On every odd-numbered
month Samantha organized Fancy Dinners. They
were usually held on Saturday nights in different restaurants around
Seoul. The cuisines were quite varied: Nepali, Italian, vegan Korean, Middle Eastern,
Korean fusion, Mexican, traditional Korean, Japanese, and a couple others I
don’t remember. It was not an open
event; one had to be invited by one of the regulars. Felipe, whom I’d met at a BSSK kickball game my
second month in Korea, had invited me. Attendees were as diverse as the
restaurants: North Americans, Europeans,
Koreans, hakwon teachers, public school teachers, university students,
newcomers, longtime residents, recent uni graduates, middle aged, and office
workers.
At the first
few dinners, Samantha, her honey-colored, waist-length locs arranged in a high
bun, organized fun ice breakers to generate conversation. [XXX] But once she saw that it wasn’t necessary, we just socialized
naturally after the customary round of introductions. Sometimes we had whole-table conversations,
and sometimes there were several side conversations going on at the same time. With
such a variety of backgrounds and experiences, the conversation were always
fascinating. It was through this group
that I made some valued friendships.
One had to
pay ₩30,000 in advance by bank transfer.
Upon arriving at the restaurant, Samantha would return the money to each
person in an envelope. Basically, the
money was to prevent last-minute cancellations.
On the rare occasions that there were no-shows, their money was used to
buy dessert for the group to share. It
worked well because I can only remember one time when we got to enjoy no-show
dessert.
The dress
code dictated that we dress fancy, not in the British sense, just nicer than
our everyday work attire. This made it
more special. Imagine looking and
smelling good, eating delicious food and having witty repartee for a few hours
with one or two dozen interesting people.
It’s not difficult to see why this became one of the highlights of my
time in Korea.
One time, we
were having such a good time at a Mexican restaurant, that we left there
looking for somewhere to continue the party.
After wandering the side streets of Apgujeong poking our heads into
different night spots, we found a basement norebang. It was deserted except for its sleepy
proprietor who greeted us. When he
realized that we were mostly foreigners, he took a bunch of bottles of
different types of alcohol from the bar, placed them on the counter with cups
and told us to pour our own drinks. All
drinks, ₩5000. It was brilliant, that
way he didn’t have to try to speak English.
When I asked him if he had any juices, he told me to wait a few minutes,
ran outside, purchased a large carton of pineapple juice at a nearby mart, and
brought it back. What service! At first we took turns singing at the
microphones on the little stage in the main area, but then we all piled into a
room with a large screen and took turns choosing songs, singing and playing
accompaniment on the tambourines.
On a July
evening, I lost track of time at a Fancy Dinner we had at an Italian
restaurant. In order to make the last
train going out to my little town in Gyeonggi-do, I had to get on the Junang
Line at Wangshimni Station by 11:23. I
had missed it by a few minutes. I took
the next train hoping that it would, at least, take me to Yangpyeong, from
which I could take a taxi. But, no, the
train stopped at Deokso; eleven stations away from my stop. While I tried to figure out what to do next,
I was unceremoniously kicked out of the station by a Metro employee.
Exiting the
station and walking to the left, I saw a large hotel. As I got closer, it kind of seemed expensive,
so I walked back toward the center of town.
I’d only been to Deokso twice to shop at its Daiso, so I didn’t know the
area. Then I saw a police station and
stepped in. The five officers on duty blinked
at me in surprise. I must have been quite
a sight, appearing after midnight in heels that made me six feet tall, long,
brown arms and legs coming out of my green summer dress, and curls that had
puffed out with the humidity into a massive afro.
When I
approached the counter, all but one officer backed away as if to say,
“Na-uh! I’m not speaking English!” I asked if there was a jjimjjilbang nearby. Visibly relieved that I didn’t have a complicated request, he pulled out a
paper and pen and began to draw me a map.
Then he stopped mid-drawing and called to one of the others. He told me that the two police men by the
door would take me there. I bowed,
thanked him and got into the back seat of the police cruiser where they were
already waiting.
The ride was
less than three minutes. I then
understood why the officer had stopped making the map. Although the jjimjjilbang was close to the
station, it was challenging to give directions because it was in the old part
of town with its twisty-windy streets. I
thanked them and went inside. I paid
about ₩14,000, got a locker key, towel, and short & t-shirt set. After a shower, I found an uncrowded spot for
my sleeping mat in the main hall and fell asleep on a brick pillow.
In the
morning I went in search of a bakery and I bought an assortment of pastries. Some of the officers from the night before
were still at the police station. I
presented them with the pastries, bowed and thanked them for the night
before. They, in turn, bowed and thanked
me. I then took the train the rest of
the way home.
Later, when I
recounted my Deokso experience to Koreans, they were shocked. “Wow!
You’re so brave!” Not really. I just did the logical thing. What did they expect? That I’d sit on the curb of the sidewalk wailing
“Eotteokhae?” ‘til dawn like the character of some K-drama?
-----------------------------------------
jjimjilbang - a public
bathhouse furnished with hot tubs, saunas, a snack bar, heated floors, TVs, etc.
noraebang –
singing room, i.e. Korean karaoke
hakwon –
private language institute
Eotteokhae –
What shall I do?
