May 19, 1991 … Tens of thousands of protesters poured into streets in cities across South Korea again today
Mr. K.S. Kim, VP KIG, sat in on part of the presentation. During the break, we were introduced and Mr. Kim invited me to go to lunch with CK Kim and himself. Lunchtime arrived and we met in K.S. Kim’s office. He asked, “What you like to eat, met, law fish, what?” “You like law fish? I take you to good law fish restaurant, okay?” So, we walked over to the “law” fish restaurant. Mr. Kim ordered. The works, every kind of raw fish known to man. Tuna, Flounder, Sea Cucumbers, Prawns, and many other varieties I couldn’t even hope to identify. Some were like pieces of vulcanized rubber, others were tender and tasty. I ate them all. In for a penny, in for a pound.
One thing I’d have to admit, in Asia no matter how weird or wonderful the food is, they take a lot of care in preparation and presentation. The food is always very attractively arranged and presented and served with meticulous attention to detail. Unlike the USA, the waitress arranges the dishes with great care and often dissects it and arranges the pieces on the customer’s plate. After the sashimi, we had boiled rice and cooked fish. The parts around the head were particularly tender and good. We had two types, the head of one I couldn’t identify and Tuna, some steamed and some cooked in a very spicy sauce. We were also served another cooked fish about 6 inches long and about ½’ at the body. The correct method of eating this was to grab it by its tail, bite about half of it off, chewing it vigorously before swallowing it. You ate the head, bones, internals, everything! Then you ate the other half, tail and all. It wasn’t bad. The bones kind of dissolved as you chewed it. I actually got quite full on this feast. I was glad to have been invited since this is not the kind of meal you would order on your own. Even if you did you wouldn’t know how to eat it. It required instruction. Mr. Kim remarked I was a good student. I think he was surprised I ate everything and appeared to enjoy it. Boy, I sure love that “law” fish.
After lunch, Y. R. Kim drove me back to my hotel. K.S. asked him to spend the afternoon entertaining me, but I declined. I know Y. K. wanted to get home to his wife and kids and I sensed he was concerned about getting caught in the impending student riots. A student had been killed in the riots a week ago, beaten by the police with iron pipes, and the students planned to carry his body to the cemetery today followed by a funeral ceremony and massive demonstration at City Hall. City Hall was about one block from my hotel. CR wasn’t anxious to get involved so I insisted I had a lot to do and encouraged him to go home before the action started. He did.
I then went up to my room. I was on the 10th floor looking toward the front of the hotel overlooking the pool. Opening the drapes revealed an unusual view. Below me, the pool was crowded with swimmers and sunbathers. Beyond the pool, the intersection in front of the hotel was filled with Korean soldiers decked out in full riot gear. The soldiers were clustered in groups of about twenty stationed at every corner. They wore dark green fatigues, navy blue helmets with flip-up wire mesh masks, and padded neck protectors that gave them a Darth Vader appearance. They carried grey body shields and Billy clubs. No rifles were visible although some carried a bazooka-like firearm that I assume was a tear gas cannon. They mustered on the corners and lined up going through some kind of maneuver that would bring them in a row across the sidewalk and out into the street. They then stood there at attention for 20 to 30 minutes then repeating the march and lining up again.
All of a sudden, loud shouts and a cadence, chanted through a bullhorn, preceded about 100 troops, accompanied by a riot vehicle marching down the main street toward the city hall. They marched past the hotel and down the street out of sight. Several minutes later, I heard loud shouts, the ruble of gunfire which sounded like cannons going off followed by separate gunfire. A large cloud of grey smoke rose from between the buildings about a city block away. Things then quieted down for a bit. About 10 minutes later the ruble of cannons and shouting broke out again and the episode was repeated. All this time the sunbathers at the pool seemed more or less oblivious to what was going on beyond the canvas partition that separated them from the street. During the height of the noise, one or two would get up and peer through the partition to see what was going on then return to their lounge chair to rub more sun tan lotion on There were some civilians on the street as well walking from place to place. They also did not seem to be agitated by the events taking place out there. There was no panic or frenzy on either part of the public or the military.
After the large lunch and a couple of beers, I was feeling a bit tired and my stomach Was starting to act up again, so I decided to lay down and rest for a little while. I slept for about two hours and when I woke up at about 6:30 pm, my nose was running, and my eyes were burning. I thought I was falling sick again but as I rose and cleared my head, I smelled the unmistakable odor of tear gas. I inadvertently left my window open when I fell asleep. I didn’t think that the tear gas released at street level would reach the 10th floor but an updraft between the buildings must have driven a cloud of it up to this level and it wafted through my window and into my room. I had to leave the room.
