Tonight I had a rather enlightening experience. I spent the day in Itaewon at the used bookstore, and then proceeded to a park where people like to hang out. It is near a university, and serves as Seoul's theatre district. There were some very bizarre fringe theatre posters, to say the least. It is the first area in Seoul where I have seen open homosexuality displayed. Koreans tend to take the same position as the U.S. Military on such issues.
Generally speaking, I do not see flagrant displays of P.D.A. (public displays of affection), but I do see couples who are suspiciously close. Actually, Korean couples are very cute without being unbearable. Public kissing is strictly frowned upon, but there are definately some hand-holders (this is also common among friends of the same gender- both male and female), and cuddling going on. I think it is awesome how the young men shelter the young women; I wish American men were that sweet. A middle-aged man once shared his umbrella with me when my (second!) umbrella had broken, and I found it very charming.
I wondered if and where the young couples went to "make out".....and other such activities. Many live in multi-generational houses, and in Seoul, there is no privacy. I know about the sex motels, of course, but there aren't actually that many in Seoul proper. Well, tonight I found out.
A male friend and I decided we were going to go watch a DVD at a "DVD Bong." We went up five flights of stairs and into a reception room. There was a young man up there, who was apparently well-known by my friend. He greeted my friend, but momentarily froze when he saw me. He then mysteriously dashed out of the room. I looked at my friend, and he looked back at me, rather puzzled. The clerk returned, and was all smiles. I saw a chair, but did not sit down, as there was a huge heart pillow occupying the red velvet seat. We browsed through the DVD collection, which included everything from children's movies to a rather suspiciously large collection of pornography. We chose KINSEY, a movie I had not seen yet, and it turned out to be an ironic choice in many ways.
We were escorted into a tiny room, just big enough for a reclined love seat/bed and a rather large t.v. The clerk busily sprayed copious amounts of alcohol over all the furniture, then left. The loves seat was made of sparkly fuzzy white material, but the entire thing was covered in clear plastic vinyl. There was an end table with a large Kleenex box on it (Kleenex is a rarity in Korea), and, rather oddly, a hook with a hanger on the wall. The walls were painted black, and a discreet red curtain covered the window. All of this, added together, suddenly made me realize what sort of activity usually went on here. My friend looked at me and explained the vinyl and Kleenex were for "easy clean-up." Oh.
My friend is a perfect gentleman, so I was not concerned on that account, but it was amusing in a strange way, to be watching KINSEY in a room I am sure Alfred Kinsey would have been intrigued by. After an intellectual discussion (post movie) about whether Kinsey was a drug addict or not, we left. As soon as we emerged, our clerk was in there with his bottle of alcohol.
It was a very strange experience.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
JOURNAL: Computers, Courtship Rituals, Vampyres, and Tea
Well, this morning I had a bit of a surprise awakening...I have been ill, so I decided I was going to sleep in until 11 am. At about 10:30, my door bell rang. I was very sleepy when I got up to answer it. About halfway acroos my room, I head someone typing on my keypad entry. I shouted "Hello?" and my door opened. A Korean man entered my foyer; I must explain that each apartment has a deep set area about 6 inches below the floor, usually tiled. It is for people to leave their shoes at. He stood there, obviously as stunned as I was. I rather groggily thanked the Lord that I was wearing a long nightgown, rather than one of my short, Victoria's Secret-esue (hey, satin is nice and cool!) summer nightgowns.
Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.
He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.
I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.
The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?
The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.
This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.
Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.
Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...
So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.
Good night!
Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.
He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.
I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.
The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?
The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.
This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.
Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.
Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...
So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.
Good night!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
JOURNAL: Uggggghhhh.....
I have a very bad cold right now, and had a bit more than my limit to drink last night (long story there), so I am in pretty bad shape today. So, what do I do? I go grocery shopping out of sheer necessity (nothing but grapes in the house right now), and manage to set of my burglar alarm...I actually didn't know I had a burglar alarm, but apparently I do.
On Thursday night, I went out with a few teachers to a chicken restaurant I had discovered as having very scrumptious curry chicken. In one week's time, the curry chicken was off the list, so we got some wings and skin roasted chicken instead. No sooner had the four of us sat down outside(we had all had a trying day), four children, apparently belonging to the restaurant owner, began clamoring around us for attention. One of the guys in our party actually encouraged this behavior, and spoke to them in Korean, English, and, just for fun, Spanish. Thye would not leave. One of the little girls, after randomly clouting her brother on the head, brought over a cage with several of the biggest, ugliest insects inside it. They were cicadas, but about five times the size of the American/Mexican variety (and five times the volume). She handed it to her brother, and as he was walking away with the cage, he happened to look down at the ground. He let out a yelp, and we all looked - it was a tiny beetle (about a half-inch). As we were thoughtfully chewing our chicken bits and trying not to laugh, he stomped on it.
Friday night, the directors of the school took us all out to OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE after work and fed us - a very nice gesture, especially since we have all been working overtime without necessarily getting paid (we are all on salary). We did, however, have to forgo our dinner snack, so we were rather hungry when we got there. I know some of the teachers would prefer the cash, but I appreciated the gesture for what it was. As there are about 35 of us, I am guessing it cost quite a bit.
A few of the girls decided to walk off the carbs from the meal and the, ahem, beer pitcher in Olympic Park. It was very beautiful at night; Olympic Park is across the street from the school, but a bit of a walk from my apartment, so I have not been there. I think I will try to see it in daylight soon.
We then joined the boys and some other girls at a local hof (beer house), where they were already in various states of inebriation. As the two of us remaining were already late, the waiter had to bring out two more glasses. Actually, they were glorified shot glasses, I suppose in deference to our womanly propriety. All the men got mugs. I have never actually heard of anyone doing shots of beer, have you? I enjoyed sitting back and not talking; my sore throat had begun, and I was not inclined to be overly social. It is always fun being the (relatively) sober one. I began feeling suspiciosuly light-headed and overly happy, which puzzled me at first, as I had not had very much (I am a "nurser"), and have a ridiculously high tolerance. Then I realized that I was getting "topped off" while distracted elsewhere. The walk home, insofar as I remember, was a bit wobbly. The boys were singing folk ballads and country songs(apparently a Canadian thing) loudly in the streets at two in the morning as well. I thought that only happened in Irish movies....Although it does happen with Korean men as well. Well, I'm assuming they are singing folk ballads....
Now, I must go and make my dinner. I got some chicken breasts with the idea of making soup, but then realized that, 21st century woman that I am, I have no idea what to put in it, and I am too ill to think very clearly. I have a bit of a fever, so if I am rambling, that is why....
On Thursday night, I went out with a few teachers to a chicken restaurant I had discovered as having very scrumptious curry chicken. In one week's time, the curry chicken was off the list, so we got some wings and skin roasted chicken instead. No sooner had the four of us sat down outside(we had all had a trying day), four children, apparently belonging to the restaurant owner, began clamoring around us for attention. One of the guys in our party actually encouraged this behavior, and spoke to them in Korean, English, and, just for fun, Spanish. Thye would not leave. One of the little girls, after randomly clouting her brother on the head, brought over a cage with several of the biggest, ugliest insects inside it. They were cicadas, but about five times the size of the American/Mexican variety (and five times the volume). She handed it to her brother, and as he was walking away with the cage, he happened to look down at the ground. He let out a yelp, and we all looked - it was a tiny beetle (about a half-inch). As we were thoughtfully chewing our chicken bits and trying not to laugh, he stomped on it.
Friday night, the directors of the school took us all out to OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE after work and fed us - a very nice gesture, especially since we have all been working overtime without necessarily getting paid (we are all on salary). We did, however, have to forgo our dinner snack, so we were rather hungry when we got there. I know some of the teachers would prefer the cash, but I appreciated the gesture for what it was. As there are about 35 of us, I am guessing it cost quite a bit.
A few of the girls decided to walk off the carbs from the meal and the, ahem, beer pitcher in Olympic Park. It was very beautiful at night; Olympic Park is across the street from the school, but a bit of a walk from my apartment, so I have not been there. I think I will try to see it in daylight soon.
We then joined the boys and some other girls at a local hof (beer house), where they were already in various states of inebriation. As the two of us remaining were already late, the waiter had to bring out two more glasses. Actually, they were glorified shot glasses, I suppose in deference to our womanly propriety. All the men got mugs. I have never actually heard of anyone doing shots of beer, have you? I enjoyed sitting back and not talking; my sore throat had begun, and I was not inclined to be overly social. It is always fun being the (relatively) sober one. I began feeling suspiciosuly light-headed and overly happy, which puzzled me at first, as I had not had very much (I am a "nurser"), and have a ridiculously high tolerance. Then I realized that I was getting "topped off" while distracted elsewhere. The walk home, insofar as I remember, was a bit wobbly. The boys were singing folk ballads and country songs(apparently a Canadian thing) loudly in the streets at two in the morning as well. I thought that only happened in Irish movies....Although it does happen with Korean men as well. Well, I'm assuming they are singing folk ballads....
Now, I must go and make my dinner. I got some chicken breasts with the idea of making soup, but then realized that, 21st century woman that I am, I have no idea what to put in it, and I am too ill to think very clearly. I have a bit of a fever, so if I am rambling, that is why....
Saturday, August 06, 2005
JOURNAL: Miscellaneous Notes
Just a few miscellaneous notes today on advice in living in Korea.
Tailoring and Clothes Shopping
I made a trip to Itaewon ("foreigner's district" - 8th Regiment Army Headquarters area) this afternoon, and checked into some tailoring for myself. My washing machine is rather harsh on stretching my clothes in places that, for modesty's sake, shouldn't be stretched! This point was driven home when I left this morning, and a group of boys in their upper teens followed me and shouted something. I turned around, a bit confused, and the leader gave the universal sign of appreciation, saying "Big!" and gesturing at his chest. I wished I could remember my new vocabulary word for "naughty" (the female, polite equivalent of f--- you in Korean) but could only think of the stronger word (which, interestingly enough, literally means "kick penis"), so I just glared and walked away. So much for my Korean lessons (we learned the bad words because they are often hurled at unwitting foreigners - I am afraid I have heard them already around the Korean branch of our school aimed at certain teachers).
While in Itaewon, I asked random hawkers about men's tailoring. As you may or may not know, the best tailors in the world are trained, and sometimes live, in Korea. Men, you might want to bring about $500 to get a couple of suits. I am VERY impressed with the quality of clothing here in general, but the men's suits are very expensive looking for a fraction of the cost. They allow you to pick the fabric for the suit,shirt, and tie. The locals also do an excellent job with leather - jackets, handbags, and wallets. They are used to larger built people there, at least men. Women are another story, as I found out.
I did score some nice blouses (more modest), a skirt, and a wrap around dress, al for just over 61,000 won. I found a new hole in the wall shop that caters to women above, oh, lets say, a size 6! The woman speaks excellent English and has a good eye for fashion. it is called "Big Boss" (!). There are also some shops that have suspiciously American brands. These clothes all have their information tags slashed or heavily damaged; I suspect there is some black marketing afoot.
Toilet Paper
In America, we have pay toilets; the Koreans are a bit more clever. You pay for toilet paper. There is a vending unit on the wall that dispenses TP for 200 won a pop (20 cents). The one I went into today did not work, so other measures had to be taken. Be warned, carry kleenex or TP. The Koreans use toilet paper for everything; if you spill something in a restaurant, chances are the hostess will bring you about two squares of TP to clean up. When I first got toilet paper for my apartment, the smallest packaging unit I could find had 12 rolls! Kleenex and paper towels, while available, are expensive as they are in low demand. Speaking of toilet paper....
