Ruminations in Korea

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Stranger in a Strange Land

In response to a huge number of questions regarding me and how I came to live in Korea, I offer a brief overview of the highlights of my first Korean Experience.  After reading, take the visitor’s poll at the top of the right-hand column.

"Once upon a time there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith."

September 20, 1988; The Big Day.  Korea was about to become a reality. 

Barely nineteen years old, I was in the prime of my youth.  For someone who had never been outside of the United States of America, or even anywhere east of Wyoming, I was surprisingly well cultured and experienced; a somewhat accomplished young actor, award-winning classical guitarist, successful radio announcer (politically correct form of "DJ"), well-read in the classics of literature.  Culture does not come easily to someone who spent most of his life growing up outside the small, laid-back city of Logan, Utah, or in an even smaller "city" (apparently it qualified legally as a city) of Nibley.  I was about to embark on the greatest cultural adventure of my life.  I was going to Korea to volunteer my time and talents for two years as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  The Korean adventure continues to this day.

I had NO idea what to expect.  They force-fed me Korean language and culture for two months at the Missionary Training Center.  However, that was not enough to prepare me for a country of which it is said that the only way to know Korean culture is to be born there.  Only a few months prior to my departure, I knew absolutely nothing about Korea other than most of my clothes and all of my matchbox cars were made there and the bits of wisdom I had picked up over the years watching M*A*S*H*  Those things, and the fact that Korea was a small island somewhere near Hong Kong, was the extent of my knowledge.  However, with the aid of an atlas and its index, I soon solved the location problem, despite the disconcerting grunts of disgust emanating from my father.

I was nimble enough of mind to note that the 38th parallel sliced Utah and Korea roughly in half.  I noticed that the land mass of Utah and Korea was nearly the same.  Both places had mountains.  Both places had matchbox cars.  How different could they be? I would soon find out.

When the time came to head to Korea, I was looking for adventure in whatever came my way.  I was a true nature’s child.  I was born - born to be wild.  I strapped on the large Delta jet and hoped that it would not be shot down by Russians or blown up by terrorists like the two Korean Air flights I had heard about.  While in flight, I thought I would take the opportunity to exercise my limited Korean on the Korean flight attendants.  They were remarkably polite and tolerant of my Korean inability.  One attendant was particularly helpful as she very politely said "I’m Japanese. Please speak English.?"

As the plane descended through the September cloud cover while landing at Kimpo International Air Port in Seoul, Desert Boy (that’s me) discovered his first difference between Korea and Utah.  Korea is not a desert –especially not it September.  I was sweating like a pig before the "climate-controlled" plane even touched down.

*SNIFF* *SNIFF* What was that smell?  To my Rocky Mountain High, Unsullied Air-Sniffing Nose, Korea had a heavy, musky smell not unlike that of my camping gear after packing it away wet and forgetting about it for a month or so.

By the time I had swung open the big green doors that used to separate the baggage area from the main section of the terminal, I had begun to have the first inkling of the notion that Korea was unlike anything that I had ever imagined.  Prior to leaving the US, I determined that I would have an open mind and look for good and positive things, always staying on the alert for a chance to gain experiences.  It didn’t take long before I was able to begin accumulating experiences that could have a profound impact on my perceptions of  Koreans and potentially solidify my attitude and approach for future dealings with Koreans.

One of my first recollections of an "experience" was my second night in the country.  That night was my first experience with a "rotary" and Korean after-hours driving.  As a passenger in the front seat of the then popular Bongo van, I was treated to the spectacle of a multi-lane five-way intersection with no traffic lights.  As we approached the intersection, at a pretty good clip, despite the crowded road conditions, the driver turned off his headlights and screeched to a halt about six inches behind another vehicle.  My journal entry for that day reads, "This country has the most insane drivers! I wonder how they manage to avoid accidents."  I was quick to learn that they do not. 

Despite the various explanations for turning lights off at night (which I still don’t really think is a good idea despite the perception of being "polite") and the addition of traffic lights, the jury is still out on the question of whether Koreans are the best drivers on Earth or the worst.  The arguments for both sides are that if they were the best drivers, they wouldn’t drive like that, but if they were the worst drivers, they would all be dead by now.  I’m sure the answer lies somewhere between the two extremes.  Regardless, Koreans, as a whole are not much different than the average Utah driver, and a whole lot better than most Idaho drivers.

