JOURNAL: Chuseok

So, why the long silence? Why haven't my (two) faithful readers heard from me in awhile? Ahhh, therin lies a tale, a tale of more woe than Juliet for her....wait a minute, wrong story.

Well, last weekend was Chuseok, a Korean holiday that can only be described as Thanksgiving/Christmas/Pagan Harvest Ritual/Honor-Your-Ancestors-If-You-Are-Buddhist. Basically, a nondenominational reason to get together with family. The women make a huge feast with many dishes...wait a minute, they do that EVERY day. The men, well, the men go out on a three day drinking bender and may or may not come home....Sigh.

My Korean friend from church very kindly invited me to spend the Chuseok weekend with her family in Incheon, and I accepted. She called earlier than expected on Saturday morning, saying she was in Seoul already (Incheon is about 30 miles away) , which gave me about twenty minutes to get ready.

I flew out of bed, silently cursing whatever malevolent god gave me a cold one week after recovering from pnewmonia and then sent me my period the same day! I threw some necessities in the bag, and started out the door. Belatedly, I realized that it was POURING rain outside. I stomped back to my apartment, sniffling all the way, and grabbed my umbrella. Wretchedly, I slinked out the door, and began walking towards the subway station to meet my friend and her sister. As I was walking in the dim grey light, I tried to get hold of myself. I tried a tentative smile, but my clenched jaw (clenched so my nose wouldn't drip) could only manage a small grimace. My efforts at positive thinking were further complicated when I stepped directly in a deep, but well camoflauged, puddle. Great, now the insides of my shoes were wet.

I met my friend and her sister at the subway entrance; naturally, her sister did not speak a word of English. Actually, this was a good thing, because I wasn't exactly fit for conversation. The ride was rather silent, punctuated only by a few titters when the sisters teased each other. Actually, I didn't speak much that weekend at all, since no one else in her family spoke English, and my Korean was even worse. As I was fighting a cold, this wasn't as annoying as it could have been. Her mother, who is one of the most beautiful old women I have ever seen, had a large meal waiting. An inner light diffused thoughout her small (and seriously bent) frame; her daughter also posesses this quality. Her eyes were enormous and a lovely brown. She also had a beautiful full smile.

I did the best I could at eating, though my appetite was sadly lacking. There were several varieties of kimchi (yummy if homemade), pickled bean sprouts (tastes better than it sounds), and a very delicious and spicy tofu and chicken soup. My limited Korean chopstick skills (a very different fish than other Asian chopsticks), were a source of much tactful amusement. Oma (mother) finally took pity on me and said I could use the spoon. She also brought out a miniscule fork from the kitchen, which I later found out was usually used for chicken. More on that later. Like all mothers everywhere, she encouraged me to eat up. When my cold was explained to her, she relented a bit on the eating, but it was a constant source of worry for her...

We sat down in front of the television for about an hour while the older sisters let loose in the kitchen. Wonderful smells emerged every once in awhile. It amazed me how all those women (about five) could manouver around the tiny kitchen. The Kims are a very tall and solidly built family - some of them are over six feet! They are all women. I was sent away to take a nap - we did this on rotation, as there were only a couple of beds. I felt terrible when my friend went into one of the bedrooms and booted her half-awake sister off the bed...this was how it worked though. When I got up, someone else took my place.

After we were well rested, an ENORMOUS bowl filled with rice powder was brought out. Oma sat on the floor and wrapped her legs around the bowl to hold it steady. Eldest Sister began kneading water into the rice powder, making a very pasty dough. It is back breaking work; each person took a turn using full body strength to knead the dough. I found it very fatiguing. As the kneading gets furthur done, the dough gets harder. We finally split the dough, and continued our task. While we were doing this, one of the sisters went to the bakery, and brought back the sweet version of SAMPYON (rice cakes), which we were making! I guess this is supposed to keep people from "snitching" from the bowl...not that riced powder is worth tasting (flour). The tofu soup also reappeared. We then began forming the dough.

The dough for SAMPYON is rolled into about a two inch ball. The ball is then formed into a well and filled with nuts or sesame seeds. The dough is pinched shut over the filling, and then rolled into an elongated ball. The ends are pinched, forming a football shape. My first few footballs were a bit too large and rather lumpy (the dough is VERY stiff), but I soon began producing footballs that received compliments! The pastries are then laid, in layers, upon beds of Korean pine needles in what can only be described as a mammoth double boiler. The balls are steamed for about an hour, and then served. We made the non-sweetened ones, and they were actually quite tasty. The needles lend a rather pungeant, but pleasant flavor to the nutty treats.

We watched t.v. for awhile. My friend decided that she wanted to make me a "Western" meal. She explained that she had been with some of the American men from our church to a place where they had eggs, toast, and ham. My friend made a special trip to the large (and expensive) supermarket just to make me a Western meal. I was quite touched, and I love her dearly for it. She is a very nurturing and giving person, and there is some guy out there who is stupid enough not to see it....

She brought out her purchases - canned corn, canned peaches, two kinds of jam, butter, and.....SPAM!

Some "waygooks" (barbarians/foreigners/US) firmly believe that the Americans who brought Spam to South Korea in the 1950s should be pistol-whipped. Spam is a delicacy, and can be found in expensive department stores available in huge, gaudy, gift packs, to be given to that special business associate. I am told it tastes really good over rice...

