Seoulscapade

I just came across news about a former court poet for North Korean leader Kim Jong-il, who escaped North Korea and has become a best-selling author in South Korea. The poet goes by the name of Jang Jin-sung, and his poems portray the horrors of poverty and hunger in North Korea.

I felt I have to spread the word about him because I have a loathing of that clown, Kim Jong-il, even though I am not Korean. Here’s what Jang Jin-sung was reported to have said about Kim Jong-il, according to the Asia Times.*

The first time I met Kim Jong-il, I felt overwhelmed with emotion…. But once I realized that he was the world’s richest king, ruling over the poorest country on the face of the Earth, that was a turning point.

To me, he was no longer a god, and I came to think that I could no longer live under that system. Preserving that regime while the people of North Korea are starving to death, that is an abomination.

There is no arguing with that. The volume of poetry Jang Jin-sung has published is called For 100 Won, My Daughter I Sell. Jang’s poem of the same title tells of the true story of a dying mother who sells her own daughter to a stranger for 100 won ($0.70 US cents), hoping it will help her child to survive. The mother then spends the money on a loaf of bread for the girl.

Here is the poem in translation:

Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood
“For 100 won, my daughter I sell”
Heavy medallion of sorrow
A cardboard around her neck she had hung
Next to her young daughter
Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood

A deaf-mute the mother
She gazed down at the ground, just ignoring
The curses the people all threw
As they glared
At the mother who sold
Her motherhood, her own flesh and blood

Her tears dried up
Though her daughter, upon learning
Her mother would perish of a deadly disease
Had buried her face in the mother’s long skirt
And bellowed, and cried
But the mother stood still
And her lips only quivered

Unable she was to give thanks to the soldier
Who slipped a hundred won into her hand
As he uttered
“It is your motherhood,
And not the daughter I’m buying
She took the money, and ran

A mother she was,
And the 100 won she had taken
She spent on a loaf of wheat bread
Toward her daughter she ran
As fast as she could
And pressed the bread on the child’s lips
“Forgive me, my child”
In the midst of the market she stood
And she wailed.

Apparently, Jang witnessed this incident, as he describes:

It happened at a market in the Tongdaemun district of Pyongyang. A lot of people witnessed that tragic scene and cried that day,” he said.

As they watched her, she tried to appear unaffected in the beginning, but after she gave her daughter that mother’s parting gift, one last piece of bread, and as she wailed, all the onlookers broke into tears. Even now, my eyes still tear up when I think of that instant.

Another poem in his collection is “Our Food,” which presents the image of a kitchen where thick tree bark is ground with a hammer, then mixed with caustic soda and boiled.

Another poem, “The Tastiest Thing in the World,” was written in remembrance of Jang’s younger brother who died of starvation. The younger brother had said that the finest food he had eaten was the food in one of his dreams.

I look forward to the death of Kim Jong-il. Let’s hope North Korea is free soon.

* This post was based on work by Sookyung Lee for RFA’s Korean service. Korean service director: Kwang-chool Lee. Interview and poems translated by Grigore Scarlatoiu. Written and produced in English by Sarah Jackson-Han.

A quite moment at the graveside, complete with traffic jam up top.

It’s become the routine for Sunah and me, when celebrating Chosuk and the Chinese New Year, to begin the day at 4.30 am and to get home around 10 pm. This Chosuk was no different. We were out of the house by around 5.20 am, heading for the main street to hale a taxi. It was still dark. Other guys like me were walking around, dressed in suits, looking for taxis. We were lucky. A taxi fortuitously appeared as we were walking through the dark street of our local market place.

We got to the Express Bus Terminal in good time and were in our seats with 10 minutes to spare. It was wise to have booked seats some days earlier, as the bus was full. The bus pulled out of the terminal and headed past LG Xi, a massive apartment complex being built near Central City. All I could see out of the window were gray half-finished apartment blocks and cranes from one end to the other.

The morning was foggy in certain areas, and as we passed the wealthy Pundang area outside of Seoul, enormous apartment complexes loomed in the haze. I’m always impressed by the scale of apartment developments in Seoul. Already, in some areas, you can drive as if through valleys of concrete canyons; more and more, towering apartment blocks are becoming a feature of landscape wherever you go. It’s quite surreal.

Another thing impressed upon me at about this time was the traffic heading out of Seoul. We were relatively free of it in the bus lane, however, for everyone else, it was pretty much like peak hour all the way to Cheonan. This was an ominous sign, although I didn’t think it out of the ordinary at the time.

When we got to the brother’s family’s house around 7.30 am, the ancestral table with its spread of food was being organized. The ceremonial rituals began at 8 and were over soon after. We then had breakfast. By the time we left Cheonan, it was at around 9.20 am, just a touch later than usual. The trip took about the usual time, though, 2 hours, and we were entering the cemetery at Gumi, where the father is buried, around 11. 20 am.

One sight that unsettled me before this was a dog truck parked by trees and large bushes. It was in some town we passed through. Its rear was stacked with red steel cages, about three high, most of which housed a doomed dog. There were a variety of breeds. Three men stood over by bushes away from the truck, all with serious expressions, one or two smoking. I did not like the look of that scene at all. We passed on without my being able to get a better look that might have eased fears I had. But I thought about those dogs during the day, about how they would probably be dead before the day was out.

The crowd at the cemetery was the biggest anyone had seen in the 10 years they had been visiting. As we drove up the hill through the cemetery, it was bumper to bumper. This was another ominous sign. My wife reflected that, since the Chosuk break was extra long this year, more people had time to make the trip. That meant more people were probably out there on the roads this year.

It wasn’t too bad in terms of space at the graveside, as you can see in the photo, but the place wasn’t designed for the amount of cars turning up.

The grave visit and the ceremony and light picnic was all over by around midday. A dog could be heard incessantly barking throughout down by the entrance car park. It was locked in a shed or some enclosure, barking at the constant flow of people and cars going by on this one particular day.

The short half hour visit to the grave is the pivot about which the whole day turns, the main reason for almost a whole day of traveling. After the visit, it was just a matter of getting home.

We started for home in light traffic, stopping off at a rest stop to have a quick lunch. Usually, we would visit an aunt at this time; however, her sons are feuding and so we will not be visiting that aunt any more. After lunch we drove on at speed until about 2 pm. At that time, we hit the first traffic jam, even though we were out in the country. It was something like this news image, taken the same day:

It started a few kilometers from the expressway to Cheonan and it took us about half an hour to get clear of it. At one point, I noticed roadkill, perhaps from the night before, and, by the pile of meat and hair, it looked to have been a large dog. I couldn’t figure it out: this portion of the road had rail siding on the right, beyond which was a steep slope, and on the left was a high concrete road divider. It was a farming area, with buildings off in the distance, here and there. So, where did this dog come from and what was it doing on this practically inaccessible section of road? Another dog mystery to perplex me, but not the last on this day.

As far as the eye could see . . . taken from our van.

Once on the expressway, we could use the bus lane because the the van we were in was an eight-seater. Most of the going was at a good speed. We whizzed by all of the regular traffic, and I could only reflect what a nightmare it would be to be stuck in all of that. It just went of for kilometers after kilometers after kilometers. And this is still out in the country!

