Take Me Out To The Ballgame

There's a heavy vibe in this morning's class. Maybe it's because about half the students are away for mandatory South Korean military training. While that's nothing unusual, the news of late adds a layer of intensity to the whole process.

North Korea's leader, Kim Jong Il is claiming that the United States military has stationed tanks in the demilitarized zone between north and south, and he's rather irate about it, and that's never good. The last time he was in a mood was this past spring when he sank a South Korean sub killing 43 people.

Students, and their TA Hae Sung, aka Harry, tell me they've been living with apprehension over their northern neighbour for their entire lives. They're hopeful the world is starting to take note of what their country has been dealing with, especially with the G20 Summit scheduled to take place in Seoul in November.

We plan to drop into Seoul ourselves before heading back to Canada, and apparently we're going to be in for quite a culture shock. Southerners who pride themselves on their hospitality, find their northern counterparts sorely lacking in charm. Even Will, who is from Seoul, says it's a rather soulless place. While he has family there, he's very much enjoying his time in Gwangju. Still, he provides me with names of some hotspots he thinks we should visit in his hometown, and advises care and preparation when navigating the formidable subway system.

In the evening, we join our American friends, at the behest of sweet young Biology Professor Eric, in a trip to Mudeung Stadium, the local ballpark. The 2009 Division Champion Kia Tigers are taking on the visiting SK Wyverns. We grab a pre-game meal of kimbap and beer. Kimbap is Korean sushi, and, like most meals, covers the bases with fish, fowl and pig within. It costs a mere 2,000 won, and the vendor tosses in free "peanuts," which is actually a mix of rice crackers, seaweed, and chocolate, but no nuts.

While provided with chopsticks, we pick our food up with our hands, like savages. Meanwhile, I note the Koreans are eating their fried chicken with chopsticks. Though another vendor has gifted us with water, we also try two new Korean beer: Cass lemon, and OB, which is designed to look like Molson Canadian. Interestingly enough, it even tastes as bland as Canadian beer. The beer is 2,000 won per can; that would get you a sip-and-a-half at a Canadian ball park.

And let me tell you, the Koreans don't need beer to know how to party! The game is barely underway, and they're going wild! There's a little old lady in a royal blue chiffon blouse, white pants, and white gloves, and she's loudly barking orders while gesticulating at the players. The party convenor is a man with an arrow shaved into his hair who cues the crowd to chant. Beating yellow, red, and blue Tigers noisemaker bats, this group of several thousand is able to maintain a rhythm worthy of Neil Peart, the legendary drummer for the Canadian band, Rush. The talented percussionists include the guy in front of me whose bats keep grazing the sides of my head! This boisterous group makes so much noise, it seems to echo off the mountains miles away.

Popular North American rock and pop songs are transformed into inspirational ditties. We hear Smoke on the Water, Twisted Sister, Jose Feliciano, and Scotland's long forgotten Bay City Rollers. The lyrics for YMCA change from "young man," to "Big Choi," (and the rest is in Korean). When Big Choi is injured immediately afterward in a collision with an opponent, the party convenor quietly imparts some words of wisdom, and then the crowd cheers for the risen player. When another player fails to impress, a vocal young man behind us yells in Korean, interspersed sarcastically with "nice going" and "nice one." And of course, there are the ubiquitous saucy little cheerleaders in very un-Korean ultra-skimpy garb.

The crowd is especially worked up because the game is being shown on television. We're encouraged to mug for the camera when the crew scans the crowd, and a 20-something, handsome westerner is happy to oblige. For his efforts, he is given a T-shirt and some cans of beer which are delivered to him courtesy of the promotor's capable pitching arm. The party convenor, who until now has exclusively spoken Korean calls out, "Safety! Safety!"

By the top of the fifth inning, the seats have taken their toll on my backside. They are so small, I might, just might, have fit into them in kindergarten. As is, I have to sit side-saddle, or my knees would be pressing two inches into the back of the man in front of me. And I'm only 5' 5". I can't imagine how Husband is going to unfold himself later.

I leave the merry sextet and catch the bus home. It's pretty hard to beat this bus system. One-thousand won takes you anywhere. The buses are spotless, and everything is automated, including the electronic ticket taker that thanks you for paying your fare. You can even pre-pay for a card, and then just scan it while boarding. You don't have to wait for a bus; they arrive every couple of minutes.

We pass stores like Funny Mart and a clothing store called "A Flippant Cat," and before I know it, I'm back in Hu Moon. I walk right by the tailor's shop, and am shocked to see it's still open. The seamstress must toil 16 hours a day in this cramped space that is little more than twelve feet deep and six feet wide. I pop in to pick up my skirt, and the hardworking gal jumps up from her cross-legged position on the floor at the back where she's been taking dinner with her husband. This is adamantly not a tipping culture (people consider doing a good job to be a matter of honour, not something worthy of reward) but if it were, she'd make a fortune.

I was thinking tonight that we haven't seen Professor Grumpy Pants around at all. Remember, he's the chap who barged into the International Centre offices upon arriving and immediately started making demands? Well, apparently he, his wife and their young son have not acclimatized themselves to Korea. They've been holed up in their apartment, making their own carefully sought out "regular" food. They bought 300-dollars worth of groceries and battened down the hatches in a concerted effort to avoid any possible connection with the real people of South Korea. All I can say is, they are missing out.