Foreigner? Absolutely!
I've been living in the same city in Korea for almost eight years - longer than I've been in one place other than my hometown ever, in my whole life. And even my hometown is a record that I'm closing in on - I was there for just 10 years before heading off to university. Which is to say that I consider this place home, as much as any place ever has been. This city and this country - I am a local here.
Except that I'm not. No matter how local I feel, I will always be a foreigner here.
Woman at lunch: 'Wow! You eat Korean food very well!' Me: 'I love Korean food.' Her: 'You know what that is?' Me, taking a little more of a very common side dish: 'Yes, I have been here for a long time.' Her: 'But most Foreigners don't eat Korean food well!' Me: 'I think you don't go out with many foreigners. Most of the people I know like Korean food very much.' Pause, eating. Her: 'Wow! You even eat that?! Do you know what that is?' Me: 'You've got to stop being shocked every time I put something in my mouth. Really, I like Korean food. I've been eating it for a long time.' Her: 'But you are a foreigner! Foreigners don't like Korean food.' And so on, and so on.
Not too much surprises me in Changwon anymore. I know how the city, the first planned one in the country, came to be imagined and then built. I know where the good restaurants are - the ones that only locals know about. I know which days the traditional markets are in which locations. I know how to get from here to there and from there to here and how to give other people directions to all those places. I work, pay taxes, even vote (if I want to). Changwon is not a curiosity, it's where I live. It's my home.
But the other day, walking from home to a store on the other side of town, I went through the road-side stalls of one of the traditional markets. These markets are held every 5 (or so) days, on dates that end in a particular number (for example, the market downtown that I usually frequent is held every 4, 9, 14, 19, 24 and 29 of the month). This market is on 1s and 6s, in an older residential neighbourhood and has a grittier feel than 'mine'. As I was getting near the end, after the usual noodle makers and flower sellers, fruit vendors and snack stalls, I happened past a woman portioning out an animal carcass with a big cleaver at a folding card table. As you would expect, all of the hair had already been removed and the body was clean and smooth, the head already severed, lying to one side. At first I thought it was a pig - a very common sight in markets - but then it occurred to me that for a pig it was very, very small. I took a closer look, just as the woman began hacking off a back leg for a waiting customer, and saw that the animal was a dog. Whoa, foreigner again.
Now, the fact that Koreans sometimes eat dog meat is well known. In fact, I have eaten it myself on more than one occasion. Done well, the soup is rich and flavourful, and very, very expensive. This is not the family pet we're talking about. They're dogs bred specifically for eating, much as we breed pigs or chickens to eat. The soup is considered a kind of food-medicine, particularly good for men. It used to be much more common than it is now - a lot of my students (the first generation raised with pet dogs at home and unable or unwilling to make the distinction between them) have never had it, and finding dog-soup restaurants has become more and more difficult, even during my time in Korea. Which is why I was especially taken aback by the dog in the market.
Professor in passenger seat, driving back from departmental outing on an island a couple of hours away: "How do you drive in Korea?" Me: " What do you mean?" Him: "How do you know where to go?" Me: "I've lived here for a long time." Him: "But you are a foreigner." Me: "The signs are in English and Korean." Him: "But you are a foreigner." And so on, and so on.
Stopping at a roadside rest area for breakfast, same drive. Him, taking my arm: "Come, let's take a shit together." Me: "Excuse me??" Him, pulling me to an empty table behind the counter: "A shit, let's take a shit." Me, mentally: "Oh, SEAT! He wants us to take a SEAT together." Yup, still a foreigner. No matter how long I stay.
Climbing the mountain behind my house this morning, I came across a super shiny, black worm with a distinct hammer-shaped head. Something I had never seen before, despite climbing that particular trail possibly hundreds of times in the last 8 years. At home, after finding an exact photo with my first google search for 'hammerhead worm', I learned that it's a species common to this part of Asia. And that it's the only kind of worm that exclusively eats other worms, by (seriously disgusting!) dissolving them. Usually they're nocturnal, which I guess is why I've never come across one before, but there's no shortage of them around. They can survive blistering heat and freezing cold (both of which we have in abundance throughout the year), and if you try to kill them by squashing them or cutting them up (I don't want to know how people discovered this) each separate piece just becomes its own little worm. Wow. Now that's something awesome to discover in your own backyard!