Neither of us had ever had Spam before, so we were mystified on how to serve it. My friend turned on the griddle and began frying it. I honestly don't know whether you eat it right from the can or not, so I thought her idea was probably reasonable. The Spam burned. Rather belatedly, I realized that my friend had probably had bacon, not ham, and that something had gotten lost in translation. It tasted terrible, so it sailed gaily into the trash container after a few tentative bites. I then showed her how to put the canned corn inthe microwave with a little water. I also stopped her from throwing out the syrup from the peaches. Koreans eat toast plain, and I was a little amused, I confess, to see her butter it AFTER she put the jam on with a chopstick! I made scrambled eggs with a little bit of salt and pepper. This was a novelty apparently; plain scrambled eggs in Korea are eaten in sandwiches. Her sister came by and peered at my creation with a look of disbelief. She would not taste it, even after I explained it was just scrambled eggs. I never thought about it before, but scrambled eggs DO look rather disgusting, don't they? They also do not lend themselves well to chopsticks...We ate the meal Korean style, that is, communally, with everything in a separate dish. The only personal dishes used in Korea are cups and soup dishes.

I think we both learned something that night.

We watched some more television, and I was forced to rest again. When I emerged, the junior members of the family ordered out for chicken, soju, and beer. The little forks were used for the chicken. Koreans eat all the meat on a chicken DOWN TO THE BONE. I felt wasteful as I looked at my pile of bones compared to their cleanly exposed piles of chicken carcasses.

Soju, by the way, is sweet potato vodka, but far less potent than Russian vodka. Koreans drink it in shots, but foreigners tend to mix it with juice. I like it neat myself, as it has a semi-sweet flavor that I like. It has a pleasant aroma as well. Koreans love to drink to excess. Fortunately, not this family.

My friend and I watched a live telecast of a concert by a very famous has-been entertainer by the name of Na Hoon A. He was a big star, judging by the vintage of his posters, in the late seventies, and was a reasonably good looking man back then. His voice is still strong and well-trained in the Neil Diamond way. Now he is a corpulent, beaming middle-aged Buddha with long, greasy white hair and a penchant for groping his fresh young back up singers on network t.v., apparently. A lovely young woman came out during a break in the over-the-top spectacular stage show to play the piano, and she was fantastically agile, if a little passionless, in her playing. Suddenly, she opened her mouth, and began to sing. Oh the horror - the girl couldn't sing at all! The man came up next to her and began crooning a love song, which she answered in her not so lovely voice. She sounded very much like a child does when leaning the "A B C" song. After this alarming duet, he stroked her arm, and, although she smiled, her eyes shuddered. I began wondering about their relationship off-stage...During differnt points in the show, he would caress his back up singers and dancers, and there were reactions ranging from tolerant amusement to disgust. In spite of this, the man was a polished entertainer, and at times enjoyable to watch. His arrogance was annoying, but he did have some talent. My friend said he had been married several times, and that he is still very popular with the married housewife set.

After this concert, we begann flipping through channels randomly, and came upon DR. ZHIVAGO...with Korean dubbing! I have seen it many times, so I was able to follow it, but the dubbing was quite amusing. Actually, the dubbers were good voice actors, whoever they were. I later found out that Korea broadcastsDR. ZHIVAGO every Chuseok, much like the Americans broadcast the TEN COMMANDMENTS at Easter. I wondered, why DR. ZHIVAGO? Was it an anti-Communist gag?

We went to bed, and left for Seoul early in the morning. Sunday was church as usual.

On Monday, "The Accident" occured. I was on the subway on my way to a celebration at Pastor Bill's house. It was quite a trek across town, with many transfers. I began walking down the stairs while consulting my subway map. Suddenly, and old man from out of nowhere pushed firmly past me, not an unusual occurance in this city. People can be very rude as far as pushing on public transit. For one startled moment I looked up, then felt my foot twist under me as I took an unexpected flying lesson down the flight of stairs. I landed on my rear, stunned, my mind registering a) I'm Alive, b) Wow! My Foot just made an interesting Crunching Sound, and C) Owwwwwww.....

The man who had pushed me helpfully handed me my map, which had flown away, then ran like hell for the outgoing train. I gimped my way up the stairs, and, after noting that I had a nice goose egg on my ankle, decided to continue my journey, as I was nearly there. I hopped the next train, and arrived about ten minutes later at my final stop. I limped up the stairs and out into the street- now the pain really began. I wandered around lost in the rain for about fifteen minutes. My map was in Korean, and I couldn't find the right street entrance. I tried to call, but my cell phone refused to cooperate. One man pointed up the hill, but I still couldn't find it. FInally, I hailed a taxi. He called on his cell phone, and got directions. It WAS up a hill, a long, steep hill, and I would have nver made it on my own.

We iced the ankle because the clinics were all closed for the holiday. I was not much company, though Lord knows I tried to be upbeat. I did not get to see a doctor until Wednesday, as it turned out. The ankle is not broken, but I have a bad sprained with possible tissue damage. I am able to get around now with only slight difficulty; it doesn't hurt much anymore, but it is stiff. Stairs are still a challenge. I declined crutches because, quite frankly, my coordination is not very good, and I fear crutches might cause further injuries. My cold is better, although I have dislocated a rib by the coughing. I am hoping to find a chiropractor in the city...