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.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
JOURNAL: The Sexual Habits of Koreans
Tonight I had a rather enlightening experience. I spent the day in Itaewon at the used bookstore, and then proceeded to a park where people like to hang out. It is near a university, and serves as Seoul's theatre district. There were some very bizarre fringe theatre posters, to say the least. It is the first area in Seoul where I have seen open homosexuality displayed. Koreans tend to take the same position as the U.S. Military on such issues.
Generally speaking, I do not see flagrant displays of P.D.A. (public displays of affection), but I do see couples who are suspiciously close. Actually, Korean couples are very cute without being unbearable. Public kissing is strictly frowned upon, but there are definately some hand-holders (this is also common among friends of the same gender- both male and female), and cuddling going on. I think it is awesome how the young men shelter the young women; I wish American men were that sweet. A middle-aged man once shared his umbrella with me when my (second!) umbrella had broken, and I found it very charming.
I wondered if and where the young couples went to "make out".....and other such activities. Many live in multi-generational houses, and in Seoul, there is no privacy. I know about the sex motels, of course, but there aren't actually that many in Seoul proper. Well, tonight I found out.
A male friend and I decided we were going to go watch a DVD at a "DVD Bong." We went up five flights of stairs and into a reception room. There was a young man up there, who was apparently well-known by my friend. He greeted my friend, but momentarily froze when he saw me. He then mysteriously dashed out of the room. I looked at my friend, and he looked back at me, rather puzzled. The clerk returned, and was all smiles. I saw a chair, but did not sit down, as there was a huge heart pillow occupying the red velvet seat. We browsed through the DVD collection, which included everything from children's movies to a rather suspiciously large collection of pornography. We chose KINSEY, a movie I had not seen yet, and it turned out to be an ironic choice in many ways.
We were escorted into a tiny room, just big enough for a reclined love seat/bed and a rather large t.v. The clerk busily sprayed copious amounts of alcohol over all the furniture, then left. The loves seat was made of sparkly fuzzy white material, but the entire thing was covered in clear plastic vinyl. There was an end table with a large Kleenex box on it (Kleenex is a rarity in Korea), and, rather oddly, a hook with a hanger on the wall. The walls were painted black, and a discreet red curtain covered the window. All of this, added together, suddenly made me realize what sort of activity usually went on here. My friend looked at me and explained the vinyl and Kleenex were for "easy clean-up." Oh.
My friend is a perfect gentleman, so I was not concerned on that account, but it was amusing in a strange way, to be watching KINSEY in a room I am sure Alfred Kinsey would have been intrigued by. After an intellectual discussion (post movie) about whether Kinsey was a drug addict or not, we left. As soon as we emerged, our clerk was in there with his bottle of alcohol.
It was a very strange experience.
Generally speaking, I do not see flagrant displays of P.D.A. (public displays of affection), but I do see couples who are suspiciously close. Actually, Korean couples are very cute without being unbearable. Public kissing is strictly frowned upon, but there are definately some hand-holders (this is also common among friends of the same gender- both male and female), and cuddling going on. I think it is awesome how the young men shelter the young women; I wish American men were that sweet. A middle-aged man once shared his umbrella with me when my (second!) umbrella had broken, and I found it very charming.
I wondered if and where the young couples went to "make out".....and other such activities. Many live in multi-generational houses, and in Seoul, there is no privacy. I know about the sex motels, of course, but there aren't actually that many in Seoul proper. Well, tonight I found out.
A male friend and I decided we were going to go watch a DVD at a "DVD Bong." We went up five flights of stairs and into a reception room. There was a young man up there, who was apparently well-known by my friend. He greeted my friend, but momentarily froze when he saw me. He then mysteriously dashed out of the room. I looked at my friend, and he looked back at me, rather puzzled. The clerk returned, and was all smiles. I saw a chair, but did not sit down, as there was a huge heart pillow occupying the red velvet seat. We browsed through the DVD collection, which included everything from children's movies to a rather suspiciously large collection of pornography. We chose KINSEY, a movie I had not seen yet, and it turned out to be an ironic choice in many ways.
We were escorted into a tiny room, just big enough for a reclined love seat/bed and a rather large t.v. The clerk busily sprayed copious amounts of alcohol over all the furniture, then left. The loves seat was made of sparkly fuzzy white material, but the entire thing was covered in clear plastic vinyl. There was an end table with a large Kleenex box on it (Kleenex is a rarity in Korea), and, rather oddly, a hook with a hanger on the wall. The walls were painted black, and a discreet red curtain covered the window. All of this, added together, suddenly made me realize what sort of activity usually went on here. My friend looked at me and explained the vinyl and Kleenex were for "easy clean-up." Oh.
