You Say Potato, We Say Kimbap.

We don’t really. Kimbap has nothing to do with potatoes. But here’s a list of things I’ve noticed thus far that are different from how we do in the U.S.A. I’m sure it’s only part 1 of many.

  • Showering: now that we’re in our new dorms, this is hard to explain, but I’ll draw you a picture on this Post-It that is roughly the size of our old (and some current) bathrooms. Basically, think of a half-bath (aka a toilet and sink) and then add a shower. It’s 3.5×3.5 feet. Water gets everywhere and on everything and it’s like…you know when you pressure wash your driveway? That’s pretty much the shower. And when you’re done, it all just runs down everything like a tropical rainforest and even by 8pm that night, you still step in a puddle. It’s like a romcom shower–it’s everywhere and you’re just trying to strangle the showerhead like Steve Irwin (RIP) wrassled a gator and shampoo is in your eyes and its great.
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  • Calling the waiter to your table: in many restaurants, there’s a round button on the side of the table that you push to call the waiter. They smile, take your order, and then you don’t see them unless you call them again or your food is ready. This is great for that moment when you have your mouth full and OH WAIT NO ONE COMES BY TO BOTHER YOU ABOUT HOW GOOD THE FOOD IS, MHMM, RIGHT?!
  • Bowing: clearly a cultural thing–you bow to anyone of higher station than you–a boss, a government offical, always older people to honor that they got so old, I suppose. When in doubt…bow. And the more important the person, the deeper the bow.
  • Driving on the sidewalk: cars will straight up drive up them, park on them, honk at you on them. It’s kind of weird. Because there’s big cities everywhere, there’s parking garages…but they don’t use them, always. 
  • Super dark car tint: like chocolate, it can be as dark as you want. Who knows how many celebrities I’ve missed?!
  • International copywriting is a joke: seriously, I’ve seen so many logos with just colors or letters changed. Its funny until I’m eating something that has no resemblance to KFC.
  • You choose your seat in a movie theater: BEST BEST BEST. You get to see what’s available, you don’t have to ask “hey can you scoot down, there’s a bajillion of us in our group and we want to sit together.” Plus, you know already if you’re going to get the coveted front row bar to put your feet up on. 
  • Beer at movie theater: yeah, yeah, I know this isn’t unheard of overseas, but it’s like, every theater here. You can get whole meals.
  • LOVE COUCH: you can get a 2-seat “love couch” that is exactly what it implies. Two people can platonically sit next to each other without an armrest in between and have privacy dividers separating it from other love couches. Perfectly cool here.
  • Holding hands/touchy feely: which is strange, considering how conservative and image-conscious this country is, but two people of the same gender are totally fine to hold hands up to puberty. This continues to be socially acceptable for women forever, however by the mid-upper teen years, not so ok for guys. 
  • bringing your own food to baseball games is a-okay: big families, rejoice! Not only is it ok, everyone else is doing it too.
  • Cheese stuffed crust pizza: this brought to me by a co-worker who was super excited about the ooey-gooey goodness of stuffed crust pizza, only to discover that like a Russian nesting doll, there was a filling of the filling and that was sweet potato and that was not ok.
  • Deoderant: Koreans sweat. HOWEVER, somehow Koreans don’t smell. Well, they don’t smell like B.O. So I guess the deoderant market is aimed squarely at foreigners–a single “cheap” stick can be $7-8. And that’s the cheapest you’ll find; if you want a Lady Speed Stick or Old Spice, look to spend $10 at the cheapest, $15 gouging.
  • Korean elevator buttons: if someone has been an asshat and pushed all of the buttons, or…benefit of the doubt, someone “accidentally” hit a wrong one, just click it again to deselect. Probably learned after too many late nights in the skyscrapers of Seoul, it’s a great invention. Don’t want to see floors 13-35 on the way to 36? Boop. Undone.
  • Ice cream: the most popular ice cream here is something called “Shooting Star,” and I see it everywhere from the school here to Baskin Robbins and others. It’s as if bubblegum and vanilla ice cream had pop rocks swirled in. It’s exciting and startling and made me jump about 2 feet the first time.
  • X hands: just how it sounds! When saying “no,” or a very emphatic “no,” cross your two arms in an “X” to make sure they know that you mean NO! Sometimes done on a small scale with two fingers comprising the “x.” Sometimes I’ve found that I do it when talking to English speakers too–one of those things you’ll probably see me do even after I return stateside. 
  • Magnetic escalators for carts: I first saw this at Home Plus (aka Korean Walmart), which has 3 floors. When you need to go upstairs, none of this elevator business with a cart; you get on an escalator that is a moving walkway (no stairs, just a long angled treadmill), and when you push your cart on it, the wheels magnetize to the strip, allowing you to let go/not lean your whole body weight to keep it from crushing your toes/innocent bystanders. This is awesome and I don’t know why I haven’t seen it in the states. Of course, multiple floors in a grocery store is rare.
  • show pony: One great thing about America is the differences; rarely are people of other ethnicities and backgrounds stared at. Unless you’re being weird, and then you’re asking for it. Not so in Korea due to the mostly homogenous culture. Big cities like Seoul, Daegu and Busan have populations very used to waygooks (foreigners), and are usually pretty chill. However, it still happens that we get stared at a lot, especially African American co-workers. Kids, adults, doesn’t matter. One of my co-workers has a lot of freckles, and Koreans are strangely weird about her being “dirty” rather than freckled until she tells them.
  • Nobody touches the old people’s seats: There are designated seats on the subways that are for pregnant, injured, sick and old people. And I’ve seen 20 people stand and hold the rails rather than sit there, even when they’re all open. 
  • Everyone wears tennis shoes: doesn’t matter if you’re in a summer dress, jeans, shorts, or a feminine skirt, you’ll see tennies. Of course, you’ll still see heels (and their toes hang off!), but I’m surprised by how many Korean women will wear bright Nikes, Puma, Adidas, or Asics with what we would think is a contrasting color, feminine outfit. It’s totally smart and way, way more comfortable. 
  • Ajumas: if you read my previous post, you’re aware that an ajuma is the Korean word for older, grandmotherly aged woman. Ajumas are a little like a time bomb: sometimes they’re totally awesome and innocent and one gave me a piece of candy on a bus. Other times…they believe they are God’s gift to you and as such, have his permission to eternally jab your boobs with elbows, push past you in lines, hit you with their purses, and gesture and jabber at you until you go away or give them money. Times like these, I wish I spoke Korean…although I’m sure somehow I’d get struck down with lightning.

