I went with a friend recently to an Ediya Coffee shop near Chonnam University, and stood in awe at this fragmented run-on sentence proudly mounted on the wall. It even had its own floodlight illuminating the butchery of my dear, sweet language.
But rather than shirk away from it like a leper seeking my touch, I chose to sit directly under its gaze. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Here's a delicious-looking soup made of not-so-savory ingredients: fried animal's blood and intestines. After ferociously consuming it down to the last clot, my Korean friend knighted me as Korea's newest, officially unofficial culinary citizen.
One need not look long nor hard to find English, the world’s most butchered language, hung from the four corners of the Earth like rotting carcasses. South Korea provides ample victual for grammar prudes to wave their castigating fingers and shake their heads. Here are some of the things I’ve been wagging my finger at lately:
The bashful need not rest here---at least, that was my initial reaction. Actually, when I first spotted this lonely lavatory, there was a millisecond wherein which I completely missed the point, thinking, “There’s no toilet paper!”
Burial mounds like these are everywhere in Korea. They can be seen from freeways, in sundry public parks and most frequently in bucolic settings on the outskirts of major cities. Though they are somber monuments, they are usually impeccably manicured and thus never an eyesore.
I recently visited Damyang, a place popularized by the many streets lined with massive metasequoia trees. This street is sometimes seen in mushy Korean dramas---perfect for melodramatic breakup scenes or glossy flashbacks to happy relationships of yore.
It’s easy to overlook the genius behind this syncretism of pizza and cup. Upon first glance, it seems like either a waste of a good cup, or a perversion of sliced pizza’s intended form. But there’s one element that can turn this ad hoc serving style into pure genius: Children---lots and lots of children.
Upon first glance, Korean hikers are about as serious as they come, rivaling even the Germans in their dedication to looking the part.
There are many different styles of hiking gear in commission throughout Korea; there seems to be a laissez-faire approach to what assortments a Korean hiker can wear and, from what I’ve seen so far, the sky is the limit:
Makkoli, Korea's autochthonous rice wine, is becoming an increasingly popular alcoholic beverage here on the lower part of the peninsula. Originally the preferred drink among farmers, makkoli's popularity has been spreading well beyond its base and even to foreigners like me.