My friend is a perfect gentleman, so I was not concerned on that account, but it was amusing in a strange way, to be watching KINSEY in a room I am sure Alfred Kinsey would have been intrigued by. After an intellectual discussion (post movie) about whether Kinsey was a drug addict or not, we left. As soon as we emerged, our clerk was in there with his bottle of alcohol.
It was a very strange experience.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
JOURNAL: Computers, Courtship Rituals, Vampyres, and Tea
Well, this morning I had a bit of a surprise awakening...I have been ill, so I decided I was going to sleep in until 11 am. At about 10:30, my door bell rang. I was very sleepy when I got up to answer it. About halfway acroos my room, I head someone typing on my keypad entry. I shouted "Hello?" and my door opened. A Korean man entered my foyer; I must explain that each apartment has a deep set area about 6 inches below the floor, usually tiled. It is for people to leave their shoes at. He stood there, obviously as stunned as I was. I rather groggily thanked the Lord that I was wearing a long nightgown, rather than one of my short, Victoria's Secret-esue (hey, satin is nice and cool!) summer nightgowns.
Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.
He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.
I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.
The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?
The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.
This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.
Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.
Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...
So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.
Good night!
Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.
He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.
I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.
The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?
The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.
This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.
Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.
Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...
So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.
Good night!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
JOURNAL: Uggggghhhh.....
I have a very bad cold right now, and had a bit more than my limit to drink last night (long story there), so I am in pretty bad shape today. So, what do I do? I go grocery shopping out of sheer necessity (nothing but grapes in the house right now), and manage to set of my burglar alarm...I actually didn't know I had a burglar alarm, but apparently I do.
On Thursday night, I went out with a few teachers to a chicken restaurant I had discovered as having very scrumptious curry chicken. In one week's time, the curry chicken was off the list, so we got some wings and skin roasted chicken instead. No sooner had the four of us sat down outside(we had all had a trying day), four children, apparently belonging to the restaurant owner, began clamoring around us for attention. One of the guys in our party actually encouraged this behavior, and spoke to them in Korean, English, and, just for fun, Spanish. Thye would not leave. One of the little girls, after randomly clouting her brother on the head, brought over a cage with several of the biggest, ugliest insects inside it. They were cicadas, but about five times the size of the American/Mexican variety (and five times the volume). She handed it to her brother, and as he was walking away with the cage, he happened to look down at the ground. He let out a yelp, and we all looked - it was a tiny beetle (about a half-inch). As we were thoughtfully chewing our chicken bits and trying not to laugh, he stomped on it.
Friday night, the directors of the school took us all out to OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE after work and fed us - a very nice gesture, especially since we have all been working overtime without necessarily getting paid (we are all on salary). We did, however, have to forgo our dinner snack, so we were rather hungry when we got there. I know some of the teachers would prefer the cash, but I appreciated the gesture for what it was. As there are about 35 of us, I am guessing it cost quite a bit.
A few of the girls decided to walk off the carbs from the meal and the, ahem, beer pitcher in Olympic Park. It was very beautiful at night; Olympic Park is across the street from the school, but a bit of a walk from my apartment, so I have not been there. I think I will try to see it in daylight soon.
We then joined the boys and some other girls at a local hof (beer house), where they were already in various states of inebriation. As the two of us remaining were already late, the waiter had to bring out two more glasses. Actually, they were glorified shot glasses, I suppose in deference to our womanly propriety. All the men got mugs. I have never actually heard of anyone doing shots of beer, have you? I enjoyed sitting back and not talking; my sore throat had begun, and I was not inclined to be overly social. It is always fun being the (relatively) sober one. I began feeling suspiciosuly light-headed and overly happy, which puzzled me at first, as I had not had very much (I am a "nurser"), and have a ridiculously high tolerance. Then I realized that I was getting "topped off" while distracted elsewhere. The walk home, insofar as I remember, was a bit wobbly. The boys were singing folk ballads and country songs(apparently a Canadian thing) loudly in the streets at two in the morning as well. I thought that only happened in Irish movies....Although it does happen with Korean men as well. Well, I'm assuming they are singing folk ballads....
Now, I must go and make my dinner. I got some chicken breasts with the idea of making soup, but then realized that, 21st century woman that I am, I have no idea what to put in it, and I am too ill to think very clearly. I have a bit of a fever, so if I am rambling, that is why....
On Thursday night, I went out with a few teachers to a chicken restaurant I had discovered as having very scrumptious curry chicken. In one week's time, the curry chicken was off the list, so we got some wings and skin roasted chicken instead. No sooner had the four of us sat down outside(we had all had a trying day), four children, apparently belonging to the restaurant owner, began clamoring around us for attention. One of the guys in our party actually encouraged this behavior, and spoke to them in Korean, English, and, just for fun, Spanish. Thye would not leave. One of the little girls, after randomly clouting her brother on the head, brought over a cage with several of the biggest, ugliest insects inside it. They were cicadas, but about five times the size of the American/Mexican variety (and five times the volume). She handed it to her brother, and as he was walking away with the cage, he happened to look down at the ground. He let out a yelp, and we all looked - it was a tiny beetle (about a half-inch). As we were thoughtfully chewing our chicken bits and trying not to laugh, he stomped on it.
