By the Sea  

I deeply miss the ocean. The Korean Peninsula is of course surrounded by seas, locally known as East Sea and West Sea but Sea of Japan and Yellow Sea respectively in the eyes of the world, the names a source of contention. Aside from the Han River that flows through Seoul and the astonishing amount of seafood in the diet, however, I've little sense of living near the sea. The Frenchman and I went to Busan, the second largest city and in the most southeastern region of the country. KTX, the high-speed train system, took us there in a beautiful 2.5 hours, what is otherwise at least a 5-hour drive. Along the way, it became increasingly clear that we were not in the crowded and modern city that is Seoul; the view outside of our window was largely one of mountains and rice paddies with egrets and herons in search of frogs and snails. The tension of city life melted away as the train sped across the countryside. Upon arrival we immediately headed for the beach. What a delight. I breathed deeply, trading city smog for salt air in my lungs.  And what an experience. The only people in bathing suits on the beach were the foreigners; all Koreans were fully dressed, no men shirtless and some young women even in dresses, and dress shoes (though not heels). There are several reasons for this: Koreans tend to be cold (which I suspect is due to the spicy nature of their diet, a cooling factor) and it wasn't warm enough yet in the year for them; modesty is still a strong factor in the society, though this is quickly changing; and, light skin is valued so there is no interest in and a dedicated avoidance of tanning, to the extent that a number of young women were carrying umbrellas as parasols, something often seen in Seoul as well. No one was in the water; kids would go in up to their knees, but no one else entered it at all. With one exception. A group of young people were there with five afghan hounds, and one man led one dog after another into the water in order to encourage them to swim. After a time he was pulling all five out beyond the surf so that they would have to swim back in, and eagerly they did, as afghan hounds are not in fact water dogs -- hunt leopards, yes, but swim, no. It was quite a sight. Afterward, the dogs were only too eager to run around in circles and chase one another in order to dry off. Imagine: five soaked afghan hounds gone mad. Pleasure boats are also not popular here, though this is beginning to change as South Korea realizes its wealth. No marinas anywhere, neither on the seas nor in the Han River, and few boats on the water other than large commercial craft. At Haeundae, the most popular beach, there were three small boats on the water and two jet-skis. 

Along the beach was a 'food court' of sorts, an area with perhaps two dozen tiny outdoor cafes under canopies, each with a counter and stools surrounding a collection of aquarium tanks filled with shellfish. We chose our food by pointing to the tanks -- blue crabs, short-necked clams, urchins -- and they were promptly fished out and prepared, the first two steamed and the urchins scooped out of their shells and served raw. I learned the names of a few other creatures that I didn't know and haven't yet eaten, including sea cucumbers and sea angle worms, and there were also oysters, abalone, scallops, conch, cuttlefish, squid, baby octopus, tiger prawn, and eel. For a seafood lover it was the equivalent of a jewelry display or candy store in its beauty and promise.  This experience was multiplied exponentially when we explored the Jagalchi Fish Market. Busan is the major seaport for Korea and its fishmarket the largest in the country; each morning around 2am the fishing boats deliver their wares to the market and the display is overwhelming. While I was pleased to be able to name most fish and shellfish there, a few remain mysterious to me and many were variations of that which I knew. It was difficult to restrain myself from purchasing anything. I did manage to get soaked when passing a large fish in protest of its fate, which slapped its tail against the water and sent a wave my way.  The market is an attestation to the leadership and marketing abilities of Korean women. While the commercial fishermen are typically male, the market has always been run primarily by women. They are well known for their shouts of 'Oiso! Boiso! Saiso!' (Come! See! Buy!) and for the resultant hoarseness of their voices. Not only are a number of fresh fish, shellfish and eels represented, but dried fishes and seaweeds abound as well. The area is surrounded by outdoor cafes serving, of course, only fish. We enjoyed lunch in one, where the specialty of the day was a small, light-colored eel (inshore hagfish, I think). An ajuma was gutting and skinning them from the tank, chopping them up and tossing them along with some sort of sea snail onto a grill at our table with onions, garlic, and the ever-present chili. Two traditional dishes of Busan are black goat and duck, each barbequed at table. We also attempted to experience these, but due to our inability to communicate ended up with beef instead. Another such communication snafu occurred when we got into a taxi and asked the driver to take us to Choryang, the foreigners’ region of Busan. After several attempts to communicate our destination, another taxi driver from the stand came to our rescue; when he realized where we wanted to go he motioned for us to get out of the taxi, then pointed behind us where, just a couple of blocks away, there stood a large arched sign that read, 'Choryang'. An interesting part of town, it isn't broadly 'foreign' but is almost entirely Russian. A number of Russians have apparently immigrated to Busan and visiting the Choryang area is a visit to Little Moscow. As my arms were bare, and a bit sunburned, the women in the market kept touching my arms and clucking in dismay. More aunties taking care of me. Beach walks after dark were de rigeur and lovely; there were fewer people than in daytime though still quite a number, and fireworks lit the sky. We also discovered a jjimjilbang, the likes of which abound in the Haeundae area, this one overlooking the

sea and including an ice room which I haven't found elsewhere. Going from steam or dry heat, to ice was incredible. We took in the Busan Aquarium in the morning, also on the beach and quite nice, and followed it with a tiny amusement park in town which nevertheless afforded a breathtaking view of the harbor from the top of the ferris wheel. At the Gukje outdoor traditional market, we came upon some Buddhist monks: one man and perhaps a dozen small boys, monks in training. They were sitting along the street's edge, dressed in the soft grey cotton garments worn by the full-fledged monks, chanting and requesting donations. From there we entered Waegwan, a park atop a hill that was a Japanese settlement from the 15th to 17th century (relocated to Choryang at that time until the late 19th century). Busan is very close to the Japanese port of Fukuoka and high-speed ferries run between them today; Japan maintained a trading port in Busan for centuries. The settlement at Waegwan, like two others before it, had very strict rules: Japanese couldn't leave their area, receive bribes related to disclosure of such acts, or trade illegally with Koreans, the punishment for any of which was death; Korean shopkeepers were not permitted to engage in arguments or fights with Japanese; and criminals of both Joseon (the dynasty of Korea) and the Japanese settlement were executed at Waegwan. To put this in perspective, however, it is worth noting that in 1597, samurai invaded Korea and returned not only with treasures but also the ears and noses of tens of thousands of Korean corpses. These were buried at Mimizuka ('Ear Mound') in Kyoto, at that time the capital of Japan, and the 400th anniversary of this event was celebrated as recently as 1997. Tension between the two countries remains high; not only did Japan invade and occupy Korea from 1910 to 1945, but they first invaded in 1592, so the antagonism is also longstanding. We concluded our stay in Busan by visiting Taejongdae, a resort area at the end of a tiny peninsula (a peninsula of a peninsula?) jutting further into the sea. It is on a small hill and truly surrounded by the sea, with brisk winds; we breathed even more deeply before heading back to Seoul, with all its urban delights. I deeply miss the ocean.

Eyes of a Child  My 11-year old nephew Devin and I have just concluded his nine-day Korea Experience. I think the experience expanded his worldview by a fair margin, which, aside from having a great deal of fun, was my goal. Before his arrival, Devin wanted to know what animals we would see while hiking. I told him that there are few bears (his favorite) these days, and that there were once tigers --

