Wednesday, April 4, 2001:


The bad news : My scanner is ghetto. No drawings for awhile.
The good news : Susan of Event Horizon is back!

DAY THREE of OUR KOREA TRIP

DO ASIANS EVEN GET TOURETTE’S ?

Amy’s youngest aunt and uncle helped us greatly today in getting her passport precedings begun.

At the passport center, we happen to get the most rude and annoying worker in the history of the eastern world. Her sneering lips make it fairly obvious that we are impinging on her alone time at work. Her rude facial expressions border on Tourette’s tics, and I have to laugh out loud in disbelief. Amy is anything but amused though.

We sit down in the waiting area and uncle goes back with Amy to discuss “things.” I look at the other tellers amusedly.

The tiny one has some sort of growth defect, but her placidity speaks loudly in the chaos.

The girl next to her has hypnotic eyelids. You can tell how her day is going by the corners of her mouth.

Her coworker has a chin like a warrior’s shield, ramming her way through the day’s work.

Even the rude one’s sheer tactlessness is refreshingly easy to translate.

This is the non-touristy Korea I wanted to see more of.

LIQUOR IS QUICKER

“My uncle just tried to bribe her with money,” Amy says.

“Are you serious? Did it work?” I ask, amazed.

“No. She wouldn’t accept the envelope,” Amy answers me, as we look to see her uncle still talking to the rude but ethical teller.

“Where did your aunt go?” I ask.

“I don’t know. She just left. I don’t think my passport will be ready in time,” Amy worries.

We wait. Amy picks up a fashion magazine and points out an ad by an Asian “Dr. Gyno” selling mini vibrators. I read my Travel Korea book.

Twenty minutes later, the aunt shows up, and shortly after, we leave.

“My aunt got her two cases of liquor and the teller accepted them. My passport should be ready by next Monday now,” Amy says.

I’m totally amazed at the casualness with which our uncle and aunt handle the “transaction.” As if this was simply business as usual. Maybe I shouldn’t be so amazed. Maybe it is.

THANKS FOR ALL THE FISH

Most of the day is already spent but they take us to a nearby museum, which turns out to be The National Folk Museum in my traveling book. One of many places I wanted to see.

Seeing the ancient temples with their dragon winged roofs and red pillars in the midst of the big city awes me. Kings lived here. Armies prepared for war here. I envision this as cute little boys and girls roll on their bellies in the stone tiled courtyard.

Inside, the museum is even more amazing. I am inches away from the very jewelry and pottery designs and crowns I’ve drawn from my art history books these past several months. I try to convey the significance of the pottery to my curious Amy,

“This is Koryo celadon ceramics, baby. The style was so unique that both China and Japan sought it and the pottery makers themselves. The Japanese even incorporated the Punch’ong ceramics into their tea ceremony.”

“They draw a lot of fish on their bowls,” Amy breezes by.

“It’s not the motifs that matter, it’s the innovation. This is purely Korean, baby,” I tell her again.

“Look at these little figurines. Hahaha! They’re having sex,” she points out.

A French couple takes a deeper interest in Amy’s favorite figurines as well.

[ Historical Note: The Japanese invasion of 1592-1598 is also nicknamed “The Pottery War,” because although territory wasn’t gained, many of Korea’s ceramics and pottery makers were taken back to Japan.]

HEAVY HONOR

I marvel at the full size suits of banded armor and horse coverings and daggers and swords. I can’t help but extend my arm as if to grab the rusty swords themselves. They are heavy like honor and responsibility.

Would I be strong enough or brave enough to be like those warriors back then?

I wonder this often at the gym during those last repetitions.

LAND OF NO RETURN

Despite their lower earnings the uncle and aunt still insist on paying for our meals and even making us dinner that night.

They are both in their early 40s, and more typical of the common working folk in Seoul. The apartment they live in with their two young sons is tiny and a little depressing. But it’s still home and they’ve got glamorous shows on TV and online gaming to distract them. They don’t even own a car, which like New York, is quite unnecessary and annoying with all the public transport around.

Their two boys mostly hide from us. The smallest one naps in his room, while the 16 year old bows imperceptibly and logs onto an online multiplayer game I’ve never seen before.

The mom says they don’t study enough.

“It’s not fun, they tell us,” the mom explains, “What can you do?”

“Would they ever want to visit us in the United States?” Amy asks.

“The government won’t allow young boys to go over there right now. They’re afraid they’ll like it too much and never come back,” the mom answers.

I WANNA BE A K-BOY

The 16-year old’s English is little better than my Korean, but we communicate via mutual interests : games and women.

“He asked who’s your favorite Fin.K.L. (pronounced “pinkle” there) singer?” Amy translates.

“Ee Jin (spelled Lee Jin), definitely,” I answer.

I like her classic Korean features and unsurgerized eyes (as far as I can tell). She’s the wholesome one, every boy/girl band has one, even in America. She also seems to be the least interested in the limelight.

[TRANSLATION NOTE : Most “Lee”, “Rhee”, and “Li” spellings are actually the same Korean surname pronounced “Ee.” I guess it really annoyed U.S. immigration to allow someone with no consonants in their name to enter the country way back.]

I already know what he’s going to answer,

"Hyo Ri," he grins.

Everyone likes Hyo Ri. She has the sunshiney smile and eyes, even when she stumbles during her dance routines.

He asks if I know how to play StarCraft. I don’t but I’ve read strategies and I watched two hours of TV shows on it yesterday. He doesn’t know how to play it either although it’s on his hard drive.

After dinner (sitting on the floor, of course) Amy points to a picture of a girl on his desk.

“Is that your girlfriend?”

He mumbles something which I recognize.

“That’s not his girlfriend. That’s Kim Hee Sun!” I exclaim.

“Who’s that? How do you know who it is?” Amy asks.

“She’s a famous actress/model. Everyone knows who she is (in Asia, that is),” I answer.

“What. Ever,” Amy replies.

When we leave he says “See you tomorrow” in careful English.

I say “On young kay say yo” in careful Korean (means “goodbye to staying person”).

So, it’s confirmed :

I have the equivalent interests of a sixteen-year old Korean boy.

As if there were any doubt.

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