I don’t think people can grasp what the traffic is like in Korea during Chosuk until they have seen it or been in it. Today was a particularly bad day, as the earlier ominous signs had presaged. We hit another traffic jam outside of Cheonun, but fortunately, we weren’t stuck in it for long as we turned off rather than headed on to Seoul.

The above picture was taken at the turn off a few kilometers outside of Cheonan, which would have been about 100 kms or so from Seoul. Most of that traffic pictured was probably heading for Seoul, and I am not kidding when I say that it would have been like that all of the way. Their nightmare was far from over.

This was around 4.15 pm. We’d come about 160 kms from Gumi, and it had taken us nearly four hours, not including the stop for lunch. And this was only because we had been able to use the faster bus lane. Those who could not use the bus lane could probably add another two hours or more onto their journey. Wait until I tell you about the brother-in-law . . .

Back in Cheonan, we rested for a few hours before having dinner. Sunah’s sister arrived with her kids, but her husband, the brother-in-law, was still due. He’d been visiting relatives even further south than Gumi. He rang to say he was on the way after passing through Daegu. He’d left his relatives at around 2 pm and we estimated that he might arrive by 8 pm—a conservative estimate, as it turned out.

This is another news image taken on the same day. The right lane, obviously, is the one heading to Seoul.

My plan was Sunah and I would leave around 7 to catch the subway—I was definitely not taking the bus. On the bus, we could probably expect a three to four hour trip. On the subway, it’d be about an hour. Just after 6 we had dinner and relaxed until around 7. Before we left, the brother-in-law rang again. It’d been 2 hours since he last rang and in effect he hadn’t moved. He was still stuck in traffic in the same area he’d rung from 2 hours earlier! I felt so sorry for him.

It was a relief to get on the subway, but it was crowded, and this meant we had to stand all the way. We were in Seoul by around 9 pm and got off at what used to be called Garibong, near the clothing outlet district, or what is now called the Gasan Digital Complex station. It was good to get out and walk, when looking for a taxi, after standing for so long after a long day.

Here is where another dog incident occurred. We were up from the station and walking along a dimly lit sidewalk. With all of the clothes outlets closed, the area was pretty deserted. All of a sudden out of the dark appeared a sausage dog, running towards us, ducking in and out of nooks, and looking to and fro as he came. He had a harness on and obviously he’d lost his owner. What could we do? We couldn’t very well take him with us, and he wasn’t interest in us anyway. He kept running on, searching.

Sunah was upset by the sight, but I rationalized that the owner must be out looking for him somewhere in the area. However, I was also concerned by the dog’s plight. To better understand why, you need to understand that it is not uncommon for stray dogs in Seoul to end up on the dinner plate.

I reflected on this incident, as I often do when I see signs of distress around Seoul, that I can’t be the only one to witness such things. And if I am not, things like this are happening all over. But added to this is how the day had been punctuated by ill-fated incidents that concerned dogs, and similar things were perhaps happening all over as well. Also, on previous outings, I had often been pained by the lonely figure of a large dog, as I mentioned in an earlier post—chained near a dog box, in the same spot year after year, by that auntie’s place. What is it with these celebratory days and dogs in misery or distress?

We arrived home around 10 pm, as predicted. My wife called her brother’s house, and she was told that the brother-in-law had not arrived. He was still out there on the road stuck in traffic. I could only shake my head, but at least Chosuk was over for us for another year.

* * *

I’ve been writing all of this on the day after, but conditions out on the road are much the same. The shot below was taken today by a news services.

We rang the brother’s house again, and we learned that the brother-in-law had arrived there at 10.30 pm last night. Not surprisingly, he was exhausted and went straight to bed. He’d been on the road for around eight and a half hours and had covered just over 200 kms. We also learned that he and Sunah’s sister had left with their kids at 11.20 this morning—there was no way he wanted to face another traffic jam. However, they should have left a lot earlier.

My wife just rang them, but they are still on the road. After 3 hours, they’d only made it as far as Suwon, around 50 kms out of Cheonan. That means, at a guess, they are probably going to be on the road to Seoul, stuck in traffic, for another 3 hours.

I have no other word for it. It’s just madness.

Not long after arriving in Korea, I was informed that it wasn’t easy for foreigners to get a credit card. No reason was given. People just said, “It’s not easy.” As time went on, I didn’t need a reason, anyway, as I was becoming aware that, as a foreigner in Korea, having to overcome hurdles, discriminatory or otherwise, comes with the territory.

I’ll give some examples. I had a lot of trouble getting the English version of my Korean bank’s internet site to work. Site software was updated regularly, but no one seemed to be checking that the English version still worked with it. It was down more often than it was up for me. Add to that a complicated security process, and several cumbersome steps to go through to do anything, like transfer money (if you could get that far), plus a three-times and you’re locked out policy, which meant that, if things went wrong, you had to visit a branch again to have everything reset—it was all too much. After months of problems, I just gave up and reverted to the old-style method of using a bank book.

For another example, there was a time when foreigner registration ID numbers were simply rejected whenever they were submitted for anything online. And to do anything online in Korea, such as reserve movie tickets, you need this personal “citizen’s” ID. It was as if foreigner IDs were not registered on a database anywhere, or rather they were registered but had a “non-entity” status against them. It stands as another instance of denial-of-service for foreigners, although I believe that this issue is being addressed by authorities.

That’s all very nice; however, if you want to pay for something online, you are still going to need a credit card number as well. More than likely, you will have to use a credit card you brought from your own country. This is because, in my experience, foreigners cannot get a credit card in this country—at least, not foreigners on the kind of salary I get. It would not be a problem, if you were Korean, though, on a salary much lower than mine.

I’ll explain what I mean. Some months ago a promotion was going on at a new shopping complex that had opened not far from where I live. From memory, I think my wife and I bought some clothes there, and that entitled us to a little gift. When we went retrieve it upstairs, we were accosted by some LG credit card saleswomen. That was the catch that went with the little gift. But the scam worked: since I didn’t have a credit card, my wife and I thought, why not?

It wasn’t that I was suckered into it. It was a financial move. My wife advised that if you have a credit card in Korea, you can get tax back through using one (on top of other benefits). In fact, they are running a commercial now on TV that explains this very idea.

We went through the application process and awaited approval—kind of presumptuously, in hindsight. Weeks went by. My wife called LG to inquire. There was a problem with my work status, they said, or some such thing. My wife called the saleswoman we’d signed up with. She was angry and called the LG card centre. And so it went on, back and forth over the next few days—calls to my work Admin from LG and from my wife; calls from my wife to the saleswoman; calls from the saleswoman to LG again, etc. Finally, things seemed to have been sorted out. We were once again on “waiting for approval” status.

That was a few months ago. I’m still waiting. Well, not really. My wife and I realized that LG is not going to give me a credit card. But we still didn’t have a real explanation as to why.

Enter my wife’s sister, who works at bank. Her bank is pressuring employees to sign people up for a credit cards. Each employee is required to sign up 20 people. I used to work in a bank some 20 odd years ago and they did something similar to us—cheap bastards. So, anyway, my wife saw this as an opportunity for me to get a credit card.

