The Old Man and the Soju (August 2002)

What a crazy place!  Korea hasn’t stopped surprising me since I arrived here.  What is this insane place of cell phones, bad fashion, too many cars, cheesy pop music, neon lights slicing into my brain, awful food, and a language that is both piercing and whiny at the same time?  Yet, there are mountains full of beautiful trails and shrines, an amazing public transit system, beaches left and right, restaurants everywhere, great people, and shopping districts that would make most women I know faint from sensory overload!  I can see it now, their brains working frantically to disseminate all the shops that are crammed into one block.  “Too many windows…too many fashion stores…too many sales…ahhhhhhh!”  The maxim, “Shop ’till you drop!”, takes on a whole new meaning in this city.

These thoughts are going through my mind as I wander down the road, not far from where I live.  Cars are speeding by, sometimes only inches away, and I wonder when one of them is going to smoke me.  I figure the odds are against me because everyone here drives like a maniac.  Just the other day I witnessed a blue van slam on the brakes in the middle of the road, for no discernible reason, and the lady behind him, who had been talking on her cell phone, rear ended him full tilt. The impact sent glass shards from her windshield and side doors flying fifty feet in all directions.  Just as quickly another car hit her, but luckily he had slammed on his brakes, so that impact was minimal.  It was an even bigger shock to see the woman get out of her car like nothing had happened.  I remember my days of driving full-time and thank God it wasn’t in this town.  Busan makes Ottawa look like driver’s paradise.

Anyways, I’m strolling along listening to music and wondering what I’m going to do today.  Earlier I had played some basketball with a couple of Koreans. We couldn’t communicate, but we still managed to have a lot of fun anyways.  I was still feeling high from the physical exertion and thinking I should maybe go for a hike, perhaps check out one of the many shrines that sit perched on the mountains ringing the city. Maybe I’ll go and see if I can get tickets for the upcoming Busan Asian Games.  Apparently, there are some really cool events, including martial arts (Judo, Ju-jitsu, and Taekwondo) that will be happening throughout the games.

If I hadn’t had my walkman turned down low I never would have heard the man, and my day would have ended up completely different.  I had seen him sitting by the side of the road from far away.  Now that I’m near the guy I notice how old this man is.  He must beninety years old, I think to myself.  He was a grand-father during the Korean War, for crying out loud!  I turn down my walkman and politely bow. “Anyang-as-eo (hello)”, I say while bowing.  He begins chattering away in Korean and it’s nothing but gibberish to me.  I say to him in English that I don’t understand.  He gravely nods his head, and says, “Ah,ne, ne!”  He motions for me to sit next to him and pulls out a bottle of what is clearly soju (the most nasty and strongest liquor you can buy here).  Not wanting to be rude, and having nothing better to do anyways, I sit down next to him and take a big swallow.  Nasty stuff soju is, but it sure warms the belly fast!

He begins ranting and raving in Korean, probably telling war stories for all I know.  I nod my head every now and again and listen to him talk.  ‘He’s probably lonely and just needs someone to talk to’, I’m thinking to myself.  We pass the bottle between us and time seems to stand still for awhile.  Suddenly, he stands up and starts taking a leak right there in plain view!  It’s broad daylight, there are people walking by, cars everywhere, and this guy just whips it out and starts spraying the sidewalk!  This is quickly getting out of hand.  I’m starting to sweat and thinking that I’ve been cornered into drinking with a crazy homeless guy.  It’s at this point that I realize nobody cares.  People walk by, some not even trying to avoid the man’s urine, and nobody pays him any heed.  “I’ll never understand”, I mumble to myself.  The old man zips up, sits down and starts going off in Korean as if taking a piss in plain view of the world is a normal, everyday occurence.

I don’t know if it’s this brutally strong and disgusting liquor or just the nice day.  I don’t care that I can’t understand the man or that I’m sitting on the side of the road drinking.  I’m enjoying myself and this completely surreal experience.  After all, it’s all part of the journey.  I realize suddenly that the old man hasn’t spoken in a while.  I look over and see that he’s sleeping so I stand up, and immediately fall down.  ‘How much have I drank?’  Apparently a lot, because I’m drunk and I didn’t even realize it until now.  I vow never to touch soju again.  I don’t like booze that I can’t trust!

I’m strolling down the sidewalk, my drunkenness more than a little apparent as I stumble from left to right.  Not caring.  Why should I?  I am a giant in this country, believe me.  Everywhere I go I am at least a head taller than almost everyone around me. I decide I need something of the non-alcoholic variety to drink.  I walk into, or rather fall into, a little store not unlike convenience store’s back home, except a lot smaller.  There is a dog who looks up at me from the corner of the room with sad pathetic eyes.  It isn’t unusual for Koreans to eat dogs.  I shudder at the thought that this little thing could give new meaning to the word ‘hot dog’.  As I glance around for the obligatory fridge with the refreshments, I realize that the owner is staring at me with a mixture of caution and apprehension.  I can see it now, I think to myself.  She’s wondering, “Who is this foreigner with half-crazed eyes, soju stained shirt and a day’s growth of stubble?” (Koreans are always clean-shaven) I ask, “Where’s the cooler?”  “Ne, ne”, she replies, still looking at me like I might suddenly sprout wings and start breathing fire.  She needs to be careful, she’s thinking to herself, because this foreigner is making strange noises, and looking more and more desperate by the minute.  I spot the fridge near the rear of the store and stumble over to it, grabbing something, anything, to wash down this vile soju taste.  I hastily pay the woman, sensing her obvious discomfort at me being in her store, and leave.

My brains feel like mush and my body is aching. That soju is like the equivalent to moonshine, so I’m not really sure how sick I’m going to be later on.  I just know that I haven’t been this bad in a long time. I decide to stumble, crawl, and fall my way home. Anything is better than being out here, looking like a raving lunatic, in a foreign country and in a city where sometimes I feel like I’m the only non-Korean around.  I don’t know how long it takes but eventually

I find my way home and collapse on the couch.