Public Bathrooms
Public bathrooms are plentiful and easily accessible; they are in all of the subways stations and major markets. Vendors generally do not mind if you use the facilities without buying. Although Seoul has become more and more westernized, "squatters" still slightly outnumber "sitters." I will usually go out of my way to find a "sitter" as I cannot physically sit on my haunches without doing serious injury; fortunately, it is never very far. "Sitters" seem to be growing in popularity. Check the stalls before you enter; sometimes the TP is OUTSIDE the stall instead of inside. As plumbing is a bit of a problem in Seoul, Koreans toss used TP in a discreetly placed open garbage can behind the toilets, so close your eyes and do it (or risk flooding the bathroom!). The restrooms are generally clean and well-kept.
Ajimas
"Ajimas" are women who have had at least one child or look as though they are old enough to have had a child; in other words, not young virgins. Don't be offended if someone calls you "ajima" even if you are not. If you are slightly plump, as I am, do not feel insulted if someone asks about your due date! There is a seat on most trains reserved for pregnant women, and many helpful Koreans have suggested that I sit there instead of standing when it is crowded. If someone comments on you supposed pregnancy, it is meant to be flattering, not an insult. Today in Itaewon, an elderly woman tried to convince me to buy a baby-sized hanbok for my presumed forthcoming bundle of joy.
Korean TV
I have only seen bits and pieces of Korean television, as I do not have the 400,000 won it would take to hook up cable (network tv? forget it, not here in the city). No Christine, there are not middle aged naked dancing Elvises, but they do have a few inane dating shows. One memorable quiz show about dating etiquette blew blasts of air in the face of contestants who answered a question wrong. There are quite a few fashion and tabloid shows, as well as some over the top weepy melodramas. On vacation, I saw two episodes of a show called "Fashion 70s." The show, as near as I can tell, had plotlines including the Korean mafia and two toothsome young fashion school students who once-were-friends-but-now-are-rivals. Some guy gets shot in a bloodbath of activity, and passes out holding a white ivory elephant which was intended for one of the girls. This all takes place in the 1970s. The improbable plots and subplots are strangely compelling; what really saves the series is some very strong acting talent. Even though the dialogue was a mystery, the actresses were able to communicate well through some serious "METHOD ACTING" (Brando-style).
Tailoring and Clothes Shopping
I made a trip to Itaewon ("foreigner's district" - 8th Regiment Army Headquarters area) this afternoon, and checked into some tailoring for myself. My washing machine is rather harsh on stretching my clothes in places that, for modesty's sake, shouldn't be stretched! This point was driven home when I left this morning, and a group of boys in their upper teens followed me and shouted something. I turned around, a bit confused, and the leader gave the universal sign of appreciation, saying "Big!" and gesturing at his chest. I wished I could remember my new vocabulary word for "naughty" (the female, polite equivalent of f--- you in Korean) but could only think of the stronger word (which, interestingly enough, literally means "kick penis"), so I just glared and walked away. So much for my Korean lessons (we learned the bad words because they are often hurled at unwitting foreigners - I am afraid I have heard them already around the Korean branch of our school aimed at certain teachers).
While in Itaewon, I asked random hawkers about men's tailoring. As you may or may not know, the best tailors in the world are trained, and sometimes live, in Korea. Men, you might want to bring about $500 to get a couple of suits. I am VERY impressed with the quality of clothing here in general, but the men's suits are very expensive looking for a fraction of the cost. They allow you to pick the fabric for the suit,shirt, and tie. The locals also do an excellent job with leather - jackets, handbags, and wallets. They are used to larger built people there, at least men. Women are another story, as I found out.
I did score some nice blouses (more modest), a skirt, and a wrap around dress, al for just over 61,000 won. I found a new hole in the wall shop that caters to women above, oh, lets say, a size 6! The woman speaks excellent English and has a good eye for fashion. it is called "Big Boss" (!). There are also some shops that have suspiciously American brands. These clothes all have their information tags slashed or heavily damaged; I suspect there is some black marketing afoot.
Toilet Paper
In America, we have pay toilets; the Koreans are a bit more clever. You pay for toilet paper. There is a vending unit on the wall that dispenses TP for 200 won a pop (20 cents). The one I went into today did not work, so other measures had to be taken. Be warned, carry kleenex or TP. The Koreans use toilet paper for everything; if you spill something in a restaurant, chances are the hostess will bring you about two squares of TP to clean up. When I first got toilet paper for my apartment, the smallest packaging unit I could find had 12 rolls! Kleenex and paper towels, while available, are expensive as they are in low demand. Speaking of toilet paper....
Public Bathrooms
Public bathrooms are plentiful and easily accessible; they are in all of the subways stations and major markets. Vendors generally do not mind if you use the facilities without buying. Although Seoul has become more and more westernized, "squatters" still slightly outnumber "sitters." I will usually go out of my way to find a "sitter" as I cannot physically sit on my haunches without doing serious injury; fortunately, it is never very far. "Sitters" seem to be growing in popularity. Check the stalls before you enter; sometimes the TP is OUTSIDE the stall instead of inside. As plumbing is a bit of a problem in Seoul, Koreans toss used TP in a discreetly placed open garbage can behind the toilets, so close your eyes and do it (or risk flooding the bathroom!). The restrooms are generally clean and well-kept.
Ajimas
"Ajimas" are women who have had at least one child or look as though they are old enough to have had a child; in other words, not young virgins. Don't be offended if someone calls you "ajima" even if you are not. If you are slightly plump, as I am, do not feel insulted if someone asks about your due date! There is a seat on most trains reserved for pregnant women, and many helpful Koreans have suggested that I sit there instead of standing when it is crowded. If someone comments on you supposed pregnancy, it is meant to be flattering, not an insult. Today in Itaewon, an elderly woman tried to convince me to buy a baby-sized hanbok for my presumed forthcoming bundle of joy.
Korean TV
I have only seen bits and pieces of Korean television, as I do not have the 400,000 won it would take to hook up cable (network tv? forget it, not here in the city). No Christine, there are not middle aged naked dancing Elvises, but they do have a few inane dating shows. One memorable quiz show about dating etiquette blew blasts of air in the face of contestants who answered a question wrong. There are quite a few fashion and tabloid shows, as well as some over the top weepy melodramas. On vacation, I saw two episodes of a show called "Fashion 70s." The show, as near as I can tell, had plotlines including the Korean mafia and two toothsome young fashion school students who once-were-friends-but-now-are-rivals. Some guy gets shot in a bloodbath of activity, and passes out holding a white ivory elephant which was intended for one of the girls. This all takes place in the 1970s. The improbable plots and subplots are strangely compelling; what really saves the series is some very strong acting talent. Even though the dialogue was a mystery, the actresses were able to communicate well through some serious "METHOD ACTING" (Brando-style).
Friday, August 05, 2005
JOURNAL: Mayhem, Martyrs, and Massacre
On Sunday, I attended the church I attended last week, and all I can say is that somebody out there (hmmm) definately is out to show me something. I went down to the fellowship hall after service, and began chatting with some people about vacation plans and travelling. My ticket was wrong, as it turned out, and I began asking what in the world there was to do in Gwanju. My co-worker (we will call him Homer) silently guided me over to the pastor, who apparently had begun his Korean life in Gwanju. The answer to my question was, "Nothing." He then proceeded to cajole me into joining his family, the youth group (his two teenage daughter and a friend!), Homer, and his good friend (I mentioned her two blogs ago). I had no idea where they were going or what they were going to do, but I took a "Well, why not?" attitude, and, with a lot of coaxing, agreed to go. The three-day trip only cost me 100,000 won ($100).
We picked up my stuff, and met at KFC. The KFCs in Korea, I must tell you, are actually better than the ones in the United States. I hate fried chicken, but this was GOOD. We left at about 7:30, and got to our destination, Yeonso (yawn-soo) at about 2 a.m., after fighting intermittent torrential downpour. This was to become the theme of our trip. Yeonso is near the ocean on the southwest corner of Korea, I believe. The girls in the car were ages 13,14, and 15, and apparently know all the "Silly Songs" from VEGGIE TALES.
We slept in until 11, and then proceeded outside the city limits. We first visited Aeonyang, where we were supposed to work on fixing the English "translations"(I use this term very loosely, as many of them were almost unreadable, and at times, humerous in spite of their subject matter) in one of the martyr museums. We are currently working on an English-language brochure for the tour of the martyr sites with the idea to pass them on to military chaplains..The idea of this trip was to visit sites of martyrdom for the Christian faith, and evaluate their significance to English language speakers. The firstmuseum was a memorial to a Pastor Son, who lost his life and most of his family in service to the Lord.
Pastor Son was the son of an elder and a deaconess (Presbytarian), who ran afoul of the Japanese during their occupation of Korea (turn of the 20th century) even at an early age. He refused to participate in shrine worship, and was thrown out of elementary school. Christianity had spread like wildfire through Korea thanks to American and Canadian Presbytarian and Methodist missionaries. Japan used this fact in order to humiliate and subjugate the Koreans; after their emperor died, they forced all schools, including missionary schools, to adopt shrine worship and to bow to their dead emperor's image. As a result, many of the freedom fighters against the Japanese were from a Christian background. The movement for democracy and self-rule is intricately entwined with the Christian revival; many pastors and deacons led the move for freedom from oppression. Korea's Christian martyrs are therefore also held in esteem as national heroes, and Pastor Son holds a place in their hearts much like Gandhi does in India.
Pastor Son went to Pyongyang for seminary, and also spent time in a Japanese seminary under a much-loved and respected (even in korea) Japanese pastor. He was sent to Aeonyang, a leper colony founded by an American doctor and missionary, a Dr. Wilson. Another American missionary by the name of Forsythe also figures prominantly in the spread of both Christianity and Western medicine. All of the western medical hospitals in South korea were founded through missionary societies.
It ws at the leper colony that Pastor Son found his calling. He would go directly into the foulest contagion ward and embrace the lepers without fear of contamination. His gift was that of love and compassion, "The Atomic Bomb of Love" as the Koreans call him. His congregation welcomed him with open arms, and his critics soon dissolved. He was a rather plain (nerdy) man, with thick round glasses and a homely face, but even in photos, there is a light shining in his eyes.
He was captured by the Japanese for his fervent preaching, but never tortured as so many prisoners were. He spent seven years in prison, then was inexplicably released.
Meanwhile, his family had grown up. It was 1948, and his two sons were in college, preparing to study abroad in America. The eldest lead the Christian society at the university, but the Communists were becoming ever more present on campus. One day, they came to his door, and took him out. His younger brother also was taken, and, knowing that his elder brother would be shot, pleaded that his older brother be released. Witnesses say that even as he was being blindfolded, elder brother pleaded with them to repent of their deeds, and accept the grace of God. They shot him, and his brother broke free to hold his dying brother. He also pleaded with them to repent, saying that his faith was the same as his brother's faith. He stood up, and spread his arms out, saying that he would die like his Lord and Savior. They shot him in the chest, and he died next to his brother.
Pastor Son received the news as he was praying in the chapel with grace. He expressed concern for the souls of the murderers, stating that his sons were already within the gates of heaven, but the murderers faced hell for their sin. He then adopted one of the murderers into the family (a slight acquaintance of the brothers).
A few years later, the Communists came for Pastor Son. They took him and several of the elders out into an orchard. Pastor Son kept on preaching, even after his lips were ripped by his tormentors. they shot him and his followers in the orchard. The next day, his wife gave birth to the future Pastor Son.
We visited the leper colony on out trip (the old folks non-contagious ward). The building was in poor repair; there was no air conditioning, and the residents were sitting on the floor. On the plaque, it said that First Presbytarian in Orlando and a church in Germany had given them the current building in 1986, but it didn't appear much, if any, money had come in for a long time. The volunteer workers did the best they could, swatting flies, feeding the residents (many without fingers or feet), and wheeling them about. I hope someone reading this can raise some funds for the Wilson Rehabilitation center in Aeongyang.....
