“Who Got In A Fight This Time?”

Those were Chanta’s exact words as she entered the teacher’s room on Saturday evening to a table laden with fresh coffee, breads and pastries from the local bakery. Also on the table was a stack of tickets to a Korean traditional dance festival on Sunday afternoon. She picked them up, examined them, and said, “Wow – must have been a doozy.” She glanced at me, gave me a quizzical look, I nodded, then she smiled. Let’s just say this particular incident involved a female teacher being called by one of the staff members very late at night after many bottles of soju had been consumed. I’m telling you, that stuff is evil.

Sunday Afternoon Outing

I decided to take advantage of the tickets. I had planned to meet a teacher from another school, Mike, on Sunday for lunch. I let him know I had the tickets. He was psyched. After lunch we headed to “City Place Hall” where the event was being held. When we got out of the taxi we were surprised at the throngs of people standing outside. No lines, just people standing. Looking like they were going to go in, but not making any motion to. We wandered past them, into the hall. “Annong ha-seyo,” we were greeted by lines of women in the traditional Korean dress, han-bouk. Each bowed as we passed by them. I showed one woman our tickets and she propelled me down the aisle. Literally. I was at least a foot taller than her, probably a good 50 pounds heavier, and she put her tiny hand in the small of my back and pushed me down the aisle to the section of seats at the front of the auditorium. Mike followed a few footsteps beyond.

She sat us down in two seats – great seats. Center section, aisle seats, a few rows back from the stage. Mike and I exchanged surprised glances. Wow. Royal treatment. We looked around, checking out the other people already there. A lot of old people. Already sleeping in their seats. Some families with small children. A few university aged students. And not another single non-Korean. Mike and I were talking about our respective schools when all of a sudden we were blinded by an intense light. We looked up. The local television crew was less than a foot away from us, filming us. Right in our faces. Mike turned his head, but I looked straight into the camera and smiled. If I’m going to be on Korean tv, I want to look good. But then they stayed. For several minutes. We tried to resume our conversation, but it feels somewhat awkward when there’s a lens right in your face. When the house lights dimmed, the cameramen went to another location.

The Speeches . . .

It’s very interesting how the mind works. How you try to make sense of your environment. Relate a new experience to something familiar to aid understanding. The emcees introduced a man. Everyone clapped. He came to the stage. And made a speech. Mind you, we couldn’t understand anything. No, I take that back. Of his 7 or 8 minute speech I understood the words “people,” “hello,” “thank you.” He sat down. Another man was introduced. He gave a speech. Then sat down. A third man was introduced. He gave a speech. Even though we couldn’t understand the words, we could understand the third man was a better speaker. He had presence. And he spoke longer. Mike whispered to me, “I think maybe these are political candidates. This is the first time ever that Korea will hold primaries. Maybe they’re contenders.” After the third man was well into his speech, Mike leaned over again, “This guy has got presence. He’s either the forerunner in the race, or the “Ross Perot” character.” After about 15 minutes, he ended his speech. As he was walking back to his seat, the emcee made a comment. Obviously a joke. Mike and I both looked at each other and said, “Ross Perot.”

The Movie

The curtains parted to reveal a huge movie screen. The film rolled. Images of peasants. Hungry. With holes in their shoes. Sadness. Children with rickets. Shanties. Fields with nothing but weeds. Mike and I gave each other questioning looks. Was this a propaganda film supporting the reunification of the two Koreas? But look, that woman is wearing a babushka. They don’t look like they are wearing Korean clothes. What is this?

Then The Dance . . .

The stage went dark. The low beat of a drum. A spotlight focused dimly on the back of a figure, high upon a stage, clothed in all white beating a drum that was easily 8 feet tall. The addition of two more drummers on either side of the main drummer. The deep, strong beating of the drums reverberated throughout the auditorium. For several minutes this went on, faster, faster, faster, stronger, stronger, stronger, until it seemed the drummers would explode with frenzy. Then . . . Silence. The drummers turned around to face the audience. I gasped. They were the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

Click, click, click, click, click. The lights came on fully. A line of eleven slender, graceful women entered clicking rhythm sticks above their heads. They were wearing kimono-esque robes of brilliant pink and blue, secured by bright yellow sashes. They clicked their sticks in front of them, to the side, above their heads, all the while smiling demurely. With tiny steps they made their way to hanging drums just beneath the stage on which the 3 beautiful women drummers were. In unison, they turned around, faced the audience, and smiled.

The three drummers began another beat. The eleven maidens began to beat their hanging drums. Each woman had 3 drumheads in a triangular shape directly in front of her, a drumhead to the right, a drumhead to the left. It was almost as though each was “boxed in” to her drum set. The beat was incredible. To the left, to the right, spin around. One, two, three, to the side, the other side. The choreography was dizzying. Even more amazing, they made it seem so effortless.

Then the entire line turned and faced the left. In a split second, they had dropped to their knees and whipped backwards. Each woman was bending backwards, playing the drum above and behind her head. Then the drum in front of her. Back and forth, back and forth. Slowly they arose, drumming the entire time. The beat grew more frenetic, louder, louder, louder – Silence. The line of women slowly turned to the audience, smiled sweet smiles, and with tiny, graceful steps exited the stage. It was as though they had done nothing more strenuous than pour a cup of tea.