Here’s where we found out the truth about why a foreigner cannot get a credit card in Korea. Her sister informed her of an unwritten rule among banks in Korea, a rule that is not made public: a credit card should only be approved to a foreigner if he or she is earning a salary of 70,000,000 won or more. Let’s see, that’s about $76, 000 US. Gee, I just missed out.

Essentially, this rules out anyone in the “English industry,” which simultaneously blocks any white trash getting their hands on a credit card. I can understand the banks’ reasoning, as I presume that in the past, foreigner white trash would take out credit cards, rack up a debt, then do a runner at the end of a contract.

Thus the case is closed and mystery solved, and now I know why, for foreigners like me, a Korean credit card is out of reach—regardless of my credit standing, regardless of being married to a Korean national.

A chill went up my spine and tingling down my legs when I watched these guys go to work. I used to be pretty fearless, when I was young, and even went parachuting a couple of times. But I could never do what these guys were doing.

They were here to inspect all the seals on all the windows of each apartment building. Presumably this was to prevent water and bugs getting in during the upcoming Monsoon season.

Sunah and I were still getting ready to go to work when we heard them clamboring around on the roof above us. We live on the top floor, 24 stories up. To the left of us, the building with larger apartments is one story less, so I could see another team of them preparing their ropes, one of them having a casual cigarette while standing at the edge of a 23 story drop.

Ropes were dropped passed our balcony windows. Then some little seats were lowered. I grabbed the camera in anticipation; already, the rabbits were going berzerk, but that intensified when the guys got into their seats and started coming past our windows.

I didn’t see how they got into the seats but I guess they just step into them somehow over the edge. I thought about this, about that moment, when you leave the roof and step out to get in the seat, at one point astride that drop going from solid ground to a little chair. Now that would take guts.

I’ll try and get some better pictures next time I see them in action.

1. You don’t mind paying more for coffee than dinner

→커피 값이 저녁 값보다 비싸도 이상하지 않을 때

2. You want to return to your country and open an IMF HOF HOUSE

→미국으로 돌아가?shy; IMF 호프집을 ?shy;고 싶을 때

3. A roll of toilet paper at the dinner table doesn’t bother you

→(?shy;장실에?shy; 쓰는) 두루마리 휴지가 식탁에 올려져 있어도 아무렇지 않
을 때

4. You like to cut your noodles with scissors

→면을 가위로 잘라먹을 때

5. You don’t even notice the misspelled signs in English (eg.”openning”)

→철자가 틀린 영어표지판를 보고도 틀렸다는걸 알아차리지 못할때 (예를들
면 openning같은…)

6. You learned more about U.S. history through AFKN than all of your years in school combined.

→학교를 다닐 때보다 한국에?shy; AFKN으로 배운 미국의 역사가 더 많아졌을때

7. You start having kimchi and rice for breakfast

→밥과 김치로 아침을 때우기 시작할 때

8. You think Kim Dae Jung is sexy
→김대중이 섹시하다고 느낄 때 (이거 미친 넘 아니야??)

9. More than 1/2 of your book collection is from the Kyobo Book
Store.
→교보문고에?shy; 산 책이 가진 책의 반을 넘었을때

10. You don’t mind playing basketball on dirt.
→바닥이 흙으로 된 코트에?shy; 농구를 하면?shy;도 이상하지 않을 때

11. You start to dig bands that have acronyms as names (H.O.T. R.E.F.
DJ D.O.C. G.O.D.)
→H.O.T.나 R.E .F. 또는 DJ D.O.C. G.O.D 같은 이니셜로 된 이름을 가지고
있는 그룹을 좋아하게 될 때

12. You start wearing a white mask when it gets cold
→추워지면 하이얀 마스크를 쓰기 시작할 때

13. You hate Japan for no apparent reason

→일본이 아무 이유없이 싫어질 때

14. You bow to all of your white friends
→모든 친구들과 고개숙여 인사를 하게 될 때

15. You enjoy bad tasting instant coffee in luxury settings

→고급스러운 카페에?shy; 맛없는 인스턴트 커피를 마시며 좋다고 생각할 때

16. You find you no longer hold your breath in a crowded elevator
→가득 찬 엘리베이터 안에?shy;도 마늘냄새 같은 것 때문에 숨을 참지 않아
도 될 때

17. You start wearing slippers in the office and think it is ok
→사무실에?shy; 슬리퍼를 신으며 그게 아무렇지도 않다고 생각할 때

18. Your wife reaches her 40s and you expect her to be permed and
wear unmatched clothes and anklets
→마누라가 40대가 되었으니 머리에 퍼머하고 안어울리는 옷과 발목까지 오
는 양말을 신을거라고 생각될때

19. You avoid hanging out in Itaewon
→이태원으로 놀러가지 않게될 때

20. Whenever you are surprised you say “ai-go”
→나도 모르게 놀라면?shy; “아이고”라고 할 때

21. You understand what they’re trying to sell through the loudspeaker in that truck that drives by your house every morning.
→매일 아침 집앞에?shy; 시끄러운 스피커를 켜고 돌아다니는 트럭에?shy; 무엇
을 팔려고 하는 것인지를 알게 될 때

22. You find yourself sucking air through your teeth when a
shopkeeper offers you their “best price”

→점원이 “제일 싼 ° “?을 제시한다는데 못믿겠다는 표정이 지어질 때

23. You salivate every time you see a Lassie episode
→”래시” 이야기를 보며 침을 흘리고 있는 당신을 발견할 때 (개가 나오는
TV 보며 군침 흘리는 거..)

24. You know exactly what kind of dogs are “good”
→어떤 개가 “좋은 개”인지를 구별해 낼 수 있을 때 (역시 보신탕 얘기인
듯..)

25. You’ve bought everything they sell on the subway
→ 지하철 안에?shy; 파는 것들을 종류별로 이미 다 사보았을때

26. You don’t even notice the captions when watching an American
movie
→미국 영?shy;를 볼 때 나오는 한글 자막이 신경 쓰이지 않을 때

27. You find yourself wanting to got back to the market so you can
pop those “”bbon-dae-gi”"
→동네 슈퍼로 돌아가?shy; 군것질로 뻔데기를 사먹고 싶어질 때

28. You bring along your own chopsticks when you go to 맥도날드

→맥도날즈에 젓가락을 가지고 갈 때 (진짤까?)

