Seoul Series: The Legend of Kwek

You and TC goofing around in
Star Avenue, Lotte World

June 2011. "He's asking what Korean words you know," Wendy, your South Korean friend, asks, while comfy in the taxi's passenger seat. She is doing a very good  job being your interpreter on your second visit to Seoul.

"Saranghae," you reply, pronouncing the last syllable with a short E sound. SA-RANG-HE: Love. In Korean. The cab driver seems impressed. Wendy translates, "He says your accent is good." You wish. All these Korean vowel sounds are too difficult and too similar-sounding, you could barely remember the lyrics in a K-Pop song.

At Star Ave,
Lotte World
Belting out "Time After Time"

The road on the way to Daehangno from Jamsil is a little bit jammed. You and TC, your favorite travel buddy, just visited Lotte World just to check out Star Avenue, the K-Pop Museum where you got to sing in front of the staff (who politely applauded after your Time After Time rendition), dubbed a Koreanovela, and posed for a for-a-fee photo-op wearing an ancient Korean warrior costume.

The taxi ride took about over half an hour, as you needed to get to north of the Han River. Jamsil is is south of the river, an area which you have hardly visited. 

Wendy and the taxi driver

TC spots a street market as you get to Hyehwah. You ask Wendy to tell the driver to stop the taxi. You hand him two Korean Won 10,000 bills (about $10) and he gave you the exact change: as in the EXACT change,  down to the last won. Taxi drivers in  Korea find it weird if you tip them, so you don't.

It is summer in Seoul. You are happy you didn't have to wear that thick bubble jacket you had to fit in your luggage in your previous trip here last year. 

Filipino Market
in Hyehwah:
Open Sundays

"Is this the Filipino Market?," Wendy asks TC. 

"Looks like it is," as TC starts to walk ahead of you to marvel at all these Pinoy products on sale, here in South Korea. 

"Ate, magkano ang pancit canton?", you ask two giggling Filipinas who reply that it's W1,000 per pack, about a dollar each. Everything is overpriced, if you convert but business is business, after all.

The Filipino Market is in Hyehwa, which Wendy pronounces as Hey-Wah. It is in Central Seoul and is accessible via the subway on Line 4 (Hyehwa Station). This flea market, only open on Sundays (as of that time) is located in a vibrant neighborhood surrounded by universities, cafes, restaurants, and mini-theaters. It sells Pinoy food, both cooked on the spot or packed and imported from the Philippines. The crowd is a mixture of Filipinos and Koreans.

"Wendy, have you tried chicharon?," you ask her, after spotting some pork cracklings, neatly arranged on a table in one of the stalls. You struggled explaining what it really is but Wendy is all good after hearing it is pork. You hand the manong W4,000 ($4). 

Wendy and TC eating chicharon at
The Filipino Market

"Kuya, walang libreng suka?". You ask him if it does not come with vinegar, which is chicharon's best partner. The vendor points to a Datu Puti bottle, which you have to buy and will apparently cost you more than the chicharon. Wendy starts eating the prok rinds, which you discover seconds after, is made in Thailand after all. 

Little theater (top photo);
Coffee Stop at Cafe Jubilee

You find a little road that swarms with young people. This seems to be their version of University Belt. A big sign says you are in Sangmyung University Art Center and somewhere around is the Seongkyunkwan University, a school established in the year 1398. The area has so many little theaters, but you settle to have some coffee at a chocolate bar - yup, a "bar" that sells chocolates: Cafe Jubilee Chocolatier. Think Starbucks but they sell chocolates too, which by the way, they'd make you taste for free first, by giving you a smaller version of the real thing - tiny cubes which melt in your mouth, while you close your eyes, imagining a visit to Willy Wonka.

After finishing your coffee and chocolate cubes, without any specific destination, you continue your journey having ticked the Filipino Market off your list. Now what? You are back on the main road, a couple of meters away from the subway station when you see a a park. What the heck, why don't you try a walk in the park this perfect Korean summer afternoon? 

There has got to be at least two hundred people in Marronnier Park. Men, women, kids, and students all enjoying this fine Sunday afternoon, because after all, a few months from now, all they will see may just be snow.

You and Wendy
at Marronnier Park

Street Performer, in pink

TC spotting a street performance

The Korean version of Hep Hep Hooray

It looks like they are going to play a game. 

It looks like the host just explained the mechanics.

It looks like the audience are excited, as everyone started to applause.

