Our guides have gone on and on about the Korean ability to counterfeit brand name merchandise: they have shown us their Rolexes and explained the hand full of pocket change it took to get them. I think I finally understood this concept on the last day of the tour when we went to Everland, which is the RC cola equivalent of Euro Disney. Their mascots are two anthropomorphic rodentish critters that may well be named Smicky and Sminnie. The idea is this: take Peter Pan’s Never Never Land and flip it around into the non-copyright-infringing Everland and the themepark builds itself. As Everland is the reverse of Never Never Land, the thirty-year-old employees all have to wear the garish costumer newborns wear for Halloween. (Considering the teleology of Everland has kept me entertained for days: every child here is given an ulcer and a job in middle management, and every time you say “I don’t believe in fairies” there’s a call for the cleaning staff to bring a bag of sawdust to the teacup ride or a “protein spill” as they call it in the industry). Everland also has different sections including America Land, which consists largely of cowboys and the Blues Brothers. When you consider the rampaging bull and the prominence of poorly dressed men wielding guns, this isn’t so far off. Everland itself is more like its own America Land: all the signs are in English and corndogs and pizza find their way into everyone’s hands. One restaurant listed itself as specifically “Korean Food,” when in reality everything they serve here is Korean food so the sign loses some of its utility. So after spending the afternoon navigating flume rides and children in animal hats, the tour buses dropped us off at the dormitory.
It’s been nine years since I checked into my first college dormitory: Dupre Hall at Macalester College. Dupre had many architectural distinctions, being both hurricane and riot proof and the showerheads being only five feet off the ground so students can’t hang themselves from them. You might have a bloodmark on your ceiling from a student sitting up too fast in his lofted bed and scraping his forehead across the ceiling, or the obvious stomach acid ring that vomit leaves on a carpet. It had all the charm of a crematorium equipped with bunk beds. Here in Seoul my air conditioning, which even though the room is small enough for me to the door, closet, either desk, the window and—if I stood up and opened it—my neighbor’s window makes this the very best dorm room I’ve ever had. I never really understood the importance of air conditioning until I walked around Seoul for a while. It’s an effect numbers can’t communicate. Part of the Korean experience is learning how to sweat in totally new places, like from your teeth and under your fingernails. Fortunately the twenty year old “Culture Shock” book I read stressed Korea’s formal dress, so I have four kinds of long sleeved shirts but only one proper t-shirt, which means if I ever want to masquerade as a Baton Rouge used car salesmen I have endless options.
I have spent my time since going to orientation meetings and collecting a few necessities like peanut butter and instant coffee. I know it’s very touristy to comment on the local products, but I’m not savvy enough to figure out a lot of the marketing techniques. Going to the supermarket is like an illiteracy awareness program: the world is filled with squiggled lines you have no hope of understanding. What makes a package appealing becomes a bit perverted. Without the ability to determine what flavors of ramen exist, I bought the one that most resembled a box of tide. When I couldn’t tell which coffee was caffeinated, I liked for the drawing of the shivering, sweaty man splashing tap water on his face. I have to buy books for class on Monday, and I will likely use the same methodology there.
No comments:
Post a Comment