Discoveries of korea 2

Discoveries of Korea

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales

22 Expats , Tales

비매품

KOCIS

ISBN 978-89-7375-594-3 (세트)

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales

Discoveries of Koreaâ…Ą 22 Expats' Tales copyright 2015 Published by Korean Culture and Information Service Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism (339-012) 408, Galmae-ro, Sejong-si Government Complex-Sejong T +82-44-203-3300 F +82-44-203-3595 Illustration by Kim yoonmyong ISBN 978-89-7375-594-3 For further infomation about Korea, please visit: www.korea.net

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales

Contents

Expats' Tales 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Of New Years Past White Day and More Makgeolli Awakening Becoming One with the Landscape Moving to K-pop Mud for All Traditional Korean Markets The Joys of Photography in Korea Autumn Colors Hitting the Slopeas The Pojangmacha Fishing for Fun in Hwacheon An American on a Korean Campus The Exemplar of Convenience The Sneak Pay Biking in Seoul Hanok Stay Culture on College Street Right on Time First Time’s a Charm The Replacement Drivers The bell of Bosingak

08 12 16 20 24 28 32 36 40 44 48 52 56 60 64 68 72 76 80 84 88 92

Introduction This book is a compilaton of the "My Korea" articles as published in KOREA magazine from February 2013 to December 2014. Each of the stories is written by expatriates living in Korea and introduces an aspect of the local culture from a unique point of view. KOREA, which seeks to promote the country overseas, is sponsored by the Korean Culture and Information Service

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales

01

Expats' Tales

OF NEW YEARS PAST Longtime Korea resident Peter Bartholomew describes Lunar New Year’s celebrations when he first came to Korea in 1968

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Written by Peter Bartholomew

I

first arrived in Korea in January 1968. Many married women and most older men still wore Hanbok (traditional dress) as their standard daily attire. Only a handful of high-rise buildings existed in Seoul; commercial structures were one to three stories. There were no apartments anywhere in the country, and central heating and indoor plumbing were virtually unknown.

I did not realize it then, but I was seeing the last few years of the old Korea, with so much of its original culture still dominant.

Within a few days of arriving in Seoul I was sent off to the east coast of Gangwon-do, where I lived for the next five years. I had the great fortune of living on the Seongyojang estate first built by a Joseon Dynasty aristocrat in the 18th century. It was the equivalent of a British stately home and still occupied by the original owner, a gracious lady born in the 1880s whom I simply called Halmeoni (grandmother). There was no electricity; we lived a quintessentially Joseon-period life in all respects. All interior heating and cooking was with wood fires under the ondol floors, and “running water� consisted of running to the well, drawing water, and

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Of New Years Past

running back to the kitchen.

One day in early February there was a sudden invasion of numerous kind female relatives of Halmeoni’s who had arrived by train and bus from Seoul, a 12-hour trip over dirt roads.

The women arrived laden with huge bundles of food, wine, and gifts.

Upon arrival they immediately started the complex process of preparing for the New Year ceremonies and festivities. Everything was directed by Halmeoni. Their preparation of tteok (traditional rice cakes) consisted of grinding rice into flour, making dough, pounding the dough with large wooden mallets, rolling out the dough to make each cake, etc.

Preparation of the fillings was equally time consuming.

The Seongyojang estate had several kitchens; the women used at least two of them for the gujeong preparations. The atmosphere of the principal, mammoth kitchen was dark and cold, filled with smoke, steam, and the aroma of mouth wateringly delicious foods. The internal roof beams, nearly five meters high, were black with the smoke of 300 years of daily cooking. The enormous cast iron rice cooker bubbled, gurgled, and steamed, foam seeping out around the edges. Some ladies were occupied

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cutting and cleaning meats, fish, and vegetables for cooking, while others were in charge of the fried foods or boiled delicacies.

When guests arrived they were given a simple but delicious bowl of tteokguk with sprinkles of dried seaweed and thin slivers of spring onion, and of course, two or three varieties of kimchi.

Finally, the time had come for jesa, the ancestor memorial ceremony.

Foods were stacked in perfect traditional geometric patterns on special ceremonial porcelain, brass, and bronze dishes and stands, put on large wooden trays, and then carried by the men to the ceremonial hall (sadang) to be placed on each of the three altars for the last three generations of the Seongyojang family.

The final setting in the sadang was somber, dignified, and impressive, with two candles, an incense burner, and stacks of food. The ceremony took over one hour, starting with yusecha and recitation of the history of each head of household from 1703 to the present. Presiding over the scene were portraits of each of these three ancestors.

Another elaborate ceremony subsequently took place at the hillside grave sites of each of the ancestors for 13 generations of Seongyojang family, again with food, wine, and incense offered to the spirits of the deceased, all carried by the young men to these many hillside graves.

The feast following the jesa was magnificent! We could not even see the wooden surfaces of the table; every square centimeter was so heavily laden with side dishes of every culinary variety, all perfectly and aesthetically presented. Men sat at one very long table, while the women and children were seated in a separate room for their feast. Wine, constant discussion of every subject imaginable, and catching up on family affairs went on for hours into the night.

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Of New Years Past

02

Expats' Tales

WHITE DAY AND MORE Experiencing some of Korea’s more unique holidays

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Written by Michelle Farnsworth

A

fter living in Korea for 10 years, I have almost gotten used to all the unofficial, or some might perhaps even say contrived, holidays here. In fact, I have actually started enjoying them for the ingenuity and fun-filled frivolity they add to life in Korea.

In many parts of the world, November 11 is called Remembrance Day, Armistice Day, or Veterans Day. This is a very somber and serious holiday that commemorates the end of World War I and honors those who bravely gave their lives fighting for their country. In Korea, however, November 11 is associated with a much different holiday, best known as Pepero Day. Pepero are a relatively cheap, simple, and delicious pencilthin cookie often covered in chocolate and then dipped in crushed almonds. Four Pepero sticks held up vertically next to each other resemble the date 11/11. We assume that a clever marketer at Lotte Confectionery recognized this and created the unofficial holiday. Walk by any convenience store in Korea on the days leading up to November 11 and you will see that the marketing initiative has been a huge success.

There are Pepero of every size and flavor on display wrapped up in

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White Day and More

baskets and netting or nestled in the arms of a teddy bear. It is unofficially expected that Pepero be given to anyone who sits near you at the office, interacts with you daily, or is ever so slightly more than just an acquaintance. The deeper the relationship, the more elaborate the Pepero gift that must be given. I daresay that some of the most extravagant gift displays and promotional events I have ever seen were outside a 7-11 on November 11, 2011.

While Valentine’s Day is celebrated all over the world, it has a slightly surprising twist in Korea. I was really shocked when I first learned that in Korea women are expected to provide chocolate to their targets of affection on Valentine’s Day. The men merely enjoy the attention and the sugar rush. The rules are very clear and very firm. No man would ever dream of gifting chocolates to their lady love on Valentine’s Day in Korea.

However, payback comes exactly one month later on White Day, when the men must reciprocate with candies.

The rules here are also very clear. Men must gift candies to the lady or ladies in their lives.

It could be either candy or chocolate, and women need only thank the men and enjoy the sweet treats.

This is a day that I personally look forward to all year, as the chocolates can come from any man and are not necessarily meant

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as a romantic gesture. Men, mark your calendars and do not forget to recognize all of the special ladies in your life on March 14.

And exactly one month after that, on April 14, Koreans observe Black Day. This is the holiday that amuses me the most. Black Day is observed by those who neither gave nor received chocolates or candies on Valentine’s Day or White Day. On Black Day singles are not forced to face the depth of their singleness surrounded by heart-shaped balloons, chocolate-covered cherries, or declarations of eternal love.

Instead, they meet up with their other single friends and all share their sorrows by dining on jajangmyeon, Chinese noodles covered in a thick black bean sauce. The black sauce is meant to represent their cold, black, lonely hearts. While it sounds quite desolate and cruel, most singles actually enjoy the occasion and simply use it as a good excuse to catch up with friends, eat delicious noodles, and of course wash it down with a few beers.

If you haven’t experienced the joys of participating in some of Korea’s unique holidays, then I highly recommend that the next time you pass a convenience store with boxes, baskets, and teddy bears displayed out front, pop in and find out which holiday is coming up and how you can play along.

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White Day and More

03

Expats' Tales

MAKGEOLLI AWAKENING

Rediscovering Korea through alcohol

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Written by Joe McPherson

“Geonbae!”

We clinked our ceramic bowls filled with a milky liquid that was not milk. I was suspicious. If it looks like milk but isn’t milk, it likely won’t taste good. I was pleasantly surprised that it was light, fizzy, and a little sweet. It reminded me vaguely of champagne punch from a wedding I went to years ago.

