cleaning my apartment in anticipation; I was supposed to go to a party on Friday night, but, after getting soaked to the bone (umbrellas are completely useless in Korea!), decided that coming in to a nice, cozy, dry apartment sounded better...even if it did require remedial cleaning. Well, I digress...
One of my friends from church works for Wilson sports, and gets comp tickets for various important matches. I know nothing about tennis, but figured this was a good opportunity to learn. The rain had stopped in the morning, but it continued intermittently all day. This did not bode well for a tennis match. The match was postponed until the court could dry off, so we went and watched a practice doubles match. The original game rescheduled for three o'clock, so we went over there and observed some sets between Tatiana Golovin (France) and Yelena Jankovic (SCG). We left early due to a prior engagement, but when we left, the games seemed to be evenly matched. Golovin had quite a temper, and it seemed ot interfere with her game. The referee made her cry, even though he was very gentle with her (a cute British man!).
We came back to my apartment for dinner, and the girls took over. We got chicken from down the street, and I fonud out later that the young man behind the counter was absolutely basking in the extra female attention. This particular chain of restaraunts has made several of us Americans ill with food poisoning, so I was a bit leery of his cooking skills. Fortunately he knew his business well, and there were no problems. Meanwhile, back at the apartment,I was much embarassed to discover I was out of handsoap; I had just been using my shower gel until I could get to the market, and completely forgot about the fact that I had guests coming (at least I cleaned!).The girls, although confused, followed suit. I explained what had happened, and they seemed to accept it. For all I know, they now think that using shower gel for handsoap is a pecular American trait...
I am unused to newer acquaintances taking over my kitchen, washing my dishes (after the meal), and laying on my bed. I found out later that this was a very Korean thing. It makes sense, given that the women always clean up after the children and men (perhaps they are the same thing?). I did not get a chance to do much in my own apartment in the way of helping, which rather amused me. The crowding in the kitchen seems to be a culture thing. I don't think it has ever occured to any Korean woman that "Too many cooks spoil the soup." I especially observed this at the picnic.
We then proceeded to our praise and worship service, lead by the 8th Army Worship Team from Youngsan Army base (near Itaewon). They were reasonably good, but I had really come to hear Pastor Jeff Gionnola, who I had met on my Yeon-su trip (see August 2005). He is a chaplain, and is a very funny man from somewhere in New York by his accent. He was our pastor's college roommate, and, after 24 years of separation between them, he was posted here in South Korea.
Although a laid-back and humorous man, his testimony and sermon was very serious and thoughtful. As I listened to him, I thought of the old "hellfire and brimstone" preachers I had heard. Although not nearly as strong (or long-winded) as the good old fashioned Bible-thumpers, there was something in his message that sounded very much like a modern echo. I began thinking about the old breed of preacher as he spoke - this sort of speaking is necessary for lost and lonely soldiers, and Chaplain Gionnola did it in a firm, hard-hitting way. He speaks in a logical, philosophical way, offering hope to the lost and confused.
REBECCA'S RANT: OSTRICH CHRISTIANITY
I have known soldiers, and they go through the period of questioning that all of us who choose college go through. The difference is, they often have less resources than those of us who choose education. The same temptations abound, however, especially around war camps. Look at all of the "pink" activity in Itaewon, and the drinking (ok, that is just Korea!). There are many ways available to kill the pain. Some of the soldiers read extensively; after all, what else is there to do? Books are portable! This is both a good and a bad thing. Many of them face death or the possibility of extermination by an unknowable enemy. Modern war is faceless and methodical, but humans are not meant to be that way.
I find that many so-called Christians deny the existence of pain, and this is an enormous fallacy. I have heard Christian men say (on different occasions)that female victims of rape,incest, or former promiscuity should never marry because they are all bitter and "spoiled," to which I answer "Get over it!" You are all sinners too, and should not be so choosy or narrow-minded. God will work within her as he does within you. The truth is, in modern society, it is rare to find a woman who has not been touched by sexual crime or misjudgement. I have been watching "Sex and the City" epiodes to get a feel of what "the world" is up to, and now know what to fight; can you say the same? Certain Christian politicians (and people) have said that poor people do not deserve social services becuase they are "lazy" and just need to get up off their butts. We all suffer pain; it is part of the society we live in. Christians who hide from the world stand a good chance of falling victim to it - know thy enemy, because naivete is deadly. Many Christians blame the victim, but this is something that the world does, and the church should have no part of it. I cannot abide Christians who constantly blame the victim or hide from the world; these are Satan's best tools.
If you are willing to keep an open mind, her is a completely subjective list of media that I feel explain sufficiently what we are up against:
Teenagers: Movies - Thirteen (teenage girls, sex, and body image - if you can stand it, watch it with your daughters, because it was written by a 15 year old about her real life),Donnie Darko (teenagers and school), Cruel Intentions (teenagers and sex - an older movie, but still relevant)
Teenagers: Music - Evanescence/Fallen (teen angst), Linkin' Park, any rap music (main audience is WASP boys!), Brittany Spears (still idolized by pre-teens)
Teenagers: TV - whatever your teenager might watch "on the sly" (or even up front) - you know what I mean!
Generation X (1969-1976 born/30 somethings)
Musical: Rent (Pulitzer prize - AIDS, homosexuality, poverty, and philosophy)
Movies: Angels in America - Reagan-era, homosexuality, agnosicism, and post modernism - see where they have lead us. Warning - contains explicit homosexuality (close your eyes, but listen to the dialogue, it's important), Empire Records (funny, but pointed), Dirty Dancing (remember the furor?! Trust me, we all saw it!), In and Out, KIDS
TV: Sex and the City (the modern trials of being a woman in a sexually confusing era), Will and Grace (homosexuality)
One of my friends from church works for Wilson sports, and gets comp tickets for various important matches. I know nothing about tennis, but figured this was a good opportunity to learn. The rain had stopped in the morning, but it continued intermittently all day. This did not bode well for a tennis match. The match was postponed until the court could dry off, so we went and watched a practice doubles match. The original game rescheduled for three o'clock, so we went over there and observed some sets between Tatiana Golovin (France) and Yelena Jankovic (SCG). We left early due to a prior engagement, but when we left, the games seemed to be evenly matched. Golovin had quite a temper, and it seemed ot interfere with her game. The referee made her cry, even though he was very gentle with her (a cute British man!).
We came back to my apartment for dinner, and the girls took over. We got chicken from down the street, and I fonud out later that the young man behind the counter was absolutely basking in the extra female attention. This particular chain of restaraunts has made several of us Americans ill with food poisoning, so I was a bit leery of his cooking skills. Fortunately he knew his business well, and there were no problems. Meanwhile, back at the apartment,I was much embarassed to discover I was out of handsoap; I had just been using my shower gel until I could get to the market, and completely forgot about the fact that I had guests coming (at least I cleaned!).The girls, although confused, followed suit. I explained what had happened, and they seemed to accept it. For all I know, they now think that using shower gel for handsoap is a pecular American trait...
I am unused to newer acquaintances taking over my kitchen, washing my dishes (after the meal), and laying on my bed. I found out later that this was a very Korean thing. It makes sense, given that the women always clean up after the children and men (perhaps they are the same thing?). I did not get a chance to do much in my own apartment in the way of helping, which rather amused me. The crowding in the kitchen seems to be a culture thing. I don't think it has ever occured to any Korean woman that "Too many cooks spoil the soup." I especially observed this at the picnic.
We then proceeded to our praise and worship service, lead by the 8th Army Worship Team from Youngsan Army base (near Itaewon). They were reasonably good, but I had really come to hear Pastor Jeff Gionnola, who I had met on my Yeon-su trip (see August 2005). He is a chaplain, and is a very funny man from somewhere in New York by his accent. He was our pastor's college roommate, and, after 24 years of separation between them, he was posted here in South Korea.
Although a laid-back and humorous man, his testimony and sermon was very serious and thoughtful. As I listened to him, I thought of the old "hellfire and brimstone" preachers I had heard. Although not nearly as strong (or long-winded) as the good old fashioned Bible-thumpers, there was something in his message that sounded very much like a modern echo. I began thinking about the old breed of preacher as he spoke - this sort of speaking is necessary for lost and lonely soldiers, and Chaplain Gionnola did it in a firm, hard-hitting way. He speaks in a logical, philosophical way, offering hope to the lost and confused.
