Farewells and Festivals

It seems that Koreans love festivals almost as much as they love kimchi.

The past few weeks have been a blur of festivals, both here in Busan and in other areas of Korea, and a week can't go by without some sort of cultural celebration...Mask Festival, Mud Festival, Mime Festival. Korea has 'em all.

The festivals kicked off with the Pusan International Film Festival (PIFF) which was one I had actually been aware of before arriving in Korea, a week-long affair I was really excited about attending. It's one of the largest film festivals in Asia, with over 300 films from 60 countries, and an emphasis on showcasing talent from third world countries. I managed to see eight films, ranging from a brutally chilling account of boy soldiers in Liberia, to Bill Maher's hilarious religious documentary, to an horrendously boring story about an Argentine sailor in Ushuaia.

The following weekend I traveled with a half-dozen friends to Jinju, a relatively small town about an hour and a half from Busan, for the Nam River Lantern Festival. I wasn't expecting much, the image of red lanterns hanging outside Chinese restaurants in Seattle stuck in my head. It was rather beautiful though: large, colorful figures floating down a wide river through Jinju, the warm lights from within the thin material casting a glow on the water. There were multi-colored warriors, bright cartoon characters, vivid green dragons, plump ladybugs. The area was packed, and we wandered for several hours along the riverbank, stopping only for Turkish ice cream and meat on a stick, which we munched happily under a new moon.

Last weekend I braved the crowds to attend the Fireworks Festival here in Busan, on Gwang-an Beach. Again, I figured a firework show is a firework show, and I've seen plenty 4th of July parades in my day. I considered not going, especially when I heard that crowds were estimated at 1.5 million, but decided at the last minute to join my friends. The amount of people there was exorbitant, even by Korean standards. We arrived about 4 hours before the show began to secure a spot on the sand, and people just kept coming and coming...and coming. At 7pm, the police closed off the beach, which is exactly around the time I decided I had to go to the bathroom. I've never had such a difficult time. It being Korea, there was only ONE designated restroom for all million plus people and a line that easily stretched 1/2 mile. I finally managed to beg an ajumma (older lady) to let me use the bathroom in her restaurant and then battled the cranky old men and the drunk young men to get back onto the beach.

But man, was the show worth it. I've never seen a fireworks production like it, with a fountain of white lights streaming from the Gwang-an bridge, green lasers shooting across the sea and onto the skyscrapers lining the boardwalk, the music of Queen reverberating from all sides. The word "fireworks" in Korean literally means "fire flowers" and it is a perfect description - the fireworks were like bursts of bright light blooming in the nightsky. I'm sure I will never see another show like it.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, my childhood friend Jenna departed for the United States. We have enjoyed two months of Korean adventures, and the pace certainly didn't slow during her last week here. Besides all the festivals, we finally managed to try san nak ji (live octopus) in Jagalchi fish market, which was a horrifyingly wonderful experience. We wandered from stall to stall for a while, inquiring at each: "San nak ji?" Finally, a man in yellow coveralls smiled, reached into a tank, and pulled out a glistening grey octopus the size of a small child.

Jenna and I squealed as we watched him chop the head off and then slice the thing up into pieces and slide them onto a plate for us. The pieces looked like slugs, wriggling madly toward the center of the dish as though they really were trying to mold themselves back together. My first attempt at swallowing a piece went awry quickly - octopus is very chewy, and the bite was too big, lodging in my throat and writhing about as I desperately tried to cough it back up. I finally managed to get a few pieces down, but not without a lot of giggling and screeching from both sides of the table.

We did have a lovely going-away dinner and party for Jenna on her last night, a testimony to all the friends she's made in just a few short months. We ate barbequed duck, drank too much soju, and stumbled home as the sun began to rise around 6am.

My studio apartment is a lot quieter these days now that I'm without Jenna, and even the Street Meat Man has been asking her whereabouts, but I'm keeping busy sculpting the minds of Korean youth, getting scrubbed down in Korean bathhouses, and contemplating my next culinary adventure (dog meat, perhaps?)