Ribbons . . .

The stage went dark. From behind us, we heard drums. I spun around. Coming down the aisle were 5 men. In white with black tunics, again secured by yellow, and red, sashes. All were wearing hats. The first man’s hat had a huge white feather on it. He led the processional march. Behind him followed two men beating drums, two shaking tambourines. The four followers had hats with long, white ribbons trailing. They spun their heads every so slightly as they marched to make the ribbons twirl around and around, side to side. Up on stage they pranced. Around in a circle, ribbons twirling the entire time. The leader began soaring through the air. Flipping over and over, almost horizontal with the ground – in and out of the twirling ribbons. More twirlers entered from stage right and stage left. The circle became larger. One of the twirlers had a particularly long ribbon. In an instant, he was standing on another twirler’s shoulders, making his ribbon twirl in circles to the ground. Other dancers hopped in and out, in and out. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The stage went dark and they disappeared.

The Flute . . .

I think. It sounded like a flute. But looked fatter. Wider. With more holes. In a different pattern. But the sound it made. Oh. The first song he played evoked feelings of spring’s arrival. I could picture the trees blossoming. The birds flittering from branch to branch. The sun gently thawing the icy stream, causing the water to flow freely once again.

But the second song. The sadness. The pain. Of lost love. Of a lost country. Several older women around me hummed the words. When it ended there was a moment of silence, of reflection, before the applause began.

Marching Band?

The curtain parted to expose a full-on marching band, read and blue uniforms with gold trim, feathered hats and all. Probably 150 students. Clarinets, flutes, drums, horns, even a triangle. Yes, a triangle. And he was proud to play that triangle. He held it high above his head and rang it as though it were the most noble of all instruments. First, a Sousa-esque piece. The students stood up, sat down, stood up, stepped side to side. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a marching band per se, but a moving band. It brought visions of a Swiss cuckoo clock to mind as they played and stepped. One additional instrument that gave the band a truly Korean flavor, a huge gong. He started each piece. No matter what the tempo, the gong introduced the selection. It was a nice touch.

Next, five boys in white and black entered. One with a miniature gong, three with drums, one with a tin plate-ish type of hand-held instrument. They sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the first row of flutists. They began the next piece. Definitely Korean. The beat, however, was more intricate, more complex, than any classical piece I’ve ever heard performed. The band joined in. I counted at least 4 different simultaneous rhythms. It was difficult, though. Each beat blended in with the other almost seamlessly. On and on. The boys in front were leading the score. Harder, harder, harder they played, their heads bobbing and jerking with each beat. This went on and on. Until again – all at once – silence. From my seat, I could see the five boys breathing heavily, heaving to pull air into their exhausted lungs.

The Gospel Choir?

Five men and seven women filed onto stage. The men in austere black suits. The women in floor length black taffeta skirts and fitted black velvet jackets over high-collared ruffly white blouses. They began a song. It had a cheerful beat. But there was something about it. Something familiar. It hit me. I turned to Mike and whispered, “I think this is a church choir.” Yeah, he said, it is dripping with God-ness. The singers had the same moves, the same serene expressions, that you see on Sunday morning television evangelical programs. They held one arm high in the air as they sang. It reminded me of Jim Baker’s “Be heeeeeaaaaaal-ed!” stance.

The Fan Dance

Twelve women in black and pink han-bouk tittered out, led by one woman in a shocking turquoise and pink han-bouk. All had gold crowns upon their heads; they looked like china dolls. They lined up on the stage with their backs towards us. The music started and whoooooooosssssshhhhhhh – around they turned, splaying hot pink feathered fans above them. They reminded me of a snake; they moved so seamlessly, with such oneness. Wrapped into a circle, unwinding, fans out, fans down, fans flittering. All the while moving so gracefully and with such serene smiles. The line parted, half went to one side of the stage, half to the other, and then . . .

The Traditional Korean Wedding Procession

The clothing was exquisite. Layers and layers of silk and organza. Tiny golden embroidered flowers. Patterns of infinite intricacy. The most intense colors – blood red, sapphire blue, marigold yellow, shocking pink, seaweed green. The women’s hair teased and piled up, adorned with sparkly hairpieces and jewels. The women’s hands and arms hidden beneath scrolls of embroidered sleeves. The procession glided across the stage. I could not tell where one step ended and the next began. In pairs, they proceeded across the stage, moving with the presence of royalty. Slowly, and with purpose. The fan dancers surrounded them, though on bended knee. Flittering their fans as the procession made its way across the stage. When the bride and groom reached center stage, their pairs of attendants to either side, the music stopped. The beauty was so striking. The men so handsome. The women so elegant. Again, a moment of silence before the applause began.

And Then . . .

It was over. No. I want to see more. I don’t want to go.

A woman in han-bouk appeared beside us. “You enjoyed?” Oh, yes, very much. Thank you. Excuse me. What was this for? What does “ko-ryo” mean? (there were many banners with this word on it) “It is a benefit for our Korean brothers and sisters living in Russia. They have a very hard life.” Wow. So the introductory film was not for Korean reunification, but to describe the plight of Koreans living in Russia. I will never cease to be amazed while I live here.