I am trying something a little new tonight. I am posting what I hope will become a sort of online notebook about random but related things I have been considering, but have made no firm conlusions about yet. Feel free to post any responses you might have, and help me clear my head a little.
I have done quite a bit of soul-searching lately on the war of the sexes, relationships, marriage, and getting along with people of the opposite sex. I have observed the different, and very intricately convoluted "rule" book in Korea for dating, and made some tentative comparisons in my mind with how our culture perceives the connection between man and woman. Tonight, here are some of my observations of Korea:
1. In the subway, I note many young couples who seem to have an unusually sensitive connection to each other. They communicate without speaking and without excessive displays of PDA. The young man often stands face to face with the young woman, with his arms above or below her head, braced. As Westerners, we would find this a gross invasion of personal space, but I appreciate the intentions of the young men I have seen. As the subway rocks (or sometimes jerks) back and forth, the young man provides a sort of safety brace for the lady with his arms. They stand mere inches apart, but do not usually touch. I observe these attentive young men gazing down with a mix of awe and protectiveness at their demure lady friends. The women seldom look up, but when they do, the couple's eyes meet and a secret communion commences. I always wonder what they are saying to each other in their minds. It is a beautiful sight to see, how the man protects and cherishes the woman he adores, and it makes me ache and long for a man to love, honor, protect, and cherish me in the same way. So what happens to cause item number 2?
2. The infidelity rate in Korea is astronomically high. The cult of the business world demands excessive drinking, smoking, and visiting of hostess bars. Noraebong (a sort of group karaoke bar with private rooms) thrive along side the ubiquitous double barberpole "barber shops" where, I am told, you receive a wash and haircut for BOTH heads, as well as some extra manual services which I will leave to those with fertile imaginations...
On the other hand, some of the middle-aged housewives I have encountered scare ME. We know what happens to the men, as "man" is biologically wired to chase and sniff at anything that will let him, but what happens to the women? Those demure, sweet, and attractive girls turn into bulldozing, rude, and fashionably-challenged AJUMAS. It is like they give up at some point. Although childbirth certainly contributes, Korean families are not very large, so something else is at work here. There is some cultural link I am trying to piece together here, but cannot place it yet.
3. The "Cherished Woman": I hear many younger Korean women docily accept rather harsh criticism from their significant others. One particularly attractive and slim thirtysomething I know, was constantly told by her boyfriend that she was fat. Specifically, he objected to her muscular calves (her hobby is sports). I taught her a nice American phrase for the next time he criticized her, and she dutifully wrote down "shove it up your arse," giggling delightedly. Of course, she will never use it, but I am certain she will think it now and again...
Another woman I spoke to talked about a boyfriend who only liked "parts" of her body, but not the whole thing. She said she kept thinking "What about the rest of me?"
This wise woman talked some sense into me. Also a thirtysomething, she said it was worthwhile to wait until God sends a man who will treat her as a "cherished woman." This does not mean he tries to boss her around, or become overprotective, as Korean men tend to do. This means that a man cherishes what he has, and does not try and change her to fit his definitions of what a woman should be. Submissiveness, contrary to what has been said, is not a useful quality in a woman. Support and nurturing, insofar as individual women possess it, is all that is required of a Godly woman.
RANT: AN INTERLUDE
So-called Christian men tend to forget this. Barefoot and Pregnant wives are of no use to anybody. Nor, for that matter, are dictatorial, overbearing husbands. The Man is Law has no place in a society where women MUST work in order to help support a family. This in itself is a way of offering support to her life-mate. In many cases, however, it has gone way too far.
The "submissive woman" myth has done more damage to society that anything I can think of. For one thing, it created "femi-nazi-ism." While it is well and good that women declared their freedom in the late 1950s, the arc swung a bit too wide, and in doing so smashed into some absolutes of human nature.