and dragons -- but no more. "All man no bears," was his reply. Sadly, as everywhere, wildlife continues to be edged out by humans. He also asked, "Gosh, what will I eat there?!?" And before I could reply he answered himself: "Well, I guess I can eat rice -- I like rice -- they have rice there, right?" I assured him that he could have rice for every meal if he wanted. I also told him that there were many kinds of noodles, "and a special barbecue that is cooked right at the table!" And I promised him that I wouldn't make him eat anything too "weird" by the standards of an American 11-year old...and that, if all else failed, there's KFC, even in Korea. My Korean friends were eager to meet this Harry Potter-looking American boy, having seen his photo, so we were joined by various of them on many of our excursions. I think he benefited greatly from the experience. Not unlike many of my students, he’d had little if any exposure to people from cultures other than his own. Prior to Devin’s arrival, I asked my 15-year old student, who has an 11-year old brother, what he suggested for my nephew's visit. He thought a minute and replied, "First, before he comes, teach him about Korea. Then take him to the palaces -- king's house -- so he can know our history." Both sweet and insightful, I thought. When the student returned for his next class, he told me he had one more suggestion…and with a gleam in his eye, he said, "jjimjilbang."  Devin’s first verbalized impression as we departed the airport bus and walked down the back alleys to my apartment was, "this place is really cool." On his last day, he remarked that "the people who live here are lucky" and allowed that he could happily stay longer. In between, he experienced several rounds of frustration over not being able to make himself understood. His first tendency was toward anger, then mockery of Koreans’ language and their inability to understand English, after which he began to realize, on the Frenchman’s instruction, that making oneself understood in a foreign country is one's own responsibility, not the problem of the listener. He was eventually saying, "after all, I can't speak Korean, and that's their language here." He also had a tendency to categorize his own points of reference as "normal" (e.g., "let's have normal food today," "isn't there anything normal here?"). We had a lot of conversation about substituting "American" or "normal to me" for his term, and about what is "normal" to Koreans. Within a few days, he was making his own adjustments. It didn't take him long to observe the homogeneity of the culture. Soon he remarked, "Is it just me, or do all Koreans have black hair?" We spoke about differences in culture and how, in fact, the majority of the world has black hair, and all sorts of features that we don't happen to have. He was at first concerned with, but very quickly got used to, the fact that many people complimented him, spoke to him, and touched him, usually saying something like "beautiful" or "baby" to me. All the ajumas we met had to fawn over him, and not a few ajoshi, too. "I'm famous!" he said, to which I replied that, as they didn't even know his name, he wasn't exactly famous, but rather, a novelty. "Boy, they must not see too many blonde white boys here," was his response.

 We had a few rough spots during the first two days. He went through the joyless process of jetlag and culture shock, and I experienced the remarkable increase in stress levels that results from having the responsibility of not just oneself but also a child in a foreign land. Somehow, I hadn't really anticipated that, but it was unmistakable. Fortunately, we were able to adjust fairly quickly. The foods were a big hit, as were the grotty sidewalk, and mountainside, cafes, and eating communally. While he did indeed have rice at nearly every meal, he also found a number of other foods to enjoy, and proclaimed several of them as "one of the best things I ever ate." (This, from a boy who just a few years ago would eat only four things: mashed potatoes, french fries, buttered noodles, and boneless chicken strips.) Among his favorites: mandu (dumplings, both steamed and fried varieties), juk (creamy rice porridge, in his case the chicken variety), ramyon (a noodle dish adapted from Japan), samgyetang (chicken stew, with a whole small bird in the pot), and bulgogi (stewed beef in a little pot). He also liked bibimpap (several vegetables, rice, and pork in a bowl), kalbi (barbecued beef) and samgyopsal (barbecued pork belly). I studiously avoided spicy items such as kimchi and we also managed to have ice cream, hamburgers, pizza, chicken strips, french fries, and even German and Mexican food. As Devin is very much a product of his generation, he developed an immediate fondness for DVDbang, PCbang, PS2bang (PlayStation), game rooms, and the electronic mart at Yongsan with its 5000 or so stores. He certainly had no problem being entertained. On a grander scale of entertainment, we explored Lotte World, the world's largest indoor amusement park with an outside area as well, from open to close, and he decided to try his very first roller coaster. At the ride's conclusion, when he could breathe, he stated, "I don't think I'm ever going to do that again." I assured him that when he is a teenager he'll feel differently, but that in trying it, he had found another piece of his courage. Certainly, his most courageous act to date is in getting on a plane -- two each way, to be precise -- and flying, alone, for seventeen hours and to the other side of the world. Impressive. He "didn't care for it" and thought it long and boring, and managed to get sick as the plane was landing in Korea (no such incident upon his return flight), but he did it nevertheless. A world traveler, at age eleven. Even if his first passport retains a faint odor of sick. In addition to the airplane (having flown only domestically before), he has now had, thanks to Korea, his first experience with a subway, tour bus, city bus, cable car, tour boat, and taxi.  At Lotte World, we also enjoyed the Folk Museum. It is very similar to American museums of natural history; Devin's first response was, "This is cool. I never knew museums could be like this one, or I would've liked them more." (Not yet an appreciator of art, I'm afraid.) We saw many displays of early Korean life, and warriors, and entire villages. The most spectacular was a large room filled with model villages, table after

table, with an elevated area from which the entire room can be viewed. We were both overwhelmed by it. Another grand entertainment was the water park, ironically called Caribbean Bay, at Everland Amusement Park. We spent a day there, too, managing to dunk ourselves a number of times, and having a particularly good time in the outdoor wave pool in which I was teaching him to swim in with the waves. "Now I understand why you like the ocean better than swimming pools," was his observation. However, we were thrown out and told to get lifejackets (at least for him) -- "not safe" was the lifeguard's impression, nevermind that most Koreans don't swim and we did in fact happen to know how. The lifejackets allowed us to bob in the deeper waves, also great fun, but alas, no more swimming. One of Devin's favorite areas of the water park was the sauna. He loved the hot pots in various temperatures, the cold pool, steam room and dry sauna. When I told him about jjimjilbang and their popularity, his eyes lit up and he immediately asked to go to one. Upon hearing that he would be expected to be naked there, but in a men-only section, he thought and replied, "I don't think I’ll be embarrassed; it's natural, right?" So, a few nights later, we met up with the Frenchman and three of his colleagues at the best jjimjilbang in Seoul. We had dinner there, in traditional style, after which the 'boys' went off to the men's floor together...and Devin thought it one of the highlights of his trip. Continuing with the water theme, we went to the CoEx aquarium, another big hit. It's one of the better of its kind that I've viewed. We took in a second aquarium several days later, while visiting the "63 Building" (so nicknamed per its number of floors, built to be one floor higher than the tallest building in Asia at that time). And, we toured the Han River at night on a lovely boat out of Yeoido, complete with musicians. The nighttime view of Seoul from the water was impressive. Traditional Korea was not ignored. We took an extended tour of Changdeokgung Palace and its gardens, another of Jogyesa Buddhist Temple, and spent a full day at the Folk Village south of Seoul in Yongin, the one I toured with the Mensans shortly after my arrival. In the latter, we saw exhibitions of traditional farmers' dance, see-saw, tightrope, and wedding, explored a number of houses and other buildings, went through a haunted house, ate in an open market, crossed the river on four different types of bridges (his favorite part), and climbed a hill to a beautiful, secluded temple. We took in, or tried to, the large market at Namdaemun -- which was perhaps not a good choice for his first day here, jet lag and culture shock considered, and the stimulation simply overwhelmed him. On another day, we explored Insadong and its traditional crafts and art, went to a teahouse there where finches fly overhead, and watched a display in which a 'prisoner' and his family are paraded through the streets. Speaking of prisoners, we took a tour of Seodaemun Prison Museum, which was fascinating and moving as well as appalling. The tour is extensive, including several buildings; the prison was built by the Japanese during their occupation specifically for

political prisoners who were fighting for the independence of Korea--freedom fighters. We watched videos, looked at photographs, saw jail cells and implements as well as the tunnel through which the bodies of dead prisoners were spirited away, and witnessed many displays of the torture and cruel conditions of the prisoners. We talked a lot about what it means to be a political prisoner, how it differs from being a criminal, why bodies were removed in secret, and how nearly every country has taken over another and had political prisoners at some point in its history -- that the Japanese are not unique in that regard. We shared admiration for these brave people and serious doubts as to whether we could be that courageous, or selfless. And then there were the mountains, Korea’s most prevalent feature. We took the cable car to the top of Namsan, which is in the middle of Seoul, hoping to go to the top of Seoul Tower--only to find it closed for renovation. Nevertheless, the cable car and mountaintop gave us breathtaking views, and we discovered several restaurants there, which enabled us to have dinner outdoors while overlooking the city. Another day we hiked a little of the way up Bukhansan, a large mountain in the northern part of Seoul and a national park. From the subway we took a bus for just a few stops, and as the bus got closer to the mountain, we had an increasing feeling that we weren't in the city anymore. It was incredible for me, not having been to this mountain (a range of them, actually) before, to discover that I can so easily 'leave' Seoul and immerse myself in nature. By the time we got to the foot of the mountains, we couldn't see or sense the city at all, but were surrounded by peaks, streams, and trees. Lovely. We hiked a bit, breathed deeply, and had lunch at a cafe on the mountainside. On his first morning here, Devin made some reference to Heaven and afterlife. He's not religious, but this is the cultural reference that he knows. He was stunned—and delighted—when I told him that not everyone believes in Heaven, especially in Asia, and that many believe that when a person dies he or she returns in a different form. He talked about it incessantly that first day, and for the remainder of his stay continued to entertain the possibilities.  "I might have been your uncle in another life -- or your aunt!" "What if I was my mother's father?" "Hey, do you think maybe I was George Washington?" "I wonder what it would be like to be a girl; I don't think I would like that." (We reevaluated that one together.) "Maybe this is my first life; I hope so, because I want lots more after this one." "What do you think the otherworld is like? Maybe I'll stay there for awhile before my next life. It'd be cool to be a ghost."  As I had also addressed the belief in transmigration of souls (not in those terms of course), he mused: "Hey, do you think I might get to be a bird? I'd like to be able to fly." “It’d be good to be a fish, too, but I don’t want to come back as anything people might eat.” (This line of thought did not alter our omnivorous habits.) "Maybe we shouldn't kill bugs; what if they were people once?" "I hope I don't come back as a rat and have to eat all that nasty stuff. Do you think Hitler had to come back as a rat?" (We decided rats were better than that.) 