Three days later, I saw my first major traffic accident as we taxied along the highway between Ulsan and Kyoungju.  We passed a major traffic accident and the taxi driver laughed.  That was a little unnerving.

Two days after that, being my seventh day in the country, September 28, 1988, I woke up well after 7:00 a.m.  I staggered into the main room and heard one of the other missionaries complaining about something.  It turned out that someone had broken into our house during the night  and burgled us.  My brand new briefcase was stolen along with my language study materials, dictionary, books, passport photos, and camera.

The aforementioned incidents, let alone the lack of sleep due to the mourning rituals being conducted in the house adjacent to ours for the father who hung himself because of gambling debts, could have soured my attitude toward everything about this country and its people.  However, a quick assessment of the situation made me realize that I was pretty lucky.  It could have been a lot uglier had the same event occurred in the US.

As a direct result of this burglary, I experience my first real dose of Korean Kindness.  Before the police had even left our home, the lady next door brought us a big batch of  Kimchi because she felt sorry for us.  SHE felt sorry for US!?  This was the same lady who woke up to find her husband hanging from the chandelier less than a week earlier.  We also received an invitation to have a wonderful dog soup lunch (my first, but certainly not my last).

Only two days after the burglary, while returning home, I stopped at the corner store to buy a soda pop and the owner presented me my stolen briefcase.  The lock had been pried open, but everything was inside except for my camera.  Apparently, someone else found it on the railroad tracks a short distance from our home.

As a quick aside, my journal reports that I was upset because the exchange rate was so bad.  On October 15, 1988, the rate was KRW 703 : USD 1.   It fell to KRW 686 : USD 1 shortly thereafter. Oh that we living on the Korean economy on a KRW-based salary had it that bad again.

Apart from the aforementioned incidents that got my Korean experience started off on a rather interesting foot, there were all of the little, petty things that foreigners were forced to live with at that time.  No matter where you went or what you were doing, people would stare at you.  No matter how much you wanted to be left alone, there was always someone who would bother you with some bit of English that they picked up in school.  The kids would stare and stare and stare and stare.

Depending upon the age of the kids, they would attempt various forms of communication.  The toddlers would look, point, scream, and run away crying.  The little kids would look, point, and say "migook saram."  The older kids (often into college) would look, point, and yell in their most abrasive tone, "OH!  HELLO, MR. MONKEY!!!!" (Hello, Mr. Monkey was a quaint little pop song that someone wrote to be used as an English teaching aid).  The older kids (I call them kids, but all in this category were older than me at the time) who were the college students that had graduated from the Mr. Monkey stage would look, point, and yell, "Yankee, Go Home!!"

Yes, despite all of the little quirks that made this country frustrating yet interesting to me, there was a deeper undercurrent in foreign relations than those mentioned above.  1988 and the next four years or so were a time of great social unrest.  Kwangju was fresh in the minds of the people.  General Roh Tae Woo, had just been enthroned into the presidency.  Uncle Sam’s hand was seen as the main guiding force behind the Korean governments’ policies, including the handling of Kwangju.

Street riots and campus riots were a daily occurrence.  There were very few of the "lets carry our flags down the street, beat our drums, and go home" riots that we have today.  Most were the "get the riot police out here, throw a few rocks through windows, shout antigovernment and anti-American slogans, then go home" flavor of riots.  A few, however, were unrestrained displays of violence resulting in massive property damage, serious injuries, and even death.

My first experience with a demonstration, affectionately called a "demo," was about two weeks or so after I arrived in Korea.  I was living in the city of Ulsan.  My missionary companion and I were walking down the street one evening and just as I was turning a corner near the Juriwon Department Store, and large pavement brick went sailing past my head.  I turned the corner and saw several hundred riot police and several hundred students going back and forth with each other.  The scene quieted down shortly after we arrived.  I was like an old gunfight, just with a lot more people involved.  The police were at one end of the street and the students were at the other end of the street.  No one was doing anything except for the students shouting "Down with Roh Tae Woo," and "Yankee, Go Home!" 

During the lull in the action, I took the opportunity to talk to one of the riot policemen.  Using my two months of Korean and the help of my companion who had been in Korea for almost two years, I managed to learn a little something about society.  It was explained to me that the students would throw rocks at the cops until it was time for them to enter military service.  Some would become riot policemen who would spend a couple of years beating on rioting students.  After they were finished being riot cops, they would return to school and start throwing rocks at the riot cops again.