At the colony, we met an 82 year old resident who lived there. H came to the colony with leprosy (now called Hansen's disease) when he was 19. Although cured, as many there are (the contagion ward is on an island off the coast), he was blind and lost the use of his fingers, so he never left. Through an interpreter, we learned that he was the last survivor of a group of residents who had memorized the entire New Testement. Those who could read helped those who were blind memorize by listening; they also learned later on through cassette tapes. As he said, "My eyes and hands don't work, but my ears and brain work fine, and as long as I have a mouth that works, I will praise the Lord."
We pressed on to Chin-do, a fishing village, apparently famous for anchovies. All along the bay were set nets where the locals grew seaweed (a staple of a healthy Korean diet), and fishing boats lined the wharfs. We took a crazy, winding jaunt into our van through the dockside streets of the village; it was so narrow that only one car could take these streets at a time. There was a boat repair yard where quite a bit of welding was going on.
We left the island, and went back into Yeonso. We spread out on the beach, enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. It was warm, but not too warm, and vey peaceful. As a beachfront, it wasn't much to look at, but a welcome respite nevertheless.
We then wended our way up to Kumsan church, a museum example of a typical Presbytarian missionary church. We read the letters of the missionaries, and looked around the simple, yet strangely attractive meeting room. There was a curtain diagonal to the pulpit; the men sat on one side, and the women on the other. The pastor, because it was diagonal, could see both sides evenly.
We then drove around looking for accomodations, and were arrested by a glow in the dark castle motel. Intrigued, we pulled off the highway, and found ourselves in a Vegas-like strip of neon-lit Motels. They were set on a hill, and many of them were themed, such as "The El Dorado," the above mentioned castle (there were actually two) and our more modest choice, "The Blue Park." It was clean and affordable, but a little on the shady side. In the lobby, I went over to investigate their movie collection, and discovered it was an impressive array of pornography and "C" action movies. In the morning, I saw several "calling cards" from various heavily, and not very attractively, made-up women. I slept Korean-style that night...on the floor.
We again got up early, and went to Jeam-ri, a historical site of martyrdom and nationalism (a national treasure). At this site, the Japanese had used the church membership list to track down the families in Jeam-ri, and called them to the church. They checked them off the list in roll-call fashion, left the building, nailed the doors shut, set it on fire, and began firing at the building. They then systematically burned the village down, and moved on to other villages suspected of being involved in the March First Movement (Korea's Declaration of Independance). When the scattered survivors came to bury the dead, they found all the bodies melted together in the center of the church and buried them in a mass grave. In 1982, the bodies were unearthed, separated, and reburied. The Japanese offered an official apology, and helped fund the building of the museum and the exhuming efforts. Jeam-ri no longer exists, as it was obliterated, but the museum stands on the land it once occupied.
We then went north to the Protestant martyr's museum, a very impressive collection and history lesson starting with the missionaries and continuing into our century. There were beautifully (if grotesque) rendered watercolors of village scenes, soldiers, and torture scenes. The story was told through pictures, paintings, and mercifully well-translated placards. The third floor was devoted to portraits of about 300 martyrs of the faith- men, women, and missionaries. This was not translated, but I wad told that each brass plate told the individual story. The last frame was a mirror, and it read "Are you the next martyr?"
We returned to Seoul that evening, and cobbled together the Wednesday night worship service.
I mused on the lengths that people went to in the name of Christ. I am in awe of this kind of love. I think if it came down to it, I would stand for my faith, even if I died for it. Part of this is sheer stubborness, I must admit, but what does a Christian have to lose, after all? There is a point beyond bodily pain in which we enter into a realm of no pain. What a gracious and loving gift to give to the Savior of the Universe. These people are remembered for their compassion and love, not their sacrifice.
Given the current political ramifications of martyrdom, I tried to come to terms with the idea of faith being worth dying for. Muslim fundamentalists do it in the name of later rewards; Christians do it as servants of love and compassion. Which is more likely to be fruitful to the world?
We picked up my stuff, and met at KFC. The KFCs in Korea, I must tell you, are actually better than the ones in the United States. I hate fried chicken, but this was GOOD. We left at about 7:30, and got to our destination, Yeonso (yawn-soo) at about 2 a.m., after fighting intermittent torrential downpour. This was to become the theme of our trip. Yeonso is near the ocean on the southwest corner of Korea, I believe. The girls in the car were ages 13,14, and 15, and apparently know all the "Silly Songs" from VEGGIE TALES.
We slept in until 11, and then proceeded outside the city limits. We first visited Aeonyang, where we were supposed to work on fixing the English "translations"(I use this term very loosely, as many of them were almost unreadable, and at times, humerous in spite of their subject matter) in one of the martyr museums. We are currently working on an English-language brochure for the tour of the martyr sites with the idea to pass them on to military chaplains..The idea of this trip was to visit sites of martyrdom for the Christian faith, and evaluate their significance to English language speakers. The firstmuseum was a memorial to a Pastor Son, who lost his life and most of his family in service to the Lord.
Pastor Son was the son of an elder and a deaconess (Presbytarian), who ran afoul of the Japanese during their occupation of Korea (turn of the 20th century) even at an early age. He refused to participate in shrine worship, and was thrown out of elementary school. Christianity had spread like wildfire through Korea thanks to American and Canadian Presbytarian and Methodist missionaries. Japan used this fact in order to humiliate and subjugate the Koreans; after their emperor died, they forced all schools, including missionary schools, to adopt shrine worship and to bow to their dead emperor's image. As a result, many of the freedom fighters against the Japanese were from a Christian background. The movement for democracy and self-rule is intricately entwined with the Christian revival; many pastors and deacons led the move for freedom from oppression. Korea's Christian martyrs are therefore also held in esteem as national heroes, and Pastor Son holds a place in their hearts much like Gandhi does in India.
Pastor Son went to Pyongyang for seminary, and also spent time in a Japanese seminary under a much-loved and respected (even in korea) Japanese pastor. He was sent to Aeonyang, a leper colony founded by an American doctor and missionary, a Dr. Wilson. Another American missionary by the name of Forsythe also figures prominantly in the spread of both Christianity and Western medicine. All of the western medical hospitals in South korea were founded through missionary societies.
It ws at the leper colony that Pastor Son found his calling. He would go directly into the foulest contagion ward and embrace the lepers without fear of contamination. His gift was that of love and compassion, "The Atomic Bomb of Love" as the Koreans call him. His congregation welcomed him with open arms, and his critics soon dissolved. He was a rather plain (nerdy) man, with thick round glasses and a homely face, but even in photos, there is a light shining in his eyes.
He was captured by the Japanese for his fervent preaching, but never tortured as so many prisoners were. He spent seven years in prison, then was inexplicably released.
Meanwhile, his family had grown up. It was 1948, and his two sons were in college, preparing to study abroad in America. The eldest lead the Christian society at the university, but the Communists were becoming ever more present on campus. One day, they came to his door, and took him out. His younger brother also was taken, and, knowing that his elder brother would be shot, pleaded that his older brother be released. Witnesses say that even as he was being blindfolded, elder brother pleaded with them to repent of their deeds, and accept the grace of God. They shot him, and his brother broke free to hold his dying brother. He also pleaded with them to repent, saying that his faith was the same as his brother's faith. He stood up, and spread his arms out, saying that he would die like his Lord and Savior. They shot him in the chest, and he died next to his brother.
Pastor Son received the news as he was praying in the chapel with grace. He expressed concern for the souls of the murderers, stating that his sons were already within the gates of heaven, but the murderers faced hell for their sin. He then adopted one of the murderers into the family (a slight acquaintance of the brothers).
A few years later, the Communists came for Pastor Son. They took him and several of the elders out into an orchard. Pastor Son kept on preaching, even after his lips were ripped by his tormentors. they shot him and his followers in the orchard. The next day, his wife gave birth to the future Pastor Son.
We visited the leper colony on out trip (the old folks non-contagious ward). The building was in poor repair; there was no air conditioning, and the residents were sitting on the floor. On the plaque, it said that First Presbytarian in Orlando and a church in Germany had given them the current building in 1986, but it didn't appear much, if any, money had come in for a long time. The volunteer workers did the best they could, swatting flies, feeding the residents (many without fingers or feet), and wheeling them about. I hope someone reading this can raise some funds for the Wilson Rehabilitation center in Aeongyang.....
At the colony, we met an 82 year old resident who lived there. H came to the colony with leprosy (now called Hansen's disease) when he was 19. Although cured, as many there are (the contagion ward is on an island off the coast), he was blind and lost the use of his fingers, so he never left. Through an interpreter, we learned that he was the last survivor of a group of residents who had memorized the entire New Testement. Those who could read helped those who were blind memorize by listening; they also learned later on through cassette tapes. As he said, "My eyes and hands don't work, but my ears and brain work fine, and as long as I have a mouth that works, I will praise the Lord."
We pressed on to Chin-do, a fishing village, apparently famous for anchovies. All along the bay were set nets where the locals grew seaweed (a staple of a healthy Korean diet), and fishing boats lined the wharfs. We took a crazy, winding jaunt into our van through the dockside streets of the village; it was so narrow that only one car could take these streets at a time. There was a boat repair yard where quite a bit of welding was going on.
We left the island, and went back into Yeonso. We spread out on the beach, enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. It was warm, but not too warm, and vey peaceful. As a beachfront, it wasn't much to look at, but a welcome respite nevertheless.
We then wended our way up to Kumsan church, a museum example of a typical Presbytarian missionary church. We read the letters of the missionaries, and looked around the simple, yet strangely attractive meeting room. There was a curtain diagonal to the pulpit; the men sat on one side, and the women on the other. The pastor, because it was diagonal, could see both sides evenly.
We then drove around looking for accomodations, and were arrested by a glow in the dark castle motel. Intrigued, we pulled off the highway, and found ourselves in a Vegas-like strip of neon-lit Motels. They were set on a hill, and many of them were themed, such as "The El Dorado," the above mentioned castle (there were actually two) and our more modest choice, "The Blue Park." It was clean and affordable, but a little on the shady side. In the lobby, I went over to investigate their movie collection, and discovered it was an impressive array of pornography and "C" action movies. In the morning, I saw several "calling cards" from various heavily, and not very attractively, made-up women. I slept Korean-style that night...on the floor.
We again got up early, and went to Jeam-ri, a historical site of martyrdom and nationalism (a national treasure). At this site, the Japanese had used the church membership list to track down the families in Jeam-ri, and called them to the church. They checked them off the list in roll-call fashion, left the building, nailed the doors shut, set it on fire, and began firing at the building. They then systematically burned the village down, and moved on to other villages suspected of being involved in the March First Movement (Korea's Declaration of Independance). When the scattered survivors came to bury the dead, they found all the bodies melted together in the center of the church and buried them in a mass grave. In 1982, the bodies were unearthed, separated, and reburied. The Japanese offered an official apology, and helped fund the building of the museum and the exhuming efforts. Jeam-ri no longer exists, as it was obliterated, but the museum stands on the land it once occupied.
We then went north to the Protestant martyr's museum, a very impressive collection and history lesson starting with the missionaries and continuing into our century. There were beautifully (if grotesque) rendered watercolors of village scenes, soldiers, and torture scenes. The story was told through pictures, paintings, and mercifully well-translated placards. The third floor was devoted to portraits of about 300 martyrs of the faith- men, women, and missionaries. This was not translated, but I wad told that each brass plate told the individual story. The last frame was a mirror, and it read "Are you the next martyr?"
We returned to Seoul that evening, and cobbled together the Wednesday night worship service.