REBECCA'S RANT: OSTRICH CHRISTIANITY
I have known soldiers, and they go through the period of questioning that all of us who choose college go through. The difference is, they often have less resources than those of us who choose education. The same temptations abound, however, especially around war camps. Look at all of the "pink" activity in Itaewon, and the drinking (ok, that is just Korea!). There are many ways available to kill the pain. Some of the soldiers read extensively; after all, what else is there to do? Books are portable! This is both a good and a bad thing. Many of them face death or the possibility of extermination by an unknowable enemy. Modern war is faceless and methodical, but humans are not meant to be that way.
I find that many so-called Christians deny the existence of pain, and this is an enormous fallacy. I have heard Christian men say (on different occasions)that female victims of rape,incest, or former promiscuity should never marry because they are all bitter and "spoiled," to which I answer "Get over it!" You are all sinners too, and should not be so choosy or narrow-minded. God will work within her as he does within you. The truth is, in modern society, it is rare to find a woman who has not been touched by sexual crime or misjudgement. I have been watching "Sex and the City" epiodes to get a feel of what "the world" is up to, and now know what to fight; can you say the same? Certain Christian politicians (and people) have said that poor people do not deserve social services becuase they are "lazy" and just need to get up off their butts. We all suffer pain; it is part of the society we live in. Christians who hide from the world stand a good chance of falling victim to it - know thy enemy, because naivete is deadly. Many Christians blame the victim, but this is something that the world does, and the church should have no part of it. I cannot abide Christians who constantly blame the victim or hide from the world; these are Satan's best tools.
If you are willing to keep an open mind, her is a completely subjective list of media that I feel explain sufficiently what we are up against:
Teenagers: Movies - Thirteen (teenage girls, sex, and body image - if you can stand it, watch it with your daughters, because it was written by a 15 year old about her real life),Donnie Darko (teenagers and school), Cruel Intentions (teenagers and sex - an older movie, but still relevant)
Teenagers: Music - Evanescence/Fallen (teen angst), Linkin' Park, any rap music (main audience is WASP boys!), Brittany Spears (still idolized by pre-teens)
Teenagers: TV - whatever your teenager might watch "on the sly" (or even up front) - you know what I mean!
Generation X (1969-1976 born/30 somethings)
Musical: Rent (Pulitzer prize - AIDS, homosexuality, poverty, and philosophy)
Movies: Angels in America - Reagan-era, homosexuality, agnosicism, and post modernism - see where they have lead us. Warning - contains explicit homosexuality (close your eyes, but listen to the dialogue, it's important), Empire Records (funny, but pointed), Dirty Dancing (remember the furor?! Trust me, we all saw it!), In and Out, KIDS
TV: Sex and the City (the modern trials of being a woman in a sexually confusing era), Will and Grace (homosexuality)
Saturday, September 24, 2005
JOURNAL: Chuseok
So, why the long silence? Why haven't my (two) faithful readers heard from me in awhile? Ahhh, therin lies a tale, a tale of more woe than Juliet for her....wait a minute, wrong story.
Well, last weekend was Chuseok, a Korean holiday that can only be described as Thanksgiving/Christmas/Pagan Harvest Ritual/Honor-Your-Ancestors-If-You-Are-Buddhist. Basically, a nondenominational reason to get together with family. The women make a huge feast with many dishes...wait a minute, they do that EVERY day. The men, well, the men go out on a three day drinking bender and may or may not come home....Sigh.
My Korean friend from church very kindly invited me to spend the Chuseok weekend with her family in Incheon, and I accepted. She called earlier than expected on Saturday morning, saying she was in Seoul already (Incheon is about 30 miles away) , which gave me about twenty minutes to get ready.
I flew out of bed, silently cursing whatever malevolent god gave me a cold one week after recovering from pnewmonia and then sent me my period the same day! I threw some necessities in the bag, and started out the door. Belatedly, I realized that it was POURING rain outside. I stomped back to my apartment, sniffling all the way, and grabbed my umbrella. Wretchedly, I slinked out the door, and began walking towards the subway station to meet my friend and her sister. As I was walking in the dim grey light, I tried to get hold of myself. I tried a tentative smile, but my clenched jaw (clenched so my nose wouldn't drip) could only manage a small grimace. My efforts at positive thinking were further complicated when I stepped directly in a deep, but well camoflauged, puddle. Great, now the insides of my shoes were wet.
I met my friend and her sister at the subway entrance; naturally, her sister did not speak a word of English. Actually, this was a good thing, because I wasn't exactly fit for conversation. The ride was rather silent, punctuated only by a few titters when the sisters teased each other. Actually, I didn't speak much that weekend at all, since no one else in her family spoke English, and my Korean was even worse. As I was fighting a cold, this wasn't as annoying as it could have been. Her mother, who is one of the most beautiful old women I have ever seen, had a large meal waiting. An inner light diffused thoughout her small (and seriously bent) frame; her daughter also posesses this quality. Her eyes were enormous and a lovely brown. She also had a beautiful full smile.
I did the best I could at eating, though my appetite was sadly lacking. There were several varieties of kimchi (yummy if homemade), pickled bean sprouts (tastes better than it sounds), and a very delicious and spicy tofu and chicken soup. My limited Korean chopstick skills (a very different fish than other Asian chopsticks), were a source of much tactful amusement. Oma (mother) finally took pity on me and said I could use the spoon. She also brought out a miniscule fork from the kitchen, which I later found out was usually used for chicken. More on that later. Like all mothers everywhere, she encouraged me to eat up. When my cold was explained to her, she relented a bit on the eating, but it was a constant source of worry for her...
We sat down in front of the television for about an hour while the older sisters let loose in the kitchen. Wonderful smells emerged every once in awhile. It amazed me how all those women (about five) could manouver around the tiny kitchen. The Kims are a very tall and solidly built family - some of them are over six feet! They are all women. I was sent away to take a nap - we did this on rotation, as there were only a couple of beds. I felt terrible when my friend went into one of the bedrooms and booted her half-awake sister off the bed...this was how it worked though. When I got up, someone else took my place.
After we were well rested, an ENORMOUS bowl filled with rice powder was brought out. Oma sat on the floor and wrapped her legs around the bowl to hold it steady. Eldest Sister began kneading water into the rice powder, making a very pasty dough. It is back breaking work; each person took a turn using full body strength to knead the dough. I found it very fatiguing. As the kneading gets furthur done, the dough gets harder. We finally split the dough, and continued our task. While we were doing this, one of the sisters went to the bakery, and brought back the sweet version of SAMPYON (rice cakes), which we were making! I guess this is supposed to keep people from "snitching" from the bowl...not that riced powder is worth tasting (flour). The tofu soup also reappeared. We then began forming the dough.
The dough for SAMPYON is rolled into about a two inch ball. The ball is then formed into a well and filled with nuts or sesame seeds. The dough is pinched shut over the filling, and then rolled into an elongated ball. The ends are pinched, forming a football shape. My first few footballs were a bit too large and rather lumpy (the dough is VERY stiff), but I soon began producing footballs that received compliments! The pastries are then laid, in layers, upon beds of Korean pine needles in what can only be described as a mammoth double boiler. The balls are steamed for about an hour, and then served. We made the non-sweetened ones, and they were actually quite tasty. The needles lend a rather pungeant, but pleasant flavor to the nutty treats.
We watched t.v. for awhile. My friend decided that she wanted to make me a "Western" meal. She explained that she had been with some of the American men from our church to a place where they had eggs, toast, and ham. My friend made a special trip to the large (and expensive) supermarket just to make me a Western meal. I was quite touched, and I love her dearly for it. She is a very nurturing and giving person, and there is some guy out there who is stupid enough not to see it....
She brought out her purchases - canned corn, canned peaches, two kinds of jam, butter, and.....SPAM!
Some "waygooks" (barbarians/foreigners/US) firmly believe that the Americans who brought Spam to South Korea in the 1950s should be pistol-whipped. Spam is a delicacy, and can be found in expensive department stores available in huge, gaudy, gift packs, to be given to that special business associate. I am told it tastes really good over rice...
