It's been Jeju redux time here in ol' Jeollanam-do Province. The weather stinks. I awoke to sullen overcast and drizzle, exactly the same as when I first arrived on Jeju Island. Seemed the bad weather moved up here. Anyway, regardless, I got up, dressed, phoned my parents and took off for the museums.First I dropped by a Ministop (sort of like 7-11 or Family Mart) to get some breakfast. While I was selecting some triangle gimbap, sausages, orange juice and one of those fibrous drinks the Koreans are so proud of, a Korean man standing at the counter and chatting with the clerk-ladies looked up and noticed me. He attempted (with an expression on his face I wasn't sure I liked) to ask me a few questions in Korean. I didn't understand at all. This only seemed to frustrate him, unlike the other 99% of Koreans I'd talked to who were patient and only chuckled if you didn't get it. So unaccustomed was I to being treated in such a manner that I got rather irked with the guy. I gave him a saucy wave as I left. To add insult to injury, the gimbap wasn't even that good, reminiscent of that awful ersatz meat pie I had yesterday. Danged if I ever go into a Ministop again. There wasn't much going on at the Gwangju National Museum. The main exhibition hall was closed for renovations or something, which left only the gardens and the "education center" (whatever that was). The stupa, grinding wheels, and headless sitting Buddha figure on the lawns were unimpressive, but the five-story pagoda wasn't too bad, even despite extensive weathering. Be that as it may, I didn't deign to take any pictures.I'll say this, too: some relics don't look like relics. You know what I mean? Those crowns and jewelry that I saw at Gyeongju didn't really look old. They'd been too perfectly restored. They were too shiny, too well-preserved. The weight of ages didn't press down upon them; the wonder of the ancients didn't radiate from them appreciably. But on the grounds of the Gwangju National Museum, there was an old celadon kiln that lay half-excavated and covered by a pavilion. That gave me the shivers. It just looked old, and ruined, and ancient, and forgotten. There it was, broken pottery scattered all about, the roof half-collapsed (or perhaps cut away to allow interior viewing)...it was like gazing upon that shipwreck at the bottom of the East China Sea off Seogwipo Harbor. The kiln was monstrously old and ruined, appreciably so. Just one look invoked visions of the kiln as it once was, whole, in use by creative artisans, churning out beautiful sea-green pottery, perhaps for the dining tables of the Joseon kings. I wondered how those artisans would feel about their tool in its present state, gazed upon by the unimaginable inhabitants of some future age.About five minutes after I'd entered, I left the National Museum and walked under the Honam Expressway to the Folk Museum. That was much more worthwhile. It was 500 won to get in (500 more than the National Museum had been), but it was more than worth it. The museum had lots of amazing artifacts dating from the Goryeo period through Joseon.
There were hand-made hemp and straw sandals, octopus fishhooks, huge wooden scoops (for digging irrigation ditches), wedding clothes, children's toys, even earwax removers (resembling really tiny spoons). There was a diagram of the wall of some popular antiquarian Korean women's hairstyles.
