Silent Seoul

It's amazing how the turn of a corner or a few steps off the beaten path or a particular time or day can give way to a world apart from the hustle and bustle of the big city.




Seoul's main corporate business district on Yeouido Island,
known as the "Manhattan" of Seoul.
Sunday afternoon.



Yeouido Park's Ecological Forest

Man praying in Buddhist Temple at entrance to Bukhansan National Park.
Just outside the temple gates, scores of hikers stream by on
their way to the mountains.

Haetae Statue

Haetae Statue at Gwanghwamun Gate.
In ancient Korea, the haetae, a mythical creature
resembling a lion, served as a guardian against natural
disasters and a symbol of law and order.

Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra

When we left Spooner for Seoul, I thought there was a good chance we'd get to take in a few events more momentous and memorable than, say, Jackpine Savage Days or Friday nite fish fry at Pair o' Lakes Resort (although those of you who have eaten there on a Friday night may argue that little in life is more memorable than Sherry's Special).  And so, when the music director at Stacey's school offered up tickets to attend a performance of the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra at the Seoul Arts Center, we embraced the opportunity.

Sophie, the music director, is married to a wonderfully gifted musician who currently holds the principal trumpet seat in the orchestra.  In recent years, under the direction of a charismatic Korean conductor, the Seoul Philharmonic has joined the ranks of the best symphony orchestras in the world.

The Seoul Arts Center is south of the Han River which bisects Seoul east to west.  Our home territory is up north.  Seven of us, four rookies and three old-timers who have been here a year, met up and caught a bus from school to Seokgye subway station about dusk.  When we hopped off the bus at Seokgye, the street food vendors were out in full force.  I love the bright colors of their illuminated stands and the delicious aromas of their offerings.  I could have stayed put right there, sat down on the curb, and stuffed my face all night long.  My insatiable appetite for greasy street food would have to be put on hold though for the time being.  There was no time to waste.

We boarded the subway for about a forty-five minute ride south.  We had to transfer once.  Somewhere along one of the two lines, our gang of seven was separated a bit, and I was closest to Stacey, Brittany, and Suanne -- three North American Korea rookies.  Koreans tend to be quite reserved and subdued on the subway.  Many sleep, yet somehow, wake up just in time for their stop.  Three North American women together do not sleep on the subway.  They converse, loudly and constantly, even when seated on opposite sides of the aisle.  Luckily, we were not shushed.

The plan was to meet Sophie, and a few other stragglers making their own way down, at the Arts Center.  We emerged from the Nambu station after nightfall.  We all knew the center was about a ten minute walk in some direction, the unknown being what direction.  Suanne declared we could go this way or that way pointing in two different directions.  We opted for this way.  We wandered around a while until our mild state of confusion gave way to absolute and total bewilderment.  "Lost" never crossed our minds because we knew if we looked befuddled enough, some good-hearted Korean would rescue us.

It never even reached the point of rescue, at least not a frantic rescue, as we simply started waving our tickets around, and sure enough, a kindly Korean gentleman motioned for us to take thirty more paces forward, turn left, and eureka, we had arrived.

Our entourage moved into the plaza where we were to meet Sophie.  We milled around looking helpless, and sure enough, Sophie found us.  She began to point out the highlights of the Seoul Arts Center.  Being more worldly than Stacey and I, she asked if we'd ever been to Lincoln Center in New York City so she could use it to draw analogies.  I assured her we hadn't, but if it's anything like what I was seeing, it's very grand.

We were seated in the concert hall with little time to spare.  The printed program was in Korean so I had no idea what to expect next, other than music.  The performance was under the direction of a guest conductor from Poland.  Good thing too.  Sophie informed me that if the usual Korean conductor (who has taken on rock star status) was in the house, she would not have been able to scrounge up tickets.

The performance was grand, even to the musically challenged like me.  The conductor leapt and pranced and lurched fitfully.  The trumpets trumpeted, the flutes fluted, the harps harped, and a violinist front row and center outfiddled the devil.  It was all very pleasing to the ear.

Don't ask me what compositions were being performed.  I don't know; that is, with the exception of what, for lack of the proper musical term, I will call the second part.  It was then a buxom gal in a teal, chiffon dress emerged.  She stood in stark contrast to the black and white clad orchestra players.  The orchestra played and she sang beautifully as the projected lyrics in both the original German and the translated Korean filled a large area of the overhead wall.  

