The Real Korea

Korea isn't all shopping malls, coffee shops, and wild, drunken parties that spill over into the street. That's just Gangnam. Once you get outside of Seoul, in fact, you'll discover that much of Korea is farmland. MyungSoo's grandfather (God rest his soul) was a farmer, and he often recruited his reluctantly obedient grandsons to help him plant rice. Even within Seoul, there are some areas that seem like they belong to an entirely different city. While Myeongdong and Gangnam are centers of consumerism and literally overflowing with money and every chain restaurant (from my perch on the second floor of a cafe called Coffeesmith, I can see two Smoothie Kings, two competing bakery chains, two movie theaters, and at least five cosmetics and jewelry stores. Oh, and Taco Bell, probably the best thing to come to Gangnam since Krispy Kreme.), there are other areas of Seoul where the streets are so narrow, only a motorcycle can fit between buildings, where the adjumma's sell raw fish and fresh vegetables from makeshift wheelbarrows, where everything is suspiciously cheap, and where you wonder if any of the businesses have operating licenses. Now, that's not a criticism of Korea. It actually adds a lot of color. If Seoul were nothing but upscale, overpriced bars, I would be very disappointed indeed. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to what I would like to believe is the "real" Korea.

Important vocabulary:
Adjumma means "old lady". But they are more than your average old ladies. They survived the Korean War and rebuilt their country on pure willpower alone. They are both incredibly tough and also incredibly sweet. If you respect an adjumma, she will reward you will smiles and blessings and maybe some delicious food. If you disrespect an adjumma, she will cuss you out then wipe the streets clean with your carcass. In my opinion, adjummas are part of what make Korea great. They're strong, they are stubborn, but they are also hospitable and generous. They also have a rocking sense of style.

Adjusshi means "old man". In my experience, they are stubborn, old men who like to hang out with their buddies and drink. They also like to offer alcohol to strangers, just because. They respect the adjummas, as is proper.

A few weeks ago, I met MyungSoo's father for the first time. His father speaks no English, unfortunately, but we hit it off pretty well. About halfway through dinner, he asked me if I liked to sing. I said yes. He then asked me if I would like to sing at a neighborhood festival that he was organizing. In my confusion, I thought that surely he must be joking. After all, who would ever want a foreigner, who is by no means a professional singer, to perform at a public event. So I said yes, I would do it. That was my mistake. Mr. Park was very serious. The day of the festival got closer and closer, and it was soon revealed that Mr. Park wanted his son and I to sing a duet. In English. In a karaoke competition. In front of a crowd of adjummas and adjusshis.

Don't look away. They can smell fear.

I was incredibly nervous and even tried to back out of it, but Mr. Park insisted. And, in the end, I'm glad he did. Our rendition of the incredibly cheesy duet, "Way Back Into Love", was a hit with the crowd, and the judges decided to award MyungSoo and I a "special prize". I could not win the other prizes (First prize: a TV. Second prize: a bike. Third prize: a large bag of rice.) because they were purchased with government money and were therefore only available to Korean citizens. My special prize turned out to be four tubes of toothpaste and a set of glass bowls. I also received six bars of soap for a feat I will now relate to you, my captive audience.

It turns out the festival was an all-day thing. It started around noon and went all the way until 8 PM. The weather was blistering hot, yet Korea's senior citizens refused to move. In fact, as the afternoon wore on, they became increasingly active. The street behind the stage area was filled with tents of delicious food (grilled chicken, kimchi, beef and noodles, seafood pancakes, and all sorts of sweets) and alcohol (makeoli and soju. duh.). Naturally, everyone ate their fill. MyungSoo and I sat down for lunch, only to have a group of adjusshis insist that we do shots with them. We were also gifted with some inch-long grubs and told to take good care of them so they could become two-inch-long beetles that we could care for as pets. I would post a picture, but I don't want to make anyone feel ill.

Meanwhile, on the stage, there were various distractions. Everyone's favorite, however, was a local comedian who's gig involved dressing as a homeless man and then stripping to reveal sexy pink underwear. He accosted the guests and local politicians, who rewarded him with vast sums of money.

None can resist the sex appeal of the homeless.

Speaking of local politicians, they were all there, graciously acquiescing to every potentially embarrassing request by the emcee. And here's where we get to the part about me winning some free soap (it's made with barley!). At some point, the mayor found himself on stage, performing karaoke for the adoring masses. By this point, most of the adjusshis were drunk, and the adjummas were demonstrating that, while they may be in their seventh, eighth, or even ninth decades, they are perfectly capable of rocking out. So, when a crowd of drunk, dancing old people demands that you get up and sing "Gangnam Style", you do it. The only problem was that the poor mayor did not know the words. Enter MyungSoo, the biggest Psy fan north of the Han River. Within a few seconds, MyungSoo was handed a mic and rushed on stage, where he impressed the masses with his rapping prowess. But this show was clearly not enough of a spectacle. Mr. Park spotted me, now alone and unprotected. He grabbed my arm, dragged me to the stage, and ordered me to dance. Shortly thereafter, a group of over-enthusiastic adjummas rushed the stage. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my boyfriend and I performed "Gangnam Style" with a local politician for the amusement of Korea's elderly citizens. For my efforts, the emcee rewarded me with taxpayer-money-purchased soap. When it was all over, MyungSoo and I went to a meat buffet. All-you-can-eat meat for only 10,000 won. It was something that I only thought existed in my dreams.

All in all, it was an awesome experience and one that most foreigners will never be able to have. So, thank you, Mr. Park for forcing me to sing. And thanks for all this toothpaste, too. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do with it all, but at least I know I won't have to buy toothpaste for the next year or so.

I'm a winner!