Neither of us had ever had Spam before, so we were mystified on how to serve it. My friend turned on the griddle and began frying it. I honestly don't know whether you eat it right from the can or not, so I thought her idea was probably reasonable. The Spam burned. Rather belatedly, I realized that my friend had probably had bacon, not ham, and that something had gotten lost in translation. It tasted terrible, so it sailed gaily into the trash container after a few tentative bites. I then showed her how to put the canned corn inthe microwave with a little water. I also stopped her from throwing out the syrup from the peaches. Koreans eat toast plain, and I was a little amused, I confess, to see her butter it AFTER she put the jam on with a chopstick! I made scrambled eggs with a little bit of salt and pepper. This was a novelty apparently; plain scrambled eggs in Korea are eaten in sandwiches. Her sister came by and peered at my creation with a look of disbelief. She would not taste it, even after I explained it was just scrambled eggs. I never thought about it before, but scrambled eggs DO look rather disgusting, don't they? They also do not lend themselves well to chopsticks...We ate the meal Korean style, that is, communally, with everything in a separate dish. The only personal dishes used in Korea are cups and soup dishes.
I think we both learned something that night.
We watched some more television, and I was forced to rest again. When I emerged, the junior members of the family ordered out for chicken, soju, and beer. The little forks were used for the chicken. Koreans eat all the meat on a chicken DOWN TO THE BONE. I felt wasteful as I looked at my pile of bones compared to their cleanly exposed piles of chicken carcasses.
Soju, by the way, is sweet potato vodka, but far less potent than Russian vodka. Koreans drink it in shots, but foreigners tend to mix it with juice. I like it neat myself, as it has a semi-sweet flavor that I like. It has a pleasant aroma as well. Koreans love to drink to excess. Fortunately, not this family.
My friend and I watched a live telecast of a concert by a very famous has-been entertainer by the name of Na Hoon A. He was a big star, judging by the vintage of his posters, in the late seventies, and was a reasonably good looking man back then. His voice is still strong and well-trained in the Neil Diamond way. Now he is a corpulent, beaming middle-aged Buddha with long, greasy white hair and a penchant for groping his fresh young back up singers on network t.v., apparently. A lovely young woman came out during a break in the over-the-top spectacular stage show to play the piano, and she was fantastically agile, if a little passionless, in her playing. Suddenly, she opened her mouth, and began to sing. Oh the horror - the girl couldn't sing at all! The man came up next to her and began crooning a love song, which she answered in her not so lovely voice. She sounded very much like a child does when leaning the "A B C" song. After this alarming duet, he stroked her arm, and, although she smiled, her eyes shuddered. I began wondering about their relationship off-stage...During differnt points in the show, he would caress his back up singers and dancers, and there were reactions ranging from tolerant amusement to disgust. In spite of this, the man was a polished entertainer, and at times enjoyable to watch. His arrogance was annoying, but he did have some talent. My friend said he had been married several times, and that he is still very popular with the married housewife set.
After this concert, we begann flipping through channels randomly, and came upon DR. ZHIVAGO...with Korean dubbing! I have seen it many times, so I was able to follow it, but the dubbing was quite amusing. Actually, the dubbers were good voice actors, whoever they were. I later found out that Korea broadcastsDR. ZHIVAGO every Chuseok, much like the Americans broadcast the TEN COMMANDMENTS at Easter. I wondered, why DR. ZHIVAGO? Was it an anti-Communist gag?
We went to bed, and left for Seoul early in the morning. Sunday was church as usual.
On Monday, "The Accident" occured. I was on the subway on my way to a celebration at Pastor Bill's house. It was quite a trek across town, with many transfers. I began walking down the stairs while consulting my subway map. Suddenly, and old man from out of nowhere pushed firmly past me, not an unusual occurance in this city. People can be very rude as far as pushing on public transit. For one startled moment I looked up, then felt my foot twist under me as I took an unexpected flying lesson down the flight of stairs. I landed on my rear, stunned, my mind registering a) I'm Alive, b) Wow! My Foot just made an interesting Crunching Sound, and C) Owwwwwww.....
The man who had pushed me helpfully handed me my map, which had flown away, then ran like hell for the outgoing train. I gimped my way up the stairs, and, after noting that I had a nice goose egg on my ankle, decided to continue my journey, as I was nearly there. I hopped the next train, and arrived about ten minutes later at my final stop. I limped up the stairs and out into the street- now the pain really began. I wandered around lost in the rain for about fifteen minutes. My map was in Korean, and I couldn't find the right street entrance. I tried to call, but my cell phone refused to cooperate. One man pointed up the hill, but I still couldn't find it. FInally, I hailed a taxi. He called on his cell phone, and got directions. It WAS up a hill, a long, steep hill, and I would have nver made it on my own.
We iced the ankle because the clinics were all closed for the holiday. I was not much company, though Lord knows I tried to be upbeat. I did not get to see a doctor until Wednesday, as it turned out. The ankle is not broken, but I have a bad sprained with possible tissue damage. I am able to get around now with only slight difficulty; it doesn't hurt much anymore, but it is stiff. Stairs are still a challenge. I declined crutches because, quite frankly, my coordination is not very good, and I fear crutches might cause further injuries. My cold is better, although I have dislocated a rib by the coughing. I am hoping to find a chiropractor in the city...
Well, last weekend was Chuseok, a Korean holiday that can only be described as Thanksgiving/Christmas/Pagan Harvest Ritual/Honor-Your-Ancestors-If-You-Are-Buddhist. Basically, a nondenominational reason to get together with family. The women make a huge feast with many dishes...wait a minute, they do that EVERY day. The men, well, the men go out on a three day drinking bender and may or may not come home....Sigh.
My Korean friend from church very kindly invited me to spend the Chuseok weekend with her family in Incheon, and I accepted. She called earlier than expected on Saturday morning, saying she was in Seoul already (Incheon is about 30 miles away) , which gave me about twenty minutes to get ready.
I flew out of bed, silently cursing whatever malevolent god gave me a cold one week after recovering from pnewmonia and then sent me my period the same day! I threw some necessities in the bag, and started out the door. Belatedly, I realized that it was POURING rain outside. I stomped back to my apartment, sniffling all the way, and grabbed my umbrella. Wretchedly, I slinked out the door, and began walking towards the subway station to meet my friend and her sister. As I was walking in the dim grey light, I tried to get hold of myself. I tried a tentative smile, but my clenched jaw (clenched so my nose wouldn't drip) could only manage a small grimace. My efforts at positive thinking were further complicated when I stepped directly in a deep, but well camoflauged, puddle. Great, now the insides of my shoes were wet.
I met my friend and her sister at the subway entrance; naturally, her sister did not speak a word of English. Actually, this was a good thing, because I wasn't exactly fit for conversation. The ride was rather silent, punctuated only by a few titters when the sisters teased each other. Actually, I didn't speak much that weekend at all, since no one else in her family spoke English, and my Korean was even worse. As I was fighting a cold, this wasn't as annoying as it could have been. Her mother, who is one of the most beautiful old women I have ever seen, had a large meal waiting. An inner light diffused thoughout her small (and seriously bent) frame; her daughter also posesses this quality. Her eyes were enormous and a lovely brown. She also had a beautiful full smile.
I did the best I could at eating, though my appetite was sadly lacking. There were several varieties of kimchi (yummy if homemade), pickled bean sprouts (tastes better than it sounds), and a very delicious and spicy tofu and chicken soup. My limited Korean chopstick skills (a very different fish than other Asian chopsticks), were a source of much tactful amusement. Oma (mother) finally took pity on me and said I could use the spoon. She also brought out a miniscule fork from the kitchen, which I later found out was usually used for chicken. More on that later. Like all mothers everywhere, she encouraged me to eat up. When my cold was explained to her, she relented a bit on the eating, but it was a constant source of worry for her...
We sat down in front of the television for about an hour while the older sisters let loose in the kitchen. Wonderful smells emerged every once in awhile. It amazed me how all those women (about five) could manouver around the tiny kitchen. The Kims are a very tall and solidly built family - some of them are over six feet! They are all women. I was sent away to take a nap - we did this on rotation, as there were only a couple of beds. I felt terrible when my friend went into one of the bedrooms and booted her half-awake sister off the bed...this was how it worked though. When I got up, someone else took my place.
