‘Do you wanna get a taxi?’ asked Rox as we neared the subway station. It was total laziness, but the backs of my thighs ached from the hike.
‘Yes,’ I said.
The taxi had placed itself ineptly by a lamppost. It was impossible for customers to enter. We had to knock on the window before the driver moved his vehicle into a sensible position.
‘Sinchon-yok chuseyo,’ said Rox, as we breathed and let heat massage our muscles.
‘Taxis are fucking great,’ I leant back, ‘they’re just so warm.’
The sangyapsal rested in my stomach and I put my hand on Roxanne’s leg. My mind moved back to our post-walk restaurant, the look an old man had given me as I placed a kiss on her lips.
‘Are we breaking some huge taboo?’ I’d said.
‘Yes,’ said Rox.
Korea’s position on public kissing is less clear than that of other Asian countries. In India, tonguing on a train is almost as offensive as a blowjob in a bank. And in Thailand you won’t need to tell couples to get a room; they‘ll get one before they begin.
On my first night out in Seoul, I noticed teenagers kissing against walls together, like British fourteen-year olds at bad discos. When I asked my students what old people complained about in Korea, one of the gripes was snogging in the streets.
‘They say young people are so rude, because no one used to kiss outside.’
In the taxi, not knowing how bad it was, I leant over to Rox, moved my lips towards hers, wrapped arms about her warmth.
‘Excuse me,’ piped the driver suddenly, ‘you, your partner, seeing each other?’
‘Pardon?’ I said.
‘Speaking English, English I don’t know, is it called, seeing each other?’
‘Yes,’ said Roxanne, ‘it’s called seeing each other, or dating.’
‘Or going out together,’ I added.
‘What is your country?’
‘England.’
‘America.’
‘What is your hometown famous for?’
‘Stonehenge,’ Roxanne prompted me.
‘Stonehenge,’ I said.
‘Stonehenge,’ the driver frowned in the rear view mirror, ‘I don’t know well. What is it?’
‘Just a bunch of stones, really,’ I said.
Conversation paused as we rose on the road over the river. Lights, pulling softly, held the horizon and the sky together.
‘Actually I don’t like kissing,’ said the driver. We bumped onto hard ground. ‘ I don’t like kissing in my taxi.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said quickly, ashamed I’d been so insensitive.
‘Why not?’ pushed Roxanne.
‘My wife, she never kiss me now.’ said the driver.
‘Is it rude, though?’ I asked, ‘kissing in the back of a taxi?’
‘She says that if I can make money, then she will give kiss to me.’
‘But is kissing in taxis impolite?’ I repeated.
‘I am jealous of your action.’
‘But is it rude?’
‘No, no, not rude,’ said the driver.
‘Well in that case…’ I kissed Roxanne. Both Rox and the driver laughed.
‘You are actor and actress,’ he said. I wasn’t sure why. Lights around were closer now, buildings clamouring for space.
‘Excuse me, what is your job?’
‘We both teach English,’ Rox said.
‘Ah, English teacher. I used to teach English. Now I am taxi driver. Not enough money. My wife, she tell me to make more.’
‘Ah, chogiyo,’ Roxanne leant forward, ‘ This is my stop Joe. I’ll call you later.’
‘Ok,’ I said.
‘Excuse me, your girlfriend?’ asked the driver as we pulled away.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Very beautiful.’
‘Very,’ I said. I smiled, and the lights got brighter.
Monday 26 January 2009
An Unplanned Protest
The shouts came into my apartment. It sounded more raucous than a normal Friday night. I wasn’t going out, but I needed some food. Maybe bimimbap if a place was open, or mandu from a local stall.
Coat wrapped about me, I headed out. Hearing the shouts coming from my right , I forgot about food and ducked through an alleyway.
People were running, banners in hand. Police, like heavy armoured beetles, formed solid blocks along the road. Even in the January chill, the air had a heated energy.
Police were behind and in front, light catching on riots shields as they stood. People were walking and so was I . Slogans were shouted in Korean, someone was carrying a broom. I had no idea what was going on.