This was my first introduction to makgeolli in 2005, during my second year in Korea. It was also my Korean culinary awakening. My first year, I was underwhelmed by Korean food. Barbeque was fine, but it seemed all the side dishes were red and tasted the same. The soups had two flavors–extremely bland or doused with so much chili pepper that you couldn’t taste anything else. Korean beer was notoriously weak, and green bottled soju was just not my thing.

Then I moved to a different area. Some new friends took me to an outdoor restaurant at the foot of Mt. Gwanaksan near my new home.

They ordered the gamut of the menu. Crispy pajeon came out on a woven tray loaded with green onions and seafood. The boribap was

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Makgeolli Awakening

like bibimbap but with a lot more flavor, accompanied by individually prepped vegetables from the local gardens that weren’t all covered in red. The smoked chicken tasted like bacon. This, I came to discover over the years, was the real Korean food. This was the traditional food of the peasantry. It came from the earth. It was honest. It required no gimmicks or shortcuts. Makgeolli also came from this tradition.

Calling makgeolli a “rice wine” commits a gross injustice. It’s more akin to a beer in that it’s low in alcohol, has a short shelf life, is brewed, and comes from a grain. Just as beer was since Sumerian times through medieval Europe, makgeolli used to be mostly a farmer’s beverage.

It’s a tradition that was almost lost, and only recently has it been revived; it is now thriving. During the late Joseon period, a lot of traditions were fading away. During the Japanese colonial times, they were systematically eliminated, including methods for making alcohol. This was a great tragedy for the world because people on the Korean Peninsula were famed for their fermenting prowess, and that included booze.

By the end of the colonial period, few traditions remained. Andong Soju was still around, which kept the methods of turning grain into distilled loveliness brought over from the Middle East by the Mongolians, but that was the only bright light in a bleak landscape.

Yet at the turn of this century, an awakening happened—a renaissance.

Scholars like Park Rok-dam dug up old records and revived lost recipes and techniques. Government regulations relaxed, letting more producers get into the makgeolli brewing business. Makgeolli became artisanal. It also caught on with Korean and Japanese youths around 2008, spawning the makgeolli craze that we still see today.

With the advent of this craze, people have tried to dress it up in wine glasses and decanters. But seriously, there are only two proper receptacles

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for makgeolli—a ceramic bowl or a dented metal one. And the dents need to be there. A bowl lets you take in the full aroma of this earthy beverage. A bowl also encourages you to use two hands, so all your attention is focused on the drink before you. A bowl makes it more pleasurable to take in a deep draft while sitting outside, watching the sun set behind the mountain.

After quickly finishing my bowl, my friend spooned out some more for me. I held my bowl properly in two hands and accepted while making sure to refill her receptacle.

I had almost given up on Korean cuisine. Thankfully we have had this reawakening in the art of alcohol. And I am always thankful that this simple farmer’s brew awakened my own awareness of the deep secret heart of Korea’s culinary—and alcohol-laden—treasures.

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Makgeolli Awakening

04

Expats' Tales

BECOMING ONE WITH THE LANDSCAPE Hiker Roger Shepherd talks about Korea’s mountains

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Written by Roger Shepherd

A

s the owner of a hiking company in South Korea, I am often asked by my clients and even Koreans: why Korean mountains?

The entire Korean Peninsula is about 75% mountainous; that figure hasn’t nor can it change. This ever-present backdrop of mountains is what the Korean people were raised under, influencing them daily. Their oldest known history is founded from mountains. Back when civilizations were first being formed, the Egyptians were making their pyramids; the Koreans only needed their mountains. The founding King, Dangun, was born in 2333 BCE and was said to have achieved the immortal status of Mountain Spirit on the sacred peak of Mt. Guwolsan in what is now present-day North Korea. Korea’s highest and holiest peak, Mt. Baekdusan (2750 m), is located at the very top of Korea. Baekdusan is a high desolate volcanic landscape blanketed in snow, where shrilling Siberian winds prevent human habitation. However, its caldera is a crystal blue lake and represents to the people of Korea their birthplace. For Koreans, the mountains contain not only Koreans’ spirits but the spirits of the mountains—they are fused together, their DNA inseparable.

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Becoming One with the Landscape

On the peninsula, the mountains stretch endlessly over the horizon, like a sea in a heavy gale. The white ridges are twisted, with gnarled forests of native hardwood pines growing eerily from cliff faces and smooth boulders the size of palaces. Deep mountain valleys pass as fairylands of rock-strewn streams gushing water greener and clearer than any emerald on Earth. Rivers are guided by bladed mountain ranges and escorted out to the seas. Villages form alongside coastlines, riverways, and mountain edges. Fortresses—of which there were once thousands in Korea—were erected on mountain ledges and ridges. Shamanic shrines and, later, Buddhist hermitages were built high in the mountains to attain greater kinship with the mountain spirits. The most precious herbs and spices came from the mountains. Mountains influenced everything: religion, art, literature, foods, and water. They even dictated the angles and locations of villages and palaces based on the geomantic will and identity of the neighboring mountain system. Not much was void.

Mountains and Humans This terrain can even be diagrammed, making it more unique to Korea. The Baekdu Daegan (White Head Great Ridge) forms the backbone of the peninsula. This continuous ridge transmits natural energies throughout the peninsula. It also forms the watershed, providing life. From there, its subsidiary ridges

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and lesser ridges splay throughout the peninsula, transmitting and guiding these natural energies and waterways farther. On an old carved wooden template used to make Korea’s oldest maps, this detail looks exactly like the human chart of our arterial, venous, and central nervous systems. In a sense, to damage this energy is to damage life. Mountains and humans are biologically the same to the Koreans.

It was only by chance some six years ago that my exploration of these stunningly beautiful mountain ridges began. It was their endless maze that led me to the side of Korea that not many Westerners knew about.

It was the mountains that showed me where these historical places once were and where many still remain today. It was the study of its peaks that revealed to me Korea’s cultures and histories. The more time I spent in the mountains, the greater effect these energies had on me. I too became part of Korea’s landscape.

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Becoming One with the Landscape

05

Expats' Tales

MOVING TO K-POP

Learning to dance to Korean pop music

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Written by April Jackson

W

hy so serious? Or more like, why so difficult? These were my thoughts as I sweated profusely trying to figure out which foot to land on while learning the choreography to SHINee’s new song “Why So Serious?” Every Tuesday and Thursday, my friend and I trot over to Def Dance Skool to attend our K-pop dance class, taught by an energetic and charismatic young Korean guy.

Now, I knew beforehand that dancing would be challenging, but what I wasn’t expecting was getting caught off guard by my emotions. Who knew I could get so bashful dancing in front of others! It really takes a lot of confidence to express yourself through music in front of people. When we see a K-pop group like Infinite dancing on TV, it looks so smooth and effortless, but what we don’t see are the many strenuous hours put into it.

I now genuinely understand why Korean companies make their artists train for so many years. It would take quite some time to memorize an

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Moving to K-pop

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album full of dance moves and sing on key while consistently giving “fan service” to screaming fan girls. With that in mind, I knew I had a long way to go.

As day two started, I claimed my spot in the back of our group so as to not be seen by our teacher or anyone else. As we warmed up, our teacher quickly spun around and pointed to me, saying, “You, here.” I looked around bewildered, wondering why he’d want me in the front. Apparently he wanted to make sure I could get the dance moves. As noble as his gesture was, I was very uncomfortable with being in front of everyone. As the hours went by, though, I could see that many others seemed to be at about my level. There were a few naturals in the class, but most of us were still counting “1, 2, 3” in our heads.

I came to the realization that you either have it or you don’t. Dancers such as Big Bang’s Taeyang or SHINee’s Taemin move flawlessly across the floor, and my dance teacher is definitely a natural. In class, we stand there anxiously, waiting to try out the next move he showed us and hoping to replicate it as amazingly as he did. But somehow, it never comes close, at least for me. It probably doesn't help that my teacher knows very little English, but nevertheless, my friend and I are still able to understand what’s going on. Music surpasses language barriers, and K-pop is a testament to that. Its spread across the world despite being in a different language shows the ambulatory nature of Korean pop music.

Fortunately, as the class came to a close, I started to really get into the song. I could finally feel the emotion of the song as I tried to picture the kind of energy Key or Jonghyun of SHINee would give to it. I still have another month to go, and despite not being the best dancer, I will continue to learn K-pop dance, as it is a fun experience and a great way to be a part of the powerhouse that is Hallyu, the Korean Wave.

