When we last left our intrepid heroes (Devon and I), we were gazing proudly at the 50' tall banner on the side of our building, complete with a 15-foot image of us in traditional Korean garb. Needless to say, life here has been pretty exciting since then.
The giant posters on the side of ECC and emblazoned on its buses have made Devon and I quite recognizable around Gwangju. Everywhere we go now, it's we're followed by whispers:
"Hey, isn't that..."
"No, it can't be."
"It must be. Look! He's got that spot!"
"Oh my god, it is!"
"Say hi to them"
"No way! I'm not saying it, you say it!"
"Hello! Nice to meet you!"
At this point, we usually just make eye contact with the person, offer a friendly "Annyong!" and continue on our way, leaving a mob of twittering Korean teenagers in our wake.
The attention got to be so unbearable, we had to skip town. So early Saturday morning, Devon and I put on our best disguises, and hopped in a cab.
"Bus terminal, please."
"Hey, aren't you--"
"No, it's some other foreign teachers."
"But you have the same spot as--"
"As you can see, good sir, we wear thick black glasses and both have large fuzzy mustachioes. Besides, we aren't even teachers. We're with Gable Pharmaceuticals, investigating some of these new-fangled Asian medicines we're hearing about in Kansas. Now please, to the bus terminal!"
Our destination was Jeonju, a city about an hour and a half north of Gwangju that, according to my Lonely Planet was far enough from Gwangju to avoid recognition. It's known as the birthplace of both a thousand-year old Korean royal dynasty and bibimbap, an ingenious combination of rice, slivered vegetables, and hot sauce.
Traditional Korean Bike
To capitalize on their reputation as the birthplace of a thousand-year old dynasty, the people of Jeonju have constructed a "hanok" village of traditional wood and paper guest-houses, restaurants, tea shops, and museums depicting how paper, fans, pottery, and of course booze were made in the old-days.
Traditional Korean Cup of Tea
"Do you think they recognize us?" I asked.Devon and I arrived in town and timidly removed our thick, furry mustachios and stepped into the chilly winter morning. A group of Korean kids were walking on the sidewalk towards us. We held our breath.
"Look natural," Devon said.
"Look natural," Devon said.
"This is Jeonju, those kids have probably never been to Gwangju," she reasoned.
"Yeah, but didn't you say one of your student's hometown was Jeonju? And remember, one of mine has a cousin here. What if they're here?" I asked, panicking.
We walked on, holding our breath, our ears straining to pick up any signs of recognition.
After a few tense seconds, they passed. Nothing more than a casual glance - the kind any foreigner gets while walking on the street here.
Our first impressions of Jeonju were favorable. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the buildings looked exactly like those in Gwangju: tall, steely-glass structures with neon signs on their sides advertising love motels, bibimbap, and banking services. We took a cab to the hanok village and began our first order of business: finding a place for the night.
Traditional Korean village as seen from a Traditional Korean Mountain
Between our limited grasp of Korean and well, our limited grasp of Korean, this proved to be a much more difficult task than anticipated. The only options for lodging in the area were in hanok-style guest houses, which were either located down a back alley somewhere and/or labeled with Chinese characters.
After a fitful search full of empty courtyards, locked doors, and one woman who scolded us when we asked for a room (either there were no rooms available, or she didn't want to risk being flooded by a swarm of fans from Gwangju), we finally found a guesthouse that would take us. The rooms were private and it was a high wall, so we didn't have to worry about the pesky paparazzi finding us either.
Traditional Korean Silhouette Scene in a Traditional Korean teahouse
We wandered around town for a couple of hours. We went to the "Jeonju Traditional Life Experience Park" to find out what life was like back in traditional Jeonju (sleepy), we went to the "Traditional Wine Museum" and learned about how they made traditional wine (with rice), drank traditional Korean tea at a traditional tea house (cute), and saw a monument on the top of a mountain to a famous general who defeated some Japanese pirates (nice view). The town itself was charming enough that we could just walk through the broad main streets and twisting back alleys and still enjoy ourselves.
Once the sun fell and we'd pretty thoroughly frozen ourselves, we decided it was time to find dinner. We walked to the "downtown" area of Jeonju, and wandered around on the "street that is desired to walk" and "street of youth" (as our map helpfully indicated). Eventually, we found a galbi place that looked good (warm), and we walked in.
Traditional Korean Teahouse: suspiciously modern
Feeling full of Korean tradition, we indicated that we'd like to sit on the floor, in the traditional Korean manner. The ajumma who ran the place, however would have none of it. She began yelling at the young boy who was seating us. With our broken Korean, Devon and I were able to understand two words: "foreigner" and "chair." We did our best to explain that we'd like to sit on the heated floors, and then just sat down anyways.
Dinner was delicious and after a drink or two, Devon and I headed back to our guesthouse at the ripe time of 10pm (Dad, you'd have been proud) and sleep in the traditional Korean manner: on a floor heated by a fire underneath.
We fell asleep, freezing cold (because it was freezing cold outside and our walls were made of traditional Korean paper—I'm not kidding). But when I woke up two hours later (at the still respectable hour of midnight), I was sweltering in the blankets. I took off the socks, sweatshirt, and long-sleeved shirt that I had gone to bed in, and got up for a quick drink of water. And I froze.
The dissonance between cold outside my bed and warm and toasty inside is one I'm used to from my days in cold Connecticut winters. It sucks, and I'm sure most of you can relate to the feeling. You have to drag yourself from between the cozy sheets and out into the chilly morning air. Then you have to run to the shower to get it nice and hot, then jump in before you freeze in your underwear in the bathroom. It's not a dignified way for your mother to find you as she's yelling at you to get downstairs or you'll miss the bus.
So we've all been there in some way, but those winters in Connecticut could have prepared me for the shock of that night. It was cold in our room; the phrase "Siberian winter" comes to mind. Yet, under the covers it was sweltering. The phrase "tropical sauna" comes to mind. And the floor felt as if there was a raging inferno underneath it—hot to the touch. And so, getting out of the covers to get a drink of water was much the same experience as jumping from a sweltering sauna into a frozen lake. I distinctly remember getting the wind knocked out of me as I did it. Waking up should never be so cruel.
The next day, Devon and I wandered around town for a bit, visited a shrine to a thousand years of Josun kings, and drank some more tea.
Traditional Korean Dynastic Gates
Eventually, we came back to Gwangju, unsure of how we would be greeted by our adoring fans and the paparazzi after such a long absence. It turns out, we had nothing to worry about. After doing whatever it is that Gwangju-ites do on weekends, the tabloids had moved onto the next new thing. The couple from that hagwon across town who unwittingly found themselves plastered on the sides of their building in Traditional Korean garb. Suckers.
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