THE CINEMA
Over the holidays, in search of novelty, I decided that I would go to see a Chinese musical (subtitled in Korean). The muscial, oddly enough, was phonetically spelled, in Korean, as "Perhaps Love," and had been heavliy advertised on Korean television. My curiosity was piqued, so I made my first foray into solo movie going.
I entered the theatre and discovered that the lobby was packed. Not only that, but there were many, many lines to choose from. There was an autoticket machine (all in Korean), a line to the pick-up window, and a "take a number" system pertaining to one of the numerous line-choices. There were electronic marquees with movie times listed, as well as a number flashing next ot the time in green. When the number got below ten, it turned red. I finally figured out that this number corresponded to the number of tickets left. Very clever; they should adopt this in the United States to save a lot of headache.
With some trepidation, I approached the "Information" counter. The "Information" counters in most businesses has the title spelled out in English, however most of the time all of the written material is in Korean. It is also the luck of the draw as to whether the clerk will speak or understand English. This one did, and was able to point me to the right, and as it turned out, shortest, line.
I got my ticket quickly and cheaply. My seat row and number were clearly printed on my ticket, and the auditorium number was boldly marked so as not to leave any doubt. Apparently in Korea, they use the European system of cinema seating. I wandered around aimlessly in my attempt to find the auditorium; there were no obvious signs, and it was only fifteen minutes until showtime. I found a "you are here" map, but it was, of course, in Korean. I saw the numbers corresponding to the auditoriums, and went down a narrow hallway where people were seated, apparently waiting for their movies. The doors were not marked, but I could hear movie sounds from behind the doors. I counted off seven doors from the front, and sat down, waiting.
As I waited, one movie let out, and the crowd spilled into the hallway. Something seemed a little weird, so I tentatively asked an intellectual-looking woman in English where my movie was. She looked at my ticket, then pointed me down the hall and back where I came from. I followed her directions; in the lobby, I then noticed a group of people waiting on a "pretentious modern art" staircase built for no apparent purpose other than sitting. There was a woman taking tickets at the top, but strangely, no line. Now feeling like a complete idiot, I cautiously approached the ticket lady. She politely turned me away, and pointed to the electronic sign above her head. The sign finally flashed my movie five minutes before it began, and in an orderly fashion, we filed in.
The seats were wonderfully cushioned and large, with just one minor flaw - they were spaced like airline seats. Yes, I am talking knee-cap smacking, leg room crunching, airline seats. There was even the half an inch reclining room!
After the movie, in orderly fashion, we filed out. The seats by the window in the outer hallway offered a breathtaking view of the Olympic Bridge and the Han River. The movie had been beautiful and romantic, even if I had to go by myself.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
NOTES: The SOS Kitchen
I was going to blog about going to the movies in Korea, but I will save that for the next time.I have just had a very close call and I am pretty shaky. You see, Emerald Lady has discovered that she really cannot cook. The fresh burn marks and soot around the stove can heartily attest to this. Actually, I think it is God's sense of humor; I think the Sign was a little excessive, but it drove home the point. It all started with dead chickens.
On Monday, I left work at about 9:05 p.m., and hailed a taxi to get to E-mart before it closed at 10:00p.m. E-mart is Korea's answer to K-mart, but with a reasonably large supermarket in the basement. I don't like going there, as it is always crowded and a little messy, but it is cheap and close by. The supermarket is divided much like American supermarkets - dairy, meat, etc, but a little more pigeon-holed. Added to this are oversolicitous salespeople at each station, hawking their goods. They tend to be a little aggressive, so I have to shop by stealth to avoid notice; this is not easy, as I glow-in-the-dark. I just wait until they are busy with someone else, and take quick sneak peaks to find my item. But I digress.
I had to go get some other necessities, so I started on the fifth floor to get camera batteries. No one would wait on me. I moved on to the coffeemakers, and found one I really liked, but there were no more for sale. The "We are closing" message began blaring, so I quickly marched down to the market. I looked over towards the meat department and saw an opening. With elbows akimbo and eyes peeled, I bowled over to the poultry section. I saw ONE package of chicken breasts left, grabbed it, and then got in line. As I stood in line, I had second thoughts about my chickens. There was no noticeable date on the package, and in Korea they do not keep meat very cold in the markets. It looked ok, and didn't smell "off," but I was still a little nervous...I bought the meat anyway (for 5500 Won) and put it immediately in the freezer when I got home.
