Christmas Cheer--or not--

DATE: 6 Jan 2003
Location: Song Tan, Korea

The holidays are over, and life is getting back to normal, although life really never got abnormal for me. As a shift worker, I got no time off. Being in Korea, there wasn’t much in the way of Christmas spirit.

Korea is the second most Christianized Asian nation (behind the Philippines). There are neon crosses dotting the skyline, and a 24 hour evangelical channel on TV. Further proof: Rev. Moon. Just kidding. Because of this, I was actually thinking we might be okay in the holiday cheer department. However, Christmas, at least the kind of traditions we have, haven’t really caught on yet. The main street put lights on all the trees, and most stores put up little plastic Christmas trees, but as far as traditions, or special events, there just wasn’t anything. Shopping trips downtown, Christmas cookies, and beautiful decorations everywhere were lacking. I even asked a Korean friend what a traditional Korean Christmas activity might be, and she said nothing. How depressing. I thought working on Christmas would add injury to insult, but I was wrong. I think working may have been the best part. I love the people in my flight, and they have become my family. We all brought food in, and it was apparent from the moment we arrived we’d all made the decision to make the best of the situation. People were joyful, and although we all missed our real families back in the states, talking about the presents we’d gotten in the mail, the phone calls we’d made home, and the traditions we’d be participating in if we were elsewhere made us all happy, even though it seems the opposite should be true. I gave everybody I could the day off, but many came in anyway, just to bring us food and say Merry Christmas. That meant a lot.

If I had my choice, I’d have been eating at Ivars, shopping at the Pike Place Market, spending Christmas at Uncle Jim’s house over looking Puget Sound, and celebrating the New Year at the Whidbey Island cabin. However, there was something poignant about “sitting the watch”, under a hill, in a pressurized building, half a world away from home, with missiles pointed at me. I found it comforting on a day when nobody is thinking in terms of national security because they are busy enjoying family, friends, and eating too much ham and green Jello salad, there are a few people paying attention to what those who would harm us are doing. I felt honored this Christmas it got to be me (granted it was just a schedule thing, not because of my monumental intelligence gathering prowess), and sincerely grateful for the dedicated professionals on my flight, whom I feel unworthy to lead. It was, I think, one of the crystallizing moments of my tour here. The military, for all the questionable things it may do, or be told to do, has for decades ensured Americans, Europeans, and certainly South Koreans can celebrate any and all religious holidays in accordance with whatever religion they choose. For all of the reasons people, including myself, can think of why we shouldn’t be here, (or anywhere else) Christmas is the reason why we should.

On a lighter note, well not really, but amusing after the fact, we learned car accidents in Korea are cheaper than accidents in Mexico. First rule of accidents in Korea is that NO MATTER WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, THE AMERICAN IS AT FAULT. PERIOD. There are countless stories to back up the statement. That said, we had a little fender bender and found out for ourselves. A guy parallel parking swung the front of his car out into our lane, where we at a complete stop, because we saw him coming, and he hit us. It was a couple of teenagers, and after a brief discussion of mostly hand gestures, he agreed he hit us, and said sorry. Somehow by the time the police arrived, the story changed. His car was at a complete stop, and we hit him. Additionally, several witnesses appeared, including a priest and a nun we’d seen sleeping in a nearby car, to back up his story. Your first instinct is outrage and indignation at this obvious conspiracy and blatant dishonesty (a priest and a nun for crying out loud???). You must suppress this urge, it will make things worse. We were told by the police writing up a report was a lot of work, and just paying some money now would save everybody pain. The teenager went to call somebody, and came back saying $50 would be fine. Paul went to the ATM to get money. When he returned, the police wanted us to cough up $70, because, they said, the kid was so young. Not sure what that has to do with anything other than we agreed to the $50 too quick, so they figured they should have asked for more to begin with. This country is such a contradiction. You forget sometimes it isn’t a completely developed nation still prone to the sort of dealings mainly found in the third world. Incidents like this are a good reminder. So are the people who pick through the garbage on the curbs looking for recyclables and anything else of value. I’ve started leaving stuff on my porch for them. But I digress.

My squadron is unique in many ways. One of the biggest is our relationship with our ROK sister squadron. Osan is both an American and a Korean base, but for the vast majority of the base population, there is little if any interaction. In my squadron we sit side by side with the ROKs, and depend on each other for information. As such, we have “friendship dinners” to develop personal relationships. These dinners provide a real insight into Korean culture. They are held at a restaurant or at the ROK compound on base. They begin around 7 with beer. Dinner is around 7:30. With dinner comes the soju, or sweet potato vodka, and more beer. After eating comes whiskey, and after the whiskey shots comes whiskey shots in glasses of beer. And then more soju. By 9:30 most of the entourage is literally falling down drunk. How does this happen? For the ROKs it is normal, for the Americans, it comes down to not wanting to offend the ROKs. It starts with toasts to America, Korea, the war, the end of the war, peace, our commander, their commander, ect. Then each person toasts those at their table, and then you toast those you work most closely with. At that point you go around the room toasting everyone you have something in common with. “Hey, you have a mother? So do I! Lets drink!” It gets ugly fast. The last couple of dinners I’ve had the excuse of having to work the next morning, so I don’t drink. The Americans understand and leave me alone. The ROKs can’t understand why this matters, as many of them also have to work the next morning, and it doesn’t stop them. I found telling them you’re Christian is the way to have them leave you alone. I feel bad lying, not about being Christian, since I am, but about the fact that under no other circumstance does it stop me from drinking. One guy, three sheets to the wind, approached me to drink, and when I said I was Christian, he looked like somebody shot him, face all scrunched up. He said, “Ohhhhhh, I hate Christian, they no drinka. I Catholic, we drinka. Catholic Better.” Being Catholic, of course, I wanted to agree, but that would have blown my cover, so I just nodded somberly and apologized for my egregious personality deficiency. The day after these events, in fact for several days after these events, Americans see spots and can’t get out of bed. The ROKs are all at work bright and early Saturday morning (along with myself) like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Amazing. More amazing is the regularity with which they drink.

As I said last time, I live above a bar, in fact, my whole street is lined with them. With few exceptions, the ground floor of every building is a restaurant, the second and third floor apartments, and the basements are bars. When I work the morning shift, I leave before 6:00, at which time the diehards are packing it in for the night. Many of the restaurants are still open, and there is evidence of debauchery all over the streets. Watch where you step. At first I was worried walking in the still dark morning with drunks all around me, but they either ignore me, or stare curiously as I’m white, a female in the military, and obviously completely sober. Some think it’s a great time to try out their English. I’ve had some pretty hilarious conversations. I don’t know how they do it, and we’re talking every night of the week. I read because the culture dictates they be so stoic all the time, drinking is the only way they have to let off steam. Its got to be something.

Even though I’m starting to like it here, I’m still counting the days to Germany. We’re hovering around 120. At double digits I’m going to have a party. Thanks for listening, and until next time…Annyonghi kaseyo.