I mused on the lengths that people went to in the name of Christ. I am in awe of this kind of love. I think if it came down to it, I would stand for my faith, even if I died for it. Part of this is sheer stubborness, I must admit, but what does a Christian have to lose, after all? There is a point beyond bodily pain in which we enter into a realm of no pain. What a gracious and loving gift to give to the Savior of the Universe. These people are remembered for their compassion and love, not their sacrifice.
Given the current political ramifications of martyrdom, I tried to come to terms with the idea of faith being worth dying for. Muslim fundamentalists do it in the name of later rewards; Christians do it as servants of love and compassion. Which is more likely to be fruitful to the world?
Saturday, July 30, 2005
JOURNAL: Malls on Saturday: DON'T DO IT!
First, a quick note that I will likely be offline for a few days, as I am on "vacation" until Thursday. Where am I going, you ask? I don't know but I have a bus ticket, and therin lies a story....
I decided I was going to the Express Bus Terminal in Seoul (via subway) to get a ticket for Monday to GYEONGJU. Now, please note that Romanized spelling of Korean names is up to the speller, based only on what day it is, how many shots of soju he has had, and the windspeed. Generically speaking, all the guidebooks use this spelling. Therin lies the difficulty, as no one bothered to show the Hang'ul (Korean) spelling of this name...
I got to the right subway stop, and was instantly thrust into a huge mob of people. I have no idea where they came from, but I had no choice but to go the same direction, or be run over. I came clear of the crowd, and found myself in one of the many impromptu markets that spring up in subway stations all over Seoul. I both love an hate these markets, as they always offer intersting and rather random merchandise, and I find myself wandering over "just to look" in spite of myself. You can buy things as diverse as socks, clothespins, and wallets all from the same merchant. I love the blouses that I see the women wearing, and many of them come from these street/subway merchants. Sadly, though, if you are not a size six or less with B-cups, you will not fit anything...That is the frustrating part. I absolutely adore the way Korean women dress, but, although I am the right height, my boobs and less-than-svelte figure make shopping a pain. I desperately need a few new shirts, as my washer is evil, but I will have to just patch, patch, patch, I guess...
Today, I found two shoe markets that were very tempting. Shoes in Korea are very cheap (about $7-$10 per pair) and very trendy. Like Asians the world over, Koreans are attracted to impractical high spike heels with no backs. There were also some nice wedges that I was tempted by, but they were too big. I may go back and get them, the design is something I can alter to make them fit better. From the selection of shoes offered, and my strange obssession with feet after hitting the shoe marts, I gather that Koreans have short but wide feet, just like me. At least there is one thing I can fit into and still be comfortable!
Well, to continue my story....
I got out of the mob, and saw a new mob coming, so I stood to the side and consulted my map. Most of the time, the signage in the subways is excellent, but apparently not here. In the corner, was a beggarwoman with what appeared to be an advanced case of leprosy. I reached into my pockets to see what I had to give her, maybe a few coins, but the crowd was bearing down on me. I suddenly made eye contact with a middle-aged woman coming down the crowded escalator, and asked her where the bus terminal was. She looked confused for a moment, then pointed up the stairs and to the right. I thanked her in Korean, but I must have still looked a bit confused, because she suddenly very firmly grabbed my hand and steered me back up the escalator. She said she would show me.
I thought she would abandon me at the top of the stairs but she didn't; she kept a firm grip on me and rushed me throguh the crowd. This lady couldn't have been taller that 4'11", but she was very strong and fast. I was knocking into people left and right, but she just kept pulling me along. She got me to the gate of the subway, and dragged me to the window. She said something to the guy; he let me through without a ticket, and she was off like a racehorse again. There was an underground mall (I later found out it was the largest underground mall in Asia!) coming up, and she dragged me right into another crowd. I couldn't see much, as I am short for a Caucasian but average for an Asian, all I could feel was her firm grip and the bodies of strangers being knocked back by my clumsy attempts to dodge children and pregnant women (I figured the rest could fend for themselves!). We went up an escalator, and there was the bus terminal. She brought me to the main window at first, but I indicated I needed to go to "information." She took me over there (even though it was clearly marked) and talked to the lady. She got me in the right line, and I got my ticket. I thanked her profusely, and she vanished back into the crowd.
The lady at the window spoke excellent English, or so it would seem. I showed her the name (in English ) of the town I wanted, and she handed me a ticket. She confirmed the gate number with me, but the name of the town on the ticket was GWANGJU. I noted this only after I had left the line. Now, one of the other possible destinations I was toying with was GWANJU, but decided against it because it will be too hot, and it is also a little remote. The name of the town I wanted was GYEONGJU. It looks like I will be going to a town that starts with a "g," but I have no idea which one. One is two hours away, and another is four; they are on opposite sides of the penninsula....I guess I can chalk it up to another "movie clip" adventure.
Well, I looked around in the mall a bit; there was a large bookstore which had a reasonable English section. They also, for whatever reason, sold sewing machines in there...I went into a department store called "Shinsegae" which is very "Macy's" - like. There were eleven floors, all connected by escalator; it is a bit of a journey to get down, as I found out.
I got back on the train, as this mall didn't seem to have much to offer, and got of at the COEX Mall. This was my folly. As crowded as the other mall had been, this one had twice the people. Once again, I had to go along with the tide of humanity. The COEX Mall is part of the World Trade Center complex; I believe COEX stands for "country exchange." There were quite a few Western stores and restaurants in this place; I counted two Baskin Robbins, an Outback, a Dunkin' Donuts, a Starbucks, and a 7-11. There were also the staple American clothing brand stores and The Body Shop. I wandered into various clothing sotres, but the merchants all seemed amused when I asked about "big" clothes....One young man helpfully pointed out the T-shirt section to me...in the men's department. I have seen plump Koreans around, dressed like everyone else (usually middle-aged women), so they must be shopping somewhere...Their body-build is similar to mine (short-waisted, and, well, short), so I know I would look well in the fashion lines. I was tempted to pull aside some of these middle-aged mamas to ask where they shopped, but my Korean is still developmental and I didn't know the words to tactfully ask in Korean.
Feelinglike an elephant among the gazelles, I pushed my way through. I noticed I was getting some odd stares (more than usual), and suddenly realized why. Some of my clothes are fitting looser, but I think this is due to my evil washing machine rather than weight-loss; I have to hang dry everything, and knit stretches. Well, apparently the top I was wearing has stretched a bit in the neck....to put it bluntly, my scoop-necked bra was visible at certain moments, and both men and women were looking...I certainly hope the women were looking out of envy; it would make me feel so much bettter after navigating through skinny-person land. I retied my top-tie for modesty's sake, and went on my way.
I passed an eclectic home-decor shop and was immediately arrested by the display. This place was packed, and I could see why. In the front of the store was a mound of pillows. Prominently displayed was a group of anatomically-correct booby-pillows! They were firm but squishy, and had erect rubber nipples fastened on them. Everyone was playing with them and squishing them, young, old, children. No one seemed embarassed or concerned, so I decided not to be. Upon further examination, I found them to be neck pillows; you rest the back of your neck in the clevage. There were also bone pillows, bow tie pillows, and any other thing you can think of in the general shape of a neck pillow, interspersed among the boob pillows.The rest of the store was also very browse-worthy, if a bit mixed up in styles.
In the center of the mall, there is a stage where young hip-hop performers and breakdancers perform. The fist time I went by, there wasn't much going on except some apathetic skinny girls doing a bump-and-grind (not very skillfully), but the second time, there were a couple of quick and acrobatic young men breakdancing and popping with amzing agility, speed, and balance. I have seen quite a bit of breakdancing, but these guys had MOVES. The guy in the red shirt was especially good, not very attractive, but skilled.
I also apparently nearly ran over a Korean celebrity; there were girls and cameras surrounding him, but they were in motion; he just grinned under his sunglasses. He was talking to the group and answering questions. He was snazzily dressed, and seeemed poised and at ease with the crowd. I passed by.
I got to the end of the mall, where there was a movie theater, but couldn't make heads or tails on a) what was playing and b) how to buy tickets, so I headed back. I caught the subway (I had to stand most of the journey) and came home.
I decided I was going to the Express Bus Terminal in Seoul (via subway) to get a ticket for Monday to GYEONGJU. Now, please note that Romanized spelling of Korean names is up to the speller, based only on what day it is, how many shots of soju he has had, and the windspeed. Generically speaking, all the guidebooks use this spelling. Therin lies the difficulty, as no one bothered to show the Hang'ul (Korean) spelling of this name...
I got to the right subway stop, and was instantly thrust into a huge mob of people. I have no idea where they came from, but I had no choice but to go the same direction, or be run over. I came clear of the crowd, and found myself in one of the many impromptu markets that spring up in subway stations all over Seoul. I both love an hate these markets, as they always offer intersting and rather random merchandise, and I find myself wandering over "just to look" in spite of myself. You can buy things as diverse as socks, clothespins, and wallets all from the same merchant. I love the blouses that I see the women wearing, and many of them come from these street/subway merchants. Sadly, though, if you are not a size six or less with B-cups, you will not fit anything...That is the frustrating part. I absolutely adore the way Korean women dress, but, although I am the right height, my boobs and less-than-svelte figure make shopping a pain. I desperately need a few new shirts, as my washer is evil, but I will have to just patch, patch, patch, I guess...
Today, I found two shoe markets that were very tempting. Shoes in Korea are very cheap (about $7-$10 per pair) and very trendy. Like Asians the world over, Koreans are attracted to impractical high spike heels with no backs. There were also some nice wedges that I was tempted by, but they were too big. I may go back and get them, the design is something I can alter to make them fit better. From the selection of shoes offered, and my strange obssession with feet after hitting the shoe marts, I gather that Koreans have short but wide feet, just like me. At least there is one thing I can fit into and still be comfortable!
Well, to continue my story....
I got out of the mob, and saw a new mob coming, so I stood to the side and consulted my map. Most of the time, the signage in the subways is excellent, but apparently not here. In the corner, was a beggarwoman with what appeared to be an advanced case of leprosy. I reached into my pockets to see what I had to give her, maybe a few coins, but the crowd was bearing down on me. I suddenly made eye contact with a middle-aged woman coming down the crowded escalator, and asked her where the bus terminal was. She looked confused for a moment, then pointed up the stairs and to the right. I thanked her in Korean, but I must have still looked a bit confused, because she suddenly very firmly grabbed my hand and steered me back up the escalator. She said she would show me.
I thought she would abandon me at the top of the stairs but she didn't; she kept a firm grip on me and rushed me throguh the crowd. This lady couldn't have been taller that 4'11", but she was very strong and fast. I was knocking into people left and right, but she just kept pulling me along. She got me to the gate of the subway, and dragged me to the window. She said something to the guy; he let me through without a ticket, and she was off like a racehorse again. There was an underground mall (I later found out it was the largest underground mall in Asia!) coming up, and she dragged me right into another crowd. I couldn't see much, as I am short for a Caucasian but average for an Asian, all I could feel was her firm grip and the bodies of strangers being knocked back by my clumsy attempts to dodge children and pregnant women (I figured the rest could fend for themselves!). We went up an escalator, and there was the bus terminal. She brought me to the main window at first, but I indicated I needed to go to "information." She took me over there (even though it was clearly marked) and talked to the lady. She got me in the right line, and I got my ticket. I thanked her profusely, and she vanished back into the crowd.
The lady at the window spoke excellent English, or so it would seem. I showed her the name (in English ) of the town I wanted, and she handed me a ticket. She confirmed the gate number with me, but the name of the town on the ticket was GWANGJU. I noted this only after I had left the line. Now, one of the other possible destinations I was toying with was GWANJU, but decided against it because it will be too hot, and it is also a little remote. The name of the town I wanted was GYEONGJU. It looks like I will be going to a town that starts with a "g," but I have no idea which one. One is two hours away, and another is four; they are on opposite sides of the penninsula....I guess I can chalk it up to another "movie clip" adventure.
