Tuesday, October 30, 2012

sunken ships and captured forts


A Korean junk, circa 1871. (Photo taken by U.S. military personnel; courtesy of Wikipedia.)
Did you think the Korean War of 1950-1953 was the first U.S. military action on the Korean peninsula?

Have you ever wondered who the first American soldiers to receive Medals of Honor in a foreign conflict were? And which conflict it was? 

You're about to discover the truth.

The year was 1866. The American Civil War had recently come to an end. The heart-rending, gut-wrenching conflict was finally behind us, and the process of reconstruction was underway. America now gazed across the oceans, seeking new horizons, searching for trade partners, hoping enterprise would soothe its bruised soul. Commodore Matthew Perry had pried Japan open with a crowbar in 1854, and U.S. interests had been entrenched in China for decades. Korea had been on the table since 1844, neglected due to lack of interest. American eyes now turned to the isolationist empire on its small peninsula. It offered a tempting and pristine target for merchants and traders.

On August 16, 1866, a merchant marine side-wheel steamer named the General Sherman puffed into Korean waters. Belonging to the British trading firm Meadows & Co., the 187-ton Sherman carried a cargo of cotton, tin and glass, hoping to entice the Koreans into a trade partnership. The Sherman was also heavily armed, just in case the Koreans weren't in a listening mood. She was crewed by a Captain Page, Chief Mate Wilson, and almost twenty Chinese and Malay sailors. Also aboard were the ship's owner, W.B. Preston (American) and Robert Jermain Thomas, a Protestant missionary and the excursion's official interpreter. Assisted by Chinese junks, the General Sherman steamed up the Taedong River and anchored just outside the Geupsa gate, at the border of the Pyongan and Hwanghae Provinces.

The traders established contact with the Koreans and told them they wanted to dicker. The Koreans refused, but agreed to supply the foreigners with provisions. The Sherman was told to wait at the Geupsa gate until the Korean regent could be consulted. He would then either send the envoy home or invite them into Pyongyang. For unclear reasons, however, the Sherman weighed its anchor and steamed further upriver, eventually running aground on an island in the midst of Pyongyang. A Korean ambassador was sent to the ship with an offering of food, and a stern warning: the ship must return to the Geupsa gate, or all aboard would be killed.

This is where accounts get muddled. The Koreans claim that the foreigners kidnapped the ambassador and held him hostage. They demanded to be allowed inside the city and even went so far as to fire the ship's cannons into the crowd which had gathered on the banks of the river. This went on for four days. More envoys were sent, words were exchanged, and the vessel kept firing its guns up and down the riverside.

Reality check, here. I'm not an apologist, but I find it difficult to believe that a trading ship would just up and start a war on an isolated nation for no reason. Doing so would hardly have been profitable. More likely there was some massive misunderstanding that took place. The Reverend Thomas was the only Westerner aboard who could speak Korean, and no one knows exactly what his level of proficiency was. After living in this country for almost 21 nonconsecutive months, I'm well aware of just how easy it is to cause massive misunderstandings. The language barrier is pretty thick here. The cultural discrepancies between Korea and the Western world don't seem great at first, but they can sneak up on you. And Koreans wear their hearts on their sleeves: they will react passionately and vehemently if something untoward happens, and they will correct forcibly if they can't make themselves understood. Perhaps Thomas, Captain Page or Mr. Preston all underestimated their hosts' magnanimity. Perhaps they just failed to keep their minds, eyes and ears open.

Whatever the cause of the misunderstanding was, it cost them their lives. The Koreans tied several boats together and filled them with wood, sulphur and saltpeter. They set them aflame and sent them drifting toward the General Sherman. The first two boats left the steamer unscathed, but the third lit her up like a Christmas tree. Unable to quench the blaze, her crew dived into the water, where the Koreans unceremoniously beat them to death.

And so ends the first part of my story. The second now begins.

Nobody knew what had become of the General Sherman, but since there had been American nationals aboard her, it was a cause of concern for the United States of America. So, in 1871, a military expedition to Korea was mounted. Its mission was to ascertain the fate of the Sherman and her crew, protect a new diplomatic legation being sent to open trade routes with the peninsula, and to establish a treaty with Koreans for the protection of shipwrecked sailors. (The Joseon Dynasty, like the Tokugawa shogunate, took a rather dim view of castaway foreigners on its shores.)

American history books (if they mention it at all) call this the 1871 Korean Expedition. The Koreans call it the Sinminyangyo, and it was centered on an island in the Han River estuary called Ganghwa-do. It already had a history of punitive incursions; the French had mounted a military expedition there in 1866, the same year the Sherman was destroyed. The Japanese would later invade there in 1875, and shanghai the Korean regent into signing a trade agreement, thereby ending the Joseon Dynasty's isolationist policies.

