I am back online now. I have been extraordinarily busy due to final exams, marking, and holiday planning. I will be in Saipan next week, where hopefully it will be sunny and warm...
In the second week of November, I finally partook of a Korean tradition that has me, well, scared out of my skin. It happened quite by accident, but in retrospect, I think it did me some good. I visited a jin-ju-bang. A jin-ju-bang is a public bath house. Those of us who are hygenically obsessed shudder to think about this, those of us who are modest shudder even more so.
The evening started out innocuously enough. My Korean friend Clara had a birthday party. It was scheduled late at night in a restaurant near Hongdae (Hongik University),an area noted in Seoul for its party-like atmosphere and underground dance clubs. Since alcohol, college students, dirty dancing, and sex usually go together, I presumed that there would be plenty of love motels around to crash at afterwards. As it turned out, I was only partially right.
The party was very nice; we ate at a decent Italian restaurant (a rarity in Korea) and even had a bottle of wine on the house! My other friend opted to pay the 60,000 Won cab fare (which Clara got knocked down to 30,000 Won) to return to her country town, but I opted to spend the night in Seoul. To my surprise, Clara offerd to join me; she later explained that the toilet in her apartment was broken.
Clara was very much on edge about staying in a love motel, even after I explained that they are unusually clean due to the nature of their business (to prevent STDs presumably)and also have internet access and satellite tv. Think Motel 6 mixed with the amenities of Comfort Inn. Waygooks like myself don't really care about what people do on the beds; in fact, some of the beds are downright uncomfortable and I wonder what the attraction is for those kinds of activities...
Anyway, we walked up and down the busy streets, but didn't find a single love motel. Not one in Hongdae. We tried a busy side street, and did find one legit hotel, but it was full. Finally, I saw a "motel" sign, the Hotel Bobo (meaning baby kisses). This sounded promising. Clara, who had taken my arm (Korean-style), disentangled herself and went to speak to the desk clerk, who was eying us nervously. I stood just outside the door. She quickly came out, whispering that the place was "evil." I had noted the extensive collection of pornographic films in the lobby, but this was not unusual for this kind of place. I asked her directly why she said that, and she cautiously whispered that it was a rent-by-the-hour establishment; what was left unsaid was our linked arms. Oh. I guess they do have some standards after all.
Finally, the decision was made to stay at a jin-ju-bang, a popular alternative for both foreigners and Korean travelers. Witihn the inner courts of these public baths are sleeping areas. I knew this, but could never get over my North American tendency to shun nudity among strangers. This turned out to be a blunder on my part, as the sleeping areas are "clothing areas" and coed. The rest was all true, though.
We entered the place and paid a small fee of 7,000 Won (about $7). The clerk asked us if we wanted "snacks," which we declined (Korean "snacks" can be anything from nuts to squid jerky), and handed us each a small pink towel. He also handed us long-sleeved pink t-shirts and "ajuma pants." Ajuma pants come just below the knee and have wide, rather unflattering legs that give short people the appearance of dwarfs.
We entered a small outer room, removed our shoes, and placed them in tiny, numbered lockers. These were keyed rather than padlocked. We then moved on to the regular locker room. The moment of truth. Due to my gym experiences in Seoul, I was not particularly unnerved by the naked Korean women wandering around because they were strangers. What did unnerve me was that I was with someone I knew.
Koreans have a concept known as "skinship," which some Westerners really struggle with. Physical contact between members of the same sex is normal, as a matter of fact, it is encouraged. Skinship, as the word suggests, is a deeper level of friendship than Westerners of the same gender are comfortable with. Nudity is a great equalizer; there is nowhere to hide. The stoic Koreans, I have found, are at their most open emotionally in the bathhouse and in the bar. Furthermore, there is no taboo about children seeing their parents undressed, nor any taboo for employers/employees, teachers/students, and friends of the same gender. Little boys are allowed to accompany their mothers or elder sisters into the bathhouse. Our Western hang-up is a product of Victorian times, I suspect. Even so, I was a bit non-plussed.
I waited until the locker room was reasonably empty, then took a deep breath and stripped. I placed my clothes neatly in the locker, then swiped my key past the lock. It was some sort of RFID device, and clicked shut, accompanied by digital music. Only one person stared at me, but she quickly looked away when I met her eyes and joined her friend. Clara and I then padded into the bathing room in our bare feet.
