White on Rice

The Master

2010-04-08T05:45:00.006+09:00

During a break from pinning dyed fabric in 2001, I snapped this moseup of the Master against an Autumn sky. You can tell from his face that he loves me right?
I might've mentioned the recent email I got from him. In it he told me to view KBS 인간극장 95~99회 (꽃반지 끼고 은희네집). Since I am not currently in the Korea, I have to jump through a number of red-tape hoops before I am allowed to see it. Feel free to check it out if you want to see The Master, his famous wife, and kids. Then tell me how much you loved it. I'll be jealous until KBS decides I am a worthy enough foreigner to see it.

Earning My Room and Board

2010-04-06T03:30:00.005+09:00

Persimmon Dyeing in 2001 Cont'd

The almost daily work of dyeing the cleaned cotton fabric rolls continued. The Master's mom (pictured standing) and other neighborhood ajummas folded the rolls through the persimmon juice, carefully soaking every inch.

My contribution was to walk around and reload their tubs by pouring more persimmon juice in. I also entertained them by terribly singing 1980's K-Pop (그러나 그 시절에 너를 또 만나서 사랑할 수 있을까).

When the fabric was thoroughly steeped in the dye juice, I would run each one through the spin cycle on a lidless washing machine. Then we would load the massive moist piles into the van and drive them about 200 meters up behind the house to an open field. There were long drying stands covered with a black plastic mesh. Using sharp pins shaped like the numeral 2, we would pin the fabric out to dry. The sun and the salty coastal air was supposed to be good for getting the proper color from the dyeing process. Witness:

After a few times through the whole cycle (dyeing, spinning, pinning, drying, unpinning, repeat) the fabric would take on the rich brown color seen here.

The ajummas had to follow behind me at first because my pinning technique was not great. They yelled at me, then giggled and flirted. I learned. Eventually. But my fingers were raw and my jeans were covered in dye spots.

Skate on Thin Ice--2001 Cont'd

2010-04-03T00:22:00.011+09:00

After taking rice, the women cleaned up while the Master, his protege, and I stayed seated on the kitchen floor. The Master was itching for some Soju and with a huge library of options within arm's reach, we were soon pouring each other's cups full. There was a problem however: we had no side dishes to eat while drinking. To solve this problem the Master went to the freezer and pulled out a large cube-shaped block of frozen food. He unwrapped the plastic, placed it on a plate, and put it in the microwave.

I had no idea what he was cooking or defrosting so I waited silently savoring my fruit-steeped Soju. When the microwave dinged he put the food down in front of us. He asked me if I had ever tried it before. I asked what it was and he told me but I didn't recognize the name. He clarified that it was a type of seafood. I still had no clue but mental noted to look it up later.

The Master got a small cup and filled it with red pepper paste for dipping the barely defrosted seafood bites in before eating. He warned me I might not like it. I was not sure if he said I wouldn't like it because it was spoiled, or because it tasted like it was spoiled. The only thing I was sure of was that he had used the word "spoiled" in describing the seafood.

I took a bite. Terrible. I took another bite but dipped it in the yummy red sauce first. Still terrible and only doable if caked in ample pepper paste and chased with Soju. As we finished eating the thawed bits around the edges, the frozen fare would go back into the microwave for more defrosting, then we would pick at the edges some more and eat. Dip and eat. Thaw, pick, dip, eat, drink. Repeat.

When we'd had enough, the seafood was re-wrapped and placed back into the freezer. We repaired to bed. Me to share the mosquito net room with the protege.

I forgot to look up the name of the rotten-tasting seafood. I even forgot the name. And it wasn't until a few days later when we drove into Mokpo and passed a fish market that the subject finally came up again. The Master pointed out the window at some sea fresh creatures propped on display.

"Hong-eo," he said. "That is what we ate the other night. Hong-eo."
There's a reason ZenKimchi calls it "The hardest thing in Korea to swallow..."

Gettin' Busy

2010-03-27T01:07:00.010+09:00

Lest ye fear I spent the whole 2001 trip virtually alone and stranded in the middle of nowhere, stay tuned.

Eventually the Master and his wife did return from Seoul and things returned mostly to normal around Grandma's house. That is to say the rain stopped and the labor of natural dyeing resumed. Plus I was able to have actual conversations; not just ones with myself in my own head.

One of the Master's young proteges arrived in a van packed with supplies. We unloaded loads and loads of cotton fabric rolls and stacked them any ol' where.

Before introducing any persimmon juice onto the cotton it all had to be rinse-washed several times. This was done to remove any chemicals on the cloth that might interfere with the coloring. Under the black mesh canopy that shaded the pavemented side yard, we rinsed countless rolls of cotton. From bin to bin, several rinses for each, then into the spin cycle of a lidless industrial-sized washing machine. After the spin cycle, we haphazardly hung the wet rolls over lines strewn across the front "yard."

The sun would do the drying work, and we would shift the fabric around as it dried. It didn't seem to matter that the cloth dragged in the mud from the previous rainy days. Chemicals, bad. Mud, good. It added character. Plus it would probably wash off during the repeated dyeing phases.

In the background of the above shot you can see a large shed. It was a newer addition to the property and it was filled with cotton; both dyed and un-dyed (er, not yet dyed). In the back left of the photo is a fig tree. We ate the figs that had fallen to the ground.

Tired, sore, hungry, but not bored or alone, I sat down to take rice with Grandma, the Master, his wife, and the young helper who drove the van.

Day 2 With Grandma

2010-03-18T23:47:00.010+09:00

Bored stiff, I walked back up the one street in Grandma's tiny village. People were starting to trickle in for the upcoming Chuseok holiday. A few of them were out and about. That made for more than a couple steady stares at me. Along the walk I snapped a few pics of some of the local urchins. Some already dressed in their holiday garb.
Once word got around that there was a whitey lurking, a group of kids started to gather and follow. Soon I was surrounded by 10-12 elementary age children. They shot questions at me like a firing squad. And with my 3rd grade level Korean skills, we hit it right off. It was the first human interaction--besides Grandma--that I had in 2 days. So it was welcome. At first.

Once they got comfortable that I was not a ghost or a monster, one obnoxious little boy decided it was time to initiate me into the local game of gochu grab. He would stand right in front of me and then reach out and smack me in the manbits. I was not a fan so I told him not to do that anymore. I trusted he got the memo and let my guard down. Smack, he junkpunched me again.

No matter how I chided, he kept after me until one time he missed and hit the pink coin purse in my pocket. He asked me what was in my pocket. Me, hoping it would distract him from his punch fetish, I pulled the coin purse out. Upon seeing it, the jaw of one girl in the crowd just dropped. Then, when I opened it and pulled out her photo ID, those kids lost their marbles. They jumped up and down and ran in circles and squealed and yammered. How could a foreigner end up with her coin purse and her picture? They couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that I had found it on the side of the road in their very own village. I handed it back to her and the kids all ran off screaming.

I walked back to Grandma's by myself.

Mokpo area 2001. Grandma's house visit continued...

2010-03-16T23:06:00.005+09:00

By the time I got back down to Grandma's house it was starting to rain in earnest. I hustled into the guest room and sat down. It was mid-morning and I was already starting to feel trapped. No internet, no phone, only a few local TV channels, no where to go or any way to get there. I was just stuck in this tiny guest room--at least until the rain stopped or the Master returned from Seoul.

I spent nearly the entire day cooped in that room with only a few short trips out. I went out twice to take rice with Grandma. I went out to go potty. I sat on the wood deck and watched the rain.

Dying with not a Choco-Pie or a Coke in sight, I finally got so bored that I investigated the small side building that could serve as guest quarters if it weren't chock full of boxes and books and junk. I poked through the boxes looking for anything interesting. There were several books in Korean on natural dyeing. I stiffly flipped through the pages. I also found a coffee table book on the Korean climbing adventure to the K-2(?) in the 70's(?). Lots of pictures of raccoon-tanned-face Koreans in extreme cold-weather gear in gorgeous backdrops.

There were lots of spiders in that building, and around the property in general. And there was not anything in there to hold my attention for very long. I was really getting antsy and bored. The rain would not let up, the courtyard was turning to a mud bog, and ni-nighttime could not come soon enough for me...

Flashback: 1980's Photo ID Collage

2010-03-15T04:18:00.006+09:00

All the way to 1987 and the "No Smiles Club."

Some Rice And A Walk

2010-03-13T07:43:00.010+09:00

I ate rice in silence with Grandma. Afterwards she started to clean up and I felt awkward. Do I help? Do I leave? Do I have another instant coffee with Prima? After some hesitation I got up, thanked Grandma for the rice, and went back to my room. There was nothing to do in there really. Nothing on TV captivated me, no internet, no mobile (hand phone); I shoulda brought a book.

With nothing much to do I decided to go for a walk and recon the neighborhood. Out the squeaky metal front gate I took a right. The road ended about 50 meters down in a circle turnaround (cul de sac?). Beyond that as far as I could see was just land. Some farmed, some wild, flat, endless. Not like Kansas, but you get the picture.

I turned around and walked back toward the house. Nobody around. Just this lone white 도깨비 pacing the street of a sleepy hamlet in the morning pre-rain mist.

Grandma's house was on my left and I continued upward as the road had a slight upgrade. Off to the right were rice paddies and other veggie fields. On the left the last few houses faded away as I approached some smaller highway. Only the infrequent truck passed by and I got some sweet geeks from the drivers. I looked up and down the highway. I looked again. As far as I could see in any direction there was no bus stop. And certainly no food store. And no food store in Grandma's tiny village. At least there were a few delicious Orion Choco Pies left.

I looked down at my feet like I often do when thinking. People always interpret it as hanging my head or being depressed. It's not. It's just how I think. A few steps off from my feet I saw a small, pink, girl's coin purse. I stooped and picked it up. There was no money in it, no cash or coin. But there was small black and white photo like you see on all citizen ID cards. The photo was a young child making the straight face required in all ID photos. It reminded me of the collection of ID photos I have that I started in the '80s (I promise to go find it and collage it up for you).

I put the pink coin purse in my jeans pocket and slowly headed back down the hill toward Grandmother's house...

The Morning Calm

2010-03-10T11:51:00.000+09:00

It was getting light out when I woke up snug in my mosquito net canopy. There was no gong sound calling me to breakfast like there had been back in ’97. I didn’t hear anyone up and about. I crawled to the paper door and tried to slide it open as quietly as possible. I poked my head out. I couldn’t see or hear anyone up. The sky was overcast and it appeared and smelled like rain was imminent. I put on my shoes and sat on the edge of the deck. I let my legs dangle down for a moment. It would have been a perfect opportunity to meditate if I were so inclined (I am not).

I figured if I walked over to the bathroom then people would know I was awake and somebody might come out and talk to me. I walked across the dirt courtyard to the outhouse. I snuck a peak into Grandma’s kitchen but not a creature was stirring. I tried to make a little noise as I entered the outhouse, and again as I exited. Still nobody appeared to be up just yet so I went back to my room to have a look around.

The guestroom had a small rabbit-eared TV. I turned it on. Only a couple channels came in clearly enough to see and both were broadcasting regional news. I monkeyed with the antenna and tried some other channels without much luck. I looked around. There was a bookcase piled high with books. A stack of clean clothes stood in one corner. An abalone shell armoire/wardrobe covered nearly one entire wall but I felt odd about opening it. I put my head back down on the pillow and stared blankly at the TV. At least I wasn’t hunkered in the cubesicle at the j o b.

Soon enough Grandma came to the door and yelled for me to come eat rice.

I paused outside the kitchen to wash my hands and hit a mini Saesu--a Korean institution I am 100% on board with. Grandma sat alone on the floor at the little table. I kicked off my shoes, went in and had a seat on the floor. I moved around a bit trying to find a warm spot and finally settled. On the table was served already the standard fare with the same white rice with purple beans from the same batch that was in the rice cooker the night before. I guess that works.

I asked after the Master and she gave me a look like I was supposed to know. She told me they had received a call in the night informing them that a teacher (선생) of the Master's Wife's had been in a car accident and had died. So they packed up on the spot and went up to pay respects. Knowing that the Master's wife is a famous former pop star, I thought this person perhaps was a mentor or singing coach or somebody like that. Plus the fact they left in the middle of the night indicated on its own that the deceased was a significant person in their lives.

Grandma let the news sink for a moment and then let me know they would return in a couple of days and that the Master had said I should remain. Indeed, remain I would.

The Phone, It Rings

2010-03-10T01:38:00.008+09:00

I bid a fond good night to Grandma and the Soju shelf, and the Master showed me to the guest room. He lingered for a few minutes to make sure I was situated before he went off to bed himself. I believe he was truly pleased to see me again.

In the room there was a thin pad to sleep on, a thick blanket, a dirty pillow, and a mosquito net hanging down from the ceiling. That’s right, a mosquito net. Certainly a first for me. This was well before I started experiencing my nighttime anxiety attacks that I elsewhere referred to as “Adult Onset Fear of Waking Up dead,” but sleep did not come easy that first night at Grandma’s house.

Around 2 a.m. the phone started ringing. From my time spent at The Master’s previously, I knew that daytime and nighttime were very loose guidelines for when to sleep and when to be awake. So I was not surprised someone might call regardless of the hour. But at Grandma’s house, there were only two phones; one in her room, and one in the guestroom (my room). There was no voice message machine so the phone rang and rang and rang as it seemed Grandma had no interest in answering it. Finally it rang off after what seemed like 30 rings. A few minutes later it started ringing again. This time after quite a few rings Grandma picked it up. She yelled for the Master’s wife. I heard the wood-framed paper door of the Master’s room slide open and shut. Slippers shuffled across the concrete to the kitchen. Then I heard the muffled sounds of the Master’s wife talking on the phone. Then quiet.

Slippers shuffled back and their door slid open and shut again. Then quiet. Then the door open and shut again. Then some activity, not really a commotion, but movement and activity in the yard area outside Grandma’s kitchen. I heard a car pull up in front of Grandma’s house, the front metal gate open and close, car doors open and shut, and the sounds of the car driving off.

The quiet of the countryside night soon settled back over the pitch dark of countryside night.

Grandma's Kitchen

2010-03-05T01:42:00.015+09:00

We took off our shoes and entered the Master's mother's kitchen/dining area. Grandma was preparing dinner. The Master's wife spelled her so she could come receive a bow from me. I had only met her once before--briefly in 1997--but she welcomed me and my awkward bow as if I were her own son. She presented with me with a small gift that I still have: I presented her with a box of Orion Choco Pies. Truth be told they were for me, but one can't show up empty handed when one returns home for Chuseok, now can one? Dinner was standard fare: a soup, some kimchi, and white rice with purple beans. The four of us sat on the floor of the kitchen around a small table. The kitchen was small; while seated at the table the refrigerator was in arm's reach, as was the rice cooker, the microwave, and the sink. A couple of feet away was the step up into Grandma's sleeping (and TV watching) area.

It wasn't the cleanest Korean kitchen I have ever seen. Certainly Grandma had not been down on her knees with a rag wiping up all the dirt in a while. Dust bunnies were common, and wherever there was not any socked-foot-traffic, dust was visible. [Now why do you even need to mention that? What's you point? I don't know. Why not just cover the top 3 bullet points about that kitchen and leave it at that?] OK, good advice.

Here are the top 3 bullets in no particular order:

1. 후라이 다운. For the hangeul-impaired that reads "Hoo-ra-ee Da-oon." Clearly from the name it should be obvious, but the context of being there and seeing it helps understand what it is. It is a sheet of super sticky fly attractant paper sitting on the kitchen floor by the rice cooker. It is covered with flies that had been duped into landed there. Some still struggled to free themselves back into flight, but many had long since given up the battle. Secretly Jeff Goldblum is turning over in his grave somewhere just thinking about it. Fly Down.

2. 쥐러브. For the hangeul-impaired that reads "Mouse Love." Again, if the name doesn't clearly say it all I am not sure how to help. But let me offer this: a super sticky mouse-inviting tunnel that opens wide and narrows down to nothing. Some tempting yummables await the unsuspecting mouse who enters and progresses inward. Alas it is but a tease. The poor creature gets completely mired before enjoying the treats and dies slowly unable to put it in reverse. Just thinking about dying like that gives me cold sweats and anxiety attacks that keep me up at night. Mouse Love.

3. Soju shelf. Three cheers for Soju shelf. Floor to ceiling Soju shelf. Maybe 1 meter wide by 2.5 meters high. Stocked with nothing but glass jars of all shapes and sizes. Each jar was filled with clear liquid. Each jar also had some variety of fruit in it. A massive selection of fruit-flavored Sojus certain to please even the most indifferent of palates. I wish I had a photo of that museum-like shelf, sadly I do not. The first night in Grandma's kitchen was spent sampling the different creations. My favorite ended up being the Maeshil--some kind of Korean plum I guess. Soju shelf.

To Grandmother's House We Go

2010-03-03T02:23:00.012+09:00

Once in the cab, the Master and I sped away from Mokpo in an easterly direction. We were headed to his mother's house where he and his wife were living and running the family persimmon juice dyeing business. Clearly many things had changed since the '97 halcyon down on Jeju Island. Business was still the same, but Kimi was in NYC studying fashion in her mother's footsteps. Yong-i was doing his military duty. They no longer lived in the glory of the Jeju rock mansion with views of Halla Mountain. The Master's mom no longer lived in the sick ocean-view manor with the guest quarters where I slept one night (where the puppy ate my Nikes).

I suspect something happened down on Jeju to precipitate the move and change (downgrade) of housing standards but everyone was tightlipped about the reasons behind the move. Benefit of the doubt credits filial piety. I left it at that. I got the feeling that this new house was actually more like the family's original property. The village it was located in (can't remember the name) was tiny. No more than 30 or 40 houses. But it was a very short drive up to the family grave site where the Master's father was buried (more on that later). The house was pretty rundown but it sat on a fairly large lot. They had built a huge storage shed to one side and had paved out the whole other side yard area to do the dyeing on. The main building had 3 total bedrooms; one right off the kitchen where the Master's mom slept. The master and his wife slept next to that room, and I shared the other guest room with any young protege who happened to be helping out at the moment.

The "facilities" took the form of an outhouse. No shower or bath; just a faucet for the occasional Saesu. There was also another side building that would work great as another guest room as it had a small sink and kitchen area, but it was stuffed to the gills with boxes of books and other junk. So it was not ever really used by any humans. I'll post more pictures later, but here is one that gives my first impressions of the living conditions, crowded as they were by the need to do business. The sandals on the ground in the very center show the entry to the kitchen where we took rice and where the Master's mom slept. Hard to make out, but off to the right was one bedroom, off to the left was the one I slept in. All the bags and cloth and stuff are all part of doing the dyeing (more on that later).

As it turns out, the cab driver lives in the same village and knows the family well. He drove right to the front gate and we went in to greet Grandmother...

September 2001 Cont'd

2010-03-02T06:37:00.012+09:00

I said I don't remember where I stayed in Seoul when I landed in 2001. And then I came across this photo nugget. At some point, the wife organized all our photos into boxes with labels. This picture was in the same pile as the others from my 2001 adventure. I don't recall staying at this lovely Gold Star Yeogwan. But I don't know that I would take this shot for any other reason. It's not like I need a photo to show people where I did NOT stay. I'm gonna guess I stayed here at least one night. It's not like my highly paid fact checker is going to hammer me for being wrong about this...