Most fascinating was the collection of ancient printed novels. Korea had block printing hundreds of years before Gutenberg, and printed novels, though not as common as today, were still made and distributed. To see a book, with an intricately carved wooden cover and pages covered with printed Chinese symbols, dating from nearly a thousand years ago...well, it was humbling, to say the least. I left the Folk Museum, leaped into a pedestrian tunnel to avoid a cloudburst, and then sauntered jauntily on to the Art Museum, showcasing works from Korean, Japanese and Chinese artists (with one or two Westerners thrown in). It was a 500-won "blah." I could take it or leave it. The modern art section, as has been true for every single modern art section of a museum I've ever been to, was a complete waste of time. A piano painted entirely white. Sunflowers made of computer CD drives and disc trays. A space capsule made out of luggage. A desk caught in the act of flying to pieces. Whoop-de-doo. The sculpture and painting galleries were much better. I was pleased with one piece in particular, called A Hidden Stream. It was a cave made of bronze, with a trickle of silvery stainless steel pouring out of a concealed cleft. The effect was pleasant, especially the way the stainless steel had been made to "overflow" the sculpture proper and run down the pedestal it was sitting on. In the paintings gallery, I was flabbergasted at the beautiful simplicity of one painting, entitled 8 Strokes. It was simply that: two strokes of a brown brush (at right angles) and six strokes of a white brush, on an olive-green canvas. Unremarkable, you say? The result looked remarkably like three strips of white linen hung over a wooden frame outdoors. It was uncanny. The simplicity of it was stunning...and beautiful, as I said.And that was basically it. I walked out, got a cab back to the station, grabbed some milk, water, and a Snickers bar at Family Mart (I'd been nursing a slight headache for a couple of hours, and figured some fluids and a sugar rush couldn't hurt) and returned to my hotel for a few hours. After resting up, I sallied forth once again. Thus I got a cab to Chungjang Shopping District.
This proved to be similar to the Gukje Market in Busan. It's a wide area of narrow streets, jam-packed with shops stacked on top of and smushed in next to each other.
It's the closest thing to Diagon Alley, I'm sure, that you'll find anywhere.
The atmosphere of the place is charming: closet-sized yet chic clothing shops galore; restaurants and bars aplenty; pop music blaring from every speaker; vendors selling delicious twigim (fried food); and bushels of young and trendy people everywhere.
It's quite overwhelming for a country boy like me.
My first stop was 25, a hip and famous record store. Lo and behold, true to the guide book's description, there were CDs from all over the Western world there, at good prices too. They had classical music and Korean traditional favorites as well, plus a bucket load of K-Pop and Asian pop music. After deliberating for a bit, I up and bought Viva la Vida by Coldplay, The Battle of Los Angeles by Rage Against the Machine, and Gold (the best of James Brown). Hey, I'm expanding my musical tastes here a little, give me a break. The bill came to 48,000 won, and I walked out of there a contented man. (Something along the lines of "Oh boy, this should see me through the eleven-hour flight to Los Angeles!" was running through my head.) After that I wandered about a little and even got lost a couple of times. It's a big place, far bigger, I suspect, than Gukje Market and Jagalchi combined. Then I spotted dinner. I was quite hungry by this point, despite consuming some triangle gimbap and some meat-on-a-stick after leaving the hotel, and had been subconsciously searching for a restaurant. And there you had it: Mujinju, a three-storied and classy restaurant near the western edge of the shopping district, specializing in bossam. Bossam is basically slices of rather fatty pork, which like most Korean meat is wrapped in a leaf with some vegetables and sauce and eaten. I ordered the kimchi bossam (meaning I wrapped the kimchi up with the meat) and very delicious it was. They don't serve portions for fewer than two people at Mujinju, however. So I had to eat quite a bit. And the meat, as I may have mentioned, is very fatty. Half fat, I'd say. When I ordered, the waitress dutifully jotted it down, hesitated, then looked at me and said in English,"Do you like fat?"With a grin and a nonchalant swish of my head, I said "I do." I didn't like the kimchi very much...it was a tad too sweet for some reason. But the bossam itself was delicious. It was served with two sauces (brown and mustard), as well as ssamjang, garlic slices, and pickled onions, and some cabbage soup for afters. Also, when I'd finished