I peppered his statements and questions with the caveat that we can't know what's true, only what we believe -- and told him that, when he's older, he can study many different beliefs and decide what to believe, or not. This awareness was especially useful, I think, when we toured the palace and the Buddhist temple on his second day, and later at the folk village which is focused on Shamanism. Once, while riding the subway, we came into a station where a boy about Devin's age was standing on the platform. The boy waved to us (he wasn't getting on the train) and we waved in return. Then he rushed to a newsstand, and came to the open train door, offering each of us a piece of the gum he had just bought. We accepted with gratitude, waving and smiling to him again as the train pulled out of the station. Devin was stunned. From his first moments here, he was taking in everything around him and making repeated statements about how "strange" it was to see Koreans doing things “just like we do” -- laughing and playing with their friends, couples walking hand-in-hand down the street, kids walking to school and riding their bikes. After he had been here for several days, it occurred to me to discuss the level of open physical affection. I asked him, as we walked down the street, if he'd noticed girls holding hands or walking with their arms linked, guys with their arms around each other's shoulders or even also hand-in-hand. "Yeah," he replied, "but that's just normal, right?" (I thought to myself, normal in what frame of reference that you could possibly have?) I told him that friends openly displayed that they liked each other and that this was just another difference among cultures. He had plenty to say about how he felt that in America it "wasn't right" that people didn't touch each other much, which I reframed as simply another choice.  What delight to share with my young nephew his first experience, or host of experiences, in another culture. What further delight to see this culture through the eyes of an 11-year old. Dr. Rhi, the Jungian psychiatrist, told me, based on his personal experience of living in Europe as well as his professional expertise, that when one comes to another culture the first impression is one of differences: "how very different they are from us." The second phase is, "how very much alike we are." The third is one of normalization: we are both alike and different from one another. But he proposed that there is a fourth phase, that one must leave the new culture and then return to it in order to have a genuine impression of it. I have not yet accomplished that. But by seeing things through Devin's eyes, I feel that I have perhaps come closer to objectivity. Expanded worldviews, indeed. His -- and mine. I'd say the Korea Experience was a success in that it was a good introduction to the rest of the world. Devin left with a much greater sense of the vastness of the globe, the diversity of cultures, and an understanding that the world doesn't begin and end with American borders.

And the Rains Begin 

 Today begins Jangma--the rainy season. April in America has nothing on the rain here. On the other hand, many of the more tropical countries in Southeast Asia have a season that lasts for months. Here--only two to four weeks. Of steady rain. Including thunderstorms. In a way, it's rather melancholic and even romantic, though it is Day One and I can only imagine that I might feel differently after Day Fourteen or so. Besides, the Frenchman is back in Paris for a month, so the romance of it all is rather lost on me. Nevertheless, it is exciting in its novelty. The prediction was that the rains would begin Sunday night. For once, the meteorologists were dead-on, though the rains and flooding in China for the past several days were a pretty good if unscientific indicator. Last night, shortly after sunset, the skies opened, as if on cue, and the rains began to pour. And the winds blew, accompanied by thunder and lightning. What a show. In preparation, I bought the biggest umbrella that the man at my neighborhood shop had to sell me. As I am also the tallest in most circumstances, and white and blonde and dressed in black down to my new umbrella, you can imagine what an impression I am making these days. It gives me quite a few chuckles. Of course, one strong gust of wind and I just might be airborne. The weather forecast for Seoul says "thunderstorms" for an indefinite period of time. It is also the beginning of monsoon season, similar to the hurricane season I know only too well from my life heretofore in New York, which can be quite deadly. Fortunately, they hit infrequently and usually further south on the peninsula. My parrots have been singing since the rain began. (And they never even saw the movie.) They like the cadence and energy and feel compelled to provide the melody. Regardless, we will no doubt all celebrate the return of the sun sometime in mid-July, even if it is accompanied by the dog days of summer -- in a country that still eats dog. It's all fascinating. And often funny.  After three weeks of rain, I'll be sure to tell you if I still think it's funny.

Art Scene 

 I met this artist. Her work is poignant and powerful. She is Park YoungSook, 63, a photographer, and a feminist and member of the Feminist Artist Network in Seoul. (Imagine such an entity existing even ten years ago.) Her work struck me between the eyes and in my gut and dismantled any preconceived ideas I might have had about Korean art...or Korean women. She calls it her "Mad Women Project." Six-foot tall framed photographs of women, typical women -- but with something else in their eyes, on their faces. Despair, or anger, or hopelessness, or defiance. Else. The exhibit was divided into three sections: the first juxtaposed each of twelve women with flowers, natural settings in bloom that in each case somehow both complemented and contrasted the woman's own circumstance. The second displayed six women discovering their "inner witch" -- their power; it also held a 10x10' cloth with a series of twelve photographs transposed onto it, of a very old woman looking at herself in a hand-held mirror and reflecting upon, valuing, her beauty. The third floor showed twelve women in ordinary settings -- their kitchen or bathroom, for example -- whose faces revealed feelings of inner conflict that were anything but ordinary. Or perhaps they were, and that is the point. There were two photographs in that final display which were of truly, legitimately 'mad' women, taken at a mental institution early in the project. The women are disturbed and beautiful and ordinary, and thus support the premise. A friend of the artist created poetry to accompany each of the three displays; here is a portion of one translation: At last, we can discard our 'good-girl complex' for 'madness'.People call us 'Mad Women'.Only then do we realize that we had been seized by wrong thoughts.We are liberated. I met this artist. Through my friend's translation, she said: I think you understand my work. Indeed, I do. All women are mad women. Or could be. Or should be.  And when the world has also seemingly gone mad, and one's country of origin is deeply troubled, and one's personal life has more questions than answers, and one is in the midst of the rainy season...there is nothing left to do but immerse oneself in art. And so I have. The scholar and bohemian struggle within me, and I want the latter to win out. (Or perhaps they can cohabitate.) I have no idea where this will lead. This weekend I went to three museums and three galleries. I went to the Mad Women exhibit twice. One of my more artistic friends, YoungHi, joined me for a couple of them. I also threw myself into the pleasures of scintillating conversation with two other friends,

both doctoral students, one in linguistics and the other in philosophy. Ah, humanities. When the world so often seems inhumane, it proves an antidote...or at the very least a temporary balm. Some of the other shows I saw were the 3rd Women's Art Festival: "Fantastic Asia: Beyond the Edge," very feminist and connected with the recent International Women's Congress; "How I Show You Myself," revelations through the human form; "Encounters with Modernism," representing many of the most recognized 20th century artists, east and west; and, "Visions of the Body," which brought together visual art and fashion. Art is happening in Seoul. Of course, there have always been artists here and elsewhere in Asia, indeed in every culture, but there is also a very definable art scene -- as well as one can define art, that is. It only developed as such, however, in conjunction with Korea's recent economic development, largely since 1990. As a result it has been commercially oriented from the start, having entered the international arena at a time when art in other developed countries had already given over to commercialism in some measure. The government is supporting and encouraging art in a very major way as of this year, much as it is in many European countries, and with the intention of turning Seoul into another major international destination for art. There are 244 galleries and museums listed in the current Seoul Art Guide. One cannot possibly visit them all, much less make repeat visits, but I will do my best. Some museums are government-owned, while others are owned privately; galleries tend to be either commercial or available for rent by the artist. I live very near HongIk University, known for its emphasis on art, and am surrounded by galleries and outdoor shows of students' work. Many of my own students are artists, or hope to be.  Of course, there are also concerts and operas, installation and site-specific and performance art, ballet and modern dance, film, theatre and literary readings (though I suspect the language barrier may largely preclude my participation in the latter few). Bohemia, I am returning. I met this artist. I was profoundly moved by art. Would that we could all say this often.