I went down to the lobby and decided to take a short walk out on the street, I turned right, away from the City Hall, as I left the hotel. At each corner and each intersection, groups of twenty or so soldiers mustered waiting for orders. They didn’t look very alert or enthusiastic about their present duty. Civilians walked about seemingly unfazed by the current events. However, many walked with handkerchiefs held to their nose and mouth and some even had surgical masks on. In front of the hotel, employees were washing down the driveways and sidewalks with hoses, presumably to wash away residual tear gas. The Hotel Lotte, about a block away, had a particularly high concentration in their entrance area. They had two hoses going and the employees were spraying the water up over the tops of some trees to knock down the cloud. Their system wasn’t really working too well, and a good whiff turned me around and sent me off in the opposite direction. After wandering about for 3 or 4 city blocks, I returned to my hotel room. The tear gas had dissipated, and the room was now habitable.
The soldiers stayed in the street and the demonstrations continued till way past dark. I went to bed at 11:00 pm and the noise had abated but the soldiers remained at their posts. Early Sunday morning the streets were deserted, and the soldiers were gone. You wouldn’t have thought anything unusual happened here yesterday,
I’m really not sorry to be leaving Korea. I guess 5 weeks on the road is enough for a while and even a road warrior like me gets a little homesick after this many weeks away. Of course, the Korean people don’t really go out of their way to make you feel welcome. The Kim’s, CK, and KS, notwithstanding, most of the Koreans I ran into had an attitude. Not as bad as the Japanese, but almost. It started with the jerk that picked me up at the airport when I arrived from Taipei, He grabbed my bag, virtually ran to his car, gunned the engine, slammed on the brakes, and generally acted the part of a complete asshole for the entire one hour trip from the airport to the hotel. Not a single word out of him for the entire trip, not even a grunt. Well, he showed me something. He showed me that even though he was just a driver, he didn’t have to be friendly to stinking foreigners. Actually, the only thing he did show me was that he was an ‘asshole’. But the other Koreans, less extreme than this guy, all seemed to have a chip on their shoulders or take themselves far too seriously. What a contrast between the Indonesians and the Thais. I wonder how the Koreans and the Japanese were before they got rich before their country was developed. I wonder if they were more humble. Probably not. They probably had a shit attitude then too. Even worse, maybe. No big deal, just a bunch of little subtle things add up to piss you off.
The old woman behind me in the taxi queue who kept pushing me with her bag and then cut out in front of us when we got to the front, the taxi driver who wouldn’t take us as passengers because he felt like going home instead. The couple in the hotel elevator pressed the “close door” button before I could get there so they could ride up faster or whatever.
The Indonesian people, at least the Javanese, impressed me as a very soft-spoken, gentle, polite group of people. Obviously, there are exceptions everywhere but there just seemed to be less rudeness here than in Korea or Japan or Hong Kong. The Indonesians are predominantly Muslim, so I was a bit apprehensive about visiting so soon after the Persian Gulf War. But theirs is not a fundamentalist Islamic. Their version of Islam is tempered with a healthy dose of Hinduism, Buddhism, and even a little Christianity, which is not surprising in view of their temperament. It seems they would much rather negotiate than argue. Hopefully, they won’t become a pain in the ass as their country develops.
The Hong Kong Chinese impressed me as being more just plain stupid than arrogant. They have a peculiar habit of attempting to get on a full elevator before it is vacated. Given the crowded conditions on Hong Kong Island, the elevator is always full so it’s an interesting spectacle to see twenty people trying to get off at the same time. Before the door closes.
Dave Ashworth told me he was on an elevator one day and said somebody walking towards it to get on. He held the “open door” button for the guy. The guy behind Dave got pissed off and started pushing the “close door” button and became annoyed at Dave for holding the doors open. Dave told me the protocol is you can butt, push, shove, or elbow but raising your hand is taboo.
Thailand the people make the difference. The place is dirty, crowded, polluted, and very tolerant and gracious. Even the bar girls are sweet and exhibit a childlike enthusiasm for having fun.
…goodbye, good luck, and have a nice day!
Reference:
Long Story Short: A Collection of Stories by Hal Gunardson 