eating, the staff brought me some absolutely delightful cold cinnamon tea to sip on. That stuff is amazing. I hope I can get it back in the States, because I've never tasted any tea so flavorful or sweet.Mujinju itself is quite well-appointed as well. The interior is mostly wood, stained tastefully dark. Some charming lithographs of Chinese characters and pastoral scenes complete the decor. The place is architecturally challenging: M.C. Escher-like, almost. The three floors of the restaurant are stacked haphazardly atop one another, as though by some careless child. But the service is grand, the staff well-dressed and friendly with at least a working knowledge of English, the food delectable, and the cost not too steep. For a two-person helping of kimchi bossam I paid ₩21,000. That's about $16.50 or so. Not half bad considering the state of the world economy, eh? After dinner I went next door to the Joybox Arcade. It was small, but there was plenty of choice. Arranged around the southern and western walls was a bevy of small, violently purple compartments that looked like photo booths, but on closer inspection proved to be miniature noraebang. (Noraebang means "singing room" in Korean, remember? Korean karaoke.) Two people could squeeze inside one and have their pick of songs to sing, with a TV screen and microphones. I didn't see how much they cost (sorry). I do know that I blew about ₩2,000 on Time Crisis II (300 won per game/respawn). As I was walking into the arcade, a small group of young men outside caught my attention. They were busy challenging the punch machine. You know, you pop in a coin, pull the punching bag down, and then lay into it for all you're worth. I was challenged by one of the most vocal of these young men (a skinny fellow with glasses and a blue button-down, who spoke English quite well) to see who had the strongest punch. Not one to pass up a martial challenge, I handed him my bag of CDs, and let fly. I scored somewhere in the 8300 range. "That's lowest score," my challenger said, grinning. "We are stronger than you."Yes they were, I admitted."One more time?" the challenger asked. I said yes, blew on my knuckles, wound up, and tried harder. 8787. "Wow! Good score."Then it was my challenger's turn...or rather, my challenger's champion's. Another guy in a white T-shirt and shorts cleared some space, then kicked the punching bag with a swinging right leg. His score was well into the 9000 range. Even though he technically hadn't punched the thing, we'd never agreed beforehand on the terms of the contest. We'd just set out to see who was stronger. I figured the sportsmanlike thing to do was pay up, so I gave the winner a thousand-won note, shook hands with these fellows ("You are a good man," they said) and went inside the arcade. After the second boss kicked my butt on Time Crisis II, I took to wandering again, but I didn't really see anything I wanted. I don't really do shopping, unless it's books, music, or guns. Or manly outerwear. I nonchalantly went into a shoe store, looking to replace my old Kamik trail shoes or even my Columbia work boots, but no such luck. I've never been much of a Converse fan. Then I spotted the Baskin Robbins.Now, to be honest, I'd just consumed two helpings of fat back at Mujinju. I hesitated at the parlor doors, gazing at the familiar, comforting blues and purples inside. What the hell, I thought. You're only young once. I went inside. I eschewed my usual Jamocha Almond Fudge for a big helping of Cherry Jubilee (King Cone, baby...three thousand won). Aw man, it was awesome. Cherry ice cream definitely deserves to be honored foremost amongst humankind's greatest inventions, right up there with umbrella hats.As I was sitting in the upstairs room, slurping my ice cream happily, I noticed a pair of rather giggly Korean schoolgirls sitting at the table next to me. They kept looking over their shoulders at me, then putting their heads together and speaking softly and quickly. I caught snatches of English phrases, and deduced that they were figuring out how to speak to me. And then it happened."Hi. How are you?"I absolutely love this about Korea. Coming from a land where most foreigners are looked upon with suspicion, if not outright hostility, it's refreshing to be in a foreign land oneself and be treated unerringly with curiosity and friendliness. Okay, yeah, sure, they might've just been practicing their English on me, but hey...they could've hurled some racial epithets at me and flounced out, too. But they didn't."I'm fine, thanks," I said (my standard reply). "How are you?" There followed a halting conversation. At my every reply the speaker would put her head together with her reference book (her friend) and then figure out what I'd said, and formulate a reply. This worked so well that eventually we wound up taking pictures together.