Universal Language  

The capacity for human cruelty, on any scale, never fails to take me by surprise. I suppose that as a humanist I still hold onto the ideal of an enlightened human potential. 

Today I was waiting for a subway, and a woman and her son stood nearby. They were a bit boisterous, clearly enjoying themselves. My guess was that they had just come into Seoul from the countryside; the station included regular cross-country trains, and she had a large, full backpack. She seemed a bit unsophisticated and possibly even mentally simple. When she spotted me, she greeted me, as so many do, with a loud, cheerful, overdone "hello!" and prompted her son, perhaps eleven, to do the same.  She tried a few times to engage the man standing near her in conversation, though he replied only minimally. I couldn't tell if they were together or not; he was also dressed in simple clothes, unlike most appearance-conscious Seoulites. Yet I had no sense of a connection between them.  Upon boarding our train, the woman and her son continued their jollity, as the boy peered out of the door windows into the darkness. Suddenly, the man who had been next to them on the platform snarled a few words and the boy, glancing at his mother for reassurance, sprang away from the door and clung to the pole in front of her while she molded her largish body around him as if to shelter him, and, as if wishing herself to disappear. The man continued to speak, now directed at her in a berating tone, and I watched as she visibly deflated. I also now noticed the pustules that covered her arms as well as her face, the odor that arose from her. Several others around her looked on with disdain on their faces.  When the man stopped speaking he stared out of the same windows that the boy had been looking through in glee only moments before. The boy had found a seat, his mother leaning over him, away from everyone else as far as she was able without falling. She made a quick, furtive glance in my direction -- I was standing near the man who had condemned her -- and immediately returned to her collapsed position over her son. The boy would only stare at his hands.  I wished to touch her, to reassure her, but I could not. She was too far gone and I sensed that it would only serve to emphasize her misery, and her 'differentness.' I wished also to berate, to condemn, the man as thoroughly as he seemingly did her, but I could do no more than glare at him, of which he did not take notice.  I cannot be certain of what I witnessed, not understanding the language or the relationships and no doubt missing a myriad of important cultural cues. But it was evident that all the joy had gone out of both the woman and her son. And shame, especially in a public venue, is given particular weight here in light of the cultural concept of protecting one's 'face’ or image. (The man, too, was shamed in this context, as he lost control of himself in front of others.) I have been filled with sadness ever since, and she has taken up residence in my mind, and heart.  There is a universal language that does not require words (thank you, Paulo Coehlo) and I am only now beginning to understand it.

Brainiac Retreat  

Imagine: a Mensan rock band. Sounds like a contradiction in terms, eh? Last weekend I attended the annual retreat of Mensa Korea. It was called an MT (Management Training) weekend via the corporate world, a very popular concept in Seoul. Seventy were in attendance, mostly university or graduate students with a few professors, a doctor of oriental medicine, 4 elementary-school kids, and one 40-something (and presently redheaded) foreigner.  We went to Nami Island, in the northern branch of the Han River, a couple of hours east of Seoul. This lovely little island, surrounded by mountains, is best known as the setting for a television drama called 'Winter Sonata', very popular, most notably in Japan where middle-aged women are gaga over the 20-something lead actor and now constitute the majority of tourists to this tiny haven, along with fans from Malaysia and HongKong and other parts of Asia.  Several outdoor sports took place, one of which I hadn't encountered before. It's a combination of soccer and volleyball, with the net at tennis-height, called footvolley in the rest of the world, a tough combination of kicking and using the head with hands used only to serve, and teams on each side of the net.  One young woman, SunJu, was especially delightful. She's 22 and decidedly extraverted, unlike the majority of timid or demure Korean women. She spent her time busily naming a number of the men her 'slaves' for the day, and another set as her pets, to which ministrations they all happily complied.  Saturday evening, when we had returned to the mainland where we were to stay in a pension (communal rooms, quilts on the floor, not pretty but practical), we had dinner together and dined on Chuncheon chicken, a very spicy dish cooked at table. Following this there was a program…and that's where the rock band comes in.  Mensa Korea is fairly new, having been in existence only 10 years, and the members are primarily university students. (While the coordinators ponder how to attract professors and the like, it's apparent that these current members will simply age into the role and the membership won't be quite so youth-oriented in another 10 years.) Thus, part of the evening's program included a popular five-piece band with two female vocalists, all Mensans. They were quite talented, even if the music isn't my taste, and performed a few English numbers along with several Korean ones. Late in the evening (early the next morning) as there were drinking parties going on in five separate rooms of the pension, I observed aloud that while our brain power served as our commonality, we were busily killing off as much of it as we could. Korea, even among brainiacs, is decidedly a drinking culture, astonishingly so. There is an industry built around the concept of social (and heavy) drinking that exceeds that of many other

cultures. The next morning, while I was avoiding the sunshine behind dark glasses and eating plain crackers for breakfast, my young pals were happily indulging in kimchi and more soju. I couldn't stomach even the thought.  Another aspect of the culture inherent in our weekend was the role of food. Much like the 'how did you sleep?' morning greeting typical in the US, here it is, 'did you eat?' or, 'have you eaten?' offered throughout the day. Great quantities and variety of food are served at every meal and communal dining is the norm. When a country has experienced a period of impoverishment and scarcity of food as Korea did after the war, it becomes a critical focus. The diet is so healthy that despite amounts consumed, obesity has not been a problem -- though it is fast becoming one, with the introduction of western (often fast, and junk) foods.  Everyone was very welcoming of me. I know the 20 or so members of the International Affairs Committee, to which I belong, but hadn't met many of these other members before. While Korea is somewhat xenophobic as a result of so very little interaction with foreigners, the customs of hospitality win out and they will often even give up their umbrella in a rainstorm to a foreigner who needs it. I was sought out for conversation, even by those who didn't speak much English, and others kept asking my pal YoonJoo about me. Of course, I am also a novelty. During the evening program, the chairman gave me the opportunity to introduce myself and YoonJoo interpreted.  YoonJoo is the head of the international committee and the one who welcomed me with a tour of Seoul on my first day here. He's also the one who majored in both theoretical physics and philosophy (eastern and western), and next month leaves for London where he'll undertake a one-year intensive master's program in physics and mathematics. An impressive young man.  As are they all, these young Mensans. Most impressive.

Boknal  

Just when Jangma finally ended…. After three weeks of the rainy season, including many spectacular thunder-and-lightning shows and rains that have added shades of meaning to my understanding of the word ‘deluge,’ the heat has arrived. There are three traditional days of note, holidays in a sense but perhaps more appropriately termed ‘agricultural markings’: Chobok (Lesser Heat), Chungbok  (Greater Heat), and Malbok (Cessation of Heat). They are determined by the lunar calendar, really a sort of lunisolar calendar as intercalculations are necessary. Ipchu, the beginning of autumn, actually arrives about a week prior to Malbok.

