Mall rats//foreign money

In Cheonan, my students tell me, the mall is the main attraction. Two downtown department stores act as the centre of the city. On one side of the street is Yawoori, a seven-floor mammoth with clothing, books, and films. On the other is Galleria, an upscale alternative to all the Asian rip-offs.

The cab costs seven thousand won, drops us off outside Galleria doors. Across at Yawoori every day is Boxing Day and shoe soles fill the ground. We purchase notebooks covered in French phrases and poorly translated English poems.

Upstairs offers Italian ice cream in every flavour, including rice. The walls of mall restaurants offer their menu in the form of a trophy case filled with plates of plastic food. And outside we’re reminded no matter how far from home you travel McDonald’s is always near.

We buy tickets to an evening show, an English blockbuster with words and explosions the whole globe can understand. After the movie all the foreign chatter and signs in confusing print still seem surreal.

I pinch myself but am not in slumber, think back to the piece of pink puppy public art outside the mall. And as his sign reminds me: we cannot live without a dream.