Strange new (common) worm, oh right, I'm a foreigner! Instead of thinking of it as an insult, I'm just going to remind myself that being foreign is also another way of saying, 'living in a perpetual state of newness, astonishment and awe.' And who could complain about that?
Except that I'm not. No matter how local I feel, I will always be a foreigner here.
Woman at lunch: 'Wow! You eat Korean food very well!' Me: 'I love Korean food.' Her: 'You know what that is?' Me, taking a little more of a very common side dish: 'Yes, I have been here for a long time.' Her: 'But most Foreigners don't eat Korean food well!' Me: 'I think you don't go out with many foreigners. Most of the people I know like Korean food very much.' Pause, eating. Her: 'Wow! You even eat that?! Do you know what that is?' Me: 'You've got to stop being shocked every time I put something in my mouth. Really, I like Korean food. I've been eating it for a long time.' Her: 'But you are a foreigner! Foreigners don't like Korean food.' And so on, and so on.
Not too much surprises me in Changwon anymore. I know how the city, the first planned one in the country, came to be imagined and then built. I know where the good restaurants are - the ones that only locals know about. I know which days the traditional markets are in which locations. I know how to get from here to there and from there to here and how to give other people directions to all those places. I work, pay taxes, even vote (if I want to). Changwon is not a curiosity, it's where I live. It's my home.
But the other day, walking from home to a store on the other side of town, I went through the road-side stalls of one of the traditional markets. These markets are held every 5 (or so) days, on dates that end in a particular number (for example, the market downtown that I usually frequent is held every 4, 9, 14, 19, 24 and 29 of the month). This market is on 1s and 6s, in an older residential neighbourhood and has a grittier feel than 'mine'. As I was getting near the end, after the usual noodle makers and flower sellers, fruit vendors and snack stalls, I happened past a woman portioning out an animal carcass with a big cleaver at a folding card table. As you would expect, all of the hair had already been removed and the body was clean and smooth, the head already severed, lying to one side. At first I thought it was a pig - a very common sight in markets - but then it occurred to me that for a pig it was very, very small. I took a closer look, just as the woman began hacking off a back leg for a waiting customer, and saw that the animal was a dog. Whoa, foreigner again.
Now, the fact that Koreans sometimes eat dog meat is well known. In fact, I have eaten it myself on more than one occasion. Done well, the soup is rich and flavourful, and very, very expensive. This is not the family pet we're talking about. They're dogs bred specifically for eating, much as we breed pigs or chickens to eat. The soup is considered a kind of food-medicine, particularly good for men. It used to be much more common than it is now - a lot of my students (the first generation raised with pet dogs at home and unable or unwilling to make the distinction between them) have never had it, and finding dog-soup restaurants has become more and more difficult, even during my time in Korea. Which is why I was especially taken aback by the dog in the market.
Professor in passenger seat, driving back from departmental outing on an island a couple of hours away: "How do you drive in Korea?" Me: " What do you mean?" Him: "How do you know where to go?" Me: "I've lived here for a long time." Him: "But you are a foreigner." Me: "The signs are in English and Korean." Him: "But you are a foreigner." And so on, and so on.
Stopping at a roadside rest area for breakfast, same drive. Him, taking my arm: "Come, let's take a shit together." Me: "Excuse me??" Him, pulling me to an empty table behind the counter: "A shit, let's take a shit." Me, mentally: "Oh, SEAT! He wants us to take a SEAT together." Yup, still a foreigner. No matter how long I stay.
Climbing the mountain behind my house this morning, I came across a super shiny, black worm with a distinct hammer-shaped head. Something I had never seen before, despite climbing that particular trail possibly hundreds of times in the last 8 years. At home, after finding an exact photo with my first google search for 'hammerhead worm', I learned that it's a species common to this part of Asia. And that it's the only kind of worm that exclusively eats other worms, by (seriously disgusting!) dissolving them. Usually they're nocturnal, which I guess is why I've never come across one before, but there's no shortage of them around. They can survive blistering heat and freezing cold (both of which we have in abundance throughout the year), and if you try to kill them by squashing them or cutting them up (I don't want to know how people discovered this) each separate piece just becomes its own little worm. Wow. Now that's something awesome to discover in your own backyard!
Strange new (common) worm, oh right, I'm a foreigner! Instead of thinking of it as an insult, I'm just going to remind myself that being foreign is also another way of saying, 'living in a perpetual state of newness, astonishment and awe.' And who could complain about that?
posted by Roberta | 3:56 PM
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