Tonight, I decided to cook it. I took the meat out, thawed it most of the way, and cubed it. The meat was two days old when I got it (marked Jan 14, 2006 under the wrapper) and, although there were some blood spots, I decided it was probably all right. I let the meat thaw some more in some water as I chopped up some garlic, ginger root, carrots and broccoli. I turned the gas burner on what I presumed to be medium because my recipe said to make the oil hot. I had used the recipe before, but it had taken forever to cook the chicken because the oil had not been hot enough. I tested the oil frequently until it was hot but not boiling. I should explain that my gas range is always a mystery, and has no markings for low, medium, or high. I usually cook things that BOIL, so it is generally not a problem. I stupidly assumed that the middle of the nob was medium. Therein was my mistake.
When the oil was reasonably hot, I tossed the chicken/garlic/ginger combo in the pan, and KABLAAMMM!!!!! Well, it wasn't quite kablaam, because I stepped back when a small flame suddenly appeared in the pan. I turned the heat off, and as I stepped away and went for the cupboard, hoping I had some salt, I heard a popping noise and then KABLAAMMMMM! Two foot..three foot..four foot tall flames shot out of the pan and up into the air in a volatile, but fortunately narrow, column. Oil was spattering everywhere, even landing on some utility bills lying three feet away on my little kitchen sideboard. Fortunately, they did not ignite. As I stared in horror at what I had done, a strange mixture of several thoughts went through my mind in that instant:
A) Will John (the office manager) dock my paycheck for setting my kitchen on fire?
B) What a stupid way to die.
C) Should I wake up Scott (my coworker/neighbor) and get help?
D) What a lousy wife I would make.
E) At least my hair is not on fire.
The fire extinguished itself very quickly without my help, which was quite fortunate, as I did not have salt or baking soda on hand. On reflection, it was probably the water from the not-quite-thawed out chicken that caused the fire. I stupidly though that since oil and water didn't mix, it wouldn't be a problem. Guess I was wrong.
I took the pan off the burner when I thought it was safe. Being Teflon, it is, of course, not damaged at all. There are soot stains on my walls, ceiling, and cupboards, but I think they will come off easily. The oil spatter, however, is going to be a bit of a headache to scape down. I considered trying to cook the meat again (which had never even made it to the pan, just the water), but decided that this was God's way of telling me the chicken was bad. Accordingly, I threw the whole mess in a recycling bag and put it out on the street.
So, the moral of the story? I don't know exactly what it is. Here are my NOTES:
I am a twenty-nine year old woman who cannot, for the life of her, master range-top cooking. Everything I make is overcooked or undercooked. All the cooking I know well requires an oven or a microwave, neither of which I have. Korea is a modern country in many ways, but the ajumas hold to their own ways of doing things, and I cannot discover the mysterious ways of coping with tempermental ranges. I have NEVER had to cook with oil; I always used PAM or margarine, neither of which are easily obtainable here.
Why can I not cook? Why did I never learn homestyle cooking? There is very little in the way of processed food here, so it is back to basics. But what exactly are the basics? Even in Home Ec. classes we took "shortcuts." This is a failing of my generation. I found myself silently resenting the time it took to cut up garlic, carrots, and ginger, then laughed at myself for being so lazy. Well, maybe lazy isn't the word - I had worked a full and difficult day (looking after other people's kids) and just want something to be "easy." How do soccer moms do it?
Items B and D really rankle with me, because it is true that, for better or worse, women have to cook. I hate cooking, hate cleaning, and hate doing housework. I would rather be out in the world among people. I have never lived with a man, but those who have tell me they do all of these things and more...without even a ring sometimes for their efforts. Even with a ring, the thought is still distasteful. I guess it is necessary though. I don't know...
I do try to improve my cooking skills in fits and starts, but this one could have killed me! Trooper that I am (some would call it obstinate), I was all ready to try again...until I saw all the oil splatter, and decided oil and natural gas from my range probably were not a very good combo either. So, I am sitting here, eating an orange, a few pieces of candy from my "visitor" jar, and contemplating getting up to make a PBJ...How pathetic, I sound like a bachelor!
I still have the untouched broccoli and carrots in my refrigerator, so tomorrow, I plan to go and get some FRESH chicken to try again (after I degrease the range). I think I will buy a microwave this weekend, expensive though it may be.
So, any of you church ladies (or gentlemen?) out there reading my blog know how to cook with oil without setting the kitchen on fire? I could use some good advice or basic recipes that can be made (without margarine or PAM) on a glorified hotplate...