29. You’ve eaten pig’s feet
→족발을 먹을 수 있게 되었을 때 (하긴 족발, 순대를 외국사람들한테 설명하면 거의
미칠려 하죠 ^^)

30. Korean cops no longer look like boy scouts.

→한국 경찰이 보이스카웃처럼 보이지 않게될 때(^&^)

31. You can pronounce “hyundai” correctly
→Hyundai를 “현대”라고 발음할 수 있게 될 때 (하하 ^^)

32. You don’t think it’s odd that the bus driver plays the radio out
loud

→미국에 돌아갔을 때, 버스기사가 라디오를 크게 틀어놓지 않는 것이 이상
하다고 생각될 때 (^^)

33. You have started snapping your gum in public

→사람이 많은 곳에?shy;도 ?shy;을 소리내며 씹으면?shy;도 아무렇지도 않을 때

34. You start having a midnight snack of cold rice and fish heads

→밤참으로 식은 밥과 남아있던 생선대가리를 먹게될 때

35. You stop being surprised after laboring up a mountain for two
hours and running into a young woman all dressed up in heals and a
young man in a suit and tie

→두시간동안에 걸쳐 힘들게 산에 올라갔는데 산꼭대기에?shy; 예쁘게 차려입
고 하이힐을 신은 아가씨와 정장에 넥타이까지 한 남자를 보고 놀라 멈춰?shy;
게 되지 않을 때.. (하하 ^^)

36. You call your apartment an “apar-t”

→미국에 돌아가?shy;도 “apartment”라는 말 대신 “아파트”라는 말을 쓰고 있
을 때

37. You buy dried squid to munch on while you are stalled in traffic

→차가 꽉 막힌 길에?shy; 마른 오징어를 사먹을때
(미국애들 마른오징어 절대 안먹습니다. 냄새가 끔찍하다나 뭐라나..맛있기
만 하구만…)
(길 막힌곳에?shy; 오징어 파는 아줌마/아저씨들)

38. You stop reacting when you walk in the Men’s Room and the
cleaning lady is in there
→남자?shy;장실에 청소하는 아줌마가 있는데도 아무런 느낌이 없을 때

39. You stop reacting when you see an ah-ju-shi with his hand deep
into his fly when he is still fifteen feet from the Men’s Room door

→아저씨들이 ?shy;장실을 한참 나와?shy; “남대문”을 닫는 것이 아무렇지 않을
때 (왜 아저씨들 바지 안에 손 쑥 집어 넣어?shy; 런닝이랑 팬티랑 위치를 바
로 잡는 거..)

40. You are driving down the highway, nature calls urgently, and you
stop along the road and whip it out

→고속도로에?shy; 갑자기 마려울 때, 별 생각없이 길가에 차를 세우고 일을
해결할 때

41. You start thinking that OB Beer really hits the spot

→OB맥주를 마시면?shy; “그래 이맛이야”라고 느껴질때

42. You stopped reacting to the janitor rinsing out the mop in the
stool

→청소부가 변기에?shy; 대걸레 빠는 것을 따지지 않을 때

43. You start wearing sunglasses in nighclubs and think it”s really
cool

→나이트클럽안에?shy; 선글라스를 쓴 자신을 보고 멋있다고 생각할 때

44. You say “kkaaaaa, jot-da” after you down a shot of soju

→소주 한잔을 마시고 “키야아아, 조오타”라는 말을 하게 될 때

45. You think paying $300 in a nightclub for a bottle of cheap whisky
and some fruit is a good deal

→나이트클럽에?shy; 싸구려 위스키와 과일 몇조각에 35만원을 내고도 비싸다
고 느끼지 않을 때

_____

(All sculptures pictured in this post are at Olympic Park in Seoul)

As a foreigner in Korea, I think I am afforded certain privileges or exceptions the locals don’t as readily allow to each other. I’m looked on as a guest here, and that means that Koreans will often go out of their way to help me. So I thought I’d post some of the memorable acts of kindness I’ve experienced while in Korea. I can’t say how much of it can be put down to my foreigner status. I’m sure it was a component. But the kindness I’ve experienced is also because there are just a lot of good and kind Koreans out there, who would perhaps be that way with anyone.

Memorable Act of Kindness No. 1:

When I bought my small Minolta digital camera, it was without a case, but I really needed a case because I was going to be travelling around with it a lot. So I got a Korean work colleague to find out where the Minolta office was in Seoul, and one Saturday I headed there to buy a case.

I emerged from the subway close to where the Minolta office is, and with a few details written down in a notebook, started walking in the direction in which I thought the office might be. All I had was a building name and number and that it was near a bank. I couldn’t find it. All I could do was walk along and gaze upward at buildings for anything to do with Minolta.

I passed a guy getting on his scooter (which was parked on the footpath where, naturally enough in Korea, cars were also parked), and when he saw me, he immediately said something that I imagine was Korean for “do you need any help.” I communicated my objective in spats of English and he motioned for me to get on the back of his scooter. I thought, why not?

We shot off down the street and turned up a side street. He stopped and motioned for me to go into an adjacent building. But when I got up to the second floor, I found that no one there knew anything about Minolta. It was the wrong building. When I got downstairs, the guy on the scooter was waiting and I conveyed that it was the wrong place. He suspected it might be, which is why he had waited with the motor running.

We shot off again for another building nearby, presumably his next best guess. This time, he didn’t wait—a move that gave me confidence. The Minolta office was indeed there, but staff were a little perplexed to see me; it was actually a messy sales office, not a shop as I imagined it would be. Nonetheless, they hunted around for a camera case after seeing my camera type.

The case I wanted wasn’t available but another, sportier kind was found lying in a desk draw. They handed it over and when I went to pay, I was waved off. They just gave it to me.

I left with thanks and headed for the subway. About 300 metres down the road I heard someone running behind me and saw out of the corner of my eye a figure reflecting in a glass window closing in on me. What now? I wondered. It was a guy from the Minolta office, chronically out of breath, with my little notebook, which I had left behind in his office. He’d run all the way, nearly to the subway, to ensure I got it back.

How amazed I was at the morning’s events—the help, the concern, the generosity. All this, plus I got what I wanted, plus I didn’t have to pay for any of it, plus my forgetfulness didn’t cost me my notebook. You couldn’t have gotten the smile off my face that morning. Incidents like this don’t happen so much these days, as I tend to know where I’m going now. But I know I would get help if I looked lost.

Memorable Act of Kindness No. 2:

One night I went out drinking with the girls, my wife and two of her friends. We ate at an Indian restaurant across town and had a few drinks at a bar frequented by foreigners. That was why we were there, mainly, to visit the “foreigners” bar. One of Sunah’s girlfriends was developing an interest in finding a foreign boyfriend. A little drunker after that, we headed back across town by taxi to a bar close to where the girls live.

It was when getting out of the taxi that I lost my wallet. I don’t recollect clearly how it happened. I guess it slipped from my lap. I was paying driver and waiting for change. The traffic was loud, everyone was in a hurry, the girls were loud and all talking at once–that’s very confusing for the male brain. Somehow I just stepped out of the taxi without the wallet. I think it was on the way to the bar that this horrible realization hit me.

If it has happened to you, you know the sinking feeling. If it’s happened to you while half drunk and intending to party more, you’ll know what dampener it can be. At the bar, I announced my dilemma and borrowed my wife’s mobile to call my parents back in Australia to get them to cancel my credit card as soon as possible. Then I tried to put everyone at ease and return the atmosphere to the upbeat tempo of earlier in the night, even though my mind was mournfully going over all the cards and IDs and things I’d have to replace.

It must have been less than half an hour later that I receive a call on my mobile. It was someone Korean so I handed it to Sunah. It turned out to a woman travelling with her father who’d found my wallet in the taxi. She hadn’t told the driver because she didn’t trust him. The wrong kind of taxi driver, perhaps, might have just taken whatever money there was and thrown the wallet out the window. The woman then said she’d leave it at her local police station for us to pick up the next day, and she told us how to get there.

