I just got back from a fantastic evening. The group spent the afternoon on the town doing several activities which I’ll get to later. The itinerary for our Saturday evening activity listed simply “Theatre Arts Performance: Traditional Korean Performance” so I didn’t know what to expect. I asked some questions but the responses weren’t specific. What I learned was we were going to see a musical theatre performance that was based on an old Korean folktale. When we arrived, an hour before curtain, we were ushered into the theatre, and asked to remove our shoes. It’s customary to remove your shoes in restaurants and in people’s homes, so I didn’t quite understand why we had to do it in the theatre, but I complied. When I got my shoes off the usher beckoned for me to go on stage — we all were invited on stage where there we rows of drums laid out. I nearly shrieked with glee when I registered that we were getting a drumming lesson. It was wonderful. Our teacher was excellent: he was patient, articulate, and didn’t speak a word of English, but it worked to his advantage. All of us were focused on the same thing at the same time for the first time all week. He walked us through five or six basic beats, then put the whole thing together for a Gene Krupa-inspired drumming session. All told, it lasted for 20 minutes, and I doubt I’ll ever forget it. However, in case I do forget, we now live in the digital age, and we got some of it on video. Check it out.
The fun didn’t stop there. We stayed for the show, which is called “Miso.” Miso is an open run original Korean musical at the Chongdong Theater in Seoul, and its the star-crossed lovers archetype set to live music, involving dance, some Vaudeville-style entertainment, and battles between good and evil. The costumes were the vibrant traditional silk jeogori — the two piece robes from the Three Kingdoms Period — and were matched nicely with a combination of traditional dance and the moves you’d see from Gene Kelley. The story is of Miso told without dialogue: there’s a narrator character who sings the story at certain points, but the music and dance really tell the story. The show isn’t long — 90 minutes or so — but it’s certainly moving. More than a few in the audience were wiping their eyes by the curtain call. The combination of the drumming and the show were the highlights of the trip so far for me.
Those who know me and my history know that I’ve got a thing for theatre, and it’s only reinforced on nights like this one where really powerful emotions were communicated effectively without words. I wrote years ago after watching a Mariachi band perform in San Antonio about the power of live theatre and live music to transcend language and social strata to evoke human emotions. It’s been a while since I’ve seen something performed in another language, but I’m overjoyed at being reminded about how wonderful the experience is.
June 27th was my first full day in Seoul in almost 20 years. I visited in December 1992 with my dad and brother on an inauspicious trip that is memorable mostly for what a bummer it was — I got the flu after the first night and was in bed for most of that trip. So, this trip, which I’m on because I was selected to participate in the Korea Society Summer Fellowship, made me nervous. In my application to the Korea Society I stated that, if selected, my goals would be to bring Korean history and culture back to my students in Maryland. Secretly my real goal was to make to the second day of the trip without puking.
By this high bar of expectation, this trip is a success. I still haven’t tried eating “Korean Chinese food” which was the last thing I ate before things went south in ’92 (I have an incredible memory of what I ate just before I’ve been sick) but it’s not like I’ve been chowing down on McDonald’s, Popeye’s or KFC, which are in shocking abundance here.
Speaking of food, my first full day in Seoul started with breakfast at the hotel restaurant, which offered one of the most sublime breakfast options ever: Tater Tots. I know I just knocked American fast food, but c’mon, when was the last time you saw Tater Tots as a breakfast option. I totally went back for seconds.
The post-Tater Tot plan for the day was a city tour with the other 40 teachers participating in this program. The idea was to learn how to ride the subway, visit a palace and a museum, eat lunch together, then have some free time. Off we went in two semi-organized groups. One might think that teachers are accustomed to going on field trips, so doing something like this — taking a large group of people who don’t know each other, and who are jet-lagged, into a country where they don’t speak the language — wouldn’t be a problem. One would be wrong for thinking this. We emerged from our hotel looking more like hungry alley cats and an organized group. Teachers in larger numbers are probably a sociologist’s dream to observer because we all are accustomed to being the leader, so being a follower is pretty tough, and everyone has an opinion about what we should do next (mind you, only two of the forty have been to this country before). So getting started was fun.