Friday night, the directors of the school took us all out to OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE after work and fed us - a very nice gesture, especially since we have all been working overtime without necessarily getting paid (we are all on salary). We did, however, have to forgo our dinner snack, so we were rather hungry when we got there. I know some of the teachers would prefer the cash, but I appreciated the gesture for what it was. As there are about 35 of us, I am guessing it cost quite a bit.
A few of the girls decided to walk off the carbs from the meal and the, ahem, beer pitcher in Olympic Park. It was very beautiful at night; Olympic Park is across the street from the school, but a bit of a walk from my apartment, so I have not been there. I think I will try to see it in daylight soon.
We then joined the boys and some other girls at a local hof (beer house), where they were already in various states of inebriation. As the two of us remaining were already late, the waiter had to bring out two more glasses. Actually, they were glorified shot glasses, I suppose in deference to our womanly propriety. All the men got mugs. I have never actually heard of anyone doing shots of beer, have you? I enjoyed sitting back and not talking; my sore throat had begun, and I was not inclined to be overly social. It is always fun being the (relatively) sober one. I began feeling suspiciosuly light-headed and overly happy, which puzzled me at first, as I had not had very much (I am a "nurser"), and have a ridiculously high tolerance. Then I realized that I was getting "topped off" while distracted elsewhere. The walk home, insofar as I remember, was a bit wobbly. The boys were singing folk ballads and country songs(apparently a Canadian thing) loudly in the streets at two in the morning as well. I thought that only happened in Irish movies....Although it does happen with Korean men as well. Well, I'm assuming they are singing folk ballads....
Now, I must go and make my dinner. I got some chicken breasts with the idea of making soup, but then realized that, 21st century woman that I am, I have no idea what to put in it, and I am too ill to think very clearly. I have a bit of a fever, so if I am rambling, that is why....
Saturday, August 06, 2005
JOURNAL: Miscellaneous Notes
Just a few miscellaneous notes today on advice in living in Korea.
Tailoring and Clothes Shopping
I made a trip to Itaewon ("foreigner's district" - 8th Regiment Army Headquarters area) this afternoon, and checked into some tailoring for myself. My washing machine is rather harsh on stretching my clothes in places that, for modesty's sake, shouldn't be stretched! This point was driven home when I left this morning, and a group of boys in their upper teens followed me and shouted something. I turned around, a bit confused, and the leader gave the universal sign of appreciation, saying "Big!" and gesturing at his chest. I wished I could remember my new vocabulary word for "naughty" (the female, polite equivalent of f--- you in Korean) but could only think of the stronger word (which, interestingly enough, literally means "kick penis"), so I just glared and walked away. So much for my Korean lessons (we learned the bad words because they are often hurled at unwitting foreigners - I am afraid I have heard them already around the Korean branch of our school aimed at certain teachers).
While in Itaewon, I asked random hawkers about men's tailoring. As you may or may not know, the best tailors in the world are trained, and sometimes live, in Korea. Men, you might want to bring about $500 to get a couple of suits. I am VERY impressed with the quality of clothing here in general, but the men's suits are very expensive looking for a fraction of the cost. They allow you to pick the fabric for the suit,shirt, and tie. The locals also do an excellent job with leather - jackets, handbags, and wallets. They are used to larger built people there, at least men. Women are another story, as I found out.
I did score some nice blouses (more modest), a skirt, and a wrap around dress, al for just over 61,000 won. I found a new hole in the wall shop that caters to women above, oh, lets say, a size 6! The woman speaks excellent English and has a good eye for fashion. it is called "Big Boss" (!). There are also some shops that have suspiciously American brands. These clothes all have their information tags slashed or heavily damaged; I suspect there is some black marketing afoot.
Toilet Paper
In America, we have pay toilets; the Koreans are a bit more clever. You pay for toilet paper. There is a vending unit on the wall that dispenses TP for 200 won a pop (20 cents). The one I went into today did not work, so other measures had to be taken. Be warned, carry kleenex or TP. The Koreans use toilet paper for everything; if you spill something in a restaurant, chances are the hostess will bring you about two squares of TP to clean up. When I first got toilet paper for my apartment, the smallest packaging unit I could find had 12 rolls! Kleenex and paper towels, while available, are expensive as they are in low demand. Speaking of toilet paper....