It was kind of funny: as I handed her my camera so she could take our picture, the speaker brushed herself down and made what I deduced to be some self-deprecating comment about her appearance. "Gwaenchanayo," I said. "Yeppun yeoja imnida."It's okay. You're a pretty woman.The girl threw her hands over her face and went into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Then we took pictures, said very cordial and amiable goodbyes, and then they left. It was just five seconds after this that a couple of Baskin Robbins staff members walked up to my table, presented me with plastic shot glass filled with purple ice cream, and bade me drink it for free."This drink is called 'Purple Berry Blast,'" one of them explained. It was service (see Day Eight: Jeju). I drank it slowly. It was delicious. Dang, I am going to miss this country. In fact, this little three-hour pilgrimage I made to the Chungjang Shopping District in Gwangju underscored everything I'm going to miss about Korea: gigantic open markets, talkative people, delicious food, music in the air, atmosphere, culture (Oriental and Occidental)...and Korea itself, really. I wandered around a little more, but I'd just about seen everything. The sky was beginning to drip a little, and I was anxious to get back to my room and (a) test out my new CDs and (b) hit the sack early. (I need to catch the bus out of here pretty soon tomorrow; I reckon it's going to take me up to seven hours or so to reach Gohyeon.) So I caught yet another cab (Gwangju is filled with them), had a short ride back to the train station (during which the driver and I admired the legs of a rather gorgeous woman in a short skirt and pumps riding sidesaddle on the back of a scooter), a balmy stroll back to the Koreana Tourist Hotel, was greeted by that same spooky stuffed tiger, and...
...well, here I am.
There were hand-made hemp and straw sandals, octopus fishhooks, huge wooden scoops (for digging irrigation ditches), wedding clothes, children's toys, even earwax removers (resembling really tiny spoons). There was a diagram of the wall of some popular antiquarian Korean women's hairstyles.
Most fascinating was the collection of ancient printed novels. Korea had block printing hundreds of years before Gutenberg, and printed novels, though not as common as today, were still made and distributed. To see a book, with an intricately carved wooden cover and pages covered with printed Chinese symbols, dating from nearly a thousand years ago...well, it was humbling, to say the least.
I left the Folk Museum, leaped into a pedestrian tunnel to avoid a cloudburst, and then sauntered jauntily on to the Art Museum, showcasing works from Korean, Japanese and Chinese artists (with one or two Westerners thrown in). It was a 500-won "blah." I could take it or leave it. The modern art section, as has been true for every single modern art section of a museum I've ever been to, was a complete waste of time. A piano painted entirely white. Sunflowers made of computer CD drives and disc trays. A space capsule made out of luggage. A desk caught in the act of flying to pieces. Whoop-de-doo.
The sculpture and painting galleries were much better. I was pleased with one piece in particular, called A Hidden Stream. It was a cave made of bronze, with a trickle of silvery stainless steel pouring out of a concealed cleft. The effect was pleasant, especially the way the stainless steel had been made to "overflow" the sculpture proper and run down the pedestal it was sitting on. In the paintings gallery, I was flabbergasted at the beautiful simplicity of one painting, entitled 8 Strokes. It was simply that: two strokes of a brown brush (at right angles) and six strokes of a white brush, on an olive-green canvas. Unremarkable, you say? The result looked remarkably like three strips of white linen hung over a wooden frame outdoors. It was uncanny. The simplicity of it was stunning...and beautiful, as I said.
And that was basically it. I walked out, got a cab back to the station, grabbed some milk, water, and a Snickers bar at Family Mart (I'd been nursing a slight headache for a couple of hours, and figured some fluids and a sugar rush couldn't hurt) and returned to my hotel for a few hours. After resting up, I sallied forth once again.
Thus I got a cab to Chungjang Shopping District.
This proved to be similar to the Gukje Market in Busan. It's a wide area of narrow streets, jam-packed with shops stacked on top of and smushed in next to each other.
It's the closest thing to Diagon Alley, I'm sure, that you'll find anywhere.
The atmosphere of the place is charming: closet-sized yet chic clothing shops galore; restaurants and bars aplenty; pop music blaring from every speaker; vendors selling delicious twigim (fried food); and bushels of young and trendy people everywhere.
