seoul street scenes, 1

I like the idea that in some cities you never know what you're going to see on the streets at night. Not in a dangerous or call-the-police kind of way, but in the selling-baby-rabbits-on-a-cardboard-box kind of way.

So it's late and we've been singing. We come up out of the basement noraebang and get a face full of Seoul's summer heat. The street signs are bright and climbing towards the dark sky, and our ears are ringing a little from that last song. What are we thinking about? I don't know... the joy of having air conditioning in one's home, a big soft bed to sleep in, tiny baby rabbits...

No. Wait. Back up. I was never thinking of tiny baby rabbits - but then I saw a whole stack of tiny baby rabbits and couldn't get them out of my brain. They were so small, too small to be away from their mothers, and some of them were wearing tiny t-shirts. And they were the softest little creatures ever. I know because I couldn't help but pet them.



In the middle of all the oohing and aahing and petting you find yourself asking that automatic reflex of a question: just who walks past this overturned cardboard box covered in baby rabbits at half past midnight on a Friday and decides to buy one?

But then a couple comes along and picks out a matching set of baby rabbits. The man selling the rabbits puts them in tiny t-shirts which are really just glorified tube socks that have had the toes and everything above the heels cut off. The couple then makes the rabbits kiss (really) before placing them in matching shopping bags and walking off into the night.



I'm sorry to say that I was so entranced by the couple actually buying the rabbits that I failed to get a photo of them doing so. The above photo of another couple pondering their own set of matching rabbits will have to suffice.

And no, Stefano and I didn't come home with a matching set of rabbits. But if we did, we wouldn't have made them kiss first.

Pork + Soju

Among our colleagues in Seoul there's a little tradition called Soju Club and it's equal parts pork, soju, and crowd participation.

The pork is called "samgyupsal" and it's cooked at the table on a tilted griddle. Your server brings slices of raw pork that resemble very thick slabs of bacon, and lays them on the griddle - occasionally stopping by to turn the meat as it cooks. Once it's nearly ready, scissors are used to cut the meat into smaller pieces and diners use their chopsticks to pick up the pieces and wrap them in lettuce or sesame leaves, adding sauces and veggies to taste.

The best thing on the griddle - bar none - is the kim chi at the opposite end of the pork. The Koreans are a wise people and chose to put the pork at the top of the griddle mountain, while leaving the kim chi and onions at the bottom. This arrangement lets the fat drip its delicious way down through the onions and to a final resting place cuddling the kim chi. And oh, that kim chi is incredible. Food scientists might have chemical formulas for the magic that happens on the griddle - others credit the river of pork fat - but whatever the reason, kim chi has never tasted so delicious.



Soju, another critical element of Soju Club, is a fermented grain drink that's more popular than water in Korea. It typically comes in green glass bottles and is advertised everywhere by gorgeous women looking energetic and bright. However, I can report from first hand experience that while soju is definitely lighter than other alcoholic beverages, it's distant cousin could still easily be nail polish remover. I'm not one to eschew cultural mainstays with a simple "blech" but I do have to admit that when the odd bottle of soju hit the floor on Friday night, I shed no tears for the loss of liquid.

Soju is consumed in shot glasses and at this point it's important to note that one does not fill one's own glass in Korea - ever. So if you want to maintain your friends, you have to remember to keep an eye on their glasses... And if you're thirsty, you'd better hope that they're keeping a dedicated eye on your glass as well. If want to get really fancy about it you can fill your neighbor's glass by pouring the bottle with your right hand, and touching your right elbow with your left hand. This traditional gesture will definitely score you some cultural extra credit.



Crowd participation is crucial as there are many toasts to be made, and a lot of green bottles keep showing up on the tables. The crowd's interest and ability in keeping up with itself can be a delicate balance. The good news is that if you're like me, and order "naengmyeon" - my favorite cold soup - you can easily dump half a shot of soju in your bowl every round and no one's the wiser. But seeing as naengmyeon's too good to waste - with it's chewy noodles, hard-boiled egg, cucumbers, sesame seeds, and ice - I unfortunately had to wait until I had finished the better part of the soup to start using it as a soju repository.

The most important crowd participation comes at the end of the evening... Because after a night defined by pork, soju and greased kim chi there is nothing the crowd wants more than an off-key but enthusiastic rendition of Material Girl. With an encore of Sweet Caroline to follow.

last sunday morning

Sunday is a different kind of day at the fish market. Slow, sulky, half-closed... like waking up from a long afternoon nap. Saturday's throbbing and icy metropolis has cleared out and left behind a shell of its former self. While both days have their charms, the chance of a bruising collision with an oncoming ice truck is far less likely on Sunday.

In fact, the flow of the Sunday morning fish market is gentle enough that the fishmongers notice your footwear. Having learned a shoe lesson on my first visit, this time I wore my rubber rain boots which happen to be covered in small fish silhouettes. As we passed the vendors they'd point at my boots. Point, smile, laugh...

Once I figured out what was going on I'd point at my boots and give them a thumbs-up, and and they seemed pretty happy with that. My theory is that the fishmongers had a certain appreciation for fish market boots with pictures of fish on them. Either that or they'd never seen women's feet that large before.