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Moving to K-pop

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Expats' Tales

MUD FOR ALL Experiencing the Boryeong Mud Festival, Korea’s biggest summer party

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Written by David Khimasia

N

ow, waking up at 5:30am on a Saturday morning to get on a bus has never been, and will never be, my idea of a good time.

But for several years now, deep in the warm summer month of July, I’ve done just that with a smile on my face. That time is upon us; it’s time for the annual Boryeong Mud Festival!

It’s the one festival here in Korea that needs to be witnessed at least once. Where else in the world can someone meet new and old friends willing to wrestle, race, or douse each other in mud?

The festival isn’t just for the young at heart who want to dive into a pool of warm Boryeong mud. It’s also for those who just want to sit back and enjoy the show that unfolds over a few great summer days.

Boryeong is a fairly sleepy little town that comes alive every summer with big red and white tents serving some extremely fresh seafood, Korean cuisine, and a few Western standards. If the mud’s not really your thing, you can enjoy a few drinks beachside while watching a huge fireworks show that rivals almost any other here in Korea.

Indeed, the festival has a lot going for it: you can listen to a variety

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Mud for All

of music on the main stage or head to the water park for some slippery water slides, not to mention the large beach, leading to the conclusion that activities here are endless. But with that all being said, let’s not forget what the star of this festival is—the mud. The mud has always been the star, and it always will be.

The mud, which is locally sourced, is everywhere and unavoidable.

Arriving in the early afternoon, you are immediately hit by a barrage of people wandering the streets dripping with mud, convenience store floors plastered so thick with the stuff that people care barely keep their balance.

Beside the beautiful Daecheon Beach you’ll find the Event Zone, where you’ll be overwhelmed by the amount of strangers that, in good fun, will generously smear one or two quick handfuls of mud all over you. To say things get muddy is an understatement! The festival features mud fights, mud slides, mud baths, mud fountains, mud wrestling, and, in some years, even a mud marathon.

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After a long day in the sun and mud, everyone heads towards the water. In the early evening, the tides recede to open up Daecheon Beach’s vast beauty while the music continues on the main stage. The evening beach vista also provides a great background for the awe-inspiring fireworks show that takes place.

The event truly is international, bringing together Koreans and foreigners alike, whether they be family, friends, or strangers. Whether it’s throwing mud at each other, sharing food on the beach in the early evening, or dancing till their hearts are content, it’s always a fun gathering where you’re bound to smile more than your average weekend. In the days after attending the Boryeong Mud Festival—when you’ve found and removed those last clinging pieces of mud hiding in your hair and ears and when that sunburn turns into a golden tan—you’ll sit back with a smile and realize it was all worth it.

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Mud for All

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07

Expats' Tales

TRADITIONAL KOREAN MARKETS Korea’s outdoor bazaars are treasure troves of food and culture

Written by Sean Keenehan

S

taring at the grocery store produce, my mind begins to wander.

I am thinking of how my experience would be different if I were able to shop at a traditional Korean market.

The produce at the traditional market would be full of life, perhaps just delivered fresh from the farm on one of the passing motorbikes that squeezes through the market’s skinny pathways.

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Traditional Korean Markets

At Seongdong Market in Gyeongju, Seongju chamoe melons can be purchased straight from the sidewalk, earning a gracious local smile in return and, on occasion, a few extra pieces of fruit.

The traditional markets in Daegu are a perfect place to enjoy a variety of food delicacies: jokbal (pigs’ hocks) at Suseong Market, memorable pork gukbap (soup and rice)at Bongdeok Market, and cool, refreshing milmyeon (cold noodles) at Seomun Market, which also thrives for its large number of Seomun clothing and textile vendors.

Gwangjang Market in Seoul is another traditional market that shines for its collection of fabrics and fashions, not to mention its massive selection of street food specialties, most notably Gwangjang’s famous bindaetteok (mung-bean pancakes).

Seoul is home to several different traditional markets, including Jungang Traditional Market located near the city’s center. Serving hotteok, tteokbokki, and other Korean snack specialties from portable food carts, Jungang just might be the ultimate traditional market for street food in Seoul.

No visit to a traditional market would be complete without the sight of numerous glass aquariums filled up with a variety of living sea creatures.

Two of Korea’s most famous markets for seafood, Jagalchi Market in Busan and Dongmun Market on Jejudo Island offer rare, inexpensive opportunities to sample and explore the tastes of sea treasures that are local to each area, such as Busan sea eels and Jejudo belt fish. With the hallucinating aromas of Jejudo’s famous black pig samgyeopsal and fermented salted fish (jeotgal), a visit to Dongmun Market guarantees an intoxication of the senses.

No matter where you are in Korea, if there is a traditional market nearby, take advantage of the affordable, authentic, and sincere experience

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of Korean culture that a traditional market offers. With so many of them located in Korean cities, traditional markets offer an opportunity for the city to join hands with its mountainous countryside.

Some vendors call out and beckon to customers, while others wait patiently and quietly for a business exchange. Follow your own gut instinct when deciding which vendor to do business with. However, a crowd surrounding a vendor is usually a good indication that the vendor is offering trusted, high-quality products.

While some individuals shop at traditional markets for entertainment or the novelty of it, others depend on traditional markets as the central source for daily living. No matter what the occasion, shopping at a traditional market helps to support local merchants and honors a Korean tradition of face-to-face discussion and negotiation.

The bustling sounds of human interaction at Korean traditional markets echo the harmony of Korea’s past, present, and future while offering a glimpse of locality that is unparalleled.

From produce, street food, meat, seafood, and medicinal herbs to clothing, furniture, and souvenirs, you can find almost anything at a traditional Korean market.

Shopping at the grocery store, the spirit of the traditional Korean market is alive and strong in my heart. For a moment I think to pick up an order of tteokbokki to go. Or so I wish . . .

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Traditional Korean Markets

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Expats' Tales

THE JOYS OF PHOTOGRAPHY IN KOREA When you've got a camera in your hands, anything can happen

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Written by Peter DeMarco

I

never knew I would fall in love with photography when I came to Korea almost seven years ago. What started out as a simple hobby has turned into one of my greatest passions. Being a photographer in Korea has made it an even bigger joy.

For me, having an endless variety of things to photograph is inspiring. From mountainside temples to dynamic cityscapes, there’s always something interesting to capture. I’ve seen bamboo forests, cherry blossoms, desolate beaches, snowy hilltops, rice paddies, bustling markets, ultra-modern skyscrapers, and colorful foliage.

It’s not only the diversity of subjects that makes Korea such a great place to shoot. Probably the best thing is the spirit and sense of camaraderie surrounding photography here. It’s not uncommon to see groups of 20 or more photographers trying to capture a beautiful scene.

More often than not, it’s at some remote place before the sun rises, like on a mountain peak or ocean shore. Everyone sets up their gear and then chats, shares some food or drinks, and socializes. It’s easy to feel like you are part of something bigger. Documenting daily life becomes a major event.

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The Joys of Photography in Korea

I always try to portray the essence of a place when I take photographs.

It doesn’t matter if I’m taking a picture of a cityscape from the rooftop of a building or someone’s portrait. I want to represent what is particular to Korea and share that.

Shaman on the Mountain An experience that was particularly memorable for me was when I saw a Korean gut, or shamanistic ceremony. One day my friend and I were hiking up a mountain to photograph Busan. We

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passed by a small temple on our way. There was a group of shamans and their followers dancing and singing. Curious, I pulled out my camera as we walked closer. I had always wanted to see one of these ceremonies. They spotted us and invited us in. I asked if I could take photographs and, surprisingly, the shamans agreed.

I thought we would just sit against the wall and observe until the head shaman pulled my friend aside and started questioning him. “Do you have any pains—mental or physical?” she asked. After a few more questions, she gave her otherworldly prognosis: “You have the ghost of a dead relative inside you. It must be exorcised.”

She performed an ancient ritual to rid my friend of his demons. It was like something out of a documentary movie. Afterwards, they invited us to eat with them. We ended up spending the whole day. I’ve already been back two more times to visit.

I think that’s one of the things that makes taking photographs in Korea memorable. At any moment the unexpected can happen. A stranger will invite you into their home or to share a meal. Living in a foreign country, it’s easy to feel like an outsider. To be a good photographer, though, you need to get close to your subject, to know them as a human being, not just as an object in your viewfinder. The openness of the people has allowed me take photos I normally couldn’t.

Korea has much to offer the avid photographer: beautiful landscapes, opportunities to learn, and the sense of belonging to something bigger.

However, it’s the relationships I’ve created here that I will cherish most.