What a relief that was! The dampener had been lifted, the party was back on.

The next day, we made our way to the police station and it was waiting there as promised. All the cops were standing around, all taking an interest in a foreigner’s visit. I checked the wallet and found that nothing was missing, including $100 US bill I kept in it for emergencies. After we left I got Sunah to call the woman back to thank her and to offer to take her and her father out to dinner. She declined saying that it wasn’t necessary.

That was it. I never saw her and was never able to thank her in person, but I won’t forget her presence of mind and honesty in handling the matter.

Memorable indicent of kindness no. 3:

The last act of kindness I’d like to relate is the most recent. It happened a few weeks ago. There’s not much to it but it was for us incredibly helpful. We went shopping at Cosco and as usual, when done, we waited by a main, eight-lane road in front to get a taxi home. This time, unlike previous times, the traffic was horrendous. Normally, it’s just semi-horrendous, but we were there before the Chinese New Year, so everyone was out shopping all over Seoul. It was also around lunchtime, too, which wouldn’t have helped.

We waited and waited and waited. Taxis avoided us, others were full. It was really starting to look like we were stuck. Nearby a Korean lady was waiting as well. She wasn’t trying to get a taxi, though. It turned that she was just waiting for her husband to turn up. Eventually, he came and they loaded their things into their boot and began to drive off. Then the car stopped. The window came down and the woman, who was in the back, asked us, or rather Sunah, if we would like lift. I was amazed at such fortunate. There was no telling how long we might have been stuck there.

We packed our heavy bags into the boot and got in. The car was one of the most expensive models they make here in Korea. So we had a luxury ride as well! I learned that they were happy to take us to the nearest subway station, Sadang, because it was on their way. That was more than fine to me. I was so relieved.

It turned out they were a retired couple, and judging by the car, they were not short of cash. They were on their way to see their daughter. The husband had worked for the education department, and he’d been in the section that allotted money to Seoul National University and the BK House residential building, which Sunah and I had only recently vacated. That was quite a coincidence.

Nothing much more was spoken after these details. We neared subway station, we passed it and we just kept on going. I enquired after why we had not stopped at the station. It seemed that it had been decided to take us further, closer to our apartment building, because their daughter lived in an apartment complex that was not far from ours. What another coincidence! And handy, too, for us. They passed Seoul National University Subway Station, the next one along from Sadang, and kept going. I think the plan was to drop us off on the main road where it’s possible to get a shuttle bus to our apartment complex.

But we neared the waiting shuttle, we passed it and we just kept on going. In fact, they took us close to the entrance of our apartment complex. I was so thankful. Sunah and I unloaded all of our shopping from the boot onto the sidewalk, and we both profusely thanked the couple. It was then that the woman took stock of our heavy bags on the sidewalk. She has some words with her husband and the next thing we knew she was insisting we load everything back into the car. They were going to take us directly to our apartment building. Why not, since we were practically there already.

At this point, I was really laughing inside. It was just crazy. These total strangers had chauffeured us all the way from Cosco and now took us into the basement of our building right up to our elevators. Profuse thanks all around once again. I wanted to offer something, but money would have been cheap—perhaps invite them out, then, and Sunah was thinking the same, but waiting on me to make the first move. In the end, it was all a bit rushed, we got our shopping out not wishing to delay them further, and in haste neither of us spoke up in time.

What a nice couple. It also turned out that their daughter’s daughter goes to the day care center just in front of our apartment complex, the one we see every morning on the way to work. Yet another coincidence. What can I say, if you put nice people and coincidences together, you going to have a good outcome.

There is a flip side, however, to being a foreigner here: sometimes elderly gentlemen will offer to help if you happen to stand for a few seconds before a map of any kind. It can get to the point where it feels condescending: do they think, here is a foreigner, therefore he hasn’t got a clue?

Once an old bugger insisted on helping me when I didn’t need it on the subway: I’d indicated to him clearly that I knew exactly where I was going by pointing at a map in the carriage, at the stop I was getting off at and giving him the thumbs up. He wouldn’t hear of such nonsense. He continued to question me for a while in Korean. I had no idea what he was saying. Then kept a watchful eye on me the whole journey. When it was my stop, he was up and slapping me on the arm, gesticulating vigorously. It didn’t seem to matter that I was already waiting at the door to get off. I thanked him as I left as best I could without a show of gritted teeth. I mean, it probably made his day.

Each year around mid August Korea celebrates Chosuk, a harvest season celebration during which Korean families come together to thank ancestors for life’s bounty. It’s celebrated in much the same way as the first day of the Lunar New Year: festivities take place over a three day period, relatives are visited and thanks and offerings are presented to the dead.

Both the Lunar New Year and Chosuk festivities traditional span three days, and where they fall will depend on how long your weekend will be.

Ceremonies are performed in the home and then at hometown gravesides. This means that on these weekends, most of the country’s population is on the move. Not all follow the tradition of visiting their hometowns and graves of ancestors, though, some take the opportunity for a quick jaunt overseas. Either way, it still means most people are on the move. Traffic on the highways is invariably a nightmare.

The whole event, to me, is madness. You watch the helicopter shots of traffic on TV and think, it’s just some kind of mass delirium. It’s not really, it’s just tradition, and no other choice exists for its followers. It happens every year, everyone knows what they are in for, so everyone just gets on with it.

Women have an added burden in all of this because they ahve to all the cooking for everyone over several days. They cook, the men get drunk. It’s a traditional arrangement which should not die out, in my opinion. Altogether, for most people, it’s a lost weekend where your time is not your own.

This year my Lunar New Year ritual began at 4.30 in the morning. My wife and I got up to catch the first bus to Cheonun, where her brother’s family and her mother live. I preferred to get up early rather than to leave the day before and have to sleep the night there. That would have taken up too much time and meant the loss of half a day. I wanted to get to Cheonun, visit the cemetery picture below, get back to Cheonun, and then back to Seoul in one day. After all, this is about a dead person I’ve never met.

The maximum amount of time a year I’m willing to devote to dead people, especially those I’ve never met, is one day. Although, the less selfish of us would say that the day really is for the living, in same way that all ceremonies for the dead serve the living. It’s living people I’ll be spending the day with and it’s for them that I go. Of course, this doesn’t change much for me because the maximum amount of time I’m willing to devote to living people on any weekend is one day.

We caught a full bus with a lot of other people heading out into the country for the Lunar New Year. It took us exactly one hour to get to Cheonan, which is south of Seoul and notable for the many distinctive sculptures it features along its main street and surrounds, including one I quite like of what appears to be Don Quixote.

It wasn’t long after arriving at the brother’s apartment that we performed the first ceremony. They were setting everything up as we got there around 7am. You can see in the picture from a previous outing, a low Korea-style table is set up with the departed’s picture, candles and food. As you see, all kinds of food are laid out, from fish to fruit. And Soju, or rice wine, is also on offer to cap off a healthy breakfast.

That picture is of my wife’s father, who died when she was 24. He’s the dead guy at the centre of the day’s proceedings. Other families might go further back in terms of who they pay respects to but I’m not quite sure. I suppose everyone has a dead ancestor of some kind to rely on for the day.

