Vignettes of the World
By Paul French “Even the Albanians described North Korea as an ‘unbelievably closed society.’”[i] Famine, credit default, constant blackouts, economic collapse, failed piecemeal reforms, nuclear weapons, repression – the indicators of a failed state are no longer hidden from the world now, despite North …
By Han Kang Ah, what a surprise. I thought this would be a lighthearted and fun book about a Korean woman who decided to turn vegetarian in a culture where meat is consumed as much as air is breathed. As it turned out, not only …
On my last full day in South Korea, I booked a 1st class room at a hotel in Incheon, as I was hoping to see the MacArthur Landing. Once I checked in the hotel, however, I realized that I would be going backward on my journey. I thus decided to check out the islands instead. There was no taxi at the hotel, and that was the first sign that I would owe it to pure luck if I eventually made it to Muuido.
At the bus stop I knew only one word, Jamjindo, the pronunciation of which I picked up from the hotel concierge. I tried my luck with the bus. The line 233 came by and I asked the driver. He told me, “no jamjindo!” Then out of nowhere a Korean man chimed in, “Jamjindo, go to airport and change.” So I took 223 at the other direction and changed at the airport. At the airport, bus 306 and the driver dropped me off on a main road. It was not a populated area, seeming like there were just many huge warehouses around. There was hardly ever any water to be seen, moreover. People were pointing me to different directions, and I wasted much time trying to find the island, or any sights of water.
Only upon arrival and seeing the sign in Hanja did I learn that Muuido meant the Island of the Dancing Dress. The beautiful name strengthened my resolve. I must see it. Eventually, I found the tourist information center. I was told that, first of all, I was already at Jamjindo, and secondly the last ferry would leave Muiido at 6pm. It was already 4:15pm then. I hopped on the ferry at 4:45pm, there was little time but I was assured that I would certainly see Muuido.
The long bridge to the Muiido wharf was very picturesque. There were many pleasing sights of a rural South Korea that gave me peace, sceneries that one would have to make a special effort to see in South Korea. It was a rustic and menial life that was tied to the ocean. I saw people working with their own hands with sea catch. They immersed half their body in that bitter cold water to dock their fishing boats, unloading the rewards of their hard work, of fish and harvested oysters. Women carried goods on top of their heads, slowly walking through that mile-long bridge.
Once at Muuido, I rushed through the paths hoping to see the main attraction: the Silmido Islet, off of the beach. Although I saw few souls on my way, signs of the seafaring life were readily felt. There were many fish hung on wooden poles, salted and dried for preservation. I breathed in the fresh air freely, taking in the distinctive smell of seafood. It was tranquil despite the pain in both of my strained knees. I was hungry and I went into a restaurant wanting octopus pancakes. The owner did not understand me and so I left without eating.
I continued to rush through the island, but after a rigorous hike up to Silmido Resort I was told that it was high tide so I would not be able to walk to the Islet. Nor would I make it in time to see the sunset at the beach. The advice was to make the journey back right away, otherwise I would miss the last ferry altogether.
On my way back I noticed a small path, and I decided to check it out. There I saw the sunset and the islet on a vista point. I spent exactly four minutes at the spot and hurried down the hill, limping on my way. It seemed like in every turn I took there was no end. Finally, I saw the ferry docked at the wharf and I made it back to civilization.
In the second day of my journal I said that I wanted to spa on my last day in South Korea. Instead I went to Muuido with my bad knees acting up and limping. No regrets though, who could pass up the rare opportunity to see a different aspect of Asia’s soul?
I had dinner close to the airport at a strip with many restaurants to choose from. At that time I had enough money for a pork bulgogi. As I was dining alone, the owner invited me over to join them for their meal. I declined food, but accepted the soju. I heard the waitress say “one thousand dollars” in Mandarin, and we started a conversation. She was from Changchun, Dongbei in China. Just two years working in South Korea and she could speak Korean. Although I did not understand what they were saying at the table, it was a big, happy, warm family.
