My policy with food in foreign countries is “don’t ask, don’t tell.” In order to increase my consumption of cultural experience, I prefer to not know what will pass through my hardy digestive system. This morning I strolled through a market filled with wriggling octopus legs, frozen fish that glared at me through their cold dead eyeballs, motorcyclists zooming through the walkway, emphatic bargaining similar to that of Wall Street, alien fruits piled into neat pyramids, and a “distinct” smell. After letting my senses do their job and absorb on five different levels, I sat down at a stand, smiled, and eagerly gestured towards a fried pancake thingy. After stumbling through the exchange of currency and the obtaining of a fork (after my pathetic chopstick acrobatics), I heard somebody haggling quite loudly. Immersed in the delicious pancake thingy, and trying to decide what small animal’s carcass laid in front of me, I ignored the loud bartering. Yet, the voice persisted, so I turned around and found that the sound was coming from a four foot five inch tall one hundred eighty seven year old woman (approximately). And, through her one good eye, she was staring directly at me, and shaking her finger (the international punitive gesture). I looked around (the international gesture for “wtf!?!?”). Yes, a small Korean sage was screaming curses at me in Korean. I do not speak Korean. Therefore, I had no way of knowing the root of the problem. But, I believe it had something to do with me being born blond or white or blue-eyed or a capitalist or non-chopstick-savvy or something. Fortunately, middle-aged Koreans came to my rescue and harshly scolded the old woman for being such a crazy old woman and she stopped screaming and hobbled away in a tizzy. So I sat, confused, a little embarrassed, and forced to finish my pancake thingy with the knowledge that the whole market would be gossiping about the white girl who brought shame upon the corner pancake thingy stand.
I don’t think Rick Steve or Lonely Planet would include this experience in a list of “must-do excursions in Seoul.” However, people tell me that my guts are what make my traveling experiences unique. In this particular case, “guts” could refer to the fact that I dared to sit down or to my hardy digestive system, willing to brave the pancake thingy in spite of anti- Western sentiment.
