The following account details experiences that, though due in no part at all to my own efforts, I believe to be possible only in the country I am currently in.
Also, this post is stinkin' long.
(1) Dragon Hill Jjimjilbang
Life is stressful in this country, from what I can tell. People work hard, people study hard, people drink hard. There comes a time when one has to get away from all of it, all the working, all the studying, all the drinking. There are places to go for this in South Korea. They are called
jjimjilbangs.
These establishments vary in luxury, cost, space, and accommodation, according to my sources. What a jjimjilbang is is basically a mini-resort. I will walk you, the reader, through my experience there, as I have but this singular encounter with the jjimjilbang and know no other way of relating it.
Mr. Luke Elie, Mr. Mark Nola, and I went to Dragon Hill one Saturday night a few weeks ago. We paid our 12,000W, got our locker keys and uniforms, and locked away our shoes for the evening. Then we traversed up the elevator to the men's locker room and locked away the rest of what we'd brought with us.
The stereotype that most foreigners seem to have about these places is that you have to go wander around naked the whole time. Being a very comfortable person, I was not that worried about this. However, the nude element of the evening was a minor time-consumer; there was indeed a huge hot tub room, with hot tubs of varying temperatures (hot, boiling, melting, and cold), but we didn't spend much time in this junction.
The rest of the establishment was far more interesting, if you can imagine that being the case. There was a snack bar; massage chairs; a pool, complete with tropical trees and pool chairs; a workout room (closed); a foreigner room, where I slept and finished “Crime and Punishment”; a PC room, where Mark and Luke (and John, and Acts) played World of Warcraft for quite some time, rooms for singing in; a theater (closed); and this main open space where tons of people, all uniformly clad, were doing a wide variety of things. Some ate, some watched TV, some slept. I laid on the floor and counted the crystals on a chandelier for a while. Yes, that is what I am doing on this side of planet.
The point of the jjimjilbang is to relax, and it accomplished that for me. I did just lie on the floor in that thin uniform and not really think about anything. I read on a pool chair for a long time, and then I went and read on a couch in the foreigner room for a while before falling asleep. I guess some jjimjilbangs, perhaps even Dragon Hill, though we did not investigate this possibility, have sleeping rooms, which occasionally are thrown around during brainstorming sessions as cheaper alternatives to a hotel. Who knows.
The point is that you can unwind quite well there. I was pretty at ease, and I have not been most of the time here, what with the rigors of work and the North Korean threat and swine flu and the MLB playoffs and what have you. Holler.
(2) Dongducheon
A few weeks back Korea celebrated its version of Thanksgiving. The holiday is called Chuseok. Literally translated, it means “Sinister Tribal Beats.” Truth be told, I was going to go on an excursion to Taiwan with a man among boys, but those plans were thwarted by some parasitic disease that rendered my traveling companion,
Jeff, useless. I instead got invited to head the opposite direction with a band of teachers to investigate the old stomping grounds of a man by the name of Luke Elie.
At 6 p.m. on that fateful freakin' Friday,
Mark, Caleen (Ms. Gordon), Kay (Ms. Barth), and I struck out for Bosan, the third-to-last stop on Line 1, a.k.a. The Dark Blue Line, according to that temptress who announces all the subway stops on the subway PA system. Once there, we joined forces with resident expert Luke, his cousins Becky (Ms. Elie) and Melanie (Ms. Elie), his roommate J.J. (Mr. Davis), and J.J.'s father (Mr. Davis). Once our powers were combined, there was literally no way to stop us. We took a brief walking tour of the single crappiest place I have seen while in Asia. Not to knock on the U.S. Army, but there is a base within grenade-throwing distance of the subway station (Camp Casey, I think); the area's industrial gurus decided that their best bet was to market the entire region's businesses to either dirty clubs, western bars, or shops that sold material goods (fancy suits, knock-off jerseys, DVD's, etc.). Again, not to knock on Uncle Sam's boys, but the area's militaristic clientele seemed rough, and the women who'd followed them to this ungodly place seemed even rougher. An example, mostly for Minneapolis-based readers:
Nonetheless, we decided to capitalize on a sweet American restaurant called Marty's. It was fine. Then our group separated; Luke and those who I'd come with drove up, further and further, until we'd crossed the 38th Parallel; then we stopped and found a hotel. An night of unrest was spent on the floor of a standard Korean
hotel (thin mattresses, thin blankets, small room). But we burst forth onto the day and, after another American breakfast at some
diner, hit the road. Follow along with me as I document our stops in chronological order:
*A school Luke had attended in his earlier years (two hundred thousand decades ago). There was a dude named Forest there, and he and Luke played ping-pong. I read a magazine article about Tiananmen Square.