On Monday, I left work at about 9:05 p.m., and hailed a taxi to get to E-mart before it closed at 10:00p.m. E-mart is Korea's answer to K-mart, but with a reasonably large supermarket in the basement. I don't like going there, as it is always crowded and a little messy, but it is cheap and close by. The supermarket is divided much like American supermarkets - dairy, meat, etc, but a little more pigeon-holed. Added to this are oversolicitous salespeople at each station, hawking their goods. They tend to be a little aggressive, so I have to shop by stealth to avoid notice; this is not easy, as I glow-in-the-dark. I just wait until they are busy with someone else, and take quick sneak peaks to find my item. But I digress.
I had to go get some other necessities, so I started on the fifth floor to get camera batteries. No one would wait on me. I moved on to the coffeemakers, and found one I really liked, but there were no more for sale. The "We are closing" message began blaring, so I quickly marched down to the market. I looked over towards the meat department and saw an opening. With elbows akimbo and eyes peeled, I bowled over to the poultry section. I saw ONE package of chicken breasts left, grabbed it, and then got in line. As I stood in line, I had second thoughts about my chickens. There was no noticeable date on the package, and in Korea they do not keep meat very cold in the markets. It looked ok, and didn't smell "off," but I was still a little nervous...I bought the meat anyway (for 5500 Won) and put it immediately in the freezer when I got home.
Tonight, I decided to cook it. I took the meat out, thawed it most of the way, and cubed it. The meat was two days old when I got it (marked Jan 14, 2006 under the wrapper) and, although there were some blood spots, I decided it was probably all right. I let the meat thaw some more in some water as I chopped up some garlic, ginger root, carrots and broccoli. I turned the gas burner on what I presumed to be medium because my recipe said to make the oil hot. I had used the recipe before, but it had taken forever to cook the chicken because the oil had not been hot enough. I tested the oil frequently until it was hot but not boiling. I should explain that my gas range is always a mystery, and has no markings for low, medium, or high. I usually cook things that BOIL, so it is generally not a problem. I stupidly assumed that the middle of the nob was medium. Therein was my mistake.
When the oil was reasonably hot, I tossed the chicken/garlic/ginger combo in the pan, and KABLAAMMM!!!!! Well, it wasn't quite kablaam, because I stepped back when a small flame suddenly appeared in the pan. I turned the heat off, and as I stepped away and went for the cupboard, hoping I had some salt, I heard a popping noise and then KABLAAMMMMM! Two foot..three foot..four foot tall flames shot out of the pan and up into the air in a volatile, but fortunately narrow, column. Oil was spattering everywhere, even landing on some utility bills lying three feet away on my little kitchen sideboard. Fortunately, they did not ignite. As I stared in horror at what I had done, a strange mixture of several thoughts went through my mind in that instant:
A) Will John (the office manager) dock my paycheck for setting my kitchen on fire?
B) What a stupid way to die.
C) Should I wake up Scott (my coworker/neighbor) and get help?
D) What a lousy wife I would make.
E) At least my hair is not on fire.
The fire extinguished itself very quickly without my help, which was quite fortunate, as I did not have salt or baking soda on hand. On reflection, it was probably the water from the not-quite-thawed out chicken that caused the fire. I stupidly though that since oil and water didn't mix, it wouldn't be a problem. Guess I was wrong.
I took the pan off the burner when I thought it was safe. Being Teflon, it is, of course, not damaged at all. There are soot stains on my walls, ceiling, and cupboards, but I think they will come off easily. The oil spatter, however, is going to be a bit of a headache to scape down. I considered trying to cook the meat again (which had never even made it to the pan, just the water), but decided that this was God's way of telling me the chicken was bad. Accordingly, I threw the whole mess in a recycling bag and put it out on the street.
So, the moral of the story? I don't know exactly what it is. Here are my NOTES:
I am a twenty-nine year old woman who cannot, for the life of her, master range-top cooking. Everything I make is overcooked or undercooked. All the cooking I know well requires an oven or a microwave, neither of which I have. Korea is a modern country in many ways, but the ajumas hold to their own ways of doing things, and I cannot discover the mysterious ways of coping with tempermental ranges. I have NEVER had to cook with oil; I always used PAM or margarine, neither of which are easily obtainable here.
Why can I not cook? Why did I never learn homestyle cooking? There is very little in the way of processed food here, so it is back to basics. But what exactly are the basics? Even in Home Ec. classes we took "shortcuts." This is a failing of my generation. I found myself silently resenting the time it took to cut up garlic, carrots, and ginger, then laughed at myself for being so lazy. Well, maybe lazy isn't the word - I had worked a full and difficult day (looking after other people's kids) and just want something to be "easy." How do soccer moms do it?