Like I said, I’m sure this is just part 1 of many. To another week we go–unfortunately, it’s gonna be in the 100s! OH NOES!


The Butt Naked Truth About Busan

I got naked this weekend. And I wasn’t alone. Myself, a co-worker and about 200 other women took off all our clothes to get in another state of mind: relaxed.

Korean culture is well-known for it’s bathhouses or jimjilbangs; spas where you can spend hours in hot (or frigid) pools with healing properties, or sweat out your body weight in saunas and specialized rooms.

The lesson I learned and my mantra:


The day began with Annie, Carrie and I catching the KTX from Daegu to Busan, about a 45 minute train ride for $15. Since this was just a day trip for Carrie and I, it was worth it to arrive around 10:30am. We met Annie’s past college roommate, and exited the metro to enter the Shinsegae Department store: by Guiness Records, the largest in the world.

On the 1st floor of Shinsegae, we navigated around the outlets for luxury goods–Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Balenciaga, Givenchy–none of us could afford to walk on those tiles. We entered “Spaland,” where our rest began.

Being that this was my first jimjilbang experience, I learned that after paying the $15 entrance fee, you remove your shoes and put them in a locker. You then take the key and continue to a desk, where they give you 2 hand towels and a uniform. Next, you go to a locker room, and it’s time to get personal. You take off all your clothes, putting them in a second locker and can either go in the buff to the baths or put on your uniform and enter the specialized rooms.

A note about nudity: I thought I was fine with it. I have no qualms walking around naked at home, in my room, and was ok with the idea of naked. I had no. idea. what I was in for. There’s a special breed of trust between co-workers when you go to a jimjilbang together: you agree to never speak of the naked, you try not to look at the other person’s naked, and most of all, try not to touch their naked.


Anyways, Carrie and I decided to start with the baths; we walked out fresh as newborns into the baths, and straight into the judgemental stares of every ajuma (older lady) ever born in Korea. EVER. It’s like walking into a meat factory. The best thing is, though, everyone is naked. There’s no hiding it–you just gotta own every jiggle and mole and zit and strut it.


The pools are labeled with their properties and temperatures, so we floated through a couple, deciding on a balmy 37C one and sat, letting our muscles relax. An ajuma wandered over to let me know that I needed to put my hair back up; it’s rude to have it just floating in the pool. All that was communicated through hand gestures and head shakes and shaming sounds–making great impressions! After this, we decided to wander (this place is massive, by the way) and discovered a sauna–we chose the “cooler” 76C one. I think I maybe made it 5 minutes before I said, “uh uh,” and pulled the bucket of 18C water over my head and dashed out.