First of all, give anyone an inch, and they will take a mile. This has perverted itself into women who boss their husbands around, overorganize their offspring's lives, run businesses, and find themselves mysteriously burned-out at thirty-five. The men take this golden opportunity to ignore their offspring and ignore their wives. They become vegetative couch slugs after 5 p.m., who, after years of a wife taking care of every little detail, cannot even conceive of why their wives resent their lazy ways. Men do not naturally appreciate anything, and the new brand of feminism fuels the fire of chauvenism, rather than quenches it.The men then trade in the burned-out old model for a newer one. Divorce soars, no one is happy, and no one gets what they want.
You see, in spite of what current American culture would like us to believe, "men and women is different." Underlying all of the prevalent feminism is a great fear, a fear of letting someone else share our lives. The fear runs in both sexes, but I think women fear loss of control more. Notice I did not say men should run our lives, ladies. I know myself well, and know I could never take an order from a man unless a) he consulted me first and b) he let me know why he wants me to do it. Do otherwise, and i would probably laugh in his face! This is not feminism, this is logic. Likewise, I would never ask something of a man unless I a) consulted him first and b) told him why I think it is a good idea. This is a more logical and balanced way of looking at things. This is sharing a life, as it should be.
The old ways, as represented in Korean culture, and the new ways, as in American culture, have both proven themselves faulty. What the fundamental link is, I do not know. There needs to be a balance of some kind.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
JOURNAL: Babies and Botox
Generally speaking, Seoul is not an easy city to multi-task in. Food, for example, must be purchased by the average person in fits and spurts. You can buy meat, for example, at the butcher, bread at the bakery, and vegetables from the vegetable stands. Limited amounts of these items can be found at so-called convenience stores or small "shupo makkets," but I wouldn't depend on anything being in stock. My local market only carries pig meat and its assorted by-products, for example. If you are brave, you can frequent the farmer's markets, but good luck in communicating. Of course, if you crave American food, you can buy it at the rather expensive Hannam Market (which caters to diplomats) or, as many of my coworkers do, buy a year's supply of Goldfish Crackers at Costco. My main point though, is that everything in this city is very specialized. The exception, as I learned, is women's health.
During the last week of November, I accompanied a friend to Dr. S's Women's Clinic (name changed to protect the innocent) for some test results. Dr. S specializes in ob/gyn matters, and her name came up through a complex web of referrals (as I understand it). The expat community in Seoul is very spread out, but word of mouth gets around. You see, women's matters are not generally an area of specialty considered necessary by the average Korean woman because they are simply not discussed. Some of the information that does leak out can be very silly. Dog and cat meat, for example, increases sexual stamina among older men. Jumping up and down after the act keeps a girl from getting pregnant. And, my favorite one, compliments of one of the sixth graders, is that teenagers are not physically capable of getting pregnant. He genuinely did not believe that Maya Angelou got pregnant at age 16.
The abortion rate has been (rather extremely, I'd say) estimated to be about 80% among sexually active women (estimated conservatively at about 30% single females). The irony is, birth control is easily obtained OVER THE COUNTER. No prescription is needed. Purely on a fact-finding mission, I asked about and verified this at my local pharmacy. Of course, the ladies behind the counter have been giving me the fish eye since then; in restrospect, I probably should have gone to a pharmacy where I was not known! I was made to feel guilty just by asking the question (they know I am unmarried). Korean men eschew condoms (I will have to take that one on faith!)so it is highly likely that women do have to make visits of shame. A rather Westernized Korean man I know spoke of a certain clinic at Jeju Island (a resort) where dark limosines carrying certain well-known Korean female celebrities have been known to drop off their eye-shaded passengers...
Dr. S's office was very pleasantly lighted, with plenty of reading material and soothing classical music piping over the loudspeakers. The waiting area chairs and couches were surprisingly comfortable, and, after a very late night and early morning, I found myself fighting to stay awake. The nurses and receptionists, as well as the doctor, spoke excellent English, and seemed to be exceptionally well-organized. This is a rarity in Korean health care; more often than not, it is barely organized chaos!
