Daerim-dong
Images of Seoul, before everything gets away from me:
A shoebox studio, new sheets, and letters in my suitcase. First night, mopeds speeding past my window, ajummas shouting at their children. The familiar sounds of chopping, dicing, and scraping, and the smell of simmering jiggae from the restaurant below. The doorman across the street sings a Korean folk song. The vegetable truck ambles and shudders past, tape playing over the loudspeaker, come buy onions. The refrigerator starts and stops, and doors open and shut quietly down the hall, intermittently through the evening. Unwrap bars of soap, fold socks, investigate the cupboards.
Ferry from Younan-budu to Deokjeokdo
Deokjeokdo Island, Alfred the dog, fires, soju, and a free-floating raft. Mosquito-tent, star-gazer canopy. Diving, an evening thunderstorm, and a lost camera. A hike to the peak, and a Fighting! company meeting of Samsung executives. I am on top of a peak, with clouds rolling alongside. A grey haraeboeji takes to me, strokes my arm with a long reed of grass, and sits there smiling, so strange and funny. How to react but to just smile?
Raft at Seopori Beach
Beach Love Motel, sandy-grit peanut butter sandwiches, and fireworks. Late-night soju shots with the ever-present proprietor. Seopori Beach and a Chuseok weekend, tent city. Hite, a sunset, and a lifeguard tower. A dog-fight between Alfred, the pug-nosed Cavalier mutt, and a ragged beagle, who whines and then disappears. Mr. Kim’s brother, wife, and son Tae-Hoon arrive in time for midnight fireworks, and funny Tae-Hoon scurries up and down the beach, clutching Alfred and dragging him around the sand. Tae-Hoon teaches him how to dance, and to give a high-five. The dog is very patient. Later on in the night, Alfred crawls into my lap for a sleep.
Alfred
Haemaru-gil’s office-tel, and a landlord enforcing principles of Feng Shui. The musician doorman loves opera and Johnny Cash. The gift of a drawing and oranges is reciprocated with Hershey’s Kisses and an impromptu guitar lesson. I am in love with an ajoshi. I speak no Korean, and he speaks no English, but despite this we have managed to make friends.
Subway, escalator, bus, rush. Catch your heel. Seoul-dae Ip-Gu. Daerim-dong. Funeral home and a hospital on the next block from school. Jendo guard dogs, fierce at first, and a few months later a litter of puppies appear, plump and clumsy in thick, shaggy coats. Haraeboeji smoking cigarettes, watching soccer practice. Thin men and women, dragging IV-carts, into the schoolyard. Stylish young mothers in rabbit-furs, on their hand-phones, and ajumma power-walking around the track. Hello, Alex-seh! Teacher Alex-seh! Howar-yoo? Gooday!
On the 2-line, Seoul
HBC Bar’s advertised “Breakfast/Dinner/Booze” and lonely boys smoking at the Café Alexandria, across the street. Anxiety. Loud Western music in a narrow, smoky bar. Pull chairs outside that first night with new friends Christine and Renee, taxis to Itaewon’s Homo Hill, and tranny-burlesque. A six-foot-four, Kimono-clad beauty queen appears and startles. Woulda-you lika dreenk? But it’s too loud, so Six-Four bends down, too close, Dreenk? Dreenk? I still don’t understand between the insistent strobe and music, too-loud. About to faint. A menu opens, and a life-giving cup soon appears. Later, beautiful trannies will sing, dance, and shamelessly steal drinks. They are quite stunning. Everything is beautiful and blinking.
Pusan on the slow Mugunghwa train, cans of cheap Cass passing between Joy and I. Talking the evening away. Girls across the aisle have a camera that shoots, clicks, prints. They take our picture and kindly offer the tiny Polaroids. They are going to the film festival, too. All signs point auspicious, with sweet neighbors and a hushed, drunken roll towards the coast. Visits to the snack car, marvel at the train’s karaoke room (naeori-ban) and massage parlor. The rest of the ride spent lounging on the plush, carpeted floor of the snack car with new American friends. Discussions of couch-surfing, Catholic backgrounds, and the Korean penchant for opportunistic napping. I like these people. And at some point, I must lay down across the bar-stools for a nap myself, because that’s where I wake up, some hours later.
A night at the Western Bar in Pusan, no name recalled. A bottle of cheap champagne shared at the bar. The self-professed ‘curly-haired freak’ from Gwangju accompanies me through good tunes and bad, and I have a chance to try out the K-Pop moves I’ve picked up. Dance night can never go wrong with a game partner! The next day brings explorations of Pusan’s Hyundae and Gwanghamun Beaches. A tour of the Jagalchi Fish Market, and service flounder, fried fresh and crispy with a bit of salt. Delicious. Pristine sky-scrapers push up to the edge of the sand, looming and shining in the sun. It’s October and I didn’t bring my suit, but we strip down anyway, to our tights and tee-shirts, and wade and thrash into the freezing, clean, and deep waters. Jet-skis zoom too close, I dive to the bottom, gaping fresh breaths at the surface, and then slowly float back to shore on the waves.
Fast-forward through the foreigner’s district, Itaewon. Highs, lows. Early nights discover the glorious gay bars, billiards bar, and Roofer’s for spoken word, plays, and music. Errant scenes I’d wished I’d overlooked are leopard-prints and heels posed in doorways, waiting for the next visitor. A blond soldier hops over the fence and rushes in. Another night soon after, also involving the military, brings a frightening and sudden incident at my beloved egg-burger cart, leaving me shaken. Neon swirls into curbs into traffic lights, and after the calls to 119, there is little more that I can do. The walk back to Spacious Two is very quiet.
You took me there and I smiled with you. Alfred. So sweet.
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