She was singing in German, but, once again, I was clueless as to the title or origin of the work.  But I was clever enough to memorize a few of the work's subtitles that flashed on the wall.  I am fully aware of the power of Google.  Go home, enter a key word or two, and all the accumulated knowledge in the history of man fills the computer screen.

For you music lovers out there, I took it upon myself to do a little research.  I know that runs counter to my shoot from the hip nature, but I've been known to go above and beyond the call of duty on momentous occasions.  As I referred to early on, there just hasn't been that many of those.  Thanks to my excessive diligence and abundant curiosity, I can tell you that the lovely lady's segment of the concert was a 19th century work by the German composer Richard Wagner, commonly referred to as  "The Wesendonck Lieder".

Upon completion of her fine performance, the audience clapped and cheered and clapped some more.  She exited but the clapping continued.  She returned and clapped along with the audience, hesitating momentarily, as she swept her outstretched arm acknowledging the orchestra.  A crescendo of clapping ensued.  She exited again, only to be called back by yet more clapping.  She bowed humbly before the audience.  That went over really well as the clapping rose to thunderous proportions.  Grateful folks in the audience clapped until calluses protruded from their palms.  Seldom have I witnessed such appreciation.

An intermission followed the diva's aria after which the orchestra played on.  Occasionally, from the onset of the concert, there were brief lulls in the performance as the tone and tempo of the music shifted gears.  Somehow, the audience knew not to commence clapping at those times, but used the hesitations as an opportunity to expel all those suppressed coughs that had been pent up in lungs.  The cacophony of coughing and hacking was not as pleasing as what had preceded it, but was unique in its own, gee whiz, those people must have been suffering sort of way.

The music was quiet and poignant at times and loud and robust at others.  The audience was moved.  A gal seated immediately to my right, now and again, imitated the antics of the conductor.  She did a nice job of limiting her gyrations to her confined space and I was able to avoid getting whacked upside my head.

At the concert's close, more clapping erupted and went on endlessly.  People clapped until those recently formed calluses were worn off their hands.  The Polish conductor singled out Sophie's husband for an ovation.  As he stood in acknowledgement, a rousing cheer arose from the home team in my proximity.

Being insiders in Sophie's company, our little gang hung around the back door following the show, waiting for her husband to emerge.  Stacey and I were pleased to meet him for the first time.  We even got to congratulate his friend, the guy who outfiddled the devil, in person.

It was time to split up.  Some of us shuffled off to the entertainment district of Itaewon for a nightcap and some of us headed for the Nambu station to catch a subway ride home.  Stacey and I were part of the subway crowd.  Old age setting in, I guess.



   



   

The End is Near

I was settling in to read a book to a circle of kindergarten kids this afternoon.  I pulled my reading glasses from my shirt pocket and put them on.  "Why do you need glasses?", asked one curious girl.  "Sometimes, when you get old, you need glasses to help you see better," I explained.  To which another little girl with attentive, big, brown eyes added, "Ya, and then you die."

Bukhansan

Bukhansan National Park looking south from
Dobongsan Station area

Seoul Lifelong Learning Festival



In Wisconsin, we have festivals dedicated to beer and bratwurst.
Koreans have festivals celebrating lifelong learning.
Cause for concern?  Maybe not. 
See ensuing photo.



If only I could have understood this story,
I am sure I would not have found it as
ho hum as their demeanors let on.

This better fit my expectations.

There was fun... 

...and games...

...and food.

Yeouido Park Cultural Plaza
nearing the conclusion
of
Seoul Lifelong Learning Festival
September 9, 2012

Gwanghwamun Square



Along Gwanghwamun Square in the heart of Seoul




Music Fountain
Gwanghwamun Square

Music Fountain
Statue of Yi Sun-Shin
16th Century Korean Naval Commander

Mamma Mia!

Miasamgoeri.  The word flows so trippingly off the tongue that it's a delight to say.  "Mia" is a particular neighborhood in Seoul.  "Sam" is the Sino-Korean equivalent of "three".  Literally, Miasamgoeri is "three-way junction in Mia".  The Korean pronunciation somewhat matches the English spelling which isn't always the case.  Try "Cheonggyecheon".  See what I mean?  Miasamgoeri.  It's melodious.