 Good to know autumn is in sight as the heat rises above 90 degrees Fahrenheit…or, about 32 degrees Celsius. Of course, there will be plenty of heat even beyond the day traditionally considered the marker of autumn’s arrival.  Bok in this context has to do with the energy of autumn, according to my friend ChanJoo, doctor of traditional medicine. She says the energy of autumn ‘lies on the ground’ as summer’s force is still so strong. While the heat may be with us still at the end of August, autumn’s energy has begun to emerge, to which the plants and animals respond. These three days are collectively referred to as boknal. Koreans have some interesting ways to deal with heat. Of course, most residences and all businesses (at least in Seoul) have air conditioning, but we do have to go outdoors from time to time, and the humid heat is oppressive. Too, the traditional belief is that summer isn’t rejuvenating so much as draining, and potentially damaging to one’s health. There are two special foods (in addition to fruits and ice cream, of course, just like in the US): naengmyon and samgyetang, the first cold and the second hot. Naengmyon means ‘cold noodles’. It is most often served as a soup (mul naengmyon) but can also be a cold dish (bibim naengmyon), and in both cases has thin buckwheat noodles, cooling fruits such as radish and cucumber, equally cooling spicy condiments including the ubiquitous chili sauce as well as a very hot mustard and rice vinegar, and a hard-boiled egg for protein. Samgyetang, one of my favorite dishes and one that Devin proclaimed a favorite as well, is a chicken soup; each individual soup bowl includes a whole, small chicken (the size of a Cornish game hen) which is stuffed with glutinous rice, ginseng, garlic, ginger, chestnut, and jujube. These are all considered to give strength to the body, weakened by summer heat. Many (though perhaps a minority) still eat poshintang at this time of year -- dogmeat soup -- which is considered to have strengthening properties similar to samgyetang. It has been technically illegal to sell dogmeat since the 1988 Olympics event was held here and public (western) outcry shamed Koreans into changing the laws. But habits are harder to change and the laws are not enforced. There is archaeological evidence of dog consumption dating back several thousand years; it is not a matter of scarcity or starvation. Activists decry the farming methods, though the same logic and effort are not applied to those of other stock animals such as cow, pig, or chicken.  Other Korean ways of managing one’s inner heat include parasols (sometimes, regular umbrellas) carried by many women, and wet cloths over the heads of some men, as well as the white muslin clothes for which Korea is famous (historically called ‘the white-clad people’). Ah, those umbrellas. This brings us full circle to the return, it would seem, of jangma. While the 3-week rainy season is technically over (and not a moment too soon in my opinion), having ended a week ago, it seems we are to have thunderstorms for the next several days in a row. The monsoon season lasts for some time, much like the hurricane season in the Atlantic and along the US eastern seaboard -- the potential for

major storms more than the reality -- and so it seems that we are to be revisited. As it were. Whose idea of a cosmic joke was it to follow the rainy season with monsoon season, I wonder? I think that I have perhaps never longed for autumn in quite the same way.

Hahoe Maeul  

The men all wore masks. They didn't steal from us, however; rather, they gave us quite a gift. And two of them even danced with me! The Frenchman and I went to Hahoe Village last weekend. This historic village of 300 inhabitants has maintained a traditional way of living for centuries through the present, though electricity and plumbing have been brought in recently. Hahoe is in the interior of Korea, in Andong province, and the region is dedicated to maintaining tradition. Andong's motto: 'A window to five thousand years of culture -- this is Andong.' When Queen Elizabeth II visited Andong in 1999, including Hahoe, she proclaimed the area to be 'Korea in miniature'. Andong is a center of Confucian culture, with a significant centuries-old scholars' institute called Dosan Seowan; it is also a center of Buddhist culture, with many temples, pagodas, and a 10m statue of the Buddha carved into a granite cliff of Mount Taehwa. Most interesting to me, Andong is best known as a center for Shamanism and for early folklore.  In Hahoe we stayed in a minbak, the Korean version of a B&B…which is to say, a room in one of the village homes. It was called Bunnan Kotaek (the family name, plus 'old village') and was truly lovely. The room wasn't much bigger than the quilts we piled on the floor for sleeping, with a full-room mosquito netting surrounding us, an electric fan, and (gulp) a small television. After six months in a city of eleven million people with an equal number of neon lights, sleeping to the sound of cicadas -- and silence, the smell of the river that surrounds the town on three sides, and near-total darkness was paradise.  In Andong, we explored the folk museum which is largely dedicated to Shamanism. How wonderful to see the costumes, foods, ceremonial tools used for this early, and ongoing, animistic religion and healing method. The museum's collection and display are quite impressive and highlight the major traditional rites: gwanrye (coming-of-age), hourye (wedding), sansok (childbirth), hwegap (60th birthday), sangrye (funeral), and jerye (ancestral worship). A curator sweetly sought me out several times to explain things to me in her halting English.  Three young girls also kept locating me, to practice their minimal English skills. First, they merely said 'hello!' and ran away giggling. Then on a second visit one pointed to

my eyes while another said 'blue,' and the first then pointed to her own eyes and looked at me expectantly; I said 'brown,' with a wide smile, and followed that with 'beautiful,' which brought an equally wide smile to her face. A third such encounter included an exchange of names, after which I think they had exhausted their English.  Alongside the museum, there is a small folk village which is currently under renovation (now, there's an interesting challenge for the local equivalent of an historic preservation committee); a major network is to film there soon.  North of the museum and village is a dammed river which has created beautiful Andong Lake. We thought we could walk to it (as it turns out, it is perhaps a 3km distance and the temperature was sweltering); on our way, we wandered quite by accident into a lovely sculpture park along the river, with at least two dozen works. It seems there is another traditional village called Jirye an hour southeast of Andong, which is now an artists' colony. Synchronicity is my guiding force these days, and none better. In the sculpture park, the Frenchman asked a couple for directions to the lake. They could speak some English and offered to take us there by car, and we spent a lovely hour with them. Oddly, we never even exchanged names, though we took photographs together and shared a drink. Such is the nature of momentary connectedness, and of language difficulties.  On to Hahoe we went, just 30 minutes by local bus. As we were settling into our room at the Minbak and the hostess offered us cold plum tea, a young Korean couple also staying there asked to have their picture taken with us. It never fails to strike me that as a foreigner here I am always on display, and often asked to perform in one way or another. The couple mentioned to us that there was 'a performance down by the river' beginning in 30 minutes, and we wandered that way, not knowing what to expect.  Hahoe is famous for its centuries' old mask dance and preservation of mask styles from antiquity. There is a daily performance at 3pm; apparently, there is another show on Saturday evenings in August and September only, after dark in a grove overlooking the river with cliffs on its opposite bank. It's a breathtakingly beautiful setting for such an offering, and about a hundred overnight guests (of which we were the only foreigners) gathered around the grove's edge.  The mask dance is pure archetype. Its purpose is one of exorcism, in which the evil spirits are cast out of the village in order to ensure bountiful harvest and health of all. Now it's done solely as performance; historically, Hahoe performed it once every three, five, or even ten years, based upon the local goddess' wishes as communicated to the mudang, or shaman. The dance begins with one actor, in what is believed to be a mask representing a mythological creature, entering the circle in order to cleanse and prepare the space. Then all actors and musicians dance into the circle, one man with a woman representing the local goddess standing on his shoulders. Each subsequent character tells his or her story in song and dance, all masked; they are butcher, widow, scholar,

temptress, aristocrat, simpleton, meddler, bride, and fallen monk. Part folklore, part Shamanism…part Canterbury Tales.  Here, too, as the only foreigners in the crowd, we foolishly sat on mats in the front row; every single performer felt compelled to play to us in one way or another, embarrassing this introvert. Finally, the Simpleton and the Meddler 'invited' me to dance with them; when I, now painfully inhibited, refused a couple of times, one of them simply grabbed my wrist, hauled me to my feet, and ushered me into the circle. The other brought the Frenchman in as well, and we all danced. In retrospect, it was both fun and funny, but at the time I must confess I was momentarily mortified -- at least for the first few seconds, before my inner actor banished my inner critic.

