Korea: Snapshots

I am on the Number 2 line of the Seoul subway station, heading from Cheungjongno toward Itaewon to have dinner with my friend Chul. I’m not sure of the stop, so I stand by the doors, over which is a handy map of the entire system that I can check and ensure that I’m heading in the right direction. The car is full of Koreans, all of whom are quiet in the way that people are normally quiet in subway cars when they’re not with anybody they know. Opposite me is an older Korean gentleman, impeccably groomed as all elderly Koreans seem to be, who smiles and motions to me to sit down next to him, thinking that I missed the empty seat next to him. I return the smile and point to the map, as if to say, “Thank you very much, but as an American in Seoul, I’m kind of dim, and I want to make sure I’m going to the right place.” He seems to understand this, and once I’m assured I’m heading the right way, I sit down. This pleases him. As he gets up to leave at the next subway stop, he smiles again as he waits for the door to open, tosses a strawberry-flavored hard candy into my lap, and disappears into the station.

I am in the Seoul Art Museum buying an admission ticket to the galleries. In front of me are four Korean girls, all about twelve or so, three of them in matching school uniforms. They see me and immediately are overtaken with shyness; apparently they are not used to seeing Americans who are not on television. The study of English is very big in Korea, and one of them says to me, quietly and apprehensively, “Hi.” I smile broadly and say “hi” back. She says, “How are you?” I say, “Fine. How are you?”, but apparently they haven’t gotten quite far in their studies. They prepare to leave, and she says, “Have a nice day.” I say “Thank you,” which they seem to understand. As they leave, they begin giggling in the usual way of adolescent girls, speaking to each other rapidly in Korean. I am guessing that they are saying, “It worked! It worked! He answered!”

I am in a noodle shop about to have a light dinner. The menu is in Korean, of course, but outside the shop there are pictures of all the dishes, so I simply point to one and my waitress understands. I know that I am getting something in broth, but I don’t know exactly what; I figure that all the Korean food I’ve ever eaten has been tasty, so it hardly matters, I will probably like it. I do, I really do. It is Japanese udon noodles in a chicken-y broth with ginseng and lots of vegetables. As simple as it is, it is just delicious, and it comes with the usual accompanying side dishes: kimchi, pickled radishes, pickled garlic. The wait staff are watching me while trying not to; the restaurant has no Western silverware, and I will have to use chopsticks. I have a fair amount of experience with them, so I dig in, and slurp the broth, following the lead of the other customers. There is a nearly silent but palpable sigh of relief as they see me pick up the chopsticks and maneuver them into the kimchi, and for the rest of the meal, they pay me no mind whatsoever, as if a random Caucasian in the noodle shop were the most natural thing in the world.

I am walking the beautiful walled street that runs behind Deuksogung Palace in central Seoul, certainly one of the loveliest walks in the city, when it begins to rain lightly. Then heavily. I am getting soaked and I have no umbrella. I run for cover, such as it is, under one of the gingko trees, which I share with two young Koreans, obviously boyfriend and girlfriend. Like all young Koreans, they want to practice their English, so they ask me hesitantly where I am from, do I like Korea, why am I visiting; they are surprised and very pleased to discover that I am here on holiday. The young man’s umbrella is so small it hardly keeps the two of them dry, and though they offer to try to squeeze me under it, I politely decline. There’s no point in us all getting drenched. They walk off to their next appointment, and I stay put a few minutes, wondering if the rain will let up and if I should just make a run for it. By this time the street is nearly deserted, as everybody with any sense has gotten out of the rain. But then the couple returns, flushed and out of breath, and holding a small umbrella that they apparently have just bought from the nearest street vendor. I thank them profusely as they insist on giving it to me, and the young man says (and I am willing to bet that he rehearsed this along the way), “This is for you because it is my birthday, and I want everybody to be happy.”

I ask you: after an encounter like that, how could I not be?

Comments

[Christopher Bargeron]

>>“This is for you because it is my birthday, and I want everybody to be happy.”

Adds a whole new dimension to "Happy Birthday to You." What a generous and hospitable gesture!

Chris

[Rob]

No question, Chris, that this wins the prize as my Sweetest Moment in Seoul. Rob