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The Joys of Photography in Korea

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Expats' Tales

AUTUMN COLORS When the skies turn blue and the hillsides crimson, Korea is at its best

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Written by Curtis File

A

ny expat that has lived in Korea for more than a month has undoubtedly been treated to one or more short lectures on the country’s four distinct seasons. Along with Korean food, the weather and seasons are favored topics for taxi and water cooler small talk, especially among the older generation. Though seemingly an odd point of pride at first, it begins to make sense when considering the degree to which Korean culture revolves around the seasons. Recreation, cuisine and holidays are all related to seasonal change. While every time of the year brings new activities to explore, there is perhaps no better time to see the country than in fall.

The crisp autumn air is refreshment from the hellish humidity of the summer monsoon months. I first arrived in Korea just as fall was beginning. In a matter of a few weeks, I was invited to my first real autumn experience in Korea: a hike up Mt. Dobongsan on the outskirts of northern Seoul for a day of viewing danpung, or the changing of the leaves. It was in that season that I found my love for Korea’s natural beauty.

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Autumn Colors

Though I heard that Korea had a strong hiking community and had imagined that the mountain trails would attract a healthy handful of outdoor enthusiasts, I wasn’t quite prepared for the crowds that flocked to the tiny town that day. Hoards of people filled the restaurant stalls at the base of the mountain serving every manner of Korean specialties, from salted fish to steamed silkworm larvae. It wasn’t just the crowds I wasn’t prepared for though.

Coming from the Canadian countryside, I am used to colorful falls and beautiful scenery, but I still could not have imagined the view on the

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hike up those rocks. The entire mountain face was covered in vibrant red, orange and yellow hues that rolled out over the hills into the distance.

From the peak, I could see where small farms tucked into valleys met the edge of the city. It is still among the most beautiful views of Korea I can remember.

Outdoor Community Equally surprising was the spirit of the outdoor community. Hiking may be an all-ages activity, but in Korea, the rule seems to be the older, the better. While I was red-faced and gasping for air, more than one couple past their 70s flew by me without breaking a sweat. The fall spirit of love and generosity was alive and well. One couple even pulled me aside to share barbecue duck and makgeolli, or Korean rice beer, near the peak. In no time at all, I had fallen in love with Korea’s autumn nature and was looking to explore more areas of the country.

That same year, I took a cruise on Chungjuho Lake in Chungcheong buk-do. Though the hills were much smaller, the scenery was no less impressive. The crowd on the two-hour cruise was much smaller and quieter, consisting of a few expat teachers and Korean families. The ride from the city of Chungju to Danyang passes through small valleys and islets, some vacant, some settled with cozy farmhouses. Unlike the mountains in Seoul that inevitably meet the concrete of the city, the autumn in Chungju seems to have no limit. The red and orange foliage seems to stretch out in all directions, making it a perfect getaway for city dwellers in need of a break from traffic and neon lights or casual tourists looking to see a different side of the peninsula.

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Autumn Colors

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Expats' Tales

HITTING THE SLOPES Korea’s ski scene will surprise you

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Written by Gregory Curley

I

’m from Canada, home of the Laurentian and Rocky Mountains.

Some of the country’s finest ski resorts are in Quebec and within two hours’ driving distance from where I grew up. I’ve been skiing for as long as I can remember. There really isn’t much else to do during Canadian winters. Needless to say, I’m pretty partial to my skiing roots. So naturally, when the mention of a ski trip came up the following winter after I arrived in Korea in 2002, I was a little cynical. That was just over a decade ago. My first impressions weren’t terrible, largely because I was missing home and longing to venture out and hit the slopes. But truth be told, the longer I stay here, the more I notice how fast Korea is improving its ski facilities to accommodate the growing influx of skiers and snowboarders.

Since then, I haven’t had the good fortune of making it out to the slopes every year, but just last winter, I was able to get out to two of what I consider to be the country’s best resorts: Phoenix Park and YongPyong. I was amazed at just how much effort continues to be put into strengthening their appeal. Korea has certainly come a long way in ski infrastructure in the ten years I’ve been here.

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Hitting the Slopes

Korea’s Major Ski Resorts YongPyong is situated in the Pyeongchang region, which was selected to host the 2018 Winter Olympics. Founded in 2000, YongPyong remains the country’s largest ski and snowboard resort. Despite its small size, it has plenty of hills for beginners and experts. What impressed me most when I was out last season was how well groomed the runs were. Equally impressive was the affordability of ski rentals and lift passes. If you’re not up for hauling all your gear, you can rent skis, boots and poles for around KRW 30,000 for the day. Very reasonable.

Two other favorites of mine that have seen considerable improvement are Phoenix Park and High 1. Both are fully equipped to cater to larger crowds. I skied High 1 a few years ago with former co-workers and remember raving about it afterwards. Rentals and lift passes are also affordable here—KRW 80,000 can have you up on the slopes, with gear, to boot. There are plenty of rental shops on the drive into Phoenix Park that offer skis, boots, poles and snowboards. A great way to finish the day is to stop at any number of Korean BBQ restaurants along the road in for samgyeopsal, Korean pork barbeque, and makgeolli, Korean rice beer.

Despite YongPyong’s reputation as Korea’s largest ski resort, I found Phoenix Park a bit more upscale. It really depends on what you’re after.

The resort is decked out with a five-star hotel, condos for larger groups and a golf course. At just under a two–hour drive from Seoul, the resort has eight ski lifts, state-of-the-art gondolas and six conveyor belts that whiz skiers of all levels around the mountain.

I got my first ski experience in Korea a decade ago by grabbing a bus near Jamsil Station in Seoul. Buses still leave from there, and other buses depart from Dong Seoul Bus Terminal by Gangbyeon Station (Line 2),

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which means convenience is no longer an issue. I readily admit that any doubt I had when I first ventured out to YongPyong has long since been cast aside.

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Hitting the Slopes

11

Expats' Tales

THE POJANG MACHA Outdoor food stalls offer good food with a side of Korean warmth

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Written by Gregory Curley

I

t was a late Saturday afternoon. I had just completed a 10-kilometer hike scouring the jagged ridges on Saryangdo, a small island near the coastal city of Tongyeong in the southern part of Korea. While I was prepared for the hike, clambering up and down the fixed ropes needed to complete my trek took more out of me than I’d like to admit. That’s why when I reached the dock to catch my ferry back to the mainland, I was thrilled beyond belief when I saw several pojangmacha lined up waiting for me.

Okay, so they weren’t necessarily waiting for me, but you get the idea. They were there, sitting in all their orange-tented glory, ready for hikers and passers-by alike. In Seoul, pojangmacha, translated as “covered wagons” but easier to describe as street food stalls, are just about everywhere. Some specialize in sausages, sweet treats or spicy staples like tteokbokki, spicy rice cakes, and twigim, fried snacks. Coming down from the mountain, I was hoping at least one, if not more, of the stalls would have my favorite Korean hiking snack: haemul pajeon, fried seafood pancake.

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The Pojangmacha

포장마차

I neared the first stall but it was empty. My heart sank just a little, since I could tell by the burners and batter that whoever ran this stall had all the ingredients needed to make my beloved snack; however, he or she had momentarily stepped away. My gaze passed to the two other stalls nearby and was met with a delightful smile from a short ajumma, an older Korean woman. She beckoned me to come over by raising her arm and motioning to me. Despite being tired, I picked up the pace and obediently complied.

Her stall wasn’t large. From what I could tell, she had a two-burner gas range under a griddle and a small prep area. The counter had about a one-foot lip sticking out from it, but was enough for me to sit down on the hard plastic stool and use it as a table.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” I said sitting down.

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Her eyes gleamed back. “Annyeonghaseyo,” she said melodically.

Now my Korean isn’t the best, but thankfully, when it comes to pronouncing food, I’m usually spot-on. While I couldn’t craft a long, complete sentence inquiring about the menu, I simply intoned, “Haemul pajeon?”

A nod accompanied by “Ne,” or “yes” let me know that she understood.

She said something I couldn’t catch and when she sensed that I didn’t comprehend, this wonderful woman made her sentence simpler.

“Makgeolli?”

My eyes lit up and I nodded again. She reached into a cooler and retrieved the standard green bottle that I know oh-so-well from Seoul and gave me a small bowl from which to drink. Then she went to work.

She fired up the griddle and laid down a layer of batter. The heat from the iron below quickly made a sizzling sound as it began to cook. She added stalks of green onion and bits of seafood to the mixture as well.

While she was cooking, I saw a few other members from our group approaching. They also looked haggard from the trail, so I called them over. When they saw me pouring makgeolli into bowls for them, they hastened their pace. Tired, they plopped down beside me along the cart’s rim and we toasted not only to our adventure but also to the wonderful ajumma preparing our pajeon.