Our first challenge was to buy tickets for the subway and then to ride it. Now, in a city like Washington, D.C., this task with so many people would look like the ’68 Democratic Convention in Chicago, but luckily this is Seoul and the subway system is clean, safe, on-time, and is remarkably easy to navigate, even if you don’t understand Korean. Crisis averted.
We made our way to Gyeongbokgung, also known as the Palace of Shining Happiness. This involved getting off the subway and walking several blocks to a major boulevard in downtown Seoul that is lined with important buildings like a performing arts center, industry headquarters, and museums. Gyeongbokgung is at the end of this major road, which has four lanes of traffic in each direction, divided by a median that is around 200 feet wide. This median is a pedestrian mall of sorts, with enormous monuments to notable Korean figures. The statue of King Sejung was most impressive to me. It’s a golden stature at least 20 feet tall, sitting atop a concrete base of at least 15 feet. About a quarter mile behind him is the palace, and behind the palace are mountains, so with the width of this boulevard and the size and distance between the statues and the palace, there’s a terrific sense of space here in the middle of the city. Seoul, by the way, is heavily populated by tall buildings that stretch up to the sky and spread out like dominoes in all directions for miles. I’ve only been here a short while and I already appreciate the openness on this main artery in town.
King Sejung is honored here because he dramatically improved Korean society during the Joseon Dynasty, which lasted from 1392 to 1897. Perhaps the most audacious reform King Sejung introduced was a create a new alphabet which he created himself (according to legend). The gist of his story is that he recognized that in Korea’s agrarian society most men and women would remain illiterate as long as their written language was expressed in by Chinese characters. Yeomen farmers just didn’t have the time to spare to learn it the 3000 or so characters in the Chinese alphabet because they had to, you know, work. So in an attempt to establish a connection with his people, King Sejung invented a new alphabet of 28 unique characters. His thought was that all his people should be able to learn the alphabet and thereby read about the policies he was making, thus connecting them to his work. I know what you’re thinking: “Wow, a king who actually cared about his subjects? When did he do all this?” He rolled out the new alphabet, called Hanguel, in 1446.
King Sejung’s golden likeness proceeds Gyeongbokgung, or the Palace of Shining Happiness, as I mentioned above. So on to the palace: One of the things that makes the Palace of Shining Happiness so happy is that the palace looks like it is from a heavenly place as it is nestled at the base of a mountain and only the rocks and blue sky appear to be near it. The palace entrance is carved wood painted green, red and yellow, and is guarded by men in wonderfully bright silk robes. Their traditional outfits are replicas from the 15th century and are both imposing and inviting at the same time. The relatively low walls are made of large blocks of granite, planed smooth. Inside, the gravel courtyards are larger than a baseball field. The grounds also are home to totems from the ancestral worship that began nearly a millennia ago in Korea. These totems are simple — Korean characters burned in the base of a narrow plank of wood, with a carefully carved countenance atop each one. There’s a folk museum here, too, which has a lovely collection of artifacts from Korean culture going back 1200 years or so. Not much is in English, but even so, I got a distinct story of the Korean people going back many centuries. Their artifacts are sophisticated, beautifully crafted, and unique to Korea.
My favorite part of the artifacts on display on the palace grounds is a section outside where there are rows and rows of carved stones of men holding scrolls under their chins. Each has a stylized hat on, so that the figures are apparently identical. It’s a bit impressive to see so many of the same figures lined up together. I thought they were sages of some sort, offering to pass on Confucian wisdom.
Not exactly. They would have been educated by Confucian teachings but these statutes actually were . . .
Yes, in the good old days of Korean culture, dozens — no, hundreds — of sculptures were made of bureaucrats. To be clear, these are the equivalent to positions at the Motor Vehicles Department, or accountants in the mayor’s office in today’s America. Imagine living in a world where those jobs were envied. (And contrast it with the current mania in parts of America to do away with government). Once in Korea, and elsewhere in Asia for that matter, passing the exams to become an official of the state was a very big deal. It brought status to the individual and the family, and put one on the path to a better life. Imagine.