‘So what do you think of all this?’ a woman said to me. She had a strong face and a determined walk. If she was from England, she’d have lived in a squat in Brighton.
‘I don’t know what it’s about,’ I said.
‘You know the fires in Yongsan?’ she asked.
‘Yes, where the people died.’
‘Yes. This is about that. Also , people are tired of Lee Myong Bak.’
‘What do you think of Lee Myong Bak?’
Her voice became corrosive.
‘I hate Lee Myong Bak and this government. They care only about the rich people, they don’t care about the poor.’
I couldn’t see how that set them apart from most other leaders in this world, and wanted to see if there was more substance to the hatred. We were walking between lines of riot police.
I was about to ask more when I saw a teacher from my school, a Korean-American called Sherwood.
‘Sherwood,’ I called.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘What are you up to?’ I asked.
‘Just came out to see this craziness.’
‘You just finished teaching?’
‘Yeah.’
Sherwood wasn’t exactly pro- protest. He told me the protest was illegal because it was blocking off streets and infringing people’s rights to lead normal lives.
‘But people should be allowed to protest,’ I said.
‘Yes, but…’
Then he told me he wasn’t going to take any crap if anyone attacked him. I asked him why he thought someone might attack him.
‘They kicked the shit out of me at the American beef protests.’
‘What, really, why?’
‘I took photos. I think they thought I might be recording their faces and showing them to the police. They threw me to the floor. At least fifty people were going past, taking a swing at me.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I’m nervous to take pictures now.’
The protestors stopped outside Hongik University, blocking off the crossroads with their presence. Me and Sherwood climbed onto a mini platform and watched. Sherwood filmed a video on his camera.
‘No flash,’ he explained.
After a minute I decided to explore the melee before going home. I walked through the crowd and filmed protestors on my phone. The police were increasing their numbers, building an impenetrable wall, and people were staying still, shouting.
Food was what I had come out for. I walked over to a pie stall I’d been to before, asked the owner what he thought.
‘People always protest, you know,’ he said.
‘Do you like Lee Myong Bak?’
He shrugged.
‘…but, what does this achieve?'
I was watching the proceedings carefully.
‘Hey, if things start, to happen, you walk, this way. Other night, fighting, people falling, getting hurt.’
‘Thanks.’
Nothing was happening fast, the tension building like a slow game of chess. The next day , I was going snowboarding. I paid for my pie and walked home through straight-faced riot police. I wondered about their lives, their personalities, what was behind the uniform of their stares.
Coat wrapped about me, I headed out. Hearing the shouts coming from my right , I forgot about food and ducked through an alleyway.
People were running, banners in hand. Police, like heavy armoured beetles, formed solid blocks along the road. Even in the January chill, the air had a heated energy.
Police were behind and in front, light catching on riots shields as they stood. People were walking and so was I . Slogans were shouted in Korean, someone was carrying a broom. I had no idea what was going on.
‘So what do you think of all this?’ a woman said to me. She had a strong face and a determined walk. If she was from England, she’d have lived in a squat in Brighton.
‘I don’t know what it’s about,’ I said.
‘You know the fires in Yongsan?’ she asked.
‘Yes, where the people died.’
‘Yes. This is about that. Also , people are tired of Lee Myong Bak.’
‘What do you think of Lee Myong Bak?’
Her voice became corrosive.
‘I hate Lee Myong Bak and this government. They care only about the rich people, they don’t care about the poor.’
I couldn’t see how that set them apart from most other leaders in this world, and wanted to see if there was more substance to the hatred. We were walking between lines of riot police.
I was about to ask more when I saw a teacher from my school, a Korean-American called Sherwood.
‘Sherwood,’ I called.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘What are you up to?’ I asked.
‘Just came out to see this craziness.’
‘You just finished teaching?’
‘Yeah.’
Sherwood wasn’t exactly pro- protest. He told me the protest was illegal because it was blocking off streets and infringing people’s rights to lead normal lives.
‘But people should be allowed to protest,’ I said.
‘Yes, but…’
Then he told me he wasn’t going to take any crap if anyone attacked him. I asked him why he thought someone might attack him.
