Buddhists boudoirs and bad behaviour

The morning has finally arrived when I take my two day break from this cozy little island and venture out into the big city. In-Hee meets me at the bus station at 7:45 to help me buy my ticket as we arranged. It isn’t entirely necessary – probably the woman at the desk would interpret my ‘Jinju’ correctly. She’d most likely be able to write, if not say, the number of the stop where I board the bus. Still, In-Hee is happy to help me out and I’m reassured that I won’t be left standing helpless and confused at the bus station with my hopes for the weekend dashed.

9am and I’m at Jinju intercity bus terminal. I follow some of my fellow passengers and soon hit the centre of town. Sights, sounds, and smells instantly overwhelm me. There are stalls everywhere; spilling out from shops, filling the middle of the streets, people pushing barrows of fruit and vegetables, standing behind steaming pots of snacks, sitting next to baskets of fish and sea-vegetables. Every corner reveals yet more activity, more people.

For an hour or so I wander aimlessly, drinking in the strange and wonderful world. My mission for this trip is to buy Christmas presents. Though I wish I could send any number of curious edible delights to friends and family in Europe, I resign myself to practicalities and resolve to search for less perishable goods. Still, I have the whole of today and part of tomorrow to shop, so I’m in no hurry. It’s time to orientate myself. Having twisted and turned wherever my eyes and nose led me, I now have no idea where I am in relation to anything. The notes I made on what to do and see along with a few helpful reference points are, rather unhelpfully, lying on my bed back in Namhae. I recall reading ‘it’s easy to find your way around Jinju as it is divided by a river’ and a map of the city pops into my head. I decide to find the water.

I love bridges. It’s a photo opportunity for ‘another river to cross’. From this vantage point I spot a beautiful traditional building in the distance along the river bank and remember that Jinju has a fort. I head that way. It’s still early so I decide to pay the nominal fee and take the tour. It’s amazing; not just the one building that I’d seen from the bridge, but a whole hillside of gardens and shrines and monuments, each one simple and yet beautifully ornate.

I climb up to the structure that marks the look-out post over the city. Like everything I’ve discovered in Korea I see contrasts. The Fort area is so quiet – the end of November is hardly tourist season – but the city is heaving with people and cars below. Tower blocks fill the skyline while ramshackle wooden buildings nestle in narrow alleyways. Steel and glass shares space with pagoda style roofs, neon signs are everywhere.

I’m starting to get hungry. There was no time for breakfast and it’s now after 12. I also need to pee. I hadn’t considered during my careful preparations how to deal with this inevitable eventuality. I wander on, within minutes stumbling across a signpost in English pointing to the gift shop and public toilets. The sound of wind chimes from a Buddhist temple draws me in, making me forget any physical needs for the moment. I stand in the courtyard enclosed by four beautiful wooden buildings and enjoy the calm.

The wind chime draws me closer and I peep inside one of the buildings to find a big golden Buddha staring back at me. The place is empty, though people have clearly been here recently, leaving offerings at the shrine. As I consider whether I should go inside or take photographs, an old woman approaches me. She has a serious, impatient look on her face and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. She speaks to me in Korean and takes me by the elbow. I don’t know where she’s taking me or why, but I allow myself to be led like a child anyway. We cross the courtyard and I follow her down some concrete steps into a basement. Shoes litter a doorway so I remove my boots, still unsure what I’m doing here, and enter a simple, utilitarian kitchen.

Three or four women are busy preparing food at the back; three women and a man are sitting on the floor around a small round table in the narrow space in front of the cooking area. I hesitate, not a little confused, but the old woman manoeuvres me towards the table, moving the other diners to make room for me. I sit. She brings me rice and a bowl of soup, chopsticks and a spoon, motions to me to eat and then she leaves. There is nothing for me to do but share the communal dishes on the table with the strangers, none of whom speaks any English. The food is simple and vegetarian; beansprouts, kimchi, vegetables. The other diners smile pleasantly, the cooks occasionally check that I am content and I eat. By the time I’ve finished there is only the man left at the table with me and two or three women washing dishes. I don’t know quite what is expected of me next, so I stand up and say thank you, bow in my awkward Western way and leave. Though I’m no stranger to bizarre experiences, this ranks up there in the top 10.

Around the next corner I find the gift shop and the toilets. After visiting both I stand awhile in this quiet corner and organise both my possessions and my mind. Things are feeling a little surreal.

If I’m going to stay for the weekend I need a place to sleep. My neighbour, Chad, told me about the motels here; much cheaper than hotels and, he said, quite acceptable. They are easy enough to spot.

Motels in Korea are commonly known as ‘love motels’ though the external appearance of most of them is more ‘Carry On’ than Karma Sutra. Their main purpose is to provide a refuge for couples who want to avoid relatives or scandal or both. I mime my way through booking a room for one. Being a foreigner has its advantages sometimes; I can overlook the amusement on the face of the man at reception.