I felt like I had stepped back into time. It was a Roman bath. The tiled floor was wet, but not slippery. Three separate hot tub-like areas were on one side, and a sauna and scrubbing station were on the other side of the room. On the left side of the room, there was a showering area. This was the starting point, I learned. To call them showers is not quite accurate. There were hoses attached to shower nozzles, but they were not hung on the wall. Instead, there was a plastic stool to sit on with a mirror in front. Between each station was a bar of plain soap and a dumping pan. These bathing implements I had seen before, but only had a vague idea how they were supposed to be used exactly, especially the dumping pans. After covertly observing others, I began to copy their movements. I grabbed the used bar of soap, hygiene be damned, and began soaping up. I started with my face and worked downward. I scrubbed at my dry skin, noting that others had a special scrubbing cloth that I lacked. When my feet got tired, I sat on the soapy stool. It is a bit uncanny to see your reflection when you are this vulnerable, I decided. I then grabbed the hose and rinsed off. But then I observed one final step. I watched people fill the pan from the hose with water (it holds about 4-5 gallons), soap up, scrub down, and dump the entire thing over their head. They do this several times; the Koreans are very clean people. So, feeling slightly idiotic, I followed suit. It is surprisingly effective at rinsing; once is enough!
Then, I looked around a bit more. There was some kind of well near the entrance, but I never discerned what it was used for exactly. The four "hot tubs," I learned, were different temperature baths. Each bath was fed fresh water by a steady stream emerging from the fanciful fish mouths mounted on the wall. The water was not chlorinated, but there was no need; everyone is expected to have taken care of personal hygiene BEFORE entering the pools. The first bath was the hottest, and had powerful jets churning the water. There was a less heated, but still toasty, tub in the center of the bathing area. This one seemed to be the most popular, so I avoided it in deference to my modesty. My personal limits precluded me from sitting in a tub full of ten naked women.
The next bath was reasonably empty. It was still very warm, but only one other girl was in there. This pool had bar rails just above the surface dividing the water into three areas. I idly wondered what they were for. Placing my towel on my head Korean-style, I slid into the pool. I am the avereage height for a Korean female; this greatly benefited me because the seating was curved to fit a slightly reclined body. My shoulders were just beneath the water. I was in heaven. Above my head was a small red button, which I surmised was for "help." Then, two young women joined me. They tried to communicate to me that they would like to push the red button. I acquiesced, infinately curious. As I turned towards them, it happened. The red button controlled the hidden jets on the curved seating. The jets are cleverly placed so as not to hit you in any...uncomfortable...places, but I was slightly turned so I got hit full force. I squeaked and crossed my ankles; the girls giggled and showed me how to sit properly and grab the rails. The powerful jets were almost painful, but after a few minutes they were quite soothing to my lower back pain, neck pain, and lower calf tension. After about 15 minutes, I went to join Clara in the sauna.
The sauna was unbeleivably hot, in fact, I could stay no more than 5 minutes in there. There is a ten-minute hourglass for your convenience inside, but I couldn't stay even that long. Clara had been in there for 30 minutes. Koreans still believe that sweating is good for all sorts of ailments including obesity, rheumatism, and virility (which seems to be a Korean male hang-up). It takes quite a bit of effort for a Korean to sweat; some older people actually were SLEEPING in the sauna with no visible effects.
We emerged and I observed with interest the scrubbing station. Westerners I have talked to call this feature of the bath the "ajuma scrub" ("ajashi scrub" if you are a man). Clara actually has trained as a beautician and said that it was very good for your skin. At the time, I had quite a bit of irritating dead skin, so I asked her to translate the "menu" of delights. I finally chose the full works - full body scrub, oil, cucumber facial, and massage. I observed the three-middle aged women at their work, and decide to risk it.
It was also a chance for personal growth. In recent years I have become rather unsatisfied with my appearance. Things begin to expand, sag, and mottle as one ages. The weight gain is especially disturbing to me, the other effects have not set in too much as of yet. For me to be there, even with women in worse physical shape that I was in, was very difficult. I mentioned this to Clara, but she did not seem to understand. I explained that American women don't like to be naked in front of other women because we all look different, for better or for worse, and can be very critical of each other. Koreans are too, but they don't take it personally when someone says, "You're fat! You should diet!" They take it as advice. Puzzled, Clara replied to my explanation, "But we all have the same thing."
