All posts by Claire

About Claire

Wandering (and wondering) development professional and aspiring aid worker. Contact me on anticipationofwonder[at]gmail[dot]com

Pass the Dongdongju…

Daegu, , , , ,

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been taking things slow and settling into work and my flat without really meeting many people or going out much. I imagine I’ll probably end up settling into a routine of not going out all that much anyway – partly because I will be working evenings (just as soon as the summer break is over) and partly because I’m a little older and a little less enamoured with partying than some others. But it’s always good to try something new and spend the occasional evening out. So on Friday night I went out with a group of other foreign English teachers. I was invited by one of the teachers at another branch of our company but the people in the group teach at a variety of schools.

Because most of them have evening classes, the night started quite late. The teacher I was joining gave me directions and I headed off to find her. This involved taking a bus (a different bus to the one I normally take!) and getting off as soon as I saw a building called ‘Park the Star’ (yes, I have that right – a gallery, maybe?). The thing about taking buses in a place where the bus system is described as ‘likely to bewilder foreigners’ in the guide book, and were nothing is in English, is that it can be a little tricky figuring out where to get off the first time you go to a new place. We work by landmarks to try and figure out when to ‘ding the bell’ on the bus so that the driver will let you off (at the next stop, in case you were thinking that buses here might be like taxis in SA that just stop anywhere). After a bit of miscommunication and getting slightly lost once off the bus, we managed to meet up and headed for a place where these foreigners apparently gather. This place is near to the branch of the school where she works, so at least some of the group I was with spend quite a lot of time at this place. I have no idea what it’s called in Korean but they call it ‘the hut’. It has something of a rustic theme with lots of wood and grass mats (on the walls and dividing up the booths). Apparently it used to be something between a brothel and a restaurant specifically designed for men to take their mistresses. Very odd. These days, it’s just a bar – albeit one with a fascinating design and no windows. I didn’t have my camera but I will definitely go back and take pics sometime soon. It’s also a fairly wealthy area, with a variety of hotels catering to Koreans and foreigners. I am told the German hotel and micro-brewery is great. Will have to check it out.

Friday night, however, we stayed at ‘The Hut’. So this is where I tasted, for the first time since getting here, some traditionally Korean drinks. The first of these is dongdongju (I think) – a kind of rice wine. It’s actually lovely. Refreshing and a little sweet-sour. The taste is not similar except for sweet-sourness but it reminds me a bit of the taste of sherbet. It’s milky white (although it isn’t made with milk) and is served in a large wooden bowl, with ice floating in it, and with a wooden ladle. The person pouring (typically the youngest woman at the table I’m told) then ladles the drink into a smaller, drinking bowl for each person, using both her hands to do so. Touching your right arm with your left hand while you take or give something seems to be quite common here – something like the Xhosa polite handshake – so that makes sense. Everyone then sips the wine from his/her own little bowl. And goes back for more. I’m not normally that much of a fan of rice, but I think I’ve found a form of rice I like. The alcohol content of this is apparently similar to ordinary (grape) wine, although this is hearsay as there were obviously no bottle labels to check.

The other local alcohol of the evening was Soju. Several people were a little shocked to learn that after 3 weeks in the country I still hadn’t tasted Soju – as if arrival in Korea should somehow translate immediately into walking into a bar and demanding Soju, which is a bit odd, but who am I to judge. This alcohol is a little different. It is apparently made of mostly rice (with echoes of the ‘mostly apples’ from Pratchett’s – Nanny Ogg’s – Scumble). It’s a little like vodka but with less of a burn as it goes down your throat. Apparently it’s very good when mixed with Fanta, a mixture I’m sure I’ll end up trying at some point but we were drinking it as shots on Friday (although not many for me because I was teaching the next day).

While here (apart from Friday) I have also come across some foreign (non-Korean) wine and a wide variety of (somewhat bizarre) beers. So far I’ve tried two wines – one Australian (Colombard/Chenin/Verdan) that was lovely and a Chilean Chardonnay that is fine but a bit fruitier and sweeter than I’m used to and rather strongly wooded. I haven’t seen any South African wines, not even at the Wine Bar that says it has South African wines on the sign outside. That said, I haven’t been there with anyone who actually speaks Korean and “I’m looking for a nice South African Pinotage” is rather complicated in sign language.