The American warships first attempted peaceful overtures, but the local officials dodged the subject of the Sherman incident, perhaps to avoid having to pay recompense. The Americans stated their intention to explore the region peacefully. Official Joseon policy, however, forbade foreign ships on the Han River, which led directly to Seoul. So the Korean troops fired on the American ships from their stone forts on Ganghwa's heights, without inflicting much damage. The Americans demanded an apology within 10 days. None was forthcoming, so
on June 10, 650 American sailors and Marines off the Colorado, Alaska, Palos, Monocacy, and Benicia landed at Ganghwa-do. They stormed several Korean forts on the island, one after the other. Set against them were some hundreds of Korean regulars, known as the "Tiger-Hunters" and led by General Eo Jae-yeon.

Another Wikipedia image. This is a posed photo, but these are the U.S. Navy commanders. That's Admiral John Rodgers, the expedition's commander, leaning over the table on the right.

The account of the action is quite thrilling, and can be read in detail here. Suffice it to say that about 250 Koreans armed with outdated matchlock muskets were killed, for the loss of three Americans. The fort defenders were easily defeated by the better-armed Americans, who were also aided by artillery fire from the Monocacy. Five Korean forts were taken, as well as numerous prisoners. The Americans hoped to use these spoils as bargaining chips to force the Joseon rulers to the table. No dice. The Koreans refused to negotiate with the Americans and told them they were welcome to keep the "cowardly" defenders of Ganghwa-do.

So the American ships sailed away to China, and that was the end of it.

But was it? This seemingly insignificant action had far-reaching consequences. Firstly, Daewon-gun, the Joseon regent, saw fit to strengthen his isolationist policies in the wake of invasion—to no avail. The Japanese sailed up the Han River in 1875 and threatened to fire on Seoul unless the Koreans agreed to trade. (The Japanese must have taken a leaf out of Perry's book, huh?) Trade agreements with the Western nations soon followed, including one signed with America in 1882.

Perhaps more importantly, though, nine sailors and six Marines of the American expeditionary force were awarded the Medal of Honor for the actions at Ganghwa-do.

These were the first Medals of Honor ever awarded for action in a foreign conflict.

How about that, eh?

AND NOW YOU KNOW...

Friday, October 26, 2012

cocktail review no. 65 - Bullfrog

I really need to do these more often. Apparently they're my most popular posts. I pulled off that nifty trick where you make your blog more vulnerable to search engines by labeling your posts with searchable keywords. Worked like a charm. I've had thousands (literally thousands) of hits on some of my travel posts, and hundreds more on the cocktails.

But I've been going out on a limb lately with the latter. I've reviewed lots of weird drinks that ordinary people at home would never be able to make, 'cause they don't have a fully-stocked liquor cabinet like mine. No Drambuie, no Blue Curaçao, no Lillet, no Rose's lime juice, no crème de cacao, nor any of that fancy stuff.

So tonight's recipe is nice and simple.

Behold the bullfrog:

  • 2 ounces vodka
  • 1 teaspoon Cointreau or triple sec
  • 4 ounces lemonade
  • 1 lemon wedge

In a highball glass almost filled with ice cubes, combine the vodka, Cointreau and lemonade. Stir well and garnish with the lemon wedge.


Easy, right? (You don't even need a shaker!) And it's not a hideous clash of sensations like so many other drinks I've reviewed. Vodka, the "necklace of negatives," soaks up flavors rather than challenging them, and the mixture of Cointreau (orange liqueur with a hint of pear) and lemonade makes for citrus-based synergy. Thereby the libation winds up flavorful, just a tiny bit sweet, not too sour, and delicious all around. An adult's glass of lemonade, that's what this drink is. It's seen me through many a summer evening, and satisfied many a skeptical girl who thought strawberry daiquiris were the bee's knees.

Try it yourself. If you liked the Moscow Mule, you'll like this.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

I hate that feeling

...but I suppose I'd better get used to it. I've had it before and I'll have it again. It stings, though. Smartly.

You know that feeling you get when people you know are doing something really cool but you can't go along with them because of your job or your family and you get to watch from afar as they have the time of their lives?

Yeah, that's the one. That's what I've got right now.

A couple of my friends from Canada and the U.S. have signed up for the Mongol Rally.

Don't know what the Mongol Rally is?

I'll tell you what the Mongol Rally is.

It's this:

                                                                                                                    from The Life of Adventure

...a 6,000 mile race across Europe and Asia, hosted by the Adventurists, a Britain-based adventure club and charitable organization.

Here's the idea: you start in London, sometime in July. You buy a piece-of-crap car with a 1000-cubic-centimeter-or-less engine. You, and as many friends as you can pack into this pathetic machine, drive said pathetic machine from London to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia.

The team name is up to you. The car's paint scheme is up to you. The car itself is up to you. The equipment and supplies are up to you. The route and timing are up to you. All you have to do is acquire a conveyance and get it and yourselves to Mongolia before August is over.