I left the cold of South Korea the next day with the warmth of its people lingering in my heart.
The Jackfruit Festival of Kwong Ban Tin Village in Tsuen Wan has become a popular event amongst the Hong Kong locals as a family-friendly occasion to celebrate the jackfruit harvest in the fall each year. In October 2016, I went there to learn the story …
Yun-hak, the young man that I met on the plane, rather insisted that I saw the Gyeongbokgung Palace. Although that was not what the Lonely Planet recommended, I went because a Korean native told me to. Once I was there, however, I began to understand …
On the first day of the Lunar New Year I spent much of the day celebrating the occasion with many other South Koreans at the Namsangol Hanok Village. I heard the word “gugak” spoken, and eventually figured that it was referring to the traditional dance that would be performed later. I learned through research for this entry that “pungmul” is the actual name of the ribbon dance that so amazed me that day. Gugak is the general word for traditional Korean music.
The late morning of the New Year day basked in the gentle warmth of the winter sun. The Namsangol Hanok Village greeted visitors with all sorts of festivities. There were people everywhere, probably in the thousands. Many were playing traditional games. Celebratory delicacies at the food stalls attracted a large following, as long lines formed for the steaming rice cakes in seaweed soup. Children wearing hanbok gathered to play, and some sat at the stalls making handicrafts, such as traditional masks and origami. The paper crafts were beautiful. Some other children flew kites. The joyous atmosphere was contagious.
There was a wishing tree for the visitors. Ropes lined up in a conical shape like a Christmas tree. People gathered pieces of colorful writing paper and wrote down their wish, they then tied the wish onto the wishing tree. I did mine too, “I want to travel around the world!”
Came late afternoon and it was time to see the performance of traditional Korean dance. I seized a good spot with much anticipation. The pungmul is a tradition that had its roots in the farming culture of South Korea. It was often performed to accompany shamanistic rituals. [1] Also, it was a popular form of cultural expression during the colonial times.[2]
The dance opened with the din of drums and gongs, beating a rhythm that would set the cadence for the movement. Dressed in the national colors, the performance troupe entered the open stage with ribbons swirling above their hats. Accompanied by the constant movements of the dancers, the ribbons formed an amazing scene in the air, sometimes drawing circles, sometimes waving curves. One of the actors did a flip in mid-air, while his ribbon encircling around his body, and received wild applause. The group choreography was dazzling, to say the least.
I felt my heart racing as the acrobatics began. One by one, children threw each other up onto their shoulders to form a human tree, fully meeting the rhythmic beat in the background. Again the crowd applauded, and I clapped the hardest I could. I was so amazed by this dance that I felt my body warm from excitement.
Amidst the cheers of the crowd I observed the dancers themselves being completely absorbed in their performance. While they took pride in their art, the dancers in the spirited pungmul also created a cultural space that had an incredible power to engage my emotions as I watched. It was with the audience’s involvement that the cultural expression was complete.
The Lunar New Year festivities opened my eyes to another aspect of the Soul of Asia. Traditional crafts, foods and cultural performances are at the very heart of South Korea’s identity, and only at this time of the year would a tourist be able to observe and celebrate the traditions of South Korea with its people. I completed the day’s activities with a visit to the N’Seoul Tower. As I saw the neon-lit cityscape of Seoul, it being such a contrast to the festivities at Namsangol Hanok Village, I marveled at South Korea’s remarkable ability to preserve its traditions and yet accomplishing so much as a developed nation in modern times.
By this day, I have moved far beyond the few Korean dishes as the only thing that I knew about South Korea.
[2] Id.
Once outside of Seoul, the non-Korean-speaking tourists would be left to their own devices as to how they communicate with the Koreans and find their way around. That was Suwon to me. In Hanja, Suwon means “the origin of water.” Suwon is the provincial capital …
The Qing Dynasty mansion known as Tai Fu Tai is a site that speaks to the local history in Hong Kong before the colonial times. Originally constructed as home to Man Chung-luen, the brick mansion showcases the honor bestowed on a senior Qing official. A …
“Seoul, the Soul of Asia” is quite a catchy characterization of Seoul. It is not my phrase, but it did inspire some curiosity in me. How was the soul of Asia like?
