From: Peter
Wynne-Willson <pwynne@nuri.net>
Subject:
Letter from the Seoul 2
Date: Monday
25 October 1999 01:58
Hello out
there.
I think when I
wrote before, I put down a lot of stuff summing up Seoul, the colours, and all
that. At the time I had been here barely a day, and so I think it may have been
premature to have arrived at a judgement on the city of 12 million Seoul souls.
I got a bit over-excited, sorry. Now, however, I have been here for three days,
and so now I really know what Korea is like in detail.
A few key
facts. Firstly, I am the fattest person in Korea. It isn't that I have gone
into a decline because of loneliness, I know I'm not that fat, it's just that
everyone here is skinny. I put this down to two things. Firstly there are not
many escalators in the underground, and all Koreans do taekwando, so they keep
fit. Secondly, the food is fairly revolting, and so there is no incentive to
overeat. I had a very strange experience on Saturday of being hungry in an incredibly
packed food market, and really not being able to face anything that was on
offer. This was partly because the big dead fish were all looking at me.
Particularly horrible were all the lovely live little turtles, bound for
soup.... Mostly though, it was because there were very sickly smells, which I
just couldn't quite face. This is my next big observation. There are very
strong smells in Seoul. The big food smells are the pickled cabbage in
chilli/garlic [Kimchi], the red pepper sauce, and the brown silk-worm lava soup
....[see what I mean?] Then there are the drains smells, which are pretty rank
in places, and seem to echo and expand on the Kimchi cabbage smell [I suppose
because the population eats so much of it] and then there are the industrial
smells. Quite a few people here wear face-masks, and you can see why. The
eleventh most polluted city in the world says Greg [Gregory T Wilson, one of
the two Americans at the university, now known as the other Professor Wilson!]
I have been a
tourist for the weekend, and packed a lot in. On Saturday morning I braved the
subway alone, and went in search of a tourist map. None of the streets have
names here, and the buildings do not really have numbers either. People find
their way around by saying something is near
something else, so if you don't know where anything is you're in trouble. The
best maps, it says in the guide, are at the tourist offices. Ah yes, but where
are the tourist offices? The not very detailed map in the Lonely Planet was all
I had to go on. On my way in what I thought was the direction of this office, I
was distracted by what sounded like children singing, and decided to look. It
turned out to be a student rally of some kind, protesting outside a big wooden
palace. I skirted round into the palace grounds. These turned out to be very
peaceful and nice, with a whole succession of palaces, all roughly alike, of
the kind in The Last Emperor - huge great cloistered courtyard with raised
platform at one end, and that platform has a painted and carved wooden palace.
A little like a shed really, but an ornate one. Actually the whole arrangement
is like some sad obsessive's approach to the concept of a garden shed. Huge
garden, paved over entirely to avoid any difficult plants growing, and a
minutely manicured saddleback-roofed shed completely empty, no clutter, no
tools, just one very comfy chair, or throne. That's it really. The Korean
Palace. They are very beautiful and peaceful places actually, incredibly simple
in some ways, and the gardens around were a sight, with trees here just
beginning to lose there leaves, and lovely clear sun in watery-blue skies.
In fact, now
that the sun has come out, I can see that all that stuff I said about greyness
is not so true, except in the subway, where granite is the dominant material,
and flourescent light makes everyone look a little ill....still, back to the
palaces. I keep putting them in plural, because after the one, I moved over the
bridge to another, which on the map looked close to a place called The Secret
Garden, which sounded like a nice place to go for a rest. On the way I was
stopped, for the second time in fact, by an older man, just wanting to pass the
time of day, 'sit my friend, where from?' 'Tourist?' I've already acquired a
special, slightly humble way of saying 'No, visiting professor', safe in the
knowledge of a highly satisfactory response. The 'can they really mean me, oh,
come on, don't you know who I am, who are they trying to fool' has all gone.
Now I'm all 'Bow deeper, you. Respect, I demand greater respect,' I think I'm
turning into Yul Brynner.
