Tag: korea (page 9 of 10)

Who’ll Come And Waltz With My Tilda?

As part of my Australian Culture course here at Sogang University (in which I now teach approximately 40 students), we spent some time learning the basics about Australia: the capital city, the system of government, what the flag and coat of arms mean and, naturally, the national anthem. I think I mentioned in a previous post that I sang the first verse of “Advance Australia Fair” a capella and pointed out that the original version of the song in fact contains six verses only two are printed on John Howard’s website). I used this as an example of the way in which history in Australia seems to be “buried” deep in obscurity; a little like the phrase ‘the tip of the iceberg’.

I then sang both versions of “Waltzing Matilda”, and related to my students that for some people, this is their preferred national anthem. This song, too, contains layers of meaning – while the song is called “Waltzing Matilda”, the swagman within the song is also singing the tune to himself. To really confuse the issue I then sang “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda” which, like those pesky Russian dolls, is a song within a song within a song, where a band plays “Waltzing Matilda”, in which a swagman sings … well, you get the idea. I’ve now had this great idea for a song called “And the Band Played And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda” but I think I’ll spare my students the head-trip of understanding that.

I was curious as to how much the students had taken in during the first four weeks of the course, and so yesterday I gave them a short quiz asking, amongst other things, for the capital of Australia (most got that), the name of the Australian head of state (a little bit of a sneaky question – most people incorrectly answered John Howard), the meaning of the word “reconciliation” (I’m pleased to say the vast majority got this right), the names of three Australia animal species (dead easy) and, just out of curiosity, the fate of the swagman at the end of “Waltzing Matilda”. I’ve collated the students’ answers to this question (below) not in any malicious sense but to give some idea of how difficult it must be to absorb so much (often confusing and contradictory) information about a foreign culture in a short space of time.

Question 4: At the end of “Waltzing Matilda”, what happens to the swagman?

Answers:

  • drowned himself
  • he went to the army to join the war as a draft
  • the swagman gets his swag and tries to find a job
  • he runs into the lake and dies
  • he kills himself
  • sorry was absent then but heard that has sad ending
  • he falls in the billabong and drowns
  • he kills himself
  • [no answer]
  • he died
  • he jumps into the billabong
  • he died
  • [no answer]
  • [no answer]
  • the swagman dies. he was chased by the police men
  • he died
  • he drowns himself into the river
  • swagman dies and gets buried
  • swagman is dead
  • he drowns himself in order to not get caught by the –
  • he died
  • he drowned in the billabong
  • he dies. he jumps into the sea
  • die [emoticon for tears]
  • dead
  • he drowns himself into the river
  • he jump into the billabong to avoid caught by white men
  • the swagman returned to Australia without leg and sat down in his porch and thought about the tragedy of the war that he attended
  • he died
  • he kills himself
  • keeps going his way
  • gets carried off by soldiers
  • gets caught by the police
  • he went to a pond to avoid being caught
  • commits suicide (throws himself in the billabong and drown)
  • he had to fought against enemy
  • he throws himself into the billabong and drowns
  • the swagman ran away and jumped billabong. he drowned.
  • the swagman was kicked out
  • he went to the military

“Borntobe Chicken”

The first time I saw this sign on a shopfront in Insadong I thought: mmm, borntobe chicken … this must be a Korean specialty. Of course, it’s really “born to be” chicken—and aren’t we all?

For the record, this shop serves delicious fried chicken and pitchers of cold beer. They usually show the baseball on the television. The women who run it are very friendly and the coleslaw is extremely sweet too.

Borntobe!

Jongno, Seoul

During my first Asialink residency I stayed in a hostel in the Jongno sam-ga (종로3가) area of Seoul.

The Jongno area constitutes the old core of the city, roughly bordered by Sejong-daero in the west, the palace district to the north, Jongmyo to the east and the renovated Cheonggyecheon stream to the south.

The entire area is a warren of alleyways and streets lit up at night by insanely bright neon signs, most of which advertise shops, bars, restaurants and PC Bangs.

This is what it looked like in 2005. God knows what it looks like now.

I’m a legal alien

This is a momentous day for me: I have finally been accepted as a real, legal alien Australian by the South Korean Department of Immigration. Wow, that rolls off the tongue. I’m like Sting’s “Englishman In New York”, twirling my cane up and down the street, asking for my toast to be burnt on one side, etc. Combovers, tweed – you know the drill. “Are you from that England?” Nope, I’m starring in Alien 5. That’s my spaceship over there. Oh, did I hit you with my extendable set of teeth? Sorry. Watch out for that drool, dude.

My odyssey through the Immigration system here began just over three weeks ago when I took the longest subway ride of my life to the Gwacheon Government Complex on the south side of the Han River (a kind of mini-Canberra bureaucratic theme park), only to discover that I was supposed to be another killer subway ride away at the Seoul Immigration Office in Omogkyo (sp?). It was between transfers on this shockingly long trip that I realised just how big this city is. Each subway station has its own theme and style, some including quiet reading areas complete with bookshelves containing real books; others crammed with specialty shops; and still others (for example, Gwacheon) sporting strange rock collections.

Once I arrived at the Immigration Office itself, a miserable grey building that a turkey like Dan Brown would doubtless describe as “forbidding”, I was treated to the sad spectacle of someone trying to escape custody – possibly for a visa violation – by running down the street, only to be caught and brought back to the building, sobbing uncontrollably. As I walked through the front gate I realised this woman was one of a whole busload who were being led down into the basement. Thinking that this was where the office was I followed but was told in no uncertain terms by a tough-looking official that I was mistaken and that I should clear off.

So I entered the real Immigration office and it was like something out of an apocalyptic movie – hundreds of people desperately trying to get to the counters, some of them furious and shouting, others just in a trance-like state. Of course, once I found the forms I would need to fill out, I realised I didn’t have the university’s business number. Haha. For a milisecond I contemplated ringing the English Department Office but one look at the phone book put me off that idea. I decided to return the next day. However, upon returning, brimming with confidence that I had filled in all the right boxes, I was told that I would also need a copy of the university’s business certificate. Haha. Hee.

On the tihrd day, I was told I would need to purchase revenue stamps from the junket operation in the basement of the building which featured a photo booth, scissors and glue (for sticking the photo on the form), a revenue stamp booth and an ubiquitous cafeteria area (packed). I finally got to the counter and had my application accepted and was told to come back in two weeks. Haha. Well, that put off my plans for travelling overseas any time soon (they took my passport). My final memory of that day, and a not-unpleasant one either, was seeing two female immigration officers, holding hands, walking out the door. Ah, Korea!

And so, today, to bring an end to this part of the story, I pressed the button marked “pick-up”, collected my ticket and almost cried when my number was immediately called. I was out of there in five minutes flat. On my way out I was accosted by some of the hordes of scammers selling phonecards – perhaps a necessary denoument to this strange but universal ritual. Brushing them aside, secure in the knowledge that I was now a real bona-fide alien, I strolled away, and dreamt of coffee scrolls and kippers. It’s not over yet, though: before I leave Korea I’ll have to bring the Alien ID card back, and for a short time thereafter I will again be in limbo, neither alien nor human; in any case, not Korean. No way, Hyundai.