‘They kicked the shit out of me at the American beef protests.’
‘What, really, why?’
‘I took photos. I think they thought I might be recording their faces and showing them to the police. They threw me to the floor. At least fifty people were going past, taking a swing at me.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I’m nervous to take pictures now.’
The protestors stopped outside Hongik University, blocking off the crossroads with their presence. Me and Sherwood climbed onto a mini platform and watched. Sherwood filmed a video on his camera.
‘No flash,’ he explained.
After a minute I decided to explore the melee before going home. I walked through the crowd and filmed protestors on my phone. The police were increasing their numbers, building an impenetrable wall, and people were staying still, shouting.
Food was what I had come out for. I walked over to a pie stall I’d been to before, asked the owner what he thought.
‘People always protest, you know,’ he said.
‘Do you like Lee Myong Bak?’
He shrugged.
‘…but, what does this achieve?'
I was watching the proceedings carefully.
‘Hey, if things start, to happen, you walk, this way. Other night, fighting, people falling, getting hurt.’
‘Thanks.’
Nothing was happening fast, the tension building like a slow game of chess. The next day , I was going snowboarding. I paid for my pie and walked home through straight-faced riot police. I wondered about their lives, their personalities, what was behind the uniform of their stares.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
Monday 5 January 2009
Restaurant at the End of the Road
I hadn't been there during my first seven months in Korea, put off by the 'Couple Seat' signs and shielding red curtains.
Roxanne suggested going in. My normal restaurant was closed, and cold closed in around the warmth of our breath. We passed under hanging lanterns, and pressed the buttons on the automatic door.
A board offered instructions in Korean and English, but we were still confused. There was a machine we had to buy meal tickets from. We looked at it until a Korean man came in, and memorised the options he chose.
Tickets in hand, we peered at the anonymous curtains. I looked around one and saw a kind of mini alleyway, with people eating soup on sectioned-off stools.
'I can't see any couple seats,' I said.
We went into another alley and sat either side of a small wood divider. A man sat alone at the end of the row. There were curtains in front of our booths. I pressed a call button and a waiter opened my curtain, explaining I needed to fill out an order slip.
I didn't know what I was ordering, only that I could choose between standard and spicy, and that I had the option of extra calcium.
'Are you going for extra calcium?' laughed Rox.
'Nah, I had a glass of milk this morning. '
Roxanne's soup came with a pile of white powder floating in the centre, whereas mine didn't.
'Is that Calcium?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, mixing it in.
'You should have tried it by itself. '
The waiter pulled the curtains back down and we ate with the divider for company. I was grateful for its' protection when noodles dangled embarrassingly from my mouth.
After eating I took the divider down. We talked happily, and I wondered what more tastes of the strange I could find in the normalcy that had become Seoul.
Roxanne suggested going in. My normal restaurant was closed, and cold closed in around the warmth of our breath. We passed under hanging lanterns, and pressed the buttons on the automatic door.
A board offered instructions in Korean and English, but we were still confused. There was a machine we had to buy meal tickets from. We looked at it until a Korean man came in, and memorised the options he chose.
Tickets in hand, we peered at the anonymous curtains. I looked around one and saw a kind of mini alleyway, with people eating soup on sectioned-off stools.
'I can't see any couple seats,' I said.
We went into another alley and sat either side of a small wood divider. A man sat alone at the end of the row. There were curtains in front of our booths. I pressed a call button and a waiter opened my curtain, explaining I needed to fill out an order slip.
I didn't know what I was ordering, only that I could choose between standard and spicy, and that I had the option of extra calcium.
'Are you going for extra calcium?' laughed Rox.
'Nah, I had a glass of milk this morning. '
Roxanne's soup came with a pile of white powder floating in the centre, whereas mine didn't.
'Is that Calcium?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, mixing it in.
'You should have tried it by itself. '
The waiter pulled the curtains back down and we ate with the divider for company. I was grateful for its' protection when noodles dangled embarrassingly from my mouth.
After eating I took the divider down. We talked happily, and I wondered what more tastes of the strange I could find in the normalcy that had become Seoul.
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