Public Bathrooms
Public bathrooms are plentiful and easily accessible; they are in all of the subways stations and major markets. Vendors generally do not mind if you use the facilities without buying. Although Seoul has become more and more westernized, "squatters" still slightly outnumber "sitters." I will usually go out of my way to find a "sitter" as I cannot physically sit on my haunches without doing serious injury; fortunately, it is never very far. "Sitters" seem to be growing in popularity. Check the stalls before you enter; sometimes the TP is OUTSIDE the stall instead of inside. As plumbing is a bit of a problem in Seoul, Koreans toss used TP in a discreetly placed open garbage can behind the toilets, so close your eyes and do it (or risk flooding the bathroom!). The restrooms are generally clean and well-kept.
Ajimas
"Ajimas" are women who have had at least one child or look as though they are old enough to have had a child; in other words, not young virgins. Don't be offended if someone calls you "ajima" even if you are not. If you are slightly plump, as I am, do not feel insulted if someone asks about your due date! There is a seat on most trains reserved for pregnant women, and many helpful Koreans have suggested that I sit there instead of standing when it is crowded. If someone comments on you supposed pregnancy, it is meant to be flattering, not an insult. Today in Itaewon, an elderly woman tried to convince me to buy a baby-sized hanbok for my presumed forthcoming bundle of joy.
Korean TV
I have only seen bits and pieces of Korean television, as I do not have the 400,000 won it would take to hook up cable (network tv? forget it, not here in the city). No Christine, there are not middle aged naked dancing Elvises, but they do have a few inane dating shows. One memorable quiz show about dating etiquette blew blasts of air in the face of contestants who answered a question wrong. There are quite a few fashion and tabloid shows, as well as some over the top weepy melodramas. On vacation, I saw two episodes of a show called "Fashion 70s." The show, as near as I can tell, had plotlines including the Korean mafia and two toothsome young fashion school students who once-were-friends-but-now-are-rivals. Some guy gets shot in a bloodbath of activity, and passes out holding a white ivory elephant which was intended for one of the girls. This all takes place in the 1970s. The improbable plots and subplots are strangely compelling; what really saves the series is some very strong acting talent. Even though the dialogue was a mystery, the actresses were able to communicate well through some serious "METHOD ACTING" (Brando-style).
Tailoring and Clothes Shopping
I made a trip to Itaewon ("foreigner's district" - 8th Regiment Army Headquarters area) this afternoon, and checked into some tailoring for myself. My washing machine is rather harsh on stretching my clothes in places that, for modesty's sake, shouldn't be stretched! This point was driven home when I left this morning, and a group of boys in their upper teens followed me and shouted something. I turned around, a bit confused, and the leader gave the universal sign of appreciation, saying "Big!" and gesturing at his chest. I wished I could remember my new vocabulary word for "naughty" (the female, polite equivalent of f--- you in Korean) but could only think of the stronger word (which, interestingly enough, literally means "kick penis"), so I just glared and walked away. So much for my Korean lessons (we learned the bad words because they are often hurled at unwitting foreigners - I am afraid I have heard them already around the Korean branch of our school aimed at certain teachers).
While in Itaewon, I asked random hawkers about men's tailoring. As you may or may not know, the best tailors in the world are trained, and sometimes live, in Korea. Men, you might want to bring about $500 to get a couple of suits. I am VERY impressed with the quality of clothing here in general, but the men's suits are very expensive looking for a fraction of the cost. They allow you to pick the fabric for the suit,shirt, and tie. The locals also do an excellent job with leather - jackets, handbags, and wallets. They are used to larger built people there, at least men. Women are another story, as I found out.
I did score some nice blouses (more modest), a skirt, and a wrap around dress, al for just over 61,000 won. I found a new hole in the wall shop that caters to women above, oh, lets say, a size 6! The woman speaks excellent English and has a good eye for fashion. it is called "Big Boss" (!). There are also some shops that have suspiciously American brands. These clothes all have their information tags slashed or heavily damaged; I suspect there is some black marketing afoot.
Toilet Paper
In America, we have pay toilets; the Koreans are a bit more clever. You pay for toilet paper. There is a vending unit on the wall that dispenses TP for 200 won a pop (20 cents). The one I went into today did not work, so other measures had to be taken. Be warned, carry kleenex or TP. The Koreans use toilet paper for everything; if you spill something in a restaurant, chances are the hostess will bring you about two squares of TP to clean up. When I first got toilet paper for my apartment, the smallest packaging unit I could find had 12 rolls! Kleenex and paper towels, while available, are expensive as they are in low demand. Speaking of toilet paper....
Public Bathrooms
Public bathrooms are plentiful and easily accessible; they are in all of the subways stations and major markets. Vendors generally do not mind if you use the facilities without buying. Although Seoul has become more and more westernized, "squatters" still slightly outnumber "sitters." I will usually go out of my way to find a "sitter" as I cannot physically sit on my haunches without doing serious injury; fortunately, it is never very far. "Sitters" seem to be growing in popularity. Check the stalls before you enter; sometimes the TP is OUTSIDE the stall instead of inside. As plumbing is a bit of a problem in Seoul, Koreans toss used TP in a discreetly placed open garbage can behind the toilets, so close your eyes and do it (or risk flooding the bathroom!). The restrooms are generally clean and well-kept.