We wandered around the place for awhile while I waited for my turn. There was more than one sauna; as it turned out, there were four. In the coed area, there were two wood-fired saunas. Another sauna had heated rocks instead of a wooden floor. The men wore white uniforms and the women wore pink. There was also a snack bar.
There were scattered sleeping areas, with mats and hard pillows at anyone's disposal. People simply camped wherever they felt like it. Families lined up their mats in a row, wrapping their children in blankets. Young couples snuggled up on one mat, contented smiles curving their lips as they dreamed of each other. Old men, young men, aging ladies, and teenagers, all were equalized in the twilight of sleep. I marveled at how contented they all looked. I am a restless sleeper, the sign of a restless mind. Is it possible to be so content? Moreover, is it possible to be so trusting, to sleep among strangers?
I returned to the bath, where the ajuma ordered me to soak for ten minutes in the bath to rewet my skin. She then called me over. The three ladies were clothed only in bras and underwear; my scrubber had on a wild leopard print "set-u." She was well-past middle-age and I suspect she may have even had grandchildren. She ordered me to lie down on the vinyl-covered table. She then donned one of the special scrubbing mitts, took a few swipes from a plain bar of soap, and began her work. The amount of trust I had to muster was almost unbearable, yet as she progressed, I began to relax. At first, the sensation was of sandpaper, a little uncomfortable, but tolerable.
As I began to relax, she increased the pressure. I entered a quiet realm within my own mind as she worked, occasionally jolted out by a tinge of discomfort. She worked from head to torso, then feet to middle. No area was left unscrubbed, including areas that had not been handled since babyhood. I tensed up when she ran the mitt between my thigh and pubic bone, but she didn't seem to notice. She was very intent on her work, and a calming image of a mother scrubbing a newborn child filled my mind. To her, that was what I was at the moment, a soapy, sleepy baby. She ordered me to turn over and began on my back. At one point, she got on the table with me, sitting on my lower back in order to get a deeper scrub. This struck me as humorous, a nearly-naked old Korean woman squatting on top of a Rubenesque blonde American. I giggled, but she pretended not to notice. After this treatment, she brought the
dumping pan, and sloshed me down with hot water. Layer after layer of skin lay dead on the table. "Ewwww....Did all of that come from me?" I wondered (it had).
She then began a process of slapping scalding hot towels on my back. She let them lay on me for a few moments, then "Whack! Whack! Whack!" She slapped my skin through the towels, repeating the process until the towels cooled. She did this on my front side as well. It was painful, but my muscles surprisingly obeyed and began to relax. Another woman came, and put a gooey mixture of cold thick lotion on my face, replete with actual diced cucumber chunks. She then covered the mess with a cheesecloth, clearing just enough room for my nostrils. I could not open my eyes, and once again, my trust was tested.
The ajuma began to dribble a cold, oily substance on my skin. It had a pleasant aroma, and she used it to deeply massage my muscles. I have had Western massages before, but this was different. This was deep muscle work, including muscles that no one has ever considered before. The pectoral muscles, for example, the ones that support your upper chest; it surprised me how much those muscles ached. She then poured another liquid on me; it smelled vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I was completely at her mercy, but she was so impersonal, so focused. I was just another body to her. It was liberating.
The mask was removed, and I slowly glided back to reality. I showered and Clara came to check on my progress (she had had a facial). The second substance that seemed familiar turned out to be milk. I had been given a milk bath! Clara seemed surprised when she saw me. "Wow, you are two shades lighter!" I looked in the mirror. She was right! The remnants of my summer tan lay in a soggy mess on the floor. My skin was a smooth as a baby, and my face was clear and bright.
Clara and I decided it was time to go to sleep. It was 4:00 in the morning, the traditional time of cleaning the baths (they are open 24 hours a day). We dressed in our baggy, but comfortable uniforms, and began mat hunting. It took some effort, as everyone else was doing the same thing, but we finally scored. We found space in the tv room in front of the television. Head to foot with total strangers, I was unable to even doze. After an hour, we left. I caught the early subway home, and fell into a dreamless sleep...
I do not think Americans are ready to accept such a place, and yet every American foreigner I have spoken to has said the Korean jin-ju-bangs are the highlight of their stay in Korea. Many people I know go at least once a week. Unfortunately, Byeongjeom doesn't have a "reputable" one, so people go by the university. Some gyms also have them. I would like to go back, but I am not sure I have the courage to go alone.