The office was on an upper floor of a well-maintained, but older building near Hannam market. Upon gazing out the window, I discovered that the neighborhood, though quiet and dignified by day, clearly had a shadier side. The telltale double barberpoles were in clear evidence along the side street, and across the street was a rather loudly (in English and Hang'ul) advertised sign for an STD clinic. "Well, we are near Itaewon," I thought.
After exhausting my resources with the magazines and newspaper on the table, I idly gazed around the room for something to do. Suddenly, my eyes stopped. Amazed, I moved over to the window to get a better look at the literature that had arrested my eyes. "Botox," I read. The pamphlet, upon a quick scan, gave a list of the healthy and positive benefits of the procedure, and urged it upon everyone who was feeling a bit elderly. Upon futher examination, I discovered that the ob/gyn clinic also offered Botox treatments.
"Well, I guess it is not so crazy an idea; after all, it is mostly women who have that procedure done, but it did seem like an odd combination of multi-tasking:
"Get your PAP Smear, STD test, and Botox all in one visit! No pain no gain!"
Maybe it is better to get it all done in one shot, so to speak. Of course, the clinic also deals with prenatal care, so a little postpartum Botox might be just the ticket after a long night up with the baby..."
As I sat there sleepily contemplating these thoughts, my friend came out to wait some more. As we sat there, blearily staring at the newspaper, a commotion entered the lobby. The strangest looking Korean woman I have ever seen burst loudly into the room, accompanied by a more sedately attired younger woman.
The first thing that impressed me about the woman was that she was very tall. Her face was shaded by a large cloche-style hat with a crimson geranium sewn to the crown. Her extreme height was easily explained by her slender, excessively spiked high-heeled boots. The woman had the longest, and most beautiful legs I have ever seen on a woman. Her extraordinary limbs were thinly covered by black fishnet hose, her skirt barely decently covering her elongated expanse of leg. Her blouse was cut low, but just on the right side of decent. A fringe of frizzy and poorly bleached blonde hair peaked out from underneath her headgear. Her hat slipped a little, and I saw with some amazement that she was far from a young woman, moreover, she was probably in her fifties. Her skin had the tight, too-many-face-lifts aspect to it. She held an ice-pack carelessly to her nose. At first, I thought the ice pack was for a beating, given the woman's obvious profession. It later occured to me that she probably had a Botox treatment. A loud and course voice boomed out from her triangular-shaped face, in broken English,
"Men only want one thing, I tell you. Did I tell you what that bastard did to me last night...."
The woman proceded to list a long list of all things wrong with her "boyfriend," men, and the world to her long-suffering companion. The performance was clearly partially for our benefit, as much of the monologue was rendered in English - Lord, knows, she was loud enough. At one point, the woman took the "Entertainment" section of the paper, and began to regale her "audience" with reading the Sex Advice column, and chortling loudly and ostentatiously over a 70-year-old man who "perfumed the bed sheets" every night to get his wife in the mood. My friend and I looked at each other sideways, but then had to look away from each other to avoid giggling over this spectacle. She switched fluidly from ghetto English to Korean, often starting sentences in one language and finishing in the other. She finally quieted down, then went to the nurse manning the phones. She said something low and meaningful in Korean; I would have given anything to know what she said, because the erstwhile receptionist turned bright red and burst out in incredulous laughter. It must have been pretty choice to make an ob/gyn nurse blush...
My friend went back to her appointment, and I was left alone in the lobby with this strange woman. She clearly wanted someone to notice her; I am not sure why I held back. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her - about her profession, her life, Korean men, Korean women...Here was my opportunity to find out from an insider. Somehow, though, I lacked the courage. Moreover, a great pity overtook my senses, as I contemplated the great trials that this woman must have undergone in her profession. I was overwhelmed with a great love for this sad and lonely creature. Inside I knew, however, that speaking to her would only feed her need for attention, and I did not relish the thought of entangling myself in the life of one pursuing "Mrs. Warren's Profession." I stayed silent, and avoided eye contact.