Most of the time, I end up drinking coffee. Or good old Coke – which thankfully tastes the same here as at home. The coffee comes in cans or paper cups with foil and plastic lids, and straws, and is bought cold from the local store or supermarket. It really is everywhere. It also beats, hands down, the instant coffee I have managed to find so far. A few years back one of the coffee manufacturers in SA started marketing a pre-mix of coffee and cremora. I never liked it, but at least that had coffee which tasted a little of coffee. Unlike this stuff, which seems rather insipid and is probably composed largely of chicory plus a cremora-type creamer. Given that I don’t have a kettle anyway, it’s not too much of a hardship to stick to store-bought coffee-in-a-can. Of course, I’d recently started drinking my coffee black before I left. I’m over that now – it’s almost impossible to figure out whether the coffee you’re buying has milk or not (Espresso? With milk. Latte? Oh, no milk…). I’ve tried a variety of these and have now found one I really like – a lovely, medium-strength mocha-java with milk. Unfortunately – perhaps inevitably – it’s the one kind that isn’t available everywhere. So the search for an easily available coffee to drink every morning continues. Who knew that the trip to Asia would involve a daily search for good coffee? Perhaps a regular hazelnut latte will have to fill the gap. There are also many coffee shops but they have the dual problem of time-constraints and lack of English-language menus.

On my more adventurous – or simply thirsty – days, I’ve also tried a few slightly more unusual things. Like the bean tea that was handed to me, on my third or fourth day here, when I was working at an intensive-English camp. These camps – ironically – are staffed by people who don’t really speak English, so conversation was minimal, I was thirsty and I was a little nervous of appearing rude to the people who were paying me a fair amount of money to teach for 3 (which ended up being 5) hours. So, when the woman in charge (a flittery little woman in frilly dress, high heels and lots of make-up) handed me a ‘Black Bean Thera-Tea’, I held my tongue and drank it. I’m not a tea fan, so I wasn’t thrilled anyway and, honestly, it doesn’t taste particularly good. It tastes like beans, unsurprisingly I suppose, and has the most amazing ability to completely dry out your mouth while you’re drinking it. Eventually, I slipped the second one into my handbag and hoped no-one would notice.

I’ve also tried Cherry Coke (aargh!), organic grape juice (which was worryingly sludgy) and chocolate milk in a mini-milk-carton. At work I drink lots of water – from the water fountain in the reception area. The tap water here is apparently not good to drink, although I’ve had no problems with using it for cooking and washing fruit, but I’m not feeling up to stomach problems, so for the moment I’ll stick to bottled. In the evenings I occasionally pick up a beer (which seems to be for sale everywhere and everywhen). The beer has produced some of the more fascinating translated-label amusement. The one I’ve settled on as my favourite (read least chemical and insipid), is Hite Beer, which claims to be ‘Clean, Crisp and Fresh’ with ‘FTK system – Fresh Taste Keeping system’. Cass Lemon’s slogan is ‘Sound of Vitality’ (yes, lemon beer. No, I don’t know why – either the lemon or the slogan). The most fascinating so far, however, has to be the Stylish Beer (yes, seriously). This is ‘premium beer with fibre’ and is ‘smooth and light premium beer exclusively designed for well-being of young generation’.

Hard to believe it’s four weeks tomorrow. For now, I’m sipping a glass of chilled, Chilean Chardonnay to celebrate the fact, and considering when the next fascinating, strange experience of life in Korea will magically appear.

Missing the sky

Daegu, , ,

The warrior’s now a worker and his war is underground
With cordite in the darkness he milks the bleeding veins of gold
When the smoking rock-face murmurs, he always thinks of you
African sky blue
Johnny Clegg and Savuka, African Sky Blue

Daegu is a city of sky-scrapers. Sometimes when I’m moving around in buses and on foot, I can forget this and feel almost as if it is normal for buildings to tower over roads and buildings, but it’s always there at the back of my mind. I find all cities a little claustrophobic. I once spent a day in New York and my lasting impression of it is that there are too many buildings and not enough open spaces. And I don’t mean little parks in between the buildings. I know that lots of cities have created parks and planted trees and done everything they can to ‘green’ their cities. But a little bit of green is not the same as open spaces. This city is surrounded by tree-covered hills (literally surrounded – it feels like there are dozens of them). It’s hard to explain to someone from a completely different world that the green is sometimes as claustrophobic as the huge buildings.

Ultimately, I suppose it comes down to what you’re used to. The area where I’ve been living in South Africa is a forestry area, with miles of green forested hills and some natural forests of the Tsitsikamma variety. But these exist in between the wind-swept grassland mountain slopes and open hills dotted with acacias and the occasional aloe. And all the places I have travelled to in South Africa, as well as the several other places I have lived, have been surrounded by open space. Farmlands and game parks and open veld stretching to the horizon, or the immenseness of the open sea.