*The 38th Parallel itself. Prior to the Korean War, this was the border between North Korea and South Korea, but Lord knows that someone messed
that up...
*A tiny shop in some small village, at which we got Cokes, used the bathroom, and changed from pants into shorts.
*Whitehill Memorial. There was a critical battle on this hill during the Korean War. The name comes from the fact that the hill got bombed so intensely that its soil turned white. The South Koreans prevailed, and our illustrious tour guide informed us that when the North Korean general realized that his men had lost the battle, he wept for three days. There is a mountain past the hill that is named for him. Had I written this sooner, there would be an outside chance that I'd remember his name, the name of the battle, or other pertinent information.
*A sweet beach on some river. Again, if I had compiled this account nearer to its occurrence, we might not all be thrust into the dark like this. Sorry, people. Anyway, we paraded down there and admired the scenery for a spell. Then, as usually happens near large bodies of water, we began trying to throw rocks far enough to that they'd hit the other side of the river. There were about ten thousand stairs to descend and ascend to and from this beautiful spot, but that did not matter to Luke or I, because that's how many stairs we have to climb to get to our classrooms each day.
*A small waterfalls. On the way to it, Luke let me drive the school van. Don't tell. Somehow, I was unimpressed with the size of this falls after having spent a summer in Niagara, but it was still pretty. We were all getting tired, so I figured that we'd just get out, look at the falls for a few minutes, and head back to Yongsan so I could grade some papers before going to bed, but Luke convinced me to swim all the way out to the waterfalls with him. This probably proved to be the highlight of the trip for me, even though it admittedly wasn't the best idea in the world. I made it unscathed, but Luke's foot sustained a sweet cut that earned him a few sympathy dates when we got back home. We changed in the worst-smelling outhouse on the peninsula and then began our drive homeward.
*Uijeongbu, another of Luke's past haunts. We ate at some delicious Italian place. We were all bushed, but that didn't stop a couple of us from dancing to the Black-Eyed Peas for a spell, even though no one could figure out why anything of that sort was playing in a restaurant that seemed quaint and upscale. Who knows.
*Mr. Govender's house. We picked up Mr. Govender, the librarian at CCS, and brought him with us. He needed the van the next day.
*Gwam-dong, the intersection that I live near enough to get dropped off in.
(3) DMZ
Perhaps I have mentioned this insane coincidence before, but let me briefly recount it: when I first got to Bethel, I was put in a freshman seminar class with a person named Jonathon Enger. We were acquaintances throughout our time in college. Jonathon, his wife Anika, and I were in Jazz Ensemble together for a short time, before I lost my hand in a tragic dishwashing accident that ended my bass-playing career. The two of them moved to Seoul last October. I was vaguely aware of this.
I got sent myself to Seoul, and a few weeks after my arrival Jonathon and I connected and realized that he lived in the building that was basically right next to where I taught the Orcas and the Walruses. And that we worked for the same hagwon chain. Sweet. We hung out occasionally, playing pool here, scouting out museums there, or sometimes just grabbing some food. However, a few weeks ago, Jenger (a nickname that never caught on) and Anika completed their time in Mok-Dong and moved on to greener fields. But before they left, they hurdled over that one hurdle that each one of us, deep down, dreads encountering: a tour of the DMZ. And- hold onto your hats, boys and girls- they invited me to go with them.
So I went! The U.S.O. office is located close to my fly-infested apartment, so I got up at 5:45 a.m. that Saturday morning and walked on down. Idiotically, I arrived at 6:30 for our 7:00 a.m. leave time. They arrived at 6:59 a.m. Sigh.
