It's strange that I've now officially lived halfway through my contracted time in Korea. I say strange mostly because, regardless of all the photos and posters on my walls, the contacts in my cell phone, the frequent buyer cards stuffing my wallet, and my ability to get pretty much anywhere in the country by myself without getting lost...I still don't feel like I live here in the sense of belonging.
I'm still confused by the fact that all children and more than half of the adults I meet can understand me when I speak to them in Korean, but as soon as I try to do something important, the pharmacist/cell phone contractor/ticket vendor can't understand me.
I don't understand how one day my coworker can wear a dress made for a runway to work one day and wear booty shorts and a printed t-shirt the next...and both of those things are considered "business casual" while I'm called "unprofessional for wearing leggings and knee-length dresses.
In any case, all of that was forgotten during yesterday's trip to Busan to spend the day at the beach. My closest friends, my boyfriend, and I piled into a car and drove out earlyish in the morning, only to find out that, since there were actually waves at the beach that day no one was allowed to swim. This didn't sit well with us, and we soon started playing a 5-person rock-paper-scissors game where the loser had to inch closer to the water. The end-game would not be when the lifeguard blew his whistle, but when he finally got so mad he came in person to yell at whoever was in the water. Somehow, after an hour or so of this game, it became okay for everyone to go swimming. Our game of Ocean Chicken turned into body surfing.
A calm fell over everything as we played in the ocean. We laughed as ourselves or our friends were dragged under and into the water by the current or were washed up on shore with bathing suits full of sand and rock scratches on our skin. We chased each other, dunked each other, lost a beer forever to the salty water, and played ourselves exhausted.
Then, we dug a whole and played a game of 31 Flavors to decide who we'd bury in it (spoiler alert: it was me), and did the whole tide game again.
We spent hours at the ocean before the last of us got tired and all of us were hungry. We showered, changed, walked to The Wolfhound (our favorite Irish Pub, although the service isn't as kind to one of us as it is to the rest) for dinner, and as I destroyed my boyfriend in a game of darts (beginners luck, I'm sure) I came to the realization that maybe I do belong here.
Six months in Korea and I no longer refuse to shower after swimming in the ocean because the showers are hidden by curtains and you stand completely exposed to anyone else who steps up to the long pipe you turn a breaker on to shoot water at you. Six months and I can read the roadsigns from home to Busan and back and know where we are and which way we're going.
At the end of the day, with my washer making that "I'm gonna break and it's gonna be terrible" noise as it washes our beach gear, I stepped out of yet another shower in my comfy pajamas and see my boyfriend on the floor, eating 파닭 (boneless fried chicken in sauce, covered in green onion) from the box, drinking a beer and watching a TV older than I am. I stop and think another six months of this wouldn't be so bad at all. Maybe another six years of this would be okay, too.
The ocean is magic.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Korea Ink
I don't know all the specifics, but I guess tattoos are illegal in Korea? I don't mean, "Hey! That guy has a tattoo, let's arrest him!" illegal, but apparently you aren't allowed to give someone a tattoo unless you have a medical license. At least that's the information I've found on the internet, and we know that the internet NEVER lies! I'm sure somewhere down the line men were using tattoos to get out of military service and it ruined the fun for everyone.
Well, in any case, I got one. Enough friends here have mentioned places in Seoul where people run legitimate tattoo parlors and the tattooists have their medical degrees or whatever, but that just wouldn't be fun, would it? I'm still young and stupid- why not find some underground place to get a tattoo? After all, I've seen tons of legal tattoo parlors. Sometimes you just have to have an experience, right? Why not go to a secret tattoo parlor?
A friend found out about a man not too far from our town who ran a tattoo studio out of his apartment. He has a long list of impressive credentials and we figured a consultation and a good look around his studio couldn't hurt. He was friendly, professional, and most importantly- he had an extremely clean work space. We decided to go for it. I've wanted wings tattooed on my back for a very long time. No special reason, I just felt like I needed to have a pair of wings. And why shouldn't I? So we scheduled our appointments and waited.
Cue appointment day!
Our appointment started mid-morning. We had to be on the bus by 7:30. I insisted on wearing comfortable clothes so I could nap. After a long bus ride, we had an almost longer subway ride, and then a short taxi ride to the studio. My friend went first, it being his first tattoo and a quick one. And then me. I think somewhere along the line your body convinces you that getting a tattoo didn't hurt as much as you thought it did. Because I do not remember my other tattoos hurting this much. After three hours I ended up with something unfinished that looked a bit like this:
Then came a week of having people help me keep it moisturized and complaining as the Vaseline and Lubriderm stained the backs of all of my shirts. I even woke up to my wings printed on my pillow one morning. But just when the last stage of healing (the itchy stage) began, I was due to go back to finish what I started (Even though it hurt and I didn't want to)
In the end I got this:
When I was finished, the artist called me a strong woman, let me take a nap on his couch while he worked on my friend's tattoo, and that was that. We had our black market tattoo experience. Well, my friend still has one more session to go because he's done experiencing, but no pain, no gain! ;)
I have to say I'm quite proud of myself. I think he did beautiful work. The artist has spent more than 20 years traveling around the East and West as a professional tattoo artist. It's kind of an honor to me to have work done by someone who obviously cares very much about what he does. And I'm very glad to work in a place where tattoos aren't a big deal because my wings like to peek through some of my thinner shirts and give my kids a nice surprise.
Until next time!
Well, in any case, I got one. Enough friends here have mentioned places in Seoul where people run legitimate tattoo parlors and the tattooists have their medical degrees or whatever, but that just wouldn't be fun, would it? I'm still young and stupid- why not find some underground place to get a tattoo? After all, I've seen tons of legal tattoo parlors. Sometimes you just have to have an experience, right? Why not go to a secret tattoo parlor?
A friend found out about a man not too far from our town who ran a tattoo studio out of his apartment. He has a long list of impressive credentials and we figured a consultation and a good look around his studio couldn't hurt. He was friendly, professional, and most importantly- he had an extremely clean work space. We decided to go for it. I've wanted wings tattooed on my back for a very long time. No special reason, I just felt like I needed to have a pair of wings. And why shouldn't I? So we scheduled our appointments and waited.
Cue appointment day!
Our appointment started mid-morning. We had to be on the bus by 7:30. I insisted on wearing comfortable clothes so I could nap. After a long bus ride, we had an almost longer subway ride, and then a short taxi ride to the studio. My friend went first, it being his first tattoo and a quick one. And then me. I think somewhere along the line your body convinces you that getting a tattoo didn't hurt as much as you thought it did. Because I do not remember my other tattoos hurting this much. After three hours I ended up with something unfinished that looked a bit like this:
Then came a week of having people help me keep it moisturized and complaining as the Vaseline and Lubriderm stained the backs of all of my shirts. I even woke up to my wings printed on my pillow one morning. But just when the last stage of healing (the itchy stage) began, I was due to go back to finish what I started (Even though it hurt and I didn't want to)
In the end I got this:
 | ||
| The tape and plastic wrap is meant to keep all the awesome in :) |
I have to say I'm quite proud of myself. I think he did beautiful work. The artist has spent more than 20 years traveling around the East and West as a professional tattoo artist. It's kind of an honor to me to have work done by someone who obviously cares very much about what he does. And I'm very glad to work in a place where tattoos aren't a big deal because my wings like to peek through some of my thinner shirts and give my kids a nice surprise.
Until next time!
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