Ajimas
"Ajimas" are women who have had at least one child or look as though they are old enough to have had a child; in other words, not young virgins. Don't be offended if someone calls you "ajima" even if you are not. If you are slightly plump, as I am, do not feel insulted if someone asks about your due date! There is a seat on most trains reserved for pregnant women, and many helpful Koreans have suggested that I sit there instead of standing when it is crowded. If someone comments on you supposed pregnancy, it is meant to be flattering, not an insult. Today in Itaewon, an elderly woman tried to convince me to buy a baby-sized hanbok for my presumed forthcoming bundle of joy.
Korean TV
I have only seen bits and pieces of Korean television, as I do not have the 400,000 won it would take to hook up cable (network tv? forget it, not here in the city). No Christine, there are not middle aged naked dancing Elvises, but they do have a few inane dating shows. One memorable quiz show about dating etiquette blew blasts of air in the face of contestants who answered a question wrong. There are quite a few fashion and tabloid shows, as well as some over the top weepy melodramas. On vacation, I saw two episodes of a show called "Fashion 70s." The show, as near as I can tell, had plotlines including the Korean mafia and two toothsome young fashion school students who once-were-friends-but-now-are-rivals. Some guy gets shot in a bloodbath of activity, and passes out holding a white ivory elephant which was intended for one of the girls. This all takes place in the 1970s. The improbable plots and subplots are strangely compelling; what really saves the series is some very strong acting talent. Even though the dialogue was a mystery, the actresses were able to communicate well through some serious "METHOD ACTING" (Brando-style).
Friday, August 05, 2005
JOURNAL: Mayhem, Martyrs, and Massacre
On Sunday, I attended the church I attended last week, and all I can say is that somebody out there (hmmm) definately is out to show me something. I went down to the fellowship hall after service, and began chatting with some people about vacation plans and travelling. My ticket was wrong, as it turned out, and I began asking what in the world there was to do in Gwanju. My co-worker (we will call him Homer) silently guided me over to the pastor, who apparently had begun his Korean life in Gwanju. The answer to my question was, "Nothing." He then proceeded to cajole me into joining his family, the youth group (his two teenage daughter and a friend!), Homer, and his good friend (I mentioned her two blogs ago). I had no idea where they were going or what they were going to do, but I took a "Well, why not?" attitude, and, with a lot of coaxing, agreed to go. The three-day trip only cost me 100,000 won ($100).
We picked up my stuff, and met at KFC. The KFCs in Korea, I must tell you, are actually better than the ones in the United States. I hate fried chicken, but this was GOOD. We left at about 7:30, and got to our destination, Yeonso (yawn-soo) at about 2 a.m., after fighting intermittent torrential downpour. This was to become the theme of our trip. Yeonso is near the ocean on the southwest corner of Korea, I believe. The girls in the car were ages 13,14, and 15, and apparently know all the "Silly Songs" from VEGGIE TALES.
We slept in until 11, and then proceeded outside the city limits. We first visited Aeonyang, where we were supposed to work on fixing the English "translations"(I use this term very loosely, as many of them were almost unreadable, and at times, humerous in spite of their subject matter) in one of the martyr museums. We are currently working on an English-language brochure for the tour of the martyr sites with the idea to pass them on to military chaplains..The idea of this trip was to visit sites of martyrdom for the Christian faith, and evaluate their significance to English language speakers. The firstmuseum was a memorial to a Pastor Son, who lost his life and most of his family in service to the Lord.
Pastor Son was the son of an elder and a deaconess (Presbytarian), who ran afoul of the Japanese during their occupation of Korea (turn of the 20th century) even at an early age. He refused to participate in shrine worship, and was thrown out of elementary school. Christianity had spread like wildfire through Korea thanks to American and Canadian Presbytarian and Methodist missionaries. Japan used this fact in order to humiliate and subjugate the Koreans; after their emperor died, they forced all schools, including missionary schools, to adopt shrine worship and to bow to their dead emperor's image. As a result, many of the freedom fighters against the Japanese were from a Christian background. The movement for democracy and self-rule is intricately entwined with the Christian revival; many pastors and deacons led the move for freedom from oppression. Korea's Christian martyrs are therefore also held in esteem as national heroes, and Pastor Son holds a place in their hearts much like Gandhi does in India.
Pastor Son went to Pyongyang for seminary, and also spent time in a Japanese seminary under a much-loved and respected (even in korea) Japanese pastor. He was sent to Aeonyang, a leper colony founded by an American doctor and missionary, a Dr. Wilson. Another American missionary by the name of Forsythe also figures prominantly in the spread of both Christianity and Western medicine. All of the western medical hospitals in South korea were founded through missionary societies.