One of the other reasons that all South African spaces seem more open is probably because our cities tend to meander off into the distance instead of being compact (modern?) cities. We seem to build out instead of up. I suppose because a shortage of space is not generally a constraint. Plus, of course, ground that is not hugely stable in places like Joburg make building up a little risky. Here they build up. In order to house the apartments and offices of the millions who live in the small-ish city where I am, massive apartment blocks grow towards the heavens. When I first landed in Daegu, I was struck by the fact that, from the air, the sky scrapers looked like clusters of some semi-wild thing growing straight upwards from the ground. From the ground, from the streets and the little parks, they seem like monstrous hunks of concrete towering precariously above you (though the precariousness is probably just a matter of perspective). In a city surrounded by mountains, the sight of a green hill is actually fairly rare; a sweet surprise when you round a bend or find yourself high enough up to see them, but generally hidden by yet another neon-lit sky-scraper. Even from my fifth-floor classroom window, most of the hills are obscured by much taller buildings.

And then there is the rain. A lot of South Africa is way closer to desert than lush green paradise. I love the summer thunderstorms of the Highveld but they don’t deliver all that much rain. Even Cape Town, except when it’s flooding, only gets a moderate amount of rain compared to a lot of other places in the world. I got quite used to regular rain in Cape Town Winters. It didn’t thrill me then, either. This is a lot like that – except that it’s always hot. And there seems to be even more of it. I don’t think there has been a dry day since I arrived. I now don’t ever leave the house without an umbrella and most days I wake up to and/or go to sleep to the sound of rain. Today I was glad that the rain woke me because I had forgotten to set my alarm. But at some point enough feels like enough. You start to wonder how there can possibly be so much water in the sky (yes, I know scientifically that is a silly statement, but that’s how it feels). Particularly in the mornings when I’m walking to the bus stop  in the rain (almost without fail). And everything is always a tiny bit damp. Sometimes, when the rain is light, it doesn’t even seem worth the effort of opening an umbrella – and you know that it’s hot enough that the few drops of rain will dry off quickly. Even if I do get odd looks. But often it pours for hours at a time. This also means that there are always clouds. This isn’t the kind of rain that builds, then pours, then clears. Even on the rare occasions when I catch a glimpse of the sky (behind the dark green mountains and the dark grey sky-scrapers), it is grey and full of clouds and rain.

A friend has posted some stunning pics of a trip he took to Lesotho, complete with wonderful wide open sky. Looking at them this afternoon, I was filled with the first surges of homesickness – a deep longing for wide open spaces and endless blue skies. There is something amazing about the emptiness of the African sky – resting a million miles above an African Winter landscape, pale and dry and stretching forever to the horizon. Dana Synman writes in his book, On the Back Roads, “…Maybe it’s because today most of us are confined to life in the cooped-up spaces of the cities. It’s great to know there’s open space out there where you can just drive, and drive, and drive. Open spaces allow you to dream dreams of freedom.” A colleague and I were talking today about how the Koreans seem to live very ordered, confined lives. It’s an almost perfect foil to the freedom of open spaces. The symbol of that freedom for me will always be the sky – those wide open skies that go on forever and forever, with a depth and an intensity that seems to last until the end of time. It makes me think of the Voortrekkers, taking off across the mountains, into the distance – heading out to forever and a future that was uncertain but free. I wonder if they sensed the amazing weight of that empty sky.

Before this bout of longing for African skies, I had lunch today (with same colleague) at a place called Outback. Apparently there is some sense of the value of wide open spaces here, too, even if the name is (as I imagine it is) intended to appeal mostly to the minds (and wallets) of foreigners. Whatever their gimmick, I was not going to complain about being in a restaurant where I could order a steak – a good, solid, rich, medium-rare steak. Meat makes me happy, so it’s good to know that there are places to get a good steak in town. It may not happen often, but it’s good to know there is the option.