I hadn't realized it the first time I went to the first market, but there's actually a second floor and in addition to being a great vantage point from which to see all the fish market action, it's also a really good place to eat. The second floor walkway is lined with restaurants whose front doors look out on the market below and what these places lack in high-end atmosphere, they make up for with fresh fish. And then some.

Choosing a restaurant was easy - we went to the only one we could find that was open before noon. We took off our shoes (and rubber boots) and found a seat on the floor. I was happy to see that they had one of my favorite dishes on the menu; hoedeopbap is basically bibimbap with raw fish. So you get a bowl of rice with fresh vegetables, herbs, seaweed, sesame seeds and spicy sauce, topped with slices of raw fish. It's one of the lightest and freshest dishes you can eat in Korea and if it weren't for a certain someone's not very secret concerns about mercury poisoning, I'd be eating a lot more of it.



This restaurant's version was the best I've had so far in Seoul and the side dishes were good enough to be promoted to main dish stature. I'm used to seeing a small fried fish come out with my meal but I'm still not used to eating it. I sort of pick around with my chopsticks hoping that a hunk of delicious fish will volunteer to part ways with the substantial skeleton still inside it. Sometimes it works and sometimes I find myself looking for discreet ways to remove fish bones from my mouth.



Once the Hoedeopbap was no more, and bones were all that was left of the fish, we unfolded our bodies from their awkward positions on the floor and headed to the front door to put our shoes back on. I hadn't noticed it on the way in but hanging by the shoe shelf was a long-handled shoe horn. A nice touch. But even better, the shoe horn - along with a pair of random metal tongs - was hanging next to the omnipresent soju girl poster. Soju is a popular Korean alcoholic drink and if you haven't seen this poster, you don't live in Korea. (I fear she may be more popular than the president.)



While I was taking this photo the owner of the restaurant quickly scurried over and took away the shoe horn and tongs, presumably to give me a better shot of everybody's favorite soju girl. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I wanted a picture of the shoe horn too. Ok, not so much that I didn't have the heart to tell her, but rather that I don't know how to say "I like the shoe horn so you don't have to move it." So instead I said one of the words I do know in Korean - thank you - and took a few more photos of the poster without the shoe horn too.

Sometimes I worry that my lack of Korean language is keeping me from engaging with Koreans. But then I find myself laughing with fishmongers who like my rain boots, and smiling with restaurant owners over soju posters and shoe horns. I realize this is far from the height of international communication, but it'll have to do for now. At least until I learn the word for shoe horn.

noraebang is karaoke

From the American perspective it's difficult to see why a group of friends would pay to go into a small room, close the door, and then sing pop songs for hours... but once you've done it, you'll want to start a petition to bring the love of karaoke to America.

Saturday night I walked into the noreabang a newbie and I came out a staunch supporter. Real karaoke is absolutely not about singing for strangers, or listening to the singing of strangers. The real version - the one you see in hundreds of noraebang in Seoul - is a small scale, heavily reverbed, private cabaret performance for your friends.



It's incredible fun and depending how luxurious your noraebang, it's potentially pretty darn cheap. You simply pick one of the many noraebang lining the streets of Seouls' liveliest neighborhoods and hope there's not a line of people who got there before you. In a typical Saturday night's progression the noraebang visit usually comes after a great dinner and a visit for drinks and darts at another place -- thus, after the eating and the drinking it's time for the singing.



You pay your $15 for an hour (and then ten more dollars for another half hour when you realize an hour just isn't enough) and you head on in and close the door. The room you've been assigned is larger than a bathroom but smaller than a college dorm room, and it's got sofas and chairs and a large machine that makes wonderful things happen. Wonderful things like the playing of videos on a large flat screen TV while song lyrics roll across the lower part of the screen. Inside we found tambourines, two microphones with colorful little hairnets on them, and a catalogue with thousands of songs to choose from.

The list of viable song options is far shorter for folks who don't speak Korean than for those who do, including those of us who may be able to s-l-o-w-l-y decipher the alphabet but still need at least half a day to sound out a full sentence. The good news is that the west's domination of pop music means that there's still a healthy helping of English-language songs to choose from. Simply pick a song, punch the numbers into the very large remote control, and then wait.



Some of us may be less Broadway-ready than others but it really doesn't seem to make a difference. There's enough reverb and tambourine to turn anyone's off-key attempt into a Grammy contender. Ok, not really, but that's why you drank the beer before you came.

Karaoke really is tons of fun - and this from someone who's spent a lifetime believing they sing about as well as a harbor seal. So consider this fair warning - if you come to visit us in Seoul, you're not only going to have to listen to me sing, but you're going to have to get behind the mic as well. You might as well follow the advice we received from our friends in the know and prepare a couple of karaoke stand-bys before you arrive. (There's at least one person out there who will be happy to know that my go-to karaoke song is quickly becoming Madonna's "Material Girl." And Stefano does a pretty mean version of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline.")



While our 4th of July couldn't have been more different this year than last, this Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty still spent the weekend celebrating freedom... the freedom to sing poorly, loudly, and late into the night.