It ws at the leper colony that Pastor Son found his calling. He would go directly into the foulest contagion ward and embrace the lepers without fear of contamination. His gift was that of love and compassion, "The Atomic Bomb of Love" as the Koreans call him. His congregation welcomed him with open arms, and his critics soon dissolved. He was a rather plain (nerdy) man, with thick round glasses and a homely face, but even in photos, there is a light shining in his eyes.
He was captured by the Japanese for his fervent preaching, but never tortured as so many prisoners were. He spent seven years in prison, then was inexplicably released.
Meanwhile, his family had grown up. It was 1948, and his two sons were in college, preparing to study abroad in America. The eldest lead the Christian society at the university, but the Communists were becoming ever more present on campus. One day, they came to his door, and took him out. His younger brother also was taken, and, knowing that his elder brother would be shot, pleaded that his older brother be released. Witnesses say that even as he was being blindfolded, elder brother pleaded with them to repent of their deeds, and accept the grace of God. They shot him, and his brother broke free to hold his dying brother. He also pleaded with them to repent, saying that his faith was the same as his brother's faith. He stood up, and spread his arms out, saying that he would die like his Lord and Savior. They shot him in the chest, and he died next to his brother.
Pastor Son received the news as he was praying in the chapel with grace. He expressed concern for the souls of the murderers, stating that his sons were already within the gates of heaven, but the murderers faced hell for their sin. He then adopted one of the murderers into the family (a slight acquaintance of the brothers).
A few years later, the Communists came for Pastor Son. They took him and several of the elders out into an orchard. Pastor Son kept on preaching, even after his lips were ripped by his tormentors. they shot him and his followers in the orchard. The next day, his wife gave birth to the future Pastor Son.
We visited the leper colony on out trip (the old folks non-contagious ward). The building was in poor repair; there was no air conditioning, and the residents were sitting on the floor. On the plaque, it said that First Presbytarian in Orlando and a church in Germany had given them the current building in 1986, but it didn't appear much, if any, money had come in for a long time. The volunteer workers did the best they could, swatting flies, feeding the residents (many without fingers or feet), and wheeling them about. I hope someone reading this can raise some funds for the Wilson Rehabilitation center in Aeongyang.....
At the colony, we met an 82 year old resident who lived there. H came to the colony with leprosy (now called Hansen's disease) when he was 19. Although cured, as many there are (the contagion ward is on an island off the coast), he was blind and lost the use of his fingers, so he never left. Through an interpreter, we learned that he was the last survivor of a group of residents who had memorized the entire New Testement. Those who could read helped those who were blind memorize by listening; they also learned later on through cassette tapes. As he said, "My eyes and hands don't work, but my ears and brain work fine, and as long as I have a mouth that works, I will praise the Lord."
We pressed on to Chin-do, a fishing village, apparently famous for anchovies. All along the bay were set nets where the locals grew seaweed (a staple of a healthy Korean diet), and fishing boats lined the wharfs. We took a crazy, winding jaunt into our van through the dockside streets of the village; it was so narrow that only one car could take these streets at a time. There was a boat repair yard where quite a bit of welding was going on.
We left the island, and went back into Yeonso. We spread out on the beach, enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. It was warm, but not too warm, and vey peaceful. As a beachfront, it wasn't much to look at, but a welcome respite nevertheless.
We then wended our way up to Kumsan church, a museum example of a typical Presbytarian missionary church. We read the letters of the missionaries, and looked around the simple, yet strangely attractive meeting room. There was a curtain diagonal to the pulpit; the men sat on one side, and the women on the other. The pastor, because it was diagonal, could see both sides evenly.
We then drove around looking for accomodations, and were arrested by a glow in the dark castle motel. Intrigued, we pulled off the highway, and found ourselves in a Vegas-like strip of neon-lit Motels. They were set on a hill, and many of them were themed, such as "The El Dorado," the above mentioned castle (there were actually two) and our more modest choice, "The Blue Park." It was clean and affordable, but a little on the shady side. In the lobby, I went over to investigate their movie collection, and discovered it was an impressive array of pornography and "C" action movies. In the morning, I saw several "calling cards" from various heavily, and not very attractively, made-up women. I slept Korean-style that night...on the floor.
We again got up early, and went to Jeam-ri, a historical site of martyrdom and nationalism (a national treasure). At this site, the Japanese had used the church membership list to track down the families in Jeam-ri, and called them to the church. They checked them off the list in roll-call fashion, left the building, nailed the doors shut, set it on fire, and began firing at the building. They then systematically burned the village down, and moved on to other villages suspected of being involved in the March First Movement (Korea's Declaration of Independance). When the scattered survivors came to bury the dead, they found all the bodies melted together in the center of the church and buried them in a mass grave. In 1982, the bodies were unearthed, separated, and reburied. The Japanese offered an official apology, and helped fund the building of the museum and the exhuming efforts. Jeam-ri no longer exists, as it was obliterated, but the museum stands on the land it once occupied.