We also drove past a group of about 20 people sitting on the pavement outside a building, each on a square of plastic with some kind of plastic topped thing that looked a little like a plastic fan. I was a little confused. Then we saw them all start tapping their plastic things on the ground in unison and chanting. Apparently they were having some kind of protest. I always have a sense of something wrong when I see people from other countries protesting. I had the same feeling watching protests in the UK on TV earlier this year. I feel like they’re not doing it right. I tried to explain it to my colleague, how I feel that they’re not taking it seriously – they’re just not doing it right. In South Africa, a protest involves people who feel very strongly about their issue and will make that very clear with loud, un-ignorable singing and dancing. My colleague pointed out that if he was in charge he probably wouldn’t take it too seriously if people were singing and dancing in protest. Perhaps I didn’t explain it right. I remember watching a BBC report on protests somewhere (Indonesia?) earlier this year and thinking that the reporter was missing the point when he said that all seemed calm because people were singing and dancing. Perhaps it is because I know only too well (based on my country’s history) that a singing, dancing crowd is fully capable of turning to violence if their voices are not heard, but watching a crowd toyi-toyi, it feels like they’re taking it seriously. Or maybe it is the unique strangeness of South Africa (Southern Africa?) that singing and dancing are not just frivolous recreational pastimes, they’re part of everything – a serious, meaningful part of every serious, meaningful thing.

A serious part of every aspect of my life, too, no matter how far away I am. Like the African performances at the Mandela Day concert in New York, which I loved. Particularly Chris Chameleon and Baaba Maal. And watching Jesse Clegg and Freshly Ground perform Asimbonanga, which felt a little bit (at least from my slightly nostalgic perspective) like a new generation of South African musicians taking the torch. The music I can take with me – even if most people here will never quite understand it. Some days I wish I could do the same with the African sky.

Shopping and rain

Daegu, , ,

I went shopping the other day. So far in Korea, I haven’t really ventured further than my corner store, a little superette-type place down the road and the bakeries (there are three different Paris Baguette stores within easy walking distance of my flat, one on the way from the bus stop home). On Wednesday, I decided that it was time to venture a little further. Also, I had run out of paper and not having paper is a problem. So I headed down the road to have a look around. It looked like rain so I took an umbrella. I’ve been using an umbrella belonging to my boss since I got here – which he very kindly lent me on the first day, as soon as he discovered that I didn’t have one. It’s a little cumbersome but the promise of rain here tends to be fulfilled, so I took it anyway.

First stop was the department store. I have known that the store was there since soon after I arrived. It’s a large, pale pink, multi-storey monstrosity that says it is a department store (in English). Also the bus stop where I get the bus for work every day is just outside. I was particularly interested because I’m not particularly familiar with the department store concept. It’s something that never really took off in South Africa. I spent a little time wandering around trying to find the right entrance. Eventually I found an entrance and decided I should just go in there. I’m used to shops that clearly indicate where you should go in with large signs and security guards. This is a just a foyer area leading directly onto the make-up and perfume floor, usually hidden in South African stores behind other clothes and several more security people. Once inside, I was unsure of what do to next, so I headed directly for the elevator – following the woman in front of me. At the top of the escalator was a reassuringly English sign saying ‘youth casual’. I figured that probably didn’t apply to me so I headed up another floor and found the ladies’-wear floor, containing a staggering number of areas of clothes and shoes and handbags, each dedicated to a different designer or brand. I saw a name that looked vaguely familiar (Benneton, I think) and slipped quickly between rows of exquisite (and expensive-looking) shirts and jackets to look around – and attempt to blend in. I’m also looking for a pair of open sandals to wear in the oppressive heat and a handbag that is slightly more water-proof and a little less hippie-looking than mine, so there was method to the madness. Wandering around that floor for a while, I found myself somewhat disappointed. I didn’t actually try anything on, or even look at sizes, but every single item of clothing I saw seemed to be adorned with frills and lacy bits and odd patterns. I tend to wear fairly plain clothes, choosing to make an impression with colour rather than frills, so the idea that I might not be able to find anything here that isn’t frilly doesn’t thrill me. I wondered, vaguely and fleetingly, if it might have something to do with different body shapes – Korean women tend to be shorter, for example.

After a while, I headed up another level and found the ladies formal and work-wear floor, most of which seemed, to be honest, to be more of the same. Except for one thing that caught my eye – a stunning, shapely little black cocktail dress that I would love to own, in the M&S section, weirdly. It really is pretty and I may well just go back and see if it’s still there once I get paid. Until then (and possibly after then – I haven’t actually done the conversions yet) it is a little more than I’m willing to spend on a dress that I don’t currently have any opportunity to wear at 99,000 won. Sometimes I feel a little as if I’m living in Zim-currency-hell here. I also meandered onto the men’s- and golf-wear floor. At first I misread the sign and thought it said men’s golf wear, so I was a little surprised to see suits. Visions of South Korean men (and women once I saw the mannequins) wandering golf courses in suits. It appears women have two floors (excluding the youth floor) but men only get half a floor. Definitely gender discrimination right there. There is also a floor of house stuff – linen, fine china, cutlery and appliances. I may be visiting there soon. I currently have a non-fitted sheet for my bed and it’s beginning to drive me mad.