We got on the bus! We drove out of Seoul and along the river Han, as our tour guide informed us. One thing I like about teaching/being here is that sometimes individuals who are not that familiar with English phrase things in an amusing way. She did this all day. Can I remember anything in particular that she said? No. Just that she called it “the river Han,” and not the Han River.
She kept us updated on what was happening. Our first stop was at this spot where they'd discovered the North Koreans tunneling into South Korea, right under the border. Crazy. There was a video to orient us, and then a tour guide with the most slurred English in the history of humanity led us down the clean, safe chute into the rugged, low-ceilin'-havin' passageway that those commies had tried to use to attack. Everyone had to wear yellow hard hats, and even with these on, Jonathon, his friend Mike, and I still banged our heads on the low ceiling of the shaft. We were told that 30,000 heavily-armed troops could have passed through it in an hour. The North Koreans had claimed that the tunnels were dug by the South Koreans, but the way the dynamite had blown away the rock indicated that it was done from the north side. They'd also claimed that they were merely mining for coal and had even gone so far as to paint the walls black. We could see the paint coming off the rocky wall.
This was not the only tunnel; there were three others as well. They all were dug at an angle that pointed their entrances right toward Seoul. Seeing this on the map was very eerie. Thinking about the hustle and bustle of this huge metropolis, and then thinking about an army of grim-faced killers digging quietly through the earth to swoop down upon the city sort of gave me the shivers.
Everyone smoked after we climbed back up the incline. Awesome, guys. We reloaded ourselves onto the bus and headed onward to this viewing station. Here was where the lone picture of me was taken at the DMZ. Do I have it in my possession? No. I didn't even bring my camera. Anyway, the view was neat but still a little disconcerting. The station was up on a hill that looked over the whole Demilitarized Zone and then into the mountains of North Korea. There is a city right across the border that we had a plain view of called Kaesong. Literally translated, it means “U.G.L.Y. You Ain't Got No Alibi.” It didn't look like a real happenin' place. Strangely, what struck me about this viewing point was the way the sky looked so huge above the mountains. It was weird.
The tour made a stop for lunch at this point. It was at some roadside restaurant. Bolgogi or bibimbap. A really exotic dish for those just visiting.
Afterward everyone marched back onto the bus and we went to some checkpoint, where our U.S. Army tour guide checked our passports, gave us a really interesting powerpoint presentation on the DMZ itself, and then herded us back onto our new Army-sanctioned bus.
A few lines on this guy: I am not being sarcastic when I say his powerpoint presentation was sweet; it documented all that had happened to form this area and certain events that had taken place in it. He had his spiel down perfectly; he spoke very fast but when sort of curveball was thrown his way (like morons taking flash pictures after he'd told them three times not to), he merely made a joke that was both humorous and chastising, and then he moved on. When we were on the road, he uttered many short, smug one-liners (few of which I remember, except the one he shared as we went by a fenced-in golf green: in 1988 Sports Illustrated had deemed this green the most dangerous one in the world, but it had been surpassed recently by one in Iraq). I laughed at a lot of them, but I also wondered how amusing he thought they were, having to recite them over and over. And over. Again. Everyday.
The bus took us to the JSA. I couldn't remember what “JSA” stood for while I was writing this, so, thank you, Google. The Joint Security Area is this complex of buildings that is essentially shared by both North and South Korea. While we're on the subject of jurisdiction, and meta-discourse, perhaps I will explain what the DMZ actually entails.
So they had the Korean War over here a couple years back. They declared a ceasefire but never actually ended the war, so, technically, it is still completely on, day in and day out. But. They set up a border between the countries. There are white markers every hundred meters or so that mark the entire boundary, the border between the north and the south, from coast to coast. I don't know when this was all set up or who did it. But then there is this area that stretches for two kilometers both directions from the border. No one and nothing is here. This is the Demilitarized Zone, and it sounds like the nature within the boundaries has flourished, because nothing is there to bother it.
The Joint Security Area, like I said, is this building complex. The border runs through the camp. In the ground where the border runs are concrete slabs that run seventeen meters into the ground. There are two large buildings facing each other, maybe two or three hundred meters apart, one on either side of the border. Our witty guide said that great pains had to be taken to have these large administrative buildings built at exactly the same height. We went through the building on the southern side and into the area between the two large, important buildings. There lie four or five meeting halls. Some belong to North Korea, some belong to South Korea. There is one that belong to both nations. Our guide led us into this building and we all crowded in. Then he said, “Ladies and gentleman, this room is where it all goes down. I like standing right here, because if you stand over there, like a few of you are, you are standing in North Korea.”
