Last semester I taught the teachers in my discussion group at school how to do the twist…we were at a noraebang and the song came up on the screen, and maybe I’d had one or two too many non-alcoholic “malt beverages,” but it seemed like the natural thing to do. Needless to say, as the only person in the room with any twisting experience I was able to out-twist everyone pretty easily. That night I think we also covered the swim, the scuba diver (or whatever you call the other one that looks like you’re swimming), the rotating sprinkler (only now do I admit we’re getting into dangerous territory…I was getting all caught up) and various Vogue-like poses. And the reason I love Korea is that afterward I was not subjected to the usual, “Janaki, stop dancing!” or “Omigod, what are you doing?” kind of comments, but a flurry of compliments and later a school-wide reputation for being a very good dancer. Haha. Right.
So on Monday night I was able to put all of these excellent dancing skills to work. It was quite unexpected, actually, as are most things lately since I have basically no idea what’s happening basically all of the time. My host mom doesn’t speak any English, but I used all the Korean I know on the first day at my homestay, and I think tricked her into thinking I’m at least somewhat competent. I’m thinking any day now the ruse’ll be over, though, because most of our conversations involve her speaking very quickly in Korean and saying what seem to me to be incredibly complicated things and me saying at pretty much randomly chosen intervals, “Yes.” Sometimes “no,” depending on her facial expression. So half the time she’ll say something like, “We’re going to the store but not the post office because it’s closed, but we should hurry and go right now because my husband wants to have dinner early tonight and I’ll have to man the till at the supermarket,” to which I will respond “Yes!” and then go lie down on my bed or something. At least, that’s how imagine it happens. On Saturday, for instance, I went to the whole family to some sort of mystery event having really no idea what was about to happen. Before leaving I had confirmed that this thing would be taking place at “the Wedding Castle,” that and that it involved a baby. Hm. In addition, I knew that my host dad’s brother would be driving us and that we would also be taking a taxi. Hm hm. The second mystery was solved when we got into the cab and the world’s friendliest taxi driver turned out to BE my host dad’s brother. And the event itself…the first birthday of my host dad’s nephew’s son. Why at the wedding castle? I’m not sure. Aah, now I’m aching to talk about the wedding castle, which is huge, festooned on the outside with powder blue turrets and on the inside with photographs of blushing brides lacing up ballet shoes. It’s also very much not one of a kind. I feel like you can’t go anywhere in a Korean city without passing under the gaze of billboard-size wedding couple pasted on the side of some ridiculously baroque building. Fortunately their looks aren’t as accusing as most single Korean women are probably used to (“Get married—now!” “What’s wrong with you?!”); they’re too busy staring serenely into space, just like married couples in real life do. Apparently, though, turning one is a very. big. deal. The family had booked a huge room and a DJ and provided the guests with a pretty swank buffet. There was a lot of cake cutting (it could be a wedding castle thing…gotta cut a cake) and slide showing, and even a round of “Happy Birthday” in English. They also went through a traditional ceremony in which the baby chooses an object from a tray, predicting his future career. From what I’ve learned from all the life-size dioramas at Korean museums, the objects in the old days (the museums never have dates) tended to be along the lines of book (scholar), calligraphy brush (artist), rice or money (wealth), thread (long life). In this case, I could make out on the tray a 10,000-won note and a microphone. The baby was really, really intent on getting the microphone, and at one point even shoved it in his mouth. Destined to be a public speaker? A singer? A birthday party DJ? Unfortunately his mom seemed kind of unhappy and the DJ tactfully suggested that the baby would be rich by reclaiming his mic, shoving the money into the baby’s hand and then taking a picture.
What am I talking about? Dancing! So last night, as usual, I had no idea where I was going. No, I knew that my host mom wanted to take me to the city’s municipal office, but why at 8:00pm? Well, it turns out that what by day is merely an empty square contributing to the grandeur of the municipal office is transformed at night into a city-wide dancaerobics party. Woo! There was a little platform set up at the edge with Korean dance music blaring from the speakers and a girl in white bellbottoms, a miniskirt and patent leather belt demonstrating the moves. (This outfit will be familiar to anyone who has ever passed by a Korean store on opening day. Invariable two dancers will be stationed on platforms flanking the doorway, working their way through some sort of very complex but very stationary dance routine). Following her every move were over 100 middle aged Korean women, who clearly go every night and were total experts. Unlike me. I kept trying to edge my way to the back, but my host mom kept pushing me forward, so I was right in the thick of it…of course, once she got me placed in there she went to enjoy the view from a nearby bench. Thank you, omma! I won’t go into the details of these dances, except to say that most seemed like they had been choreographed either by a little kid who believes he’s a taekwondo black belt with superpowers and a tendency to pose or by a drunken cowboy with the sudden urge to square dance. Also, there was lightning. I might go every night.