Items B and D really rankle with me, because it is true that, for better or worse, women have to cook. I hate cooking, hate cleaning, and hate doing housework. I would rather be out in the world among people. I have never lived with a man, but those who have tell me they do all of these things and more...without even a ring sometimes for their efforts. Even with a ring, the thought is still distasteful. I guess it is necessary though. I don't know...
I do try to improve my cooking skills in fits and starts, but this one could have killed me! Trooper that I am (some would call it obstinate), I was all ready to try again...until I saw all the oil splatter, and decided oil and natural gas from my range probably were not a very good combo either. So, I am sitting here, eating an orange, a few pieces of candy from my "visitor" jar, and contemplating getting up to make a PBJ...How pathetic, I sound like a bachelor!
I still have the untouched broccoli and carrots in my refrigerator, so tomorrow, I plan to go and get some FRESH chicken to try again (after I degrease the range). I think I will buy a microwave this weekend, expensive though it may be.
So, any of you church ladies (or gentlemen?) out there reading my blog know how to cook with oil without setting the kitchen on fire? I could use some good advice or basic recipes that can be made (without margarine or PAM) on a glorified hotplate...
Thursday, January 12, 2006
JOURNAL: New Year's Eve Part II
The next day was December 31st, and I decided to show my brother some of the sights around town. Even though it is against my principles to cater to tourist traps,
I took him to Itaewon to get his custom-tailored suit made. He first bought a nice leather jacket, which he believed made him look like a 1970s mobster (it did, especially with his black beanie!). The lady at the shop got it altered for him, and gave him a good deal because she thought he was cute.
At the tailor shop we chose, the tailor turned out to be exceptionally good. He broguht out a beatiful grey wool-cashmere blend fabric from deep within a pile of lengths; the fact that he did this told me that he really liked us, because true artists are picky as to who they will sell their services to. The quality of fabric was truly remarkable. He then called in the ladies, who had great fun measuring my brother's broad shoulders and large girth. One of the ladies playfully lay her head against his back, saying, "Oooo, so strong!" My brother is completely oblivious to this sort of thing, but I was highly amused at the flutter he made with the ladies. If he had played his cards right, I later thought, he might have gotten an even better discount.
We then went to the U.S. Army Base to check out the comissary. We bought Cheerios and that was about it. We then headed towards Seoul Tower, which had just re-opened. We hiked up a long hill from the subway, and stood at the foot of the cable car lift. The line was very long and slow-moving, and we fast grew impatient. I saw some paved stairs cut into the mountain (Mt. Namsan), and as they appeared to lead straight to the Tower, foolishly suggested we take them up the mountain. What the brush and trees hid was hundreds and hundreds of stairs, switch-backs, and steep inclines. It took about an hour to reach the top, and by that time, my knee was in bad shape. The wait to go up the elevator turned out to be an hour and a half, so we wearily resolved to come back another day.
We stopped at a small hof with a lovely view on our way down. The food was a rather interesting blend of East meets West. The "pork cutlet" was heavily breaded with a ketchup sauce carelessly sprinkled over it. The salad was drowning in an interesting blend of mustard and thousand island dressing, and included lettuce, cherries, and some sort of cabbage. There was also the ubiquitous kimchi.
We then saw that the line for returning by cable car was shorter. We took it down the mountain side, even though it was dark and we couldn't see much. We returned to my apartment and rested before the big shindig downtown...
At 9:15 p.m., we took the subway to Jongguk where the festivities were being held. It is Seoul tradition for certain citizens, elected by the city, to ring the Jonggak bell. It is a large heavy bell that has been restored and replaced where it was before the Japanese tried to blow it up. The bell is hit from the side by an enormous battering ram; the ram is suspended by ropes from teh ceiling of the pagoda and guided by thirteen people to hit the bell. The bell is rung 33 times on the New Year because 33 is a lucky number. This is, for Seoul, Time Square and the drop of the ball.
As we walked through the underground, we saw to our dismay that there were police guarding all of the exits and not letting people pass. We walked and walked, and as we neared the last few exits, a noticeable smell of gunpowder permeated the hallways. I nervously wondered if someone had gotten "creative" with the firecrackers in the underground. Finally, they let us go out exit 12, and as we emerged, all hell broke loose.