Well, I looked around in the mall a bit; there was a large bookstore which had a reasonable English section. They also, for whatever reason, sold sewing machines in there...I went into a department store called "Shinsegae" which is very "Macy's" - like. There were eleven floors, all connected by escalator; it is a bit of a journey to get down, as I found out.
I got back on the train, as this mall didn't seem to have much to offer, and got of at the COEX Mall. This was my folly. As crowded as the other mall had been, this one had twice the people. Once again, I had to go along with the tide of humanity. The COEX Mall is part of the World Trade Center complex; I believe COEX stands for "country exchange." There were quite a few Western stores and restaurants in this place; I counted two Baskin Robbins, an Outback, a Dunkin' Donuts, a Starbucks, and a 7-11. There were also the staple American clothing brand stores and The Body Shop. I wandered into various clothing sotres, but the merchants all seemed amused when I asked about "big" clothes....One young man helpfully pointed out the T-shirt section to me...in the men's department. I have seen plump Koreans around, dressed like everyone else (usually middle-aged women), so they must be shopping somewhere...Their body-build is similar to mine (short-waisted, and, well, short), so I know I would look well in the fashion lines. I was tempted to pull aside some of these middle-aged mamas to ask where they shopped, but my Korean is still developmental and I didn't know the words to tactfully ask in Korean.
Feelinglike an elephant among the gazelles, I pushed my way through. I noticed I was getting some odd stares (more than usual), and suddenly realized why. Some of my clothes are fitting looser, but I think this is due to my evil washing machine rather than weight-loss; I have to hang dry everything, and knit stretches. Well, apparently the top I was wearing has stretched a bit in the neck....to put it bluntly, my scoop-necked bra was visible at certain moments, and both men and women were looking...I certainly hope the women were looking out of envy; it would make me feel so much bettter after navigating through skinny-person land. I retied my top-tie for modesty's sake, and went on my way.
I passed an eclectic home-decor shop and was immediately arrested by the display. This place was packed, and I could see why. In the front of the store was a mound of pillows. Prominently displayed was a group of anatomically-correct booby-pillows! They were firm but squishy, and had erect rubber nipples fastened on them. Everyone was playing with them and squishing them, young, old, children. No one seemed embarassed or concerned, so I decided not to be. Upon further examination, I found them to be neck pillows; you rest the back of your neck in the clevage. There were also bone pillows, bow tie pillows, and any other thing you can think of in the general shape of a neck pillow, interspersed among the boob pillows.The rest of the store was also very browse-worthy, if a bit mixed up in styles.
In the center of the mall, there is a stage where young hip-hop performers and breakdancers perform. The fist time I went by, there wasn't much going on except some apathetic skinny girls doing a bump-and-grind (not very skillfully), but the second time, there were a couple of quick and acrobatic young men breakdancing and popping with amzing agility, speed, and balance. I have seen quite a bit of breakdancing, but these guys had MOVES. The guy in the red shirt was especially good, not very attractive, but skilled.
I also apparently nearly ran over a Korean celebrity; there were girls and cameras surrounding him, but they were in motion; he just grinned under his sunglasses. He was talking to the group and answering questions. He was snazzily dressed, and seeemed poised and at ease with the crowd. I passed by.
I got to the end of the mall, where there was a movie theater, but couldn't make heads or tails on a) what was playing and b) how to buy tickets, so I headed back. I caught the subway (I had to stand most of the journey) and came home.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
JOURNAL: Bad bad Kimch'i!
I am a bit sick tonight; I expect it is all the Korean food mixed with the extra pollution in the air from all the rain. I had some bad kimch'i yesterday afternoon in the cafeteria; it was apparently soaked in fish oil or something. Not only did it taste aweful, but I choked on the cabbage. I almost threw up in front of everyone (my bile rises even thinking about it now). I am not sure why I have such an aversion to fish, but I do. The curry that went with it was, rather perversely, not spicy at all. That night, they served kimch'i friend rice; I ate the scrambled egg that accompanies every Korean meal (they even put them in sandwiches!), but could not face another round of bad kimch'i. I normally like it, in moderation, but the school's variety leaves much to be desired. Tonight's meal was rather bland; cold noodles in soy milk with sesame. It didn't really taste like anything, but my stomach still protested. I managed to worry down a few bites before giving up. Normally, the food is pretty tasty, but this week, it is just bad. I can't wait until sandwich day....
On Tuesday night, I had a very good meal, though; I believe it is called galbi. They bring a bunch of sauces, veggies, and chilis out to you. They then bring live coals out and set them in the middle of the table. The waitress got the meat started on the grill after snipping it apart with scissors (Koreans use scissors much as we use cutting knives), and left us to watch the meat cook. We were chatting away, and when the waitress came back, the meat was rather well done...she stayed and grilled the meat for us. I was privately amused that the three North American guys I was with could not even grill properly.
To continue... You grab a leaf (bay, cabbage, or lettuce), place the raw carrots, onions, and cabbage shavings on your leaf with a little sauce, then dip you piece of meat in a green sauce and place it on top. You then fold the leaf and eat the whole mess, sort of like a Korean taco. It is yummy and surprisingly filling. Oh yes, and you drink cheap beer with it.
Well, I guess some of my adoring fans (all two of you) want to know what it is like teaching in Korea, so here is a run-down:
I teach grades 1-6 (eight classes a day) in a rather exclusive hakwon. The classes are divided by ability and grade level. They are also divided by Returnees (those who have lived in North America or the U.K.) and Gifted-and-Talented (those who have exceptional ability in English and plan to study abroad). No speaking Korean is allowed within the school grounds. We hand out detentions and notes home just like at any other school. I teach reading, writing, vocabulary, grammar, and debate (upper level).
Hakwons are academies, much like American after-school programs, but more intensive. There are Arts hakwons, Taekwondo hakwons, Math hakwons, but most of all English hakwons. All students must pass an exhaustive comprehensive exam to graduate from high school, so it behooves the children to get extra attention in this area (males must serve a mandatory two years in the military as well).
A Korean child's number-one job is school. I have had more than one child break down in tears because they did not get a perfect score on something. Their parents push hard, sometimes to the point of harassing the teachers (sound familiar?). Most of the parents are reasonable, however, and I find the children very well-adjusted in soul and body. They are respectful of authority unless you screw up.
The other day, I mispronounced a student's name, and the class made fun of him for most of the period (I probably inadvertently called him "cabbage-head" or something). When I reprimanded the class for their obnoxious behavior, they suddenly began making fun of ME! Although startled by this behavior, I got my own in. We had a few minutes left over in class. I went up to the board, and wrote four names: Hepsibah, Methusalah, Jehosophat, and Mephistopheles. I then calmly asked the would-be rebels to correctly pronounce the names. "Methusalah" was especially difficult, as the Koreans cannot distinguish easily between "r" and "l" ( the cafeteria lady told one teacher that she was serving "flied lice" one night). I then moralized, after much laughter, that it is very rude to make fun of someone (for example, a "foreign" teacher!) who is new to one's culture and unable to pronounce words properly at first.
There are a few trouble-makers, but their parents are pretty well aware of how their children act, and punish accordingly if word gets home. I even have a well-known (in Korea) child movie star; he is very talkative, and always has to be the center of attention, but he is also respectful of authority.There are, of course, a few spoiled brats, but they are not flat-out rebelling, which helps. I have a few students whom I suspect might do well with a course of Ritalin, however; fotunately, I am experienced in these matters.
As I said, I work at a rather exclusive hakwon; they strenuously screen the students who want to get in. As a result, the children I get are unusually bright. This is both a good and bad thing. Good, becuase it makes teaching easier; bad, because they see right through the typical "teacher bag o' tricks" for classroom management! I have to always be on my toes because they remember everything. These students are excellent at retaining information, if it is sufficiently demonstrated, but rather poor on creative thinking and problem solving. Definately left-brainers. My first-graders are the exception; I do lots of artsy things with them. I have a few excellent writers, and I encourage them to develop their creative talents, even though it is not a vey Korean thing to do.
We work with Korean staff; the Korean teachers often act as liasons between the English teachers and the parents. It is nice, because we don't have to deal directly with culture-clash. The downside of all the academic pressure is that the kids sometimes have meltdowns. I occasionally see children (especially the more sensitive girls) silently crying. I have learned that you do not offer comfort because they will absolutely deny that anything is wrong, even the littlest ones. Instead, they seem to get hold of themselves, and go on with their work. It shames them to have crying acknowledged. Koreans do not acknowledge the uglier emotions unless necessary.
I have one fifth-grade class that manifests this tendency by arguing all the time. They pick on each other constantly. One girl in the class especially amuses me; her demanor is that of a world-weary cynical thirty-year-old even though she can't be more than nine or ten. She has a very low but strong voice, kind of Tallulah Bankhead. She will be a pretty woman soon, I think, but the boys don't know quite how to handle her now! This fourth-grader called the boys, who were arguing, a bunch of "pessimists," (they were whining) but they reacted like she had called them a buch of assholes. I am afraid I cracked a smile at that one, because I knew that she knew what that word meant. The boys later retaliated by drawing rather clinically accurate caricatures of her as a monster. She tattled on them, and they grinned when I confronted them. I made them apologize, which they did; she said nothing, but firmly set her chin, glared at them, and nodded. Again, I was in serious danger of losing it. Instead, I used the boys as an object lesson for the word "discourteous."
My day is long and hectic, but I still manage to get a lot done. I have a two hour paid prep period, and consider it my biggest blessing! I have only had to come in early once to mark papers. I do come in a half hour early on Mondays to get a head start on lesson plans, but I don't mind as it is nice and quiet.
If my readers have any questions, please post them under comments, and I will answer what I legally can.
On Tuesday night, I had a very good meal, though; I believe it is called galbi. They bring a bunch of sauces, veggies, and chilis out to you. They then bring live coals out and set them in the middle of the table. The waitress got the meat started on the grill after snipping it apart with scissors (Koreans use scissors much as we use cutting knives), and left us to watch the meat cook. We were chatting away, and when the waitress came back, the meat was rather well done...she stayed and grilled the meat for us. I was privately amused that the three North American guys I was with could not even grill properly.
To continue... You grab a leaf (bay, cabbage, or lettuce), place the raw carrots, onions, and cabbage shavings on your leaf with a little sauce, then dip you piece of meat in a green sauce and place it on top. You then fold the leaf and eat the whole mess, sort of like a Korean taco. It is yummy and surprisingly filling. Oh yes, and you drink cheap beer with it.
Well, I guess some of my adoring fans (all two of you) want to know what it is like teaching in Korea, so here is a run-down:
I teach grades 1-6 (eight classes a day) in a rather exclusive hakwon. The classes are divided by ability and grade level. They are also divided by Returnees (those who have lived in North America or the U.K.) and Gifted-and-Talented (those who have exceptional ability in English and plan to study abroad). No speaking Korean is allowed within the school grounds. We hand out detentions and notes home just like at any other school. I teach reading, writing, vocabulary, grammar, and debate (upper level).
Hakwons are academies, much like American after-school programs, but more intensive. There are Arts hakwons, Taekwondo hakwons, Math hakwons, but most of all English hakwons. All students must pass an exhaustive comprehensive exam to graduate from high school, so it behooves the children to get extra attention in this area (males must serve a mandatory two years in the military as well).
A Korean child's number-one job is school. I have had more than one child break down in tears because they did not get a perfect score on something. Their parents push hard, sometimes to the point of harassing the teachers (sound familiar?). Most of the parents are reasonable, however, and I find the children very well-adjusted in soul and body. They are respectful of authority unless you screw up.