Instead, I turned my focus to her companion. The younger woman, as I said earlier, was sedately and somberly dressed, all in black. Her face had a slightly hard-edged look, especially around the eyes, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about her appearance. Althoguh clearly embarrased by the older woman, there was a strange sort of long-suffering respect in her attitude. When the older woman got too loud, the younger woman spoke soothingly to her. She made sure her charge was comfortable and well-cared-for by the staff.
The young woman had an air of assurance normally associated with the well-educated. Her English was exceptionally good as she conversed with the nurses, so I was rather startled when she referred to the woman as "Oma." I thought I had misheard, so I began eavesdropping on their conversation. The older woman was rattling on, albeit in a quieter voice, to the young woman. The woman looked slightly embarrassed, so I can only imagine the theme of the conversation. Then I heard it again, this time in shocked English,
"Mama!"
Apparently, the older woman was the mother of the younger woman. There was very little trace of the older in the younger generation's face, except about the hardened eyes. Botox and plastic surgery, presumably, had erased all other traces between this strange mother-daughter team. I wondered what her father looked like, as she was very pretty in her own natural way, then wondered if she even knew who her father was. My pity shifted to the younger woman, who was clearly the caretaker of the elder. She will probably never be able to marry. Koreans children take care of their parents at all costs. Seldom do they abandon them to public charity, although in extreme cases, it does happen. Still, what a life she must have!
Botox pushing aside, the clinic itself provides excellent care. The doctor gives well-explained literature out on most female-related illnesses and concerns, and, I have been told, very detailed and instructive information to her patients. I was further assured when I saw many waygooks coming in and out of her clinic with satisfaction on their faces. I have the doctor's business card, and have no hesitation about making my regular check-up appointment in March. If anyone besides family and friends staying in the Seoul area wants her information, feel free to send me an email and I will give it to you.
During the last week of November, I accompanied a friend to Dr. S's Women's Clinic (name changed to protect the innocent) for some test results. Dr. S specializes in ob/gyn matters, and her name came up through a complex web of referrals (as I understand it). The expat community in Seoul is very spread out, but word of mouth gets around. You see, women's matters are not generally an area of specialty considered necessary by the average Korean woman because they are simply not discussed. Some of the information that does leak out can be very silly. Dog and cat meat, for example, increases sexual stamina among older men. Jumping up and down after the act keeps a girl from getting pregnant. And, my favorite one, compliments of one of the sixth graders, is that teenagers are not physically capable of getting pregnant. He genuinely did not believe that Maya Angelou got pregnant at age 16.
The abortion rate has been (rather extremely, I'd say) estimated to be about 80% among sexually active women (estimated conservatively at about 30% single females). The irony is, birth control is easily obtained OVER THE COUNTER. No prescription is needed. Purely on a fact-finding mission, I asked about and verified this at my local pharmacy. Of course, the ladies behind the counter have been giving me the fish eye since then; in restrospect, I probably should have gone to a pharmacy where I was not known! I was made to feel guilty just by asking the question (they know I am unmarried). Korean men eschew condoms (I will have to take that one on faith!)so it is highly likely that women do have to make visits of shame. A rather Westernized Korean man I know spoke of a certain clinic at Jeju Island (a resort) where dark limosines carrying certain well-known Korean female celebrities have been known to drop off their eye-shaded passengers...
Dr. S's office was very pleasantly lighted, with plenty of reading material and soothing classical music piping over the loudspeakers. The waiting area chairs and couches were surprisingly comfortable, and, after a very late night and early morning, I found myself fighting to stay awake. The nurses and receptionists, as well as the doctor, spoke excellent English, and seemed to be exceptionally well-organized. This is a rarity in Korean health care; more often than not, it is barely organized chaos!