As I peered through the heavy smoke and covered my nose, I saw shooting stars of fire exploding noisily in the air. I had never seen this type of firework before, and the imp that lives in the back of my head began singing "And the rocket's red glare/The bombs bursting in air." As soon as I could see clearly, I noticed that the shooting fire was coming from long sticks held in peoples' hands. There were thousands of people holding these noisy and dangerous toys, and I found myself dodging more than once. So what were these fire sticks? Well, they are items that have been banned in most places of the United States for many years (hence why I had never seen them). These, I learned, were Roman candles.
As I contemplated my new knowledge, I noticed that there were men hurriedly unloading boxes of these scary torches. No money appeared to be changing hands; I later learned that most of them were compliments of the Seoul Metropolitan Government! That shows an incredible trust in the public I think. Can you imagine that happening in New York, a smaller city? I began to relax when I realized that most people knew how to handle these things. No one got hurt that night, which, given the crush of people, is amazing. Then, a random stranger pressed one into my brother's hand and lit it! My brother hurriedly stuck it up in the air like he was the Statue of Liberty ,whereupon it began to emit fireballs at the sky. The man tried to give me one, but I absolutely refused to take it. He shrugged and handed it to his next victim ... a little kid.
There were large screens showing events near the bell itself, and, like an idiot, I joined the crowd watching the screen. I noted the police barricade, and drew closer. I got transfixed by the screen, then suddenly realized the crowd was moving and I was moving with it. My hands were, once again, pinned to my sides, and people began to press me in from all directions. I took a deep breath, girding myself for a battle to get out, and a disembodied arm slammed right into my belly. I exhaled in shock, and then panicked when I could't take anouther deep breath. I felt an increasingly intense pressure on my back, my sides, and my front as I battled for air and space. I couldn't see my feet or lower torso, as I am about average height for a Korean. I could only see ahead. I let the crowd carry me for awhile as my much taller brother battled to get me out of there. We came to the sidewalk, and I found the curb with my toe. I took a leap of faith and a blind guess as to how high the curb was, and only stumbled a little. Finally, I was free.
The fireworks were still going on over my head; even more people came as midnight approached. Some traditional drummers wove in and out of the less crowded areas, festively frolicking and banging their native drums. They were in street clothes, but the crowd enjoyed their antics. I recognized some of the drum beats and movements of the dance as being related to the Chinese New Year Dragon customs and wondered what the connection, if any, was.
At midnight, as expected, a great yell went up. The bell boomed loudly as REAL fireworks went off in the sky. Of course, the good citizens of Seoul had been saving the best for last, as millions of Roman candles reappeared and shot off their glory at the same time. The air was very thick and smoky; it was raining ash but it was as light as day. My brother shot excellent video footage of some of these incredible events (my camera batteries were dead, so the photos I have posted are from his camera).
We had surprisingly little trouble getting home, and collapsed the minute we entered the apartment.
I took him to Itaewon to get his custom-tailored suit made. He first bought a nice leather jacket, which he believed made him look like a 1970s mobster (it did, especially with his black beanie!). The lady at the shop got it altered for him, and gave him a good deal because she thought he was cute.
At the tailor shop we chose, the tailor turned out to be exceptionally good. He broguht out a beatiful grey wool-cashmere blend fabric from deep within a pile of lengths; the fact that he did this told me that he really liked us, because true artists are picky as to who they will sell their services to. The quality of fabric was truly remarkable. He then called in the ladies, who had great fun measuring my brother's broad shoulders and large girth. One of the ladies playfully lay her head against his back, saying, "Oooo, so strong!" My brother is completely oblivious to this sort of thing, but I was highly amused at the flutter he made with the ladies. If he had played his cards right, I later thought, he might have gotten an even better discount.
We then went to the U.S. Army Base to check out the comissary. We bought Cheerios and that was about it. We then headed towards Seoul Tower, which had just re-opened. We hiked up a long hill from the subway, and stood at the foot of the cable car lift. The line was very long and slow-moving, and we fast grew impatient. I saw some paved stairs cut into the mountain (Mt. Namsan), and as they appeared to lead straight to the Tower, foolishly suggested we take them up the mountain. What the brush and trees hid was hundreds and hundreds of stairs, switch-backs, and steep inclines. It took about an hour to reach the top, and by that time, my knee was in bad shape. The wait to go up the elevator turned out to be an hour and a half, so we wearily resolved to come back another day.
We stopped at a small hof with a lovely view on our way down. The food was a rather interesting blend of East meets West. The "pork cutlet" was heavily breaded with a ketchup sauce carelessly sprinkled over it. The salad was drowning in an interesting blend of mustard and thousand island dressing, and included lettuce, cherries, and some sort of cabbage. There was also the ubiquitous kimchi.