The other day, I mispronounced a student's name, and the class made fun of him for most of the period (I probably inadvertently called him "cabbage-head" or something). When I reprimanded the class for their obnoxious behavior, they suddenly began making fun of ME! Although startled by this behavior, I got my own in. We had a few minutes left over in class. I went up to the board, and wrote four names: Hepsibah, Methusalah, Jehosophat, and Mephistopheles. I then calmly asked the would-be rebels to correctly pronounce the names. "Methusalah" was especially difficult, as the Koreans cannot distinguish easily between "r" and "l" ( the cafeteria lady told one teacher that she was serving "flied lice" one night). I then moralized, after much laughter, that it is very rude to make fun of someone (for example, a "foreign" teacher!) who is new to one's culture and unable to pronounce words properly at first.
There are a few trouble-makers, but their parents are pretty well aware of how their children act, and punish accordingly if word gets home. I even have a well-known (in Korea) child movie star; he is very talkative, and always has to be the center of attention, but he is also respectful of authority.There are, of course, a few spoiled brats, but they are not flat-out rebelling, which helps. I have a few students whom I suspect might do well with a course of Ritalin, however; fotunately, I am experienced in these matters.
As I said, I work at a rather exclusive hakwon; they strenuously screen the students who want to get in. As a result, the children I get are unusually bright. This is both a good and bad thing. Good, becuase it makes teaching easier; bad, because they see right through the typical "teacher bag o' tricks" for classroom management! I have to always be on my toes because they remember everything. These students are excellent at retaining information, if it is sufficiently demonstrated, but rather poor on creative thinking and problem solving. Definately left-brainers. My first-graders are the exception; I do lots of artsy things with them. I have a few excellent writers, and I encourage them to develop their creative talents, even though it is not a vey Korean thing to do.
We work with Korean staff; the Korean teachers often act as liasons between the English teachers and the parents. It is nice, because we don't have to deal directly with culture-clash. The downside of all the academic pressure is that the kids sometimes have meltdowns. I occasionally see children (especially the more sensitive girls) silently crying. I have learned that you do not offer comfort because they will absolutely deny that anything is wrong, even the littlest ones. Instead, they seem to get hold of themselves, and go on with their work. It shames them to have crying acknowledged. Koreans do not acknowledge the uglier emotions unless necessary.
I have one fifth-grade class that manifests this tendency by arguing all the time. They pick on each other constantly. One girl in the class especially amuses me; her demanor is that of a world-weary cynical thirty-year-old even though she can't be more than nine or ten. She has a very low but strong voice, kind of Tallulah Bankhead. She will be a pretty woman soon, I think, but the boys don't know quite how to handle her now! This fourth-grader called the boys, who were arguing, a bunch of "pessimists," (they were whining) but they reacted like she had called them a buch of assholes. I am afraid I cracked a smile at that one, because I knew that she knew what that word meant. The boys later retaliated by drawing rather clinically accurate caricatures of her as a monster. She tattled on them, and they grinned when I confronted them. I made them apologize, which they did; she said nothing, but firmly set her chin, glared at them, and nodded. Again, I was in serious danger of losing it. Instead, I used the boys as an object lesson for the word "discourteous."
My day is long and hectic, but I still manage to get a lot done. I have a two hour paid prep period, and consider it my biggest blessing! I have only had to come in early once to mark papers. I do come in a half hour early on Mondays to get a head start on lesson plans, but I don't mind as it is nice and quiet.
If my readers have any questions, please post them under comments, and I will answer what I legally can.
Monday, July 25, 2005
JOURNAL: Motorcycles, Churches, and Acts of God
I finally found a church with a wonderful English service. It is a very intercultural church called Youngnak Church (Presbytarian, I believe). The pastor is an American out of Oklahoma with a degree from Dallas Theological Seminary; as you can probably guess, he is Baptist in background. He is married to a Korean woman, and has two teenage daughters. The church's purpose is to provide a home base for people staying in Korea. There is a good mix of young and old; there is also a good praise and worship team. On their website, you can see the service I attended yesterday (3:00 p.m.) at http://www.myiwe.com.
I was introduced to this place by one of my Korean-American co-workers. He took a tour group to one of the royal palaces and Insadong on Saturday, and he invited me to church. I really liked the woman who came with him; she is involved with the Children's Ministry, I believe. This nice young man offered me a ride to church on his motorbike, which he had borrowed from the pastor. I declined, and it is a good thing I did. On Saturday night, he was in an accident involving a cab passenger opening the door right into him as he was riding by! He is on crutches now.
I was really impressed by how friendly and welcoming the people were. I ended up going out to dinner with a group of them; I was the only Caucasian, but there were some Korean-Americans along as well. We had great fun talking and telling stories during dinner (we ate Italian!). I listened with much interest as the debate over dogmeat erupted; most are against it ("dogs are pets, not food!"). Dogmeat is apparently good for the skin and the health. Not surprising really, considering that it shares 99 % of the protein make-up of human meat! I guess it is akin to beef in taste; I have no current plans to find out.
I fully intend to attend next week. I like the laid-back, but respectful atmosphere.
I was introduced to this place by one of my Korean-American co-workers. He took a tour group to one of the royal palaces and Insadong on Saturday, and he invited me to church. I really liked the woman who came with him; she is involved with the Children's Ministry, I believe. This nice young man offered me a ride to church on his motorbike, which he had borrowed from the pastor. I declined, and it is a good thing I did. On Saturday night, he was in an accident involving a cab passenger opening the door right into him as he was riding by! He is on crutches now.
I was really impressed by how friendly and welcoming the people were. I ended up going out to dinner with a group of them; I was the only Caucasian, but there were some Korean-Americans along as well. We had great fun talking and telling stories during dinner (we ate Italian!). I listened with much interest as the debate over dogmeat erupted; most are against it ("dogs are pets, not food!"). Dogmeat is apparently good for the skin and the health. Not surprising really, considering that it shares 99 % of the protein make-up of human meat! I guess it is akin to beef in taste; I have no current plans to find out.
I fully intend to attend next week. I like the laid-back, but respectful atmosphere.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Journal: Chasing Tail
The heat this week is really getting to me; I am so tired of being sticky. I had to wear one of my fall button ups today due to a laundry crisis; I won't let that happen again anytime soon. In a way, I am used to the heat, but I still find it tiring to walk the 20 minutes to work. Being locked in a small classroom with 12 sweating "in progress" adolescents in a country known for its lack of deodorant was not exactly pleasant either, especially since the A/C is under repair.
I have made a "friend" in the neighborhood; I have no idea what his name is, but I see him everyday. He apparently works for one of the many restaurants in my neighborhood; I see his father/uncle also on the street trying to hawk up business. As near as I can tell, they also act as an informal posse of traffic cops. I have also seen him on one of the "Scooter terrors" that roam Seoul's sidewalks in search of fresh pedestrian targets. His uncle/father (there is a family resemblance) possesses the unique talent of being able to sleep standing up while waiting for business. I peered under his broad hat one day in passing, and discovered he was fast asleep!
My "friend" speaks good English, and always greet me or waves; he asks me a new question each time I see him. He is horribly skinny, but has a nice face. He is rather bold for a sober Korean; most Korean men appear to be afraid of "foreigners," especially the women, and will not even approach us. With enough soju, however, they tend to become rather aggressive, or so I have been told. I really haven't been here long enough to make judgements. This guy makes eye contact with me, which is a bit unusual. I find eye contact is a great way to shake up my misbehaving students!
As I was just sitting here, the employee of the "PC Bong" at the next terminal very sweetly offered me half of his sweet potato pastry. How sweet! I find people here are very kind and giving; I have been the recipient of many generous acts. I try to "pay it forward;" I gave away some of my spiral notebooks today to some of my coworkers. Lined paper is very hard to get here.
Last night, as I was walking home, a young woman approached me, and rather randomly asked whether I spoke Chinese. She is looking for a Chinese teacher, and thought I worked at the neighborhood language school. She had graduated from the girl's high school down the block, and has lived here most of her life. I find that amazing. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and still lived at home. We had a nice chat and then she went her way and I went mine.
Tonight, however, I took one of my infamous "detours," and ended up a half hour later precisely one city block from whence I came! I was yakking away with one of my co-workers, who very kindly lent me the new "Harry Potter" (British edition!), and not paying much attention where I was going....I wandered through some alleyways and a park (where children were still playing at full volume even at ten o clock at night!), dodged a few drunk business men with annoyed wives, and randomly followed a group of mothers with strollers. I was mentally checking the contents of my wallet to see if a taxi was feasable, but then realized I didn't even know the name of my street (the neighborhood is "Gangdang-Gu"). I have not felt that lost in a long time. I suddenly found myself in a familiar place, but could not at first place it. It took me a few minutes to realize I was back on Olympic Parkway.
I considered going back into the wilderness of alleyways to get to the "Mouse House" (where I am now, but decided to take the main drag, even though it meant passing through the fish market site on a sultry evening (you cannot, however hard you try, hold your breath for a Seoul city block!). I made it here ok, after all (too late for Baskin Robbins!). I think I will go home now, and read "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince."
I have made a "friend" in the neighborhood; I have no idea what his name is, but I see him everyday. He apparently works for one of the many restaurants in my neighborhood; I see his father/uncle also on the street trying to hawk up business. As near as I can tell, they also act as an informal posse of traffic cops. I have also seen him on one of the "Scooter terrors" that roam Seoul's sidewalks in search of fresh pedestrian targets. His uncle/father (there is a family resemblance) possesses the unique talent of being able to sleep standing up while waiting for business. I peered under his broad hat one day in passing, and discovered he was fast asleep!
My "friend" speaks good English, and always greet me or waves; he asks me a new question each time I see him. He is horribly skinny, but has a nice face. He is rather bold for a sober Korean; most Korean men appear to be afraid of "foreigners," especially the women, and will not even approach us. With enough soju, however, they tend to become rather aggressive, or so I have been told. I really haven't been here long enough to make judgements. This guy makes eye contact with me, which is a bit unusual. I find eye contact is a great way to shake up my misbehaving students!
As I was just sitting here, the employee of the "PC Bong" at the next terminal very sweetly offered me half of his sweet potato pastry. How sweet! I find people here are very kind and giving; I have been the recipient of many generous acts. I try to "pay it forward;" I gave away some of my spiral notebooks today to some of my coworkers. Lined paper is very hard to get here.
Last night, as I was walking home, a young woman approached me, and rather randomly asked whether I spoke Chinese. She is looking for a Chinese teacher, and thought I worked at the neighborhood language school. She had graduated from the girl's high school down the block, and has lived here most of her life. I find that amazing. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and still lived at home. We had a nice chat and then she went her way and I went mine.
Tonight, however, I took one of my infamous "detours," and ended up a half hour later precisely one city block from whence I came! I was yakking away with one of my co-workers, who very kindly lent me the new "Harry Potter" (British edition!), and not paying much attention where I was going....I wandered through some alleyways and a park (where children were still playing at full volume even at ten o clock at night!), dodged a few drunk business men with annoyed wives, and randomly followed a group of mothers with strollers. I was mentally checking the contents of my wallet to see if a taxi was feasable, but then realized I didn't even know the name of my street (the neighborhood is "Gangdang-Gu"). I have not felt that lost in a long time. I suddenly found myself in a familiar place, but could not at first place it. It took me a few minutes to realize I was back on Olympic Parkway.
I considered going back into the wilderness of alleyways to get to the "Mouse House" (where I am now, but decided to take the main drag, even though it meant passing through the fish market site on a sultry evening (you cannot, however hard you try, hold your breath for a Seoul city block!). I made it here ok, after all (too late for Baskin Robbins!). I think I will go home now, and read "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince."
