A Sunday at Shinsegae: Glimpses of a New Korea

If there is one place to see where the new face of Korea is thriving, it's at Shinsegae mall.

World recession? A slumping won? Not apparent here, a gleaming ten-story multiplex shopping center, with three Starbucks, designer boutiques, an ice rink, golf driving range, a massive spa and an ultra-modern cinema attached to an upscale restaurant. The Korea Times reports the total cost to be 1 trillion won.

I first heard whisperings of Shinsegae when other foreigners began excitedly mentioning the arrival of Gap (!) and Banana Republic (!) in Pusan. In true Korean style, it was all built in a flash (no mind that part of the cinema roof has already collapsed), and a few weeks later I went to see for myself.

Gap was, expectedly, out of my price range. Even though most of the clothes are made in neighboring China, the prices are three or four times that of the States, making a cotton t-shirt almost $55. The best selling items appear to be colorful baseball caps with GAP stitched in white lettering, another indication of the Koreans' obsession with labels.

I first visited Shinsegae with my adorable, stylish Korean friend Monica. If anyone knows about label lust, it's her. She has designer purses worth the price of a used car. Although she is 24 years old, she lives with her parents like most young Koreans, and a majority of her paycheck goes toward expanding her wardrobe. The last bag she bought, a small quilted black Chanel, cost her about $2,600 and the wrath of her mother, who made her stand in her bedroom with the purse held over her head until she cried from the pain of keeping her arms up for so long.

Our first stop was Starbucks, where a plastic cup with the green logo splashed on the front informs others that you can afford to pay $3 for a cup of coffee. Monica has told me that some Koreans will carry the cup around all day, long past the last sip of coffee, re-filling it and proudly displaying the Starbucks name. It reminds me of the Africans I encountered on my travels, who would decorate their cell phones with rhinestones, choose the loudest ringtones and wear them on cords around their necks, just to draw attention to the fact that they could afford a mobile phone (sometimes they couldn't pay for the minutes, but hey, they had the phone).

Monica and I then wandered through Marni and Marc Jacobs, both busy on this particular Sunday afternoon. Monica ogled a red purse, and studied a dress she was sure she could re-create with her sewing machine. After passing women with multiple shopping bags, we took an escalator down to the food hall on the 1st floor.

The floor was a maze of counters, serving uncommon "Western" food like smoked salmon salads and club sandwiches (none cheaper than $10), as well as cakes, Turkish wraps, mandu dumplings, Chinese dishes, chocolate truffles. The "Water Bar" was a gleaming turquoise counter with dozens of different kinds of sparkling, flavored or flat water. Next to that stood the European imports - a $12 package of instant oatmeal, a $5 bottle of Orangina. A large section of the hall is devoted to a Korean favorite: bread. Koreans have embraced bakeries the way Rose clings to Jack at the end of Titanic. Dunkin' Donuts, Paris Baguette, Tous Les Jours - they can't get enough pastries, bagels, loaves of bread. Unfortunately, most of it is crammed with sugar, not a whole wheat option in sight, but they sure love the stuff.

Looking around the mammoth mall packed with people, I thought about how America is clearly not the only consumer-driven country. Sure, I think people everywhere like to buy things, but the rabid obsession with stuff - electronics, labels, clothing, designers - is this a result of "Westernization"? Or would it have happened regardless of our influence?

When I walked into class a few weeks ago with a red knock-off purse I'd bought in Beijing (for $15, I might add), my elementary school students all started pointing excitedly at the Chloe label.

"Teacher, is it real? Real Chloe?" they asked.

I was taken aback that they had any idea what Chloe was - at their age, the only Chloe I knew was my mom's cat. Perhaps you'd find this with upper-middle class 4th graders in the States too, but I'm not sure.

I'm also not sure if all this consumerism isn't going to get Korea into a lot of trouble. As we've seen in the past few months, every time we open a newspaper, Americans are now literally paying the price of years of buying stuff, most of it they couldn't afford in the first place. The story continues to unfold, but many agree that this recession may actually be a good thing, a chance to step back and re-evaluate what we actually need.