So often indeed I feel that I'm on display here, in a wide variety of circumstances. It is intriguing and often gratifying; nevertheless, it’s not always easy to be a constant source of attention, and amusement.  One of the musicians, Mr. Kwon, joined us after the performance for dinner and drinks nearby. He has been performing with the mask dance troupe for 25 years, and told us of his travels around the world, including New York, the Smithsonian in Washington, and three trips to Montmartre in Paris, as well as many other locations for the purpose of performance. His reaction when we asked him about Shamanism, however, was quite intriguing; at first he didn't understand what we were asking, then told us there was 'none of that' in Hahoe, followed by several versions of 'my [adult] daughter is a Catholic.' While he apparently isn't religious, he obviously felt the need to deny his heritage, at least to a couple of foreigners.  We did have a bit of difficulty requesting food in the restaurants (all open-air), without knowing the language (very little English spoken in Hahoe); finally, we had Andong jjimdak, a famous dish traditional to the region which involves spicy chicken and vegetables over cellophane noodles and requires one to first eat a bite of noodles followed by chicken (I don’t know why). The next morning, when we were chuckling about the unlikelihood of our finding coffee and a croissant, we ended up having breakfast Korean-style: rice, soup, multiple side dishes, and fish, a local bass. I love Korean food, but I must confess that it isn't what I want in the morning -- though the experience was certainly authentic.  Wandering the village was the order of the day, with any number of children and adults alike going out of their way to say 'hello' to us. A 600-year old tree sits in the center of the village, surrounded by the prayer flags customary to Korea's version of Shamanism, and the houses spiral outward from it. The rice fields are farmed organically, which means that instead of pesticides they use snails to eat the microorganisms...after which, ducks are permitted to eat the snails...and then, of course, people eat not only the rice but the ducks. Food chain in action.  Guardian totems are carved in Hahoe and sold to help support the village, and we wandered through quite a collection of them, many obviously meant to encourage

fertility as are found in native peoples around the world. These poles are traditionally set up at the entrance of each village to ward evil and encourage the gods' favor. Bringing one home, sadly, proved to be an impossible task.  The nearby Hahoe Mask Museum was spectacular, offering not only traditional Korean masks from a variety of regions around the country but also those of other Asian peoples, followed by a display of masks from around the world. Masks have been used in ceremony and as an art form in virtually every native culture around the globe, a truly universal theme.  Hahoe, and Andong Province in general, is perhaps the one place where Korea's traditions remain most intact. A window to five thousand years of culture, indeed.

Jeollanam-do  

Dolmens, green tea, bamboo, and the South Sea: this is Southwest Korea. We just spent a long weekend in Gwangju, Boseong, and Yulpo Beach, 3-4 hours from Seoul. There are three goindol sites (dolmen, or megalith--a private or communal tomb, or altar, from a prehistoric era) in Korea, two near Gwangju, all laid out according to the principles of geomancy. UNESCO has designated one as the largest example of dolmens anywhere in the world. I was astounded to learn that of the estimated 55,000 dolmens worldwide, in places such as France, England, Ireland, and even a few in New England, Korea has 26,000 of them. Korea's dolmens are mostly chessboard and capstone types, with a few examples of the table style. We saw one table-style dolmen in Gochang, a couple of kilometers from the rest and behind a very simple traditional home; a man called Tom who works at the primary site kindly gave us a ride to this more remote one. Imagine having a megalithic monument in your backyard.  The bus we took to the dolmen site whipped around mountain curves and gave us an astonishing view of the area, all in the name of transportation. Moving about in Korea is a pleasure; one system that is quite developed is that of public transportation. The roads are well-maintained, and the various systems not only run on time but are of the highest technology. The buses are often deluxe and always pristine. There are computerized ticket machines in Korean and English, as well as staffed ticket booths, and high-tech locker facilities.  Unlike modern Seoul, however, there are still many small villages where English is not spoken at all, western influence minimal, traditions upheld, traditional medicine the norm, and foreigners an oddity -- almost as if we'd dropped in from another planet, which might not be so far from the truth. We had some challenges, instances in which neither English nor my very limited Korean, nor body language, enabled us to

communicate. One notable instance, also the only example of discrimination we encountered during this trip, involved restaurateurs who insisted that they would only serve us the 80,000 krw (about $80) dish and with whom we couldn't communicate regarding other options. (We finally went elsewhere.) We also had the help of many who worked with us to meet somewhere in the middle of the communication continuum, as we all laughed about and eventually overcame the difficulty.  I am learning one of life's major lessons: how to move about in the world without speaking its various languages. The universal language. Methods and tricks and tips to finding one's way around, to feeding oneself, to sharing moments with others even when no common language is spoken. Little children as always openly stared, pointed, sometimes smiled and other times grabbed their parents. One two-year old boy began following me in a museum, to the amusement of his father. Another girl, about eight, whispered to her mother as we were passing on museum steps and then greeted me with "Beautiful!" A group of four young teenage girls sang loudly to me, at the beach, "You are so beautiful...." On the other hand, a girl of perhaps eleven, with whom I shared one of the baths in the jjimjilbang (spa), glanced at me with what appeared to be an expression of disgust and then looked away for the duration of our time together. Though I could be wrong in my interpretation, what flashed through my mind at the time was a reminder that prejudice is taught early. I am always self-conscious. People routinely ask about our origins. One little girl, guessing correctly, asked me, "Miguk [American]?" When we tell them, motioning to each of us in turn, "Paris" and "New York" (or "France" and "America"), I can see the momentary confusion in their eyes as they attempt to understand why we are not from the same place. I'm guessing that most assume us to be husband and wife. For the first time I was given the title of "Auntie," as a girl of perhaps ten asked me, with some effort, “Ajuma...where...are...you...from?" Those who have been to either France or the US typically and excitedly try to tell us of their experience. This area is farm country, though we found it fascinating that even in the midst of rural areas, there were government-owned security cameras, holdovers from the military dictatorships of the 1950s to 1990s. Much of Korea's produce is grown in the southwest. Everywhere we could see evidence of this, including many foods laid out to dry in the sun. Predominant were red peppers, and our minbak hostess, whom we called halmoni (grandmother), was drying tiny red beans (adzuki in Japan and in the US) in their pods; on our second day there, she presented us with sticky and delicious red bean cake. Along the beach in a tiny fishing village, while at low tide dozens of people dug for shellfish (one young man handing me a few seedling scallops and clams the size of a dime), fish were drying on circular screens hoisted four meters in the air, well out of the reach of the stray cats.  The prevailing crop is a modern one: nokcha, or green tea, recently introduced to Korea and made into a myriad of products. We toured the plantation at Boseong, the largest in

the country, which gave the impression of green sculpture and offered breathtaking views. Along the 20-minute drive (taxi) between Boseong and Yulpo Beach, where we stayed, the hills and valleys are all filled with these plants and their field workers. In Yulpo, the spa we visited consists primarily of seawater baths, several of which include green tea. One twenty-something woman who could speak English (and, as it turned out, had been to New York and is now living in Seoul) moved next to me in one of the baths and we had a good, albeit brief, conversation. Many of the women there had various marks and other signs of traditional medicine, which made me realize just how prevalent it still is in these outlying areas.  Of course, we also spent much time in the true seawater bath: the sea itself (though not exactly the 40C degrees of the spa), in this case the South Sea, called the Korea Strait on most maps. As Yulpo beach is on an inlet, the view all around was one of mountains, the water calm. Despite this, however, there were few others swimming, though many were playing in the shallow water. I did manage to get stung by a jellyfish, which was relatively benign -- or, I am largely immune to them. We walked half a kilometer along the shore at sunset to discover another beach, this one not commercial (i.e., no facilities or amenities); as Yulpo Beach is quite carnival-like, with the spa, a water park, and many food booths and attractions, the contrast was great. Late at night we discovered a jazz bar. Korea is wild about this uniquely American form of music. My own neighborhood is filled with jazz bars, as is the area around my school and much of Seoul...and, obviously, also the outer reaches of the country, this being the only legitimate bar in Yulpo. The proprietress and her waitress and bartender all fussed over us, worried when we requested soju ("too strong, too strong," they said, looking at me) and bringing us a few side dishes to help us with the alcohol. Little did they know that, at a mere 40-proof, soju represents no challenge to either of us. Our second night at Yulpo Beach, we wandered into another club which was set back from the main street and had an image of dancers; it was a quiet bar with private rooms and, over the bar itself, an enormous picture of a nude woman with long blonde hair. At once, we both realized that we'd wandered into a 'men's only' establishment with women for hire. While the Frenchman lamented his lost chances, we chuckled together over our mistake...and I reminded him that, as a writer, for me everything is material.  Ah, the bamboo, one of Gwangju's major industries, especially in nearby Damyang. There is a very good museum there, which highlights the versatility of the plant: for clothes, shoes, baskets and dishes, a type of paper, furniture, fuel, sleeping mats and pillows, and so many other necessities, not to mention food and drink. We had dinner in a restaurant next to the museum, and were brought literally twenty different dishes utilizing bamboo, as well as a liqueur, all varied and delicious. (If one has only known bamboo shoots from a can, it’s a shock.)  We had a long weekend because August 15 is Liberation Day in Korea. On this day in 1945, when Japan surrendered and brought World War II to an end, they were also forced to leave Korea after 35 years of occupation. As the two Koreas were still united

at that time, this is an especially meaningful holiday for both countries, this year the 60th anniversary of same. We have recently seen the conclusion of the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty talks in Beijing (though to little avail, but at least they're talking), and the anniversary dates of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, my next-door neighbors.  I can say without equivocation: it is a most interesting time to be here.