The point, as you might have guessed, is the journey. Voyage of exploration, connecting with buddies, reaching deep inside yourself for survival (and mechanical) skills, challenging the raw forces of nature and all that hogwash.

Sounds lovely. Just the kind of quest I would like to undertake.

But I can't. June 2013 would be midway through my second year's contract. I could re-up in February for just a few more months, but then Miss H would have to find a new apartment. It's in my name. I would also have to go home and restart the whole finding-a-job-in-Korea-and-getting-the-requisite-documents nightmare that I've already delineated to you.

It's just not possible. I can't do it.

So off my friends go, doing this amazing thing without me.

It's not a fun feeling.

Ah well. I was never one for sour grapes. (I see what you did there, Aesop.)

Good luck, Mr. E and Mr. S. I wish you the best of luck. I hope you have the time of your lives and I'm behind you all the way. Send me some pictures and bring back some weird-ass souvenirs.

And I hope scraping up the requisite $8,000 for entry fees, charitable donations, vehicles, gas, food and airline tickets doesn't take too long.

Bah. Suddenly I feel like some cheese...and wine.

Seoul Grand Park

It's a bit late to be telling you about what I did for the long Chuseok weekend—you know, seeing as it was the first week of October—but I'll go ahead and tell you anyway, because it was cool.

On Saturday, September 29, we went to Itaewon to see the the musical Wicked. You might have heard of it. Big Broadway show. Miss H is a fan. I must say, I'm a convert. I was pleased by the creativity, the spin on the old Wizard of Oz mythos, and the clever storytelling. The music was pretty good, too.

On Sunday we took a scouting trip to Seoul Grand Park
(also known as 서울 대공원), a zoo/art museum/theme park nestled in the mountains south of the capital. It was the zoo we were interested in. We came, we saw, but it was too late to do anything, so we went to Myeongdong for some delicious street food instead.

Then we came back on Monday, primed and ready for action.

I was led to believe, by my outdated Lonely Planet guidebook, that Seoul Zoo wa
s nothing more than a public walking-space with a few exotic animals in small, muddy enclosures.

Either they've refurbished the place since my edition of the guidebook came out, or the writer was an extreme cynic. The place was gorgeous.

But it was, on the other hand, a zoo. If you know what I mean.


This was Chuseok, something like the American Thanksgiving. On this three-day holiday, everybody runs home to their families and spends their vacation feasting, hobnobbing, and paying tribute to their elders. Mothers and fathers pack up their kids and go see the grandparents. Deep bows are given, and the elders then bestow their offspring with gifts. This is one of my students' favorite holidays, because the traditional gift for a respectful grandchild is cold, hard cash. Grandmothers whip up some songpyeon (rice cakes or something) and everybody chillaxes for a few days.

They also take family trips to places like Seoul Grand Park.

Everybody and their mother was there. Literally.

Fortunately, SGP is rather large. So large, in fact, that you must walk a kilometer and a half from the entrance at the subway station to the actual ticket booths. Fortunately, it's a scenic walk. They even provide nourishment for you if you get fatigued. There were snack stands which sold everything from ice cream to potato chips to charcoal-grilled squid. You may be sure that I partook of the latter. And loved it.

This initial long hike is greatly facilitated by an open-air tram that runs up the mountainside, like so:


It also happens to take in the gorgeous mountains, a large lake, and the botanical gardens on its way there.



After absorbing this breathtaking spectacle, Miss H and I stood in line for 45 minutes to catch the next leg of the tramway up to the highest foothills, so we could meander our way back down the mountain and through the zoo proper.


We saw the tiger feeding, and would have seen the dolphin show if it wasn't for that aforementioned crowd. We settled for moseying among the enclosures, taking in the sights and sounds of the surprisingly numerous animal exhibits, and then having a quiet snack on the grass before we left and went home.





And that's all I'll tell you about that. Tune in for the next Chuseok-related post, in which Heather and I explore Incheon's Chinatown area.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

the fastest man alive

Hats off to "Fearless" Felix!

Felix Baumgartner, the intrepid Austrian skydiver and daredevil, has departed a bare patch of weathered asphalt at an airport in Roswell, New Mexico. He is sitting in a tiny capsule attached to a gossamer balloon 700 feet high. He is clad in what resembles a full-blown spacesuit. Readouts and checklists surround him. A vast crew of people, including Baumgartner's friends and family, watch from the ground. In about an hour and forty-five minutes, he will reach an altitude of 120,000 feet. He is attempting to break the record for the fastest speed attained by a human being in free-fall: 690 miles an hour, or Mach 1. That's right...the speed of sound. In so doing, he will break three other records: the highest skydive, the longest free-fall, and the highest manned flight in a balloon.

Watch it live, here. Godspeed, Mr. Baumgartner.