I think it's wonderful that the Korean economy has grown so much in such a short period of time - they are a hard-working country that has risen from the dust in only a half-century. But like many Americans, my friend Monica is in a heap of credit card debt, charging all her Starbucks coffees and designer bags with just a swipe.

As she said as we were leaving the mall, "Ah, Jenn. Shinsegae is so good, I think." She paused. "But for me, maybe also so bad."

Spring Fever

With spring knocking on the door – cherry blossoms in bloom, balmy days, winter coats packed away – love seems to be on the brain in Busan.

We just celebrated a slew of love-themed holidays in Korea: Valentines Day on February 14th, when girls are required to buy boys chocolate, followed by White Day on March 14th, when roles reverse and boys buy chocolate for girls. April 14th brought Black Day, a holiday for those who did not receive chocolate in previous months, a chance to cry into their “black noodles” (a Chinese dish called ja-jang-myeon). Korea and its disdain for single people!

My students are endlessly curious about my love life, asking me if anyone had bought me chocolate on White Day (I asked if I could just walk around the city on March 14th, approaching any male for free chocolate – they looked shocked and dismayed at this idea). Yesterday they wanted to know if I’d eaten black noodles, or if I had a boyfriend, which would exclude me from lamenting about being single. Sometimes I’m tempted to play “Independent Woman” by Destiny’s Child for them.

They, of course, have constructed a love story for me. The story circulating through my students is that two of my co-workers, Jason and Niko, are dating (they are not) but that Jason is secretly in love with me (he is not) and I am trying to break up their happy union (I am not – well, if there were any union to speak of). I will often return from break and walk into a room of bright-eyed middle schoolers, all grinning at me.

“Teacher!” they shout. “We saw you and you were talking to Jason!”

“Teacher, do you love Jason?”

“Is Niko really Jason’s girlfriend?”

During their mid-terms a few weeks ago, they were required to write a skit about anything of their choosing, as part of the test’s speaking component. They had twenty minutes to write, during which I walked around and peered over their shoulders to make sure they were on track. One group was shrieking with laughter, and refused to let me see their script, insistent that it be a surprise for me.

When they got up in front of the class to perform, they had to go around and introduce themselves.

“Hi, my name is Harry and I’m playing the part of Jenn,” said Harry.

Oh geez, I thought.

“My name is Kat, and I’m playing the part of Jason,” said Kat.

No way. No way.

“Hello, I’m Daniel and I’m going to be acting Niko,” said Daniel.

Well, this should be interesting.

“One day, Jason met Jenn on the street,” read Reina. “He fell in love with Jenn, but he had a girlfriend named Niko.”

“Hello, where are you going?” asked Kat (as Jason) to Harry (as me). “Are you free on Saturday?”

“Yes,” replied Harry.

“Shall we go to the zoo?” asked Kat.

Reina, our narrator, continued. “Jason did a great job on Saturday, but there was someone who watched the date. She was Jason’s girlfriend, Niko.”

“What are you doing?” yelled Daniel, as Niko. The class roared with laughter.

“I am proposing marriage to Jenn,” yelled Kat. Daniel reached over and pretended to slap Kat across the face. Even I was giggling now.

“Well, I don’t want to marry you!” shouted Harry/Jenn.

“Jason was very unhappy and ended up all alone,” read Reina. “The end.”

This is how most of their stories or skits go – somebody dies or is left alone. I guess Korean school children aren’t as interested in happy endings.

Last Friday, my upper-level Listening class was smaller than usual because most of my students were off studying for middle school exams. There were three girls present, and one lone boy – as per usual, the girls all congregated on one side of the room, and Danny sat alone on the other. Our topic for the day was Love, and I wasn’t too sure how it would go over with the small group.

I figured that since none of the students would have first-hand experience with love (you know, being under 15 years old and all), I could ask them about how their parents met to start the discussion. Most of them informed me that their mom and dad had been introduced in college, or that their parents had been older and therefore it was “time” to get married. No romantic love stories here.

