Seoul Survivor
After Shanghai, Seoul seems like a friendly little town. The population's only about 10 million, and the surrounding mountains give it an air of intimacy. We spend a lot of time in meetings with the folks from Korean Air and then head out for a tour of the royal palace. Built in 1395, the compound is older than Beijing's Forbidden City. It sits serenely, (well, it would be serene, if not for the hordes of Japanese tourists and screaming schoolchildren) amidst the skyscrapers and Jumbotrons of modern Seoul.
One of the more interesting things I hear on this tour is that the reigning monarch never set foot on the ground, but was carried from building to building on a royal litter. My feet are tired of cobblestones, and this seems an appealing proposition. We also check out the National Folk Museum, where I learn that a: the Korean people have a truly amazing variety of kimchee and b: Korean culture is in all ways superior to that of both China and Japan. Now you know.
After culture, commerce. Itaewon shopping district is the mecca of knockoffs, and I'm told that Korean fakes are among the best in the world. Penny leads us to Mr. Kim, who ostensible business is custom-made shirts but whose real money lies in counterfeit Louis Vuittons. Mr. Kim's nephew has streaked spiky hair and the latest in (fake) designer eyeglasses. He directs you behind the counter, to a catalog of current offerings. After you place your order, a runner darts away to bring back a purloined version of your preferred pocketbook. (I watched. I'm too cheap to buy a $50 purse, even a fake version of a $300 one, and I think Louis Vuitton stuff is ugly anyway.)
After shopping we have a brief pit stop at the hotel, where I delight in my toilet seat. This is one of those Japanese models that squirt warm water on your bum. I'd heard about them from my friend Suuusan, but never indulged. So now I'm peeing every chance I get.
Ablutions completed, we head out for some traditional barbecue. The Koreans have got it going on, and I say that as a Memphis girl who knows her Vitamin Q. Then, karaoke! (When in Seoul....) Korean karaoke isn't the torture-strangers-with-offkey-Soprano that I'm used to in the States. Here you enter a little room, where only your friends feel the pain. My Olivia Newton John impersonation falls flat but I recover with a rousing rendition of "Blue Bayou."
This morning I bid the press corps goodbye, and meet my friends David and Lourdes for some serious sightseeing. David's lived in Korea for 20 years and has written a number of books on Korean culture. He takes us to a shrine high above the city, where we witness a shaman channeling who-knows-what for a tiny woman. The shaman is motherly, shaking a fan and dancing excitedly, her speech punctuated by the drums of her disciples. "Cool" doesn't begin to describe. Above the shaman house, (and up many, many steep steps), we reach two giant morel-shaped boulders where a number of people kneel and pray. This is Seon-Bawi, a holy site. David begins to quietly explain the history and is shushed. On one of the prayer mats, a young woman bows and chants. Until her cell phone blares. She stops worshipping the ancient rocks, and takes the call.
Tomorrow, home.
One of the more interesting things I hear on this tour is that the reigning monarch never set foot on the ground, but was carried from building to building on a royal litter. My feet are tired of cobblestones, and this seems an appealing proposition. We also check out the National Folk Museum, where I learn that a: the Korean people have a truly amazing variety of kimchee and b: Korean culture is in all ways superior to that of both China and Japan. Now you know.
After culture, commerce. Itaewon shopping district is the mecca of knockoffs, and I'm told that Korean fakes are among the best in the world. Penny leads us to Mr. Kim, who ostensible business is custom-made shirts but whose real money lies in counterfeit Louis Vuittons. Mr. Kim's nephew has streaked spiky hair and the latest in (fake) designer eyeglasses. He directs you behind the counter, to a catalog of current offerings. After you place your order, a runner darts away to bring back a purloined version of your preferred pocketbook. (I watched. I'm too cheap to buy a $50 purse, even a fake version of a $300 one, and I think Louis Vuitton stuff is ugly anyway.)
After shopping we have a brief pit stop at the hotel, where I delight in my toilet seat. This is one of those Japanese models that squirt warm water on your bum. I'd heard about them from my friend Suuusan, but never indulged. So now I'm peeing every chance I get.
Ablutions completed, we head out for some traditional barbecue. The Koreans have got it going on, and I say that as a Memphis girl who knows her Vitamin Q. Then, karaoke! (When in Seoul....) Korean karaoke isn't the torture-strangers-with-offkey-Soprano that I'm used to in the States. Here you enter a little room, where only your friends feel the pain. My Olivia Newton John impersonation falls flat but I recover with a rousing rendition of "Blue Bayou."
This morning I bid the press corps goodbye, and meet my friends David and Lourdes for some serious sightseeing. David's lived in Korea for 20 years and has written a number of books on Korean culture. He takes us to a shrine high above the city, where we witness a shaman channeling who-knows-what for a tiny woman. The shaman is motherly, shaking a fan and dancing excitedly, her speech punctuated by the drums of her disciples. "Cool" doesn't begin to describe. Above the shaman house, (and up many, many steep steps), we reach two giant morel-shaped boulders where a number of people kneel and pray. This is Seon-Bawi, a holy site. David begins to quietly explain the history and is shushed. On one of the prayer mats, a young woman bows and chants. Until her cell phone blares. She stops worshipping the ancient rocks, and takes the call.
Tomorrow, home.
posted by Cyn at 9:05 AM
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