The outdoor (covered) area was my favorite–we sat buck nekkid on lawn chairs and talked about life for 20 minutes, just feeling the breeze ruffle our bits and cool off from Hades/sauna life. Then it was back in the baths, and I saw a sign for a “scrub.” Intrigued, I peeked my head around the corner and saw a woman curled up in the fetal position, being ravaged by a ajuma in mittens, clad only in black panties and bra in what really seemed like a prisoner of war situation. Confused, I turned to Carrie, who assured me it was actually pretty great. So we signed up for one (do not worry. I’ll get back to this.)

Next, we clothed ourselves and visited the public areas, where men and women together can sit in various specialized rooms, like the Yellow Ocher Room (good for “women’s illness”) and the Pyramid Room (shaped at 52 degree angles, and hot as blazes).


Roman Baths Room


Salt Room: Yes, I licked one, yes, it’s real salt


The walkways of Spaland.

We checked out about 95% of the rooms–theres about 20 of them and then it was time for the scrub.

Step 1: An old ajuma comes and collects you by hand and pulls you over to a hospital-esque bed. Remember, you’re buck naked and she’s in just black bra and panties. There’s about 7 other stations in the low-ceilinged, poorly-lit bat cave you’ve voluntarily entered where other naked women are in various stages of scrub/hazardous waste detox.

Step 2: Ajuma gestures in broken English for you to lie facing “sky” and shut your eyes. You feel vulnerable, but do as your told, remembering your “be cool be cool BE COOL” mantra. She then rubs some weird stuff on your face and pours a bucket of warm water over your body.

Step 3: The Scrub. Ajuma has on what amounts to sandpaper mitts, and goes over your body like a chef seasoning a dry rub on a chicken. She is…very thorough. It’s pretty much everything but the Pap Smear. I swear to you, she could tell me if I had a lump in my breast, she went over them so many times. You turn on one side, and then another, and then on your front. She went over the v-lines, the inner thigh and I know the dark side of my moon wasn’t spared because I had to actively think “DON’T CLENCH” in that moment. I opened my eyes a few times, but the sight of more naked and the social stigma of “looking” got me to stop real quick.

Step 4: Ajuma pours a few buckets of water over you, then a loofah with the softest, angel wish light as a feather caresses something over you. You are a cloud. You are a baby just being birthed. You have no skin and it feels wonderful. Then the buckets, then, she slaps each butt cheek once and pronounces, “feeeeeneeeeshed!”

You stand, slowly as she gestures towards the door. You walk out, wincing like a mole into the brightness of the baths, and sink your lobster-red body into a cooling pool while wrestling with the fact that you just paid money to be sanded down by a mostly naked old woman who’s name you don’t know due to language barriers.

Then, you prison shower next to 20 other nude ladies and go put your clothes on, emerging back into the world without making eye contact, and go in search of sustenance and 3 gallons of water.

A note about jimjilbangs: they are amazing. I paid $15 to get in, and opted to pay $20 for the scrub/facial and that’s it. $35 wouldn’t get you past the front desk in the US. Sure I sacrificed some dignity (and probably some basic human rights afforded me by the UN), but it was a great cultural experience, and I’m glad I did it (and that Carrie was there to guide me). I believe they provide a valuable service that we don’t get in the US: the opportunity to be open about bodies. Nudity is so scandalous in the states. And while I’m all for modesty and appropriateness, it’s refreshing to see so many “who cares?” looks on women’s faces in the spa. Everyone has something–a mole, hair in normal and not normal places, sagging somethings, scars, bruises, zits, baldness–and I think it would really help girls and other women to see that. So often we’re alone with our bodies, wondering “is this normal?” and that shouldn’t be. Korea is an extremely image-conscious society, but once you’re in the sanctity of the jimjilbang, there’s no secrets. It gives you a certain confidence to just shimmy around in nothing but what God (and all those Diet Cokes and Sonic runs) gave me and I actually found it really empowering.


That said: I was not ready for all that jelly. Everyone is looking at everyone, and I was no exception. At one point, I wondered where I was supposed to look. Everything is stone and rocks and oh-my-god-is-that-your-vagina-near-my-face-BE-COOL-BE-COOL-BE-COOL. So it was an experience, to say the least.

We spent the rest of the day shopping at H&M and roaming the over-populated Haeundae Beach, which was littered with the detritus of thousands of beachgoers and seagulls. We headed back to the train station, where I got to try my first Japanese beef bowl:


Relaxed, sated and happy, we caught the KTX to Dongdaegu, the train to Waegwan, a cab to the village, and the smooth-as-newborn-baby butt to bed.