Market mayhem

The kitten stretched its jaw of necklace teeth. We swore we heard it whisper out a call for help. Too close to the chopped off chicken feet to believe he was to be sold as a pet, we slipped digits in his cage and fingered at his fur.

The necks cranked backwards and feathers waterfalled over the cages of birds left living. We snapped photos of the snowy puppies and continued on our way through the crowded market.

Past fluffy soft pajamas Minnie and Mickey winked worries they were headed to the chicken’s fate. The flower shop floated spheres evergreen, towering magic guard above flowers faux and dying.

Thirty-two flavours of thread stitched its way into classic Hanbok looks. Fresh fish swam in crusting tanks, reflected in vintage mirrors. We watched coffee drip into our take out cups, hailed a cab straight to dinner.

Chocolate covered cuteness

To the Korean eye the digit one looks like a cutesy stick of chocolate. So every year on the eleventh day of the eleventh month they celebrate four columns of cookie dipped in chocolate syrup.

Some say Pepero Day was cooked up an enterprising young marketing mind at Lotte. Inspired by Pocky, the Japanese brand of candy sticks, Lotte has been hawking its Pepero sticks since the early eighties.

Since then the holiday has snowballed into a nation craze, so popular Lotte now sells more than half its Pepero sticks in November. We noticed gift wrapped chocolates about two weeks ago, saw sprinkles in the air.

Pleased singles get to celebrate, we bought boxes for all our students. Clutching one blown up pack concealing eight boxes of Pepero, I made the rounds offering chocolate to everyone in the office. Then the first gift came my way, when Julie, a fourth grader, handed me a box of yellow Ferreros.

All day long we spun the trade, rationing out candy prizes and greedily accepting brides coated in candied walnuts. With my eight-pack of Pepero boxes handed out, I re-filled the gift box to its brim with teacher presents, and went home to nurse a chocolate coated stomach.

The two Koreas

Somewhere on the outskirts of the city the fence came into view. It stands just under a story tall and is topped with curling spheres of barbing wire. We cruised passed a river on the fence’s edge and the guide told us the wall is to keep out swimming refugees and spies.

The fence runs two hundred and fifty kilometers, cuts the peninsula in half. The line was drawn four kilometers wide back in 1953 after the coldest war. The Americans and Chinese stepped in to talk to the northern totalitarians. All at the table except for the southern capitalists, they drew out the lines.

The bus wound round the demilitarized town, past the signs warning of landmines and other war debris. We had a sit down Korean lunch, explored the ginseng fields. Went to a lookout towards the propaganda village.

Walked down the tunnel dug to send northern soldiers in, water dripping on our brows. Peered through a hole and stuck our fingers into the divide. Thought about the one hundred seventy metres to another life.

Hiked back up the dim lit passage and back on the bus, wheels turned to Seoul.

South Korean Surveillance

At the border there is a line of yellow paint. A camo capped soldier stands guard, staying sure no camera-carrying tourist toes the frame. Along the divide we stood clutching our Canons, zooming lenses towards the northern hills.

The seven steps towards the lookout wall are a constant threat. A microphoned man told us the communists would be reading all our blogs. No information, he said, must we pass on to the spies.

Sometime in the seventies the north dug holes under the barbed wire fences and sent soldiers to take out Seoul. Now at the tunnel entrance young Americans grin for Facebook photos in yellow construction caps.

Beyond that is a square of surveillance cams. So one Canadian snapped a photo of the wall of grainy grid voyeur and the Canons followed with their clicks. There, one pack of tourists took second hand pictures of themselves.

Not one minded any yellow line.

K-fame

That's me in the Cheonan paper, in all my teaching glory.

Field day fun

We were asked to think back of field days past, what we did all those elementary afternoons as students. So came quickly memories of colored pinnies, ribbons won and contests lost, grass-stained jeans taken home for mom to wash.

Typed up a list of our favourite games and woke early one autumn Saturday to play. We all met at school and started a walk over to the town athletics stretch where our field day took place. Out of their usual Saturday studies, the kids asked why we weren’t taking a bus, but walked just as happily.

First came a mummy relay, all wrapped up in toilet paper. So I stood arms out and watched my team spin round me, until the white wrapped round my face and all I knew was what they shouted to me.

An egg race and a kimbap lunch, we raced through blog tag and a drop and pop. The balloons blew up and ran cross the field to pop. And as the students all swarmed the box full of candy prizes, I wandered out and picked up the plastic pieces.

The sun still too warm squinted tired eyes of one Teacher Russ, ready for napping. Like the balloons, he was popped.