The office was on an upper floor of a well-maintained, but older building near Hannam market. Upon gazing out the window, I discovered that the neighborhood, though quiet and dignified by day, clearly had a shadier side. The telltale double barberpoles were in clear evidence along the side street, and across the street was a rather loudly (in English and Hang'ul) advertised sign for an STD clinic. "Well, we are near Itaewon," I thought.
After exhausting my resources with the magazines and newspaper on the table, I idly gazed around the room for something to do. Suddenly, my eyes stopped. Amazed, I moved over to the window to get a better look at the literature that had arrested my eyes. "Botox," I read. The pamphlet, upon a quick scan, gave a list of the healthy and positive benefits of the procedure, and urged it upon everyone who was feeling a bit elderly. Upon futher examination, I discovered that the ob/gyn clinic also offered Botox treatments.
"Well, I guess it is not so crazy an idea; after all, it is mostly women who have that procedure done, but it did seem like an odd combination of multi-tasking:
"Get your PAP Smear, STD test, and Botox all in one visit! No pain no gain!"
Maybe it is better to get it all done in one shot, so to speak. Of course, the clinic also deals with prenatal care, so a little postpartum Botox might be just the ticket after a long night up with the baby..."
As I sat there sleepily contemplating these thoughts, my friend came out to wait some more. As we sat there, blearily staring at the newspaper, a commotion entered the lobby. The strangest looking Korean woman I have ever seen burst loudly into the room, accompanied by a more sedately attired younger woman.
The first thing that impressed me about the woman was that she was very tall. Her face was shaded by a large cloche-style hat with a crimson geranium sewn to the crown. Her extreme height was easily explained by her slender, excessively spiked high-heeled boots. The woman had the longest, and most beautiful legs I have ever seen on a woman. Her extraordinary limbs were thinly covered by black fishnet hose, her skirt barely decently covering her elongated expanse of leg. Her blouse was cut low, but just on the right side of decent. A fringe of frizzy and poorly bleached blonde hair peaked out from underneath her headgear. Her hat slipped a little, and I saw with some amazement that she was far from a young woman, moreover, she was probably in her fifties. Her skin had the tight, too-many-face-lifts aspect to it. She held an ice-pack carelessly to her nose. At first, I thought the ice pack was for a beating, given the woman's obvious profession. It later occured to me that she probably had a Botox treatment. A loud and course voice boomed out from her triangular-shaped face, in broken English,
"Men only want one thing, I tell you. Did I tell you what that bastard did to me last night...."
The woman proceded to list a long list of all things wrong with her "boyfriend," men, and the world to her long-suffering companion. The performance was clearly partially for our benefit, as much of the monologue was rendered in English - Lord, knows, she was loud enough. At one point, the woman took the "Entertainment" section of the paper, and began to regale her "audience" with reading the Sex Advice column, and chortling loudly and ostentatiously over a 70-year-old man who "perfumed the bed sheets" every night to get his wife in the mood. My friend and I looked at each other sideways, but then had to look away from each other to avoid giggling over this spectacle. She switched fluidly from ghetto English to Korean, often starting sentences in one language and finishing in the other. She finally quieted down, then went to the nurse manning the phones. She said something low and meaningful in Korean; I would have given anything to know what she said, because the erstwhile receptionist turned bright red and burst out in incredulous laughter. It must have been pretty choice to make an ob/gyn nurse blush...
My friend went back to her appointment, and I was left alone in the lobby with this strange woman. She clearly wanted someone to notice her; I am not sure why I held back. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her - about her profession, her life, Korean men, Korean women...Here was my opportunity to find out from an insider. Somehow, though, I lacked the courage. Moreover, a great pity overtook my senses, as I contemplated the great trials that this woman must have undergone in her profession. I was overwhelmed with a great love for this sad and lonely creature. Inside I knew, however, that speaking to her would only feed her need for attention, and I did not relish the thought of entangling myself in the life of one pursuing "Mrs. Warren's Profession." I stayed silent, and avoided eye contact.