After we were well rested, an ENORMOUS bowl filled with rice powder was brought out. Oma sat on the floor and wrapped her legs around the bowl to hold it steady. Eldest Sister began kneading water into the rice powder, making a very pasty dough. It is back breaking work; each person took a turn using full body strength to knead the dough. I found it very fatiguing. As the kneading gets furthur done, the dough gets harder. We finally split the dough, and continued our task. While we were doing this, one of the sisters went to the bakery, and brought back the sweet version of SAMPYON (rice cakes), which we were making! I guess this is supposed to keep people from "snitching" from the bowl...not that riced powder is worth tasting (flour). The tofu soup also reappeared. We then began forming the dough.
The dough for SAMPYON is rolled into about a two inch ball. The ball is then formed into a well and filled with nuts or sesame seeds. The dough is pinched shut over the filling, and then rolled into an elongated ball. The ends are pinched, forming a football shape. My first few footballs were a bit too large and rather lumpy (the dough is VERY stiff), but I soon began producing footballs that received compliments! The pastries are then laid, in layers, upon beds of Korean pine needles in what can only be described as a mammoth double boiler. The balls are steamed for about an hour, and then served. We made the non-sweetened ones, and they were actually quite tasty. The needles lend a rather pungeant, but pleasant flavor to the nutty treats.
We watched t.v. for awhile. My friend decided that she wanted to make me a "Western" meal. She explained that she had been with some of the American men from our church to a place where they had eggs, toast, and ham. My friend made a special trip to the large (and expensive) supermarket just to make me a Western meal. I was quite touched, and I love her dearly for it. She is a very nurturing and giving person, and there is some guy out there who is stupid enough not to see it....
She brought out her purchases - canned corn, canned peaches, two kinds of jam, butter, and.....SPAM!
Some "waygooks" (barbarians/foreigners/US) firmly believe that the Americans who brought Spam to South Korea in the 1950s should be pistol-whipped. Spam is a delicacy, and can be found in expensive department stores available in huge, gaudy, gift packs, to be given to that special business associate. I am told it tastes really good over rice...
Neither of us had ever had Spam before, so we were mystified on how to serve it. My friend turned on the griddle and began frying it. I honestly don't know whether you eat it right from the can or not, so I thought her idea was probably reasonable. The Spam burned. Rather belatedly, I realized that my friend had probably had bacon, not ham, and that something had gotten lost in translation. It tasted terrible, so it sailed gaily into the trash container after a few tentative bites. I then showed her how to put the canned corn inthe microwave with a little water. I also stopped her from throwing out the syrup from the peaches. Koreans eat toast plain, and I was a little amused, I confess, to see her butter it AFTER she put the jam on with a chopstick! I made scrambled eggs with a little bit of salt and pepper. This was a novelty apparently; plain scrambled eggs in Korea are eaten in sandwiches. Her sister came by and peered at my creation with a look of disbelief. She would not taste it, even after I explained it was just scrambled eggs. I never thought about it before, but scrambled eggs DO look rather disgusting, don't they? They also do not lend themselves well to chopsticks...We ate the meal Korean style, that is, communally, with everything in a separate dish. The only personal dishes used in Korea are cups and soup dishes.
I think we both learned something that night.
We watched some more television, and I was forced to rest again. When I emerged, the junior members of the family ordered out for chicken, soju, and beer. The little forks were used for the chicken. Koreans eat all the meat on a chicken DOWN TO THE BONE. I felt wasteful as I looked at my pile of bones compared to their cleanly exposed piles of chicken carcasses.
Soju, by the way, is sweet potato vodka, but far less potent than Russian vodka. Koreans drink it in shots, but foreigners tend to mix it with juice. I like it neat myself, as it has a semi-sweet flavor that I like. It has a pleasant aroma as well. Koreans love to drink to excess. Fortunately, not this family.
My friend and I watched a live telecast of a concert by a very famous has-been entertainer by the name of Na Hoon A. He was a big star, judging by the vintage of his posters, in the late seventies, and was a reasonably good looking man back then. His voice is still strong and well-trained in the Neil Diamond way. Now he is a corpulent, beaming middle-aged Buddha with long, greasy white hair and a penchant for groping his fresh young back up singers on network t.v., apparently. A lovely young woman came out during a break in the over-the-top spectacular stage show to play the piano, and she was fantastically agile, if a little passionless, in her playing. Suddenly, she opened her mouth, and began to sing. Oh the horror - the girl couldn't sing at all! The man came up next to her and began crooning a love song, which she answered in her not so lovely voice. She sounded very much like a child does when leaning the "A B C" song. After this alarming duet, he stroked her arm, and, although she smiled, her eyes shuddered. I began wondering about their relationship off-stage...During differnt points in the show, he would caress his back up singers and dancers, and there were reactions ranging from tolerant amusement to disgust. In spite of this, the man was a polished entertainer, and at times enjoyable to watch. His arrogance was annoying, but he did have some talent. My friend said he had been married several times, and that he is still very popular with the married housewife set.
After this concert, we begann flipping through channels randomly, and came upon DR. ZHIVAGO...with Korean dubbing! I have seen it many times, so I was able to follow it, but the dubbing was quite amusing. Actually, the dubbers were good voice actors, whoever they were. I later found out that Korea broadcastsDR. ZHIVAGO every Chuseok, much like the Americans broadcast the TEN COMMANDMENTS at Easter. I wondered, why DR. ZHIVAGO? Was it an anti-Communist gag?
We went to bed, and left for Seoul early in the morning. Sunday was church as usual.
On Monday, "The Accident" occured. I was on the subway on my way to a celebration at Pastor Bill's house. It was quite a trek across town, with many transfers. I began walking down the stairs while consulting my subway map. Suddenly, and old man from out of nowhere pushed firmly past me, not an unusual occurance in this city. People can be very rude as far as pushing on public transit. For one startled moment I looked up, then felt my foot twist under me as I took an unexpected flying lesson down the flight of stairs. I landed on my rear, stunned, my mind registering a) I'm Alive, b) Wow! My Foot just made an interesting Crunching Sound, and C) Owwwwwww.....
The man who had pushed me helpfully handed me my map, which had flown away, then ran like hell for the outgoing train. I gimped my way up the stairs, and, after noting that I had a nice goose egg on my ankle, decided to continue my journey, as I was nearly there. I hopped the next train, and arrived about ten minutes later at my final stop. I limped up the stairs and out into the street- now the pain really began. I wandered around lost in the rain for about fifteen minutes. My map was in Korean, and I couldn't find the right street entrance. I tried to call, but my cell phone refused to cooperate. One man pointed up the hill, but I still couldn't find it. FInally, I hailed a taxi. He called on his cell phone, and got directions. It WAS up a hill, a long, steep hill, and I would have nver made it on my own.
We iced the ankle because the clinics were all closed for the holiday. I was not much company, though Lord knows I tried to be upbeat. I did not get to see a doctor until Wednesday, as it turned out. The ankle is not broken, but I have a bad sprained with possible tissue damage. I am able to get around now with only slight difficulty; it doesn't hurt much anymore, but it is stiff. Stairs are still a challenge. I declined crutches because, quite frankly, my coordination is not very good, and I fear crutches might cause further injuries. My cold is better, although I have dislocated a rib by the coughing. I am hoping to find a chiropractor in the city...
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
JOURNAL: Furballs
As I was walking to work today, I saw the cutest thing. There is a preschool on my way to work that I normally dread passing because of the obnoxious workmen who sit on the bench outside of it. They don't say anything to me usually; they just leer. Well, today, I saw only a few guys sitting there, but a small movement under their legs caught my attention.
At the bottom of the building housing the preschool, there is a decorative baseboard made of mirrored glass. The movement belonged to a four-month old scruffy black-and-white kitten. He was darting in and out of the benches, when suddenly the mirror caught his eye....He then proceeded to attempt to catch the other black-and-white "kitten." He couldn't figure out how to get through the glass, but not through lack of trying.
