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.
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