Sunday, July 17, 2005
JOURNAL: That Old Time Religion
My "adventure of the week" was a trip to Insadong, the district of Seoul where everyone goes to buy antiques. It was a Saturday afternoon, and very crowded. There were quite a few "foreigners" (us) wandering about; the tourbook assured me that it is a happening place with the ex-pat community.
There were quite a few stalls and stores geared specifically for tourists, so I avoided them with much pleasure (except to buy a cheap, but functional paper fan) and went in search of better quarry. I found out something that the tourbooks do not mention, which is that Insadong is also a very happening modern art community. Among the hawkers selling food, souvenirs, and trinkets, there were stores specializing in modern textile art, lacquer wear, and sculpture. Quite a bit of the art was what you might call functionally abstract, but it was a feast of colors and shapes for the eye. I also discovered, after a climb up a very steep staircase, a bookstore called "Vook" (visual book) which specializes in art books. There were browsing copies of most of the books, and a central area where patrons could sit and browse while sipping drinks from the cafe. I gathered that most of the sitters in there were art students. I fond a rare book on Aubrey Beardsley that I was tempted by, but did not ultimately purchase.
I wandered down some of the crazy, twisting alleyways (where the real antiques can be found), where there are quite a few "local color" restaurants and traditional teahouses. When my Korean improves (it can only get better; it can't get any worse!), I plan to visit one.
The purported antique stores were vastly outnumbered by other stores; even so, there were about a half dozen elderly vendors with their wares spread out on the sidewalk. Most of the antiques were along the line of cookware and furniture. I bought a very charming tea pouring device, with elaborate painting and brasswork for about 30,000 won (a little less than $30). I have a nook in my new apartment that needs filling, and it fits there perfectly. I was also taken by some beautiful silk panel paintings of the Korean tiger (now extinct) in one of the stores; I may go back later to get them if they are still there.
I was both fascinated and bemused when I came upon a vendor selling jade, specifically what one might call antique jade fertility aids. There was no folk art element to these objects; they were straight out jade phallusses, in plain vew. I am talking true-to-life, with veins, furrows, and all...I was a little unnerved by them; the excellent craftsmanship made them look alive (like Michalangelo's "David"), but they were also very green...I wondered what one actually did with them. Were they meant for lonely women passing the time while their husbands were away at war? Did a man with fertility issues put one under his pillow? Did one rub them on the affected area like a magic lamp? I was going to buy one as a conversation piece, but decided I didn't have the nerve (or money). The vendor was giving me a strange look anyway (women are still supposed to be "innocent" around here) so I passed on.
I stepped into one of the many art malls, and instantly became smitten with a lacquer and mother-of-pearl jewelry case. These type of things are a dime a dozen in Korea, but this one was special. The saleslady tried to get me interested in some chintsy tourist knock-off varieties, but I wanted to look at this one. The craftsmanship was superb, and the design was very detailed and intricate (butterflies). She showed me the maker's mark on the bottom, and explained that I had picked a box by a very famous Korean artist( I think she said Pak Sunmyun?). It was 75,000 won. She was willing to bargain a bit, but it was still too rich for my blood. I went upstairs where they had even more of this particular artist's work; a different salesperson also tried to get me to buy. There were two very large jewelry cases with even more fine detail; they were marked at 1 million won ($1000). I may go back later for the small box.
There was a large art mall about halfway down the market where there was an avant garde group of artists from Maryland Institute of Contemporary Art playing with plastic bags. Now, this was one of the hottest days of the summer, so I give them credit for wearing plastic bags over their entire bodies, head and all, and standing in poses (I gues their mamas never told them to keep their faces out of plastic bags!). I shot some video footage with my camera. They then passed out bags to everyone, including the people on the other levels of the mall (it was an open air mall with ramps going up the levels). We were then instructed to make as much noise as possible with the bags; every last person participated, which amazed me. I would love to get an improv troop out here! After we "rustled" for a few minutes, the artists stopped, demonstrated blowing into the bags, and, you guessed it, popped them. On cue, every last spectator blew into their bags and popped them in unison. The End.
I wandered to the end of the street, and found myself at a park. Inside the park was a pagoda (under glass) from the 1400s, carved with Buddhas and human figures. There was also a large
pavillion, garishly but strikingly painted in violent greens, oranges, and reds. It apparently served as a music hall for the royal family in the summer months, but is of even more significance to the Korean nation in a different way. It was here that a group of 4000 university students formally protested the Japanese takeover and subsequent colonization of Korea (sometime in the teens of the twentieth century), with the expected results. At the front of the park is a stone monument with the Korean Declaration of Independence carved in Hang'ul. There is a walkway with several stone relief (carved) panels telling the story of the Japanese takeover. There are panels of bloodshed, bodies lined up in a row on the sidewalks, and a woman being forced onto her knees at swordpoint. The woman is in a traditional hanbok, and I believe she is meant to represent Korea. The panels are quite disturbing, and, although I knew I lacked some knowlege as to their more abstract meaning, I was quite moved. I went and sat on the pavillion steps to catch my breath. A man came by with an old newspaper and requested that I sit on it. I looked around and noticed that everyone else was sitting on newspapers, so I complied (there is an important Buddhist monk buried nearby). I was also the only female.
Inside the pavillion, there was an old man laying on his back with one arm in the air, and one leg over his knee. I soon realized that he was singing; it was a very haunting tune, and brought tears to my eyes. He was very advanced in age, bald, and quite clearly senile (or insane), but his voice was strong, vibrant, and clearly trained at some point. His voice held such sorrow and expression; I wondered if it was a love ballad he was singing, or maybe a commemoration for those who had died. I wondered if he had been a performer. I listned to his outpouring of sorrow until the song ended. He started another song, but the mood was broken when a group of old coots began arguing loudly, with wild gestures and angry faces.
There were many elderly people sitting around in the park. On my way into the park, one of them had gesticulated at me, and given me a thumbs up. As I went towards the commemoration panels, an old man and his wife shouted at me and gave me hostile looks. Clearly, there was something going on that I didn't know about (Bush go braugh!). On my way out of the panelled walkway, I saw the old man and his wife again. They looked up at me as I passed by, and I smiled and gave them a deep, respectful bow. I think it worked, because they were silent after that.
On my way home, I stopped briefly at the Presbytarian church on my block. I live in a VERY Korean neighborhood (only one other foreigner) so I get stared at quite a bit. The man at the desk, with English less-than-stellar, said that they had an English service at 11 am. I attended this morning, and it was decidedly NOT in English. It occured to me that the man I had spoken to misunderstood me; there were Koreans there who could speak English enough to tell me where to go. The sermon, as a result, was completely lost on me. I very much enjoyed the misuc; the choir was fantastically good, and I recognized the tunes, if not the words, of several old hymns. The choir sang "Amazing Grace" in Korean; the arrangement was rather Eastern, but strangely striking. They also have a small orchestra. The church is very full; there are four services, and there were five busloads of people attending the service I went to (I sat out of sight in the balcony). The resulting traffic jam on the narrow streets after the service was quite a sight; there are two rival grocery stores on either side of the street, and the hawkers chose the moment of absolute suspension (five busloads of people all trying to get down a one way street at the same time) to squawk their wares loudly over the noise of the traffic. The resultant cacaphony was quite amusing.
There were quite a few stalls and stores geared specifically for tourists, so I avoided them with much pleasure (except to buy a cheap, but functional paper fan) and went in search of better quarry. I found out something that the tourbooks do not mention, which is that Insadong is also a very happening modern art community. Among the hawkers selling food, souvenirs, and trinkets, there were stores specializing in modern textile art, lacquer wear, and sculpture. Quite a bit of the art was what you might call functionally abstract, but it was a feast of colors and shapes for the eye. I also discovered, after a climb up a very steep staircase, a bookstore called "Vook" (visual book) which specializes in art books. There were browsing copies of most of the books, and a central area where patrons could sit and browse while sipping drinks from the cafe. I gathered that most of the sitters in there were art students. I fond a rare book on Aubrey Beardsley that I was tempted by, but did not ultimately purchase.
I wandered down some of the crazy, twisting alleyways (where the real antiques can be found), where there are quite a few "local color" restaurants and traditional teahouses. When my Korean improves (it can only get better; it can't get any worse!), I plan to visit one.
The purported antique stores were vastly outnumbered by other stores; even so, there were about a half dozen elderly vendors with their wares spread out on the sidewalk. Most of the antiques were along the line of cookware and furniture. I bought a very charming tea pouring device, with elaborate painting and brasswork for about 30,000 won (a little less than $30). I have a nook in my new apartment that needs filling, and it fits there perfectly. I was also taken by some beautiful silk panel paintings of the Korean tiger (now extinct) in one of the stores; I may go back later to get them if they are still there.
I was both fascinated and bemused when I came upon a vendor selling jade, specifically what one might call antique jade fertility aids. There was no folk art element to these objects; they were straight out jade phallusses, in plain vew. I am talking true-to-life, with veins, furrows, and all...I was a little unnerved by them; the excellent craftsmanship made them look alive (like Michalangelo's "David"), but they were also very green...I wondered what one actually did with them. Were they meant for lonely women passing the time while their husbands were away at war? Did a man with fertility issues put one under his pillow? Did one rub them on the affected area like a magic lamp? I was going to buy one as a conversation piece, but decided I didn't have the nerve (or money). The vendor was giving me a strange look anyway (women are still supposed to be "innocent" around here) so I passed on.
I stepped into one of the many art malls, and instantly became smitten with a lacquer and mother-of-pearl jewelry case. These type of things are a dime a dozen in Korea, but this one was special. The saleslady tried to get me interested in some chintsy tourist knock-off varieties, but I wanted to look at this one. The craftsmanship was superb, and the design was very detailed and intricate (butterflies). She showed me the maker's mark on the bottom, and explained that I had picked a box by a very famous Korean artist( I think she said Pak Sunmyun?). It was 75,000 won. She was willing to bargain a bit, but it was still too rich for my blood. I went upstairs where they had even more of this particular artist's work; a different salesperson also tried to get me to buy. There were two very large jewelry cases with even more fine detail; they were marked at 1 million won ($1000). I may go back later for the small box.
There was a large art mall about halfway down the market where there was an avant garde group of artists from Maryland Institute of Contemporary Art playing with plastic bags. Now, this was one of the hottest days of the summer, so I give them credit for wearing plastic bags over their entire bodies, head and all, and standing in poses (I gues their mamas never told them to keep their faces out of plastic bags!). I shot some video footage with my camera. They then passed out bags to everyone, including the people on the other levels of the mall (it was an open air mall with ramps going up the levels). We were then instructed to make as much noise as possible with the bags; every last person participated, which amazed me. I would love to get an improv troop out here! After we "rustled" for a few minutes, the artists stopped, demonstrated blowing into the bags, and, you guessed it, popped them. On cue, every last spectator blew into their bags and popped them in unison. The End.
I wandered to the end of the street, and found myself at a park. Inside the park was a pagoda (under glass) from the 1400s, carved with Buddhas and human figures. There was also a large
pavillion, garishly but strikingly painted in violent greens, oranges, and reds. It apparently served as a music hall for the royal family in the summer months, but is of even more significance to the Korean nation in a different way. It was here that a group of 4000 university students formally protested the Japanese takeover and subsequent colonization of Korea (sometime in the teens of the twentieth century), with the expected results. At the front of the park is a stone monument with the Korean Declaration of Independence carved in Hang'ul. There is a walkway with several stone relief (carved) panels telling the story of the Japanese takeover. There are panels of bloodshed, bodies lined up in a row on the sidewalks, and a woman being forced onto her knees at swordpoint. The woman is in a traditional hanbok, and I believe she is meant to represent Korea. The panels are quite disturbing, and, although I knew I lacked some knowlege as to their more abstract meaning, I was quite moved. I went and sat on the pavillion steps to catch my breath. A man came by with an old newspaper and requested that I sit on it. I looked around and noticed that everyone else was sitting on newspapers, so I complied (there is an important Buddhist monk buried nearby). I was also the only female.