Most cats I see are alley cats eating out of the garbage cans. Tonight, I got on the wrong side of a very bold tomcat, I must say. I was passing an apartment complex as the gate to the parking lot was opening, and saw an orange-and-white tomcat I usually see near the restaurants waiting patiently (on the inside) for the gate to open. He saw me, and stared at me. The driver of the car waited for him to move out of the way, but he wouldn't budge. The driver gave me a helpless look, and I began clapping my hands and making shooing noises. The Tom actually ADVANCED towards me in attack mode, just staring with his back slightly raised...I walked directly towards him, still making noises, but he just stood his ground. For a moment, I was afraid I was going to get hurt, but at the last minute, the Tom sauntered off, still staring me down. He made a move to come back towards me, but the car cut him off. Tom slowly but firmly walked off and across the low garden wall.
At the bottom of the building housing the preschool, there is a decorative baseboard made of mirrored glass. The movement belonged to a four-month old scruffy black-and-white kitten. He was darting in and out of the benches, when suddenly the mirror caught his eye....He then proceeded to attempt to catch the other black-and-white "kitten." He couldn't figure out how to get through the glass, but not through lack of trying.
Most cats I see are alley cats eating out of the garbage cans. Tonight, I got on the wrong side of a very bold tomcat, I must say. I was passing an apartment complex as the gate to the parking lot was opening, and saw an orange-and-white tomcat I usually see near the restaurants waiting patiently (on the inside) for the gate to open. He saw me, and stared at me. The driver of the car waited for him to move out of the way, but he wouldn't budge. The driver gave me a helpless look, and I began clapping my hands and making shooing noises. The Tom actually ADVANCED towards me in attack mode, just staring with his back slightly raised...I walked directly towards him, still making noises, but he just stood his ground. For a moment, I was afraid I was going to get hurt, but at the last minute, the Tom sauntered off, still staring me down. He made a move to come back towards me, but the car cut him off. Tom slowly but firmly walked off and across the low garden wall.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
JOURNAL: Murphy's Law and Taxis
It is pouring in Seoul tonight! On my way to work, it was only sprinkling a little, but as I reached work, the thunder began. Thus began my second bad day in a row. Read it and weep (or laugh, as I am sure I will by next week!).
Yesterday was a rough day; the kids were bouncing off the walls and bickering in ALL my classes. I have marking to do up the wazoo; I spent three hours at home grading essays. Fortunately, most of them were good. I managed to get lost once again on the way to the video store. I never did find it, although I did find a few alleyways that were definately a bit "pink." I contemplated asking one of the "ladies" for directions, figuring that she knew alleyways pretty well, but she would not make eye contact with me, so I stumbled my way back home.
This morning, I made another attempt, but spent an hour getting lost again. Just because you can see a landmark (in my case, a large, majestic Methodist church) doesn't mean you can get there easily. In Korea, you can't just cut across a side street because the streets run willy-nilly wherever they damn well please! I did find a bread store, a Baskin Robbins, and a 7-11. I stopped in a pharmacy to ask directions. Pharmacies, I have discovered, are very good for finding English-speakers, as the pharmacists are usually well-educated. The lady called the phone number on the video tape, and, after several confused grimaces, hung up. She said that the video store was off the beaten path, so to speak (her face expressed amazement that I had ever found it in the first place). She had, however, made arrangements with the video store owner for someone to come and pick it up at the pharmacy. I will never go looking for the store again; there is one a little more expensive near me, but it is not worth the headache to find cheap services (50 cents for three days), I have found.
Tonight, I had a real problem with my middle-schoolers. This class is one of the notorious three (of which I have two!). They were loud, rude, and obnoxious (shooting rubber bands, throwing erasers, etc.) and my patience was fast wearing out. During my second block with them, I was late because my CD player for the listening class was missing. I had someone babysit while I ran to the 2nd floor (from the 5th). I came back, and heard him yelling at them. I guess it didn't take long. Well, I went to plug it in, and discovered the cord was missing! I grabbed the substitute, ran back downstairs, got another CD player, and raced back up again. Great, not only do I have an unruly class, but my authority has been undermined by missing appliances!
Fuming by the end of class (the yelling did work somewhat), I looked out the window. It was POURING. I had a huge bag of notebooks to take home, so I decided I was going to take a taxi. I began trying to hail a cab, but the few that came by ignored me. They would just pass right by. Usually, taxis see foreigners and tailgate us down the street (annoying, but I suppose a good marketing strategy). Usually on Olympic Parkway, there are taxis all lined up in a row, but tonight, they had all mysteriously disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, soaked to the bone, I crossed the street. There was a long line of taxis all in a row going THE WRONG WAY for my apartment. I weighed the odds - either take my chances with a Korean taxi U-turn, which consists of slamming on the brakes in the middle of the road and turning directly into oncomnig traffic, or arrive soaked but alive. Depressed as I was, I decided to live, and squished home.
I will now sign off, as more essays await....
Yesterday was a rough day; the kids were bouncing off the walls and bickering in ALL my classes. I have marking to do up the wazoo; I spent three hours at home grading essays. Fortunately, most of them were good. I managed to get lost once again on the way to the video store. I never did find it, although I did find a few alleyways that were definately a bit "pink." I contemplated asking one of the "ladies" for directions, figuring that she knew alleyways pretty well, but she would not make eye contact with me, so I stumbled my way back home.
This morning, I made another attempt, but spent an hour getting lost again. Just because you can see a landmark (in my case, a large, majestic Methodist church) doesn't mean you can get there easily. In Korea, you can't just cut across a side street because the streets run willy-nilly wherever they damn well please! I did find a bread store, a Baskin Robbins, and a 7-11. I stopped in a pharmacy to ask directions. Pharmacies, I have discovered, are very good for finding English-speakers, as the pharmacists are usually well-educated. The lady called the phone number on the video tape, and, after several confused grimaces, hung up. She said that the video store was off the beaten path, so to speak (her face expressed amazement that I had ever found it in the first place). She had, however, made arrangements with the video store owner for someone to come and pick it up at the pharmacy. I will never go looking for the store again; there is one a little more expensive near me, but it is not worth the headache to find cheap services (50 cents for three days), I have found.
Tonight, I had a real problem with my middle-schoolers. This class is one of the notorious three (of which I have two!). They were loud, rude, and obnoxious (shooting rubber bands, throwing erasers, etc.) and my patience was fast wearing out. During my second block with them, I was late because my CD player for the listening class was missing. I had someone babysit while I ran to the 2nd floor (from the 5th). I came back, and heard him yelling at them. I guess it didn't take long. Well, I went to plug it in, and discovered the cord was missing! I grabbed the substitute, ran back downstairs, got another CD player, and raced back up again. Great, not only do I have an unruly class, but my authority has been undermined by missing appliances!
Fuming by the end of class (the yelling did work somewhat), I looked out the window. It was POURING. I had a huge bag of notebooks to take home, so I decided I was going to take a taxi. I began trying to hail a cab, but the few that came by ignored me. They would just pass right by. Usually, taxis see foreigners and tailgate us down the street (annoying, but I suppose a good marketing strategy). Usually on Olympic Parkway, there are taxis all lined up in a row, but tonight, they had all mysteriously disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, soaked to the bone, I crossed the street. There was a long line of taxis all in a row going THE WRONG WAY for my apartment. I weighed the odds - either take my chances with a Korean taxi U-turn, which consists of slamming on the brakes in the middle of the road and turning directly into oncomnig traffic, or arrive soaked but alive. Depressed as I was, I decided to live, and squished home.
I will now sign off, as more essays await....
Friday, September 09, 2005
JOURNAL: Hospitality and Hookers
I did not do much in the way of publishing last weekend because I have been so busy this week. I apologise, dear readers, if this inconvenienced anyone....Aren't pompous prologues fun?
The truth of the matter is, this weekend, I have to go to a worskhop for work, which will just about kill my Saturday afternoon (but not my night!).
Well, on Friday, after work, a group of us went to a galbi restaurant (Korean BBQ). The waitress was unsually cute; although she was middle-aged, she wore her hair in the high side ponytail buns popular here. My coworker remarked that if we wore our hair like that, we would look like aliens, but Koreans somehow carry it off with style. As we were being seated on the floor, my male friend remarked, with a mock-air of gravity, that he would now "enact my right to a meal." The waitress parroted back "Enact, ENACT!" and giggled delightedly with her new word. Every time she came by, she would say "enact."