Our group quickly fell into a pattern of eating, drinking, and chatting.

It is exactly this spirit of camaraderie that makes dining at a pojangmacha enjoyable. A group of people, friends and non-friends alike, coming together to eat, drink and be merry. We finished our meal, paid the tab, thanked our host, and quickly made our way to the ferry before it left port. This experience isn’t unique or limited to Seoul. It’s a facet of life across all of Korea, and one that I truly love.

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The Pojangmacha

12

Expats' Tales

FISHING FOR FUN IN HWACHEON

The Sancheoneo Ice Festival offers visitors a memorable winter experience

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Written by Mimsie Ladner

M

y fingers are all but frozen and my nose is on the verge of falling off. Yet, I manage to conjure up every last ounce of patience I have left as I stare through the icy hole below me, checking my lure for the hundredth time this afternoon. I’ve traveled two hours from Seoul to the usually sleepy town of Hwacheon to catch a fish and I’m not going back until I do.

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Fishing for Fun in Hwacheon

This is my second visit to the Sancheoneo Ice Festival, a celebration of the region’s prized mountain trout and a tribute to Korea’s winter. Over a million people travel here every year to partake in the festivities, and the festival is consistently ranked one of the best in the country.

I look up from the frozen land and take in my surroundings.

Hundreds, if not thousands, have braved the subzero temperatures today with the same objective in mind. Donned in colorful winter gear and with a look of determination in their eyes, they bob waffle-shaped fishing rods up and down, some more methodically than others.

One Catch Lost, Three Earned My attention is brought back to my line when I feel a tug. Adrenaline begins pumping through my veins. I’ve caught one. Instinctively, I drop my pole and begin to pull up the line inch by inch until a sancheoneo, the mountain trout the festival is dedicated to, emerges from the ground, its slick skin glistening in the sun. “I’ve caught one!” I shout to my travel companion, who quickly readies her camera to capture the moment. Just as she releases the shutter button, the fish manages to escape the hook, flopping around desperately until it manages to plop back into the icy Hwacheon Stream. We laugh and decide to break for lunch.

We bring a single measly fish to the nearby barbeque pits where the

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staff is ready to exchange our catch for fish that have already been cleaned and prepared. “Only one?” the grillmaster questions. Embarrassed, we nod. He quickly returns with three fish wrapped in foil and hands them over when he realizes no one is watching. He winks at us as he ignites a briquette. After consuming every last bite of the tasty trout, we decide to explore the festival grounds. Although ice fishing is the main draw, it quickly becomes apparent that fishing is not the only attraction.

Nothing Fishy About It Ornate ice sculptures line the grounds. A majestic horse signifying the forthcoming Lunar New Year stands out and is flanked by an ice castle.

Nearby, friends challenge each other to games of ice soccer and groups compete in ice go-cart races. Locals and military personnel stationed in the area show off their creativity in a homemade sleigh competition. Just about every outdoor activity possible has been adapted to the ice; those not brave enough to participate watch in earnest, smiling.

Just as we are about to call it a day, we hear roars of excitement and follow them to find a frigid pool of festival participants who have traded their coats for t-shirts and shorts. Desperately, they reach out for squirmy trout with their bare hands, storing their catch in their shirts. The participants seem unmoved by the freezing temperatures and genuinely seem to be having the time of their lives. I even spot one man who has managed to catch a fish with his teeth. I admire his skill and devotion to the sport and wonder if I would be able to accomplish such a feat.

I head back to Seoul not having met my objective but I smile anyway, having experienced the beauty and fun the winter season brings to the snowy city of Hwacheon and the Sancheoneo Ice Festival each year. As for that fish I wanted to catch… I suppose there’s always next time.

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Fishing for Fun in Hwacheon

13

Expats' Tales

AN AMERICAN ON A KOREAN CAMPUS Korean universities offer a very different school experience

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Written by Michael Thompson

I

n a dense city with over a million residents, one would hardly expect to find a campus like that of Chonnam National University.

Despite its urban location within the southwestern metropolis of Gwangju, the sprawling campus is covered in green space. This includes sizable forests and a small farm, which make it popular with locals who traverse its walking paths throughout the day, as well as wildlife, such as ducks, who winter in the large pond adjacent to the back gate. A farm within a university? Not something I was used to. The university also boasts numerous educational facilities and inexpensive, modern living accommodations, so it is no major surprise that it was selected as one of 12 sites in the Korean Government Scholarship Program (KGSP) for international students looking to attend graduate school in Korea.

While attending Korean language courses, KGSP students from over 100 countries hope to pass a sufficient level of the Test of Proficiency in Korean (TOPIK) so they can move on to post-graduate study in schools across the nation. A monthly stipend is also provided and tuition is covered by the National Institute of International Education (NIIED).

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An American on a Korean Campus

Unfounded Doubts When I chose to enter this rapidly expanding program, I was excited to have a chance to experience studying at a world class institution of higher learning. Some of my friends and family at first doubted my decision to leave, but I assured them that the quality of education was on par with any institution at home. Additionally, I knew Korea would provide a safe environment for my studies where I could experience Korean culture first hand, make new friends and meet international students from all around the world. Once the opportunity that the Korean government was providing me became apparent to those around me, they fully supported my decision. I eagerly packed my bags and boarded the plane.

That being said, I admit that I was not immediately thrilled that I would first be studying away from the capital. What possible benefit was there to living in Gwangju instead of Seoul? But my biases against the city and region were unfounded. Gwangju is an amazing starting point for those wishing to understand the variety of Korean culture.

While undeniably Korean, Gwangju’s sights and sounds vary from those

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typically experienced on any cursory tour. Gwangju and the surrounding province of Jeollanam-do provide visitors with an array of pleasant surprises and mouth-watering delights. I have hiked to mountain-side temples in the midst of fall foliage, watched as a purple sun sank into the South Sea, savored the incredible tastes of traditional sundae, Korean blood sausage, and chueotang, mudfish soup, and strolled through an award-winning tea plantation. I did all this while feeling at home and welcomed. This is definitely not something I would have been able to experience while studying back home.

A Uniquely Korean Experience Some of the most unique experiences I have had were enjoying the various events that take place at CNU. School festivals in Korea are very different from their American counterparts. They’re actually fun. What’s more, students actually attend them. The annual school festival in the fall allowed me to socialize while sampling delicious staple fare such as tteokbokki and kimchi jeon at student-run tents. Drinks were also provided, another thing that doesn’t happen on an American campus, and impromptu student bands set up on campus lawns provided some unexpected entertainment. Spanning three fun-filled days, CNU’s festival is always open to the general public, but this did not diminish its youthful atmosphere. With seemingly the entire student body in attendance, it was impossible not to be swept up in the giddy excitement pulsing throughout the grounds. As with all great events, it ended on a high note—in this case, musically. The breakthrough indie pop band 10cm—very famous in Korea, I might add—capped off the magical night with an unforgettable performance. As I walked back to my dormitory, I marveled at the entire spectacle’s harmony: no fighting, some excited screaming, and mostly just pure fun.

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An American on a Korean Campus

14

Expats' Tales

THE EXEMPLAR OF CONVENIENCE

Seoul’s public transportation system is a joy to use

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Written by Charles Usher

T

o best appreciate a good public transportation system, it may be that you have to grow up in a town without one. I did. Or at least, I thought I did up until high school, when I learned that my small Midwestern city of 26,000 people actually had a bus system, which tells you pretty much all you need to know about its usefulness.

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The Exemplar of Convenience

Enormous Scope, Simple Convenience Unlike my hometown, Seoul is one of the largest and most densely populated metropolises in the world, with over 10 million people jammed into 605 square kilometers. To keep a city like that functioning, a public transportation system, and a good one, is a necessity, and the Korean capital has come up with one of the world’s best. Its subway system alone runs over hundreds of kilometers of track, encompasses nearly 500 stations, and links three provinces to the capital. The airport railroad takes passengers from Incheon International Airport, on an island off the peninsula’s west coast, to Seoul Station, downtown, in under an hour.

Its buses reach every corner of the city, often traveling in bus-only lanes, avoiding the worst of Seoul’s notorious rush hours.

Using Seoul’s public transportation is as easy as it is convenient.

On buses, all stops are announced in both Korean and English. On the subway, station names and many signs are provided in Japanese and Chinese as well. To take the bus or subway, single tickets can be purchased with cash, but far better are the T-Money transport cards, which can be bought and topped up at subway stations and convenience stores. Scan your card as you get on and off the subway or bus, and the card will automatically calculate the fare and enable free transfers between the

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two. While the price of many things in Seoul have caught up to or even surpassed those in other first-tier cities across the globe, public transport remains an incredible bargain, with base fares starting at only KRW 1,050.

