Hit the Damn Target!

Twice in one set of five arrows.

Take that, chunk of wood!

There is no feeling like having old men who were entirely skeptical about your existence and asked "did he hit one?" be told, by other, more optimistic old men "he hit two" and thinking maybe you actually belong on the shooting line.

Poem (you can't use random words and horrid grammar in conversation, but there's one place it's welcome):

눈오전에맞 / 사대에서 봤지만 / 꽃샘 같이도
With cold spring winds I / from the shooting line saw hits / before the snow fell. (Lit: before the snow fell, hit / from the shooting line saw but / together with the cold wind also)

Jeonju Archery Part 2.

From part 1, back up a few weeks.

One of the kindest and eldest men in the club insisted I be given a name. Not just a Korean name (which I still lack but we won't get into) but a Korean archery club nickname, which everyone must have. Coincidentally he and I didn't meet again until my fateful return-to-the line day.

He began with "mi" (미), taken from miguk, "Beautiful Country," as America is known in Korea thanks to the Chinese thinking it was beautiful a really long time ago.

He then offered me the choice between five second characters, ranging from "peace" to "house/floor" to "instrument." The aforementioned bilingual explained that two or three were traditionally girls' names and suggested I go with ... the three I just managed to remember. I settled on "peace" because it wasn't "instrument." Music is a part of my soul but it ruled me too long. Also I had never heard that name before but I thought I'd heard "beautiful peace."

And now, I am mi-sung (http://www.koreanwikiproject.com/wiki/index.php?title=%EB%AF%B8 for mi, http://www.koreanwikiproject.com/wiki/index.php?title=%EC%84%B1 for peace (accomplishment)). Please refer to the Chinese characters for the true writing.

But I must say my peace is not beautiful.

I WANT TO HIT THE DAMN TARGET. Not the grass. Fortunately now they tell me my arrows must be too heavy ... that surely must be the problem.

Jeonju Archery Part 1.

Before I left Wonju, the archery Sabomnim (teacher) told me something. He said:

"In Jeonju, there is Ch'eongyeongchang, a very well-known archery club. Go there."

He also said:

"Practice before you go there, I don't want them saying I'm a bad teacher."

Well, it was cold when I left Wonju, so I did one of those two things. In my defense I did shoot at least once a month--snow or no--but that's not exactly regular upkeep, especially for someone who's just learning, who hit the shed and broke an arrow their 'jip kung' (first shooting ceremony).

But fast forward. Three or so weeks ago I found the CYC (I'm not typing all that again). I introduced myself, brought beer and my bow, and asked for--by name--the instructor.

Well, he retired. He was now making the bows, which I guess is what instructors do sometimes. After numerous broken conversations, he called my former instructor, and I was let in the club. I was told my bow had been poorly cared for (a month in storage unattended) and they tried to repair it. I shot from the line and hit ... the grass.

There is sand by the targets, if you're wondering.

Incidentally, at CYC they don't drink beer until they are done shooting. It is not a social club. It is an archery club, where the Chairman of the Korean Archery Association resides, where the instructor can hit 39/45 at 145m with an unbraced unsighted longbow, where nearly every shooting spot is full at 4 pm on a sunny ... weekday.

Not that Wonju's not cool, and that the sabomnim there can't hit over 30/45, just that, well, Wonju is a smaller and warmer town. If it rains you put your bow up and drink maggolli and if the rain stops ... you may as well keep drinking maggolli, so what it was a good day.

In any case, several of my most frustrating moments, days, weeks followed, mostly involving me snapping my left forearm with 44 pounds of pressure, repeatedly, leaving bruises that would take weeks to heal (and torn skin on top of those) as I demonstrated that I had forgotten my technique.

When I asked for help, I was told "change your shirt." I wore a dress shirt. I should've worn a polo. But in Korea they call polos "t-shirts" because ... I don't know. Unsurprisingly, being told to change my shirt did not prevent me from snapping my arm the next three out of three shots and, following suit, I nearly snapped at the instructor (who is the highest ranking one can achieve in a country that regularly produces Olympic gold medalists) but thankfully didn't.