So, superficially judging a place by its name, I may well have been predisposed to like the neighborhood above and around the Miasamgoeri subway station.  It's about a twenty minute stroll down Wolgye-ro to the southwest of our humble abode.  Mia is indeed a junction at the confluence of three main arteries.  Busy is the key word.  Be prepared to age a bit while waiting for the traffic light's little green man to flash on allowing you to cross.

My first visit to Mia was not all that remarkable but for a near death experience.  That was back in early August.  It was hot and humid times ten.  It's not good to sit in air conditioning all day, I told myself.  Gotta get out. Explore.

I had yet to discover the abundance of small, Korean food markets and quaint eateries right outside my door and the allure of a mega Emart drew me down Wolgye-ro.  I hadn't quite figured out the bus routes yet so walking was my best option.  All that stood between me and a plenitude of familiar foods were waves of heat shimmering off blistering, hot pavement and a mini mountain of sorts.

I knew Seoul is not flat before arriving here.  That's a bit of an understatement.  Wolgye-ro cuts through a rather substantial ridge on the way to Mia; that is, the road cuts through the ridge.  The sidewalks do not.  They go up, up, up, and over.  Climbing inclines that steep during a tropical heat wave can induce heat exhaustion.  I'm happy to say I was aware of that.  I took my time, stopped frequently, and begged gulps of water off total strangers.  The downhill side went much better despite a lingering faintness and blurry vision.  The best Mia had to offer me that day was getting there and back.

After that rigorous day, Stacey and I began to discover that Miasamgoeri was our "go to" subway station.  It's about equidistant from our home with a couple other stations, but, in the case of Mia, the city buses pick us up and deposit us right at our door.  Once you've accessed the Seoul subway system, you're in a magical underground world where you can zip around, transferring freely, ending up anywhere you desire in the city.

After several recent subway outings to far reaches of the city, Stacey and I found ourselves usually transferring to the Miasamgoeri line so we could catch an easy bus ride back to our apartment building.  Mia is a happening place after dark.  There's electricity in the air.  Neon lights glow.  Horns honk.  Street vendors peddle their wares.  Swarms of smartly dressed people scurry about.

Down side alleys, sidewalk tables are full of diners.  Tempting, delicious food smells are pervasive.  Men sit and talk over Cass beer spiked with Soju (a clear, rather flavorless, cheap, distilled spirit which I guess is nothing more than a buzz enabler).  They pour a glass of beer, a shot of soju, and empty the shot glass into the beer.  Cheers!

We found Mia likeable.  Mia was beginning to take on the feel of home.  And then I discovered that, thanks to the accommodating bus routes, Mia provides the quickest run to pick up imported beers.  Labels like Guinness, Smithwick's, and Duvel await.  There's scarcely need to don outdoor shoes.  Catch the #9 bus down, dash into ground floor of Emart (nice of my Emart friends to display beer on the first floor instead of  fourth or fifth), hurry up the friendly clerk, and back on the bus, treasure in tow.  I can do it all and be back home stocking the fridge in under twenty-three minutes.

Last weekend, Stacey and I were enhancing our home decor and decided we needed new bedroom curtains.  It was a gorgeous evening and we also wanted to get in a walk.  I suggested a hike to Mia and a bus ride back home.  Instead of heading down Wolgye-ro, I turned into the park across from us, intending to catch a different southerly route that borders the far side of the park.  I'd never taken it, but had heard of it.

Stacey questioned me.  She thought we were walking down Wolgye-ro.  It was one of those husband-wife moments when opinions diverge.  I told her I thought we could take an unfamiliar route, and, since it was something new and special and out of the ordinary, we could count it as a date night.  I'm not sure she fell for that, but she did agree to my route.

It was early evening, but darkness was closing in (no daylight savings time in Korea).  Soon, music filled the air and lights danced.  Darned if there wasn't live music in the park.  Jazzy Korean you could call it.  Trombone, percussion, the whole nine yards.  It was intoxicating without the soju.  What a sublime way to pass a beautiful, early autumn evening.  I was right.  It was date night.  And all this just on the way to Mia.

Had we known of music in the park, we would have brought along a lawn blanket and spent the entire evening there.  But, of course, we had other plans.  We found the alternate southerly track to Mia and ventured forth.