The story behind that picture is that the suit and tie are actually painted on, as there was no existing portrait of the father in a suit. It’s not uncommon for photographers to perform this service in Korea because the older generation was pretty poor back in the day.

I was required to wave chopsticks over the food and tap them point down on the table three times. Then I laid them on top of some food I thought the ancestor would like. I put the chopsticks on what looked tasty to me (I hadn’t had breakfast). The brother did the same thing. Then everyone took turns bowing. Later, after a full Korean breakfast, we would take turns bowing to each other, that is, the juniors bowing to the seniors.

Sunah and I bowed to her mother and for her part she said a few words for the New Year. The brother’s kids bowed to us, and I said a few words like “Do well at school; be good to your mother,” much as I said last year.

The part where we loose out in all of this is when money is given out, which is another part of the traditional ceremony after the bowing. We’re kind of in-between, handing money up to the older and down to the younger. We gave Sunah’s mother around $200 and we gave the kids $20 each, except for the youngest one, who got $10. But we are not in a position to receive anything.

When Sunah asked if we should bow to her brother, he waved us off saying that I was at the same level as him, and therefore, bowing to him was unnecessary. I expressed my disappointment at this, as a joke, saying that I had been looking forward to bowing to him so that I too could get some money. Laughs all round at that one.

It was time now to depart for the grave site in the hills outside of Gumi, a town further south and not far from Daegu. We were running a bit late, it being 9am. I’d thought we were going to head of at 8, and so I was worried about the traffic. As it turn out, it was a clear run all the way there. It only took us a couple of hours and we were at the graveside by around 11.30

At the grave, another less elaborate food offering, together with rice wine, is prepared, using disposable plates and cups this time, and ground sheets are laid out. This is more in the vein of a picnic. Further bowing takes place at the graveside. When it came my turn, other visitors farther up the hill were taking a keen interest in my antics. It’s rare to see foreigners at these things. When the ceremonial part is over with, everyone just basically sits around and has some of the food. As you see, it’s not a sad affair at all.

In years past, when I was a smoker, I would light up and place a cigarette near the tombstone because the father used to be a smoker. I felt good about doing this for some strange reason, perhaps because it was a unique contribution. It appeared that his spirit would really suck my cigs down—or was that the wind? I could understand being a smoker myself; you always feel like a cigarette after a few rice wines. My cig is resting across the top of a cup, the one with the candle in it, below.

The picture is a lesson for us all—as we are like petals in the wind, or whatever. Each year, after visiting the graveside, we head off to the outskirts of the Gumi township to a small settlement of small and old houses, built at the base of an embankment that a road runs along, and surrounded by fields. No one would live here unless they were poor, and that’s where an aunt and her family live. They have usually been preparing food just like most women all over Korea and it’s ready to serve when we get there. The visit usually isn’t for long.

However, this year I was dreading it. That was because in past years, when walking down the road from the embankment, we would always pass this large white dog, chained to a small dog house on a short leash. Upon every visit twice a year, that dog was there like that, looking dejected, bored, and weary. I wondered if it ever went for a walk or if it languished there in all weather. Was that the extent of its life, chained like every day? Every single time, it depressed me to see it and for a long time after, while on the journey home. I could be wrong about the life it led, but many Koreans do still have old-fashioned views about animals.

This year, the white dog was gone, along with the dog house and any indication that it had been there. I was relieved but realized that the dog had probably died. So I paid quiet respects.

After visiting the aunt’s house, we embarked on the trip back to Cheonun. Fortunately, the traffic was as clear as it was on the way down. And, because my wife’s brother drives an 8 seat people mover, he is allowed to drive in the bus lane. This provision is often strictly enforced on occasions like this, with cops counting heads in vans in the bus lanes to make sure there are 8 or more in each.

It was a little later than I had anticipated, but according to my reckoning, there was time to relax a bit before heading to the Cheonun bus terminal by 4. On other occasions, we might have stayed and had dinner, and then slept over. But I envisaged myself sitting back at my PC in Seoul by around 6 or 7 at the latest. How silly of me. A couple of points I didn’t factor in: first, my wife’s desire to spend more time with her family despite my strong insistence well in advance, and on several occasions, that we would be leaving early on this day; and second, the traffic jam the bus would inevitably be caught in. I’d been on bus trips before, so I should have remembered that on days like this in Korea, you have to double or triple your journey time.

From memory, I guess I was settled in my study and at my PC by 10. That’s not too bad, I guess. I’ve heard stories of people spending over 10 hours in the cars, either driving back to Seoul or getting down to an ancestor’s hometown. At least it was over with for another year, and at least this time I wasn’t plagued by the lonely pathetic figure of that white dog.

It’s six months on and I’m in the Seoul groove of being constantly busy. I’ve also moved from my tiny studio to another more permanent tiny studio on campus. The pictures here are of that. Now it only takes me about six minutes to get to work by hiking over a hill. It’s an ideal situation

I’ve still been keeping myself busy meeting up with girls. Nothing much has come of it, but it has given me some interesting if not bizarre experiences. I went out for a date with a girl a few months ago to a busy shopping district, where we had dinner. It was an average Korean restaurant and I was unfamiliar with what they had so I just let her choose. As usual the tables had an inserted round gas cooker on which pans are set for cooking. For many dishes you do it yourself.

So the side dishes were bought and a glass-covered fry pan full of uncooked vegetables was set on the cooker. The women set the cooker alight and it was only then that I noticed something was moving on the food in the pan. I looked down and was appalled to see two octopuses squirming about–presumably freshly plucked from a water tank. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.

But the situation demanded that I keep it cool. The creatures were doomed in any case. As the heat increased so did their obvious alarm, panic and no doubt pain. Soon their tentacles were becoming seared stuck on the pan surface, disabling movement. One tentacle reached out under the glass lid and clasped the outer rim of the pan seeking escape. Eventually they shook rapidly as the heat boiled their insides, their flesh turning to rubber. The waitress returned with a large pair of scissors and cut them to pieces.

It was not a quick death. And would I be wrong in saying that their tentacles are packed with nerve endings? The thing that gets to me is the suffering involved. Just because an animal doesn’t scream doesn’t mean it isn’t in pain. It’s now agreed that octopus have an advanced intelligence, some say equal to that of a dog. Such thoughts were running through my mind as I watched.

The dumb bitch I was with was oblivious. Of course, it has probably been a part of her culture for a while, which is another reason why it wasn’t my place to be getting upset. But, on the other hand, cruelty is cruelty, and to hell with tradition. I have since then exercised the option of avoiding such an unpalatable start to a meal. At that time, I ensured that absolutely nothing would be wasted.

Other foreigners seek out this mealtime spectacle, I suppose to engage with what they interpret as some kind of exotic experience. You see the same kind of pathetic indulgence in other countries, too, tourists drinking snake blood in Vietnam or watching headless chicken theatre in Bali, etc. Personally, I will never cease to be disgusted by any cheap thrill that involves the death of an animal. I also include the human animal in this proclamation—that’s how fair I am.

At this point, I would like to say a thing or two about those foreigners here, usually males, who seem to gloat about eating dog and seem disappointed if they don’t get a reaction of distaste from those they tell. For I imagine they long to launch into explaining the meat-is-meat cliche and sound so very worldly while doing it. Of course, they’re missing the point. Many dogs here have wretched lives, and cats, too (you’ll find info on the web, but be warned, some sites are graphic).