We then went north to the Protestant martyr's museum, a very impressive collection and history lesson starting with the missionaries and continuing into our century. There were beautifully (if grotesque) rendered watercolors of village scenes, soldiers, and torture scenes. The story was told through pictures, paintings, and mercifully well-translated placards. The third floor was devoted to portraits of about 300 martyrs of the faith- men, women, and missionaries. This was not translated, but I wad told that each brass plate told the individual story. The last frame was a mirror, and it read "Are you the next martyr?"
We returned to Seoul that evening, and cobbled together the Wednesday night worship service.
I mused on the lengths that people went to in the name of Christ. I am in awe of this kind of love. I think if it came down to it, I would stand for my faith, even if I died for it. Part of this is sheer stubborness, I must admit, but what does a Christian have to lose, after all? There is a point beyond bodily pain in which we enter into a realm of no pain. What a gracious and loving gift to give to the Savior of the Universe. These people are remembered for their compassion and love, not their sacrifice.
Given the current political ramifications of martyrdom, I tried to come to terms with the idea of faith being worth dying for. Muslim fundamentalists do it in the name of later rewards; Christians do it as servants of love and compassion. Which is more likely to be fruitful to the world?
We picked up my stuff, and met at KFC. The KFCs in Korea, I must tell you, are actually better than the ones in the United States. I hate fried chicken, but this was GOOD. We left at about 7:30, and got to our destination, Yeonso (yawn-soo) at about 2 a.m., after fighting intermittent torrential downpour. This was to become the theme of our trip. Yeonso is near the ocean on the southwest corner of Korea, I believe. The girls in the car were ages 13,14, and 15, and apparently know all the "Silly Songs" from VEGGIE TALES.
We slept in until 11, and then proceeded outside the city limits. We first visited Aeonyang, where we were supposed to work on fixing the English "translations"(I use this term very loosely, as many of them were almost unreadable, and at times, humerous in spite of their subject matter) in one of the martyr museums. We are currently working on an English-language brochure for the tour of the martyr sites with the idea to pass them on to military chaplains..The idea of this trip was to visit sites of martyrdom for the Christian faith, and evaluate their significance to English language speakers. The firstmuseum was a memorial to a Pastor Son, who lost his life and most of his family in service to the Lord.
Pastor Son was the son of an elder and a deaconess (Presbytarian), who ran afoul of the Japanese during their occupation of Korea (turn of the 20th century) even at an early age. He refused to participate in shrine worship, and was thrown out of elementary school. Christianity had spread like wildfire through Korea thanks to American and Canadian Presbytarian and Methodist missionaries. Japan used this fact in order to humiliate and subjugate the Koreans; after their emperor died, they forced all schools, including missionary schools, to adopt shrine worship and to bow to their dead emperor's image. As a result, many of the freedom fighters against the Japanese were from a Christian background. The movement for democracy and self-rule is intricately entwined with the Christian revival; many pastors and deacons led the move for freedom from oppression. Korea's Christian martyrs are therefore also held in esteem as national heroes, and Pastor Son holds a place in their hearts much like Gandhi does in India.
Pastor Son went to Pyongyang for seminary, and also spent time in a Japanese seminary under a much-loved and respected (even in korea) Japanese pastor. He was sent to Aeonyang, a leper colony founded by an American doctor and missionary, a Dr. Wilson. Another American missionary by the name of Forsythe also figures prominantly in the spread of both Christianity and Western medicine. All of the western medical hospitals in South korea were founded through missionary societies.
It ws at the leper colony that Pastor Son found his calling. He would go directly into the foulest contagion ward and embrace the lepers without fear of contamination. His gift was that of love and compassion, "The Atomic Bomb of Love" as the Koreans call him. His congregation welcomed him with open arms, and his critics soon dissolved. He was a rather plain (nerdy) man, with thick round glasses and a homely face, but even in photos, there is a light shining in his eyes.
He was captured by the Japanese for his fervent preaching, but never tortured as so many prisoners were. He spent seven years in prison, then was inexplicably released.
Meanwhile, his family had grown up. It was 1948, and his two sons were in college, preparing to study abroad in America. The eldest lead the Christian society at the university, but the Communists were becoming ever more present on campus. One day, they came to his door, and took him out. His younger brother also was taken, and, knowing that his elder brother would be shot, pleaded that his older brother be released. Witnesses say that even as he was being blindfolded, elder brother pleaded with them to repent of their deeds, and accept the grace of God. They shot him, and his brother broke free to hold his dying brother. He also pleaded with them to repent, saying that his faith was the same as his brother's faith. He stood up, and spread his arms out, saying that he would die like his Lord and Savior. They shot him in the chest, and he died next to his brother.