OK then, where was I? Right, off to Mokpo.

I don't remember anything else specific about my time in Seoul in 2001. What I do know is that I took a train to Mokpo. I know this because my spreadsheet says so. I also know because I remember that train ride very well. I took a window seat so I could enjoy the view and I hunkered. The aisle seat next to me sat empty right up until the train started to move. Then, at the last possible moment, my ridemate took his throne. I feel like I probably smelt him before he fully arrived, but that is not totally fair. I guess.

Drunk? Hammered.

Over the course of the next several hours I tried faking asleep, fake snoring sounds, fake couldn't speak English, fake couldn't speak Korean, I looked for an open seat elsewhere. I took like 10 trips to the loo. I looked around for a friendly Korean to intervene on my behalf. Nothing. You've all been there, you know what I'm talking about. But my ridemate was persistent. He kept talking talking talking and breathing his sourness into my face. He racked his muddled brain for more English, occasionally letting Korean fly as if it were English.

Right about the time I was fixing to lose it, he busts out a black plastic bag that could have come from any ol' market. Out comes a couple trays of those green rice balls (it was the week before Chuseok after all...). He wants to share his bounty with the foreigner. I decline. No thanks. I have never tried them, believe it or not, but I am convinced I hate them. He persists. I decline. He persists. I wave my hand at them, I cross my arms in front of my body. Persistence wears resistance (thank you Kirby vacuum sales training). I relent. Delicious. I am not kidding. I was pleasantly surprised. I yummed down a few 'cuz they were good, but also because neither of us could talk while chewing up that rice and sesame goodness. Lesson learned again: you might like balls of green rice, you might like them try them and be nice, you might like them stubborn punk, you might like them with a drunk.

But even that shared joy only bought me a brief spell of peace. At last a nice gentleman behind the drunk asked him to leave me alone and then turned to me in English: "I am sorry." The drunk did not take too kindly to that advice and tempers flared. They exchanged a few heated barbs and it looked as if fists would fly. More fellow travelers got involved and managed to calm the scene. The kind gentleman traded seats with me and I felt like an a-hole.

We arrived in Mokpo without further incident. The Master was waiting for me next to a cab. As I walked toward him, the drunk caught up to me and asked where I was going. I ignored him and made for the Master. I hastened into the haven of the waiting cab and as we sped away I memorized the sad face of the abandoned and mistreated drunken rice cake ambassador.

September 2001

2010-03-01T13:23:00.013+09:00

Having made up my mind to return to Korea--and obtained permission from the future wife--I booked my ticket straightaway. Then the unthinkable happened. If I have to spell out what the unthinkable was, you're obviously not from Gander, Newfoundland. Neither am I, but I do know what went on up there...

I have to be honest and admit that I was angry about it. I was anxious and upset my trip might be cancelled. I also had moments of nervousness, even fear, about getting on a plane right then, but I rationalized it away. My rationalization skills are quite decent. In hindsight, I had nothing to worry about--even only 10 days after the attacks.

The first memory I have of the trip is landing for my first time at the Hub of Asia (Incheon Airport). It was nice and new and clean and all the workers were so welcoming with their bows and friendly greetings. I collected my luggage, changed some money and headed outside. I don't really recall catching a bus, or riding to Seoul, but I do recall very clearly getting off the bus in the Gwanghwamun area. It feels like it was late afternoon and I was giddy. I went into the nearest convenience store and bought a 10,000 Won Phone Card. At the nearest bank of phones I called my soon-to-be-betrothed. She wasn't excited as I, understandably, but she told me to have a good time.

I had no place to stay in Seoul. I don't remember where I stayed in Seoul. I don't recall how long I stayed in Seoul. 2 days tops. The real plan was to get down to the Master's. Since I last saw the Master he had moved his family off beautiful Jeju Island. They were living in a tiny village near Mokpo where they took care of his widowed mother.

Off to Mokpo I went...

Fall 2001

2010-02-24T09:15:00.013+09:00

Hometown USA

As I said 2 posts ago, I got a job shortly after returning from Korea. I bought a house. I got engaged. From time to time I was able to catch up with the Master via the telephone. Typically I would get a call from him in the wee hours of my morning. He would be two or three sheets. But our phone conversations almost always went the same way. He would ask when I was coming back to Korea, then ask after my health, then end the call. Short and sweet. But I would wake in a panic thinking it must be bad news for the phone to be ringing at 3 a.m. And after the call my heart would be racing. I would replay any Korean I spoke to make sure it made sense. And I would lie awake for a while trying to figure out how to get back to Korea.

I got engaged in December of 2000 with a plan to get hitched in Spring of 2002. After one particular midnight call from the Master, I formulated a plan to cross the Pacific once again in the fall of 2001. I ran it past my lady. I think I positioned it as the last time I would get the chance to go. I'm not sure what kind of marriage hell I thought I might be entering that would keep me from ever going to Korea again, but there you go. She, not surprisingly, was OK with me heading over to see the Master again. Lord knows she had heard enough stories about him to know I was serious. Given the green light, I decided on late September through early October.

Now here's a thing. I don't recall every detail of that trip. I have some pictures and a lot of clear memories. But I have no journal or written log of it. I find that my memories of one trip blend into another. As such there are gaps at certain spots between September 22 and October 5 of 2001. So I've pulled together a spreadsheet to try my best to make sure I've got it all straight. And I am not even a spreadsheet guy...

And still, I just spent 15 minutes staring at my spreadsheet trying to force certain memories into one trip or another. I know what happened and what I did and what I thought. I just can't always tell certainly what year or what trip it happened on. Mind...getting...feeeeeble.

For now I'll start with what I know for sure about the 2001 trip...

Fall 2001: The Return

2010-02-23T10:33:00.000+09:00

I promise to get back on course here and regale you with whales and tales from my Korea trip of 2001. Here is a teaser:
And if you can't wait for that bomb to drop, go to the post prior to this one and try to digest the comments that have become quite the sidebar your honor.

1997-2001

2010-01-19T06:37:00.007+09:00

Here are some high level bullet points of what went on in my life after leaving the Korea in 1997.

1. Tried to patch things up with girlfriend I abandoned for 3 months to see the Korea again.

2. Succeeded at #1. Not as easy as I thought it would be.

3. Got a part time job copy editing technical support documentation. No skills or experience in the field, other than my M.A. in Literature.

4. Went full time as copy editor.

5. Took over management of the same copy edit team. Grew team to 12.

6. Bought my first house and moved out of my parents' basement.

7. Left the copy edit team for a different role at same company.

8. Got woken up occasionally in the middle of the night by phone calls from the Master. "Hello. When are you coming to Korea? How is your health? Good-bye."

9. Got engaged to #1 above.

10. Planned my next trip to the Korea.

Ping me separately for a full treatment of any of #1-9 above. Full coverage of #10 follows forthwith.

1980's Pen Pal Good Times Part 2

2010-01-12T07:27:00.001+09:00

If you happen to see Hyonsook, tell her I said "핼로."

1980's Pen Pal Good Times

2010-01-10T07:46:00.006+09:00

Cleaning out my home office I found a bagful of old cards and letters from the 80's. A few were from Hyonsook in Seoul. She called me Seongtae. It has probably been 20 years since I looked at these and I thought you might enjoy.

If you happen to see Hyonsook, tell her I said "핼로."
(click photo to enlarge and read)

Tie This On

2010-01-06T00:15:00.008+09:00

I am not a hoarder like the freaks you see on the TV, but I do tend to hold on to trinkets and trash from my Korean Sojourns. Here is one of my more treasured items:
민철 handcarved this mini mask out of paulownia wood. The whole time I was at the master's, 민철 could be seen delicately carving this nugget. As you can see, it is about the size of a book of Denny's Korea matches, or a paper packet of Korean medicine. I expressed admiration more than once and he must have got it in his mind to gift it to me. For when it came time for me to depart Cheju in the Spring of 1997, he had fixed it on a lanyard of persimmon-juice-dyed cotton, and he gave it to me. It makes a unique bolo.

Such a good-hearted fellow. I never saw him again after the Spring of 1997.

April 20-22, 1997

2009-12-21T02:13:00.010+09:00

The Poet and I parted ways at Kimpo and I made for Mokdong. I already told you I never saw JT again, but most of my stuff was still at his apartment. I needed to collect it and I didn't really want to run into him and have a dramatic scene. So I first went to Shinjeong and secured a small, cheap room at a motel.

Having settled in there I waited for the hour when I was pretty sure JT would be teaching and I went to collect my things. I let myself in with my key and was surprised to find JT's brother sitting in the kitchen. I told him I was only there to get my stuff and I would be out of there. He gave me a look that was kinda sympathetic and kinda confused at the same time. I didn't volunteer any other information like where I was staying or when I was headed back to the States. Humping my giant backpack, I left.

Back at my cheap motel room I called the airline office in Seoul and got my flight back to the States moved up a day. That would leave me 2 nights and one full day to tie up the loose ends of this trip. Shopping, packing, fare thee wells.

I stopped in at MeongSeok's traditional tea and cocktail house in Insadong. He was not there, but I noticed a poem by the Poet was decorating one wall. I asked the Arbeit girl about MeongSoek and she called him up. He told the girl to give me some liquor to take with me. I ended up with two bottles of Hongju to enjoy once I got home.

On my last day, I grabbed the 5 line back to Kimpo. Skylark met me there to say goodbye; I was a little surprised she was still speaking to me, but she was the only friend I had left in Seoul. At Passport control, Skylark asked me to write to her. I told her I would not. We said goodbye and I crossed over.

I bought some Ginseng to help use up my extra Korean cash. In my pocket I found 2 partly used phone cards. I had no further use for them so I gave them to the Ginseng sales girl. She was very gracious and gave me this:

And thus ended my 3-month affair with the Land of the Morning Calm.

April 19-20, 1997

2009-12-18T02:47:00.010+09:00

Time to move on. All remaining guests, myself, and the Master made for the northern side of the island. Instead of heading for the airport or the ferry terminal, we pulled into a quiet neighborhood to the west of Jeju City. We entered the master's mother's house. The property gates were made of rocks piled high just like the Master's house. It was a large two-story home with huge picture windows that looked out towards the sea. A yard that was large by Korean standards, and a smaller dwelling off to the side built into the side of a hillock. We were to sleep in the side house and leave for the mainland in the morning.

In the night, the dog ate my Nikes. When I woke up I was upset about it and remarked that the dog (개) ate my shoes. The Master quickly corrected me that the puppy (강아지) ate my shoes. Think about that.

That morning we all set out for the ferry terminal to catch a boat to Wando. Some of the crew in the car with me included (left to right) the Producer, the Professor, and the Poet.
The ferry approaches Wando.
In Wando city we ate our final meal together and went many separate ways. The Master went off to Jiri Mountain. The Poet and I needed to get up to Seoul so the Master sent us to Kwangju to catch a plane. Without any flight reservations, the Poet and I went straight to the airport. I was convinced we would never make it onto a plane that day. We waited for an hour or so until our names were called, boarded for Seoul and took off. The Poet paid for the tickets (or maybe it was the Master's money...I don't know).

We parted ways when we landed at Kimpo. I never saw the Poet again. Or the Professor. Or the Producer. Or the Potter or his wife.

The Master? More on that later...

April 18, 1997. Gone Fishin'

2009-12-09T12:33:00.011+09:00

All of the guests who were still at the Master's house piled in cars and headed to the ocean front. We took all manner of fishing gear and tackle, worms, rice, kimchi, Ramen, Soju, and a travel burner. The weather was gorgeous. Here are some of the 갈옷 - clad fellas getting their angling on. From far left to right: CheongJeon, MeongSeok, MinCheol, the Master. Not pictured but also present on this excursion: The Potter of Euijeongbu, The Potter's wife, The Poet (one of his poems decorates the walls of MeongSeok's traditional tea house in Insa-dong), and a Korea Hollywood director who would later offer me pot out of the trunk of his car (odd how there is so much fuss these days about the foreigners and their drugs, when the only time I had weed offered me was from a Korean dude).

Each fishing pole had several hooks, each hook had some kind of worm I had never seen before--kinda looked like a huge green millipede. We caught quite a few fishies that looked like bluegill but were orange in color. While the manfolk fished, the Potter's wife made rice and put the Ramen on to boil. When the first couple orange bluegill came out of the ocean, they went straight into the pot. They next few were filleted and enjoyed raw. It doesn't get much fresher than that.

Here is MeongSeok, the Potter's wife, and two others I don't remember. All are enjoying the ramen and fresh seafood over rice concoction. Oh, and soju.

Here the Potter's Wife is explaining something to me about MinCheol (the goatee is new from the last time we saw him).

Here is CheongJeon playing the Daegeum* with his long hair flowing in the ocean breeze.

Here is me pretending to play the Daegeum. They put me up to it. Something about the beautiful backdrop and the carefree mood of the day made us all a bit romantic.

*Daegeum (large transverse flute): The daegeum is one of three bamboo wind instruments of the Unified Silla period.

April 16-17, 1997

2009-12-09T03:35:00.011+09:00

Cheju, South Korea

April 16 was spent mostly recuperating from the backyard BBQ party the night before. Many guests spent the night. Together we lounged the day away with lots of instant coffee and sitting on the floor.

April 17. The Master took me in to Seogwipo city area to meet an older Korean gentleman that he had quite some respect for. This guy ran a 귤 orchard. Immaculate, well maintained. We walked around and had a look, mostly for my benefit as neither of them directed much conversation my way. After the tour we went inside.

Our host flipped on the television to some Sumo tournament in Japan. The Master referred to the wrestlers as "그 놈들." He talked about how "those 놈s" do all those pre-bout rituals like throwing the salt and raising one leg and then squatting, and they don't even know why they do them. He said the reason for the one leg raise and squat was to get their testicles to hang down lower. I didn't follow up on that to learn why they need more dangly manspheres, but I'm sure the Master would've had the answer.

The Master and the host pulled out the Paduk board and started an extended series. I am not sure who won their epic battle because I fell asleep sitting upright in a chair. I woke up to an unfamiliar aroma. The Master was performing Moxibustion on the host's hands. He lit little incense-like nubs that had an adhesive backing and placed them strategically on the crucial spots. Somehow the Master knew all the acupoints to treat whatever ails and he would point them out and describe the treatment. He said you wanted them to get hot, but not burn. Pretty soon I had a few piles burning on my hands. When it was all over, both the host and myself had brown burn circles all over our hands and wrists.

That was a first. And a last.

We returned to the Master's house for an evening of soju and song with the remaining guests.

April 15, 1997

2009-12-04T00:49:00.016+09:00

Cheju, South Korea

I wasn't able to meet up with the Master until after the fashion show. He took my hand and marched me backstage as it were, and we watched as reporters and photographers circled his wife. She held bouquets of flowers and smiled graciously--befitting her celebrity.

The Master then put me into one of the many cars that were heading back to his stone manor in the sticks. Before we pulled out he told me that JT had been calling for me; left me several messages asking for me to call him back. And so it was that the long drive from Cheju city out to the Moseulpo area was spent thinking about how my next conversation with JT might go.

I didn't think there was any way JT could know that Skylark was not with me any longer. But I was pretty sure he had spent the past few days obsessing about what she and I might be doing. I thought it might be bothering him, but I never expected it to drive him mad. So while I waited for the rest of the Master's family and guests to arrive, I called up JT in Seoul. He wasted no time ripping into me. The conversation was long and difficult, but there are two things he said that I will never forget.

First he told me he had given Skylark his heart. He kept saying that phrase: "I gave her my heart." And he blamed me for stealing her from him. That's odd for three reasons: she wasn't interested in him, I wasn't interested in her in that way, and he had only known her for about 6 weeks when he "gave her his heart." So sad.

The second thing he said that I will never forget: he said "maybe we never were friends." Maybe we never were friends? We knew each other 9 years. We roomed at college for 2 years, and spent one summer selling Kirby vacuums together. We road tripped to San Diego and Tijuana together. I went to his first wedding (in Vegas ~1992 where I won $3275 playing poker well before the poker boom). Not friends? Never were friends? Over a girl he hardly knew? Hmmmph.

That revelation really threw me. I avoided the party outside for quite some time until the Master came indoors and found me alone with my thoughts. I explained what happened. He told me to come outside and join the party. And so I did.

The party was 50 or so likeminded Korean revelers, lots of Soju, and several open fires with meat grilling all around the backyard. Despite my melancholy, the party was unsurpassed. Kind of old school, a tad third world, primal, and me as out of place as can be. Yummy meat everywhere. Models. Good times. And soon enough the singing started. The Master and several of the partiers knew I had some Korean songs in me at the ready and they pressed me into service. I resisted for a moment, then gave in. However, instead of falling back on JuJu Club, I busted out a heartfelt song in English by a band that JT and I both loved and had seen in concert together more than once. It was a kind of final tribute to a friendship that never was:

Talking fast couldn't tell me something
I would shed my skin for you
Talking fast on the edge of nothing
I would break my back for you
Don't know why, don't know why
Things vaporize and rise to the sky

I continued singing, feeling it, bringing it like I do, until I finished. At that point I realized my eyes had been closed for the whole song. I opened them to see a bunch of Koreans staring at me like I was from outer space. Awkward silence. And then came the pressure to break off some K-pop.

And so I did.

April 14-15, 1997

2009-12-01T02:23:00.013+09:00

Pusan --> Cheju, South Korea
With my ticket in my hot little hand, I filed my backpack in a pay locker and headed to Nampo-dong to kill the last couple hours before ferrying to Cheju. That place had changed a lot, but still had the great energy that I originally fell in love with. Sadly, there was a triple-decker McDonalds where my favorite record store once stood. I went ahead and ate a Big Mac since I knew it would be rice 3 times a day once I got to the Master's house.

After my brief walk down a distorted memory lane, I made my way back to the ferry terminal. Quite a large crowd had grown outside the terminal, most of them were college-aged girls. It seems a field trip was happening. An all girls university was sending hundreds of their co-eds down to lovely Cheju island for a spell. And we would share the ferry.

The overnight ferry ride passed quickly as one-by-one the students offered up their kimpap to me (not a euphemism), exchanged email addresses with me, and tried out their freshest English skills on me. None of us slept a wink.

We parted on arrival and I found myself alone with all morning and most of the afternoon to pass before the fashion show was scheduled to begin. I sat by myself in a coffee shop for hours, reading my Lonely Planet guide. I shopped a bit and bought some wooden Buddha bead bracelets that I still have. I bought a postcard and mailed it home to my parents. I was a real tourist.
By late afternoon I made my way over to the big outdoor theater where the fashion show was to be held. It was a pleasant April day, and I was in my shirt sleeves. The first familiar face I saw was Kimi's. She was busy busy but stopped to talk it over. Her mom was in a frenzy dealing with models and outfits and whatnot, and The Master had not arrived yet. I went inside and greeted Kimi's mom and looked at some models wearing their persimmon-dyed 갈옷. That was downright decent.

The seats were starting to fill up and I just milled around. I spotted a couple whiteys and before I could avoid them totally they came over and chatted me up. They were young American missionaries. They had a lot more questions about me than I had about them. I've said it before somewhere, but somebody really needs to document some rules of engagement or behavior protocols for expats when they see another expat. Is a greeting required? Or must one avoid even the vaguest acknowledgement? The road cyclists have universal protocols requiring a nod or wave to any other cyclist they see, Taxi drivers from the same company are required to nod or salute each other. Bus drivers too. When are the expats gonna get their act together and agree on what to do?