It looks like the game has started: they are all shouting a one-syllable word which is a bit inaudible for you as you are about 15 meters away from the game players and the hosts.

It looks like the crowd is enjoying as they all clap whenever someone gets eliminated.

It looks like there are only a few men standing.

It looks like the game will just continue until someone wins, until the unthinkable happens.

It looks like the host just pointed at you.

You look back, hoping the show's host spotted a Korean. But it looks like he is really pointing at you.

The host explaining
game mechanics to you

You point to your chest, looking at the host, and stutter, "Mm-mm-me?". But no voice comes out.

The host smiles, "Yes!"

"Ikaw daw!," TC nudges you.

You tell your legs to walk towards the makeshift stage - the center of the crowd. "I don't speak Korean," you tell the host, while getting closer to the hot spot. 

"It's okay. Where are you from?", the host asks you. You look around - hundreds of South Koreans cheering and clapping. "Philippines!"

The host asks you to sit on a stone bench while giving you the game instructions in bullet points, which you hardly catch. He tells you to position yourself in the middle of the line. You feel like a kid, because all the other guys must at least be 5'10".

The six contestants for
The Marronnier Park
Battle of the Kwek

Now, there are six men in front of the crowd and the game starts. From  what you understand, this is similar to Wow Wow Wee's Hep Hep Hooray. All contestants including you, have to link their arms, forming a human chain, like in a street protest. The game starts. Let's do this!

The rightmost guy, the first one, starts, shouts "Kwek" to the guy on his left. And when you say shout, it really means an eardrum-breaking shout.

Okay, so this game might be called The Kwek Game.

The host clarifying
instructions

The second guy does the same. So does the third. You are the fourth. You get ready and just follow the pattern. When it gets to the sixth and last, leftmost guy, the chain goes back. 

But wait. The fifth guy shouts "Kwek" back to the sixth guy and they take forever just shouting at each other. Now you get it. You can choose who to pass the turn to.

The Kwek chain goes back to you, and you choose the guy in pink on your right. When it comes back, you pass it to the fifth, and for some reason you failed to catch, the last guy is out.

The crowd giggles and you hear clapping and cheers again. The sixth guy leaves the "stage". You are so not in last place!

And then there were five.

Now confused, you and the third guy (in pink) engage on a half a minute long Kwek shouting match. Impatient, you pass it on to the fifth guy on your left instead, who passes it back to you, which you pass on to the third guy again (in pink), who unfortunately passes it back to you.

In the middle of all the shouts from the crowd and the confusion as to how you will be "out", the game stops. It looks like you made a major, major Kwek mistake. The reason  is something only the Koreans understood. And you are officially out of the game.

After shouting Kamsamnida to the audience.
Looks like your competitors are 
relieved you are out of the game

To save face, you raise your hands to the audience and shout "Kamsamnida! Thank you!". All the audience members were clapping and cheering and you feel like being eliminated from the Olympics swimming semifinals.

You walk back to TC and Wendy. "It's embarassing!," you tell them, but thy were both laughing as if telling you that you did a good job. Well fifth out of six is not bad at all, considering you hardly understood the objective of the game.

You enjoyed every second of Kwek!

The game finishes and the host bursts into song. He finishes singing, crowd disperses, and people started walking up to the performer's guitar case, dropping their Korean won, as tip. You drop a couple of W1,000 bills.

As you head out to the main road of of Maronnier Park, you curiously ask Wendy, "So what does Kwek mean?"

Wendy, who already looks bored and sleepy, languidly replies, "Oh, it's the sound of a duck!" ●

THE END

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Minneapolis Mystery: The Basement

Minneapolis Skyline

Based on a true story

October 2001

"Geez man," Joy complains of the cold, as she tightens her black trench coat and places her hand in its jacket's pockets. It is a beautiful Friday evening. 

You open the hotel door for her. Autumn breeze brushes your face. You close your eyes, as you zip your dark gray bubble jacket up.

Anyone who'd see you at this hour would know the two of you are not from anywhere around here. The two of you already feel like you are freezing. 

"Must be around 40-ish," you guess, as it was about 50 degrees Fahrenheit two hours earlier, according to the news.

"Taxi!", Joy screams, hands still in her pockets, as a yellow cab passes Oakwood, where you and rest of  your colleagues are staying.

You and Joy on your
second day in Minneapolis

"They couldn't hear you, duh," and you demonstrate how to hail a cab, complete with hand gestures as you shout "Taxi". The next cab zooms past you. Occupied. Joy secretly giggles.

