February 5, 2008

Korea journal

Nov. 25. So many airports! From Melbourne, a flight to Sydney, 36 hours, two runs around the botanical gardens, two self cooked dinners of pesto spaghetti, and one awesome McD’s apple turnover later, it’s onto Japan. Halfway there, in Cairns, the footprint of Japan begins; an entire airport of well dressed tourists incapable of speaking any language but Japanese; the only people speaking English are the helpless store clerks. My flight was to Nagoya, on account of the price, but it was delayed, so I rush through Nagoya station onto the shinkansen, then onto food old Kintetsu, asking strangers along the way to borrow their cell so I can call Masayo to pick me up at Saidaiji at midnight. All I had to do was step foot into the ocean of Japanese and the language came pouring back out of my mouth, faulty at best but nevertheless flowing with Osaka ben in full effect. We go to Tomo’s apartment, she gets excited, we drink some wine, I’m happy. After a quick stop at 100 yen for supplies and Nara Fam for breakfast, it’s off to another airport, KIX, for Korea. I sit next to a nervous Korean woman, she seconds my order of aka wain (red-o win-u? she says) and tells me about her job as a stem cell researcher in Kobe, her brother goes to / works at Penn. Talk about brain drain. I’m overwhelmed with a feeling of effortlessness as I arrive in Seoul, hop on an airport bus, wander through some streets and alleys in the dark to a hostel to meet my friend Rieko.


I’m here without a guidebook or even a map, and can’t speak a word. I’ve got nothing more than a set of directions and one phone number, and it doesn’t bother me an inch. Halfway between Japan and China, geographically and culturally; clean but not anal, friendly but not loud, Korea seems perfect after three days. Food is flavorful and plentiful, the wine is strong, the trains are fast and no one spits. Onsens, mountains, temples, even a little Great Wall of Korea! I’ve yet to see Seoul in the light of day, but Pusan is a striking city on the south coast, skyscrapers packed in the narrow valleys of modest mountains, think and green although the views are clouded by the thin veil of pollution, most likely blown across the sea from China.

The fish market smalls of fresh catch, fried in vats of oil at countless restaurants; ancient women push carts of produce and herbs through crowded alleys. I hop on a posh bus that sends smartly dressed passengers to Seoul every 20 minutes. The ride passes cities of apartment blocks, neat shipping yeards, and trim wheat fields, all shimmering in the early evening dusk unique to winter. I return to a booming Seoul; sparkling lights illuminate designer shops and luxury Dunkin Donuts. Throngs of fashionable Seoulites browse the bright lights after work, while even more trendy Japanese women on three day vacation packages spree through the city’s famous shopping districts. Most prices are labeled, a change in the last few years, my friend says, and bargaining, in any language, is usually met with stern refusal. I find that Japanese, not English, is the language of commerce here. Hashing out in Japanese with the Korean vendor, we both complement each other’s language skills, and occasionally I whisper, you don’t have to rip me off, I’m not Japanese. In the morning I explore one of Seoul’s famous palaces, a miniature Forbidden City that happens to be newly refurbished and squeaky clean. Its beautiful, just a little too shiny to conjure images of stubborn despots fighting off invasions of Japanese samurai. At the medicine market, the air reeks of Ginseng, and wrinkled faces shuffle slowly yet aggressively through stalls and barrels of wood chips, used for tea. I remember that my tropical summer journey has turned into winter in the northern reaches of Asia, and Seoul is several degrees colder than Pusan or Osaka, and its time to find something indoors. The search for the perfectly ridiculous tourist experience is this time found at the Kimchee museum. We spend an hour gazing at plastic models of dozens of different pickled cabbages, and I learn all about the wonders of anti-bacterial fermentation. I take a night river cruise, its not a bad view, but Seoul’s heart is not bisected by a river, its skyscrapers and neon lights are scattered in the distance, and the river side is a lonely park, populated only by, what else, ten vendors selling exactly the same product. Have we seen this before in Asia? This time is snacks, Korean sodas, and of course, the inevitable instant noodles. We spend the final morning at the National Museum, a fantastic collection of a culture absorbed and modified from Chinese, only these people were brash enough 50o years ago to abolish Chinese characters completely. We get our last fill of Korean food at lunch, who would have thought that putting white rice in a small metal bowl would make it taste so good? And of course there is lean tasty steak, sizzling tofu soup, and our favorite spicy pickled vegetables.

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