Pastor Son received the news as he was praying in the chapel with grace. He expressed concern for the souls of the murderers, stating that his sons were already within the gates of heaven, but the murderers faced hell for their sin. He then adopted one of the murderers into the family (a slight acquaintance of the brothers).
A few years later, the Communists came for Pastor Son. They took him and several of the elders out into an orchard. Pastor Son kept on preaching, even after his lips were ripped by his tormentors. they shot him and his followers in the orchard. The next day, his wife gave birth to the future Pastor Son.
We visited the leper colony on out trip (the old folks non-contagious ward). The building was in poor repair; there was no air conditioning, and the residents were sitting on the floor. On the plaque, it said that First Presbytarian in Orlando and a church in Germany had given them the current building in 1986, but it didn't appear much, if any, money had come in for a long time. The volunteer workers did the best they could, swatting flies, feeding the residents (many without fingers or feet), and wheeling them about. I hope someone reading this can raise some funds for the Wilson Rehabilitation center in Aeongyang.....
At the colony, we met an 82 year old resident who lived there. H came to the colony with leprosy (now called Hansen's disease) when he was 19. Although cured, as many there are (the contagion ward is on an island off the coast), he was blind and lost the use of his fingers, so he never left. Through an interpreter, we learned that he was the last survivor of a group of residents who had memorized the entire New Testement. Those who could read helped those who were blind memorize by listening; they also learned later on through cassette tapes. As he said, "My eyes and hands don't work, but my ears and brain work fine, and as long as I have a mouth that works, I will praise the Lord."
We pressed on to Chin-do, a fishing village, apparently famous for anchovies. All along the bay were set nets where the locals grew seaweed (a staple of a healthy Korean diet), and fishing boats lined the wharfs. We took a crazy, winding jaunt into our van through the dockside streets of the village; it was so narrow that only one car could take these streets at a time. There was a boat repair yard where quite a bit of welding was going on.
We left the island, and went back into Yeonso. We spread out on the beach, enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. It was warm, but not too warm, and vey peaceful. As a beachfront, it wasn't much to look at, but a welcome respite nevertheless.
We then wended our way up to Kumsan church, a museum example of a typical Presbytarian missionary church. We read the letters of the missionaries, and looked around the simple, yet strangely attractive meeting room. There was a curtain diagonal to the pulpit; the men sat on one side, and the women on the other. The pastor, because it was diagonal, could see both sides evenly.
We then drove around looking for accomodations, and were arrested by a glow in the dark castle motel. Intrigued, we pulled off the highway, and found ourselves in a Vegas-like strip of neon-lit Motels. They were set on a hill, and many of them were themed, such as "The El Dorado," the above mentioned castle (there were actually two) and our more modest choice, "The Blue Park." It was clean and affordable, but a little on the shady side. In the lobby, I went over to investigate their movie collection, and discovered it was an impressive array of pornography and "C" action movies. In the morning, I saw several "calling cards" from various heavily, and not very attractively, made-up women. I slept Korean-style that night...on the floor.
We again got up early, and went to Jeam-ri, a historical site of martyrdom and nationalism (a national treasure). At this site, the Japanese had used the church membership list to track down the families in Jeam-ri, and called them to the church. They checked them off the list in roll-call fashion, left the building, nailed the doors shut, set it on fire, and began firing at the building. They then systematically burned the village down, and moved on to other villages suspected of being involved in the March First Movement (Korea's Declaration of Independance). When the scattered survivors came to bury the dead, they found all the bodies melted together in the center of the church and buried them in a mass grave. In 1982, the bodies were unearthed, separated, and reburied. The Japanese offered an official apology, and helped fund the building of the museum and the exhuming efforts. Jeam-ri no longer exists, as it was obliterated, but the museum stands on the land it once occupied.
We then went north to the Protestant martyr's museum, a very impressive collection and history lesson starting with the missionaries and continuing into our century. There were beautifully (if grotesque) rendered watercolors of village scenes, soldiers, and torture scenes. The story was told through pictures, paintings, and mercifully well-translated placards. The third floor was devoted to portraits of about 300 martyrs of the faith- men, women, and missionaries. This was not translated, but I wad told that each brass plate told the individual story. The last frame was a mirror, and it read "Are you the next martyr?"
We returned to Seoul that evening, and cobbled together the Wednesday night worship service.
I mused on the lengths that people went to in the name of Christ. I am in awe of this kind of love. I think if it came down to it, I would stand for my faith, even if I died for it. Part of this is sheer stubborness, I must admit, but what does a Christian have to lose, after all? There is a point beyond bodily pain in which we enter into a realm of no pain. What a gracious and loving gift to give to the Savior of the Universe. These people are remembered for their compassion and love, not their sacrifice.
Given the current political ramifications of martyrdom, I tried to come to terms with the idea of faith being worth dying for. Muslim fundamentalists do it in the name of later rewards; Christians do it as servants of love and compassion. Which is more likely to be fruitful to the world?
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