We then saw that the line for returning by cable car was shorter. We took it down the mountain side, even though it was dark and we couldn't see much. We returned to my apartment and rested before the big shindig downtown...
At 9:15 p.m., we took the subway to Jongguk where the festivities were being held. It is Seoul tradition for certain citizens, elected by the city, to ring the Jonggak bell. It is a large heavy bell that has been restored and replaced where it was before the Japanese tried to blow it up. The bell is hit from the side by an enormous battering ram; the ram is suspended by ropes from teh ceiling of the pagoda and guided by thirteen people to hit the bell. The bell is rung 33 times on the New Year because 33 is a lucky number. This is, for Seoul, Time Square and the drop of the ball.
As we walked through the underground, we saw to our dismay that there were police guarding all of the exits and not letting people pass. We walked and walked, and as we neared the last few exits, a noticeable smell of gunpowder permeated the hallways. I nervously wondered if someone had gotten "creative" with the firecrackers in the underground. Finally, they let us go out exit 12, and as we emerged, all hell broke loose.
As I peered through the heavy smoke and covered my nose, I saw shooting stars of fire exploding noisily in the air. I had never seen this type of firework before, and the imp that lives in the back of my head began singing "And the rocket's red glare/The bombs bursting in air." As soon as I could see clearly, I noticed that the shooting fire was coming from long sticks held in peoples' hands. There were thousands of people holding these noisy and dangerous toys, and I found myself dodging more than once. So what were these fire sticks? Well, they are items that have been banned in most places of the United States for many years (hence why I had never seen them). These, I learned, were Roman candles.
As I contemplated my new knowledge, I noticed that there were men hurriedly unloading boxes of these scary torches. No money appeared to be changing hands; I later learned that most of them were compliments of the Seoul Metropolitan Government! That shows an incredible trust in the public I think. Can you imagine that happening in New York, a smaller city? I began to relax when I realized that most people knew how to handle these things. No one got hurt that night, which, given the crush of people, is amazing. Then, a random stranger pressed one into my brother's hand and lit it! My brother hurriedly stuck it up in the air like he was the Statue of Liberty ,whereupon it began to emit fireballs at the sky. The man tried to give me one, but I absolutely refused to take it. He shrugged and handed it to his next victim ... a little kid.
There were large screens showing events near the bell itself, and, like an idiot, I joined the crowd watching the screen. I noted the police barricade, and drew closer. I got transfixed by the screen, then suddenly realized the crowd was moving and I was moving with it. My hands were, once again, pinned to my sides, and people began to press me in from all directions. I took a deep breath, girding myself for a battle to get out, and a disembodied arm slammed right into my belly. I exhaled in shock, and then panicked when I could't take anouther deep breath. I felt an increasingly intense pressure on my back, my sides, and my front as I battled for air and space. I couldn't see my feet or lower torso, as I am about average height for a Korean. I could only see ahead. I let the crowd carry me for awhile as my much taller brother battled to get me out of there. We came to the sidewalk, and I found the curb with my toe. I took a leap of faith and a blind guess as to how high the curb was, and only stumbled a little. Finally, I was free.
The fireworks were still going on over my head; even more people came as midnight approached. Some traditional drummers wove in and out of the less crowded areas, festively frolicking and banging their native drums. They were in street clothes, but the crowd enjoyed their antics. I recognized some of the drum beats and movements of the dance as being related to the Chinese New Year Dragon customs and wondered what the connection, if any, was.
At midnight, as expected, a great yell went up. The bell boomed loudly as REAL fireworks went off in the sky. Of course, the good citizens of Seoul had been saving the best for last, as millions of Roman candles reappeared and shot off their glory at the same time. The air was very thick and smoky; it was raining ash but it was as light as day. My brother shot excellent video footage of some of these incredible events (my camera batteries were dead, so the photos I have posted are from his camera).
We had surprisingly little trouble getting home, and collapsed the minute we entered the apartment.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
JOURNAL: New Year's Eve 2005 Part I
Seoul Jan. 1, 2006 
Hello everyone! I hope you are enjoying the new year. I have had a very special visitor, so I have not blogged in awhile. My "little" brother came to visit me in Seoul, and I was busy showing him around and working at the same time. I hope to make blogging my regular Wednesday night habit. Is it a New Year's resolution? Well, no, not exactly. I know better than to make resolutions about anything...