Soon enough, Yong-i (the Dragon) came up and whisked me off to our seats in the crowd.

April 14, 1997 Cont'd

2009-12-01T02:12:00.009+09:00

Pusan, South Korea

Skylark did not take it very well when I told her that I would not be taking her with me to Cheju. She pouted, she argued, she cried. Among the many things she said was that she was afraid she would never see Cheju Island in her lifetime if she didn't go with me now. I told her she needed to get out more. She didn't need a foreigner to come over and show her around her own country like a pro bono tour guide. We spent over an hour in the subway station hashing out what to do next. What an international spectacle we must have appeared. It was not fun.

In the end I convinced her that our little excursion together was over. We left the subway station and caught a taxi to the train station. In her current emotional state, I was pretty sure she could not manage to get on a train to Seoul by herself so I went with and bought the ticket. I saw her onto the train and watched it depart.
On my own once again, I made for the ferry terminal and booked as follows:

April 14, 1997

2009-11-25T05:55:00.008+09:00

Pusan, South Korea

Skylark and I headed up to check out PNU and see some of my old haunts. We stopped in Oncheonjang and walked around a bit. Secretly I must have known I would not run into anyone I knew from 10 years before, but my mind raced with the possibilities of seeing Spa Shopping Young-sook. How weird would that be? Walking around Oncheon with Skylark Young-sook and running into Spa Young-sook? No way. But the mere thought of it did funny things in my mind.

We jumped a bus up to Pusan National University main gate. Things in the area had really changed more than I had expected and I didn't recognize my surroundings. I got a little disoriented. Plus, I wanted to stay at least a block away from KHI Institute lest I should happen across Mr. Shin. That would make for an awkward reunion.

Skylark and I continued walking around for a spell, still not recognizing much. I couldn't find my favorite video bistro where I killed countless hours back in 1987. I stopped to look around and gather my bearings on several occasions. At one such moment I was blankly staring at the building in front of me. I was standing in the doorway to a stairwell that went up a few flights. Suddenly, the words written on a sign next to the entrance registered in my brain; it was KHI Institute.

I panicked.

I expect the feelings that came over me at that moment were not unlike those experienced by Chekov when he realized that the ship he and Captain Terrell were on was none other than the SS Botany Bay.

Nothing but three floors separated me from Mr. Shin and certain awkwardness. Wasting no time I successfully ushered us out of there (Chekov and Terrell were not so lucky) and made straightaway for the subway. If I had it to do over again, I might consider going up there to have a look around. That might've made for an interesting chapter. Secretly I had no way of knowing if Shin was still running KHI, or even alive for that matter. But the physical reaction in my gut was enough to tell me to get outta there.

Skylark and I walked silently all the way to the subway station. I remember hearing a song that sampled Madonna's "Holiday" and I thought that was weird. Inside the subway station I sat down against a wall and put my head in my hands. Skylark asked what was the matter. I spoke Korean to her then because I wanted to make sure she understood, and because I could more easily hide behind the words. I told her she could not go with me to Cheju.

April 13, 1997 Cont'd

2009-11-25T05:31:00.013+09:00

I like walking around fish markets marvelling at the myriad sea creatures. We missed the early morning hours of peak activity, but there is always plenty to see at 자갈치. Here are some photos I chose to take:I enlarged these 2 into 8 x 10 and framed them up. They hang in my house.After wandering and smelling the ocean for a while, we went back toward the motel. We grabbed some 낙지 볶음 nearby and called it a night. The owner had replaced the TV with a working model and order had been restored.

Next stop: Pusan National University.

Pusan. Or is it Busan?

2009-11-25T04:08:00.012+09:00

South Korea: April 13, 1997

We jumped a bus from Chinhae to Pusan the next day. I wasn't sure how I would feel upon entering those environs; it had been 10 years since I set foot there. And Pusan and I had parted on uneasy terms back then.

Skylark and I secured 여관 lodgings near the bus terminal. It was raining.

She wanted to chill in the room and watch TV. The TV didn't work. I went downstairs and asked the owner to go up and see to it. Secretly I knew that would force Skylark to expose her Koreanness and speak her mother tongue to a Korean who also knew she was traveling with a whitey. Instead of returning to the room with the owner, I went out to sneak a couple Choco Pies. (I only eat the Orion brand. It used to be easier to spot because their were packaged in a blue box. But now the box is red.)

When I went back to the room, Skylark was pouting because the TV was beyond repair and the owner had taken it, promising to replace it later. I told Skylark we should go see some sights. After all, the rain had stopped and it was Pusan just outside the motel doors. How often does that happen to a person? Seriously.

Like the opening shot of a TV drama, we established our place in the city by heading up to the Pusan Tower.

After a look around up top, we decided to go down and check out 자갈치 fish market.

From Chinju to Chinhae

2009-11-23T12:43:00.005+09:00

South Korea, 1997

I spent a fitful night sharing a small motel room with Skylark. I never sleep well the first night in unfamiliar sleeping arrangements, but we awoke to a gorgeous spring morning in Chinju. After a bite of breakfast and some instant Coffee Milks from a vending machine, we checked out the fortress, looked out over the river, and toured through the museum at the fortress. I could have spent several days there without tiring of it, but I needed to keep this express tourism train rolling if I was going to make it to Cheju in time for the fashion show.

Next stop, scenic Chinhae. We were not able to time it right for the Cherry Blossoms, but coming through the tunnel and over the mountain provided a spectacular view of the oceanscape and the city of Chinhae. Lovely.

The area around the bus terminal was packed with street vendors and shoppers alike; some kind of fair or festival was afoot. After a few failed attempts at getting a room for the night, finally we found a cheap place with vacancies. Again I did all the talking and Skylark, instead of acting Japanese, simply stayed silent. Weird. I was already regretting bringing her along.

I unlocked the door and walked into the room we were assigned. As I flipped on the light switch I saw a few cockroaches scurry out of sight down the side of the bed that was snugged up against the wall. Before I even took off my backpack I went over and pulled the bed away from the wall. Countless cockroaches scattered from out of a soiled towel that had been hiding back there and serving as their colonial headquarters for what must have been months. I freaked. I lost my marbles. I yelled for the Ajumma as loud as I could and she came a running all wig afire.

I agitatedly pointed out the nasty spectacle. Skylark silently watched while I helped the Ajumma understand that I needed another room. Now. She complied. I only saw a couple cockroaches in the new room so we stayed.

That cockroached nastiness persists in my memory like a piece of popcorn shell that gets stuck between your teeth and you can't get out. Other than that unfortunate episode, I found Chinhae to be a lovely city, with its Turtle Boat Rotary, rows of Cherry trees, ocean front views, and some of the best 탕수육 I ever tasted. And that, my friends, is not a euphemism.

Some Bus Tickets

2009-11-20T07:08:00.005+09:00

South Korea, 1997

How about that?

Some Play Acting and a Flower Ring

2009-11-18T14:25:00.010+09:00

South Korea, 1997

It was just getting dark when our bus arrived in Chinju. I knew that the area around Chinju Fortress had plenty of cheap accommodations so we grabbed a short cab over there. Skylark was traveling with 2 bags so we needed to first obtain lodging before traipsing around to get our sightsee on.

Neither of us had a ton of extra cash so we made the risky decision to share a cheap room at a cheap motel. I had no intention of hanky panky and I was pretty sure Skylark had no designs on my bones. And, as if we were not stared at enough for being a traveling international duo of American man and Korean woman, Skylark came up with a "bright" idea for our cover story when checking in to the motel.

For some reason she thought she could pass for a Japanese girl. She wanted me to speak only English to her and she would stammer English back. There were so many holes in her plan that I was dumbfounded as to where to begin shooting it down. I went along with it hoping to show how lame it was. An object lesson if you will.

We went up to the front desk of a cheap motel. It was wo-manned by two ladies one might call older, except there were probably the age that I am now, and I ain't "older." But they were clearly well aware of the primary reason that clients sought out their establishment, and they looked at us as if they knew what we were after.

I spoke to them in Korean, they looked past me and spoke to Skylark in Korean, she looked at me in a phony confused way, I spoke English to her really fast as if to sell she had strong skills, she said something basic in Korean-accented English, I spoke Korean to the two "older" ladies. Quite the ridiculous charade. I don't think anyone bought it, not for a second.

After much back and forth, we were able to get a room.

We dumped Skylark's luggage in the room and went out for some food. After food, we sightsaw. After sightseeing, we repaired to bed. I forgot a toothbrush. I went out to the front desk to ask if they had any on hand. I was directed to a vending machine at the top of the stairs. It had toothbrushes alright. It also had cigarettes and condoms. I noticed the brand name of the condoms and laughed out loud. The motel owners must have thought me the strangest of tourists as they watched my every move.

It might not be funny to anyone else but me. Maybe not even funny haha as much as funny weird. But the condom brand name was "꽃반지" (Flower Ring). That made me think of an old Korean pop song about putting on the Flower Ring you gave me (당신이준 꽃반지 끼고). Everyone knows that song. I don't know if everyone thinks of it euphemistically as I have from that moment in the lobby of a cheap motel in Chinju. I certainly don't think the young female pop star who originally sang it many years ago ever thought of it that way. That young girl who became so popular from that song that she disappeared to the States for 10 years, returned to Cheju Island, married The Master, and spent two weeks in early 1997 entertaining me by singing that song.

Think about that.

Chinju Revisited

2009-11-17T23:31:00.011+09:00

South Korea, 1997 (with a flashback to the 80's)

I love the city of Chinju. I have loved it since first I went there. I love how you come up over the hill before entering town and the sides of the highway are so beautifully and colorfully landscaped. I love how you cross the river and see the Chinju Fortress. I love 촉석루 too--even though it is a difficult Korean thing to pronounce. I love the spoken accent, I love the rotaries, and I love my memories of my visit there in 1987 for the 개천예술제.

I have fond memories of going ringside to watch the great 이 준희 dominate at 씨름. I was intrigued by the cow fighting. The thing that sticks most in my memory from the first time I attended that festival is the traveling snake oil salesman. There was a large group gathered around as he spoke to them excitedly through a microphone. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, but I could understand what I saw. He brought a random child up from the audience. He forced a pill down the child's throat. He talked for a few minutes while I waited for I knew not what. He grabbed a clear glass and filled it with water. He pulled the child's pants down and scooped out a white ball from the child's crease and dropped the bolus in the glass. He stirred it up and walked around to show the shocked crowd all of the little worms that the magic pill had freed from their colonic domicile.

He brought two more children up and gave them each a pill. The kids were visibly uncomfortable having just seen what happened to the other kid. After a few minutes, the salesman pulled out a long tapeworm from each young boy. He quickly laid them out on a board and smashed them dead. He walked the board around to show us all. Quite an awesome display of on-demand de-worming. I'll never forget that scene from my first 개천예술제.

All those thoughts rushed back to me as Skylark and I entered Chinju city on our direct bus from Seoul...

Another Adventure Begins

2009-11-17T02:55:00.009+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. Spring 1997

Skylark was hanging out with me and JT at our apartment one night. We were just talking and whatnot in bizarro "3's Company" style. I started talking about how I was going to go back to the Master's house pretty soon because they were having a Spring fashion show. I was looking forward to being one of the family again and seeing the beautiful island in warmer weather, and also seeing up close the models and good times that would be the fashion show. Skylark made mention of how she had never been to Cheju Island and would love to go someday. I, rather casually, suggested she go down with me on my next trip. You know how you invite someone expecting them to decline? With her working 2 jobs and being quite conservative, I never thought she would accept. But accept she did. On the spot. And with alacrity. JT went silent, got up, went in his room, and shut the door.

A few minutes later he came out, but instead of talking to us, he left the apartment. We heard his scooter buzz off down the street. Awkwardness. Skylark and I decided we should leave too and went to Shinjeong to a 24-hour Beer Land. We talked, drank beer, talked about Cheju, and I tried to figure out a graceful way to uninvite her. She told me she thought JT might be in love with her. Hmmm, I knew he would if he could, but I didn't think it had gotten as far as "love."

When I returned to the apartment JT was still up waiting for me. He was upset I had invited Skylark to Cheju with me. I told him I never thought she would accept and the invite was totally innocent. He told me he was convinced that if I got her down to the "Hawaii of Korea" she would let me sleep with her. Truthfully, I had no intention of doing any such thing with her--not so much because of JT, but because of her and because of my girlfriend back home in the States. But he was inconsolable.

Things were awkward between me and JT for the next few days, and finally it was time for me to depart for Cheju once again. Skylark showed up for the trip with two large bags, and dressed in stilettos and jeans--not exactly what the family Von Trapp would consider travel clothes. For some reason her outfit really annoyed me. Perhaps it was mostly because I didn't want her tagging along. Slip of the lip sinks the ship I guess...

We subwayed it to the express bus terminal. Skylark had never been on an express bus so she was uncomfortable buying tickets. I cut directly to the front of the queue, showed her a thing or two about her country, and bought us two seats on a direct bus to Kyoungnam's Chinju city.

I never saw JT again.

The Post-Referee Love Life

2009-11-17T02:27:00.008+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. Spring 1997

I could fill a couple posts here with some of the fun things JT and I did in late March and early April of 1997 (Eating Dog Soup, Propositions in Myoung-Dong, Fact Finding in a Room Salon, etc...). But secretly I know you all are just wishing I would fast forward to the part where JT and I unbecame friends. I know I haven't written yet about that fact, but some of you are probably expecting it solely based on my history of losing friends as documented here. Well, not so fast dear reader; I'm not prepared to recount that whole drama in one go.

And so it was that in late March and early April of 1997, JT and I were still continuing our 9-year friendship. We were hanging with Skylark on a regular basis. Her English was not getting much better (as far as I could tell), but JT was apparently falling hard for her. Truthfully, I can easily understand that happening to him. She was a real cutie. Educated, employed with a day job and Arbeit (아르바이트), but perhaps a bit naive (I'm not sure if I already wrote about the story she told me of getting duped out of her whole paycheck? Some guy stopped her in the street and asked her to deliver an envelope of cash up the the 3rd floor of an office building; he was on crutches and couldn't climb the stairs. She agreed, but he asked for some collateral from her in case she decided to make off with his cash. She handed over the envelope that contained her monthly salary in cash--the Korean paycheck. She never looked inside the guy's envelope. If she had looked she would have realized it was filled only with valueless paper. Up to the 3rd floor she climbed feeling good about herself, only to return down and find the crutched man long gone with her cash. Bummer dude.) But she was really cute and just as sweet.

Anyway, JT had a long history of easily falling in and out of love. I never took it that seriously. Even in college when he got dumped and sulked by himself in our shared room for 2 days and blared The Smiths tune "How Soon Is Now." It seemed too staged to be truly sad, and before too long he was moving on to another.

Besides, I was still trying to help him connect with Ji-Su. I never figured him for the capacity to fall in love with more than one fair Korean at a time. I would soon find out how wrong I was...

The Ref

2009-11-06T06:38:00.004+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. Spring 1997.

It took some doing, but JT and I finally got around to exploring the basement bar called "Green" near Omokkkyo Station. At one point before I arrived in Korea JT had followed a young hotty down there but was turned away at the door. Ever since he had been bugging me to take him there. And that is what I did.

Inside was pretty standard for a drinking establishment. Some tables in the center, some booths on one side, a sick Karaoke setup in the center, and some private rooms with frosted windows in the back. Semi-sexy videos played on the Karaoke screen, the clientele primarily male. We took up a booth that provided a nice view of the whole place and ordered some beers. An older hostess brought our drinks and a little dish of shelled peanuts. We could see no other working females.

After a couple lagers, I decided to get some buzz and energy up up in there. I got my Karaoke on like I do and the crowd responded. As soon as I took my seat again, 2 Korean gentlemen approached and asked permission to join us. One was a handsome, tall, slender guy who introduced himself as the owner. His mother was the primary hostess. And he owned a Japanese restaurant around the corner. In addition, he was a referee in the Korean National Basketball Association. He got it going on.

He invited us back into a private room where we could talk and enjoy some harder liquors. Four dudes in a private room with a bottle of whiskey and it didn't take long for the conversation to turn to ladies. A couple "one shot" cheers later and JT was prodding me to ask how he could get the Korean love he yearned for. That resulted in a long discussion (dissertation?) on the many flavors that were available. The Ref was very knowledgeable. In the end he mentioned that there was a place right next door that just might suit JT's more immediate needs. "One shot" again and off the four of us went.

Next door was a massage (안마) place that we walked past almost everyday on the way to Omokkyo Station. The Ref walked us in and up to the counter on the second floor. He told the girl why we were there. She picked up a phone and summoned the talent. Out from behind a curtain came 3 gals all wearing matching striped sweaters and black skirts. The Ref turned to me and simply said: "골라봐." I turned to JT and told him to choose. He chose. The Ref told me how much it was, I told JT, he pulled out all his cash and it was almost enough to cover the 145,000 Won fee (~$125 in today's money). The Ref pitched in to cover the rest.

The girl from the counter came around and took JT behind the curtain. The 3 of us that remained looked at each for a moment, then we left. Outside, I said goodbye to the Ref and his friend and went back to JT's apartment and passed out.

A couple hours later, JT returned all a twitter. I was a bit surprised he was back so soon; I thought maybe he'd put in an effort to get his money's worth. Giddy and giggly, he spared no detail. I will spare you though. Cliff's Notes: hot shower, robe, blind masseuse, striped sweater, junk scrub, double coverage, full service, out.

I never saw the Ref again.

Hippocrates and Hoops

2009-11-06T05:46:00.008+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. Spring 1997

Back in Seoul after 2 weeks at The Master's house. Our apartment was tight with all four of us there (JT's brother and new wife had returned by now). But it was only for a few days until I began substitute duties once again. I moved in just down the street to house sit and sub for a young couple who were headed to Kiwi land for a Visa jump and a honeymoon.

Teaching their classes was just more of the same; nothing spectacular to make mention of. Outside of classes, however, some notable things did happen during those 10 days.

1. I got sick. I shrivved alone in a stranger's apartment on the toilet. I had the vomits and the squirts. It was not good. I was pretty sure it was something I ate. One can never be certain but there was a sunny-side-up egg that made me nervous when I ate it. Later that day...down with the grippe. And I don't even like the flavor or consistency of a semi-cooked egg yolk in the first place. That's why I prefer the stone bowl 비빔밥 over the metal bowl variety.

Luckily, I was in Korea and a pharmacy is always as close as the nearest corner. So I heaved up on over there and presented myself in all my foul glory. I told the pharmacist I had vomiting and diarrhea. The pharmacist asked me if I ate something spicy. That's basic, first year med school learning there. But the answer can be tricky for the non-Korean. If I say I ate something spicy (because of course I had, being in Korean and all), they might treat that even though I knew that was not the problem; I've eaten stuff that would make a billy goat puke. Even if I tell the pharmacist that I eat spicy food well, they might still treat me for "foreigner with spicy food ingestionitis." And one doesn't like being a foreigner who eats spicy food well and is perceived as one who doesn't. Does one?

So I lied and said no I hadn't, but I normally eat spicy food well. Rather I think it was something rotten or uncooked that did me in. That's what I told the growing audience of pharmacists that was gathering to hear my tale of woe. That seemed to set all kinds of Hippocratic wheels in motion and before long I left with several paper packets, each filled with a variety of pills and something that looked like sawdust. Needles, I hate. Pills, I adore. So there you go.