Now, burdened with our North American background, we are of the mindset that being in unknown areas of big cities after dark can be cause for concern.  So, at this stage of such adventures, Stacey usually has a minor panic attack as to our whereabouts.  I can sometimes calm her nerves by pretending to know where I am.  Tonight was no exception, but the siren call of Mia was enticing and, intrepidly, we pressed on.  Fortune smiled on us.  Our new route landed us smack dab amid the glories of Mia.

Genuinely bedazzling is an apt description of Mia.  It's showtime every night and all you have to do is pry your way on in to become part of the act.  I had read a description of Seoul's public places as "move or be moved".  That's somewhat true along Mia's thoroughfares, but there is a maze of sidestreets and alleyways to explore that provide ample elbow room.

Koreans do merchandising on a grand scale.  A side alley vendor in Mia sells only bags and purses.  There appears to be enough bags for all ten million people in Seoul to buy two.  And, moving on, you'll see more shoes than there are feet in the world, and all those shoes are displayed in a big, jumbled heap.  But the action is on the street and that's the place to be.

It all awaits.  The lights, the motion, the noise, the shops, the foods, the people.  Mia surely is a spicy meatball.

Yeouido Park

Yeouido Park, Seoul

I've Seen Kindergarten From Both Sides Now

Stacey's already into week four with her kindergarten kids in the classroom.  I've seen all eight of her charges up close and they are absolutely darling.  Upper grade teachers stop and fawn over them as Stacey parades them single file through the hallways en route to art, music, gym class, or wherever they may need to go. 
                                                                                                                                                              . 
During week one, being week one, single file was a very loose definition of the hallway formation.  Back then, the wished for line more closely resembled  a can of worms when a fisherman sticks a finger down in the container and pokes around for bait.  Lots of wiggling, squirming, and entanglement.

By week four, quiet has taken on an entirely new meaning versus week one.  The line's decibel level then was roughly the equivalent of a busy Seoul market.  I'm pleased to report that Stacey's repeated shushings along with the bestowal of over four thousand scratch and sniff stickers have worked magic.  Single file has begun to resemble single file and whispering abounds.  It's funny though how one solution can create a new problem.  When the reward sticker is applied to the back of the hand, each student sniffs at it and then attempts to stick a hand up the nearest kid's nose so as to share the pleasant, bubblegum aroma.

This is not just hearsay.  I've witnessed it all firsthand.  To those of you who know me well or perhaps even a little, did I hear you gasp?  After years and years of failing to lure me, Stacey has finally persuaded me to assist in the classroom when students are present.  With a remarkable lack of tasty craft beers to hunt down in Korea, I was finally able to free up some time to accommodate her wishes.

Now, don't go worrying about my health and start thinking, "Rod, that's great, but don't overdo it."  I only help out a little at the end of a few days each week.  But even with limited hours, it's demanding work.  I'm beginning to understand "frazzled". 

Since I'm such a great helper, Stacey has begun to occasionally suggest that it would be nice if I could show up every afternoon from half past one to half past three.  That smacks of a full-time job to me and I'm not sure I want any part of it.  Flextime suits me fine.  I am having fun in the classroom though, and kindergarten has definitely become a part of my very being.

Stacey and I had Korean language class one late afternoon last week.  It turned out to be a private lesson with our tutor, Miss Emily, since our fellow classmates (other new teachers) were gone on retreat.  Miss Emily is divinity embodied.  She teaches Korean literature and language and is very deserving of accolades and awards.  Think of the kindest, most diligent teacher you ever had.  That's Miss Emily.  And then, she tells us she's honored to have us in her class.  That's Korea.  You can't help but love it here.

Beginners need to begin at the beginning no matter how old.  Remember worksheets from back in kindergarten and maybe first grade on which you'd trace dotted lines so as to learn the correct strokes of letter formation.  The characters of the Korean alphabet are entirely new to Stacey and I, so back to the worksheets we went.  Under the watchful eye of Miss Emily, Stacey and I sat and traced dotted line Korean equivalents of "A" and "B" and so on.

It was somewhat humbling to be back at kindergarten level as a student and, suddenly, an empathy and awareness of the challenges and travails of a young learner enveloped me.  And just as suddenly, another awareness hit me.  As Miss Emily spoke, I sprang from my chair and headed for the door.