"Shall we just walk?", you ask her, as you rub your hands together in front of your mouth.

Joy stands still. She takes a deep breath and looks around. She extends her neck like a giraffe and looks down the street where Marquette and 11th Street meet. She smiles and exclaims, "There!"

You didn't realize there is a taxi queue, right across Hilton.

You get in the cab and tell the Somali driver to bring you to The Saloon, a dance club on Hennepin Avenue. It's going to be your second time in two weeks here. 

The Saloon

Three minutes later, you find yourself  showing your passports to The Saloon's bouncer. You pay the cover and enter. You hand your jacket to the androgynous receptionist at the coat check. You and Joy mumble your thank you's as you hand her (or him) two bucks each.

The Saloon, from where you stand, has a dance floor and a seating area, dissected by a big bar in the middle. There is an area at the back for karaoke and arcade games.

You light up a stick of Winston Lights, from your last pack, which you had to bring from Manila as the price of cigarettes in America is ridiculous.

Joy, without saying anything, takes your free drink stub from your left hand as you light your cig up.

"Heineken?". It was more of a declarative statement than a question.

Surprised, you just nod as you scan the crowd. About half the crowd is Asians - probably Cambodians, Chinese, Vietnamese and Hmong. You swear to your life that you and Joy  are the only Filipinos in the club.

You spot a familiar face and you half-smile, while raising your brows: Pete, a friend of John's, one of the first friends you made in the City of Lakes. Pete is Asian too.

"It's John's friend," you scream at Joy's ear, as Britney's "Slave for You" envelops the entire club. She gives you a bewildered look.  Oops, she doesn't know John, you forgot.

"Pete, right?". You shake his hand. He says "Hey" and you proceed to formalities of Joy-this-is-Pete-introductions.

"You've seen John around?", you ask Pete. You try lip-reading his answer, since Mary J. Blige's "Family Affair" draws cheers from the crowd. 

All you could decipher is his NO. 

You thank Pete and pull Joy farther from the thickening crowd. You are both getting claustrophobic. It's half past nine and in about three hours, they'd be announcing the last call. After all, it's Minnesota. You suddenly miss Manila's party-till-you-drop scene.

"J, you want another drink," Joy yells at you, before finishing the last drop of her beer. You are about to nod when Pete approaches. In his Chinese-accented English, he asks, "Wanna go to a...?". The next couple of words are too faint to be heard, due to the loud dance music. He repeats, " To a party?"

Saint Paul & Minneapolis:
The Twin Cities

Startled, you reach for Joy, who is about four feet away, about to order your next round of drinks.

"Joy, Pete's asking if we wanna go to a party?"

Half-surprised and half-excited, Joy asks, "Where?"

Pete lip-reads good, as he moves closer to you and Joy, "It's jut a couple of miles away, in Saint Paul. Just the next city"

You and Joy do not think twice. You know Saint Paul is Minneapolis' twin city. As if you were in a movie scene, you both mutter, "SURE!", forgetting your supervisors' warning not to wander too far from downtown.

Five minutes later, you find yourself in the passenger seat of Pete's car, with Joy behind you.

"So, Pete, how far is it?", Joy asks as she struggles to check all the signs on the freeway, with no luck. 

"Maybe ten more minutes", Pete replies with a blank face, while he keeps his eyes fixed on the road.

"Aren't you scared?", Pete asks, waiting for either Joy or me to answer.

You chuckle, "We've probably been on scarier roads." Not that there are no lights on I-94. It's just weird for you and your slightly gullible friend Joy to be in the car of someone you hardly know, in an unfamiliar city, at this hour.

"So you know where we're going?", Pete asks us.

"I've seen Saint Paul on a map," Joy exclaims, and the two of us laugh.

We get to our destination. Pete parks before a quiet apartment building. Joy is paranoid: "So how do we get home?", she questions me. Before you could say that you'll just call a cab and to not worry, Pete already offers, "I'll take you guys home, don't worry". Wow, Bionic Ears.

Pete knocks on the door. A Caucasian guy in his late 20s opens it, hugs Pete, and introduces himself to you and Joy. You fail to catch his name.

Joy whispers, "It's pretty quiet for a party, don't you think?" You shrug your shoulders.

What you see next is a little unusual: party guests, maybe six or seven, all sleeping in the living room, some on the carpeted floor, some in the couch.