On Christmas Eve, I sang in my church's Christmas Catata, a pretty piece of fluff if there ever was one. We got together, at the last minute (typical Korean style), a group of very amateur actors, and it was great fun. We dubbed our impromptu single hour of rehearsal the "William Shatner School of Acting." We sounded tolerable at least. The script was certainly no great masterpiece, which made it all the more fun to camp it up a bit. Of course, I do have some professional acting training, so it was a bit hard for me to "loosen up" my expectations, but I did.
After the concert, I met a friend at Buck Mulligan's Bar in the City Center. We sat there with our Guinesses and listened to cheesy music in the background. For some reason, I just didn't have much Christmas spirit this year. Before I met my companion (who had gotten stuck in horrendous holiday traffic), I took a chance to look at the City Center Christmas lights designed, as I understand, by a famous Italian light artist. They were spectacular, but all I did was look; it was so crowded that my arms were pinned to my sides very tightly and I couldn't get to my camera case!
After the blah Christmas, I began to prepare the way for my brother. I had three days off from work and no money to go anywhere, so I decided to do the final "de-bacheloring" of my apartment. I am the first Western female to live there, and it shows. None of the previous tenants had ever done a thorough cleaning, so I bought some fancy cleaning supplies. Armed with a scrubber, a mop, degreaser, and a good work ethic, I proceeded to scrub down my disgustingly greasy (as it turned out) kitchen shelves and cabinets. This took me almost a whole evening. I mopped, swept, and sorted like a madwoman for the next three days. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered, as my brother is one of the aformentioned messy bachelors! I felt better at the time, however, even though it took me six months to get around to it. Of course I had done regular cleaning of my apartment, just not a deep cleaning.
My brother came in on that Friday, and I had an interesting time getting to the airport. I had done my research online, and saw that a limosine airport shuttle runs from the LotteWorld Hotel to Incheon Int'l Airport. The one that picks up across the street from me stops running at 8 p.m., but the LotteWorld Hotel had a bus, according to the schedule, at 9:25 P.M. I flew out the door of my work at exactly 9:02, and hailed the first taxi I saw. I got to the Hotel just as the incoming bus arrived. Beaming with certainty, I approached the door after all of the passengers had deboarded. The bus driver stopped me and said that the last bus had left at 7 p.m. and that there were no more buses. I tried to explain that the schedule had said 9:25, but his English wasn't up to my explanation. I later found out that winter hours are different, alothugh nowhere does it say that on the English website!
I stood there, bewildered and upset, wondering how the hell I was going to get to Incheon. Finally, a busboy approached me and pointed to a taxi. It was one of the black deluxe sort, which usually means a deluxe price. With only 100,000 Won, I was very nervous about this, but decided to take a risk. As it turned out, the 70 km trip came to 62,000 Won. He did NOT charge me the deluxe price after all, I think out of pity for me. Not that it was exactly cheap.I got there before my brother arrived, but the night wasn't over yet...
It was 11:30 p.m., and our transportation offers were very limited. I glanced out at the taxi stand, and saw nothing but deluxe cabs waiting. As we headed towards them, a man approached us asking if we needed a taxi. Without thinking much about it (I was still calculating the possible cost of a deluxe cab after hours) I accepted. Without further ado, he whisked our luggage cart out the door, and put us in a rickety white van.
I instantly regretted my rash decision when I discovered that a) there were no seatbelts and b) he drove 40kmh over the speed limit. The man did have a "City of Seoul" official license on his dash, I noted with some relief. They are very harsh here on forged documents. As the meter ran up, my brother and I began making loony plans for escape from my momentary lapse of street smarts. I knew better, but, like many foreigners, was lulled into the sense of security that comes from living in one of the world's safest and crimeless cities. I knew we would not be hurt, or even majorly ripped off, and I was right as it turned out. It would have cost the same to take one of the deluxe taxis, if not more, though I think they might have been more comfortable! We decided, after much debate, to have the driver drop us off near City Hall. After some confused directions and some half-hearted commentary from the driver, he let us off at Seoul Station to the tune of 100,000 Won. We had bad luck at the ATM, so we hailed a normal city cab, and for 20,000 Won more, got home safely. That qualifies as the most expensive cab ride I have ever taken.
The night passed without much incident; well, not quite, as my brother ripped my spare bed (a futon)apart by accident...