"Where are you going, Rod?", Miss Emily asked. 

"I gotta go potty," I replied unabashed. 

"Well, go ahead, but next time try to do that before we begin," she instructed.

I broke into a dead run, flung the classroom door open, and lit out for the restroom.

Having finished my business, I took great delight in splashing water around in the washbasin and making a mountain of soapsuds.  Unannounced, Miss Emily poked her head into the restroom doorway.  "Remember bathroom manners, Rod," she intoned lovingly.  "Do you need time in the thinking chair?"

"No...No," I squealed as I squirted past her and ran back to the classroom.

With a momentary return to order, Miss Emily revealed an ink pad and alphabet character stamps that we could use to stamp out combinations to form simple words.  Stacey and I, side by side, worked dutifully attempting to create the short words presented by our teacher.  I was doing so good.  Suddenly, I had an urge to stamp a squiggly character on Stacey's arm.  Bullseye!

"Teacher, he stamped on me," Stacey exclaimed.

"Did not," I retorted.

"Did so," Stacey followed up as she held out her newly emblazoned arm in full view for Miss Emily to see.

That was the last straw.  It was off to the thinking chair for me for the remainder of the lesson.

By dismissal time, Stacey had earned sticker upon sticker for her good works and deeds.  I was stickerless but for the one Stacey had shoved up my nose as she shared the sweet, bubblegum scented smell of success.  Smarty pants!

The Talking Wall

Of all the wonders I've experienced since arriving in Seoul, I want to share with you the most utterly amazing discovery.  Allow me to offer up the remote possibility that God is not a Republican in the United States Senate, but may well be Korean and speaking to me through my living room wall.  Not wanting to offend anyone's sensibilities or come off as blasphemous, I need to emphasize that this is all just conjecture.  But conjecture can serve a purpose.  Columbus thought perhaps the world wasn't flat when he set sail and darned if he wasn't right.

There's a high tech panel mounted on my aforementioned wall that performs a remarkable number of tasks.  It allows me to see who's at the downstairs entrance if and when the intruder buzzes up.  I discovered a couple weeks too late that it even lets me converse with the intruders to identify them.  Early on, I just put a finger to the magic spot on the touch pad and let anyone who buzzed, none of whom I recognized, into the building.  I thought maybe it was just Emart employees popping in to befriend me.  Some of my summoners showed up at my upstairs door to perform legitimate tasks, others didn't.  Who were they and where did they go?  Nobody knows.

That leads to another function of the versatile touch screen.  I can alert security.  I can summon up a brigade of security guys for big trouble or a lesser number for not so threatening disturbances.  I can conjure up a live cam shot of the hallway immediately outside our apartment door.  I can speak to anyone standing there.  I can phone people in our building complex, and once we clear the bureaucratic hurdles of getting phone service, I think I'll be able to talk to people anywhere in the world through this amazingly gifted panel.

This is all stuff I expected when we relocated to one of the most technologically advanced countries on earth.  Lights flash, screens activate, buzzers beep, and I leap up and out of my easy chair to respond to their beck and call.

This is where the mysticism creeps in.  Every time the touch panel performs a legitimate function, the screen glows, and bells and whistles sound.  Occasionally however, since our arrival, the panel or perhaps the entire wall in which the panel is embedded begins to murmur softly in Korean.  No light, no sound to announce anyone's presence.  Just an all encompassing, seemingly instructive, passive voice.  At times, it's nearly inaudible and it doesn't last long, but I press my ear to the wall hanging on every word wishing I could comprehend the elusive message.

I thought I saw the face of Jesus on my frozen waffle the other morning, but when I brushed at it, it turned out to just be frost.  This wall mystery is more perplexing than that.  

What if the wall is trying to tell me something important?  Something life changing?  As if there hasn't been enough of that lately.  I've begun Korean language lessons and not a moment too soon.  I'd invite a Korean in to translate, but the messages are so infrequent and random as to render that impractical.  And what if the wall went silent or is only audible to a select few like me.

Can you sense my frustration?  I'm not giving up.  I'll keep my ear tuned to the wall, continue my Korean lessons, and keep you posted.

Oh, and hold off on the pilgrimages.  I'm not yet really sure what's going on here.