RED TIDE

Sunday, 13 June 2010. If you think World Cup mania reaches a fever-pitch in Toronto, along College Street for instance, or St. Clair West, think again. South Korea played its first game last night, and in the hours leading up to it a red tide swept over the city: thousands of fans wearing red t-shirts of many designs, waving red scarves, hats, banenrs noisemakers, were everywhere. their enthusiasm wildly infectious and lots more fun than a flu virus. We’re on the lookout for our own red t-shirts because we’re definitely fans of the Korean team now.

We were downtown with our friend Nancy after the Pride Parade as red washed through the streets and alleys. Nancy led us to a Korean barbecue restaurant, commenting that the place would empty out quickly as people left to claim space in front of one or another of the giant outdoor television screens mounted all over downtown. And she was right—in about half an hour we were the sole (!) diners still there while the staff settled at a table near us and ate their own meal. But I’m not blogging about food here—though it was fabulous—but mania.

When we strolled out of the restaurant alley onto Cheonggyecheon it was twilight and we had to thread our way around sidewalk tables crammed close together and sheltered (somewhat) under awnings, with red shirts all facing towards televisions. Many people sported illuminated red devil’s horns—“Red Devils” was the original name of the cheering squad for the South Korean Soccer Team. Now they are known simply as “The Reds”, in deference to Christian discomfort at alignment with a devil of any colour.

With other walkers we headed towards City Hall and Seoul Square, the most desired spot to be. The crowd thickened till we were worming our way through a surging mass of people (astonishingly, no pushing or cursing), as we snaked behind bleachers completely jammed. Occasionally over heads we could glimpse a football field on a huge screen. Rain misted down, noise crescendoed, more and more people crammed onto the narrow walk, lights made misty halos, it was harder and harder to keep moving. When we made it to a street crossing opposite a subway station, we headed downstairs for the train. But that didn’t free us from the red tide. Hawkers of all sorts were lined up on the stairs and along the sides of the passageway, their noise and excitement almost as extreme as at the Square. We were offered t-shirts, noisemakers, banners, souvenirs, Cass Beer (“that’s so illegal” Nancy said), and lord knows what else, on our way to the ticket machines.

Back at the residence we tried to pick up the game on the snowy tv—no luck. Then I noticed it was being projected onto an enormous building many blocks away. The image was partly masked by a leafy tree next door and some buildings, but Peter used the binoculars to watch for a few minutes and saw the beautiful Korean goal scored by Park. (Now he wants a t-shirt with Park's number 7 on it.) A great roar of glee went up all over the neighbourhood at that moment.

It’s made me happy this morning to find Korea won the game—the weight of gloom from Seoul Square, had they not, might have been enough to alter the earth’s axis a degree or two.

PRIDE--SEOUL

On Saturday afternoon I joined our friend Nancy Kim in downtown Seoul, to walk in the Gay Pride Parade. The rain was pelting down, but the air was warm. I carried my new green umbrella and wore my Tassie Parks water-resistant jacket. The crowd at the mustering point—Berlin Square (where there’s a large chunk of the Berlin Wall—who knew?)—was wet and boisterous. Singer-dancers performed on a flatbed to loud music, only heads and arms visible above the crowd milling about in raincoats or under umbrellas.

The Seoul Parade is 11 years old this year. It’s a small event compared to Toronto, its route a short loop around several blocks and back to the starting point, The street it travels is normally closed to traffic on weekends but the cross-streets are not and so the parade slowed and then stopped for the lights at a wide and busy intersection—when we finally surged ahead we crossed through an alley created by young women holding a great string of balloons on one side and a stretch of rope on the other. Initially Nancy and I followed a float with two fabulous wigged and lamee-bustiered dancers on it—then we dropped back to walk behind the Amnesty International banner, where “Love is a human right!” was being chanted. Towards the end of the walk a small fleet of “Dykes on Bikes”—mostly Caucasian—came up behind us, addiing a bit of lively ruckus.

The Parade doesn’t command a huge turnout of watchers—though numbers have been increasing year by year. Yesterday the crowd was thin, likely because of weather. Most people were there to walk rather than watch, and I wasn’t the only Caucasian by a long shot. In spite of 11 years of parades, the situation for gays and lesbians here is complicated. For instance, Nancy told me all the people she knew who were walking in the parade were straight; her gay friends can’t yet risk being seen publicly. Families feel it’s a terrible disgrace if someone comes out. There is a gay nightlife section here, however. And after the parade city officials or celebrities like Hong Seok Chun make speeches about diversity and rights—in Korean, so we didn’t stay to listen.

IN SITU

Here we are, in room 309, International House 1 of Sookmyung Women’s University—a room that is actually two rooms, far more generous a space than we expected. We have a bedroom (with a desk as well as a king-size bed) and an everything-else-room that includes another desk. The television is snowy and the phone doesn’t work, but the air conditioner does. The weather generally is hot and humid, the air hazy with pollution. I realize we’re almost exactly halfway round the world from Toronto. We’ve traded night for day—it’s 3:30 a.m. there when it’s 4:30 p.m. here. Perhaps this explains the oddly dreamlike quality of our lives.

As it happens we could be cooking meals—there’s a 2-gas burner, a toaster oven, and a little fridge. But we haven’t worked out how to light the gas, and there are no pots or dishes in the cupboard except the two plates and two glasses we bought when we discovered the Lotte Market at Seoul Station—and besides there are at least a hundred and one restaurants/cafes/coffee houses/take-out places within a few minutes walk. Even if we can’t figure out what most of them are cooking (no English menus or signs) we are finding good cheap food.

The street our building is on is narrow (by Toronto standards); it rises and falls along a hill, winding here and there. It feels more like a lane than a street, except for the astonishing number of cars and trucks that manage to drive along it, skirting the fairly steady stream of pedestrian traffic. Looking out our third floor windows I’m reminded a little of Siena by the street’s incline and the way the houses/buildings sit right at the pavement’s edge.

It’s perhaps a five-minute walk to the larger commercial street that leads past the entrance to Sookmyung Women’s University. Along that walk we can buy fruit, groceries, baked desserts, housewares, and clothing, or sit down with a coffee and sweet, order a meal, get clothing dry cleaned, take a hot yoga class—and who knows what else in the buildings and shops with only Korean characters on them. On the larger street we find drugstores, cosmetic shops, lots more clothing stores, tons of eating places, an optician, a phone shop (I think that’s what it is) and a stationery store jammed with file folders, portfolios, notebooks (Sponge Bob covers anyone?), letter paper, wrapping paper, rolls of ribbon, paper clips, hair clips, and racks of socks. From mid-afternoon the street is jammed with people, mostly students, and their numbers increase steadily at least until 8:30—which is about the latest we’ve managed to stay out so far. We’re waking about 6:30 a.m.—the sun already high in the sky, but the street then quiet, nearly empty. Except, one morning, for the corps of women wearing broad sun visors and wielding brooms and dustpans clearing rubbish into little carts.