That was one thing that happened.

2. I watched the Arizona Wildcats win the NCAA hoops championship on AFKN. That happened too.

3. JT and I met a referee from the KNBA. But that's a much longer story...

上京

2009-10-26T13:07:00.004+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

All told I spent 2 weeks at the Master's house in the Spring of 1997. I could have/would have stayed longer, but I was expected back in Seoul. Some friends of JT's (a young married couple) were fixing to do their Visa Jump/Honeymoon down to New Zealand and I had promised to cover their classes and house sit for them for 10 days.

And so it was, one morning after eating rice and an instant coffee the Master told me I was going to Seoul later that day. The Master's wife needed to go up to Seoul and I was to accompany her. It had all been arranged so I packed up my little backpack and readied for departure. I said my good-byes to the Master, Kimi, and 명룡 and piled into the Korando. 민철 drove us to the Cheju airport, paid cash for 2 tickets, and left.

Due to her celebrity, the Master's wife was frequently stared at. People randomly came up and greeted her. She was always gracious. Flight attendants were overly concerned for her comfort and travel needs. And there I sat. A grungy whitey in dirty clothes. We must have seemed an odd pair. Me in stinky jeans and a jacket that had not been washed in over a fortnight (I only had one shower during that span as well), and she in her conspicuous Jeju Brown Clothes and universally recognizable face.

When we landed in Seoul, I helped her load several boxes onto a luggage cart and we parted. I don't know where she was going or how she got there, but I beelined it to subway line #5 for Omokkkyo.

Consumption Beyond Capacity, Part 2

2009-10-24T01:32:00.004+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

I was feeling queasy from too much Soju and not enough food and I knew I needed to get outside. I don't remember how I extricated myself from facial fondlement, but I'm sure it was not graceful. I made my way out of the party and went around behind the building where I was sure nobody could see or hear me. I retched.

I have no idea how long I was back there. I don't recall how much I puked. But when I came back around to the front, 민철 was anxiously looking for me. He worriedly asked where I was. I think I told him I had a whiz. He said we were leaving and led me to the Korando. 명룡 asked me if I was drunk and I told him I was not. In some bizarre attempt at showing them I was fine, I started running in a circle. I kept going faster and faster until I could no longer maintain any form of uprightness. I tumbled in a heap into what would have been the center of my speed circle.

The boys helped me up and piled me into the Korando. I have no clue how long we drove or which direction we went, but we pulled up in front of some place I had never been. I got out and leaked a number 1 into the parking lot and then followed the guys inside. We were greeted by a long-haired Korean fellow and a very tired-looking older woman. Apparently she was the drum teacher and he was her pupil. I am sure there was more to the relationship.

The pupil treated us to a demonstration of his drum learning while his mastress (is that a word?) looked on approvingly. It had to be getting on about 3 a.m. and I was still touch and go. I went back into the bedroom, put myself down on my back, and put a pillow over my face. The room spun, the drumbeat pounded, I longed for a real bed and a glass of water. Neither were coming my way.

After gripping for a couple hours, 민철 came and lured me back into the Korando. Just the two of us began the drive back to the Master's house (no clue about 명룡 at this point in the night). The sun was creeping up and 민철 drove right down the middle straddling the center line. I thought he must have been still drunk too but I had lost any will to do much about it.

When we pulled in to the Master's house, 민철 dropped me off and drove away. I went and found the Master sitting at the breakfast table. He took one look and told me to go to bed. And so I did.

I got up again around noon and felt good enough to eat. The Master said I looked much better; some color had returned to my face.

민철 did not return until that evening. I have no idea where he went. The Master thought maybe he went to a lady's house, or maybe to the public bath. I told him I enjoyed the public bath and he promised to take me.

민철 later asked me if I threw up. Of course I said I did not.

Consumption Beyond Capacity

2009-10-23T13:20:00.006+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

My second week at the Master's place started out with a bang. Some of 명룡's friends in an acting troupe were scheduled to do their final performance of the season at a theatre in Seogwipo. 명룡 got us 3 tickets and 민철 drove us over. It was the first time I had left the Master's house for any reason in over a week, so I was eager for the opportunity. (Secretly I was jonesing hard for a dang Orion Choco Pie but had no means of getting anywhere without 민철. And it seemed like he had no reason to ever leave home.)

We attended the play performance. All of the dialog was in Jeju dialect so I understood very little. It was cool and worth seeing, and the fun did not end there. 명룡 told me we were invited to the [w]rap party. We drove over to the soiree (at some big empty room somewhere) and went in. Nearly 50 people were gathered there along with the cast and crew. We sat in a huge circle around the room. I expected a round robin of song to break out, but each just stood in turn and introduced themselves. Not surprisingly I was the only non-Korean there. When it was my turn, I stood and put out by best Korean with a little flair. I told them my name and that I was "eating and living" with 명룡 over at the Master's house.

Laughter and clapping ensued. Good for me.

It was getting on towards 10 pm by the time the introductions completed and I had not had anything to eat since lunch. Rumbly in my tumbly. And the party had not even started in earnest yet.

At the back of the room I spied a stack of crates of Soju. Lots of Soju. Next to that, food. The food? 회 (raw fish slices with lettuce). That's it. Needless to say, a few slices of fish and some rabbit food wasn't going to be substantial enough for me to build a solid food base for overdrinking Soju; a recipe for disaster.

It seemed like everybody in that place came over to me one-by-one to introduce themselves and pour me a shot of Soju. Things blurred quickly and before too long I found myself seated in the middle of the room drunkenly talking to a flirtylicious actress who had given me the eyeballs back at the performance. We poured each other some Soju (not a euphemism). She asked me if she could touch my hair, then my face. I was certainly loaded as she giggled and fondled my visage like a blind person might.

I knew I had too much to drink and I started to feel ill...

One Week and Counting

2009-10-15T00:30:00.007+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

Four nights already passed with the Master and I had only intended to stay one night. Every time I suggested returning to Seoul, the Master calmly suggested I stay another day. And so I did.

Every day was something new. One day a guy shows up. He is a standard Korean dude in the standard Korean suit with the same exact belt they all wear. Only this guy is from 나주. He is a likeminded fellow in speech if not in fashion. But what he does bring to the table is something of interest to the Master and his wife (the former famous pop star). He brings fabric dyed a gorgeous shade of blue using the Indigo plant. He does it all right there in 나주. He pitches his wares to the Master and the Master is cordial but non-committal. They agree to put the business conversation aside and have some rice and Soju.

The hour grows late and the Master prevails upon the Indigo man to spend the night. He agrees. Kimi preps a sleep space for him. All in a day's work.

Another day brings a History professor from a University in 광주. He and the Master are old friends. Rice, Soju, yada yada yada and the professor spends a couple nights. Another day and 멍석 shows up. He, too, is a traditionally minded fellow who wears the Cheju Brown Clothes (갈옷) and a dapper hat. He is down from Seoul where he is the proprietor of a traditional tea house that bears his name in Insa-dong.

These fascinating characters all flit in and out of the scene around me in a seemingly random order. The common threads are their threads (clothes), the traditional mindset, and Soju with smokes of course. Meeting folks like these was truly a unique opportunity, and it was made very easy and comfortable by the Master. He explained my presence in such a way that they all instantly treated me like one of the family.

Before I knew it I had spent a full week at the Master's house.

Filling Some Gaps

2009-10-14T00:51:00.012+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

Another night at the Master's house. More rice, more smoking, more soju, and more singing. I had to dig deep in the recesses to pull out some Korean oldies. Surprising what's still left in the ol' bean.

아아 어쩌런 말이냐 흩어진 이마음을...Try singing that song. But I did bring it. Again with passion and whatnot. I did not know yet whom I was singing in front of. That helped. Had I known who the Master's wife was, I might have been crippled with stage fright. Ignorance can indeed be bliss.

I already mentioned how she spent 10 years in NYC. I came to find out that she was a huge pop star in Korea--that explains the singing voice and guitar skillz. She got so popular as a young woman that she couldn't go anywhere without people hounding her like crazy. She had at least one song that I daresay every living Korean knows by heart, even today. Eventually she got tired of it all; the stardom was too much. She bailed to the Big Apple to disappear from the Korean spotlight. She married a Korean fellow (who, I gather, was quite large in stature) and had 2 kids: Kimi and Yong.

She separated from her husband and returned to Korea where she met and married the Master. Together they started their own line of clothing using her Fashion design training and his traditional dyeing expertise.

At a certain point, my path crossed the Master's on a car ferry from Wando to Cheju. And here we are, me singing K-Pop oldies to a famous Korean Pop Singer.

Some Faces from '97

2009-10-10T02:08:00.007+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

Here are a few more faces. This first one is Kimi. She was a typical high school girl in 1997. Smart, talented, good cook, great singing voice (from her mother?). Turns out the Master is her step-father; her mother separated from the father. But one could could never tell by observing the relationship between Kimi and the Master. He definitely dotes on this one.
Here is 민철. He's the one who picked me up in front of the Moseulpo Post Office. 착해, this one. He told me Korean people often ask him if he's American Indian. Do you see it?
I called him 민철, he called me 형.

Here is 명룡. A simple, sweet fellow. Frequently expressed to me his gratitude for the Master. A few short years later he would be killed in a car accident. Or so I was told. Sad.

The Master

2009-10-08T12:29:00.013+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

I slept soundly my second night at Mr. Kim's museum-like home in the countryside of Cheju Island. In the morning, the gong again signalled my call to breakfast. I joined the others, we ate rice, had our instant coffee with powdered creamer, and some enjoyed smokes. Mr. Kim arose and motioned for me to follow. We headed out to the back "yard" again. But this time, instead of lighting a fire under the rice stalk boiling vat, he lit a fire under two 50-gallon drums. The drums were 3/4 full of water. When the water was bubbling real good, he added some different ingredients to each. He explained that he was experimenting with new ways to make additional colors. In addition to the persimmon juice, he used red earth to make different shades of brown, coal to make black, and much more. It didn't feel like work, but I guess that's the nature of the traditional dyeing business.

We stood around stirring the boiling colored water for a couple hours. I put a white T-Shirt of mine in to see how it might turn out (it came out kind of green except for the armpits where my body oils prevented the dye from taking hold). He smoked and fielded my questions with good humor. He liked talking about the process of dyeing fabric, and about things traditional. He liked watching fire burn. I was uncomfortable calling him Mr. Kim all the time so I asked him what I should call him. He told me to call him "사부" (I had to look it up). He has been "The Master" to me ever since.

He wasn't very forthcoming about his background, but I did manage to pry some high level history. His father was a ship captain in the Mokpo area, teaching at a Mokpo Maritime University; he was now passed on. His mom lived near Cheju City at that time. The Master was in Gwangju in 1980 and saw friends of his killed by the military. Like many others, he blamed the Americans for the massacre, and that shaped his worldview for many years. He once told me that if he had met me 10 years earlier he would have ended me on the spot.

After the Gwangju massacre, he was known to the government for his anti-Americanism and anti-government statements. So he "went to the mountain." He spent 10 years somewhere in the Jiri Mountain area reading, studying at the feet of a mentor, and living life in a more simple way. 10 years. And that is how one gets to become a Master.

The lunch gong pulled us away from the boiling drums and fascinating conversation. We ate and I suggested it was time for me to get back up to Seoul. The Master told me I should stay longer. And so I did.

Round Robin of Song

2009-10-06T06:31:00.010+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

After my guided tour, I went in and crushed out a nap. The dinner gong roused me and I went in to eat more rice. Before every meal Mr. Kim would say out loud: "잘 먹겠습니다." Others at the table would say the same, just not as loud or enthusiastically. After filling up on rice, a soup, and some side dishes, Mr. Kim would lean back and loudly proclaim, "잘 먹었습니다." I loved that about him and took it upon myself to do likewise. (Back home in the States I taught a friend of mine to say that, and a couple other Korean words. He went to Medical School in Seattle and would treat any Korean patients to a barrage of Korean non-sequiturs: "잘 먹었습니다, 맥주, 남대문, 집주소." He was usually met with either uproarious laughter, or total confusion on the part of the Korean patient.)

Mr. Kim fired up a cigarette and we sat around the table talking while someone did the dishes and cleaned the table. After dinner we moved out to the main assembly room that adjoined the kitchen and dining area. Conversation continued. He called for the Soju and our seated circle expanded. Soon there were 6 or 8 of us in a circle pouring Soju for one another and chattering away. As is inevitable in such a situation, somebody suggested we sing. Around the circle we went with each person singing a solo while the others clapped or blissed in one way or another. I wasn't sure if they were really going to make me sing too, but I was prepared just in case my protesting fell on deaf ears. Secretly I hoped my singing might fall there too...

They insisted. I relented. A standing ovation followed. I'm sure it wasn't that they thought I was a great talent (I'm not), but I sang with commitment and passion. And I treated them to an oldie but a goodie. I hadn't sung that song since 1987 when Mr. Shin and I sang the occasional tune while eating spicy Octopus and drinking Soju, so I was surprised the right words and tune came out at all. But the applause and the look on Mr. Kim's face was enough to say I had done right.
The song I chose for my effort that night was "고독한 연인 by the lovely 김 수희. I think I might still have the LP hanging around somewhere... Anyway, I sang with Soju-enhanced passion and really finished strong with a heartfelt "모르는 사람들 처럼."

Singing continued around the circle until it reached Mr. Kim's wife. She took up a guitar and sang a beautiful song I had not heard before. She played a nice guitar, but her voice was clearly better than most. We all felt like we had experienced a special treat. But the rotation did not end there and before long, it was my turn again. I took a risk and introduced my next song as one popular in Seoul at the time: Juju Club's "16/20." I nailed it. But I imagine it was a bit strange for such traditionally-minded Koreans to see a whitey like me singing such a teeny bopper tune. Say what you will, JuJu Club has a few songs I cannot get over. Even today, "견뎌야 하겠지" maintains a constant spot in the rotation on my iPod.

It was late into the night when we all retired. A pretty good day I must say.

The Main Attraction

2009-10-01T07:20:00.010+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

The ground floor was indeed a bit like a Korean Traditional Museum as Mr. Kim had told me on the ferry. There was a long room decorated with some of the finished rice stalk masks and other trinkets of lore.

In addition to the decorations, there were racks and racks of clothing. Clothing dyed by Mr. Kim, designed by Mr. Kim's wife, and sewn by the Angels. They ran a branch store in Cheju city, but people also would come here and buy items right off of these racks. All of these things were dyed using either persimmon juice or other natural ingredients like red dirt or Indigo. I quickly picked up on the fact that these clothes were for the traditionally minded and/or the wealthy. A dress like the ones pictured here was going for over 500,000 Won (over US$400).

These vests were priced over 250,000 Won. Shoes? Spendy. Baggy low-crotch tie-up pants? Super spendy. The cheapest priced item I saw was a bandana-like head cover that tied in the bag. (Note to self: look around the house, I'm sure you still have it somewheres...)

A Look Around. Have You Seen It?

2009-09-30T05:32:00.016+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

It was quite relaxing to watch the fire burn and the batch boil. Without a care in the world, we boiled rice stalks until lunchtime. When the lunch gong sounded we went up to the house and ate more rice with the others. After lunch we had another instant coffee and I said I should be moving along back up to Seoul. Mr. Kim suggested I stay another day; there were a lot of things I had not seen yet. I agreed to stay another day.

He told 민철 to show me around the place. The building was formerly a school, abandoned, and then purchased by Mr. Kim and family. With the help of 민철 and other likeminded types, they had totally revamped the place as pictured here. They placed all the stones around the outside and built up the center piece.

The inside had been totally re-done as well. Several rooms were used only for storage like the one with all the unfinished masks. Four or five of the classrooms had been turned into huge sleeping areas (I was sharing one with 민철 and 명룡). There was only one bathroom in the whole joint, shared by both genders. It could be awkward to emerge from a stinky stall to see one of the Angels brushing her teeth. Or vice versa...

One of the classrooms had been turned into the domain of the Angels. Their room was piled high with rolls of cotton fabric that had been dyed using natural ingredients, primarily the juice of the ubiquitous Jeju persimmon. The dyeing process is executed during the fall months when the fruit ripens, and now, during the winter/early spring, the angels were busy sewing the dyed fabric into outfits. Four sewing machines whirred while 민철 told me how Mr. Kim's wife designs all the outfits and Mr. Kim and his helpers do all the dyeing. The clothing they make is referred to as 갈옷 (brown clothes) and was very common in the older days of Cheju. Only, these clothes have a bit of a modern flair. Turns out Mr. Kim's wife was in NYC for 10 years studying fashion design (more on her later).

We left the angels and went up the stairs out onto the roof. The backside of the center pillar in the photo above is a giant picture window that looks up at Halla Mountain. Inside of the pillar is a bedroom, but one would never guess that from looking at the place from the front. The view makes the bedroom the perfect spot for an afternoon tryst or nap, and I wanted to crush one out, but my tour continued back into the house. We hadn't even seen the ground floor yet...

Boiling Stalks

2009-09-30T05:00:00.010+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

Mr. Kim led me down to the edge of the property to a well used firepit. There was a large pile of wood and he set to lighting a fire. Once the blaze was going strong I helped him lift a big vat up onto metal legs that suspended the vat over the fire for boiling. The vat was about the size of a 50-gallon drum cut in half from top to bottom. He added water and rice stalks to the pot and stirred it slowly with a long stick. As the mixture heated up, he added more water and more stalks turning the batch into a big goopy stew.

We were both mostly silent as we watched the brew boil. He smoked the frequent cigarette and answered my occasional question. I learned that the batch we were cooking would be used to make traditional Korean paper, and some sort of traditional style Korean mask. To make the masks, the well-boiled rice stalk mash would be pressed into molds. Once dry, the mold would be removed and the mask would be painted. He told me there were several different kinds of masks they made and there were lots of them in the house. I hadn't even had a chance to look around the place yet, but when I did, here is what I found gathering dust in one of the rooms: Piles and piles of unfinished masks. At least four different varieties. In addition to the piles on the shelves, there were many gunny sacks full of miniature masks. I helped myself to a representative few. I still have them of course:

Lonely Planet said nothing about stopping off somewhere in rural Cheju Island to stir the batch that makes these little guys.

Dragons and Angels

2009-09-29T07:07:00.013+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

The next morning I was awakened by the loud banging of a gong. It was earlier than I would have liked to get up, but I still had a lot to learn about this place--and I didn't even know it. I went in to the dining room again and Mr. Kim was seated at the long table ready to eat rice. He asked if I slept well. I said I did.

The others I had met the night before soon joined and lent a hand in setting the table. Turns out there's a younger brother too, simply referred to as 용이, and he lurched his massive girth in and sat down, bedhead and all. He was a sophomore in high school and appeared tired from studying and lack of sleep. Next came four ladies known as the 천사 (angels). They were the only ones paid to be at the house that morning, but they joined in the meals as if they were part of the family. There were 11 of us at breakfast that morning. Mr. Kim referred to the group collectively as his 식구--all were mouths to feed, but family as well.