The waitress then proceeded to give us all lessons in chopstick usage. All of us by now can get food from the plate to our mouths with only a minimum of spillage, but none of us are exactly graceful in doing so. I still drop things occasionally. Korean chopsticks are thin and flat - not at all like Chinese or Japanese style utensils. Perversely, Koreans use giant spoons (the serving spoons that come in a standard culinary set) for soup and rice. The waitress was very helpful to the males in our party, I noticed, but gave up on the females, laughing at our attempts and mocking us all the way! She was very thorough in her service, however, and we wanted for nothing.
We paid and left, heading to a small hof so that the men could have their cheap beer. After about and hour, we headed off in search of a Noraebong. On our way out, some very tipsy buisness men started talking to us. The older one, tagging along his long-suffering wife (or mistress?), found out I was American, and began waxing eloquently (well, in Konglish) about his trip to Yosemite. He then pressed a business card on me. We headed towards the Noraebong.
A Noraebong is similar to a Karaoke place, but has a different system. You pay for a room (includes beer, dried squid, and snacks) and let loose your inner Elvis. I have noticed that Koreans like to sing in public also. There is a big screen where you punch in numbers. There is, of course, a table, upon which are tamborines and other noisemakers! There is also a small stage area, with one lone disco-ball. You have the option of a duet also. At the end of the song, the computer "grades" your performance with a big, loud "TADAAAAAAA!!!!!!" The goal is to get a "100." We had fun making idiots of ourselves. Some of the song options were a bit weird. Even thoguh I was still sick, I managed to belt through "The Phantom of the Opera Theme," high notes and all, and get the highest score of the night. Being on key is not necessary, apparently....
The next afternoon, I headed to Itaewon to get some clothes altered. For some reason, the tailors kept turning their noses up at me, even though I was well-dressed. I went to the "Big Boss" store, and the manager called a laundry that did alterations. She took me down there and even translated. Of course, it felt a bit weird standing in my underwear in a store with no wall on the street-side, but no one seemed to care about my leopard-print underwear, so I decided not to either. I got five pieces of clothing altered for $30!
I went to Subway for dinner, and stood in a slow moving line for a half-hour. As I came up to the front, a highly made-up, middle-aged Korean woman, with a hatchet-faced hard-assed look about her, rudely cut in front of me and gave her order in rapid-fire Korean. I glared at her, and she turned around, clearly startled to see me. "Oh, I'm so damn sorry! I didn't see you," she said, in a rough, cigarette-cloyed voice. Proper Korean women do not use any form of swearing; they just keep it to themsleves. They also do not smoke. Clearly, by her mannerisms and her language, she spent quite a bit of time near, and probably on, the miltary base. I am guessing she was one of the many "massage-therapists" (hookers too old to be cute) in Itaewon. The funny thing is, many also do "legitimate" massage therapy, or so I have been told.
On Sunday, I hope to get my rebellious hair styled. Wish me luck.
The truth of the matter is, this weekend, I have to go to a worskhop for work, which will just about kill my Saturday afternoon (but not my night!).
Well, on Friday, after work, a group of us went to a galbi restaurant (Korean BBQ). The waitress was unsually cute; although she was middle-aged, she wore her hair in the high side ponytail buns popular here. My coworker remarked that if we wore our hair like that, we would look like aliens, but Koreans somehow carry it off with style. As we were being seated on the floor, my male friend remarked, with a mock-air of gravity, that he would now "enact my right to a meal." The waitress parroted back "Enact, ENACT!" and giggled delightedly with her new word. Every time she came by, she would say "enact."
The waitress then proceeded to give us all lessons in chopstick usage. All of us by now can get food from the plate to our mouths with only a minimum of spillage, but none of us are exactly graceful in doing so. I still drop things occasionally. Korean chopsticks are thin and flat - not at all like Chinese or Japanese style utensils. Perversely, Koreans use giant spoons (the serving spoons that come in a standard culinary set) for soup and rice. The waitress was very helpful to the males in our party, I noticed, but gave up on the females, laughing at our attempts and mocking us all the way! She was very thorough in her service, however, and we wanted for nothing.
We paid and left, heading to a small hof so that the men could have their cheap beer. After about and hour, we headed off in search of a Noraebong. On our way out, some very tipsy buisness men started talking to us. The older one, tagging along his long-suffering wife (or mistress?), found out I was American, and began waxing eloquently (well, in Konglish) about his trip to Yosemite. He then pressed a business card on me. We headed towards the Noraebong.
A Noraebong is similar to a Karaoke place, but has a different system. You pay for a room (includes beer, dried squid, and snacks) and let loose your inner Elvis. I have noticed that Koreans like to sing in public also. There is a big screen where you punch in numbers. There is, of course, a table, upon which are tamborines and other noisemakers! There is also a small stage area, with one lone disco-ball. You have the option of a duet also. At the end of the song, the computer "grades" your performance with a big, loud "TADAAAAAAA!!!!!!" The goal is to get a "100." We had fun making idiots of ourselves. Some of the song options were a bit weird. Even thoguh I was still sick, I managed to belt through "The Phantom of the Opera Theme," high notes and all, and get the highest score of the night. Being on key is not necessary, apparently....
The next afternoon, I headed to Itaewon to get some clothes altered. For some reason, the tailors kept turning their noses up at me, even though I was well-dressed. I went to the "Big Boss" store, and the manager called a laundry that did alterations. She took me down there and even translated. Of course, it felt a bit weird standing in my underwear in a store with no wall on the street-side, but no one seemed to care about my leopard-print underwear, so I decided not to either. I got five pieces of clothing altered for $30!
I went to Subway for dinner, and stood in a slow moving line for a half-hour. As I came up to the front, a highly made-up, middle-aged Korean woman, with a hatchet-faced hard-assed look about her, rudely cut in front of me and gave her order in rapid-fire Korean. I glared at her, and she turned around, clearly startled to see me. "Oh, I'm so damn sorry! I didn't see you," she said, in a rough, cigarette-cloyed voice. Proper Korean women do not use any form of swearing; they just keep it to themsleves. They also do not smoke. Clearly, by her mannerisms and her language, she spent quite a bit of time near, and probably on, the miltary base. I am guessing she was one of the many "massage-therapists" (hookers too old to be cute) in Itaewon. The funny thing is, many also do "legitimate" massage therapy, or so I have been told.
On Sunday, I hope to get my rebellious hair styled. Wish me luck.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
JOURNAL: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Medicine
HOSPITALS
Just call me "Indiana Jones" and be done with it.
As you will know (those of you who are still following my adventures), I have had a horrible cold for the past three weeks. Last week, it decided to move into my chest (no doubt aggrivated by the national pastime of smoking), and I had a few sleepless nights because I could not breathe. On Monday morning, I reached my limit of tolerence. I talked to people at work, and found out that there was an international clinic rather close by at the mammothly-proportioned Asan Medical Center and Hospital. I made an appointment and got directions, but was given the cryptic remark that it was a ten minute walk from the station.
The next morning, I got up early, and got on the train. It took a good half hour by subway to get to the station. I came out of the station (which was above ground), and saw a sign for the hospital saying "800m" and pointing the correct direction with an arrow. The sign was completely in Korean, but I am proud to say I could make out the work "Asan" in Hang'ul. I followed the signs around a long corner, and came to a crosswalk. Crossing the street in Korea at the best of times is hazardous; this time, the corner was completely obstructed so that a hapless pedestrian could not possibly see what was around the bend in the road. As I pondered the risk, an elegantly-dressed business woman came up and stood next to me. She too began nervously eying the odds of getting smooshed. Suddenly, she made her move, and ran like hell across the street. What was good enough for her was good enough for me, and I arrived a few seconds after her. She then smoothed her hair, and calmly walked away.
After a good coughing fit, I walked a few yards further, and saw a sign pointing UP. I followed the direction of the arrow up the hill on my left side, and saw that there were stairs cut into the hillside. By this time a bit winded, I wearily climbed the steps up the hill, and saw another sign at the top - "Asan 400m." The sign pointed in the direction of a paved walking and bicycle lane, which was rather well-populated given the time of day. The path wended its way along what appeared to a be a kind of reservior/man-made river. It was a long way down, and I could see the hospital in the distance on the other side of the gorge. There were beautiful white herons in the algae, but there was also a surprising amount of trash along the sides. I suddenly realized that there did not appear to be a way across the gorge. As I pondered this frightening thought, mentally picturing a swinging rope bridge, I saw the narrow, and as it turned out, rather rickety concrete bridge reaching across to the hospital. As I went across, I willed myself not to look down. On the other side, I had to go down the steps of another hillside, then down two more flights of stairs to the hospital. I picked a door at random (Asan is a huge, sprawling complex), and entered.