In some cases, even their deaths are what no living thing should have to go through. As far as I know most dogs are electrocuted, as pigs are. However, there is a practice of hanging them; they are also sometimes beaten and tortured prior to or during that process to raise adrenaline levels, which supposedly makes the meat taste better. Cats, it has been reported, are boiled alive so that some “medicinal” fluid can be extracted.

It’s all a shameful business, and the people involved at the dirty end of it are not really respected by anyone—even though there is a market that demands their services. When at a market recently I saw dog carcasses on display, some halved, some quartered, and a couple of whole dogs—stiff and red skinned from searing, their faces frozen in a death grimace.

Why do people eat dog? Well, it’s alleged to improve vitality or something. At office functions men traditionally go off and chow down on Fido. Given such customs, it’s amazing the extent to which dogs are otherwise loved in Korea in a way that doesn’t involving chucking them in a pot. There’s even a “Dog’s Life” magazine that can be seen everywhere. Most dogs you see are small cute ones, predominantly owned by young women.

They are more often than not carried everywhere and seem quite use to it. Sometimes their ears and tails are dyed. I saw one once with long rainbow coloured ears and tail, wearing a matching rainbow vest. Pet shops invariably have young pups in the window but you also get the street sellers, sometimes in subways with a load of pups in a box. The later flesh traders are a worry, as the pups sometimes appear too young to have been separated from their mothers.

Puppies being sold in the street. One thing I hate to see.

Part of Deoksugung Palace in the middle of the city.

It seems that Korean society is one where everything has its place and certain situations require certain procedures. When people die, for example, the funeral proceedings take around 3 days to complete. People come by to pay their respects and the immediate family needs to be there when they do. Understandably, people become all cried out, yet they have to turn on the water works when the next guest arrives. Everyone knows that at some point the crying becomes fake. Still, it’s all part of the ritual. There is, however, an option: you can hire professional criers, who can produce the required lamentation as another guest arrives, ensuring the appropriate volume of tears are shed.

It is very much a society made up of people playing roles according to some kind of tradition. And one class of people that perhaps aren’t found anywhere else in the world are the “adjuma.” These are known as the third sex in Korea. This expression “adjuma” can apply to any married woman, but it has certain negative connotations and so is advisably not used in most situations.

However, some woman are most clearly of the adjuma class. Generally around the 50 +, they are tough as nails and take no prisoners; have a stocky build; short, permed hair; and have wrinkled, flat-faced features. They will elbow their way through anything, be it the subway, on a bus, or to cut in on you in a line. People conjecture that it’s because of the rise in male hormone’s after menopause.
These women probably hold up the economy, filling many of those thankless jobs few are willing to do, and which many can not live without. Adjuma are the butt of many jokes yet Korean society would collapse without them.

Another significant social class are the students. They probably study harder and for longer than any in the world. They also go through exam hell just like students do in Japan. I don’t refer to normal school exams but to the big one at the end of it all. It happens on one day of the year, when all main subjects are tested for a chance to get a place in the best universities (the ultimate being Seoul National University).

On this day, employees across Seoul are not obliged to get to work on time and can come an hour late. This is so that the transportation system is freed up so students get to their exams on time. It’s like the whole city is behind the students, giving them all the support they need. Domestic flights are even delayed during listening parts of the exam.

As the day progresses, many people have an unspoken anticipation of hearing news of the first suicide. This year, there was only one: a girl left the exams, wrote a note to her parents, and threw herself off an apartment building. Presumably she wasn’t delighted with her progress. But she could have done what an increasing number of students are doing, and that is study for another year to do it all over again for a better score. There is no stigma attached to this strategy anymore.

The last social class that has caught my attention is the beggars. And they are also well rehearsed in their roles. I’ve noted 3 distinct groups of them, all with clearly displayed credentials. One is the downright poor and old: except for the fact that they hold a bowl for money, there is no distinguishing them from the homeless I’ve seen sound asleep in lighted, noisy or public places (perhaps to avoid assault, I don’t know).

Another is the blind: they shuffle the length of subway trains with stick in hand, a bowl in the other, and a cassette player slung over their shoulders playing a sorrowful tune. I saw one get on a carriage once; she found the centre of the walkway, adjusted her equipment, braced for the train’s acceleration, then pressed the cassette’s play and started shuffling. What a professional!

Once I was in a carriage with a beggar like this, then I transferred to another train, and found upon entering its carriage yet another blind beggar. Both these beggars had exactly the same equipment as described, only their sorrowful tunes differed.

On another occasion there was a blind guy and, behind him, holding his shirt, a blind women. At last, I rejoiced—the genuine article, I’m actually witnessing the blind leading the blind!

The last of the beggar group are the prostrate. Presumably unable to walk, these guys lie stomach down on a little trolley. Before them is another little trolley they push in front; it holds their money, food, and assorted items, such as a car battery for power, and of course the obligatory cassette player playing a lament. They inhabit busy corners for a few weeks then, I guess, disappear to work another part of town. I think their credibility is suspect unless a limb is quite obviously missing. But I still give the fake ones some credit, since stooping so utterly low in public must take strength of character.

The picture above was taken from my studio building looking up the road towards where I work, Seoul National University. But it’s not so sunny today as it was the day that was taken. Actually, it’s rained all day today, and I’ve discovered that my umbrella is the kind that will actually let water through once thoroughly soaked. It’s not Seoul-rain proof. Outside, on days like this, with the rain, neon, and busy streets crowded with umbrellas, I feel like I’m on the set of Bladerunner.

Now, I did pledge not to mix with a lot of “foreigners,” or “waegookin,” as non-Koreans are called, while in Korea. Then I rationalized that the more contacts the better, and besides they might introduce me to locals or help solve minor questions I have. So I met some expats one Saturday night and another group of them on another Saturday night. We met up in an area called Itaewon, whose hey day had long past, if you ask me. It’s a foreigners’ zone, home of the famous Hooker Hill and less conspicuous Homo Hill. It’s where Koreans, US servicemen and ESL teachers cram the sidewalks, shops and bars.

Stuffed toys along the sidewalk up near Insa Dong.

On both of these outings to Itaewon I heard a few negative comments about life in Korea that didn’t coincide with my experience. But then, these people had been here for quite some time. Perhaps that had something to do with it. Most were in the ESL industry, too, which accounted for some jaded remarks. Except for one of them, who’d been here for 5 years, I didn’t get the sense that they had much to do with Koreans on a social level or really got involved in the culture. How much had they really put into it? What did they really expect Korea to do for them?

Young ESL teachers here can fall into a habitual life of drinking and nightclubs. Most are single. They have plenty of time, money, and low levels of required commitment and responsibility. From what I gather, female teachers enjoy their work but their male equivalents hate it (maybe I only meet these types because others have better things to do than spend the night drinking with their own kind). If it’s not ESL teaching, possibly the late-twenties, early thirties age range has something to do with the attitude, who knows.

I’ve forgotten where I saw this but I have not forgotten how disturbed I felt when I saw it.

