We breakfast in Dorm 9, where the Americans are staying. Rob and I have taken to calling this District 9, in reference to the Sci-Fi sleeper hit of 2009 in which aliens are ghettoized in a concentration camp in Johannesburg, South Africa. Given our southern friends aversion to the place, we think it an apt nickname.
Our breakfast is actually lunch, as we stayed in late following our 3 a.m. bedtime. Not that there's a big difference between meals. A traditional Korean menu looks the same no matter what the time of day, though Rob's TA, Jisan, says due to Westernization, many Koreans now have Dunkin' Donuts and coffee for breakfast.
Today's dishes include a red pepper vegetable soup, various greens, some with cubed rice cake, sugary mini garlic toast slice, and an 8 inch, intact, fish. We pass on the protein, unwilling and unable to look our meal in the eye.
Afterwards, we grab a cab to the World Cup Stadium branch of the enormous Korean Lotte Mart outlet store. The cab rides there and back are like living inside a video game, 85 kilometre per hour tunnel racing included. One of the cabbies even multi-tasks, watching TV and listening to the radio while honking at other drivers. However, his "Best Driver" sticker on the dash assures us that we're in good hands.
Outside the mall, we see parents and children handing out flyers. One young autistic boy approaches, and we greet him as we would any another child. The parents are so touched, they insist on taking our picture with them saying, "God bless you."
The mall is set up like an upscale open market that just happens to have a roof. Multi-coloured sales signs are everywhere: 70 to 30 percent off. (The depth of the discount is always listed backwards.) We amble through the stores, slowly coming to the realization that we are the only non-Koreans on the premises. Apparently tourists favour Home Plus and EMart; Lotte Mart is the department store of choice for locals who want to power shop. I really believe that if you want to get a feel for a culture, you have to go shopping. Temples are for the virtuous, and museums are for tourists. The shops are where you see people as they really are, interacting in real life situations.
We drop into Skin Food so I can scope out concealers as I am plagued by a couple of blemishes. The sales girls, in their knee high white sock and shoe covers (designed to look like futuristic go-go boots) are deeply concerned. Hands raised, palms up, and brows furrowed in alarm, they exclaim one after another, "Problem. You have a problem!" They help me to locate a wand with which to de-Frankensteinize myself, and I scuttle away.
I find solace in knowing I'm not the only freakshow on parade. Rob lumbers through the crowd like a Lord of the Rings orc, towering above all. To be fair, many of the children seem to see him more like The Friendly Giant, and they titter and wave as we pass by.
We stock up on items that are hard to find at the nearby markets, such as pineapples, (almost) sugar free (but full fat) yogurt, and potstickers. We even taste our first sip of soju, that popular Korean vodka. This is maple flavoured, something one would expect a Canadian to have dreamt up. And for near tea-totallers like us, it isn't half bad. We buy a 600ml bottle of the plain stuff for 1,000 won and later learn that it's a cross between vodka and gin. Ice cold, it would make a pretty reasonable martini. Since all westerners have told us soju is vile, we deduce that we: a) have faulty tastebuds, or, b) are Korean. We even splurge and pick up "Stylish" beer, if only to determine the veracity of its claim that it's a "smooth, light beer" that has been "exclusively designed for well-being of young generation."
The Koreans may have a point. Each day, in the park near the tennis court, we see elderly men (and sometimes women), gather for their daily constitutional drink, exercise, and gabfest. One gent's animated discussions are interspersed with vigorous stretching exercises. These people, easily in their 70s and 80s, still ride bikes and climb hills with ease, actively staving off the ravages of time. I think the Korean seniors regimen is certainly worth noting. Consider that North America running advocate and eating proponent Jim Fixx died of a heart attack at 52. Perhaps it's we should try the Korean approach. God knows it looks like jolly good fun!
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