So when I came back in a tee, I was told, by someone new (this time, the aforementioned Chairman), "change your shirt." By this time--two weeks later--my arm hurt less (a bilingual had corrected my technique, a subject the instructor steered clear of) and I was more willing to go shopping.

I returned today, having spent weeks shooting an arrow tied to a rope, determined not to waste time despite invitations from my seniors, with a cheap polo.

Because I was shooting off the line.

And I hit the grass three times and the sand twice, but my arm not at all. And my direction was good on all shots.

The WTO and Soju ... an Unlikely Meeting

First, an open letter to the Korean Government:

Korean Government:

Most of the wealthy nations on Earth found their way there through exploitation and protectionism. The European powers and their colonies, America and its taxes and thievery. (America did not join the Berne Convention against intellectual piracy until they--blush--we-- stood more to lose from Chinese piracy than to gain from pirating European works.) Japan through its exploitation of you and others.

Your protectionistic taxes are legendary, even among your own people. The US has called in the WTO to see you tax beer and diluted soju equally, and right they are that you are favoring one beverage over the other, by rates of almost 80%.

But I did not acquire a taste for the cheap stuff to see its price raised! Fight to the bitter end! (Or lower the damn taxes on Bourbon and Scotch, already. Actually maybe that's a better ... no you won't do that, nevermind.)

Sincerely,
Me.

***

Second, an explanation:

If you've been in Korea more than a few minutes, you've probably noticed the price discrepancy between the ubiquitous soju (the cheap stuff, not the traditional drink) and beer. Beer: over 1000 won/can, domestic, over 3000won/bottle, imported (one "standard drink"). Soju: about 1000 won/bottle (6 "standard drinks").

(For information on "standard drinks": http://pubs.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/Practitioner/pocketguide/pocket_guide2.htm)

If you've been in Korea more than a day, you've probably tasted soju, out of curiousity and the desire to save, and likely been appalled. If you've been here a few months, you may have acquired a taste. Or, as a friend of mine put it when asked if he liked soju: "I like to be drunk." (Notice flavor is not mentioned.)

The price difference--Why?

History and taxes.

The cheap stuff came about just after the war. According to Wikipedia (look, this is a blog, not academia, okay?), the Korean government prohibited distilllation from rice to alleviate food shortages resulting from the ravagings of the war. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soju.)

But according to scholars at American University (please ignore the name, it actually is a decent university), this was more of a "leftover" from Japanese colonialism than an action by the postwar government. (http://www1.american.edu/TED/soju.htm, section 2, paragraphs 3-4.)
The Japanese controlled brewing and only licensed to certain supporters, yet somehow soju slipped through the cracks ... the cite I give is not at all clear on why or how and I invite anyone to add to this discussion.

My well-educated friend Kim who, though he does not know the word for wedgie, see http://taegukilchang.blogspot.com/search/label/language%20barrier, is quite smart, has told me an anecdote: The Japanese government allowed and encouraged certain alcohol to slip through the cracks to encourage drunkenness, and thus complacency, among the occupied people. This explanation makes particular sense when you consider that the name, even, is similar to a similar Japanese product, shochu. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sh%C5%8Dch%C5%AB. I wouldn't do it in a paper but it's a blog, forgive me.) Given the numerous historical cultural exchanges between Korea and Japan this evidence isn't much, but it's enough for me to believe Kim and type a bit more.

Point is, soju was cheap and people drank it.

Now as you might now if you've ever encountered people and taxes, people don't like taxes on things they do. They like taxes on things other people do. Tax the wrong thing and you've got an uprising, regardless of the logic or justification.

So if everybody drinks soju, do you tax it? Not unless you want a revolution. But what about those western liquours favored by the rich under Japanese rule and the kids today? Tax 'em to death. 100%. No joke.