Annie’s parents had an even more straight-forward union. “Well,” she told the class. “My mother tried to trap my father, and then they get married.”

The conversation hadn’t gone exactly as I’d planned, and during the final hour of class, I had them write down the person they loved most in the world, and what their definition was for love.

Danny was first. “The person I love most in the world is my mother,” he said. “She always help me and understand me. She also say good thing to me and is kind to me.”

Vicky followed with her definition, saying, “To be in love is when we keep smiling when we think of our lover.”

And again, Annie’s thoughts were the funniest. She declared that the person she loves most in the world is Big Bang, a Korean boy band. “When I think of Big Bang, the person I love, I feel throb and sometimes we are being hot. Love is when you care what that person likes and do,” she informed us.

She showed us a picture of Big Bang on her pencil case, calling out the names of each member. Personally, I don’t really get it. They all look like skinny girls to me, but Annie was kind enough to say that she would let me “have” the least attractive member named Top. Only because he’s the oldest member at 24 years old, she explained, and therefore closest to my age.

Annie continued. “Tim teacher has 365 girlfriends,” she told me, referring to another one of my co-workers. “But you could have Big Bang boyfriend!”

“Tim has 365 girlfriends?” I asked them.

“Oh yes, Teacher,” said Vicky, her face serious. “One for every day of year.”

China's Showpiece: Shanghai

When I told my Korean elementary school students I was going to Shanghai for the weekend, they crinkled their little noses in disgust.

"China dirty, Teacher!" they cried.

Frankly, I couldn't disagree more.

Unlike Korea, where the smell of sewage hits you every few blocks and the pavement is lined with garbage for lack of trash cans, Shanghai sparkles. The glass and steel from the city's impressive skyscrapers gleam, reflected in the water of the Huangpu River, which was only a few minutes from our hostel in the Bund - an elegant neighborhood that is home to upscale shops like Versace and Dolce & Gabbana, as well as eateries with famous chefs like Jean Gorges. Even in the world's most rapidly changing country, Shanghai stands out.

It easily rivals Hong Kong with its couture shopping, cutting edge architecture and 20 million residents. Once known as the "Whore of the Orient" - for the back-street gambling, the hookers and the opium trade - today it's one of Asia's financial centers and a humming port second only in size to Singapore. The city is divvied up into many distinct neighborhoods, most of which are remnants of British, American and French settlements.

We arrived early Saturday afternoon, whisked about 50 kilometers from Pudong International Airport to the center of Shanghai in under eight minutes on the world's fastest train (The Maglev reaches 431 km/hour!) We immediately set off on food for Yunnan Street, our grumbling tummies ready for the tiny shops and carts lining the road, selling piping bowls of noodles and the delicate hand-made dumplings for which Shanghai is famous.

We opted for xiao long bao ("small steamer buns"), noticing the impressive line of people waiting outside the tiny shopfront, not a white face in sight. I was certainly not disappointed. For $1, I received four plump dumplings freshly made before my eyes, the outside soft and thin, the inside full of sweet pork. It quickly made up for my last botched attempt at eating street food in China!

The sky had clouded over as we exited the shop, and we decided to buy a warm cup of bubble tea, the sweet milky liquid and tapioca balls reminding me of the Asian restaurants in Seattle that also serve the popular drink. We slurped them up through thick red straws, enjoying the stroll through Shanghai's streets.

In the early evening we walked over to Jin Mao Tower, one of the tallest buildings in China. We took an elevator to the 88th floor, hovering about 1,115 feet above ground. For roughly $6, you can stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the observation deck, looking at the shining city below. The buildings blinked before us - yellow, red, blue. The Huangpu River was decorated with the twinkling white lights of boats floating past, part of the city's tourist cruises. And in the center of the 88th floor, you can look directly down at the lobby of the Hyatt, a dizzying and terrifying experience.