To the extent possible, I explored Seoul on foot and by public transport. My first impression of the Soul of Asia was the efficiency with which the city was set up, and its accessibility throughout. The cabs of Seoul were especially tourist-friendly. Ever since South Korea hosted the 1988 Summer Games, the cabs have all been wired to English-speaking operators, should the tourist be unable to communicate with the driver. I did not have to use that service even once, however, as I somehow was able to make out the pronunciation of the sites with English transliteration. The drivers certainly were very savvy in understanding the tourist as well.
I knew very little about Korean history before the Korean War, and by visiting the many palaces in Seoul I had the opportunity to learn the fascinating stories of Korea’s dynastic past. The Changdeokgung Palace was the first that I visited. I highly recommend that fellow travelers join a tour, as many stories about the palaces were told. Otherwise one would miss the significance of the sites. The tour came across the Daejojeon with Hanja that I could read, meaning “the big creation” in Chinese. The tour guide said it was where the royal babies were made. I found that to be hilarious.
At Changdeokgung I heard the exceedingly moving story about the empty house outside the palace. It was where the last king and queen of Joseon Dynasty lived their last days. The courts there were not painted, which was quite a contrast with the colorful restoration of the palace proper. Yet the plain wooden structure stood proudly in its natural state, as the witness to a dynasty fallen, stripped of its power and wealth, yet keeping its dignity. The queen lived there until she passed away in 1989, when the “empty house” really became empty. The last king and queen of the Joseon dynasty died without issue, as such the dynasty, and its symbolic significance for modern South Korea, ended. As I stood there admiring the scene, I seemed to sense the house breathing a kind of spirit that bears the weight of history, its structures being the last home to Korea’s monarchy.
I was able to find my way to Jongmyo on foot. At first I thought it was an ordinary temple, but soon realized that it was the royal ancestral shrine where the dynasty memorialized its spirits. The spirit tablets of the kings and queens were supposedly enshrined in the spirit chambers, but it was closed when I went. The ancient Koreans held ceremonial rites there. An elongated, plain structure of the shrine certainly meets the solemnity required for this purpose. I saw no one there at Jongmyo, maybe except the spirits that rested.
I then cabbed to Insadong Gil as recommended on the Lonely Planet, “it boasts a delightfully confusing mishmash of back alleys.” At first glance, Insadong was disappointing as it seemed too eager to cater to the tourists. I wanted to see antique stores that were old, decrepit and mold-smelling. I walked around dutifully as a tourist, bought some snacks here and there and felt like I was fainting from the cold. Then came a delightful teahouse in sight and I had mei-cha (plum tea) there. That was the turning point for me in Insadong and I came alive. I asked the waitress to teach me how to say, “where is the Hyewa train station” in case I got lost somewhere and had to get back to the hostel with no sense of direction. She wrote the phrase in a way that I could pronounce as an English speaker, “haywa yo, chabon churgu.”
Back in the neighborhood of the hostel I finally had my first Korean grill in South Korea. It was then that I learned that every restaurant serves grilled meat for two people’s portion at the minimum. My dining there alone made me seem like an odd duck. The Koreans do not eat grilled meat dinners alone.
On this first full day in Seoul I had a taste of what the Soul of Asia was like. Seoul has many sites of history to show for, and it certainly welcomes outsiders with open arms. I did wonder though if there would be more in the coming days, or would it just be a city life that bears mutual semblance in all developed parts of the world? As my journey progressed, I became increasingly drawn to South Korea as a country.
I met a young man on the plane to Korea. He told me that he has already completed his mandatory service in the military. “Mind the border,” he said, “it might be dangerous.” Korea was the first solo trip I made abroad. Although this young …