Concepts of Time and Distance

Yesterday we explored spirituality and the essence of Buddhism which includes taking the middle path, meaning, finding balance in all things, including the pursuit of enlightenment. Therefore, it's fitting that today we balance our studies of all things Korean with a journey to the other end of the spectrum: We are going shopping.

Well, actually, the aim is not necessarily to buy, rather, to take a look around a traditional Korean market. Program Assistant Ryan says there are several, but the best old school place is a ten minute walk down the street from our apartment. We decide to look up Malbau Market on a map before heading out, and we realize Ryan's guesstimate was based on Korean time and fitness. In other words, he could make it there in ten minutes, but Rob and I would take all day.

Before grabbing a bus, we visit our lady friend at Iris Toast. This time, instead of ham and cheese with egg, I have a chili burger and Rob has a bulgogi burger. Both are very sweet, and Rob's has a thin slice of spicy meat that is somewhat reminiscent of bulgogi. They're very good, and we thank our friend with a Winnipeg pin. She excitedly tells us, "bedgy, bedgy," and indicates that badge is going right on her shirt. These tiny gifts have a big impact on people who are extremely interested in Canadian culture, and in learning English. In Korean culture, where designer names are much sought after, these pins are mini markers of status because they say, "I have a friend from North America."

Malbau Market is what one would see if one were to open up the brain of someone with a severe case of ADHD. The sights, sounds, smells, and tastes, swirl about producing an intoxicating blend that is LIFE writ large. Through miles of cramped city blocks, vendors display their wares on tables, racks, trucks, and on the ground. Dior knockoffs hang next to smoked pork hocks and caged chickens and ducks.

As unsettling as it may be to see animals lined up to meet their maker, I reflect on a tour I had of a chicken and egg factory in Canada. It was sterile, alright; the birds were kept in metal cages so small, they couldn't turn around. They ate food peppered with artificial filler to plump their breasts up to Dolly Parton standards. And they never spent one second running around outside, pecking gravel and scratching through grain. It might not be pretty, but at least these birds have a leg up on their spotless, sequested counterparts back home.

Rob needs sandals, and I spot of pair of men's Hang Tens, stacked amidst little girls sandals, womens runners, and mens loafers. Surprisingly, they're a perfect fit, and they cost just 15,000 won or about 12 bucks. The owner comes over to join his wife who is explaining to us that their children are studying English in high school. It's really remarkable how much one can convey with just a couple of base words. In any event, the man feels compelled to cut the price of the sandals by one-third. Try as we may, we cannot convince him otherwise. We give them both pins, and they think this a superior exchange.

We walk through miles of unrefrigerated fresh fish and chicken, and there's not a fly in sight. We just can't understand any of it. We're fanatical about the handling of food in North America. Is the difference that this is so fresh and the turnover so high? Further, there's no smell of insecticide, and all the food is laying out in the open, in the heat. How can this be? We stop at a bake stand and pick up a small loaf of some sort. The vendor throws in a, fresh from the pot, Korean version of a jambuster doughnut filled with bean paste. It's to die for! The loaf is light, not especially sweet, and topped with fresh walnuts and some kind of crumble. Unreal! We continue to marvel at how meat and potato chips are sweet, but baking is not.

We exit the market through a very narrow lane lined with elderly women on either side. There's just enough room to walk through, single file. Low hanging tarps cover some areas, and we must duck to get by. The women are peeling, dicing, slicing, and organizing vegetables and fruit. Everyone is fully dressed, and many sit in the direct sunlight on this 30 degree, very humid day.

The market is a community within a community. People call out to one another, hang off truck boxes to chat with neighbours sitting on wooden packing crates, and visit while pushing broken-down old carts from one area to the next. The mobile vendors call out to potential customers. One old chap has decided to use technology to make his job just a bit easier; he has hooked up a mini-speaker from which his distorted message blares, non-stop.

As we step out of the market and onto the sidewalk, where the de facto market continues for miles, a man approaches. He tells us he's a pharmacist, and he has visited Vancouver. When he stumbles over his broken English, he giggles and covers his mouth in that shy, very Korean, way. We do the Korean thing, and ask if we can take his picture. He's happy to oblige, and we agree to email him a copy.

When we quit Malbau, we deke over to see the Gwangju National Museum. A little boy and his mom approach us in the parking lot, and the mom prompts him to speak with us. This smaller version of the pharmacist from Malbau giggles his way through an introduction. We reward him with a Winnipeg pin. Ten minutes later we look back to see them sitting on a bench, where mom is clipping the pin to the boy's shirt. Little Dong Ah flashes a toothy grin and gives us a big wave.

The museum is very impressive. While artifacts in our museums are often just a couple of hundred years old, here we see remains from thousands of years ago that have been unearthed in this very area. We even see a sarira reliquary and the remains of a monk. "Sarira" means body, and when a monk is cremated, what is left is put into a reliquary and then placed inside a stupa, or, big rock monument. The remains on display here include a couple of small bits of bone and a shiny green crystal.

The volunteer who has very kindly given us a personal tour, complete with detailed information about each exhibit is Mr. Kim, a former Education Department Supervisor. When he learns that we're leaving here to visit the Folk Museum, he gives us instructions. "It's across that highway. A fifteen minute walk." Once again, Korean perception in regards to physical capability and time does not exactly fit our North American reality.

Rob and I cross the highway, alright, but then we end up wandering around Ounam Reservoir for a while. It's a lovely mistake as the area is quite beautiful. It's astonishing how Koreans can take the slightest bit of land, even that at the edge of an expressway, and maximize its potential. Every square inch is terraced, cultivated, and productive. We see produce such as corn, watermelons, and peppers dotting the landscape. For all we know, there may be vandalism and theft, but there's sure no sign of it. This makeshift farmland appears to be very well tended.

We eventually end up near the Folk Museum, but decide instead to look through the Gwangju National Art Museum. Out front, there is a massive statue of a famous Korean poet who lived in the 1500s. It strikes me that I, like most people, have very limited knowledge of great talents outside my own culture.

The museum is beautifully designed and stocked with a wide variety of works. There's even an extensive children's section. Rob and I marvel over the contemporary pieces which include one with several computers showing time lapse film of a lake. The computers spin around while ethereal music plays. I'm sure it all symbolizes something very deep and important, but to the artistically deficient it looks like what happens when one has too much soju to drink.

In the end, we skip the Folk Museum; we have seen several examples of folk culture, and can always visit again at another time. For now, we need to eat and drink. We have been walking for six hours! We do stop to take photos at the koi pond on the Folk Museum grounds. Like the koi at the Golden Temple in southern Honshu, in Japan, these speckled, bright beings swim toward us en masse. It's a spectacular sight as they weave back and forth and the sunlight shimmers through the rippling water.

Our diner of choice is a small shop with extensive vegetarian and meat menus. Rob has yoochobap, vinegar rice stuffed in fried bean curd, and I devour mandookuk, or dumpling soup. The restaurant staff are watching a positively dreadful North American science fiction movie. We can't figure the thing out, and we speak the language. All we can discern is that it's something to do with humans being forced to serve a machine, ala The Matrix, people fly about in plastic pink car sized flamingos, and celebrated thespain Colm Meany has made one helluva career choice!

We debate whether to cab or bus it home, and then Rob looks down the street and thinks he spots Sang Dae, the neighbourhood next to Hu Moon. We hoof it another mile, or so, and sure enough, there we are, a stones through from our apartment! By the time we get home, we're so fagged out that we spend the evening reading, writing, and regenerating. But once again, that bloody Aravinda Adiga keeps me up until all hours fretting about his anti-hero Balram Halwai.