Women shrieked and clung tightly to their children. Men's foreheads immediately burst forth with rivers of sweat. People's bowels let go. Pandemonium ensued.
No. People smiled and I moved over so I was there, too, just to say I was. In your faces. There were two guards standing there, very rigidly. They were in constant battle stance. One stood in the middle of the room, safely, but one stood in front of the door that opened onto the north side. This was another surreal moment; the door to the north, where no one ever went, was right there. I could see it. But the man in front of it would kill me before I opened it. That was his job.
Everyone took their pictures and we went outside. They lined us all up and we stood looking out across the plaza of buildings and onto the land across the way, the land where no one ever, ever went. There was a soldier on the northern side watching us with binoculars. He never moved. We were under strict instructions not to make any gestures at all toward them. Sort of a somber experience. This feeling didn't overtake our whole group, as one idiotic girl flirted it up with our young tour guide through this entire viewing.
Then we marched out, went back onto our military bus, switched back to our original beast of burden, and went back to Seoul. I bid a tearless good-bye to the Engers, but not before swearing an oath to attend a Cubs game with Jonathon next summer in Chicago, where he is going to seminary.
(4) Bukhansan Hike
One fateful Saturday night in the recent past, I met up with Ten-Mile-Britt and Megan “Wide Is the Path That Leads to Destruction” Schwartz at this Moroccan restaurant; Ten-Mile's brother, Eleven-Mile, and a friend of theirs were there, too. We ate. Then I left them to go to bed. But not before Megan said, “Dude, come with us on a hike tomorrow.” I accepted the invitation, reasoning that I only had to read about ten pages of “The Metamorphosis” for class the next day, and that wouldn't take too long. Plus, she said the hike would be beautiful and easy, qualities I look for in most...situations. So I planned to meet them up at Gupabul Station at 11:00 a.m. the next morning.
The thing about hiking in Korea is this: it's popular. Tony Ducklow popular. It is the hip thing to do, if you are old. Not to being calling T-Duck old, of course. Every Sunday on my way to church, I see scads of older Koreans in all-out hiking gear, going to and coming from some peak they scaled during the day. The chaplain at my school goes out every Saturday morning and climbs to the top of whatever summit calls his name that day. I have been told that sometimes on these hikes, you have to wait in line for everyone to get through certain passes. Heck, an ex-Korean president
chose hiking as a means of suicide. People,
important people, are giving their lives for this past time that seems to thrive here.
And so we set off to try to put our names up their with those great figures who'd gone before us. I met Ten-Mile, Megan “Parental Discretion Advised” Schwartz, and their friend Christina at the station and we crammed onto a bus that took us to some national park. Off we went.
As opposed to my photographic activity at the jjimjilbang and in the DMZ, I took a lot of pictures on this hike. Which is good, because if I didn't, all I'd have to report was that a) the hike was harder than Megan told me it would be b) we went to the top of a fairly high mountain c) the colors of all the trees were lovely. Other less-than-pertinent informtion: Ten-Mile and Megan did this on three hours of sleep, Christina knows Korean and that is awesome, people brought their kids to the rocky top, we all hit the wall of exhaustion when we got on the subway to return home, and it was dang fun.
I will let the pictures I took, all six thousand of them, and the pictures I stole from Megan “If You Like It Then You Shoulda Put a Ring on It” Schwartz's Facebook album, all four of them, do the rest of the explaining.
It must be told that, regrettably, Ten-Mile and Megan will be leaving Korea quite soon. November 7 is the day I have in my head. Unlike myself, both of them have made it through their year-long hagwon contracts alive. Their plan is to travel through five or so Asian countries in the next month and then return to Seoul for a few days. Megan is going home for Christmas; she might be back to Korea later. Right now it is unclear what Ten-Mile's plan is. The bottom line, though is this: even though I do not see them as much as I'd like or as often as I used to, this city will be lamer without them.
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