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...
Saturday, September 24, 2005
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.
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