Instead, I turned my focus to her companion. The younger woman, as I said earlier, was sedately and somberly dressed, all in black. Her face had a slightly hard-edged look, especially around the eyes, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about her appearance. Althoguh clearly embarrased by the older woman, there was a strange sort of long-suffering respect in her attitude. When the older woman got too loud, the younger woman spoke soothingly to her. She made sure her charge was comfortable and well-cared-for by the staff.
The young woman had an air of assurance normally associated with the well-educated. Her English was exceptionally good as she conversed with the nurses, so I was rather startled when she referred to the woman as "Oma." I thought I had misheard, so I began eavesdropping on their conversation. The older woman was rattling on, albeit in a quieter voice, to the young woman. The woman looked slightly embarrassed, so I can only imagine the theme of the conversation. Then I heard it again, this time in shocked English,
"Mama!"
Apparently, the older woman was the mother of the younger woman. There was very little trace of the older in the younger generation's face, except about the hardened eyes. Botox and plastic surgery, presumably, had erased all other traces between this strange mother-daughter team. I wondered what her father looked like, as she was very pretty in her own natural way, then wondered if she even knew who her father was. My pity shifted to the younger woman, who was clearly the caretaker of the elder. She will probably never be able to marry. Koreans children take care of their parents at all costs. Seldom do they abandon them to public charity, although in extreme cases, it does happen. Still, what a life she must have!
Botox pushing aside, the clinic itself provides excellent care. The doctor gives well-explained literature out on most female-related illnesses and concerns, and, I have been told, very detailed and instructive information to her patients. I was further assured when I saw many waygooks coming in and out of her clinic with satisfaction on their faces. I have the doctor's business card, and have no hesitation about making my regular check-up appointment in March. If anyone besides family and friends staying in the Seoul area wants her information, feel free to send me an email and I will give it to you.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
JOURNAL: Hindang
"Who are the people in your neighborhood?" Sesame Street
THE WHITE DOG
Last week, as I was walking home from work, I saw something moving in and among the garbage sacks behind the school. Curious, I went over to investigate. It was a beautiful white dog, with pale tan spots on his shanks and hindquarters, and he was digging in the garbage. He was a little, but well-built thing, and I recognized him as a pure-bred Korean dog; I have seen them all over the place, but do not know what the breed is called. They are a gentle, loyal, but not overly "dog-like" dog; they are more cat like in that they are very particular as to whom they associate with. The dog seemed vaguely familiar, and I wondered if he was one of the ones I saw daily on my trek to work. I also mentally cursed the people who could abandon such a lovely animal. He was slightly dirty, but did not seem undernourished or sick.
The dog did not seem alarmed at my presence, so I drew closer, and cautiously put out my gloved fist for him. He gave me a rather indifferent "sniff over," then went back to rummaging. His body leaned into to my petting and scratching, but his nose was too busy to acknowledge me personally. I wondered again who had abandoned such a lovely and docile creature.
As I was giving him attention, a man stepped shyly out of the shadows. He appeared to be searching for something. He saw the dog, and came over. I absentmindedly asked, in English, if it was his dog. To my surprise, he answered me in English. It was NOT his dog, but he knew the dog. It was a street dog, and the man had come to give it shelter and food for the night. I recognized the man as working at one of the shops on my route, and suddenly realized that this was the dog that sometimes sleeps in front of the shop. Intrigued, I asked how the shop had acquired the dog.
It seems the dog had been found wandering around the streets some months ago. The shop men had noticed it, but no one could approach it. One day, they found the dog cowering in the back of the shop. They coaxed it out, and cleaned it up. In their spare moments, the shop men had built a dog house (heated!) and began to feed the animal. The man sheepishly admitted that the dog even had a sweater! I wondered if the man had knitted it himself...He seemed very fond of the dog. The dog became accustomed to humans again over time.
