by Anna Premoli
In any case, didn’t his mother ever teach him that there are some things that you just don’t say to girls? And if he thinks he’s going to make me stop eating, he can bloody well think again – it would take a lot more than that to put a dent in my appetite.
“I have to feed myself up as much as possible, seeing as I’m staring at months of not eating anything decent in the face,” I tell him as I stick my fork into his piece of cheese. It doesn’t taste particularly good, but it is certainly better than what awaits me in the foreign land we’re headed for.
He smiles as though he has been illuminated by a realisation.
“I get it! You’re afraid of dying of hunger in Korea!” he exclaims, sounding amused.
And perhaps he’d also like to convince me that I’m worrying about nothing, hmm? If he only knew what Asian cuisine means for someone like me, who is miserable and hungry…
“A friend of mine told me about some fermented cabbage thing…” I mumble between mouthfuls of potatoes.
Mark looks at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing. It’s such spontaneous laughter that it leaves me speechless. He tries to stop himself, but he just isn’t able to.
“What’s so funny?” I ask petulantly after he’s finished laughing like a drain. “I just don’t like exotic cuisine – I’m not even mad about Japanese or Chinese food,” I explain. Unlike practically all other Londoners, I don’t even really know how to use a pair of chopsticks. I belong to that very small category of people who always ask for a fork, causing the waiter to raise his eyes to the heavens in despair.
It takes Mark quite a while to get back to being his serious self, and it’s obviously quite a struggle for him.
“I won’t tell you anything at all about Korean cooking, then. Let’s just say it will be a surprise,” he announces in an amused and enigmatic tone. He ought to pay me for all the amusement I seem to be providing him with.
All anybody does is promise me, or rather threaten me with, all these amazing new things I’m going to discover. But who decided that change is always for the better? As far as I’m concerned, change usually means the worst kind of misfortunes.
I sigh, trying to digest everything that’s happening to me while I aim to figure out for the thousandth time how on earth I’ve ended up on a direct flight to Korea. I had quite different plans for my life.
This is the fault of my bloody mother, who has always given me a hard time about all my relationships and has always insisted that I concentrate on my career. It’s all so unfair! Someone like Jane would have been brilliant at going to the other side of the planet, but not me.
The problem is that there’s never been anything I really wanted to do, and so, not knowing what I did want to do, I ended up following the route that others pointed out for me. I still don’t know if I actually enjoy my current job – I don’t know if I’d like to do something else and I don’t even know if I would be happier staying at home with a family to look after. I’m marooned in my uncertainties because, at the end of the day, I’m comfortable with things the way they are. If something goes wrong I can always dump the blame for it on somebody else, because after all, I was doing something that I’d never really totally invested myself in from day one. Maybe Jane is right when she says that I need a short, sharp shock. That I need some kind of earthquake in my life. Though maybe I’d be better off waiting until we get back down on the ground before going through any more turbulence…
I sit there pondering silently for the rest of the journey. Fortunately the remaining hours fly by quickly and without incident. When it’s time to land, I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing, gripping my seat’s armrests. If I’m traveling with someone else, I tend to crush the hand of my unfortunate friend, but I have the impression that Mark wouldn’t be particularly overjoyed to sacrifice his mitt.
Once we’ve disembarked from the plane, we head off to retrieve our luggage. It’s terribly annoying to admit it, but that prissy young gentleman was right: for the first time ever I actually do feel as though I really stand out: I’m the only blonde in the middle of this ocean of people. Mark and I also stand out because of our height; even without heels, I’m much taller than most of the local men and women. I see some heads turning in our direction to get a better look at us – together we arouse some curiosity. It’s a feeling that’s entirely new, but not entirely unpleasant.
Apart from the faces, it feels pretty much like being in London: people rushing about all over the shop, teenagers dressed exactly like the ones back in England. It’s a good job I brought my All Stars, I see they’re all the rage here.
These little details reassure me. Maybe I do stand a change of being accepted by this new and completely unknown country. Maybe I’ll find a way not to feel like a fish out of water.
The signs bearing directions that tower above my head are written in both Korean and English, so getting about won’t be too complicated, as long as it’s the same when we get to the city.
Once we’ve got the paperwork out of the way, we hurry over to collect our bags. The very idea of it is enough to bring me out in a cold sweat, but in any case, I get one of those handy little luggage trolleys and start preparing myself psychologically for the task ahead. I really hope that my body can handle it, because I have every intention of showing Mr Kim what female independence actually means. I’m certainly not just going to stand there and wait for some nice gentleman to come and save me like a good little girl!
The conveyor belt – squeaky in every airport in the world except, apparently, Korea – starts moving at exactly the time indicated on the screen. After some unknown luggage, my first enormous bag appears in the distance. Taking a very deep breath, I leap to the offensive: with all the strength that I can muster, I manage to lift it from the carousel… but by God, it’s heavy! With a final swing of my hips I manage to get it into the air and swing it round, but I’m so wrapped up in my efforts that I don’t notice Mark, who has materialized at my side as if by magic, probably to give me a hand. The denouement is tragic: I lose control of my suitcase of mass destruction and end up dumping the enormous bag onto his left foot. The thud that follows doesn’t bode well.