The man gave
me his card, which they all do. I have today commissioned JeongHwan to print
some for me, because they are a kind of currency. Young-ai said meaningfully,
'Yes the men like to give their cards...' Now you see, the kings of Korea had
these big courtyards for all their underlings, with markers running in a line
down from the throne, to mark the ranks, so they could stand exactly where
their status befits. The king, in his shed, could see exactly how many people
were less important than him, and exactly how much less important. It isn't
much of a leap from that is it? Where were the women, I hear you ask? In their
own little wooden fold, off at the side, through a smaller door than the men's,
doubtless exchanging wry looks about the men's obsession with ranking-posts, as
our guide rather riskily called them. 'How big's your husbands ranking-post
then? Ooh er'
So in this
other palace, on what was now a sunny Saturday afternoon, the paths were thick
with brides. I counted sixteen, all but one in proper big puffy white numbers -
the other mercifully in deep red silken Korean. They go to this palace for the
photos, and so the race is on to get a good angle with palace, or pool or tree
behind, without any other proud couple in the background. The geometry of this
game is fascinating, and I get a bit involved, trying to snap as many brides as
possible in one frame, to get the jolly, 'look at all those brides in one
picture' shot, while trying not to get caught myself in the background of
anyone else's big day. If you needed convincing of just how crowded a place
this is, it was here. It also serves as a symbol of how they've grabbed onto
western things, good and bad alike, and won't let go. From outside it looks
like discarding a much more appealing culture in exchange for tawdry copies of
an idealised version of the west. Apparently, the theatre too is dominated by
versions of western realistic drama - the artistic equivalent of the mass white
weddings - I'm already an expert on that as well, you see.
Next I resumed
the hunt for the tourist office, but again the scale of everything is so vast
that to find a single office seems impossible. On this occasion the dice were
loaded against me. I went up and down past the doe-eyed fish and doomed little
turtles, asked as best I could a few times, and eventually ascertained that the
Tourist Office had made way last year for a building site. Half of Seoul is a
building site. Big big buildings too.
Next possible
Tourist Office was a few subway stops away, so back down among the ants, as it
feels. Its much cheaper than the London Tube, the carriages are slightly bigger
and a lot less shabby , and it does have station names in english writing, so
I've really appreciated it, but I am not alone. There are a good few people
appreciating most carriages most of the time. A great assortment of people come
along selling things - one man had two packets of chewing gum to sell today, or
begging [the standard method is to have a small cassette recorder round your
neck playing what I imagine are patriotic songs] or else leafleting for some
campaign or church, or church campaign.
This tourist
office didn't exist either, but eventually one did, and armed with better maps
I marched on. Took in the changing of the guard - as earth-shatteringly
fascinating as its London counterpart - , the biggest bookshop one could ever
imagine, and a bizarre Anglican Cathedral - all the time chickening out of
picking up unknown food from a side stall [or should that be dogging out] By
now it was 3.00, and I saw a Burger King. Yes! No. No, I can't go in to a
Burger King for Christ's sake, I thought, and went straight into the nearest
other place, a tiny sweaty joint with small smily women in it. Erm, that,
please. Omelette. [Well omelette-y sort of thing] Substantial question in
Korean. I nodded a lot. Ne ne. [This is 'yes'] What the hell have I said yes
to? Actually it was fine. Seafood assortment of some kind, shrimps, squid I
think and other stuff, in eggy mixture, with cucumber pickle in chilli water
and of course Kimchi. I think I will get my students to explain some food stuff
to me.
On Sunday I
went to a big Festival for the international communities of Seoul, which gave
me a chance to talk to people, and was good. The most familiar food was on the
Bangladeshi stall, but there was a British stall, staffed by embassy people.
Wilma, a stalwart of the ex-pat community, was selling scones with 'devonshire
cream' - curious, it's like they are expats of a mythical country. 'Oh three
days, practically a virgin. Jenny, this chap's been here three days. My
husband, Jim, is here with BP, who are you with? You will love it here, so much
nicer than Japan'. I got several cards, of course, and an invitation to proper
English beer at the embassy on Wednesday and Friday nights. Might be worth it
for fun when I'm really lonely.
The highlight
of the festival was the parade. Every country in wonderful national costume,
the twenty-strong Brits [there are 40 British children in Seoul apparently]
were in school uniform. Shame. They were doing a display of Scottish Country
dancing. Most revealing of all was the US section. At the back, 24 big big men
[at last someone fatter than me!] in leather, on gleaming Harley Davidsons,
revving them up. No Scottish country dancing for these guys, hell no! A
majestic symbol of internationalism, American-style. Clear the pathways, folks,
we're here.
After the
festival I finally found the secret garden, but couldn't sit there, because the
only way in was as part of a tour. On the English language tour I chatted to a
very sweet couple from New Zealand,who were deeply impressed by everything. The
secret garden was really another palace, and the most beautiful of the lot so far.
A really wonderful giggling guide, who had a fly bothering her. She stopped her
commentary after a bit, not battering it or anything, and just said. 'Hey fly.
I am not a flower' Fantastic. Pity they don't think that way about turtles.
This is
getting ridiculous. I've got to stop.
I haven't even
got to today! I'll have to do that tomorrow. Short version is...didn't sleep
very well [probably just hit me in a way], planned courses. Worked hard today,
met Dina Emerson, kind of voice movement type American person. Got paper for
printer and JeongHwan says next paper I have to buy! Greg says they are very
funny about trying to get away with cheapskate ways. Maybe that's just his
arrogant cultural imperialism speaking. Maybe he's right.
I'll be back
With love to entire
western world
Pete