It's quite overwhelming for a country boy like me.
My first stop was 25, a hip and famous record store. Lo and behold, true to the guide book's description, there were CDs from all over the Western world there, at good prices too. They had classical music and Korean traditional favorites as well, plus a bucket load of K-Pop and Asian pop music. After deliberating for a bit, I up and bought Viva la Vida by Coldplay, The Battle of Los Angeles by Rage Against the Machine, and Gold (the best of James Brown). Hey, I'm expanding my musical tastes here a little, give me a break. The bill came to 48,000 won, and I walked out of there a contented man. (Something along the lines of "Oh boy, this should see me through the eleven-hour flight to Los Angeles!" was running through my head.)
After that I wandered about a little and even got lost a couple of times. It's a big place, far bigger, I suspect, than Gukje Market and Jagalchi combined. Then I spotted dinner. I was quite hungry by this point, despite consuming some triangle gimbap and some meat-on-a-stick after leaving the hotel, and had been subconsciously searching for a restaurant. And there you had it: Mujinju, a three-storied and classy restaurant near the western edge of the shopping district, specializing in bossam. Bossam is basically slices of rather fatty pork, which like most Korean meat is wrapped in a leaf with some vegetables and sauce and eaten. I ordered the kimchi bossam (meaning I wrapped the kimchi up with the meat) and very delicious it was. They don't serve portions for fewer than two people at Mujinju, however. So I had to eat quite a bit. And the meat, as I may have mentioned, is very fatty. Half fat, I'd say. When I ordered, the waitress dutifully jotted it down, hesitated, then looked at me and said in English,
"Do you like fat?"
With a grin and a nonchalant swish of my head, I said "I do."
I didn't like the kimchi very much...it was a tad too sweet for some reason. But the bossam itself was delicious. It was served with two sauces (brown and mustard), as well as ssamjang, garlic slices, and pickled onions, and some cabbage soup for afters. Also, when I'd finished eating, the staff brought me some absolutely delightful cold cinnamon tea to sip on. That stuff is amazing. I hope I can get it back in the States, because I've never tasted any tea so flavorful or sweet.
Mujinju itself is quite well-appointed as well. The interior is mostly wood, stained tastefully dark. Some charming lithographs of Chinese characters and pastoral scenes complete the decor. The place is architecturally challenging: M.C. Escher-like, almost. The three floors of the restaurant are stacked haphazardly atop one another, as though by some careless child. But the service is grand, the staff well-dressed and friendly with at least a working knowledge of English, the food delectable, and the cost not too steep. For a two-person helping of kimchi bossam I paid ₩21,000. That's about $16.50 or so. Not half bad considering the state of the world economy, eh?
After dinner I went next door to the Joybox Arcade. It was small, but there was plenty of choice. Arranged around the southern and western walls was a bevy of small, violently purple compartments that looked like photo booths, but on closer inspection proved to be miniature noraebang. (Noraebang means "singing room" in Korean, remember? Korean karaoke.) Two people could squeeze inside one and have their pick of songs to sing, with a TV screen and microphones. I didn't see how much they cost (sorry). I do know that I blew about ₩2,000 on Time Crisis II (300 won per game/respawn).
As I was walking into the arcade, a small group of young men outside caught my attention. They were busy challenging the punch machine. You know, you pop in a coin, pull the punching bag down, and then lay into it for all you're worth. I was challenged by one of the most vocal of these young men (a skinny fellow with glasses and a blue button-down, who spoke English quite well) to see who had the strongest punch. Not one to pass up a martial challenge, I handed him my bag of CDs, and let fly. I scored somewhere in the 8300 range.
"That's lowest score," my challenger said, grinning. "We are stronger than you."
Yes they were, I admitted.
"One more time?" the challenger asked.
I said yes, blew on my knuckles, wound up, and tried harder. 8787.
"Wow! Good score."
