Urban Dweller

I am adjusting to my new environment. Every night the thumping bass from the karaoke bar opposite the motel spoils my eardrums with a gentle massage, sending me into sweet slumber. Initially, I reacted with burning rage, but with time this has changed to irate resignation. The block where I live is surrounded by 6 to 8 lanes of heavy traffic in every direction, which I need to overcome whenever I leave the rancid functionality of the Venice Motel. Decaying rubbish lines the street, in between abundant flyers depicting the more intimate parts of the female body. There are no trees and there is no silence.

Sometimes I feel the urge to escape. Yesterday morning was like that, so I took a bus to Mokpo, a port town about 80km Southwest of Gwangju. The first sign of leaving Metropolitan Korea was the absence of any Latin characters. Instead I had to resort to my fairly limited hangul skills to decipher the timetable for buses back to Gwangju. But I managed to get by and with the help of the LonelyPlanet I took local bus no. 1 in order to get to the waterfront.

Vast quantities of fish, in the process of drying or already crumpled to meager caricatures of marine life, attract my attention from the bus. As I get off, I am instantly enveloped by fragrant vapours that almost take my breath away. People, most of them well into the latter half of their lives, eye me rather sceptical. Out of defiance I start waving friendly at the most grumpy looking ones and grin aggresively. It works quite well.

As I turn a corner I witness a woman empty out a waterbucket full of octopus on the sidewalk, then picking up the animals by the handfuls slamming them back into the bowl. Maybe the shock makes for a better taste. Business seems to be rather slow, most people doze away in their tiny shops and I attract too much attention to take any pictures. I proceed into the fishing harbour.

The boats are--like every national treasure and apartment block--individually numbered, something people seem to hold in high regard here. I watch two fishermen loading their ship up with ice in preparation of today's trip out. I would like to go with them, but I have no clue how to formulate this question in sign language and leave again. Next to them old people are mending their way through endless threads of broken orange nets. From one of the boats, a fisherman shouts at me "Where are you from", I respond routinely with "Togil" for German, then waving off the stream of Korean words he shouts back. I begin to be frustrated by the fact that I cannot communicate with anyone, although I would have so many questions. Who does he work for? Is there one conglomerate controlling all numbered ships or are they all held by individual fishermen trying to make a living? How far does he go out to the sea? Where do all the octopus come from?...

Thinking about that I wander back towards the city. Then a man on a bicycle approaches me, shouting "Hello!". Not again, I think and respond rather splenetically. But as it turns out he can really speak English. Kim Gyeong-Su, as he introduces himself is a painter of traditional Korean art, but with a love of classical Western music. "I paint oriental pictures, but I love Western music, its ironic" he says. Beethoven and Brahms, Mozart and Mendelsson are his favourite composers. This man, blinking into the sky through strong beatnik-era glasses and speaking with a bit of a nervous tick, quickly manages to turn my mood around. I ask to have a look at his paintings. "I have been a painter for 30 years and used to have my own gallery, but not anymore. Today people dont buy oriental painting anymore, people only like the Western art now." he say. He shows no sign of regret.

Mokpo