Mr. Kim's wife did the cooking that morning, but 민철 did the dishes. After breakfast the dining room cleared out except for Mr. Kim, his wife, and myself. They both lit cigarettes. 민철 delivered three instant coffees with sugar and Prima to us as we sat talking it over at the dining table. Mr. Kim told his wife how he and I had met. I guess I thought he would have mentioned me before; she had seen me talking to him on the ferry after all. But now he told the story of meeting me through his eyes.

He told her that when he noticed a foreigner sitting next to him, he thought I must not be American because I was sitting still and silent. He expected all Americans to be noisy and rambunctious. When he found out I was American he was very surprised. Then he told her that I was lucky he had not met me 10 years earlier. If he had met me then he would have ended me. They both laughed. I didn't know what he was referring to. The conversation stayed very light and high level because we were all still feeling each other out. But I took my cue not to be an obnoxious twit while around these folks.

Mr. Kim's wife occasionally threw in an English word and I noticed her pronunciation was very good. I didn't want to probe, but I commented on her English. She switched to English and told me she spent 10 years in New York City. It had been years since she returned to Korea and she apologized for having forgotten so much of it. Mr. Kim also knew a ton of English vocab but couldn't really construct sentences so we spoke Korean almost exclusively.

When we finished our coffees, Mr. Kim rose and told me to follow him. I silently trailed him out behind the house. The back "yard" was much more rocky and weed covered than the front of the house. There were no neighbors behind and we enjoyed an unobstructed view of Halla Mountain. But we didn't go out there just to ponder a mountain...

At the House

2009-09-28T12:07:00.018+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

The driver of the Korando was in his late 20's, single, and introduced himself as 민철. He asked me if I preferred Soju to drink or what. I told him beer, Soju, Makkeolli, whatever was fine by me. He asked me if I needed cigarettes or anything else from the store. As far as I knew I needed nothing. He pulled over in front of a nearby store and left the vehicle running while he ran inside. When he returned, he had a couple of bags filled with snacks, smokes, and beverages. Off we drove into the darkness of the Korean countryside.

After driving for nearly fifteen minutes we were square into the middle of noplace. It appeared to be an industrial area devoid of the common Korean residence. Finally we pulled off the main road onto a dirt driveway that led to a building unlike any I had ever seen in Korea (or anywhere else for that matter). I took this picture the next morning in the light of day:

We parked the Korando around back and took the rear entrance up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs we came into a dining area just off from an enormous kitchen. In the dining area was a long, low family style dining table. There were no chairs, of course, as one sits cross-legged on the floor while eating. The table was rough-hewn lumber, well used with celebrated knots and stains. It was long enough to seat perhaps twenty.

Seated at the table was the Mr. Kim from the Wando Ferry. He rose to welcome me, now speaking only Korean. He re-introduced the Korando driver, 민철, and another young fellow close to my age called 명룡. He proudly introduced his daughter Kimi. She was the gal who had answered the phone the second time I called. She was a "healthy" high school junior, cute, shy, dutiful. She opened the bags of snacks and drinks and started preparing to serve us manfolk.

After a while, the woman of the house returned. She came in very bubbly, perky, and full of energy and happiness. She took my existence in stride as if it were common for strangers to appear in her house. She loved to talk and everyone loved to listen. The next couple of hours were spent drinking and chatting while most of them smoked like chimneys. They were all very curious about me and I about them.

When I was too tired to continue, 명룡 showed me to a large room where I was to sleep on the floor under an electric blanket. There was no central heat and the air was quite chilly, but I slept the sleep of the dead in my clothes.

Your Korando Awaits (Korea Can Do)

2009-09-25T01:24:00.004+09:00

모슬포 (Moseulpo), South Korea. 1997.

I was not a little bit relieved to be rid of the Church van driver. Standing now by myself in the middle of 모슬포 nowhere, I looked down at the scrap of paper in my hand. Mr. Kim’s name and local phone number stared back at me. It called to me. I put my phone card in a pay phone and dialed the number. An older woman answered, I focused on using my clearest Korean and asked for Mr. Kim by his full name as it was written. She was rather terse with me and said he was not home and she didn’t know when he would return. I hung up.

I walked around the heart of town thinking about what to do next. The center was not much larger than a single intersection and I didn’t see much that would set this place apart from any other small town in this country. Plus I had enough exploring for one day.

It was starting to get dark and I decided I better see to some food and accommodations. But first I gave Mr. Kim another dial. This time a much younger sounding voice answered. She told me he was not home. That was enough to make me give up on seeing this so called “Traditional Korean Museum” today. I paused a moment debating what, if anything, to say next. Then I just blurted out that I was the foreigner that Mr. Kim met on the ferry from Wando. She gave a slight gasp, perhaps realizing that the person at the other end of the line was speaking Korean and she never considered I was not Korean.

I had no idea who she was. I didn’t know if she was also on the ferry and had seen me talking to Mr. Kim, or if he had told her about me, or anything. She told me to call back in 15 minutes. I told her I was going to find a cheap motel for the night and would call back in the morning. She was getting more excited and told me she didn’t think I needed to do that; I should call back in 15 minutes. We agreed on that and I rang off.

Tired and hungry, but with piqued curiosity, I roamed the streets to kill another 15 minutes. I dilly-dallied and waited a full 30 minutes before I dialed back. This time my call was answered immediately on the first ring. It was a man’s voice so I asked if it was Mr. Kim. He said it was and asked if I was the foreigner from the ferry. I confirmed. He asked me where I was. I told him I was standing in front of the 모슬포 Post Office. He told me not to move and he would come pick me up in 10 minutes. I hung up and waited.

Fifteen minutes later a Korando pulled up in front of me. The driver was not Mr. Kim, but he was dressed in the same old school style, and had a long pony tail pulled tight in the back. He yelled out the window that Mr. Kim sent him and I should get in.

I got in…

The Bongo Stops Here

2009-09-23T12:15:00.005+09:00

Cheju-do, South Korea. 1997

The Church Van driver and I left the crater and headed clockwise around Cheju Island. It certainly was much better than having to worry about catching a bus from place to place. And so far, it was much cheaper too. He wanted to stop at the Folk Village but I didn’t so we made for Seogwipo. We drove around for a bit just taking it all in and then we stopped at Jeongbang Waterfall. My driver insisted I get my picture taken in front of it. I flashed a meaningless gang sign. We left the waterfall and without telling me our next stop, he pulled over in front of a 다방. He seemed to know the place well and he greeted the owner familiarly as we entered. We sat. I ordered a drink; he did too. He got up and walked to the front and had a private conversation with the hostess. He came back. Pretty soon a cute young lady came and sat down next to me. She spoke only to my driver, asking questions about me and so forth. He asked her if she liked me (마음에 들어?). She looked over at me and kinda shrugged her shoulders. Of course they had no idea was following most of their conversation.

My driver, and erstwhile love advocate, had a perverted-looking grin on his face and asked her if she wanted to take me in the back and give me some service. She kinda shrugged her shoulders and said, “별로.” It’s not like I was dying to go get my service on with this little cutie, but it wouldn’t have killed her to fake it just a little.

My driver was progressively getting weirder the more time he spent with me. But I went with the flow and piled back in the van. We headed West. We pulled over somewhere in 중문 resort and took this picture of me. No gang sign this time.
Nobody was around and nothing seemed to be going on. Westward ho once more.

Our next stop was Sanbangsan. This giant nipple-like formation appeared as if you scraped it off the earth with a giant spatula and turned it upside down like flipping a pancake, it would make a great filler for the crater I climbed earlier in the day. We pulled into the parking lot at the same time as a group of tour buses. An endless stream of drunken and cackling old ladies teemed from the buses like ants from an anthill. Without missing a beat, my driver started asking them who wanted to buy ramen noodles from him. That lead balloon was greeted by more cackles and the occasional “Hello Hello” directed at me. More cackles and off they trundled.

I had a look around at the mountain and the scenery, a Buddhist temple. Nice. But I was getting tired, and getting tired of my driver so I didn’t linger longer. As we drove along, my driver decided he had set the hook and I was ready for his pitch. He thought it would be a great idea to head back to Cheju City where he would put me up and I could teach English to the church people who owned the van we were in. I had no intention of returning to Cheju City yet, and even less interest in living with this traveling Ramen salesman who couldn’t move any product. I told him I couldn’t really do that and he started asking me for money. I was grateful for the ride, and it was an experience I might not have had without my driver, but I wasn’t going to give him 100K Won like he asked.

At that moment we were entering a small town called 모슬포. This just happened to be the town in the address that the guy on the ferry from Wando had written down. I suddenly told my driver to stop the van. “Stop the van right here. Stop here.”

I got out in “downtown” 모슬포 and walked away from my driver forever.

Hitchin' a Ride

2009-09-22T05:21:00.003+09:00

Cheju-do, South Korea, 1997.

I left my temporary 호떡 haven and made my way afoot for the bus terminal. I stopped to rest in front of the Post Office, near a famous landmark building in the heart of town. I must’ve looked lost and lonely. A kind foreigner came up and sat next to me and asked if she could help me with anything. I said no and we got to talking. She was a Canadian who was teaching English in Shin-Cheju. She quite liked it. I told her I taught English some 10 years before in Busan and was back to have another look around. I told her I was using my Lonely Planet as a guide and I planned to head east, circle the island clockwise, and see as many hot spots as possible. She wished me luck and we parted never to see one another again.

I grabbed a bus and headed for 성산일출봉—a volcanic crater on the eastern tip. It is famous and nearly every visitor to the island gets a look at it at least once. I must’ve missed a memo somewhere along the way because the bus dropped me off quite a long walking distance from the crater parking lot itself. Feeling like a silly foreigner I started hoofing it toward the crater. Before long a Korean man in a van pulled up alongside. The van carried the name of a church in Cheju City and the lone figure driving it asked me in poor English if I wanted a ride. I rode.

It didn’t take long to see that he didn’t have much English but I wasn’t ready to play my trump card yet and so I stuck to English. This bad habit of mine really drove JT crazy when we were together in Seoul. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t use the “great gift” that I had. Anyway, I always leave it to the Korean to dictate the language we use to converse. It seems like more often than not they want to use English even if it doesn’t really work. Then I would only turn to Korean out of necessity. I stuck to English with this guy, and as a bonus, it helped keep the dialog to a minimum.

We parked at성산일출봉 parking lot and I walked back to get the following establishing shot of the crater.

If you look closely at the van with the back door up, you can see my driver setting up a table and some other stuff. I had no idea what he was doing, but when I got back to the van, he had a travel cooking stove burning and he was boiling water. As people passed he called out asking if they wanted a hot bowl of Ramen noodles or a cup of instant coffee. He was trying to charge 5,000 Won for the Ramen and 1,000 for the coffee. I thought the whole thing very odd so I grabbed my backpack and headed for the path up the crater. I hoped he would be gone by the time I returned.

When I descended from the top, he had a hot bowl of ramen ready for me. I ate it. I did not give him 5K Won for it. As I ate, he put the burner and the table back in the van and readied to roll. He said he was happy to keep driving me to other popular tourist destinations on the island. Me, not wanting to see the gift horse’s teeth, I accepted…

In Cheju City

2009-09-19T08:31:00.008+09:00

Cheju-do, South Korea. 1997.

Down a small side street off the main drag coming up from the ferry terminal was a row of cheap motels (여인숙). I picked out one at random and opened the front door. There was a bell on it that dinged loudly to announce my entry. I had come up with a strategy for easing the motel owner’s experience when trying to accommodate the foreign traveler. As soon as the bell dinged and I could hear someone inside rustling about I would yell out loud in Korean: “Hello? Do you have any rooms”? Invariably the answer would be that they did have a room, so I would yell out and ask how much per night. They would usually respond with a fair price. I would get all of this done before they had a chance to see that I was from way out of town and get all freaked out that they didn’t speak English. It worked great on this occasion too, and soon I had a room at the end of the hall on the second floor of a fine establishment.

The small room had only a TV and some blankets and a floor pad. There was a pillow filled with rice or corn or something. The bathroom was down the hall and halfway down the stairs to the first floor. Standard 여인숙 stuff. The owner was a short, jolly fellow who took extra pains to make sure I was comfy, that I had a bottle of water (probably recycled, and not in the way one might think), and that I knew how to work the hot water in the bathroom. Very nice and friendly. I decided this would make a great home base for a few days as I poked around lovely Cheju Island.
Cheju City from a hill east-ish of city center A cool shot with the KAL Hotel in the far background
After a couple days of wandering around Cheju City--the capitol of beautiful Cheju Island--I returned to my cheap motel room for the evening. I was greeted at the door by the owner who invited me into his room for dinner with the family. He had treated me to two meals already, one free nights of lodging, and even chauffeured me on a near-death drive to Dragon Head Rock. Or, Horse Head Rock as I like to call it…
He also told me not to worry about money, but to stay as long as I needed, use his motel as a home base and travel around the island and return each night. I tentatively agreed. Anyway, this night, the motel owner really opened up. He told me he was a writer, showed me notebooks full of his hand-written work, and read me parts of a story he wrote about when he was with the U.N. forces in Viet Nam and about the wound he brought home with him. He said he had had many favorable experiences with the U.S. soldiers while there and he hoped we could become close friends. We finished dinner and I went up to my room to watch a little KMTV before I fell asleep.

About 11 p.m. that night, there was a knock on my room door. I rousted myself up and opened the door to find the motel owner with two Cheju City policemen. They wore suits and were quite terse with me demanding to know my name. They were holding the registration form from the motel, the one I had thought it would be funny to put a fake name and passport number on. Name: Tony Opda. Turns out they did not find that as humorous as I. To compound my initial mistake of phonying the motel registration form, I told them I left my Passport in a locker box in the train station in Seoul. Not funny. They demanded to see any form of ID, my boat and train ticket stubs, my birthday; they grilled me. They wanted to see some proof that I had come down from Seoul, and had not snuck onto their island in some other clandestine fashion. I passed their exams, but I still got a lecture about the danger of spies, especially on this island. They reminded me of the recent news about the North Korean dictator’s ex-son-in-law who had defected to the South, had plastic surgery to change his face and was still shot in the head by a spy just days before. I thanked them and said goodnight.

Early the next morning I slipped out the front door while holding the bell so no one would wake up. I felt like a fugitive as I ran down the street in the still dark of morning. I didn't stop running until I was at the public market where I went deep into its bowels to a 호떡 stand where I burned my fingers and tongue on the melted brown sugar filling goodness.

Still on the Ferry...

2009-09-16T07:19:00.002+09:00

South Korea, 1997. Wando --> Chejudo

The stoic Korean gentleman next to me on the bench continued to stare out of the ship's window into the darkness of the sea for quite some time. He finally broke the silence by turning to me and asking in halting English: "Are you American"? It was as if he was debating with himself whether or not to engage me at all.

"Yes," I responded. He simply nodded and turned to stare back out at the black of night. I thought it was strange but it was not annoying. Again we sat in silence for many minutes.

When he again spoke, it was to ask me where I was going. I told him I was headed to Cheju Island. He asked if I had been before, and I told him I had not. This brief exchange, again in English, was followed by more silent stillness and more staring out at sea. As the ship neared port, he tore a scrap of paper from a notebook in his beggar bag and wrote his name and address with a black charcoal drawing pencil. I had not spoken one word of Korean, nor made any indication that I could speak better Korean than he could English, but his name and address were written in Hangeul.

I treated the scrap as if it were a business card; I thanked him and held it and stared at it for a moment before putting it in my shirt pocket. He then told me that I should visit him, "My house is a traditional Korean museum," he said.

"OK," I said. I left him with a slight bow and went to retrieve my backpack/erstwhile pillow. On the way off the boat I noticed that he had been joined by a woman. She wore the same style of clothes and walked a couple of steps in front of him. They certainly were a unique-looking pair, both in apparel and hairstyle. Other Koreans stared at them too. Thinking I would never see these folks again, I waved goodbye and exited the terminal into the salty Cheju night air.

The owner of the kindergarten in Seoul where I had briefly taught had arranged for his brother to meet me at the terminal and make sure I had a good visit. Since I was the only whitey in sight, I figured I would be pretty hard to miss. But nobody approached. I made a half-hearted attempt to call him, but nobody answered. Secretly I was a bit relieved because I didn't want to be beholding to anybody. I wanted to roam freely.

Lonely Planet said there were cheap motels (여인숙) aplenty near the terminal and I soon found that to be true.

Scan of the Day

2009-09-14T01:16:00.001+09:00

I picked up this post card in Seoul in 1997. I believe the text reads: "I am MANOC! When you have problem, Remember me. I'll always beside you. We are friend forever!"
Anyone know what MANOC is?

On the Ferry...

2009-09-13T05:47:00.011+09:00

South Korea, 1987. From Wando to Chejudo

Somehow I managed to get a spot for me and my backpack on the green turf-covered floor where I had a reasonable 5-square feet of personal space. All around me Koreans sat in groups small and large. Some sang, most smoked, others slept, and some drank Soju. In my closest proximity was a middle-aged Korean fellow and two female travelmates. I got the distinct impression that neither was his wifely figure.

Not long into the ferry ride, he untied the knot in a plastic baggy and revealed a still-squirming, mostly alive, octopus. Another bag produced two bottles of Soju. He used a pocket knife to slice the octopus into bite-sized bits of tentacle and hood. The girls giggled and the man did most of the eating and drinking. Ahh, good times. For as much as they ignored the rest of us, they might as well have been in a private room. It really is uncanny how Koreans are able to treat others whom they know not as if they were a telephone pole or tree. I was a tree. A lone white tree planted in the corner on a field of plastic grass.

I got up to wander around and check things out. I went on deck and looked out at the ocean. Nothing looked back.

By the time I returned to my little corner, a Korean fellow was asleep using my backpack for a pillow. I didn't feel like rousting him so I went back out and used the potty. It was dark out by now and the lobby area was deserted except for a bench with one sleeping gentleman on it. I tried to sit down on the bench without waking this guy up, but the bench was rickety and even my body weight caused it to bounce one time. He opened his eyes and looked over to see who had disturbed his solemn reverie. His reaction was an emotionless pokerfaced stare for an uncomfortably long time. He drank in every detail of my face and head, and turned to stare at the darkness out the window.

I couldn't detect any stank of drunkenness and I figured that if he wanted to practice his English on me, he would have done so already so I stayed put. The two of us alone on a bench on a boat. Neither one speaking. Not moving. Trying not looking at each other. I cheated enough glimpses to notice he had shoulder length hair and a wispy mustache and goatee. He dressed in traditional looking clothes; the ankle-tie and waist-tie pants with the super low crotch, and a button-up cotton jacket. He carried a mendicant monk-style shoulder bag. I pegged him for an artist.

I was not far off...

Real Men Don't Ask for Directions

2009-09-11T05:31:00.003+09:00

South Korea, 1997.

I wandered around Mokpo in the early hours of dawn and morning by myself without any real plans. It seemed like a nice seaside port city but I wanted to boat around some of the hundreds of islands that dot the southern coastline. Lonely Planet told me I could get a ferry around from Mokpo to Wando and that the scenery was magnificent. So I made my way to the ferry terminal.
As far as I could tell, the signage listed no scenic ferry rides to Wando, and not wanting to ask anyone, I gave it up. Instead I grabbed a city bus to the Mokpo inter-city bus station, from there a bus took me to Kwangju, another terminal and another bus finally took me to Wando. In the pouring rain I found a cheap Inn for the night. It was just a small square room with a pad and a blanket and a TV. The potty was community and had no hot water. But the owner was a sweet old lady who checked on me several times over the course of the one night I spent there.