After wandering around looking (I’m sure) completely lost for a while, I decided to head out. I did find a music, movies, toys and kiddies’ books and clothes floor but couldn’t seem to find an exam pad. One of the greatest frustrations of being in a completely foreign place is not knowing where to find ordinary things. I’m used to having a stationers just down the road or at the nearest mall for the more complicated and high-quality stationary and, really, being able to get pretty much anything else at the supermarket. It appears they don’t have those kinds of supermarkets here. Or at least I haven’t found any yet. The ones they do have resemble far more closely 7-11 Friendlys than Pick ‘n Pays. Although, I think even the Friendlys in SA stock paper and pens.

On my way out of the shop, I looked around the sale section on the first floor and was hugely disheartened because all of the shoes and bags were, frankly, unattractive. I don’t ask a lot of shoes and bags – just that they’re functional and at least a little bit attractive. And plain – less of the buttons and bows is preferable. I’m hoping I was just overwhelmed and there really are some pretty ones here. There is also a Body Shop section. A little odd for Body Shop to be lumped in with Gucci and all the Yardleys and Revlons, but good to know they’re around – at least they’re familiar. On the way out of the door, in the foyer area, there was a table filled with umbrellas and a sales-girl (seriously, she must still be in high-school) trying to sell them. I was already carrying an umbrella but it’s a terribly large and clumsy one, so I stopped to have a look. The sales-person was quick to see a potential sale and rushed to show me a purple one with spots on it, which I assume she thought would suit me. I would have preferred something a little less… well… girly, but I just didn’t have the language to argue with her and it is one of those wonderfully convenient umbrellas that folds up to fit into a handbag, so I simply asked her to show me how big it was when opened (with gestures and facial expressions – but she got it) and then decided I’d take it. At which point, I wondered how to ask how much it cost. She must have noticed my confusion because she showed me a nice, clear label with the price (in numbers I could understand) and then took my money right there. So I now have a nice, lilac-purple, spotty umbrella, which fits snugly into my handbag.

On the way home, in desperation because I really do like to have paper to write on, I stopped into a little shop literally three doors down the road. I’ve noticed it before and it has things like picture books and paint and crinkle-paper so I thought I’d check it out, on the off-chance that they were a stationers, as well as a kids’-pocket-money-spending/art-supply place (they are across the road from an elementary school and a middle school and next door to a one-room after-school art academy). They certainly didn’t have a huge collection but I was (finally) able to find a book with blank pages. So, I now have paper to write on. I was helped by a sweet, if rather overenthusiastic, older lady who doesn’t speak a word of English. As I don’t speak a word of Korean, and I really didn’t understand her gestures, I wasn’t quite sure how we’d manage. I looked around at one point for a till (because it’s normally easiest to take the thing you’re buying to a till where they can ring it up and then look at the numbers) and saw with dismay that there wasn’t one. The book also didn’t have a price on it. Eventually I just opened my wallet and she must have understood because she pointed to a 1000 won note and nodded emphatically. Somewhat relieved, I headed home.

In the past two days, I’ve used the book plenty and been quite glad that I did buy a convenient and useful umbrella. It’s been raining a lot. On both Thursday and Friday mornings, it looked exactly like a cold, miserable Cape Town Winter morning – complete with rain alternating between beating down and drizzling and clouds drooping over the mountains like a teenage rapper’s jeans. It has been exactly the kind of weather that makes you want to do nothing but curl up on the couch with a book and a blanket and a good glass of rich, spicy red wine. I’ve spent many hours (while the kids are completing tasks) watching the rain fall outside my classroom window.

The only problem with this situation is that it’s also hot. It’s the kind of overpowering, all-consuming warm weather that fills me with the desire to spend marvellous afternoons drinking ice-cold beer in pretty beer gardens. Which results in some instinct-collision: I keep finding myself longing to curl up under a blanket with an ice-cold beer, or to sit in a beautiful beer garden with a glass of red wine and a book. It is very confusing.

I’m hoping next week might be a little lighter on the rain. I’m currently working mornings instead of evenings (much to my chagrin) because the kids are on summer vacation. This means that some days I’m done by early afternoon, providing lots of time to wander around and explore a little. I am even considering, if I have the time and inclination, trying to find my way to Downtown, where sock and shoe streets are apparently located. Assuming it doesn’t keep raining. And that I’m not suddenly told I’m teaching more classes.