I did notice that although we were two Americans standing on the sidewalk between the two sides (I did not want to miss anything by cowering in a building) no one paid any attention to us.  Not even the students who were shouting "Yankee, Go Home!" gave us a second glance.  However, sometimes the old riots could get out of hand and people would do really stupid things.

Take for example a different event that took place about a year after I arrived in Korea.  At that time, I was living in Masan.  At that time, Chondaehyop (The forerunner of Hanchongnyun), the nation-wide student organization, was actively carrying out demonstrations.  There was also great labor unrest, particularly at the Hyundai car plant in Ulsan.  The students had originally planned to hold a few demonstrations in a few key cities, before having a huge demon at Yonsei University.  However, they thought it would be a good idea to join up with the labor leaders as a show of solidarity.

A few days before the demonstrators were to arrive in Masan, the city shut down.  Incoming and outgoing traffic was limited.  Anyone of student age was barred from entering the city.  Riot police began pouring in by the thousands from all over the country. The news reported that the action was taken as a result of estimates that put the number of  students and laborers who were planning to travel to Masan in the 50,000 person range.  Security was stepped up at the military checkpoints that used to be commonplace here.  Everyone, especially foreigners, were urged to stay in their homes. 

Given the tight security that had been put in place in Masan, the demonstrators bypassed Masan and continued to Seoul.  A day or two later, a group of Chondaehyup students managed to capture six riot policemen at a university in Seoul.  The students took the policemen into a room, tied them up, gagged them, and blindfolded them.  There was a standoff.  The police said they would storm the building if the hostages were not released.  Eventually, the police carried out their threat.  However, as students fled, the doused the hostages with a flammable liquid and set them on fire.  Several of the hostages died.

Despite the many negative experiences that happened to me during my first two years in Korea, they were, with very few exceptions, mainly petty things that could have happened anywhere in the world, not specifically Korea.  Most of my experiences were overwhelmingly positive.  Perhaps this was due to the fact that, as a missionary, I was not in "real life" situations.  My schedule and activities were fairly structured with little chance of getting involved in much of anything that could lead to trouble or strife.  I mean, after all, how much trouble can you get into and how many bad experiences can you have volunteering at orphanages, ministering to the sick and downtrodden, and generally doing good deeds?  In addition to that, I was engaged in a work where the main idea is to do good and look for the good in others.

After the end of my two years of voluntary missionary service in July 1990, I returned to the fresh, clean air of Cache Valley, Utah, and my home nestled in the Rocky Mountains amongst the poplars, junipers, maples, rivers, streams, and meadows of Nibley.  After reporting on my missionary experiences and taking of the suit, tie, and name tag, I resumed life as a normal person.

School started again and I began my junior year of university at Utah State University.  On the first day of classes I met my Korean instructor, Kim Young Chul.  We developed a close friendship that has lasted over the years.  Within the first few months of school, Mr. Kim offered me an opportunity to return to Korea to attend Pusan National University as an exchange student representative of the newly formed sister school relationship between USU and PNU.  I jumped at the chance and began making preparations to attend PNU at the start of the next academic year.

As the time to return to Korean drew near, I began to wonder what it would be like when I got there.  What would be different?  What new experiences would I have?  What adventures awaited me now that I would not have a missionary name tag or any restrictions on where I could go and what I could do.  I would be completely on my own without anyone watching over my shoulder.  I wondered whether I would be treated differently by Koreans now that I was no longer a missionary.  Would I return again from Korea with a different attitude than the first time I left the country.

Little did I know the adventures that would befall me during my next stay in Korea?…

        The second time around, I was ready.  I knew what I needed to pack. I knew where I needed to go. I knew what to expect.  As I sat in the terminal watching the crew load the meals aboard the KAL flight, I was at peace.  I was returning to familiar territory.  I had spent the entire two years of my mission in the Pusan area.  As such, I had some familiarity with the city; I knew where the theaters, international market, bus terminals, beach, and Texas street (for good clothes shopping) were located.  I spoke the language. I understood the culture.  What more could I possibly need?  How about a place to stay for the first two months before school started.  Heck, I could worry about a place to stay later. I had a plane to catch.