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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Seoul Series: The Collector's Hunt

"Who turned the air-conditioner all the way down?," you ask TC, your travel companion, as you step out of your train and into Incheon train station. TC looks at you with a blank face, probably wondering how this trip has been barrage of nonsense jokes only you yourself find funny.

How can you not joke about the AC when it seems like 5 degree Celsius now? When you left Namyeong, in Central Seoul, an hour earlier, the Korean news channel flashed a symbol of the sun shining, under the word Seoul - and it was supposed to be just about 8 degrees.

Only a handful of people were headed to this part of the metropolis. Incheon has always lived in the shadow of its more vibrant sister, Seoul. Being an hour away from  the capital's center, Incheon has its own swag and its own vibe. It is where the airport is. It is where the seaport is. And it is where Chinatown, your next stop, is.

Ahjummas and ahjussis (elder women and men) in their neutral colored fleece jackets and sweaters walk slowly beside you and TC towards the train station exit. A group of younger Seoulites laugh at the top of their lungs, as they point to where the exit seems to be. Passengers entering the station, on the other hand, start boarding the train, which is heading back to Seoul in a few minutes. This station, called simply Incheon, is the last stop in the west of Line 1. Seoul's complicated subway station is a web of about sixteen different lines, each with its own assigned number and color - from red to orange, to purple and blue. In fact there are about three shades of blue on the subway map. And for someone a bit color blind like you, a simple two to three-transfer trip could turn out to be an Amazing Race task.

You reach for your leather jacket's front pocket and marvel at your new T-Money card. The convenience store clerk who sold this to you last night said you can use it practically for anything. You remember him saying "Pay taxi, call phone, use GS 25, Family Mart, or 7-11." You get the message.

 And yes, you will need your T-Money card too to exit the station.

 Beep.

Wow! High tech! You and TC look at each other's cards swiping against the gate's machines,  to make sure you both could get out of the station hassle-free. You are officially in love with Seoul's subway network.

If it felt like 5 degrees earlier in the open-air train station, it now feels like the temperature has dropped a couple of notches again. Strong, cold wind blows on your face the moment you step out of the station's door. You reach for your jacket's hood and put it over your head.

Your right hand reaches for your Lonely Planet Seoul tucked under your left arm. With your forehead muscles wrinkled, you scan the bookmarked page of your travel guide. Highlighted neon green, the short entry says that The Chinatown arc should be visible once you exit Incheon Station.

You lift your head up, as if in a slow-mo scene of a movie, with the sound of Chinese Gong  in the background.

You see it. Incheon's Chinatown Arc.

You are in Chinatown!

"There it is!", you call out to TC, who is already taking photos of the park by the station.

"It's been there since we got out," he sarcastically chuckles. Oh, okay. You didn't notice. Your brain freezes in cold weather after all.

Your feet lead you to a tourism information board past the arc. You were checking out a map of the area, when you notice a big screen beside it, a touchscreen Idiot's Guide to Incheon's Chinatown. Okay, that may be an exaggeration. But you really are star struck with this plus-sized gadget.

TC asks you to scoot over so he can check it out, but you refuse, determined to find on the digital map what you came here for. You have to find it fast, as the sky is starting to gray.

"There!," you surprisingly exclaim, pressing the screen so hard, it goes back to the main menu.

With your eyes still on this giant iPad, you ask TC, "Do you want to eat now? Because if we go straight that way..."

Your peripheral vision tells you that TC has left you. He is taking photos (again) of hundreds of red Chinese lanterns, with his plastic Lomo film camera, a white Fisheye.

You holler at TC while walking towards the lanterns, "Shouldn't we eat now?" But TC looks like he could not hear you.

The sky is getting darker and darker, and with no umbrella, you to start walking faster as TC tries to catch up with you. You pass by a Chinese house, vending machines, shops and stores, and a giant bowl of Chinese noodles. Yes, a giant bowl of noodles! Which reminds you, it's 11AM, so you better grab a quick bite here.

The once faint smell you earlier noticed is becoming stronger and stronger now, as you tread up the hilly road of Chinatown. The aroma in the air reminds you of Binondo back home. It reminds you of Luk Yuen. And Super Bowl. It reminds you of Hong Kong.

The only English sign outside the establishment reads TOURIST RESTAURANT. And even if you refuse to be classified as a tourist (though there's nothing really wrong with that), you doubt that you will find a place that says FLASHPACKER RESTAURANT, right?

So you and TC decide to go in. The two storey restaurant is a lot warmer, but  a bit busy, with servers running around, customers coming and going, checks being  delivered and settled.

The smell of Asian spices tells you you need to find a table fast, so you can eat right away. You call out to a twenty-something female server, "Ahjumma, table for two!"

She stares back at you, as if her eyes are two flying daggers that pierce through your chest. You wonder what's wrong. "You're dead," TC laughs, as he reminds you that the term ahjumma is actually meant for older females. Oh shoot, you forgot.

She quickly leads you and TC to a smaller room, and asks you to remove your shoes and leave them in the shoe cabinet. You are seated at a table only ten inches high; the table top so close to the floor that you had to sit on pillows with legs crossed.

Hungry and still with three items to cross off your day's itinerary, you quickly order for what looks like tofu and ground pork rice, relying just on the photo on the one-page menu. She quickly lays plates of side dishes, which is making you think if you can just order rice with all these veggies. Ha, Cheapskate!

You and TC finish your meal in minutes, as families and friends happily enjoy their early lunch around you. Your lunch tastes Chinese, but not quite, since there's a slight Korean flavor to it as well.

TC asks for the check, but the lady you called ahjumma points to the cashier. Oh, that's where we pay the bill. Okay. You get up, with legs numbed from sitting too long, put your shoes on, and head to the counter to pay.

35,000 won ($30) seems pretty steep, but you convince yourself that most of the time, you are not just paying for the food, but also for the experience (geez, how many times have you done this). Seoul's Chinatown is not always on a tourist's list after all. And so whatever the travel brochures say, you still feel that you are off the beaten track. No tourist would spend an hour on the train, just to go to Chinatown, which is close to 30 subway stations away from the center of South Korea's capital.

But this Korean-Chinese meal is not the only reason you traveled all the way here.

 "It should be somewhere in this area," you tell TC, as you leave the restaurant, cold wind brushing against your face again. You put your hood back on.

He points to a small shop, "Do you think that's it?"

From afar, the store seems to have a bright, neon glow around it, and with an imaginary PIT STOP NUMBER 1 sign posted on its walls, you go in.

As you haggle for Korean-Chinese trinkets for your mom, you see them hanging on the wall. Your heart jumps in your chest as you flash a big smile. You ask a real ahjumma how much they are. You try to bring down the price from 25,000 Won ($20) to 20,000 Won, for two. Ahjumma agrees, packs your purchase, and thanks you. You bow down to her and say Kamsamnida! And Annyeong Higyeseyo as you leave.

Your Chinatown trip is over.
You found what you wanted.
You just started your mask collection.  ●