Then it was my challenger's turn...or rather, my challenger's champion's. Another guy in a white T-shirt and shorts cleared some space, then kicked the punching bag with a swinging right leg. His score was well into the 9000 range.
Even though he technically hadn't punched the thing, we'd never agreed beforehand on the terms of the contest. We'd just set out to see who was stronger. I figured the sportsmanlike thing to do was pay up, so I gave the winner a thousand-won note, shook hands with these fellows ("You are a good man," they said) and went inside the arcade.
After the second boss kicked my butt on Time Crisis II, I took to wandering again, but I didn't really see anything I wanted. I don't really do shopping, unless it's books, music, or guns. Or manly outerwear. I nonchalantly went into a shoe store, looking to replace my old Kamik trail shoes or even my Columbia work boots, but no such luck. I've never been much of a Converse fan.
Then I spotted the Baskin Robbins.
Now, to be honest, I'd just consumed two helpings of fat back at Mujinju. I hesitated at the parlor doors, gazing at the familiar, comforting blues and purples inside.
What the hell, I thought. You're only young once.
I went inside.
I eschewed my usual Jamocha Almond Fudge for a big helping of Cherry Jubilee (King Cone, baby...three thousand won). Aw man, it was awesome. Cherry ice cream definitely deserves to be honored foremost amongst humankind's greatest inventions, right up there with umbrella hats.
As I was sitting in the upstairs room, slurping my ice cream happily, I noticed a pair of rather giggly Korean schoolgirls sitting at the table next to me. They kept looking over their shoulders at me, then putting their heads together and speaking softly and quickly. I caught snatches of English phrases, and deduced that they were figuring out how to speak to me. And then it happened.
"Hi. How are you?"
I absolutely love this about Korea. Coming from a land where most foreigners are looked upon with suspicion, if not outright hostility, it's refreshing to be in a foreign land oneself and be treated unerringly with curiosity and friendliness. Okay, yeah, sure, they might've just been practicing their English on me, but hey...they could've hurled some racial epithets at me and flounced out, too. But they didn't.
"I'm fine, thanks," I said (my standard reply). "How are you?"
There followed a halting conversation. At my every reply the speaker would put her head together with her reference book (her friend) and then figure out what I'd said, and formulate a reply. This worked so well that eventually we wound up taking pictures together.
It was kind of funny: as I handed her my camera so she could take our picture, the speaker brushed herself down and made what I deduced to be some self-deprecating comment about her appearance.
"Gwaenchanayo," I said. "Yeppun yeoja imnida."
It's okay. You're a pretty woman.
The girl threw her hands over her face and went into a fit of embarrassed giggles. Then we took pictures, said very cordial and amiable goodbyes, and then they left.
It was just five seconds after this that a couple of Baskin Robbins staff members walked up to my table, presented me with plastic shot glass filled with purple ice cream, and bade me drink it for free.
"This drink is called 'Purple Berry Blast,'" one of them explained. It was service (see Day Eight: Jeju).
I drank it slowly. It was delicious. Dang, I am going to miss this country.
In fact, this little three-hour pilgrimage I made to the Chungjang Shopping District in Gwangju underscored everything I'm going to miss about Korea: gigantic open markets, talkative people, delicious food, music in the air, atmosphere, culture (Oriental and Occidental)...and Korea itself, really. I wandered around a little more, but I'd just about seen everything. The sky was beginning to drip a little, and I was anxious to get back to my room and (a) test out my new CDs and (b) hit the sack early. (I need to catch the bus out of here pretty soon tomorrow; I reckon it's going to take me up to seven hours or so to reach Gohyeon.) So I caught yet another cab (Gwangju is filled with them), had a short ride back to the train station (during which the driver and I admired the legs of a rather gorgeous woman in a short skirt and pumps riding sidesaddle on the back of a scooter), a balmy stroll back to the Koreana Tourist Hotel, was greeted by that same spooky stuffed tiger, and...
...well, here I am.
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