Subway Wonders Admittedly, you lose certain things when you’re no longer driving a silver 1989 Toyota station wagon to get around, as I once did. The efficiency and amenities offered by the Seoul subway, however, make that a very small sacrifice. What you can’t do in your hatchback but can do on Line 1 is completely avoid rush hour traffic. You can also take advantage of the subway’s free 4G LTE and Wi-Fi to check your e-mail, surf the web and watch TV. Thanks to Korea’s peerless mobile infrastructure, you can make phone calls too, even when you’re 20 meters underground and beneath a river.

It’s also largely thanks to Seoul’s ever-expanding and ever-improving public transportation system that the city has seen major progress in its environment in recent decades. City buses now run on compressed natural gas. The subway carries over 2.5 billion riders annually, meaning that much less pollution created by car exhaust. The subway has also recently introduced special bike-friendly cars on weekends so that cyclists can travel with their bikes to their favorite cycling spots.

For both residents and visitors, though, perhaps the best aspect of Seoul’s exhaustive public transportation system is simply how accessible it makes the city, dispelling any need for a car. Seoul’s sheer size can at first be overwhelming, but its buses and subway trains make getting from point A to point B easy, providing endless opportunities to explore its myriad neighborhoods; to not worry about the journey and to just enjoy the destination.

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The Exemplar of Convenience

15

Expats' Tales

THE SNEAK PAY Eating out is a game riddled with intrigue

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Written by Jason Lane Cutler

M

y girlfriend mopped up the remainder of the dal makhani from the bowl with the last of her nan as my two older Korean friends seated across from us had settled into the depths of a comfortable Indian food coma. I stood and excused myself for a restroom break, walked a few steps and snuck a glance back. No one was looking my way but my girlfriend and she knew the stunt I was pulling: the Sneak Pay. I asked for the check at the front desk, paid and returned to my table. Eventually, after agreeing that the restaurant was indeed the best Indian restaurant in Seoul, we put on our coats and my two older friends approached the front desk while having a good-natured spat over who was to pay the bill. They turned to me with a look of reproach when the manager told them I had already taken care of it.

“I said I would pay this time!”

“I know,” I said, and politely added, “I don’t care.”

One friend huffed as the other sighed and both thanked me as we said our goodbyes at the subway station.

“Next time it’s on me.”

“Next time,” I said with sincerity, “be faster.”

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The Sneak Pay

Polite Cunning Is this brand of subterfuge really necessary? Of course not, but in Korea the process of determining who picks up the check is a game at which some people are experts, whereas I am but a bumbling simpleton.

I would rather circumvent the whole deal with a style some would term cute and others declare to be premeditated trickery.

Before judging me, please understand that it’s not uncommon to see amateur wrestling matches at the front desk as people fall over themselves

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and others in a panicked desperation to pay. People typically do not “Dutch pay” when eating in groups, instead entrusting one person with the obligation of covering the entirety of the expense. This is a task to be desired rather than dreaded, for what better honor can be had than to provide for one’s friends? Normally, payment of the first meal together is delegated to the oldest person in the group, for the respect given to elders is joined with the burden of responsibility. The second time, however, is a free-for-all.

Learning the Game This method of payment can be aggravating for a non-Korean who wants to contribute to the bill, but it has its advantages. First and foremost, it’s just plain easier. Many groups, especially after drinking, can take fifteen minutes to divide up a check and then obsess over determining exactly how much they owe. Putting one person in charge expedites the process and medicates the headache before it occurs. Second, if the same group of people goes out on a regular basis then everyone will eventually get an opportunity to pay, equalizing the duty and relieving consciences.

This brings me back to my two older Korean friends. Especially since they are my elders, shouldn’t I respect their request and allow them the pleasure of paying for my meal? The decision, etiquette-wise, can go either way. Executing a Sneak Pay is like putting money in the bank at interest: I know that my friends will fight to pay no matter what, so why should I not conveniently provide them with an incentive?

The culture of giving is very strong and is representative of the compassion endemic to many people. When friends are dismayed that I’ve stolen their opportunity to pay, I remind them of who I learned the Sneak Pay technique from in the first place. They usually smirk at that. And I smirk with them.

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The Sneak Pay

16

Expats' Tales

BIKING IN SEOUL The Hangang River is a good place to get around on two wheels

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Written by Brett Dahlberg

O

ne of the best ways to spot spring’s arrival in Seoul—after the cherry blossoms—is the increased traffic on the city’s bike paths. Bicycling on Korean roads can be frightening, but despite some street-level shortcomings, Seoul and its surroundings offer a vast array of bike-friendly resources. Nearly any part of the city is accessible on two wheels.

The Hangang River is the center of cycling in Seoul, bisecting the city on an east-west axis and flanked by parks and bicycle paths. Navigating the sheer number of people exercising on the paths on a sunny day can be a daunting proposition, but traffic tends to move leisurely, with plenty of room for faster riders to get by.

Acquiring a bike is the first step to riding it, and Seoul's bike facilities make that an easy task. At least six racks on both the north and south sides of the Hangang River, accessible with a quick walk from a nearby subway station, offer free bike rentals for two to three hours, with instructions in English and only a government-issued identification card needed as collateral. Several other rental facilities along the river charge

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Biking in Seoul

fees of around KRW 3,000 per hour. For more permanent ownership, Seoul's Craigslist maintains an active market for buying and selling bikes in English.

Hangang River cyclists need not worry about lugging supplies with them as they ride. The same facilities that rent bicycles also carry basic bike repair tools. Convenience stores, seemingly omnipresent across Seoul's urban landscape, are also common along the Hangang River bike paths. Best of all, local restaurants deliver food right to the parks—though the ability to speak and understand Korean is probably a prerequisite.

Watch Where You’re Going The area around Yeouido, near the geographical heart of Seoul on the south side of the Hangang River, is easily the most heavily used section of bike path in the city. It can be a dangerous area for riders, as tiny children

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charge blindly onto the path, couples meander obliviously in front of cyclists, and first-time riders try out their rented tandems, but it's a friendly space, with even the fastest riders slowing down and using their bells liberally. An abundance of bike rental stands, convenience stores and open green space, as well as springtime cherry blossoms, explain the area's popularity.

The paths along the Hangang River are generally flat and offer incomparable views of some of Seoul's most iconic buildings and bridges.

Riders who want to go further and maybe climb some hills, however, need only turn onto one of the river’s tributaries and head out of the city. Four smaller rivers enter the Hangang River in Seoul, and just like the river they empty into, they are flanked by bike and walking paths, usually separated from the street. Every Hangang River tributary that runs through Seoul connects the capital to some of its satellite cities in Gyeonggi-do. Follow those streams far enough, and the cities will peter out into low-rise buildings and eventually farmland.

Riders looking for a real heart-rate boost can look no further than Seoul's streets. Find a straight road—it'll turn or end unexpectedly. Find a flat stretch—it’ll suddenly climb straight up at a grade that seems to demand switchbacks. Find a low-traffic area—a delivery scooter will zoom by within inches. For riders who want to avoid such excitement, the paths along the Hangang River and its tributaries are well maintained and convenient areas to exercise, relax and see another side of Seoul.

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Biking in Seoul

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Expats' Tales

HANOK STAY Traditional housing for the modern visitor

Written by Gregory Curley

W

hether you’re Korea-bound or you’ve been calling the country home for the last little while, Hanok stays are a healthy alternative when you’re on the prowl for a place to lay your head for the night.

Historically relevant, environmentally friendly and ineffably elegant, the Hanok represents the cultural backbone of Korean heritage. They are also a truly great way to explore Korean heritage a little deeper.

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Hanok Stay

Broadly speaking, Hanok refers to the Korean traditional home. The sloping eaves, sturdy wooden pillars and beautifully intricate lattice work that adorns the doors and windows all lend to its truly unique design.

Sure, one can fork out for a hotel with all the trappings of modernity, but it certainly won’t add any level of uniqueness or exclusivity to the trip at hand.

Many of a Kind Hanok structures vary in size, with some being relatively large and featuring a guest house attached to a main building, while others are smaller with only a limited number of bedrooms and a living room.

Hanok also offer various programs to experience Korean culture even further, including tea ceremonies, pottery making, painting and even traditional folk games.