I entered into an airport lounge. The seating was arranged back to back; there were also newstands and coffee kiosks (coffee for the coughee?). I went to the sign marked, in English, "Information," but, as usual in Korea, I was heartbreakingly disappointed when the "Information" sign turned out to be all in Korean.
I got directions instead from two different desk clerks, and was directed to a small, but immaculate, doctor's office maked "Asan International Clinic." The nurses spoke nearly perfect English, and were very helpful getting me set up. I now have a "Patient Card," which means that I will be brought there if I get injured or seriously ill. The clinic was founded about five years ago specifically for expatriots. The doctor was Korean, but spoke with an American accent. I nearly cracked a smile when I looked at his door, and saw his name was "Dr. Kwak!" In his office, I noticed all his books were also in English; I gather from his selection that he is also a flight doctor/pilot. A female nurse was in attendance, presumably to protect my modesty.
Well, after asking me about my symptoms and checking me over, he told me I had "Mycoplasm" (which I later found out was also known by the much scarier name mycoplasmic pnewmonia). This lung illness most Korean school children get, so Korean adults are immune to it. Being unused to Korean germs and working with children all day, it is not surprising that I got ill. I have a dry cough, with no fever or other symptoms. It is very common with people who come and work here.
I am on a new antibiotic related to Erythromyacin (which I am very allergic to) but made from a different chemical compound. The cough is still with me, but a little better. I hope I continue to improve. If not, I will return next week, and he will run some tests.
Next time, I think that I will take a cab.
Just call me "Indiana Jones" and be done with it.
As you will know (those of you who are still following my adventures), I have had a horrible cold for the past three weeks. Last week, it decided to move into my chest (no doubt aggrivated by the national pastime of smoking), and I had a few sleepless nights because I could not breathe. On Monday morning, I reached my limit of tolerence. I talked to people at work, and found out that there was an international clinic rather close by at the mammothly-proportioned Asan Medical Center and Hospital. I made an appointment and got directions, but was given the cryptic remark that it was a ten minute walk from the station.
The next morning, I got up early, and got on the train. It took a good half hour by subway to get to the station. I came out of the station (which was above ground), and saw a sign for the hospital saying "800m" and pointing the correct direction with an arrow. The sign was completely in Korean, but I am proud to say I could make out the work "Asan" in Hang'ul. I followed the signs around a long corner, and came to a crosswalk. Crossing the street in Korea at the best of times is hazardous; this time, the corner was completely obstructed so that a hapless pedestrian could not possibly see what was around the bend in the road. As I pondered the risk, an elegantly-dressed business woman came up and stood next to me. She too began nervously eying the odds of getting smooshed. Suddenly, she made her move, and ran like hell across the street. What was good enough for her was good enough for me, and I arrived a few seconds after her. She then smoothed her hair, and calmly walked away.
After a good coughing fit, I walked a few yards further, and saw a sign pointing UP. I followed the direction of the arrow up the hill on my left side, and saw that there were stairs cut into the hillside. By this time a bit winded, I wearily climbed the steps up the hill, and saw another sign at the top - "Asan 400m." The sign pointed in the direction of a paved walking and bicycle lane, which was rather well-populated given the time of day. The path wended its way along what appeared to a be a kind of reservior/man-made river. It was a long way down, and I could see the hospital in the distance on the other side of the gorge. There were beautiful white herons in the algae, but there was also a surprising amount of trash along the sides. I suddenly realized that there did not appear to be a way across the gorge. As I pondered this frightening thought, mentally picturing a swinging rope bridge, I saw the narrow, and as it turned out, rather rickety concrete bridge reaching across to the hospital. As I went across, I willed myself not to look down. On the other side, I had to go down the steps of another hillside, then down two more flights of stairs to the hospital. I picked a door at random (Asan is a huge, sprawling complex), and entered.
I entered into an airport lounge. The seating was arranged back to back; there were also newstands and coffee kiosks (coffee for the coughee?). I went to the sign marked, in English, "Information," but, as usual in Korea, I was heartbreakingly disappointed when the "Information" sign turned out to be all in Korean.
I got directions instead from two different desk clerks, and was directed to a small, but immaculate, doctor's office maked "Asan International Clinic." The nurses spoke nearly perfect English, and were very helpful getting me set up. I now have a "Patient Card," which means that I will be brought there if I get injured or seriously ill. The clinic was founded about five years ago specifically for expatriots. The doctor was Korean, but spoke with an American accent. I nearly cracked a smile when I looked at his door, and saw his name was "Dr. Kwak!" In his office, I noticed all his books were also in English; I gather from his selection that he is also a flight doctor/pilot. A female nurse was in attendance, presumably to protect my modesty.
Well, after asking me about my symptoms and checking me over, he told me I had "Mycoplasm" (which I later found out was also known by the much scarier name mycoplasmic pnewmonia). This lung illness most Korean school children get, so Korean adults are immune to it. Being unused to Korean germs and working with children all day, it is not surprising that I got ill. I have a dry cough, with no fever or other symptoms. It is very common with people who come and work here.
I am on a new antibiotic related to Erythromyacin (which I am very allergic to) but made from a different chemical compound. The cough is still with me, but a little better. I hope I continue to improve. If not, I will return next week, and he will run some tests.
Next time, I think that I will take a cab.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
JOURNAL: Namdaemun Market Rocks!
Today started out a pretty lousy day. Last night, I was pretty upset, as two teachers I was rather fond of up and pulled a "midnight run" out of the country. The transitory nature of friendships made in Korea is known to me, but nevertheless, it still hurts when someone leaves, especially someone you especially like. I have had a week to recover, but the weekend seemed very likely to be a lonely one. I lay awake last night, lonely and in tears; I have not made many connections here, being a bit shy and retiring, and some I have made are now gone. Sometimes it is just difficult to cope, I guess; I have been generally happy here so far. I listened to an MP3 of Bill Cosby at 3:00 a.m., seeing as I was not able to sleep, and it cheered me considerably, but only mometarily. I then fell asleep.
I was a bit emotionally hung over this morning, and just generally apathetic about getting out of bed. Of course I did eventually get up, and had a cup of yogurt for breakfast. I then forced myself to leave my apartment to do some much procrastinated shopping. I headed to Dongdaemun market to see if I could find a new pair of shoes in "Shoe Alley." Dongdaemun is a night market, for the most part, but there were still plenty of stalls open when I got there at about three.
I did find a pair of shoes that fit for about $12. The merchant let me wear them straight away. My very expensive but hopelessly rotted leather slides he stared at in disgust. I motioned for him to get rid of them, and with a large toothy smile, he cheerfully tossed them in the rubbish bin!
Feeling a bit better about things, I wandered through the industrial fabric district. The workers and merchants were a bit startled to see me, but friendly enough. I had a couple of near misses with the mosquito-like scooters flying at ridiculous speeds down the street. People hurried down the street or worked in their tiny sweat shops, turning out textile goods for the masses. All activity stopped as a fancy Cadillac blocked the narrow street while it rolled by. When it had passed, everyone went back to work as if nothing had happened.
Seoul has a lot of street life, even in my neighborhood. I love this. People bring out stools at night and sit and watch the world go by. Old men squat by the road, cigarettes dangling precariously from their lips, as they browse the newspapers spread out on the ground. The young men sit out on benches and chairs to ogle the girls (especially us foreigners) as they walk by, occasionally making sly (but mercifully not understood) comments. Women push their babies in strollers, or more often than not, carry them in a very Korean version of a sling across their backs or chests. I have heard them described as looking like tumors, which I suppose is true. They also do their grocery shopping. There are always more men than women on the street (except in shopping districts). At night, I have noticed that there are predominately men playing with the children; presumably this is to give their spouses a break. Dads come out at night, and once again, women disappear. The exception is young women, who can be seen patronizing the restaurants in large and giggly groups.