Inside the pavillion, there was an old man laying on his back with one arm in the air, and one leg over his knee. I soon realized that he was singing; it was a very haunting tune, and brought tears to my eyes. He was very advanced in age, bald, and quite clearly senile (or insane), but his voice was strong, vibrant, and clearly trained at some point. His voice held such sorrow and expression; I wondered if it was a love ballad he was singing, or maybe a commemoration for those who had died. I wondered if he had been a performer. I listned to his outpouring of sorrow until the song ended. He started another song, but the mood was broken when a group of old coots began arguing loudly, with wild gestures and angry faces.
There were many elderly people sitting around in the park. On my way into the park, one of them had gesticulated at me, and given me a thumbs up. As I went towards the commemoration panels, an old man and his wife shouted at me and gave me hostile looks. Clearly, there was something going on that I didn't know about (Bush go braugh!). On my way out of the panelled walkway, I saw the old man and his wife again. They looked up at me as I passed by, and I smiled and gave them a deep, respectful bow. I think it worked, because they were silent after that.
On my way home, I stopped briefly at the Presbytarian church on my block. I live in a VERY Korean neighborhood (only one other foreigner) so I get stared at quite a bit. The man at the desk, with English less-than-stellar, said that they had an English service at 11 am. I attended this morning, and it was decidedly NOT in English. It occured to me that the man I had spoken to misunderstood me; there were Koreans there who could speak English enough to tell me where to go. The sermon, as a result, was completely lost on me. I very much enjoyed the misuc; the choir was fantastically good, and I recognized the tunes, if not the words, of several old hymns. The choir sang "Amazing Grace" in Korean; the arrangement was rather Eastern, but strangely striking. They also have a small orchestra. The church is very full; there are four services, and there were five busloads of people attending the service I went to (I sat out of sight in the balcony). The resulting traffic jam on the narrow streets after the service was quite a sight; there are two rival grocery stores on either side of the street, and the hawkers chose the moment of absolute suspension (five busloads of people all trying to get down a one way street at the same time) to squawk their wares loudly over the noise of the traffic. The resultant cacaphony was quite amusing.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
JOURNAL: Learning to Walk Again
I have a new apartment....yessssss.....No more sewer gas!
My spacious studio apartment has a large bathroom, with an actual shower stall; this is amazing because most of the time, your shower is just a hose on the wall and a drain. There is a large mirror, medicine cabinet, and a western style toilet (another plus). I took a very cold shower yesterday because I did not know that the device I took to be a thermostat turned out to control the hot water; you have to turn it on for about ten minutes before you get warm water. I wish someone had enlightened me before I froze my backside off!
I also have a kitchenette with what purports to be a gas stove, but is actually a glorified hotplate. There is no microwave. It took me several times, and near suffocation from the natural gas, to figure out how to get it to ignite properly. I was so happy I celebrated by boiling a pot of water! The previous tenant had left a big box of Quaker Instant Oatmeal, so I had that for breakfast.
Next I tackled the washing machine. This turned out to be more of a challenge. I easily found the ON button, but was mystified by the other buttons. Like a stupid Westerner, I threw some clothes in and pushed the green button. It seemed to take a long time for the washer to stop, and I suddenly realized it had gone through three or four cycles. Not only that, but the floor was flooded (the washer is on the veranda). I determinedly waited for the next spin cycle to end, then stopped the washer. I looked at the buttons closer, and discovered that it was apparently set on 18 cycles (oh, so that is what that random number means!). You need to preset the cycle number on each part of the wash (filling, spin cycle, rinsing, etc). The machine is not smart, and won't do it for you. Moreover, it doesn't automatically stop, so you have to keep an eye on it. There is no dryer, so my clothes are hung up to dry all over the place right now. They are still not dry because it is very humid in Seoul. I am seriously considering sending my laundry out to be cleaned; it is very cheap around here.
I have not yet figured out the tv. I suspect, by the phalanx of satellite dishes I see in the neighborhood, that cable is a necessary evil. I cannot get a single channel to come in, or figure out how to turn the volume down. I really wish I could speak Korean, so I could read the buttons on the fancy remote...
The funny thing about the apartment is that in some ways, it is ultra modern. I have a keypad entry, and the lights turn on when I come in (motion sensors?).
As for the school, things are hectic, but do-able. On my first day of teaching, one of the girls suddenly got up, walked over to one of the boys, and belted him hard across the back! I don't know what he said, but it must have been pretty good! I took approprate steps, but it was quite unexpected, nevertheless. The boys tease the girls horribly, mostly because they can, I think. Boys and girls separate themselves in this country, I have found, so when a boy acts up, I make him sit next to a girl! I find it most effective. In one class, there is only one boy, and he is very shy as a result!
I am finding I am actually in double culture shock, as the majority of the teachers are Canadian. Most of them have been in Korea for more than a year, and have formed their own social group. Being a bit group-shy, I find it hard to "break-in." On Tuesday, one of my coworkers did take me out for a drink in Itewon, and it was nice. He is a good conversationalist, and has a rather intellectual bent. I think there is something going on next week as one of the teachers is going home. I do feel a bit left out, though, although I still hope to make some friends here. My apartment is isolated from everyone else; I live in a different neighborhood and am still a little lost. I hope things get a little less lonely as time wears on.
My spacious studio apartment has a large bathroom, with an actual shower stall; this is amazing because most of the time, your shower is just a hose on the wall and a drain. There is a large mirror, medicine cabinet, and a western style toilet (another plus). I took a very cold shower yesterday because I did not know that the device I took to be a thermostat turned out to control the hot water; you have to turn it on for about ten minutes before you get warm water. I wish someone had enlightened me before I froze my backside off!
I also have a kitchenette with what purports to be a gas stove, but is actually a glorified hotplate. There is no microwave. It took me several times, and near suffocation from the natural gas, to figure out how to get it to ignite properly. I was so happy I celebrated by boiling a pot of water! The previous tenant had left a big box of Quaker Instant Oatmeal, so I had that for breakfast.
Next I tackled the washing machine. This turned out to be more of a challenge. I easily found the ON button, but was mystified by the other buttons. Like a stupid Westerner, I threw some clothes in and pushed the green button. It seemed to take a long time for the washer to stop, and I suddenly realized it had gone through three or four cycles. Not only that, but the floor was flooded (the washer is on the veranda). I determinedly waited for the next spin cycle to end, then stopped the washer. I looked at the buttons closer, and discovered that it was apparently set on 18 cycles (oh, so that is what that random number means!). You need to preset the cycle number on each part of the wash (filling, spin cycle, rinsing, etc). The machine is not smart, and won't do it for you. Moreover, it doesn't automatically stop, so you have to keep an eye on it. There is no dryer, so my clothes are hung up to dry all over the place right now. They are still not dry because it is very humid in Seoul. I am seriously considering sending my laundry out to be cleaned; it is very cheap around here.
I have not yet figured out the tv. I suspect, by the phalanx of satellite dishes I see in the neighborhood, that cable is a necessary evil. I cannot get a single channel to come in, or figure out how to turn the volume down. I really wish I could speak Korean, so I could read the buttons on the fancy remote...
The funny thing about the apartment is that in some ways, it is ultra modern. I have a keypad entry, and the lights turn on when I come in (motion sensors?).
As for the school, things are hectic, but do-able. On my first day of teaching, one of the girls suddenly got up, walked over to one of the boys, and belted him hard across the back! I don't know what he said, but it must have been pretty good! I took approprate steps, but it was quite unexpected, nevertheless. The boys tease the girls horribly, mostly because they can, I think. Boys and girls separate themselves in this country, I have found, so when a boy acts up, I make him sit next to a girl! I find it most effective. In one class, there is only one boy, and he is very shy as a result!
I am finding I am actually in double culture shock, as the majority of the teachers are Canadian. Most of them have been in Korea for more than a year, and have formed their own social group. Being a bit group-shy, I find it hard to "break-in." On Tuesday, one of my coworkers did take me out for a drink in Itewon, and it was nice. He is a good conversationalist, and has a rather intellectual bent. I think there is something going on next week as one of the teachers is going home. I do feel a bit left out, though, although I still hope to make some friends here. My apartment is isolated from everyone else; I live in a different neighborhood and am still a little lost. I hope things get a little less lonely as time wears on.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
RE: Red Light Green Light
Today I explored the subway system and DIDN'T GET LOST! It is actually pretty easy to get around, once you figure out the system. The stations are numbered and color coded. I went into Itewon, the "official tourist district," to purchase a cell-phone. Cell phones, bought new, are ridiculously expensive (about $700-$880 US), but I bought a used motorola (with a camera phone!) for, altogether (charger, minutes, voicemail) 200,000 Won ($180). When you run out of minutes, you simply buy more; no plan, no contract, no sweat. I like this system.
Itewon is a haven for American and Korean G.I.'s, as the"focky focky" shows and bars can attest to. I saw quite a few other "foreigners" (us!) wandering around. I got hopelessly lost and turned around at one point, and went out the wrong gate! I had to turn around and backtrack. I stopped at an Italian restaurant for lunch, and it was a good meal. The area has a slightly sordid air even during the day; here, women smoke on the street (they don't in the rest of Korea; it is vulgar), and some of them have Eurasian children. I saw many Caucasian men with Korean women, and the occasional hippy. Her, it is apparently ok for the cultures to mingle.
There is a part of the district known as "Hooker Hill," but I didn't go that far. My favorite "show" was the loudly advertized "HaHa - HoHo Show;" I guess that is where you go to see the "he-hes." I took some pictures with my new camera phone, but I am completely clueless as to how to get them out of the phone and into my computer.
I have been told it is pretty safe to wander at night; but it is not the locals I am concerned about, it is the other foreigners.
I browsed through the rather extensive name-brand knock off tents. I am on the lookout for the cheesiest tourist souvenir, but most of the things there are predictable, but rather classy. The "Prada" bubble hair elastic bands were sort of amusing. I bought a simple jade necklace; the lady spoke excellent English and was willing to bargain with me because "buisness was bad" due to all the rain today. I also got a garnet necklace.
I am dead beat right now, so I think I will go back home and rest for the evening.
Itewon is a haven for American and Korean G.I.'s, as the"focky focky" shows and bars can attest to. I saw quite a few other "foreigners" (us!) wandering around. I got hopelessly lost and turned around at one point, and went out the wrong gate! I had to turn around and backtrack. I stopped at an Italian restaurant for lunch, and it was a good meal. The area has a slightly sordid air even during the day; here, women smoke on the street (they don't in the rest of Korea; it is vulgar), and some of them have Eurasian children. I saw many Caucasian men with Korean women, and the occasional hippy. Her, it is apparently ok for the cultures to mingle.
There is a part of the district known as "Hooker Hill," but I didn't go that far. My favorite "show" was the loudly advertized "HaHa - HoHo Show;" I guess that is where you go to see the "he-hes." I took some pictures with my new camera phone, but I am completely clueless as to how to get them out of the phone and into my computer.
I have been told it is pretty safe to wander at night; but it is not the locals I am concerned about, it is the other foreigners.
I browsed through the rather extensive name-brand knock off tents. I am on the lookout for the cheesiest tourist souvenir, but most of the things there are predictable, but rather classy. The "Prada" bubble hair elastic bands were sort of amusing. I bought a simple jade necklace; the lady spoke excellent English and was willing to bargain with me because "buisness was bad" due to all the rain today. I also got a garnet necklace.
I am dead beat right now, so I think I will go back home and rest for the evening.
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