The next day when the rain stopped, I took to walking around Wando. One can cover the whole town end-to-end in short order so I snapped a couple pictures and headed to the ferry terminal and bought one ticket for Jejudo.

Fishies drying on a rusted rack:
Boats.
Boarding the Hanil Car Ferry #1 is not done in what one might call "an orderly fashion"; everyone pushing, squawking, smoking, charging up the ramp with kids, grandparents and luggage, crates, sacks, Soju cases, boxes tied with shiny pink straps, fishing poles. I was in no hurry to get on board. Apparently everyone else knew what I would only find out later--there is only so much seating space, and all of it on the floor.

Scanned Slides of the Day

2009-09-09T06:23:00.000+09:00

South Korea in 1987. Day trip to ...? Anyone?

Look ma, foreigners! On the hike up.

The suspension bridge. I crossed it (not without trembling). At the top. That's the suspension bridge down there.

Anyone? If memory serves, this is 대둔산.

Scan of the Day

2009-09-09T05:46:00.003+09:00

Seoul to Mokpo 1997

An Adventure Begins...

2009-09-09T04:45:00.009+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. 1997.

When our two other roommates returned from the states all full of their wedded bliss, my substitute teaching responsibilities were done and I had no other plans. And I certainly wasn't ready to head back home. I decided to take off on my own and see some more of the rabbit-shaped peninsula. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go to Pusan, but I did want to make it to Jeju Island.

I sketched out a rough itinerary in my mind to head straight south and eventually catch a ferry down to Jeju-do. Nothing concrete, just looking to see some countryside and be by myself for a while. I packed a small backpack with some clothes, my electric razor, and my Lonely Planet. Before leaving I borrowed JT's hair clippers and gave the dome a fresh buzz (my first in over a month in country because the 학원 boss man wanted me to have as much hair as possible), and I went online to get the train schedule from 서울 to 목포. I found I could get a 10:16 pm train from 영등포 station so I could sleep a bit and save the cost of lodging for one night.

The evening of my departure JT, 지수, and I went to Cyber Zone Coffee Shop near 신정네거리 to kill a few hours. The coffee was instant and the place was smoky, but the clientele was unmatched for its freshness. I knew JT was in heaven but still desperate to experience the forbidden Korean female fruits. He lit up a yummy Marlboro (he had taken up smoking again--most often when drinking, or trying to fit in, or trying to impress) and 지수 fired one up too for good measure.

The conversation turned to Pusan (지수's hometown) and 지수 gave me the phone number of her best friend. I was to call her if and when I got to Pusan, but she warned me that her friend was a very traditional, conservative girl where guys were concerned and that I shouldn't get any ideas. I told her that I didn't have any ideas, but that I thought all Korean girls were traditional and conservative in that regard. She told me I was wrong and that she had even heard of girls who sold their sex for money on a street near Youngdungpo station. She said she had never been there because she was scared. JT suggested that we go see it on the way to dropping me off for my train.

Around the corner from Youngdungpo station, we took a left down a narrow alley. Past a locksmiths and a restaurant the road widened a bit. On both sides of the street were glass-fronted shops with scantily-clad girls smoking cigarettes under an eerie red and yellow fluorescence. The overactive butterflies in my stomach became increasingly agitated as we drove slowly by, eye-shopping the spectacle as these women banged on the inside of the glass with cigarette lighters. The noise surrounded my head driving me lower in the back seat until I was just barely peeking out like some shy acne-ridden teen gazing at his first nudie magazine. I knew they weren't inviting us in for just a smoke.

These were the red-light women that Eight-Shot Dave had told me so much about. (One of whom blessed him with the phrase: "bring it here.") At the end of the street, 지수 flipped a U-turn for another look, slowed in front of one open window and asked "How much?" in Korean. It was like preparing to barter as one would at NamDaeMoon market. The young lady inside just waved her off.

I slept only fitfully, balled up on a benchseat of the nearly empty night train to Mokpo, but woke up sweating as the train pulled in at 4:30 a.m. I detrained into the chill pitchblack, grabbed an instant mini-cup of coffee from the nearest machine, pushed my way through the cabbies who were soliciting riders to god-knows where, and made for town.

Scanned Slide of the Day

2009-09-08T01:05:00.006+09:00

Pusan, South Korea in 1987.

Keeping it cool on a hot day.

Coffee and Cigarettes

2009-09-08T00:26:00.003+09:00

Seoul, South Korea 1997

Enough about babysitting and calling it teaching. After all, it was just an enabler for love and adventure. Let's get back to the reason for me even being in Korea in 1997: to find Korean Love for JT.

So far we had been faked by the mysterious 보연 who gave us a phony Beep Beep number. But we had managed to get the digits of the fair Young-Sook of Skylark Family Restaurant (hereafter known only as "Skylark"). However, the most promising prospect turned out to be one of JT's students. She was a college grad, working woman he taught once a week. She had a lawyer boyfriend, but JT had a crush. She was called 지수, but her real name was 용운. She changed it when she moved to Seoul from her hometown out in the boonies. Her given name, as you can see, was way too masculine and it had been a constant source of torment in her life.

I told JT he should ask her to come meet us after class one night and we could practice English and enjoy some BBQ. That worked and we had quite a nice time. Smart, cute, employed, car owner, smoker, late 20's...the major obstacle being the boyfriend. We hung out several times and JT was chomping at the bit. We came up with a plan to make some magic. We decided to meet for BBQ again, prime the pump with a little Soju, and then employ a little trick we had heard about. On the walk from our regular BBQ place to our apartment, there was a harmless-looking little 여관. The plan was to walk in that direction after dinner and Soju and then without saying anything just walk her into the motel. I would continue on home. It was supposed to work if she had any interest and she had any 눈치.

On the way home we turned down the alley to the motel and JT took a left with 지수 towards the motel. She realized where they were headed just as she got close to the entrance, and like a petulant child plopped right down on the steps of the motel. That was it. It was clear she was not interested in going inside with him. I watched from around the corner long enough to see it wasn't going to work and I went home. Moments later JT arrived. He was bummed, but we both had a good laugh about it. She wasn't angry or upset. She just kept saying she had a boyfriend. She even said she was conflicted because she liked JT.

Aw shucks. Foiled again.

We remained friends with 지수, even having more adventures together. Our hangout place with her moved from BBQ and Soju to Coffee and cigarettes, and no love ever occurred between her and JT. As far as I know.

Scanned Slide of the Day

2009-09-04T07:51:00.004+09:00

1987. Seoul seen from the walk up to Namsan Tower. I ignored the signs that said "No Photography."

The Substitute Part 3

2009-09-01T23:28:00.010+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. 1997

And now for some high points from my few short weeks of substitute English "teaching."

In no particular order:

1. Some of them dang rugrats was cute.

2. Getting paid cash in envelopes every hour was nice.

3. One "healthy" young student gave me his lucky pig. His name is written on the bottom, but only the surname remains. Of course, I still have it:

4. One student told me "Winter envy Spring" when the weather didn't want to turn warm. I liked that a lot. I wrote a silly poem about it where I put one word on each page of a groovy mini Korean notebook. Without quoting the whole lame thing, let me just give you a few words from it: busybodies, donnybrooking, snuff. I dare anyone to pen a decent poem with those words in it. Double dare even.

5. Monday nights. Every Monday night after classes, JT and I would meet at McDonald's near Shinjeong Naegeori. It truly felt like it was our McDonald's.

Photo of the Day

2009-09-01T23:16:00.006+09:00

Scanned from a 20+ year-old slide back when 씨름 was still popular.

Anyone know who this big 'ol boy is?

The Substitute Part 2

2009-08-31T01:46:00.000+09:00

1997 in Seoul, South Korea

There's not much I can say about what it's like to try to teach English to little kids that hasn't already been blogged to death. Of course the dang rug rats was cute and all. We had some laughs and some brawls. Some loved me and some hated me. So instead of scrawling out all the details of each day and each class, I'll list out some of the high points and some of the low points.

First the low:

-Riding that motorcycle around in the cold. Worse was riding it around in the rain.

-I had one stop with a brother and a sister. Ages 5 and 3. They had no English at all. They had no interest in learning it. They had no interest in me. They roused rabble and messed around the whole time. Their mom would pop into the room (their bedroom) from time to time and yell at them. She would also tell me to yell at them and discipline them into studying. Riiiiiight.

-One day on the way to one of the classes that was quite far out into the boonies from Mokdong, I was riding the motorcycle in the motorcycle lane (you know, basically in the gutter next to the curb). As I came around a corner, a huge truck was making the same turn and came wide enough so I had to slam my brakes to keep from getting rolled under the enormous front wheel. I nearly kissed it goodbye that day.

-In class at the institute one day. The kids were teasing me on account of the baldness up top. We teased back and forth while trying to learn some words to describe each other. Things degenerated when I crossed the line and told one student (strongest English speaker in the class) he needed to work on his English. He lost it. He started bawling miserably in front of the whole class. I tried saying I was only joking, but he grabbed my cheek with his little hand and squeezed and scratched as hard as he could while screaming at me. My face hurt but I felt bad the kid had taken it so hard. He calmed down some and class ended. We walked out and there was the hagwon owner. He saw the kid's tears, he saw my red scratched face, what could I say? I put my arm around the kid and told the teacher in my slowest clearest English that this kid "is the smartest in my class." Oh boy.

-I had a private class with 4 high school freshmen. On the last day of my 3 week stint with them, they pestered the whole hour to play games. I understand why they didn't want to go through another boring lesson in the book and it likely had very little to do with it being my last day. I finally gave in and broke out some card game. Mom came in and was not pleased. She got angry with me in front of the kids and told me they were high school kids and didn't need to play games. She said she wasn't paying me to play games with them. Her English was hurtfully good right then...

Scanned Slide of the Day

2009-08-29T02:07:00.004+09:00

Pusan Harbor 1987
돌아와요.

The Substitute

2009-08-29T01:22:00.009+09:00

February 1997 in Seoul, South Korea.

I officially started substituting for JT's brother's classes after he and his betrothed left for the States. The hagwon provided a motorcycle (like a Honda Trail 90) that I rode around to different hagwons and apartments to teach. My typical routine would be:

Put on a helmet, put my hands into the huge glove/mitten things that covered the handles and kept my hands from freezing off, ride the cycle to the hagwon, enter up the back stairs, "teach" a class, leave.

When I left I would ride to an apartment where 3-5 kids would be waiting. I would work through a textbook for 50 mins, then mom would bring in a tray of treats and/or juice. We would eat and maybe play a game for 10 minutes. Then I would leave. On the way out mom would hand me an envelope of cash. Usually 25-40K Won per hour.

Off to the next apartment. Repeat.

Initially my days were not packed with classes because the hagwon owner didn't trust me yet. But it didn't take long 'til positive feedback flowed in from the moms. I made a point of greeting them in Korean and doing a bit of small talk at each visit. After each session I would praise their kids' English skills. Pretty soon I was gold.

Once a week I would ride the #5 Purple line over an hour all the way from Omokkyo to Jamsil? where I met a young lady for 2 hours of free-talking. We drank Cokes and chatted. She was a grad student and quite smart. She was studying North Korean politics and the concept of Juche. This was right at the time Hwang Jang-yeop defected. He was one of the main "architects" of Juche and so we spent hours talking about this news and about Juche. She was quite thrilled to be allowed to study North Korean politics at such an exciting time. Definitely one of the highlights of my substitute stint. She paid me 100,000 won for the 2 hours. Maybe I should have paid her? Or at least paid for the Cokes?

Scanned Slide of the Day

2009-08-27T07:27:00.009+09:00

In the tradition of ROK Drop and others, I post herewith my first (but not last) Photo of the Day: 1987. I know I took this picture cuz I scanned it from my slides, but I have no clue where I took it. 경북 somewhere maybe? Anyone?

Cherry Blossom Tribute Part 2

2009-08-27T07:04:00.009+09:00

Hometown USA, Hot August 2009

Camping and a raging bout of stomach flu have forced this temporary departure from the events of 1997 in Korea. Secretly I am also s t r u g g l i n g with writing about "teaching" English to little kids. So any tangent at this point really...

Have a look back at May of this year when I posted my Cherry Blossom Tribute. Notice if you will the barenakedness of my 무궁화. How sad it was back then. Here is an update.

The indomitabilityness of the Korean Spirit in blossom form: Some said it wouldn't survive. I beg to differ.

Weather today: Sunny. 98F (36.6C).

Skylark

2009-08-22T02:08:00.003+09:00

Seoul, South Korea. February 1997

The next night, JT, his brother, and I went and saw Jerry Maguire. On the way home we noticed that Skylark Family Restaurant was having their Grand Opening. “Wanna go in and get a bite? Let’s see if their steaks are any good. We’ll probably be their first foreign customers,” JT proposed.
“OK,” we agreed.

Skylark keeps a full staff of servers, bussers, managers, and cookers working hard until 2 a.m. Most of them have day jobs too but they all need the extra money so help is not hard to find. No sooner had we taken our seats but a smiling server in a pink dress with white apron dropped off three menus, not before honoring us with a deep bow of salutation: “Hello. How are you?” Five different girls came up to our table one at a time, bowed and said, “Excuse me. Can I take your order please?” We hadn’t even had a chance to look at the menu. Girl number six was worth waiting for. Shy, shortish, with a traditionally beautiful egg-shaped face, her nametag read "Young-Sook."
“Excuse me. May I take your order please?”
I said, “Will you be my friend?”
“OK.”
Secretly I was only acting in my role as Love Finder for JT.

I opened my Sharp electronic address book and planner and slid it over to her. She looked at it, a shy and confused grin started to creep onto her face but she quickly covered it with her hand. My planner prompted her for her name and then phone number. “Young-Sook is a popular name,” I said. In my mind I was thinking back to my first Young-Sook 10 years earlier.
“Yes it is,” she said. "Is beep-beep OK?"
"Sure, just don't fake me," I said.
She responded with a blank stare. You know the look.
“May I take your order please?” Skylark Young-Sook asked after an awkward silence.
“Give me a beefsteak with steamed rice on the side, friend.” I said it with a smile.

Beep Beep

2009-08-20T03:54:00.005+09:00

Seoul, South Korea 1997

A heavyset Edmontonian girl at the party convinced us to share a taxi with her down to the Hong-Ik area to go dancing. We went to one of the newer of several Western-style nightclubs with a full bar and without the exorbitant table charge for beer and fruit common at other Seoul area drinking establishments. Inside, the hip-hop thumped and the part Korean, part American crowd smoked, drank, and danced. We didn't last long there before we both decided it was time to head home.

We took the Green line to the bus exchange and the bus over the bridge back to the Green line (thus circumventing the Green Line portion that collapsed into the river), all the way to the Purple transfer. The last Purple had already gone so we decided to cross over to the market area where an old woman was cooking up fried egg sandwiches. Crossing at the same time was a beautiful young Korean girl whom I caught staring at JT. She didn't flinch, didn’t giggle and cover, didn’t even stop staring. She confidently scrutinized my woman-starved friend. She stopped just across the street and started to hail a taxi. At this late hour, the taxis are all full but drivers try to pick up solo riders to pocket the extra fare. However, finding a taxi that isn't full of people that also happens to be going where you want to go is a difficult prospect.

JT and I ordered one egg sandwich each as I told him how that girl had stared at him so. The old egg sandwich woman lightly buttered both pieces of bread, toasted them next to the frying eggs, and finished the process by sprinkling liberal amounts of sugar on the eggs and coating the bread with ketchup. I ordered mine without sugar or ketchup, and, at JT's bidding, went over to spark up some conversation with the girl. I asked if she was trying to catch a taxi to her boyfriend's house. She said she didn't have a boyfriend. I pointed at JT and told her my friend thought she was cute. She looked at him and waved. He came over with two egg sandwiches and stood next to her with that cheesy tooth-filled grin of his. Through me he asked her name. "김 보연," she said. JT turned to me and told me to get her beep-beep. Young hip Koreans all have pagers because they get can in trouble when their friends of the opposite sex call them at home. With a pager they can take calls whenever and return the calls without fear of parental interference. I asked for her beep-beep and without a word she tore a page out of her planner and wrote her name followed by her pager number. JT grabbed it and looked, it was a 015 number--one of two prefixes that all pagers use. He smiled at her and said "친구." A taxi pulled up and she yelled "영등포" into the window. "Ride," the driver said. Off she went.

Next day, JT still smiling at the prospect of getting carnal, beep-beeped 보연. After dialing it twice without getting the prompt to enter a message or number, he dialed again and handed the phone to me, "Tell me what this says." A woman's voice, monotonous like a recorded operator, told me in Korean that this number had been disconnected or was no longer in service. I broke the bad news to JT. "Faked," he said sadly and took the scrap of paper with her name and number on it and placed it on his desk under the glass top with other souvenirs of his world travels.

Snookered

2009-08-18T05:54:00.007+09:00

We followed James up the Omokkyo Station exit number One which opened up in front of a 24-hour convenience store. "Stop here for some beers," James advised. "The party's just down that sidestreet. Go in that door there by that full-sized cardboard Korean Air Flight Attendant. Up to the third floor above that billiard hall and that's it, walk right in."

Inside the 24-hour store JT and I couldn't decide between Cass, Hite, or OB Lager (the Budweiser of Korea). "Remember that time you went to Oregon and brought back that box of Weinhards for my birthday because we couldn't get it where we lived yet?" JT asked.
"Sure do."
"Let's get OB Lager," he suggested. "There's this commercial on TV for OB Lager with this funny guy. I don't know what he says or anything, but it's funny and the kids love it."
"OK," I agreed.

At the door to the party was a huge pile of shoes so big the door wouldn't shut all the way. We fought our way through it and went in. The apartment was mostly filled with Canadians with only a few Koreans. James was on the couch next to a tall Korean beauty. Both were laughing and drinking. I got close enough to hear James trying out his unstrong Korean on her. JT came up, "I'm better looking than that guy and he's got Korean Love. See he speaks Korean. That's all it takes, I know it."
"He's a geek. Maybe Korean babes dig geeks," I offered. "I know geeks, you're no geek. Besides I just heard him ask her old she was by using 연세 for age not 나이. 연세 is only for older people. His Korean is not so strong as it seems."
"She laughed," JT pointed out.
"True." She had laughed, but I wasn't sure if it was because James's blunder was cute, or because she was being polite, or if she was just drunk. Could have been a combo of all three.

Four hours and two more trips to the convenience store later, the OB Lagers gave JT the courage he needed to spark up some conversation with one of the three Korean girls at the party. JT’s cheeks always get a little flushed when he’s drinking, and he’s quite proud of the fact that he’s a lightweight. His eyelids sag and his grin shows the top row of his cosmetic teeth. I’ve seen that look a thousand times and it always makes me laugh. He thinks it’s irresistible. He really needs to get that level of self-confidence back full time. Too bad the girl he is hitting on is living in this very apartment with the Canadian guy hosting the party, who by the way, is sitting with a scowl on the other side of her from JT.

Being a Love Finder is going to be a full-time job...

The Bald and the "Strong"

2009-08-14T07:27:00.005+09:00

Mr. K and his wife, the owners of the Mokdong Branch of the "Strong" English Institute, were anxious to come over and meet me--their new substitute teacher. I was confident and ready. I had taught English before at a 학원 in 부산 so I knew the ropes. I also taught English composition for two years at university in the States, so compared to JT and his brother I was way overqualified for this three-week stint.