Not much was going on at Dongdaemun in late afternoon, so I turned back towards the subway. As I was walking towards it, a girl from school almost ran me over. The odds of us meeting in a city as large and sprawling as Seoul are immense, but we have run into each other before (in Itaewon). She also wanted to go shoe shopping, so we turned back. She got the cutest pair of imitation Puma shoes I have ever seen. They are not my style, but I think they are cool and cute for people who like athletic shoes.
We decided to go to Namdaemun market a few stops further up the line, as it has more variety. Suddenly, the shopping fever was on! I generally do not like to shop, but Asia is changing that...
Last week, I walked home (about a mile and a half) in a horrible rainstorm without an umbrella, and my watch became toast, as well as the expensive leather shoes; my purse also got nearly destroyed with water stains.. With this in mind, I began browsing the stalls for a new watch, a new purse, and a new umbrella. Namdaemun has an excellent assortment of rather cleverly made name-brand knock-offs. They do not try to hide the fact that they are imitations either. My new watch was very cheap - I got a purple leather watch with a large face for about $10. I scored a beautiful, and very Korean, large purse, after some bargaining (we got $12 knocked off), for $20. My umbrella was more expensive, but I reasoned that it needed to stand up to Seoul weather, and this one was well made. It was also amusing for small minds, as you press the up button for the umbrella (highly spring loaded) to pop out, and the down button for it to deflate! Both items have name brands stamped on them! I was tempted by a "Louis Vatton" wallet, but resisted the impulse. I think I did rather well! My companion bought one of the wallets, and a very charming handmade wicker birdcage (her grandfather collects cages).
As the sun started going down, droves of people began emerging out of the woodwork. More incredibly, every time we took a turn around the market, more stalls of merchandise appeared out of nowhere. Merchants stood on tables and platforms, all shouting at top volume. The pungent smell of frying silkworm larvae (children love them, even though they smell like burning tires!) competed with the fish market odors. It was noisy, crowded, stinky, and fascinating. I felt I was really in Asia. The market has been on the same site for 600 years, as the elaborate ancient Seoul city gate will attest to. I have been told that the best bargains are made after midnight.
We then headed for more practical shopping at E Mart. E mart is Korea's version of Walmart, and it is ever so crowded! I was in search of a chair, but didn't find one that suited my oversized bum (as I am now starting to say because I am surrounded by Canadians). I bought a bum cushion instead to sit on the floor with. I also struck out on the table. I went a little nuts in the stationary aisles; Korea holds the patent on "insufferably cute" in regards to girls' stationary, but they also have regular "adult" things. I am a bit amused that you can get "Hello Kitty" sanitary pads (good luck on tampons!), complete with a discreet little carrying bag. But I digress.
My big purchase was....an iron! Appliances and electronics (contrary to popular rumor) are very expensive. Tucked away towards the bottom shelf were some cute smaller irons for about $10. The rest, amazingly, were up towards the $100 mark. Frankly, I don't understand this at all.
I bought a table-top board as well, even though it did not make sense. If Koreans don't use tables, then how can they use a table-top board? Well, they do have tables, but they are only about a foot off the ground. Then again, Koreans, unlike westerners, are accustomed to squatting for long periods of time, so maybe it isn't so bad.
My feet hurt, but I feel I was very productive. I fought the crowds and won. It helps to shop with another person.
I was a bit emotionally hung over this morning, and just generally apathetic about getting out of bed. Of course I did eventually get up, and had a cup of yogurt for breakfast. I then forced myself to leave my apartment to do some much procrastinated shopping. I headed to Dongdaemun market to see if I could find a new pair of shoes in "Shoe Alley." Dongdaemun is a night market, for the most part, but there were still plenty of stalls open when I got there at about three.
I did find a pair of shoes that fit for about $12. The merchant let me wear them straight away. My very expensive but hopelessly rotted leather slides he stared at in disgust. I motioned for him to get rid of them, and with a large toothy smile, he cheerfully tossed them in the rubbish bin!
Feeling a bit better about things, I wandered through the industrial fabric district. The workers and merchants were a bit startled to see me, but friendly enough. I had a couple of near misses with the mosquito-like scooters flying at ridiculous speeds down the street. People hurried down the street or worked in their tiny sweat shops, turning out textile goods for the masses. All activity stopped as a fancy Cadillac blocked the narrow street while it rolled by. When it had passed, everyone went back to work as if nothing had happened.
Seoul has a lot of street life, even in my neighborhood. I love this. People bring out stools at night and sit and watch the world go by. Old men squat by the road, cigarettes dangling precariously from their lips, as they browse the newspapers spread out on the ground. The young men sit out on benches and chairs to ogle the girls (especially us foreigners) as they walk by, occasionally making sly (but mercifully not understood) comments. Women push their babies in strollers, or more often than not, carry them in a very Korean version of a sling across their backs or chests. I have heard them described as looking like tumors, which I suppose is true. They also do their grocery shopping. There are always more men than women on the street (except in shopping districts). At night, I have noticed that there are predominately men playing with the children; presumably this is to give their spouses a break. Dads come out at night, and once again, women disappear. The exception is young women, who can be seen patronizing the restaurants in large and giggly groups.
Not much was going on at Dongdaemun in late afternoon, so I turned back towards the subway. As I was walking towards it, a girl from school almost ran me over. The odds of us meeting in a city as large and sprawling as Seoul are immense, but we have run into each other before (in Itaewon). She also wanted to go shoe shopping, so we turned back. She got the cutest pair of imitation Puma shoes I have ever seen. They are not my style, but I think they are cool and cute for people who like athletic shoes.
We decided to go to Namdaemun market a few stops further up the line, as it has more variety. Suddenly, the shopping fever was on! I generally do not like to shop, but Asia is changing that...
Last week, I walked home (about a mile and a half) in a horrible rainstorm without an umbrella, and my watch became toast, as well as the expensive leather shoes; my purse also got nearly destroyed with water stains.. With this in mind, I began browsing the stalls for a new watch, a new purse, and a new umbrella. Namdaemun has an excellent assortment of rather cleverly made name-brand knock-offs. They do not try to hide the fact that they are imitations either. My new watch was very cheap - I got a purple leather watch with a large face for about $10. I scored a beautiful, and very Korean, large purse, after some bargaining (we got $12 knocked off), for $20. My umbrella was more expensive, but I reasoned that it needed to stand up to Seoul weather, and this one was well made. It was also amusing for small minds, as you press the up button for the umbrella (highly spring loaded) to pop out, and the down button for it to deflate! Both items have name brands stamped on them! I was tempted by a "Louis Vatton" wallet, but resisted the impulse. I think I did rather well! My companion bought one of the wallets, and a very charming handmade wicker birdcage (her grandfather collects cages).
As the sun started going down, droves of people began emerging out of the woodwork. More incredibly, every time we took a turn around the market, more stalls of merchandise appeared out of nowhere. Merchants stood on tables and platforms, all shouting at top volume. The pungent smell of frying silkworm larvae (children love them, even though they smell like burning tires!) competed with the fish market odors. It was noisy, crowded, stinky, and fascinating. I felt I was really in Asia. The market has been on the same site for 600 years, as the elaborate ancient Seoul city gate will attest to. I have been told that the best bargains are made after midnight.
We then headed for more practical shopping at E Mart. E mart is Korea's version of Walmart, and it is ever so crowded! I was in search of a chair, but didn't find one that suited my oversized bum (as I am now starting to say because I am surrounded by Canadians). I bought a bum cushion instead to sit on the floor with. I also struck out on the table. I went a little nuts in the stationary aisles; Korea holds the patent on "insufferably cute" in regards to girls' stationary, but they also have regular "adult" things. I am a bit amused that you can get "Hello Kitty" sanitary pads (good luck on tampons!), complete with a discreet little carrying bag. But I digress.
My big purchase was....an iron! Appliances and electronics (contrary to popular rumor) are very expensive. Tucked away towards the bottom shelf were some cute smaller irons for about $10. The rest, amazingly, were up towards the $100 mark. Frankly, I don't understand this at all.
I bought a table-top board as well, even though it did not make sense. If Koreans don't use tables, then how can they use a table-top board? Well, they do have tables, but they are only about a foot off the ground. Then again, Koreans, unlike westerners, are accustomed to squatting for long periods of time, so maybe it isn't so bad.
My feet hurt, but I feel I was very productive. I fought the crowds and won. It helps to shop with another person.
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