Outside the palace is an area where the government officials once lived. This area now is called Samcheongdong, and is known in Seoul as a funky, artsy community. There are murals on the walls, carefully-carved waterfalls, restored pagoda homes, trendy clothing shops, hand-made tea set shops, and art galleries all over. It reminded me of some of the smaller streets in Beverly Hills. We stopped just outside this area for lunch. I went with a smaller group to a restaurant owned and operated by a woman who does all the cooking and serving in a 8 – table shop. I chowed down on vegetarian bibemop made by a woman who looked to be in her 60s. The food was great, but I mention the place here because to find this small restaurant run by this woman was significant for a couple of reasons. The most obvious is that it’s amazing that she can afford the rent in this area, but the greater significance is that the phenomenon of a woman-owned business is only a generation old. Women were not permitted to work outside the home in most cases in Korea until around the 1960s, so to see her running her own shop entirely on her own deserved recognition. I’m not sure exactly what it means for Korea — for example, I’m not sure if this is common or what — but I hope that will be more clear in the coming weeks.
After lunch I teamed up with two other teachers on this trip and walked a couple miles across the city, looking a buildings, getting lost down different alleys, generally taking in the sites. The excursion came to a close at Namdaemun Market, which I’d remembered from my visit here in 1992. It’s an outdoor market that stretches for several blocks on narrow streets where you can find clothes, jewelry, trinkets, random food stalls, household items, spices, and — my personal favorite — pig’s head. There’s a lot of fresh fish, dried fish, recently-caught fish, but I knew when I saw the bisected roasted pig’s head that my work that day was done.
It was a long day, but a wonderful way to meet the city. I liked seeing the old stuff and the new parts of the city. Most of all, I loved not getting sick within 24 hours of landing. I’m looking forward to the rest of this trip!
I remember the first time I saw someone in an airport with a gun: I was in Luxor, Egypt, in 1998 returning to Cairo from a visit to the Valley of the Kings and the other sites along the river. The airport there is very small — only two gates if memory serves — and I remember distinctly a man in white who walked to the metal detector, removed a pistol from a belt holster under his linen coat, placed the gun on the table in front of a security guard, walked through the metal detector (it still beeped), then reached back for his weapon and holstered it again. He gave the security guard and his partner a warm hand-shake a kiss on either cheek (a customary greeting among men in Egypt) and they laughed like old friends. My eyes were saucer-wide open watching this interaction while the other dozen or so people in the waiting area quietly watched the World Cup match on the television. The man with the gun in the airport deserved no attention in their eyes while I couldn’t look away due to my astonishment on such a casual interaction involving a firearm. What I gathered from observing the man in white and the other men in uniforms was a high-ranking police official. Had I understood what they were saying to each other, I might not have been so concerned by the cavalier response to a man in plain clothes with a gun in a small regional airport.
I’m starting this trip and this blog with this memory because as I sat in the Bradbury Terminal at LAX awaiting my flight to Seoul, Korea, I was only 30 feet from a uniformed Los Angeles Police Officer a sizable machine gun. What is remarkable is how normal this is to all the people milling around here. No one is staring or doing double-takes at him. No one else seems unnerved by how large the gun is, what it’s purpose is, why the office is even standing there, or by the fact that his hand grips the gun firmly, with his index finger just an inch from the trigger. This scene is a reminder that there is a constant threat of violence now that didn’t exist not-so-long-ago. The threat is heightened at airports, obviously, but travelers seem to have accepted this officer and his colleagues-in-arms as necessary or natural accouterments
There’s a bit of irony I’m seeing here, too. My reason for being in this situation — the international terminal at the airport — is that I am going on an educator trip to Korea to learn about Korean history, politics, education, and culture, so that I can teach my high school students, and other teachers, about Korea. There’s an implicit idea here that education breaks down barriers, makes connections between countries and individuals, and may even improve the quality of life of those impacted by the newly-formed connections. My peaceful endeavor is shadowed by the prevention of — by threatening to use — violence.
So, against a backdrop of violence, I will endeavor to do something peaceful.
I started this blog to catalog a trip I am taking to South Korea. I am participating in the Korea Society’s 2012 Summer Fellowship, which sends around 30 American high school teachers to South Korea for two weeks to study, travel, and explore Korean culture and history.
This is not my first trip to Korea. I was first there in 1992 on a brief, tumultuous visit. I got the flu my first time around and I spent the good part of my trip in bed, at the hospital, and missing out on a lot of fun.
Here’s to making up for lost time, and to having a great trip!