Mr. K and his wife came in. Mr. K didn't say anything to me, just stared briefly, walked into JT's bedroom and shut the door behind him. A minute later he called JT in and closed the door again. JT's brother looked at me and shrugged. Mr. Kim's wife--that would be Mrs. H--smiled, giggled, and sat down at the kitchen table. She silently fidgeted with her bangs, which had been sprayed to stand almost straight up like some wall of fear.

Five minutes of hushed conversation passed in the bedroom. Mr. Kim came out, extended his hand for an unfirm shake, curtly introduced himself and left. His wife dutifully followed.

"What was that"? I asked half afraid of the answer.
"Oh, nothing really," JT said.
"Then why did he snub me like that?"
"Well, he's got this idea of what an English teacher should look like, he's really into image. I told him not to worry and go out there and be polite."
"Didn't work," I said. "If he doesn't like me he can find someone else if he thinks he can." It was a semi-bluff and I knew I didn't mean it as soon as I said it.
"It's going to be OK," JT assured me. "He was just surprised that you were a little balding up top there. That's all."
"I can't help it. You know it's not like he's flawless or something. He's short. I don't like short people. You know what else? His English sucks. I hate Korean institute owners whose English sucks. And he can help that, it's called studying. It's not like if I studied harder I'd grow more hair or something. Know what I'm saying? The punk."
"Mellow out man, a little touchy about the dome or what?"
"No, I just, how about a chance first? Ya know? I mean I can't help my genetic physicalities now can I?"

That night, a tall, fully bald-headed Australian fellow named James met us at the Omokkyo Station underpass to show us the way to the foreigner-only party.
"James, are you teaching English here in Seoul"? I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"But you're bald..."
"I know," he said with a look on his face that spoke volumes.

The Love Finder

2009-08-11T23:06:00.007+09:00

JT shared a small two bedroom basement with his brother and his brother's fiancee. The apartment, provided by the 학원, had a small kitchen and dining area, a bathroom that functioned as toilet, sink, shower, and laundry room in one. I was to sleep on the couch in JT's room until his brother left to join his fiancee in the States. I instantly knew I would be on the floor on account of the couch was too short and too narrow, but I knew I could survive the floor for a few days.

When JT's brother came home from teaching class that night, we decided to celebrate my arrival by treating me to some Soju and delicious, spicy, marinated chicken with noodles. We walked to their favorite place, took off our shoes, and sat on the floor around a hot bed of glowing coals. As soon as the Soju was poured, JT said: "White, you have got to find me some Korean Love. These women are so beautiful, but I can't seem to get anywhere with them."

"Have you got your eye on anyone?" I asked.
"A couple different babes, but I thought you could help me meet some new blood too."
"Sure. But are you ready to put on that old blue collar, punch in on the time clock and do work? Unless times have changed drastically in the last ten years, you shouldn't have much trouble if you put in the time.

I was not entirely comfortable with the situation or his request, but JT seemed so sincere and desperate at the same time. At that point I must've faded out of the conversation because I was vaguely aware that I was no longer speaking out loud but was lost in a haze of fond reminiscence and jetlag.

JT picked up on my absent stare and changed the subject. "Anyway, there's a foreigner party this weekend over by Omok Bridge. Only foreigners are invited, but mostly it's just Canadians. I want to go check it out. And tomorrow night I want to go see Jerry Maguire. You feel up to it?"
"OK. If my jetlag is gone."

Lucky Number 5

2009-08-07T22:49:00.002+09:00

Outside the customs checkpoint at Kimpo Airport, eager Koreans craned their necks to peer anxiously through the electric sliding doors that opened like a theatre curtain whenever someone came out. JT was lurking in the background and came forward only when he saw the solitary light-skinned traveler emerge.

"Well, if it isn't my old roommate I've got to go all the way to Korea just to see." I greeted him with a hug.
"You want to take a taxi, bus, subway, what?" JT asked.
"All roads lead to Seoul, baby."
"Subway it is."

The number five line, the purple line, was one of the newest in Seoul at the time. It runs from out west of the airport clear across the huge sprawl of Seoul. The purple line is still clean and doesn't yet smell like garlic, piss, 소주, or puke. It also runs right through the neighborhood where JT lives and works. It's almost never crowded, it’s perfectly safe, it costs less than 50 cents for a one way ticket, it's a great way to commute.

"Our stop is Omokkyo. An easy way to remember it is, this is line five, get off at Omokkyo, and take exit number five. Five is the magic number. OK?"

"OK." I didn't feel like telling JT that Omokkyo also means "Five Tree Bridge," another magic five, but I was certain I could find my way around.

It was evening in 목동when we came up on to the street from Omokkyo Station exit number five. Immediately there on the left was Skylark, an American style family restaurant still under construction. Another half block down on the left, near a video store no larger than a minivan, was a basement bar called "Green." JT was intrigued by Green because he had followed a beautiful girl down there once and was denied entrance at the door by a man who said nothing, just shook his head. In the smoky dark of Green, JT had seen TV screens with what looked like naked Korean girls on them so I promised we'd go on a fact-finding tour after I got settled.

Go

2009-08-05T23:21:00.004+09:00

Seoul, South Korea

January 1997

As I waited for my overstuffed backpack to show up on the luggage carousel of Seoul's Kimpo International Airport (this was well before Incheon International was even a glimmer in some Korean slogan-maker’s eye), I scoped out the Customs lines where Koreans returning to their home country were getting the third degree and a complete search. I'm a little anal, and a lot protective of my personal stuffs, so I am always anxious about some scowling customs 아저씨 rifling my backpack. When my pack finally came through I put it on and, acting like I was overly exhausted, walked to the initial checkpoint, surrendered my passport, and tried to look as tired as possible. The angry-looking customs official slowly scrutinized me up and down one time, more tired than I perhaps, and simply said, "가." As if I were a child, or a dog, or a drunk. Just that one curtly uttered syllable.

"Go."

Given the circumstances of my previous sudden departure from this place, I was surprised and more than a little bit relieved. I walked out, but my ears and brain were still buzzing from what was left unsaid beneath that brief imperative. It said, "I know why you're here, you. I know you brought your poison culture to bespoil our traditions, you're probably smuggling drugs, you'll work illegally selling us your mother tongue, try to take our women away with you, give us AIDS. You are 100% bad."

가.

Courtesy Stockings Make the Man

2009-08-04T05:28:00.004+09:00

Hometown USA 1997

A travel agent with a smoker's raspy voice booked me on Singapore Airlines from San Francisco to Seoul, non-stop. I had never heard anything about that airline before. But she assured me it was a "really nice carrier," and since it was comparably the cheapest ticket--just over $600 round trip--the decision wasn't a difficult one. We chose a departure date that would land me in the Land of the Morning Calm with a few days to de-jetlag myself before I had to start teaching. Since I also had to lock in my return date, I tentatively reserved a seat on a return flight some 87 days after that. I figured I could easily move my return up if I wanted. Oddly, the thought of doing the reverse never occurred to me.

I called JT, told him when to expect me. As for packing, all I needed was my new passport (my original one had expired and I hadn’t left the USA in 10 years since), my tourist Visa, a sleeping bag, clothes, toiletries, and my cliché but trusty Lonely Planet Guide to Korea. I crammed it all in my North Face backpack and was ready to go. Before I left, however, I heard from several friends in the same social circle as JT and me. I was charged with a serious calling.

"When you're over there, find out the scoop on JT's sexual preference. You know, I mean, see if he's gay or what. I mean, my wife wants to know, you know."

Yes I know. Your wife is still pissed JT told everybody that he could have slept with her while she was engaged to you.

Bearing that unheavy burden, I left for the airport. It didn't take but five minutes on the plane to realize that my travel agent had not lied about the quality of Singapore Airlines. The plane itself was huge; 11 seats across each 3-section row, but not 1/3 of the seats were occupied. I chose a 5-seat middle row near the back all for myself, took off my shoes and put on the purple courtesy socks provided. I figured that the courtesy socks were purple to match the interior color motif of the plane, and not due to some Donny Osmond influence, at least I hoped.

No sooner had I gotten comfy than a friendly attendant was offering me my first glass of free wine and we hadn't even begun to taxi yet. On the seat back in front of me--in front of everyone--was a personal-sized TV screen. My own headphones, my own remote control, my own viewing options. Every two hours a new movie, Seinfeld re-runs, countless music choices, Nintendo Golf and car racing, updated flight info including speed, location, ETA, weather and time at destination, all in three languages. In that plush and distracting environment, with all the free-flowing liquor, the 12 1/2 hour flight went pretty fast and soon I was touching down at Seoul's Kimpo International once again.

The Tank Ain't Empty

2009-07-31T06:34:00.003+09:00

Hometown USA 1997

JT told me I would need a tourist Visa valid for five years, good for 90 days and renewable for the same length every time I entered the country. This kind of renewable Visa is a great way for illegal English teachers like JT and his brother to get around Korea's immigration laws. To get a legitimate work Visa you have to sign a contract with a Korean employer for at least one year. That gives the employer so much power over you that it is hard to make the kind of money illegals make, it's also hard to come and go as you please, and you have to pay taxes too.

One downside to this tourist Visa scam is really an upside for many teachers who work in Korea under the table: every three months illegals have to make a "Visa Jump" where you have to leave Korea and re-enter to get your 90 days renewed. "Visa Jumping" can be expensive, but it enables the restless traveler/teacher to go see a different country--if only briefly--every 90 days or so. It's a great excuse to get away to Hong Kong, Thailand, Guam, wherever. And Japan is only a three-hour boat ride or a short flight from some Korean ports.

At least that’s how JT sold it to me.

Personally, I really only intended to stay in Korea for the three weeks, or so, that it would take to substitute teach JT's brother's classes, but I also wanted a few free days to kick around the peninsula. Perhaps drop in on a few old haunts down in Pusan. How could I go wrong; I could scratch my itch to get out of town, see an old buddy in an exotic locale, make some straight cash, and return to Korea for the first time in 10 years.

"Oh, by the way," he asks, "you do still speak some Korean don't you?"
"Well I haven't really tried in years, but I'm sure there's enough still in the tank."
"Good. 'Cuz Korean women are the most beautiful women in the world but I can't communicate with them."

Oh, that's where I come in.

A Master of Arts Takes a Phone Call

2009-07-29T00:47:00.006+09:00

By December of 1996 I finished my grad school course work, and I wrote and defended my Thesis. Pretty easy really. Straight A grades (except for a B in a course called "Women Writers"). Basically only took me two drafts to get the Thesis written. The only real drag about the program was the grading of freshman composition papers. Agony.

Not surprisingly, I found myself in no great rush to get a job. I was also realistic (cynical?) enough to know I couldn't make a PhD in literature work. Sure I was still living in my parents' basement and working part-time selling sporting goods, but I had very little money and even less motivation. Out of the clear blue, JT called me. Long time no hear. The last time I saw my old college drinking buddy was right after he had written a goodbye note for his wife, endorsed over his last paycheck to her, and left her--for good.

He came to visit me then, a little sad but a lot free. He told me he was heading out on the road. "OTR" he called it. I doubt he coined the term, but he loved saying it so I let him. Since then, friends had caught random tidbits of rumors that JT had "turned gay," he was living in Brazil, Mexico, the Philippines. I had heard nothing first-hand until now. Turns out JT is in Seoul, Korea, of all places, teaching English with his little brother. Life is great, the cash is good, but his brother is leaving for L.A. for three weeks to get married and he needs a substitute to teach his classes for him while he is gone. That's where I come in. No rent, low cost-of-living, plenty of income. Sounded good to me…

The End of One Detour, Start of Another

2009-07-28T00:46:00.005+09:00

Hometown USA 1992

One of the main problems with working in the film industry was the complete absence of a social life outside of the production. In short, it afforded my girlfriend way too much time to be unfaithful to me. Long story short, it ain't nice to be cuckolded at the age of 26 and dumped over the phone after 2 years.

By the end of 1991 I was mentally done with the production lifestyle but I had no other plans. I needed a change of career path, of social circle, and environment. When the TV series I was working on was cancelled right before Christmas, I did what everyone else in the industry does and filed to collect my unemployment benefit. I was entitled to the maximum benefit (US $960/month) for a period of four months. Instead of aggressively seeking gainful employment, I intended to collect the whole amount unless presented with an opportunity I couldn't refuse.

By the Spring of 1992, no such opportunity had appeared and President Clinton signed an unemployment extension for another four months. I took advantage of that to the fullest. I spent hours and hours at the pool. I was getting tan and meeting girls. The Summer of 1992 still ranks in the top 5 all time summers of mine halcyon.

Otherwise, I spent a lot of time in my own head trying to figure out what to do next. I read a lot and thought a lot. I highly recommend such a period. In fact, if I wasn't afraid (by afraid I mean I have a home mortgage, a rental property, a car payment, a wife, and two young kids), I would love to do it again right now.

I took the GRE, nailed it, applied to grad schools, and got accepted to a Master of Arts program to study literature. I also got an assistantship to teach English Comp 101 and 102 along with a nice stipend and an office (really a closet) on campus. Come Autumn 1992, I was full on into a new chapter of my life. It was not necessarily a chapter that would lead me on a road to immediate financial independence and wealth, but it certainly was a timely escape from the limbo of the early 1990's.

The Detour Part 3

2009-07-25T01:26:00.005+09:00

Hometown USA 1990-1992

At the risk of being called a "name dropper," I herewith list some of the actors I met during the course of my 3-year detour. Some you have heard of for sure, some you might need to look up in IMDB. Anyway, in no particular order:

Vanessa Williams
Robert Urich (not one of my faves)
Chris Noth
Dalton James
Aaron Eckhardt
Gail O'Grady (one of my faves)
Elizabeth Berkeley
Brooke Shields
Joanna Kerns
John Trudell
Wilford Brimley
Kathleen Lloyd
Ed Begley Jr
Richard Farnsworth
Dennis Franz
Pam Dawber
Bruce Altman
Gregory Harrison
Michael Apted (Director)
Marlee Shelton ("oiling and lotioning")
Louise Fletcher
Saul Rubinek
Lloyd Bridges
Beau Bridges
Gerald McRaney

You get the picture.

The Detour Part 2

2009-07-23T04:07:00.008+09:00

Hometown USA 1990-1992

I have tons of stories from my days working in film; not all of them great. But I'm trying to fast forward to my next Korea chapter so I'll save those stories for another time and place. Well, maybe one story right now wouldn't hurt.

I was 2nd Prop Assistant (working on set) on a TV Movie of the Week. There were four of us in the Prop department. We kept a very clear line of distinction between us and the Art Department; they were responsible for set design and decoration and we were responsible for anything an actor touched. They generally worked one or two weeks ahead of us so we rarely saw each other. They were a zany bunch of kids who had worked on many shoots together. I had worked with most of them on several occasions.

They had a totem that they each carried around with them. They claimed it was their source of strength. It looked like a Bishop from Chess with a smiley face on the front. They tried to secretly place a large one somewhere on each set they decorated. Nobody watching the show would ever notice it, but it gave them a huge thrill to see their source of power on TV.

One day at the Production office, I found myself in the Art Department office while they were all away. Next to their computer was a large one of their totems. I couldn't resist messing with them. I tied a string with a mini noose around its neck and tacked the other end of the string to the ceiling so it hung down at eye level. I stepped back to admire my work. But that wasn't enough. I grabbed an art pencil and wrote on the front of the totem: "I like to f*ck." I left the defiled fellow hanging from the ceiling.

The Detour

2009-07-23T03:29:00.005+09:00

Hometown USA 1990-1992

Short version: I worked in the film industry for three years.

Long version: From my humble beginnings making Korean props for a failed movie, I moved on to set construction for local commercials and small productions. I got a "break" from a local Prop Master I met who hired me as the Prop Buyer for a TV series (it ain't what you know, it's who you know). The Buyer role was pretty fun, and it paid a flat $150/day. I was getting paid to drive around and spend someone else's money on stuff we needed for the show. Shooting schedules on a TV series are tight so I had license to throw money at something if I thought we really needed it.

Example: We were to shoot a scene that called for homing pigeons to fly off and the actor had to hold some sort of tracking device. I made a black box with flashing red LEDs from parts I bought at Radio Shack. I also ended up hiring a Falconer for the day, including his equipment and expertise. He didn't want to do it, but I kept offering him more money until he finally agreed. The scene looked realistic, and we even put the Falconer in the shot for a brief moment. Everybody was happy.

That series got cancelled after a mere 8 episodes. From there I moved on to other productions where I worked in the Prop or Art Departments. I was 2nd Assistant Props on a 12 episode TV series, same position on a TV Movie of the Week, Assistant Set Decorator on a couple Movies of the Week, 1st Assistant Props on a low budget feature, and myriad roles on countless other commercials and productions. All those jobs paid between $150 and $225 per day. The most money I made per day was as the Greensman on a Chevy Truck commercial.

"Greensman" is a bit of an ironic title for what I did on that shoot because it was the most un-Green thing I've ever done. Al Gore is turning over in grave as we speak. The genius director wanted me to cover up 200 yards of barbed wire fence by attaching plants to it. I rented a 27-foot U-Haul truck and drove around the nearby countryside with a chainsaw just mowing down any kind of vegetation I could get my hands on. It took two days to gather and attach all the greenery I needed, one day to shoot the scene, and one day to break it down and haul it to the landfill. $1,675 dollars later and I needed a serious nap.

The film industry certainly isn't all glamour and glitz. Work days were usually 13-16 hours long with only an 8-hour turnaround guaranteed before they could require me back at work. Add it up and it equals zero social life. There was no time to spend any money so I was saving fairly well even though I was pretty much scholarshipping my mean girlfriend through college (maybe more on her later).

Thanks to Bill Clinton, I spent the majority of 1993 collecting my unemployment benefit and getting a rockin' tan. I firmly believe everyone needs an extended poolside period to get their head right. It worked for me...

Overthrowing the Dictator

2009-07-17T13:10:00.007+09:00

Hometown USA 1990

I had a short phone call with a guy who was working on a film about the current state of democracy in South Korea. They were planning for a scene of a massive demonstration; ubiquitous in Korea at the time. They needed to make it look real and planned to outfit hundreds of extras (background actors) with banners and headbands with slogans. The pay was ridiculously high for the amount of effort I wouldn't have to put in. I agreed to do it.

One morning a few days later I found a huge pile of supplies on my porch. There was plenty of banner paper, markers, paint, and hundreds of plain white bandannas. I sat around for a few hours writing things like "독재 타도" on banners and bandannas rolled into headbands. I had a few other slogans I used too but I don't remember them anymore.

When I was done I left the whole pile out on the porch and the guy picked them up in the morning. I placed a makeshift invoice in with the "props" I made and eventually got a check for $450. Decent. Now that is putting your degree to good use eh?

Even though I hadn't met the guy who contracted me to phony up some Korean "demo" materials, we did have a mutual friend. That friend later hooked me up to do some more work for the guy. We then became friends. He worked in the film industry, generally working in props or the Art Department on whatever shoot he could get hired onto. My friend told him I needed to make some money and the next thing I knew I was pounding a hammer on the set of a mattress commercial starring Vanna White as the spokesperson. And that one small mistake started me on a miserable and dark 3 year career detour...