Minneapolis at night

Pete's friend (PF) offers a drink and all you can say is, "Ok, thanks."

As PF hands you and Joy your drink, Joy couldn't help but say, "Looks like we are late for the party!"

PF laughs. Pete, with a mysterious smile, assures us, "Don't worry, after your drink, we can go." There is a certain coldness in his voice.

PF excuses himself to call someone. You and Pete try to be friendly, with the normal conversation starters, like how long will you be in Minnesota, and all sorts of questions about your job and why you and Joy are in Minneapolis.

Joy whispers to your ear, "PF is asking his friends to come over. He told them he's got some cute Asians here." You just give her a weird look.

Pete looks at PF after he sees Joy whispering something to you. Probably sensing something, he finishes his drink straight-up and follows PF, who is now t the kitchen, trying to get some more beer from the fridge. You see them talking and it looks like we are calling it a night. You ask Joy to hurry up and finish her drink, even if you hardly touched yours. Your mom always warned you about drink spiking. Yes, you have some serious trust issues.

Pete and PF hug each other. You thank PF. You and Joy walk ahead of Pete as they seem to be talking about something serious. You hear a faint "Bye Ken" as you approach Pete's car.

Pete catches up and apologizes for the party being over. Joy doesn't care, she's had a free drink. She is pretty happy to save five bucks. 

You find it a little unusual that Pete wants to go, after PF was on the phone with his friend.

Before getting on the freeway, Pete asks Joy, whose eyes are glued to the street lamps, "Sleepy, Joy?"

"I'm good", she answers him, with  an I-don't-wanna-go-home-yet tone.

A little tired, you close your eyes a bit, as you buckle up, forgetting to do so five blocks ago.

Image from Wikipedia

And then, Pete, out of nowhere, suggests that we head to his house in Edina, a Minneapolis suburb, which, according to him, is about twenty minutes away. 

Since he promised to drive us home anyway, we agreed. You check your watch. A little past eleven. 

Before you exit on MN-62, you catch a glimpse of your exit name: France Avenue. Pete parks his car beside an older one on the driveway, in front of a medium-sized house in a quiet community. He whispers and requests that you be quiet. He says his grandma is asleep. Pete unlocks their front door.

On the way here, Joy has asked what we could possibly do while hanging out. Pete says he's got some banana vodka, which sealed the deal.

Pete does not turn on the lights. The house was dark, with only light coming from outside guiding our way to the basement. It smells like dried Chinese herbs and spices. Maybe Grandma's. 

Pete is still careful not only with his voice but also with his steps. As if following the leader, you also tiptoe downstairs. 

The hall when we got to the basement is darker. And for some reason, Pete  is not turning the lights on. You could see Pete's figure walking further down the hall to what looks like a door. He opens it. And at last, he turns the room's lights on.

You and Joy at Downtown Minneapolis
Two weeks before the incident

You and Joy take a deep breath, as you make yourself comfortable in the room. There is a single bed  and a couch to your right, a small center table, and another door to your left, probably the bathroom.

Pete gets out of the room and returns in half a minute, with plastic cups and a bottle of banana vodka, which he hands over to Joy. She gladly accepts and starts reading the label, as you start to feel a little warmer and decide to remove your jacket.

"You guys want some pizza?", Pete politely asks. You both nod and Pete says he'll be back in a minute. 

"You okay?", you ask Joy, who now looks a bit sleepy. She tells you she is fine.

"Why didn't Pete want to stay at PF's when he learned that his friends were coming?", you curiously ask her.

All Joy can say is, "I find that weird too." She takes a sip of banana vodka. 

"Now what if Pete...", you stop and look at the door, your heart, racing. Then you attempt to turn it down, "Now, what if Pete... is a psycho?"

Joy, who is taking another sip, chokes. She looks at you a bit scared. She opens her mouth to say something but you shut her out, "You know, we're in America. For god's sake, we do not even know where we are right now."

At France Avenue,
Taken a few weeks after
 the events on this entry

And Joy adds, "We don't even know Pete's last name. And did you hear PF earlier? PF called Pete a different name. PF called him Ken."

Your jaw drops. 

And the power goes out.

Joy shrieks and you panic. You almost dropped your cup of vodka, as you pull Joy by the arm, towards the door. Like a blind man, you extend your hands into nothingness, as you make your way to the stairs. You can hear Joy calling all the names of gods she knew. Just when you are about to head up the stairs, the light goes back on.