A personal favorite of mine is Rak Ko Jae, somewhat of a boutique Hanok guesthouse. Located in the heart of Seoul but designed to keep the rush of the city well outside its walls, the grounds here are immaculately kept and beautifully preserved. Unlike many other modernized Hanok guesthouses, the owners at Rak Ko Jae haven’t compromised authenticity at any corner.

Comprising antique furniture, hanji-pasted windows, or windows decorated with traditional mulberry paper, assortments of clay sculptures and various other colorful artwork, the rooms at Rak Ko Jae are fitted with televisions and modern bathroom amenities. Witnessing

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the grounds during daylight is memorable in itself, but Rak Ko Jae’s true elegance is more apparent at night when its wooden lanterns bathe the inner courtyard in a calming glow.

Not Just for the Past Although much of the infrastructure has been renovated to accommodate individuals or larger groups, the Hanok has retained its traditional, rustic charm. Seoul’s affluent areas, like neighboring Bukchon, make it hard to believe that the houses were once a sign of poverty, considered behind the times and impractical.

It’s also neat to note that given Korea’s Confucian roots, Hanok were built to accommodate inhabitants in relation to their social rank. Men were housed in rooms called sarangchae and women in separate quarters called anchae, while servants slept in the smaller room closest to the front door.

Another advantage of staying in Hanok housing is the optimal cooling and heating system, thanks in large part to its architecture. Hanok can be characterized by their dual flooring, ondol and maru, with ondol being the stone flooring heated from below with a fire-heating system, and maru refering to the raised wooden flooring, porous and cool in the summer. This innovative architectural design staves off the heat during the summer and traps warmth during the winter. A far better alternative to being blasted by air conditioning units and suffocating in overheated rooms, Hanok are naturally climate-controlled to allow for a more than comfortable stay.

That being said, the trend does seem to be catching on now, more so than when I arrived just over a decade ago. As the number of Hanok hotels rises, however, it’s best to research them carefully so as not to end up sacrificing authenticity at the expense of popularity.

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Hanok Stay

18

Expats' Tales

CULTURE ON COLLEGE STREET Seoul’s theater district, Daehangno is filled with drama and passion

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Written by Sakura Huey

T

here is little I enjoy more than an orchestra tuning their instruments in the moments before the curtain rises. The excitement that fills the hall when cell phones are turned off and each person settles in for a one- or two-hour escape from their daily life is a delight shared by all who love live performances. Whether you’re enjoying a show from the plush seats of a theater or a wooden bench outside, the small northeastern neighborhood known as Daehangno, or “College Street,” offers a homegrown arts experience unlike anything else in the city.

Seoul’s Off-Broadway Once the home of Seoul National University, Daehangno was taken over by theaters, coffee shops, restaurants and clothing stores after the school relocated to south of the Hangang River in the 1970s. While Seoul has much to offer in the way of live theater, the streets of Daehangno are always abuzz with fresh and exciting shows. Filled with small, black box style venues, the neighborhood is a hotbed for Korean stage

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Culture on College Street

talent. The area’s few large theaters are still surrounded by a thriving indie scene, which includes everything from original works written and performed by Koreans to popular dramas and movies that have been made into musicals for fans. The popularity of some of the shows has translated into multiyear runs—an impressive feat for a city as large as Seoul. “Thrill Me” is one such production. A crime heist story that only saw minimal success in the United States, it has since found enthusiastic audiences in Korea and is now a mainstay of the Daehangno world. Staged countless times and with a different cast and director every year, it has become a modern classic—always drawing my interest to see what each new production will bring. Other shows are complete originals being tested on local audiences, an attempt to see who can earn the elusive standing ovation.

In Daehangno, the most famous of the Korean musical actors and actresses rub elbows with up-and-coming stars. Walking the streets,

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one can see and hear the hawkers wearing sandwich boards promoting different (and often affordable) shows each night. After the curtain falls, the actors will normally greet patrons near the box office—a gesture to honor their devoted fans.

Street Performances, Too If watching live theater is not your cup of tea, then grab a coffee and head over to Marronnier Park. On any Saturday or Sunday afternoon, look to the shade of the chestnut trees for impromptu live performances from a diverse array of local musicians. I recently enjoyed two older men who put on a lively guitar and drum set and heckled the crowd in between songs.

Their repertoire somehow included both K-pop covers and Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” Over a hundred people sat captivated for an hour, while, across the park, next to women selling trinkets on a blanket, three young college students beatboxed with only a mic and an amp, making a fine attempt at stealing the attention from the seasoned pros.

In the summer months, the coffee shops are filled with students and those who want to people-watch. Outdoor seating is available to relax with an iced coffee or patbingsu, and live music can be heard from the second-floor terraces of pubs nearby.

After business hours, the nightlife is alive but not rowdy, mostly because students go elsewhere to dance. In Daehangno, the best way to unwind is having a cool cocktail or beer with friends or a lover while pop music plays in the background. This little pocket of Seoul is one of my favorite places to visit in Korea time and time again. There is something wonderful about the streets coming alive with art and music in a communal way. Be it in a crowded theater or sitting in the park, once you exit Hyehwa Station, the streets of Daehangno are there to welcome you.

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Culture on College Street

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Expats' Tales

RIGHT ON TIME Learning traditional music by exploring Koreans’ concept of time

Written by Jocelyn Clark

T

he bloody wounds that mark a new player’s fingers. This is the first image that comes to mind when I look back on my first year of studying the gayageum, a traditional zither-like string instrument. Somehow I’d managed to land a scholarship to study at the National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts in Seoul (now the National Gugak Center) several years before it would establish its first program for foreigners.

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Right on Time

Old School The second image is that of a phone booth in Seoul’s Sillim-dong, outside my boarding house. It was 1992—back in that ancient period before the country became completely wired, before beeper pagers, cell phones or email. Anxious exam students lined up outside the phone booth would start banging on the glass if I spoke with my parents back in Alaska for more than a few minutes. There were only four subway lines, and city busses would pass in angry clusters, the driver of the front bus gesticulating at passengers to take the one behind it. If you didn’t manage to catch one of them, you’d have to wait another hour for the next cluster.

These limited means of communication and transport did not make keeping appointments easy, so people would routinely show up two hours late or not at all. My gayageum teacher was no exception in this regard.

Here on a scholarship for the sole purpose of studying the instrument, I eventually expressed my frustration to the institute’s director, who had generously secured my position. With a wry smile, he suggested that the solution to my problem was to listen to more “court music,” known as jeongak, paying particular attention to its heterophony, or the way individual instruments play the same melody but at somewhat different times. If I were to do that, he said, I might discover that Koreans’ relationship to time was quite different than that of Westerners. Along the way, he added, I might gain a more profound understanding of Korea and the music I’d come here to study.

Different Time, Different Tune At the time, one of the few concert venues for traditional music was the regular Saturday concerts held by the center. If you went to every Saturday performance throughout the year, you could (and still

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can) get a very good overview of all genres of traditional music. The concerts always started with some kind of court music, which I suddenly found myself listening to with new ears. For instance, in Sujecheon (“Long life, Immeasurable as the Heavens”), perhaps the jeongak genre’s most representative piece, I began to notice how individual instruments slowly danced around their final destination in a different way, each reaching the goal tone at a different point in time. At certain junctures in the rhythm cycle, the whole orchestra would come together momentarily, on a single note, before each part moved on, slowly. The sounds of some instruments, however, would busily wind their way to the next stop on a road prepared by the impressive court ajaeng, an instrument with thick silk strings played with a bow of rosined forsythia.

Until recently, the measurements for playing “in time” and “in tune” in Korea were never calculated in the ways I grew up with playing oboe in the West—to the beats per minute of a metronome and the tempered cents and hertz of a tuning machine. But now, the instrument maker at Nangye Gugak Instrument Production Village builds such machines directly into student models of the gayageum, so beginners can tune and count electronically instead of by ear.

Somehow, the more metronomes and tuning machines that are used to meter the tempo and tones of Korean music, the more the busses run on time. Increasingly, Koreans move through the minutia of busy, perfectly scheduled lives with metronomic, finely tuned precision. And it’s not unusual these days that I find myself asking to be forgiven for being a few minutes late.

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Right on Time

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Expats' Tales

FIRST TIME’S A CHARM The lure and charm of Seoul’s biggest palace

Written by Noe Alonzo

C

oming from the United States, it wasn’t every day that I got to step foot in a palace. Gyeongbokgung Palace, right behind Seoul’s famous Gwanghwamun Square, was my first palace, and an impressive one at that. I cannot explain the feeling of stepping through the main gates. To simplify the emotion, the feeling borders between disbelief and conquest. I must have come at the wrong time, though, since my feeling was interrupted by the changing of the guards. It wasn’t really that exciting, but I got a kick out of watching the fakest beards ever, although there were other things that caught my attention, too.