Urban Explorations  

We've been exploring the delights of Seoul. The Frenchman and I have remained in the city for two weekends, to wander its nooks and crannies, to enjoy its bright spots and dark corners...markets and cultural districts and mountains and parks and galleries and clubs and bars and restaurants (oh, my).  The markets -- oh, the markets. There are so many distinct markets in Seoul, the majority of them in an open-air style. I'm tempted to write a comprehensive guide as none seems to exist in English. Just when we think we've seen them all, we discover more.  The most recent such excursions have included Noryangjin (all things fishy), Gyeongdong (traditional herbal medicines), Daehangno's weekly Filipino food market, and the weekend Art Freemarket in HongDae’s park. My favorite, speaking as a cook and gourmand, is Noryangjin: a few thousand purveyors of fish and shellfish, live or frozen or dried, nary a whiff of fishiness in the air. Impressive, and particularly as the weather grows cool once more, it strongly compels me to cook. (Apologies to the fish.)  The herbal market at Gyeongdong speaks to me in a different way. I fondly recall my professional life of the past fifteen years, now my former life as I float in limbo between it and the new one which has yet to fully take shape. In conversations with my friend ChanJoo, the doctor of traditional medicine, and a student of mine who is also in medical school for same, I am reminded that my former life still has value and that I must honor the knowledge and experience that I have. The market is a heady experience in more ways than one.  We had lunch at a cart in the Filipino market last Sunday, a variety of dishes made of liver and kidney, chicken, thin cellophane noodles, all washed down with coconut juice. There is a substantial Filipino community here and the market is set up on Sundays, near the Catholic church attended by many community members. With 20 or so carts chock-full of cooking ingredients, I was once again filled with a powerful desire to cook. This is a daunting prospect in a one-room apartment with two burners, no oven, no

supply of seasonings and virtually no implements. How I long for the fully stocked kitchen I once maintained. The art market recently explored also occurs on weekends, in a park in front of Hongik University, known for its fine arts department. I am writing an essay for a local contest on the subject of my neighborhood which, as it turns out, is considered 'the bohemian heart of Seoul.' Ah, the irony. Art students show and hope to sell their works, the air is filled with talk of art and galleries, and this so appeals to me. On that note, we have also been exploring galleries. There are a number of experimental or student galleries in HongDae (the affectionate name for the area around Hongik University), and a great emphasis on anime as well as statements on the society and government. My favorite work was a sculpture depicting a life-size corporate guy climbing a ladder…which ran into the ceiling and to which he had lost his head. The past two weeks saw the Seoul Fringe Festival in HongDae, to coincide with the original in Edinburgh and so many newer ones around the globe; it had five branches: visual art, performing art, film, music, and street festival. This is its 8th year, with 25 theatres and galleries and an estimated 200,000 participants including many from other countries in Asia.  We've been flitting in and out of other galleries as well, in various parts of town, most notably a Shamanic Gallery to open in Samcheung-dong next summer. The mudang, also an artist of some renown, is Park BaekSoon; she was working on a 3m x 3m painting which had a genuine leopard skin in the middle of the canvas, and graciously invited us in, along with a young bilingual man who translated. We were brought into her altar area, where another large artwork, this time of a fierce black eagle, hung, destined later in the month for the US White House. She has welcomed Queen Elizabeth into her gallery and sacred space, and has also met with Bush -- though she was quick to say, perhaps because of my facial expression, that she doesn't agree with his foreign policies -- as well as many local dignitaries. Fascinating woman, powerful art.  There's a great deal of site-specific art throughout Seoul, mandated for the past ten years or so by the government when new buildings are built and certainly encouraged by the art community; many of these can be seen in the Daehangno area, near the aforementioned Filipino market, as the neighborhood is considered a cultural center, largely of performing arts. Marrioner Park, in the same area, is often filled with artwork and performers, and the day we visited was no exception. One favorite work was a small bag of garbage on the top of which grass grew and miniature windmills were erected ("Recycling"? "Out of Nothing, Something"? "Landfill"?). The Elvis impersonator was quite fun.  When we spontaneously decided to go hiking last weekend, it was easy to persuade ourselves that this was a good idea as the city is built around a number of small mountains. (Note to self and others: Do not make such a decision spontaneously.) We headed for Inwangsan, Shamanic center of Seoul and filled with temples and shrines. However, we ended up quite by accident and ignorance on one of its foothills, where another hiker graciously led us to the peak. Gorgeous, once my heart stopped pounding and I could breathe again, and fortuitous, too: Inwangsan, which we could view in the

distance, is 338m, while the nameless mountain on which we found ourselves was perhaps half that. Alas, no temples or shrines, only a lot of other sunset-seeking hikers. We will respectfully approach Inwangsan another day.  Back to those neighborhood jaunts where, in the name of 'research', we have set a goal of exploring every dance club, bar, cafe, coffeehouse, restaurant, gallery, theatre, and quirky retail establishment of HongDae. Last Friday we engaged in Club Day, a monthly event in its fifth year in which participating clubs allow entrance for one low cover charge; we, with thousands of 20-somethings, prowled the streets well into the night and managed to dance at four such clubs. I can't say that I'm developing a taste for the current genres; hip hop, techno, trance, punk rock and progressive are the rage, though early rock, pop (Korean, American, and British), R&B, and even swing and Latin can be found, and jazz is ubiquitous if not always conducive to dancing. I love classical music and tolerate jazz but have great distaste (to put it mildly) for the rest. Through the lens of cultural exploration, however, is it ever fascinating....One scholar has written about elements of Shamanism to be found in the club scene of HongDae, and we analyzed as well as danced our way through the night.  I'm happy to say we've discovered all manner of wine bars, not exactly a traditional beverage here, and some even serve decent cheese. Last night we found a new one called Zhao Inn, the decor crimson and black with subtle lighting (difficult to come by in fluorescent Korea), billing itself as an 'occult' (as in, hidden) bar. Lovely. With my penchant for dressing in black and my red hair and nails and exotic silver jewelry, I fit right in. They kept bringing us food and little gifts. I think they'd like us to return, and to bring friends.  We have also managed to find a lovely Italian restaurant complete with outdoor stone courtyard surrounded by trees (this in the middle of urban Seoul), a pan-Asian one at the top of a stone staircase which also empties out into a garden, a Mexican cantina absolutely stuffed with handcrafts and artworks from same, a tiny perfect Thai place, and a Greek one which is lacking decor but has great food. Not to mention all manner of Korean delights: a 24-hour ramyon place with a shellfish ramyon to die for, a sandwich cafeteria (not so easy to come by), dozens of galbi (marinated bbq) places, and a few raw tuna restaurants (6 or more cuts, and one of my very favorites).  And that's just the beginning! I hear of a coffeehouse with a small pool and beach chairs, another where people can take their dogs, and several 'luxury' singing rooms, one with a white grand piano in its entrance. We have only just begun to explore this utterly fascinating neighborhood of mine.  Hongik University is known for its political demonstrations, not surprising for a bunch of artists. The clubs have signs out front which read, "No GIs," and there is anti-Japanese graffiti in many places. I like a reactionary crowd. I like people who attempt to think for themselves and who are not always compliant or conformist, especially in homogeneous Korea.  

My favorite place in HongDae is a piercing shop. So far I am sporting four in each earlobe. The walls of this shop are covered with photos of satisfied clients, some of whom have piercings that even I haven't seen before, brave souls. The design of the jewelry is dark and a little occult, just how I like it, and further speaking to the flavor of this region. I am considerably older than most of their clientele and they fawn over me, though almost no English is spoken. It so reminds me of New York, and I feel right at home. I am debating a tattoo. The Frenchman, despite his extraordinarily bohemian nature, thinks it unnecessary for a 40-something. This is enough to make me want one. I will contemplate awhile longer. Urban delights. Ah, Bohemia.