Pete is in front of you, with a plate of pizza, his deep, dark eyes fixed at you and Joy. 

He opens his mouth and asks in a monotone, "Where are you going?" ●

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BANGKOK BANTER: SEARCHING SALADAENG

"Saladaeng?", you worriedly ask the airport bus driver, while holding on to the back of his seat and trying to balance, as the bus is moving.

The bus stops at a red light. You have read in your previous Wikitravel research that Bangkok traffic is horrible. You never expected it was this bad. An hour after leaving the airport, you are still on the road.

The driver picks up what looks like a map with numerous checks written over the passengers' stops.

With a thick Thai accent, he tells you, "Saladaeng, there," he points to the back to the bus, indicating that we have passed my stop and he actually forgot to drop me off. Great. This is just so great, considering today is your birthday.

"We come back later," he assures you, as if that is some consolation that you should be thankful for. He mutters something Thai, probably saying he will just bring all passengers to their destination, then drop you off on his way back to the airport.

You settle back in your airport bus seat, trying not to be pissed. You look out the bus window, looking for street signs, and checking your travel guide book where you are. It looks like the weather is nice, as it is sunny. You take a deep breath. You should probably be in your hotel by now, resting, in the Pop Art Room you fell in love with the first time you saw it online.

Bangkok resembles home. Traffic is bumper to bumper to bumper. Some streets seriously resemble Taft Avenue, complete with their very own MRT stations. Had it not been for the street signs in Thai, you'd probably think you are still home.

Half an hour later, on the busy road of Silom (which your travel book says is the Thai Ayala Avenue), the driver stops and tells the last passenger (yes, that's you) that this is the Saladaeng stop, pronounced as "Sah-lah-deng".

You pick up your bag and still manage to blurt out a barely audible thank you, even if deep down inside your heart, your mind, and your soul, you should be cursing this bus driver who should have dropped you here 45 minutes earlier. But you didn't want to do that - you fear that karma would be faster in Thailand, a predominantly Buddhist country.

Tuktuks, the Thai version of a tricycle, with an open air back, zoom past you. You are amazed by the number of pink taxicabs around. You cover your nose with a hanky and cough a bit, since you feel like the smoke from the gazillions of cars around you is starting to envelope you. 

It was a little past lunch time now. You are hungry, sleepy, and tired. To top that, you feel lost in the  middle of  Bangkok. And the weather is making it worse - it is about 30 degrees Celsius. 

You are at the corner of Silom and Saladaeng - tall buildings, money changers, retaurants, bars, convenience stores, and coffee shops all around you, with the Bangkok MRT line dissecting this crowded part of the city.

You pull out the hotel map and walk towards where you think the hotel is. You walk past street vendors and though you are tempted to eat mami, Thai-style, you wanted to settle in your hotel room first. Frustrated, you walk up to an effeminate guy on the phone outside the salon where he works. He is probably talking to his boyfriend, but you forgot all the manners you have, try to butt in, and ask for directions. Surprised, and a little annoyed, he instructs you to go down the road further, and says that it should be right after a small market. The vision of you sleeping beside fish and vegetables is not a good one, but you proceed to search for your hotel.

Baan Saladaeng (which literally means Saladaeng House) is on a small soi, a Thai alley. The hotel is painted red and sits at the end of the alley, assuring you that it is far from the maddening crowds of Silom. And thankfully, the market is closed today. Not much people around. Finally, you can rest.

Art, the friendly receptionist, greets you as you push the door. The hotel looks new and very homey. 

Art looks at his computer screen and calls you by your first name. "I've been waiting for you! Were you lost?"

You just manage to smile, trying not to answer the question. Instead you ask him, "So where are the clubs?"

Eight hours after arriving at your hotel and  getting some well deserved sleep, you find yourself outside DJ Station on Soi 2 in Silom, a stone's throw away from Patpong - one of the craziest areas in Bangkok.

You pull your phone from your pocket. In it is your brand new Thai Sim Card. You dial your new friend's number. 

"Art, I'm already here!".

Ten hours after arriving in Bangkok, you find yourself partying with people from Brazil, Singapore, and Thailand - people you don't know. It is your birthday night and not a single soul  among them knows. Being in a foreign land on this special day may seem sad, but being around people you don't know and you probably won't meet again  lessens your inhibitions - back home, you work hard, but this night, in Crazy Bangkok, you will party harder. ●

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