Hello everyone! I hope you are enjoying the new year. I have had a very special visitor, so I have not blogged in awhile. My "little" brother came to visit me in Seoul, and I was busy showing him around and working at the same time. I hope to make blogging my regular Wednesday night habit. Is it a New Year's resolution? Well, no, not exactly. I know better than to make resolutions about anything...
On Christmas Eve, I sang in my church's Christmas Catata, a pretty piece of fluff if there ever was one. We got together, at the last minute (typical Korean style), a group of very amateur actors, and it was great fun. We dubbed our impromptu single hour of rehearsal the "William Shatner School of Acting." We sounded tolerable at least. The script was certainly no great masterpiece, which made it all the more fun to camp it up a bit. Of course, I do have some professional acting training, so it was a bit hard for me to "loosen up" my expectations, but I did.
After the concert, I met a friend at Buck Mulligan's Bar in the City Center. We sat there with our Guinesses and listened to cheesy music in the background. For some reason, I just didn't have much Christmas spirit this year. Before I met my companion (who had gotten stuck in horrendous holiday traffic), I took a chance to look at the City Center Christmas lights designed, as I understand, by a famous Italian light artist. They were spectacular, but all I did was look; it was so crowded that my arms were pinned to my sides very tightly and I couldn't get to my camera case!
After the blah Christmas, I began to prepare the way for my brother. I had three days off from work and no money to go anywhere, so I decided to do the final "de-bacheloring" of my apartment. I am the first Western female to live there, and it shows. None of the previous tenants had ever done a thorough cleaning, so I bought some fancy cleaning supplies. Armed with a scrubber, a mop, degreaser, and a good work ethic, I proceeded to scrub down my disgustingly greasy (as it turned out) kitchen shelves and cabinets. This took me almost a whole evening. I mopped, swept, and sorted like a madwoman for the next three days. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered, as my brother is one of the aformentioned messy bachelors! I felt better at the time, however, even though it took me six months to get around to it. Of course I had done regular cleaning of my apartment, just not a deep cleaning.
My brother came in on that Friday, and I had an interesting time getting to the airport. I had done my research online, and saw that a limosine airport shuttle runs from the LotteWorld Hotel to Incheon Int'l Airport. The one that picks up across the street from me stops running at 8 p.m., but the LotteWorld Hotel had a bus, according to the schedule, at 9:25 P.M. I flew out the door of my work at exactly 9:02, and hailed the first taxi I saw. I got to the Hotel just as the incoming bus arrived. Beaming with certainty, I approached the door after all of the passengers had deboarded. The bus driver stopped me and said that the last bus had left at 7 p.m. and that there were no more buses. I tried to explain that the schedule had said 9:25, but his English wasn't up to my explanation. I later found out that winter hours are different, alothugh nowhere does it say that on the English website!
I stood there, bewildered and upset, wondering how the hell I was going to get to Incheon. Finally, a busboy approached me and pointed to a taxi. It was one of the black deluxe sort, which usually means a deluxe price. With only 100,000 Won, I was very nervous about this, but decided to take a risk. As it turned out, the 70 km trip came to 62,000 Won. He did NOT charge me the deluxe price after all, I think out of pity for me. Not that it was exactly cheap.I got there before my brother arrived, but the night wasn't over yet...
It was 11:30 p.m., and our transportation offers were very limited. I glanced out at the taxi stand, and saw nothing but deluxe cabs waiting. As we headed towards them, a man approached us asking if we needed a taxi. Without thinking much about it (I was still calculating the possible cost of a deluxe cab after hours) I accepted. Without further ado, he whisked our luggage cart out the door, and put us in a rickety white van.
I instantly regretted my rash decision when I discovered that a) there were no seatbelts and b) he drove 40kmh over the speed limit. The man did have a "City of Seoul" official license on his dash, I noted with some relief. They are very harsh here on forged documents. As the meter ran up, my brother and I began making loony plans for escape from my momentary lapse of street smarts. I knew better, but, like many foreigners, was lulled into the sense of security that comes from living in one of the world's safest and crimeless cities. I knew we would not be hurt, or even majorly ripped off, and I was right as it turned out. It would have cost the same to take one of the deluxe taxis, if not more, though I think they might have been more comfortable! We decided, after much debate, to have the driver drop us off near City Hall. After some confused directions and some half-hearted commentary from the driver, he let us off at Seoul Station to the tune of 100,000 Won. We had bad luck at the ATM, so we hailed a normal city cab, and for 20,000 Won more, got home safely. That qualifies as the most expensive cab ride I have ever taken.
The night passed without much incident; well, not quite, as my brother ripped my spare bed (a futon)apart by accident...
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