Bohemia  

[The aforementioned essay on my neighborhood, for Seoul City’s contest.] Hongdae is the bohemia of Seoul. This places it in good company, past and present: Greenwich Village in New York, Chelsea and Soho in London, Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco, Kathmandu in Nepal, Amsterdam in the Netherlands, Chiang Rai in Thailand, Montmartre and Montparnasse in Paris, Schwabing in Munich, Dali in China, and the French Quarter of New Orleans. Though Bohemia at its origins refers to the Czech province of the same name, it has indicated for more than 150 years those regions in which art, literature, intellectual discourse, and life on the edge collide—and collaborate.  The analogy is not lost on the inhabitants of Hongdae, as the presence of Picaso [sic] Street and an art academy boasting ‘the next Montmartre of Seoul,’ though semantically incorrect, are duly noted. Hongdae has been variously deemed original and creative, nightlife-focused, culturally diverse, freewheeling and uninhibited, experimental art center of Korea, musical underground, decadent and lascivious, youth culture center of Seoul, clubbers’ paradise, cultural incubator, and blacklisted, the contradictory nature of which in itself denotes it as bohemia. Until the 1980s, however, it was considered to be without character, a primarily residential area known for art academies and studios but little else. At that time, the youth culture was located in nearby Sinchon, in proximity to Yonsei University.  Hongik University constitutes the nucleus of the region affectionately known as Hongdae, an area which includes Donggyo and Seogyo neighborhoods and extends to nearby Sangsu and Changcheon as well. The university opened its doors in 1946 following the end of the Japanese occupation, and it was during these first few years that the fine arts department for which it is renowned was established. Hongik, the

name of which means ‘service to [hu]mankind,’ is founded upon three principles: intellectual independence, community-based cooperative skills, and development of creativity. It is these which give it a reputation for lack of restraint, and in so doing place it in direct opposition to conservative Korea University.  The reputation, deserved or not, may stem from the encouragement of independent thought, which under former military rule and present homogeneous culture is a concept looked upon with some degree of suspicion. This independence has given Hongik students a further reputation for political protests. Hongdae by the late 1980s had begun to develop its personality. It wasn’t enough to have a fine arts department at the university, no matter how fine; indeed, several other universities have art departments of note, from Seoul National and Ewha to the most experimental Kaewon. Surely Hongik’s art department has contributed greatly to the galleries and experimental spaces in the region, but there is another reason for the bohemian identity of the neighborhood. It was the underground independent, or “indie,” music scene that began to give Hongdae its definition and shift the youth culture center away from Sinchon. Rock and punk rock bands began playing in the area at this time, and by the early 1990s, “live clubs” (those with performers rather than recorded music) had arrived. At the same time, a café culture was emerging, with some overlap as the studio-style café was often a place for musicians to perform in the early days. In 1992, Ska opened as the first rock-café; Baljeonso [Powerhouse], a studio-style bar and the first of its kind, came into being the same year. Drug, a live club, was a founding member of the underground rock movement in the mid-1990s, and in 1996 co-sponsored the first Street Funk Show which contributed to the movement in a major way and became an annual event. By June of this year, the concept had morphed into the Street Rock ‘n’ Roll and Swing Party. The Olympics in 1988 brought an increase in cultural exchange between Koreans and foreigners, especially among the youth. Restrictions on travel for Koreans were reduced the following year and citizens began to travel a great deal more than before; the number of foreigners moving to and living in Seoul began to increase at that time as well. When 1990 ushered in a democratic form of government and globalization, with it came the beginnings of liberalization among the young, and the club culture of Hongdae was born. By 2000, the first dance clubs had emerged, and live clubs quickly took second place; today, there are twice as many of the former as the latter. This trend holds true, despite the fact that dance clubs are actually illegal in Korea. During the 2002 World Cup, however, the standard was relaxed and dancing in Hongdae was promoted to foreign visitors. After that, there was no stopping the club scene, despite occasional crackdowns by the local authorities.  Club Day is a monthly event that emphasizes this culture. Many indie bands have gotten their start in the live clubs, and more than 300 still perform regularly in Hongdae. However, the thirty or so dance clubs are a testament to their popularity. On Club Day, which began in 2000 and recently celebrated its 52nd such event, participants can attend up to fourteen dance clubs for one low cover charge, and get the first drink free as well. Most tiny dance floors have at their peak anywhere from 200 to 300 dancers, and lines

of hopeful attendees at the most popular hip hop clubs form well down the street. One can easily discover which clubs are participating by wandering around the area of the university, as posters identify each club and a guide to the evening’s participating venues is readily available.  The Club Culture Association, organizer of Club Day, holds several other events. Sound Day, which began in conjunction with World Cup 2002 and also occurs monthly, is the live club equivalent of Club Day and is billed as an attempt to rescue the club culture of the region from a strictly dance club (techno, hip hop) orientation. DJ Fest occurs the same night as Sound Day though obviously in different clubs. Road Club Fest is an annual happening which began in 2003; Youth Club Day, also an annual occurrence, gives minors an opportunity to dance without the presence of alcohol and represents a year-end party for the university crowd. Many annual festivals occur in Hongdae. Most recently, the 8th Seoul Fringe Festival took place over a two-week period in August, following the model created in Edinburgh. Five areas of experimental art were included: visual, performance, music, film, and “street,” and the number of attendees was estimated at or near 200,000. A culture festival takes place over a weekend in May; the university’s street art festival occurs throughout the month of October. Some activities of the Korea Queer Culture Rainbow Festival have been held in Hongdae venues, as have the Seoul Human Rights Film Festival, the Seoul Performing Arts Festival, the Korea Experimental Arts Festival, the digital film festival called ResFest, and, surprisingly, parts of last year’s Gugak [traditional music] Festival. The Free Market, which takes place every Saturday afternoon in the popular triangular-shaped park near Hongik’s gate, gives local artists and art students an opportunity to display and sell their work. The market appears to consist largely of handcrafts, with a few visual artists and at least one musician. Galleries dot the region, primarily exhibiting experimental work, though the classical underpinnings are apparent. Experimental spaces of note include Ssamzie and The Loft. Hongdae continues to evolve at the same rapid pace as the remainder of Korea, perhaps moreso. The Chamber of Commerce considers it to be the latest retail hotspot and estimates daily foot traffic at approximately 25,000, much higher on weekends. Many musical genres are represented in a variety of settings, including the original punk rock and currently popular techno and hip hop as well as progressive, trance, house, old rock, and the pop music of not only Korea but Japan, America, and Britain. Some of the more interesting agencies and programs that have made the region their home include the Migrant Workers’ Center, the Eastern Social Welfare Society, the recently opened Lifelong Learning Center, and the Covered Wagon of Art project by Oasis. There are luxury singing rooms several stories high, one of which sports a white baby grand piano, and innovative cafés and coffeehouses, one with a small pool and deck chairs and another for dogs and their owners. All manner of colorful bars exist in Hongdae, with names such as Africa, Queens Head, Eva, Luna, Harlem, Geek, Lovo, G-Spot, Zhao Occult Bar, and Ho Bars I and II, the latter of which, to correct a typical western

misconception, stem from a Korean transliteration of the Chinese word Hao, which means ‘good.’ Route 66 and Woodstock are western-style; several bars for gay men and lesbians have also made Hongdae their home. A movement is afoot to declare Hongdae a ‘cultural district’ under a new governmental program. This is not without controversy, stemming from the as-yet illegal status of dance clubs and their dubious cultural, rather than commercial, designation; owners of live clubs would like to see the dance clubs excluded from such a distinction. The original bohemians of Hongdae decry its current evolution altogether, expressing concern that as the region has become more commercialized and many non-artists such as researchers and organizations have moved in, it has lost its original alternative, or indie, premise.  The cry of ‘Bohemia No More’ may be premature, though whether Hongdae is a cultural district remains debatable. Nevertheless, there is little doubt that the region maintains its focus on the arts and encourages unconventional behavior and lifestyles. A distinct subculture has emerged in the area as a result of these liberal attitudes. While emphasis is placed upon the nontraditional and avant garde, however, in some ways Hongdae represents a reinterpretation of some of the earliest, most traditional aspects of Korean culture: those elements found in mu, commonly (though perhaps mistakenly) referred to as Shamanism. Colorful and exotic costumes, body art and masks, lewd and raucous behaviors, music and drumming and dancing, and states of ecstasy are all dominant themes in Shamanism. Clubbers face the dj while dancing, rather than each other, much as they would the mudang, or shaman. And just as the kut, or ritual, of mu allows participants to freely express what is otherwise unacceptable in a Confucian society, so does the culture of Hongdae. Hongdae represents a very modern Korea, at the same time putting a new face on its oldest cultural traditions. In this way above all, it is the true bohemia of Seoul.