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First Time’s a Charm

First Impressions Can Be Deceiving The first thing that caught my attention was the size of the palace. I was expecting something much taller, but it makes up for its height with its immense perimeter. It is almost like a city, a small metropolis complete with a sewage system, a lake, and a pond with a beautiful pagoda as an island.

Unfortunately, you aren’t allowed into the pagoda, which is perhaps a good thing, since the overload of tourists would probably sink it. The pagoda does have a name, Hyangwonjeong, which I would never have actually known were it not for the cute tour guides that came on in intervals. Gyeongbokgung Palace sure knows how to choose its guides.

I wasn’t part of any tour, but I was content to take a few pictures and walk around aimlessly. Gyeongbokgung Palace is, after all, a very photogenic place and the autumn season only amplifies its beauty. My next destination was the nearby Gyeonghoe-ru Pavilion. I can’t exactly say how long I spent at these two sites since clear blue skies and orange foliage combined with splendid architecture made the minutes and hours fly by. Yet no matter which angle I chose, there was always a good picture waiting to be taken.

Small But Important There was also something that caught my eye repeatedly: the presence of lion-like creatures called haetae. Perhaps, they are some type of protector? These haetae sculptures were everywhere, especially at entrances. Most notable to me were their placement on the tiles of roofs, adding much more décor than I had anticipated.

Despite the palace being grandiose in scale, it was the small details that kept me in place the longest. The décor is the main reason that I feel

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one day at Gyeongbokgung Palace is simply not enough. It seemed that everywhere I looked there was some small detail that was left unnoticed, whether it was the tiles on the roof, the colorful ceilings with ornamented dragons, and even the bricks on the floor.

There were also the fish. Part of me almost felt as if some magical expectation had been met the first time I saw live koi fish in the stream.

Growing up, I had always seen koi on television when anything Asian was on, so witnessing them firsthand helped to validate the entire experience.

Not Just a Snapshot Across the Geumcheon stream was Geunjeongjeon Hall, or the throne hall. Unfortunately, I was unable to enter, which is a shame, since I felt that it would have made my experience much richer. Still, Geunjeongjeon Hall stood grandiosely. It deserves special mention since it feels so spacious and disconnected from the rest of the palace. Not to mention, it made for some very nice pictures.

I could have been lost within that palace all day, but unfortunately the palace must follow operating hours. This is not to say that this was my last time to visit Gyeongbokgung Palace.

Gyeongbokgung is not one of those tourist traps that one goes to and scratches off their list. To truly appreciate it, you have to go many times, and that is what I intend to do.

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First Time’s a Charm

21

Expats' Tales

THE REPLACEMENT DRIVERS Getting home after a night of fun is never a problem in Korea

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Written by Aaron Martinson

M

y experiences with the designated driver services in Korea have been safe, effective, financially viable and actually kind of fun at times.

When I was first told about the option to have a driver take me and my car home by a driver for hire, I felt uncomfortable. I thought that it sounded too good to be true, that there must be a catch. Now, however I am perfectly comfortable with the service, and unless something changes for the worse, I will always be a fan of the driving program known in Korean as daeriunjeon, which literally means “replacement driver.�

First Time for Everything My first experience using the replacement driver service was in Incheon after a wedding. I had attended a wedding of a friend, and weddings often involve liberal amounts of alcohol and celebration. I had heard about the service before, but never had a real reason to use it. This time, though, a lack of other options made me willing to try it. Although I was probably still legally capable of driving, I felt that it was a better choice

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The Replacement Drivers

to use a driver instead of risking a possible problem, which could result in financial burden or, in my case, a complication with my work visa.

I had a friend call because they did not offer English service. He told me that the driver would arrive within 15 minutes, and he did. The driver arrived promptly, took me to my apartment complex and parked safely in my lot. After becoming familiar with this service I started noticing flyers on the streets advertising driver businesses near bar districts, which I thought was a great idea.

When I moved to Seoul from Incheon I noticed that the designated driver service wasn’t as common in my community, but I needed and felt comfortable using it, so I sought it out. I found the process in Seoul to be very similar.

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Better than Cabs My most recent experience with a replacement driver was when I needed to travel with my car and a friend to the opposite side of the city after a couple of beers. This time, I was able to order the driver on my own with my broken Korean, and the driver promptly arrived at our location. When he started driving, the driver explained that we were not only his first customers of the day but that we were his first customers ever. He had just started a new job, and this honestly made me a little nervous at first. After a few minutes, however, I realized that he was more cautious than most taxi drivers.

Prices for the service vary according to distance, and whether or not you cross into another district, but generally speaking, the service comes out to only a little more than a cab fare. Considering that a normal taxi would have cost me around KRW 15,000, and that the driver service was only 20,000, it was 5,000 won well spent. After using this service multiple times, I can only hope that more countries and cities implement this great idea.

I’ve been told that this service is subsidized by local governments, which means that if you’re living in Korea, you are already paying for replacement drivers in one way or another. Anyone who owns a car in Korea should find out how to use this tremendously practical and useful way to get home after a night on the town.

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The Replacement Drivers

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Expats' Tales

THE BELL OF BOSINGAK Witnessing the start of the New Year at Jongno’s historic pavilion

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Written by Melissa Watkins

J

ust when I thought I had gotten used to the crowds in Seoul, I went to Bosingak, the great bell pavilion in the Jongno neighborhood of the capital. New York City has Times Square, London has Big Ben and Seoul has the Bosingak bell, a massive bronze instrument standing in a Joseon-era belfry that is rung 33 times at midnight on Jan. 1 to mark

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The bell of Bosingak

the beginning of the New Year. Massive crowds come out to hear it, so much so that the nearby subway station is closed and crowds start amassing at the next nearest stations. This is where I found myself with a million other people one New Year’s Eve last December, slowly ascending from the underground station and out onto the street in search of fresh air. From there it was a party parade, following the crowd at an inchworm’s pace through a route helpfully marked by lines of neon-coated police officers blocking off the quieter areas of the neighborhood and a few brave street vendors selling snacks.

An age-old tradition Bosingak is located in the Jongno neighborhood, or “Bell Street,” which gives an idea of how significant the belfry and surrounding pavilion are to the city’s history. Like most Korean traditional architecture in Seoul, stumbling onto it is a bit of a shock amid the modern skyscrapers and bright lights that now make up the city. Still, the historic area is a fitting home for the massive relic, which was used to tell time in the Joseon era, much like a clock tower.

The original bronze bell, made in 1468, now resides in the National Museum of Korea, having sustained a fair amount of damage over the centuries. The new bell, cast in 1985, is worth a look due to its intricate decorative work, but you’ll never get near it on New Year’s Eve. Save that for a day trip to Seoul at some other point in the year. I didn’t even try to get into the belfry, which on this specific night was cordoned off behind a sparkling stage hosting a lineup of pop stars and celebrity personalities to entertain the crowds over the course of the evening. If you arrive early

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enough, you may find the perfect place to stand and see your favorite divas. Even though I got there at 10:30 p.m., I quickly realized that the crowd was too thick to get within the sightlines of the pavilion. I was initially disappointed, but I decided to relax, listen to the fun over the speakers and people-watch instead.

Joining the crowd I bought a packet of roasted chestnuts from a cheerful street vendor at the beginning of the long, police-lined walk to the pavilion and had already made an early stop at a nearby Hi-Mart for a bottle of champagne.

As much as I thought I wanted to see the live show and be close to the bell for the main event, I found that I had a great time wandering through the crowd, snapping pictures and sharing champagne with other revelers.

As I shared paper cups of champagne with a young newlywed couple and took silly selfies with young college students eager to say “Happy New Year” in English to anyone they could, I realized that I found the Bosingak partiers far friendlier than New Yorkers or Londoners. Looking back, I can certainly say that it was well worth it. I may not have seen the dancing K-pop stars and struggled to comprehend a comedian’s best crowd-pleasing jokes broadcast over the speakers, but I made friends and acquaintances and have a slew of wonderful picture memories.

Finally, midnight arrived, and with it came the ringing of the bell – 33 times, as promised. The first five times stunned the crowd into a temporary silence, but rings six through 31 were met with mini-cheers and the omnipresent chatter of a million people standing in one place.

Ring number 33 drew huge cheers all around and, of course, shouts of “Happy New Year!”

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The bell of Bosingak

Discoveries of Korea

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales

22 Expats , Tales

비매품

KOCIS

ISBN 978-89-7375-594-3 (세트)

Discoveries of Korea 22 Expats , Tales