Re-directed

2009-07-16T12:19:00.004+09:00

Hometown USA 1990

I was flat broke when I graduated. I had rent and some small bills to pay. I had a smallish student loan to pay back. And, thanks to an over-optimistic view of my immediate earning potential, I had a car payment on a brand new 1990 Honda. I wracked my brain but I could not come up with a way to make all those payments while I was off in Korea on a scholarshipped scholarly trip. In the end, I called my teacher and told him I was not going to be able to go with him to Korea that summer. Bummer.

I had two job interviews in Dallas that summer. Brian was living in Dallas at the time, but we hadn't spoken since his wedding. My older brother, whom I did not get along very well with, was living in Dallas with his first wife (whom I couldn't stand). I wasn't very keen on moving to Dallas.

The first interview was with a customer support company that needed a Korean speaker. I nailed the interview and the woman had all but offered me a spot on her husband's softball team (not a euphemism) when I went in and met the supervisor. He was a young-ish Chinese-American guy. He started the meeting by saying "안녕하십니까"? I responded appropriately of course, but he just stared blankly at me. After an awkward moment he asked me to say something in Korean. I realized he didn't know any Korean other than that most basic greeting so I thought for a second about what to say.

I've always thought that anybody who speaks a second language, or who has studied one, would never ask someone to just "say something." What's the point? I could say "I love silk worm larvae" in Korean and tell the guy I said he was "very handsome" and he would never know the difference. Anyway, I said something in Korean and of course he asked me what I said. Not the most productive interview technique I've ever seen, but apparently it worked to weed me out. I expected an offer and one never came. A few days later, I called and asked for an update. He told me he hired a Korean friend.

I bombed at the other interview in Dallas too. It was the same kind of job at Sprint. As my younger brother loves to say: "hindsight is 50/50." Secretly I am glad I never moved to Dallas.

Back at home I was getting desperate for some income. A friend of a friend approached me with a most random request. This guy was working in the prop department on a film about the state of democracy in South Korea. I don't think the film ever even made it to video, but it had enough of a budget to ask me for some favors...

Getting My Learn On

2009-07-10T06:18:00.006+09:00

USA 1988-90

I progressed through the Asian Studies/Korean program without much issue, and without much challenge. I got one grade below "A" and that was in Korean History. My research paper really sucked and that brought my grade down. I was supposed to take a position on whether or not US Forces should remain in Korea and I waffled back and forth through the paper without ever really taking a side. Grade for the course: "B." That was the only chink in my GPA armour until the spring term of 1990.

In the spring of 1990 I met with the graduation counselor and all was set for me to march into commencement with my double major. There was, however, the problem of Anthropology 400-something. It was a cultural anthropology class focusing on Asia. One day per week we met in a large auditorium for lecture-style learning generally, and twice a week we broke out into smaller groups by country of interest. I was in the Korean breakout with 8 or 9 others. It was a fun group, a diverse group, and we really got into the guts of Korea. I liked it a lot. I had a solid rapport with the teacher and was tops in the Korean section.

The problem was that we had to deliver a 20-page Ethnography by the end of the term. That involved many long conversations with Koreans focusing on some aspect of culture we wanted to study. I could not bring myself to do it. Just couldn't even start it. It was not going to happen.

I came up with the genius workaround to see if the department chairman would let me count another course instead of Anthropology and still graduate on time with the double major. He looked at me like I was from outer space that day. It was not a fun meeting. He went so far as to tell me the graduation counselor had miscounted (double-counted) my credits and I was not even close to the double major I was already counting the chickens of. I could still get the Korean degree but could only get the Asian Studies minor. While that was not the news I had hoped for, it certainly made my decision much easier on what to do about the dreaded Ethnography. Correct, I bagged it entirely. If I had simply done the Ethnography, even a shitty job of one, I would have that double major today.

I continued to attend the Korea breakout twice per week, but took no tests and didn't lift a finger on the Ethnography. The instructor, thinking he was doing me a favor, offered to give me and Incomplete on it so I could finish it over the summer, but I quickly disabused him of any such notion.

I graduated in the spring of 1990 with no real plans and only a couple of job interviews where I could use my Korean. There was an opportunity that summer that intrigued me. The instructor of the Korean Anthropology breakout was leading a group to Korea for 90 days to conduct cultural anthropology research. The whole thing was paid for (funded by some Korean conglomerate heir or something) but he could only take 3 students. I applied. I applied even though I had basically failed out of his course because I refused to do an ethnography. I applied to get paid to go to Korea and do an ethnography even though I refused to do one for free in college.

Of course I was accepted and we started making plans for the trip...

Getting Settled Back Home

2009-07-08T04:52:00.009+09:00

July 2009: I just returned from a week in New York City. While there I tried to drown my liver, managed to deprive myself of sleep, and spent far too much time talking to the 19-year old daughter of a famous tennis player. Call me slow on the uptake, but I knew it was "too much time" when she told me she named one of her breasts "Chloe" and the other "Coco." Chloe was mostly on display most of the night. Coco is a bit more shy it would seem...

Other than all that, I feel fresh enough to now resume the my Korea narrative.

1988: I eventually settled in to the ol' college routine. I decided to pursue a degree in International Relations. In addition to the required political science classes and whatnot else, the program required 2 years of a foreign language (student's choice). Not surprisingly I jumped on the Korean.

I was well ahead of the other non-Korean students and it showed in the test results. In one Korean class we studied "sound changes" for a while. Before we started on the topic, the teacher gave an assessment-like test to gauge the students' understanding of sound changes. We were to read several pages of Korean text, circle any sound changes and write in the proper pronunciation (example: if the text read "밥을 먹는데", you would circle it and write "밥을 멍는데" because that is how it's pronounced). I got the highest score in the class (even better than the one Korean girl). Sound changes are hard for most non-Koreans it seems, but I had them down. I only missed 4 out of 100 on the assessment test. (I missed "그렇다." I should have circled it and written "그러타.") See?

We then spent a week learning all the sound changes and took the test again. I got 100%. The Korean girl got 98%. The next highest score was in the 70's.

The point is, I quickly bailed on International Relations and switched to Asian Studies and Korean.

Some Nuggets

2009-06-30T00:43:00.004+09:00

Before we leave 1987 altogether, here are a few treasured nuggets from my journal at the time.

April 24, 1987
I didn't go to the hagwon this morning. I went to Seo-myeon. I got my shoes fixed and I bought a clock and some glasses* and the guy did a lousy job on the lenses. Went to the hagwon and met Mr. H. He is a tardy geek** and he was wasted but still we went to some tables and got more wasted. Two guys fought and got bloody and broke a bottle and glass went flying. Then we left and went to another table and Mr. Shin got tanked. Tomorrow I have to go shopping with him. I might buy a yo.

*My eyesight is fine. It was fine then, and it's fine now (knock on wood).
**My apologies to anyone offended by the insensitivity of that remark.

April 29, 1987
Yesterday to class in the morning and the night. Today none. I went to Lucky Shopping and bought some stuff. I am fairly bored and lonely. My classes start the day after tomorrow. Today was the Miss Pusan pageant but I didn't go.

May 4, 1987
Saturday it rained all day and so I went out late to NamPoDong. It is cool there but I felt stupid alone. Met a girl called Miss Joe. She is cool so we went to see Crocodile Dundee together and she bought dinner. I felt comfortable and we talked.

May 5, 1987
Buddha's B-day and Kid's Day. Miss Joe came and we stayed home all day. She is really rad.

The Rationalization

2009-06-26T00:53:00.005+09:00

When Brian joined me in Korea in August of 1987, he had recently met a young lady back home. They were in love. She turned out to be the one because they got married in 1988 and are still together. I was the best man at the wedding. We haven't spoken since. Apparently his lady didn't take a cotton to me and pretty much told him to freeze me out. Whatever. But that is not the point of this...

Given his new-found love interest back home, Brian never really sank his teeth into life in the Korea. He lasted only 2.5 months and was pretty much planning his departure from the moment he arrived. He was constantly in my ear about how I needed to get outta there, head back home, how I was meant to be in the States; constantly in my ear. Sure that wore on me and those seeds he planted were taking root, but other factors were at play.

My contract with Mr. Shin stated that any outside jobs he got me we would split 60 my way and 40 his way. Such was the job up at SamChullyHo Bicycle Company. As I mentioned before, I would drive his car up and back whenever I had class there. While not stated in the contract, he insisted I pay for the gas and that seemed fair enough to me. Every month SamChully would send him the monthly fee for my superior English Teaching and then he would divide out my 60%, subtract a chunk for gas, and give me the rest.

That arrangement worked pretty well until Shin decided to let me in on a secret that he was under-reporting my salary to the goverment so he wouldn't have to deduct as much Income Tax from my pay. (I was paying Income Tax to the Korean gov't?) He marketed it as a benefit to me 'cuz it saved me money, but it just made me more and more suspicious of him and his accounting methods. If he had never planted that thought in my dome, I might never have peaked inside the envelope of cash SamChully handed me for October 1987.

Inside that envelope I found 50% more cash than Shin told me they were paying. That means I was getting 60% of 50% of what they paid. I couldn't believe it. I must've counted that cash 20 times. I had Brian count it. I couldn't believe it. Then subtract from my cut the money for gas in the Pony. How much is gas anyway?

I volunteered to fill the tank on the way to SamChully one day. Turns out he was charging me more for gas to go to Yangsan and back each week than it cost to fill the Pony for the whole month for everywhere it went. I asked the SamChully executives about it. How much was gas. How many MPG (KPG) the Pony got. How much they spent on gas per month in their own cars. No matter how I mathematized it, I was getting gouged there too. I confirmed with them how much they paid for my services each month too. Again, confirmed. I could only guess Shin thought I would never figure it out.

As I noted in my journal, I had planned to tell Shin of my plans to bail on the contract because he was ripping me off, but I must've called an audible at the line of scrimmage.

Before actually going through with the Midnight Run, I consulted another English Teacher in town. He was somewhat of a big wig at Shi-Sa or somewhere. I laid out the facts as I knew them and he was supportive of my decision. That was all I needed as a capper on top of the rest.

You already know what happened the first week of November 1987...

An Awkward Transition

2009-06-17T02:00:00.005+09:00

Hometown USA 1987

November 8 1987
I landed in LA without a plane ticket onward and in true Korean style, I went right up to the check-in counter and paid cash for a ticket on the next available flight home.

That left me nearly 2 months to decompress, chill out, and figure out what to do next with my life. I didn't work at all during this period. I hung out at my future brother-in-law's apartment. Generally, I lived the life of riley. I looked forward to the huge box that carried my stereo more than anything else. All the while I was burning through what little money I had left from Korea.

The obvious next step for me was to get back in school and try to get a degree.

January 1988
Here's what I wrote in my journal:
It's January 20-something. I haven't written since November last. If you can believe that. Came home from Korea and straight to Jeff's apartment. I hung out at Jeff''s for 1.5 months. Home for Christmas. I loved America and hated Korea and Koreans. Started school again. I don't mind so much but all my money is gone and it is hard to study. My family is cool. I have been reading. I don't know what I feel or think. I don't know what to do. The other day I was walking and from across the street I heard the sound of Korea Speaking. I saw 4 guys. I yelled: "Hey! Why aren't you speaking English? This is America." They muttered something so I said: "How do you expect to live in this country if you don't know English"? Now that I think about it I might have said more but I trust my point was made. I was pumped and shaking. I am way behind in school. I don't have a job. Brian is officially engaged. That didn't take long. He bought a ring. I miss him.

The Anti-Climax

2009-06-11T07:11:00.002+09:00

1987 in South Korea

Saturday November 7
Having arrived in Seoul around mid-day, the first order of business was to find a cheap place to spend the night. We grabbed a small room with a floor to share near the station and headed immediately for the airline office to pick up and pay for my ticket. While so many things could have gone wrong with that whole procedure, all was smooth sailing and after parting with most of my remaining cash, I had my ticket in hand.

We went to Itaewon and shopped. I picked up some black Eel Skin dress shoes that I had ordered on our last trip to Seoul. I was really psyched about them at the time, but I quickly realized they were way too small, a tad cliché, and ugly to boot. We loaded up on other trinkets and trash. We wandered around in a state of giddiness combined with trepidation. We were excited to be heading home, but there was a nagging fear in my head that something would prevent me from leaving. My mind ran through the many scenarios by which Mr. or Mrs. Shin had stopped by on Saturday to check on me, or check that Brian left without issue, and found me gone too. I imagined they then called the airlines, called immigrations, called I don't know whom. But I was on a contract and I imagined they had legal recourse against me disappearing. And I knew Shin was not afraid to use any means possible to protect his language institute.

Perhaps that nagging worry drove me to the Post Office to carry out one of my last acts in Seoul. I have no recollection of doing it, but in January 1988 I wrote in my journal that on that last day in Seoul I "wrote to Mr. Shin and to SamChullyHo to clarify." I have no idea if they ever received those letters, or how they might have reacted to them, or what the letters actually said.

Sunday November 8
We got up early and humped our heavy luggage out to Kimpo. Nobody was waiting there for me. Nobody to grab me up and send me back to Busan. Without ceremony Brian and I boarded for LA and bade farewell to the Land of the Morning Calm.

Don't Pack the Mousse

2009-06-08T21:07:00.001+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

Friday November 6... Continued...
After my evening classes I returned to the apartment to start packing. Brian was fully packed and a bit antsy so I took a break from packing and we went to the club. We partied for a few hours before returning home to finish packing. Brian napped for a couple hours while I threw the remainder of my belongings in a large black expandable travel bag on wheels.

Having completed packing, we took a look around the apartment. Beds gone. Armoire gone. Stereo gone. Fridge empty. It would be quite obvious to the next person who entered the place that it had been abandoned. Our last childish act as we left was to empty a hair mousse canister into the kitchen sink building a small hill of fluffy whiteness. Odd.

Around 5 a.m. in the early morning darkness, we humped our heavy bags down four flights of stairs, and wheeled them out of the apartment complex. We both waved to the "security guard" at the entrance on our way past, and went down to the main street to hail a cab. It took two cabs to fit both of us and our bags, but eventually we met up at the station. We both probably slept the whole way anyway, so I honestly don't recall if we took a train or the bus. But all roads lead to Seoul anyway right?

Architecture and Morality

2009-06-04T06:03:00.000+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

Friday November 6... Continued...

My plan was to go home after my morning classes and get all packed. Then I would finish my evening classes and head to Seoul with Brian. However, since I told Mr. Shin I didn't feel up to driving to Yangsan, his angel of a wife grew concerned I was ill. She told me she was bringing lunch over to the apartment right when I was planning to do the packing.

She and Mr. Shin showed up with a grand feast of some health-restoring beef stew thing and rice with many side dishes (and Kimchi). To their eyes everything must have appeared in order at the apartment. All of Brian's stuff was packed, but none of mine was. In my room was the giant closet (armoire) I had bought. My bed and headboard were intact with my lovely pink blanket thereon. My Lotte Pioneer stereo sat in my bedroom ready to play any tape I wanted to hear. Probably OMD's Architecture and Morality.

We all ate. The Shin's left. I went to the Institute to teach my evening classes. While I taught, the guy I bought the armoire and the bed from went to the apartment and picked them up. He paid me some fair amount for them since I had only used them for a couple months (he bought back Brian's bed too). Another dude went over and crated up my Lotte stereo in a big wooden box. Brian paid him for me and the guy took it and put it on a slow boat for the states.

(That is how I come to still have this stack. Maybe someone will buy it from me at our Yard Sale this weekend...)

Pure Torment

2009-06-02T09:59:00.001+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

First week of November 1987
(After November 1, I didn't record anything from this eventful week in my journal for a few months. I'll do my best to get down here what happened during that time. Later I might also try to analyze it.)

Monday November 2
I started my November classes at the Institute and at SamChullyHo Bikes just as I had for the previous 6 months. Brian was not teaching at all because he had told Mr. Shin he was headed home and he had bought his ticket. As of Nov. 1st I had also reserved a seat on the same flight back as Brian. We were to depart Kimpo November 8 and fly direct to LA. Then continue on home from there. I didn't have a flight booked from LA onward yet however, and I had not paid for my ticket from Kimpo to LA. I also had not mentioned to Shin that I was planning to weasel out of our contract and bail like a thief in the night...

At some point in January 1988 I recorded in my journal that my "last week in Korea was pure torment. Convincing myself I must go. Playing, dancing, working..." It truly was a difficult week for me. I had guilt about what I was planning to do. Plus I didn't know what kind of trouble I could be in if I got caught. Since there was so much red tape involved in getting to Korea in the first place, I imagined all kinds of things going wrong. But for several reasons that I'll get into later, I couldn't (didn't? wouldn't?) see any other alternative. As late as October 28 I had every intention of telling Mr. Shin I was leaving.

Friday November 6
I woke up and went to the Institute to teach my morning classes as normal. But I told Mr. Shin I did not feel up to driving to Yangsan to teach the SamChullyHo executives. After all, I had not even packed a single thing yet...

Being Careful

2009-05-31T23:45:00.001+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

November 1
My reservation is confirmed and it looks like I'm gone. I must be careful this week. Carrie called. We went to Paradise twice and the DJ thought we were from London. Halloween party. My whole family called and I talked to Jeffrey about marrying my sister. Weird.

Shamblesed

2009-05-27T01:28:00.001+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

October 18
Sunday again. To the base and back. This week was busy. Class on Saturday. I didn't see Young-sook once. I saw her tonight. She is rad but she doesn't love me. She is too worried about some other guy. I was just a passing thrill. Brian told me he is going home. He isn't on a contract like me so it's no big deal. I might die here but there is no honest way out except to tell Mr. Shin I am leaving and go. I got a letter from Loaf and Jeff. They love each other. Did Young-sook ever love me?! Referring to what she said to me last week, I asked her about it and she said, "So, what about it"? At least I have my book to read.

October 22
Referring to the question above: the answer is "no." I am convinced that I must leave here soon. Brian will leave in about 2 weeks. He told Mr. Shin. He was pissed, but what can he do about it? It's cold. I can't even stand the sight of Mr. Shin. My head spins for my worries.

October 28
I'm writing so sporadically. Twins won the World Series. I must jam. Tomorrow lunch with Mr. Shin. I wonder what he'll say when I tell him I'm leaving. I'll go home with no money. I am shamblesed.

Straight to Seoul

2009-05-24T23:48:00.000+09:00

1987 in Busan, South Korea

October 7
Long time. Chuseok. 5 day vacation. Young-sook came over today after we saw Mannequin together. She was too bored so she left. Lately it has been terrible. Maybe I'll just die. I think Young-sook is done with me. I only have 5 classes in October. We had a party here and it was dead. The only highlight was KHI Goddess Miss Kim coming. She called tonight and I am bored now. Brian and I will go to Suncheon and Seoul.

October 10
We didn't go to Suncheon. Straight to Seoul and we shopped like crazy. I bought two rad pairs of shoes. I love them. We bought tons of shirts and American food and there were so many box chicks. Seoul is paradise and I am trapped on the outside of it. Our new saying is: "That's Seoul." We bought [unintelligible] and a suit. We spent all of our money so we had to come home. There was no bus. We took the night train from Seoul to here. I talked to my dad too.

October 11
We got invited to a party on base. When we got there it was almost over. Though on the way I stopped and called Young-sook but she acted like she didn't even want to see me. I am now still deep in sadness. I called Vince. On the subway some lady's kid peed on my leg.