A cry of both pain and amazement emerges immediately from Mark’s mouth. He opens his eyes wide and gives me a look of pure hatred.
Oops… Why do I never get anything right?
Once he’s checked that I haven’t actually managed to break his leg, a very disgruntled looking Mark stalks away from the baggage claim area, and my repeated apologies have no effect on his decision to abandon me to my fate. I’m almost tempted to beg him to come back, but his angry stride takes him through the sliding doors before I’m able to humiliate myself any further. Since I’m now alone, I have no choice other than to recover the other two suitcases by myself, and then head off towards the exit. I just hope he hasn’t left me here alone.
While waiting for me to emerge, Mark has had time to recover from his anger and, as impassive as ever, stands there waiting for me.
“The company has sent a car to pick us up,” he snaps, staring straight ahead.
Ok, maybe hoping that he had already forgotten everything was a bit optimistic. Men are all the same, they’ve got memories like elephants, always. You’d think I’d done it on purpose…
In any case, the news of the company car immediately fills me with optimism. And indeed a funny little man materializes beside us at the speed of light, gesturing to a large dark car parked a few metres ahead. Never ceasing to bow, he comes up and starts talking to Mark, who returns his bow, communicating what is probably some set of weird instructions.
It’s strange to witness a conversation from which you are totally cut off. It suddenly reveals your limits.
In any case, in a matter of seconds my bags are placed in the large car’s spacious boot. Talk about a fast and efficient worker.
Mark then holds out his own luggage, which is of much more limited dimensions, to the man, opens the rear door and
prepares to climb inside.
“Are you staying here?” he asks sarcastically.
I don’t wait to be asked twice. With feline grace, I leap over to the other door, pull it open and jump inside the car. The driver climbs into his seat and sets off without waiting for any further instructions from us.
Meanwhile, the evening sun has started to set and the lights of the city are growing closer and closer. We drive alongside what appears to be a fairly wide river. I’m curious, and seeing as Mark does not seem eager to converse after the little incident earlier, I ask our driver for information.
“What’s the river called?” I ask in English, leaning forward and shouting the words. I’m hoping that he’s not totally unfamiliar with my language.
“That’s the Han River, which runs through Seoul,” the little man explains to me proudly, “it’s a good kilometre wide. Our city isn’t just full of skyscrapers, there are also a lot of parks, if you are interested in jogging to keep your marvellous figure,” he says affably. His accent is bad, but at least he’s friendly.
Hearing the man’s words, Mark looks at me sceptically. What is he implying with his doubtful expression?
“Thanks! I think I will take the opportunity to do a bit of healthy jogging, then,” I reply, taking the higher moral ground. Think whatever you want. In fact I’ve never run a single minute in my whole life, but it’s never too late to start! A new city, a new life, healthy habits. It might be a way to finally turn over a new leaf.
I still have my nose glued to the window when the car stops in front of a brand new building about fifteen stories tall. Without saying a word, Mark gets out, so, not knowing what else to do, I get out too.
The funny little man has already got to work and is quietly unloading our suitcases.
“Shall I help the young lady?” he asks. It is obvious that the question should have been addressed to me rather than mister adorable: and the answer would have been different.
“Don’t worry, just leave the suitcases in front of the elevator, we’ll do the rest. The lady gets offended if anyone tries to help her. Thank you so much.”
What a bastard!
The man does as he’s asked, bows again, says goodbye and gets back into the car. If he found Mark’s comments out of line, he certainly didn’t show it.
I follow my future boss, who walks into the building without waiting for me – and for fear of losing him, I even break into a trot. The atrium light blinds me as soon as I set foot inside. Never mind an entrance hall, this looks like an operating room with a pale marble polished floor and bizarre modern lamps hanging from the ceiling. Mark is waiting for the elevator to arrive.
I walk over and decide it’s time to find out more about my accommodation. “So, is this where I’m going to be living?” I ask him fearfully. He turns and looks at me blankly.
“This is where we are going to be living,” he corrects me. Still in that irritable tone of voice. I’m afraid that I have just learned the hard way that Mr Kim is not a man who forgives easily. I swear I didn’t mean to drop my suitcase on his foot, it was just an unfortunate accident. But I doubt very much he would believe that.
His statement about us living together sends a jolt of terror through me that I can’t entirely suppress. I try, but not very successfully.
“Each of us in our own apartment,” he adds, noticing my dismay. Well he might have said so right away instead of scaring me like that!
The doors open revealing an ultramodern and very spacious lift. When we get to the sixth floor, Mark strides out confidently. I drag out all my suitcases, one by one.
He approaches a grey door marked 6b, fiddles around with the lock and beckons me to follow him. Since it’s highly unlikely that anybody is going to steal my bags, I decide to leave them on the landing so as not to lose sight of Mark, and together we walk into a small apartment with a lovely marble hall.
“Koreans are in the habit of taking off their shoes so as not to get the house dirty. You ought to get some slippers for guests. It is essential for socialising: if you want to invite people in, remember that Koreans cannot survive without slippers. People expect to change their shoes as soon as they come into the house,” Mark explains. What a strange custom!