The man picked up the little white canine, who snuggled into his down jacket contentedly. I asked the man what the dog's name was. The man blushed and giggled, replying,
"Huindang."
I asked a Korean friend later what it meant, and he laughed and said it meant "white dog."
Huindang apparently remembered me the next morning. On my way to my pre-work sandwich shop, I saw him and the "shop boys" lounging around outside. Huindang came up to me, gave me a few delicate sniffs, and wagged his tail. He then gently nibbled my fingers in a mock play tug-of-war. I gently coaxed him to jump up and nip my fist a few times, and after a few final pats and head scritches, began to walk away. Huindang, like many dogs in Seoul, is not leashed, so he began to follow me. He followed me all the way down to the door of the sandwich shop,amusing his caretakers greatly, but I did not let him follow me inside. He was still in the area when I came back out 20 minutes later.
There is something endearing about a country where people care for even a humble street dog.
THE WHITE DOG
Last week, as I was walking home from work, I saw something moving in and among the garbage sacks behind the school. Curious, I went over to investigate. It was a beautiful white dog, with pale tan spots on his shanks and hindquarters, and he was digging in the garbage. He was a little, but well-built thing, and I recognized him as a pure-bred Korean dog; I have seen them all over the place, but do not know what the breed is called. They are a gentle, loyal, but not overly "dog-like" dog; they are more cat like in that they are very particular as to whom they associate with. The dog seemed vaguely familiar, and I wondered if he was one of the ones I saw daily on my trek to work. I also mentally cursed the people who could abandon such a lovely animal. He was slightly dirty, but did not seem undernourished or sick.
The dog did not seem alarmed at my presence, so I drew closer, and cautiously put out my gloved fist for him. He gave me a rather indifferent "sniff over," then went back to rummaging. His body leaned into to my petting and scratching, but his nose was too busy to acknowledge me personally. I wondered again who had abandoned such a lovely and docile creature.
As I was giving him attention, a man stepped shyly out of the shadows. He appeared to be searching for something. He saw the dog, and came over. I absentmindedly asked, in English, if it was his dog. To my surprise, he answered me in English. It was NOT his dog, but he knew the dog. It was a street dog, and the man had come to give it shelter and food for the night. I recognized the man as working at one of the shops on my route, and suddenly realized that this was the dog that sometimes sleeps in front of the shop. Intrigued, I asked how the shop had acquired the dog.
It seems the dog had been found wandering around the streets some months ago. The shop men had noticed it, but no one could approach it. One day, they found the dog cowering in the back of the shop. They coaxed it out, and cleaned it up. In their spare moments, the shop men had built a dog house (heated!) and began to feed the animal. The man sheepishly admitted that the dog even had a sweater! I wondered if the man had knitted it himself...He seemed very fond of the dog. The dog became accustomed to humans again over time.
The man picked up the little white canine, who snuggled into his down jacket contentedly. I asked the man what the dog's name was. The man blushed and giggled, replying,
"Huindang."
I asked a Korean friend later what it meant, and he laughed and said it meant "white dog."
Huindang apparently remembered me the next morning. On my way to my pre-work sandwich shop, I saw him and the "shop boys" lounging around outside. Huindang came up to me, gave me a few delicate sniffs, and wagged his tail. He then gently nibbled my fingers in a mock play tug-of-war. I gently coaxed him to jump up and nip my fist a few times, and after a few final pats and head scritches, began to walk away. Huindang, like many dogs in Seoul, is not leashed, so he began to follow me. He followed me all the way down to the door of the sandwich shop,amusing his caretakers greatly, but I did not let him follow me inside. He was still in the area when I came back out 20 minutes later.
There is something endearing about a country where people care for even a humble street dog.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Out of Commission
I apoligize for my lack of posts - I have been ill and very busy. I will begin posting weekly again after Wednesday.
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