The room is surprisingly nice. It’s clean, comfortable though not just a little bit tacky. Even if the mirrors which surround the double bed didn’t give away the intent of the place, the condom machine and videos in the hallway would. I dump as many of my belongings as is practical on the bed and set off to shop in earnest.

Now that I’ve got my bearings - the motel is next to the bus station and the river, the city centre only a five minute walk away – I’m more confident about exploring. Mine is the only non-Korean face in a sea of faces, so when someone stops in front of me and says ‘hello’ I’m a bit surprised. It’s the office assistant from school. She waves happily at me, then continues on her way. I buy bits and pieces; after years without any cash to spend it is hard to get into the swing of shopping for anything that isn’t essential.

A couchsurfer told me about a bar where a lot of foreigners hang out and I remember the directions he gave me. I find it easily, memorise a few landmarks and, pretty certain that I can find it back again, head back to my love motel picking up some kimbap and a few beers on the way. Plenty of time for a shower, a snack and a drink before I get ready for my first night out in months.

Zio Riccos is an Italian restaurant and bar. When I arrive just after 8 it’s pretty quiet. “A table for… how many?” the waiter asks. “Just me” I tell him. He shows me to a table, gives me a menu and a glass of warm, watery tea then leaves. I realise I could be in for a very dull evening. I need to be more assertive. I catch a waiter’s eye and ask if there is a band playing tonight. “Ah – you’re here for the entertainment, it’s upstairs, should I book you a seat?” Of course he should. I have a beer while I wait. Lots of westerners are eating in a small room off the main bar and I’m amused to see so many non-Koreans together – it’s been a while.

Before my beer is finished I’m led upstairs to a lively bar with a stage set up in the corner. I’m given a table which is a good vantage point for people-watching. Within minutes two men on the next table ask me if I want to join them. One is an American, the other a Canadian and both are over 40, a bonus in this world of 20-somethings. We fall into pleasant conversation, and I am happy to discover that the Canadian smokes. The American isn’t, and leaves. We have enough in common to relax and chat loudly over a great English live band playing 70’s covers. I’m introduced to another American man about my age and we all swap email addresses.

It’s around midnight, I’m a bit drunk and very happy as I walk back to my motel through the neon lit streets. Fortunately I don’t bump into any of the other guests when I arrive – feigning ignorance as a foreigner would not lessen the indignity of returning alone to my little boudoir.

Sunday, and I have plenty of time to do more shopping. There are buses back to Namhae every hour, the last one leaving at 7:20 and I plan to be home long before then. I decide to visit E-Mart to see if the reputed selection of western goods is enough to tempt me to spend. The only western goods I find are tins of baked beans, which I can live without, though the big department store offers many browsing opportunities.

I’m checking out the aisles of chocolate for potential Christmas gifts when an Indian man stops me and says hello. I’m used to complete strangers talking to me here; Koreans who want to practice English, or English speakers who are glad to speak their native language for a few minutes. We exchange small talk and he leaves, only to return soon after with a tub of ice-cream for me. It seems rude to refuse it, though it tastes disgusting, and he babbles on in broken English. He asks me if I want to go to the cinema. I make excuses but he isn’t to be deterred. I agree to go for a coffee after I’ve finished shopping, which appeases him, as his friends are shopping too and will be done in about an hour. Plenty of time, I think, to dip through the crowds and lose him.

I underestimate his persistence. Despite leaving the store at a different entrance to where I came in, he’s waiting there for me. His friends have gone for lunch and now we can go for coffee. ‘What the hell’ I think ‘I have the rest of the afternoon and no plans’. I leave my bag in a locker at the store and we get a taxi back into town – only a 10 minute walk so quite unnecessary. I feel a little uncomfortable but we are in the middle of a busy city, walking now, so I feel safe enough. I ask where we are heading but the language barrier doesn’t help in getting answers.

Since arriving in Korea, being led by strangers has become the norm. I rarely know where I’m going, what to expect, or what is expected of me. So far, playing it by ear, going with the flow, suspending any reservations, has led me to only interesting and enjoyable experiences. Not today. My friendship with this man ends abruptly and acrimoniously. There is shouting and hostility – on my part I’m happy to say.

Despite being rattled for a moment there, I’m happy and pleased with myself. Walking by the river in the warm afternoon sun I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of the events of the last hour or so. I may be relatively helpless in this strange environment I’ve brought myself to, but not so helpless that I can’t reassert my independence and take back control when I choose to. I pick up my bags at E-Mart, re-visit the silk shop – one of the things Jinju is famous for – and pop into the tourist information by the fort.

Back at the bus station I see ‘Namhae’ written in hangul and buy myself a ticket. Heading home I browse the maps I picked up at tourist information.

I feel ready to venture a little further afield now; ready, wiser and more confident.