On Sunday, our only full day in the city, we awoke early - lured out of bed by the promise of banana pancakes at a cafe in the French Concession. The area, once territory for a French settlement, is now one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Shanghai. If the Bund is Shanghai's sophisticated aunt, dripping in diamonds and fur stoles, the French Concession is her edgy twenty-something cousin, all spunk and style. Boona Cafe lived up to the reputation, charming with framed pictures of Shanghai on its red walls, small nooks next to bookshelves overcrowded with paperbacks. The rest of the morning was spent exploring the back alleys of Taikang Road Art Centre - the small photography exhibits, the sidewalk cafes, the handmade Indian jewelery shops.

After the trendy and modern, we took a harrowing taxi ride (as all our taxi rides were; one driver hitting 160 km/hr) to Old Town, just as the sun started to peer through the cluster of thick clouds. We paid about 30 yuan to enter Yuyuan Gardens - like Central Park, an oasis of greenery amidst a bustling city - where we wandered over bridges, past ponds of bright orange koi fish and blooming cherry blossoms the color of cotton candy. The gardens were built in the traditional Chinese style during the Ming dynasty, and are said to be one of the most remarkable gardens in all of China.

On the way back to the hostel, we cut through a large, open park and I almost stopped dead in my tracks as a familiar smell hit me.

"Oh my god, you guys. Grass! Do you smell that?! It's grass!"

Everyone stood, sniffing appreciatively. Parks, trees, grass - all pretty non-existent in Pusan, Korea. I didn't realize how much I missed it; wanted to roll around in the grass until I had green stains on my knees. It was also refreshing to see children playing in the park on a weekend afternoon, throwing a ball, rollerblading, skateboarding. It's rare to see children past kindergarten age wiling away precious study time in Korea, and I was delighted to see children out enjoying themselves in Shanghai.

The week before my trip to Shanghai, I saw firsthand just how much Korean children miss out on. One of my lessons in Listening class was about zoos - we were discussing whether zoos were a good way to protect endangered animals or a cruel means that kept animals out of their natural habitat. My students were elementary school age, between 10 and 12 years old, and I tried to start the debate by asking them their thoughts about zoos.

"Do you guys like going to the zoo?" I asked them, walking up the aisle of their desks. "They just re-opened the zoo in Pusan, right? Has anyone been yet?"

Silence.

They are usually a fairly energetic class, so I was surprised they didn't have more to say. Don't all kids love exotic animals?

"Daniel," I said, looking at the dark-haired boy doodling in his book. "What's your favorite animal? Do you like elephants? Giraffes?"

He stared at the book. "I like elephants," he said quietly.

"Do they have elephants at the Pusan zoo?" I asked.

"I don't know, teacher," he said.

"Has anyone been to the new zoo yet?" I asked, addressing the whole class. "Or did you go to the zoo before they expanded it?"

Silence.

I started to feel exasperation. "C'mon, guys!" I cried. "Nobody has any thoughts on the zoo? Nobody has been to the zoo?"

One of the smaller girls raised her hand timidly.

"Yes, Lucy? What do you think?" I asked.

"Uh, teacher. No time to go to zoo," she said. "Zoo is for younger kids."

"You don't have time to go to the zoo?" I repeated.

Jason spoke up. "If you go to zoo, it needs 3 or 4 hours to walk in whole zoo. Only younger children have time for that."

Younger children? I thought. You're in 5th grade.

"What do you mean, younger children?" I asked Jason.

"You know, teacher. Like in kindergarten."

I didn't know what to say. I looked around at their faces, so serious, thinking that they hadn't even reached middle school and they couldn't find an afternoon to enjoy a zoo. It was so sad.

And maybe that has been the best part of my trips outside of Korea in the last few months - certainly the Chinese are hard-working, certainly things in China are changing and growing at a frenetic pace. But in my few weekends there, it was nice to slow down, to sit in a park, to watch children playing together on a sunny afternoon.

I wish many of my students had that opportunity - to stop and smell the grass every once in a while.