This is where the WTO steps in. Soju is cheap because its tax rate is closer to 20%. The US complains to the WTO that the preferential taxation is economic protectionism, which it is in actuality--there isn't any soju importation going on in Korea. And the WTO has since ordered Korea to bring its taxes in line, which the government is (slowly) doing.

So beware, soju drinkers. Soon that green bottle of poison may cost nearly $2.

Cites:
http://www1.american.edu/TED/soju.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soju
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sh%C5%8Dch%C5%AB
http://pubs.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/Practitioner/pocketguide/pocket_guide2.htm

Jjimjilbang (traditional Korean spa)

"Let's go into a dark hot cave, and sit until it's uncomfortable."

"Oh, that sounds like a great idea. I'll bring snacks."

"Jjim" as a syllable is also used in "jjim hada," "to smother." "Jil" can mean "the act of doing." ("Jjimjil" also means "compress," as in, "We put a cold 'compress' on his sprained ankle.") "Bang" is used to mean room in many contexts, such as the ubiquitous PC Bangs or PC rooms where many a Korean teenager (or young adult) avoids sunshine and masterfully plays away the day in a Starcraft, WoW, or Batoo-induced haze.

So, as some of you knew, and some have guessed, Jjimjilbang are spas.

Modernly, men and women have separate rooms where they, au natural, enjoy the hot steam, typically after a massage. For rather cheap one can sleep the night in a bunkbed (or so I've read, I haven't been).

Traditional Jjimjilbang, like the one I had the pleasure of visiting last night, are quite different. Stone and mud caves are sealed with wood burning in them. Once the cave is hot enough, the entrance is broken open. Over the course of the next four days the "room" is gradually downgraded from "very hot" to "low heat" as it naturally cools. A wooden platform is placed on the floor allowing you to sit comfortably (well ... more comfortably) and sometimes people will also sit atop blankets to keep their "eongdongi" (buttocks) from becoming too uncomfortable as they pour sweat out of themselves.

Men and women both wear a sort of light terrycloth outfit and share whatever room suits their momentary fancy. Outside the rooms, there are small wooden seating areas where you can lie down and cool off in the open air, and have snacks and beverages as you wish.

At the jjimjilbang I went to last night, there were four rooms (one "very hot," one "hot," one "medium heat," and one "low heat") and a new room (presumably "OH MY THAT'S HOT") being broken into.

"Very hot" means VERY HOT. And scary. A blanket covers the entrance to the cave to keep the heat in, so you are basically blindly stumbling into smoldering heat. The floor is so hot that your buttocks (or at least mine) become uncomfortable even if you are in a swimsuit covered by a jjimjilbok (I'm guessing that's what they call the outfit as "bok" means outfit) and put a blanket down. A "very hot" traditional jjimjilbang would be a great way of disabusing any knight of the notion that he should enter the dragon's cave and attempt to slay it.

"Hot," on the other hand. is bearable and rather enjoyable, if for a short time.

Most people I saw, including myself and those in my group, stayed in the "medium" room, which is hot enough to leave you pouring in sweat but mild enough that you can sit and wait for the sweat to pour, like a "just-right" jacuzzi.

The five of us--myself, Caroline, Park Geun-Yeong (our workout instructor and one of the kindest people I know), her friend and her friend's daughter spent several hours cave-hopping. We'd generally sit in the medium cave, drip in sweat (us westerners more then the Koreans), then have a snack or two, try the "very hot," realize it was a bad idea, and go back to the medium cave.

The uncomfortable heat gives a sense of euphoria and cleanliness, and creates and instant bond between you and whomever you're with. I feel as though my friendship with Park was greatly accelerated by the jjimjilbang, and the usual awkwardness of a new introduction faded between myself and the two other women rather quickly. We also had brief chats with a group from Suwon (outside of Seoul) who joined us in the medium room and then we saw waiting outside a cave as the entry was broken open. (Good luck to them.)

We left in a heat-induced stupor and slept well (admittedly after a bit more wine at Park's house).

Pictures will follow.

(Picture: Left to right: Me, Caroline, Park Geun Yeong)