Three main negative issues emerged on those nights out. One was a common complaint about the shiftiness of the Directors in English language schools. Disagreements and money problems can arise. But this happens in other countries too, and in other industries; contractors everywhere will know what I’m talking about.

The next issue concerns relationships. One guy I know was going out with a girl for six months. But when her mother found out, she was ordered to stop seeing him. He got a text message that it was over and never heard from her again. In this case, a reason existed. People complain, however, about how some relationships formed with Koreans can be cut suddenly and without apparent reason.

It’s because some relationships are conducted with a kind of merciless calculation. Your Korean “friend” will end the relationship once he or she has got what they wanted out of you. To put it another way, you might fall into relationships that are conducted on “business” terms, without you knowing it. Something similar happened to me on a number of occasions, except that I knew the score, as I’ll explain.

King Kong up in Apkujong, a rich part of town.

I contacted a few locals (girls, of course) who’d advertised online to meet foreigners they could speak English with. Koreans might spend 10 years learning English grammar but they have trouble actually speaking it. One girl I meet had not actually spoken English to a native speaker before. She was a virgin in that respect, and I was her first. Anyway, different girls I met turned out to have different agendas. Some, it dawned on me, were looking for husbands and had no time to waste. If you didn’t meet the criteria, you were history.

I’ve heard foreign guys criticize these girls, especially the ones who use you because of your English. But, hey, that doesn’t bother me. The fact is I’m going out with younger and prettier girls than would ever give me the time of day back home. I’m not about to become indignant. Where I come from, if you’re over 35, you’re practically a non-entity to women under that age. Here, at least, even women under 25 will speak to me.

No, it’s not a self-esteem issue, it’s a brand name.

The last issue is that if you’re a foreigner involved in a serious problem or accident; you might be blamed for it simply because you’re a foreigner. A Korean confirmed this for me and said that I could very well experience it myself if I stayed here long enough; and if so, he said, I shouldn’t be upset. (We’ll see about that.) Of course, this kind of thing can also happen in other countries, after minor car accidents, for example.

My conclusion about these issues is this: in any country one is going to encounter problems, and I’ve yet to experience or hear about anything here that is any worse than some of the crap I’ve had to deal with in my own country. On top of that, I get more consideration as a foreigner here than I did as a citizen in my own country. So, I’d say to whingers, get a perspective or go home.

A unique, small-space, car-parking solution.

I’m having what I could only be described as a most interesting, and so far happy, time. There is something new everywhere I look, naturally, and although that will likely wear off, I doubt I’ll get sick of the food. I won’t tire either of the helpfulness and politeness of Koreans, which has left me with an enthusiastic first impression.

The city is frantic and crowded (which keeps the crime rate down because there are always so many potential witnesses around). Compared to where I came from, any time of the day is rush-hour. One thing I noticed straight off is that Koreans are extremely patient about it all, although bus drivers are understandably exempt, given the traffic they have to put up with.

Space is a very valuable and expensive commodity here. You rarely see anything that’s one story high, even the kitchen strainers you can buy are multi-tiered. Monthly rent for the shoebox I’m staying in could put you in a 4 bedroom home (with a pool) in Perth. Luckily, my work is paying for it. The first picture above was taken from the top of the building I’m living in, showing a hill being overrun by apartment blocks. The second picture just above shows high density living near the Han River.

My building is located in the middle of a street of ‘love’ motels near the Seoul National University subway station. These motels are clearly purpose built. You can drive right up to the entrance, passing through rows of plastic flaps that conceal your identity once you get out of your car. I’ve seen cars poking out with hard plastic covers, some with fake numbers, over their plates—presumably to keep them private. They’re really quite practical, the Koreans.

Here’s a night shot but it doesn’t really give a good idea.

Another example of Korean practicality, depending on your disposition, is the emergency fire escape I have in my studio. It’s like a comic modern art installation, as you can see in the picture below. There’s a mountaineering hook fitted to the wall by the window, and under that is a red plastic case full of rope. You can figure out the rest. If there were a fire, people scared of heights would be left with a difficult choice. Let’s hope the opportunity for me to use it doesn’t arise. I’m 10 stories up.

The studio itself is new and is all I need for now. My window is about a metre from a window of one of the love motels, which is frosted, fortunately. I’ve noted some activities that I really don’t want to see in more detail.

My office at Seoul National University is also new and quite spacious: it’s half the size of my whole apartment, in fact. It has a great view of the mountains surrounding the campus. As for the job, they’re easing me into it, but it’s a round about process as there isn’t an introductory program. It’s basically a matter of feeling my own way.

One good thing is that I get 4 weeks annual leave, although I can’t take it all at once. And the vacation deal is not as good as the one teachers get; however, I do get a higher salary than the average teacher. My pay and conditions are a lot better than many Koreans, from what I hear. In many Korean companies, employees only get 6 days annual leave.

Out and about on the streets I’ve noticed that seafood is cheap but the cost of honey is exorbitant and the variety poor (entrepreneurs take note!). You can get bargain price shoes and clothes but electrical stuff seems equivalent to what you’d pay elsewhere, which surprises me. Everyone has broadband and everyone has a mobile phone–the flip open kind. Public transport is frequent and pretty cheap. You need to be alert when out and about. It is not unheard of for people be killed or injured by motorbikes, that is, while on the footpath! The public toilets, I should mention, are often the squat variety, and you may get a male and female cubicle right next door to each other.

Here’s a local restaurant. Check out the toilet rolls. They make perfect (and, of course, practical) serviette dispensers.

There have been the inevitable communication problems: I went into a McDonald’s the other day for 1 Coke, 1 order of fries and 2 burgers (yes, meat, I’m ashamed to say, before I reverted back to vegetarianism), and after much gesturing, pointing and smiling, I thought I had it all sorted. But I was given 3 cokes, 3 bags of chips and 3 burgers. Why argue the point, and how would I, anyway?

Social etiquette here appears to be a very complicated issue. Confrontation is not part of how things are normally done. This is perhaps why directness doesn’t seem a standard everyday practice, and asking for something requires tact for a favourable response. On the other hand, it might be hard to get things done no matter what, because despite the practicality I mentioned, there are occasions when it seems that thinking outside of the square is just not an option.

My guess is that electricians have high suicide rates.

One Sunday morning something happened that I’ve just got to relate. I went early to a large department store I’d heard about to look for kitchen gear, and just before it opened, I could see the staff through the doors doing what looked like a folk dance to loud music. It was some kind warm up routine. That was funny in itself. I wandered away from the doors and waited until they opened.

When they did open I just absently walked straight in. One couple ahead of me did the same, but others seemed to hold back for some reason. Then I became aware of the grandeur of the main floor and about 100 employees all standing to attention at their stations and all looking at me. (The density of staff was unbelievable in this place.) There was some kind anthemic music blaring out. I felt very exposed.

But I was committed and it would have been too awkward to turn back, so I continued along the main walkway. As I walked along staff on either side began bowing. The couple ahead of me had disappeared. I was alone, surrounded by a 100 employees , all with eyes on me if not bowing slowly and low, treating me like royalty. Remaining composed despite the instinct to run I passed on through the gauntlet, blushing excessively. It was quite bizarre.