“But since it is my home I suppose I can also choose not to force people to take off their shoes…” I say.
I’m instantly given an incinerating glare. And we’re only talking about bloody slippers…
“You can choose to do whatever you like – but if you don’t want people to feel uncomfortable then I think it would be wise to adapt to local customs,” he warns.
For tonight I’d better not create any additional tension. After all, what are a pair of slippers next to the prospect of a little peace and quiet? And Mark looks like someone who’s spoiling for a fight.
My new apartment seems small, but a quick walk through it is enough to show me that it has all the necessary amenities: a small living room with a couch, a kitchen area with a tiny table, and, at the end, the master bedroom with en-suite bathroom. Luckily for me it seems that the Koreans have taken to using the Western kind of bed.
“So you don’t sleep on the floor, then…” I say jokingly.
“Not any more,” replies Mark, sounding like he almost thinks that it would be worth re-introducing the custom just for me, though.
A wave of tiredness comes over me suddenly, as the fatigue of the journey and change of time zone gain the upper hand. Even Mark must have noticed, because he walks towards the door.
“I’ll let you unpack and rest. I live just opposite, apartment 6a – if you have any emergencies, you know where to find me,” he tells me as he leaves.
A flash of panic. “What about the keys?” I exclaim, scrutinizing the mysterious lock that stands before me. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to put a key.
“Oh yeah…” he mutters. “Electronic lock: enter the combination, and that’s it. Six digits, and the initial combination is always one, two, three, four, five, six. But it would be a good idea to change it. There are instructions on how to inside the house.”
I enter the combination and like magic the door opens in front of me. Why the Koreans have decided to do without keys remains a mystery to me, but not one that I consider it absolutely essential to crack this very minute. My exhaustion has now reached epic levels.
“Well, thank you for everything,” I say coldly. Though I’m not entirely sure how grateful I am for having been dragged to this place.
“Tomorrow is Sunday, so you’ll have time to sleep off the jet lag. See you.”
I watch him walk away, type in his own mysterious combination and enter his apartment.
Great – living so close together means he’ll be able to keep an eye on me, I reflect with dismay. It’s almost like living next door to your parents, or perhaps, in the case of Mark, it’s actually even worse. It’s like having an authoritarian father who imposes strict schedules and stands waiting at the door to tell you off if you’re a minute later than you should be.
I have just enough strength left to pull my toothbrush and my nightgown out of my suitcase. Better to sleep on it, as one of my favourite heroines would say – tomorrow is another day.
Chapter 3
An Englishwoman in Seoul
Opening your eyes and not having the faintest idea of where you are is not, in my opinion, the ideal way to start the day. It takes me at least five minutes to remember everything that’s happened in the previous hours, where I am and what I’m doing in this completely unknown bedroom. Change always makes me panic, so it’s no wonder that waking up like this scares me. My heart only goes back to beating at a normal pace after a series of long, deep breaths.
In London, the first thing I did after waking up was drink a couple of litres of coffee. Here in Seoul I’m not even really sure that there’ll be any food to find in my new home.
I gather my strength and drag myself over to the small refrigerator in the kitchen that I saw last ni
ght. Before opening it, though, I rummage through the kitchen cupboards: if only there was some caffeine hidden somewhere… Whatever happens, I’ve decided that today I will do my best to be brave and will settle for whatever I can get.
My investigation doesn’t produce the expected results, though. The refrigerator is actually filled with water and juices, but there is no trace in the cupboards of milk or coffee. My mother has very distant French ancestry (for her, having a half French great-grandmother means being half French) and at home we’ve always drunk excellent coffee – if I remember, I think that it was the Italians who invented real coffee, but you try telling my mother that she’s wrong about something of which she is convinced.
My need for coffee is strong enough to spur me to action, so I pull out of my open suitcase a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, put my old blue All Stars and get ready to go out, desperate for a proper European breakfast. It’s not an ideal situation: I don’t know the area, I still have to change my pounds into the local currency of won, and today is Sunday. Hmm, I’d better take my credit cards too. Provided I don’t get lost first, I should have no problems with those.
A fleeting glance at my watch, set on the plane to the local time zone, tells me that it’s nine o’clock in the morning. For a moment I am almost tempted to ring Mark’s bell and ask him. He doesn’t look like the type to waste time sleeping, even when he’s on holiday, and at this time of day he’s likely to have been up for a while. Or I might just summon up all my courage and go out alone to explore this gigantic city of ten million inhabitants – but what if I get lost and end up in a neighbourhood where no one speaks English?
Still torn by doubt, I leave the apartment and walk over to the grey door marked 6a. To ring or not to ring? What a dilemma…
Although Mark is the only person I know in this bloody place, he’s so rude that I’m afraid to get the day off to a bad start by knocking on his door. It’s one thing to be forced to work with him, quite another to choose to have him standing there right in front of my eyes. I’d probably have more luck if I started ringing random doorbells in the building. But then, turning round to look at the landing, I realize that apart from our two apartments there are no others. Well, how’s that for bad luck?