Lazy, but Interesting Saturday : 노성제 (noseongjea) Festival

This Saturday I decided to take it easy. My host family had informed me that they’d be in Seoul for the weekend so I had no obligations as far as they were concerned, and I was still tired from the Bukhansan hike anyway, having never had an opportunity to properly recover after the hectic Sunday following it and the usual shenanigans during the week.

So, I slept in until some obscene hour, which was actually probably the not so obscene 10:00 am (though for me this is very late). I made myself a couple of cups of dehydrated instant coffee and burned some breakfast on the stove, which the family had left for me to heat up during the different meal intervals of the day. I started some laundry, watched some television, read some. And then I noticed that some hikers were going by the house. A lot of them in fact, in long procession. Some of them even stopped by the house to ask after the family. I told them that they were in Seoul, but I was able to understand that they wanted a refill on water, so I obliged them.

The reason for all the hiking was that there was a festival this weekend celebrating various things concerning the hamlet. One of those things was the defense of a local mountain 노성산 (noseongsan) during the 16th century Hideyoshi Invasion. So, to commemorate this event, people climb the mountain. They also do the other things typical of a festival: watch demonstrations, eat food, see a concert, drink a lot, etc. These latter things I was looking forward to doing later on in the day.

However, first I decided that it might be good to take a bit of a run. I’d had such a lazy day so far after all, and I thought getting out in the fresh air, taking in large gulps of it while I huffed and puffed along the roads of the hamlet, might do me some good. I ran out to the foot traffic bridge, across the river, around the rice paddies to the Rock Park (a predictably self-descriptive name given what is in the park, namely rocks), and back. Along the way, I happened upon a group of 6 or 7 middle school students who wanted to have a chat with the foreigner, so I obliged them. They were actually surprisingly proficient. Granted, I wouldn’t want to talk to them for more than an hour, but for a 10-minute conversation introducing each other, they did quite well.

After the run, I showered, changed out my laundry, and made for the festival on foot. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the festival, it seemed to be in a transitional phase. People were recovering from the afternoon and were not quite ready for the evening rush. Booths were being cleaned out, presentations were being put away, the main stage for that evening’s amateur “trot” singer competition was still being set up and sound checks were being performed. Generally, things in the passive voice occurred. I made my way up to the hamlet’s community center and arena to find things in a similar state. I was able to see some photography in the community center however and one of the photographers, 정 Eugene, struck up a conversation with me about his photographs of Europe and his audiophilia He gave me the name of his speakers even, as if I would have heard of those particular models. (I hadn’t.)

And then he told me those words that I dread to hear from any Korean in Korea who strikes up a conversation with me in English. “I’d like you to teach a class for the hamlet’s government.” Sigh… Immediately, any offer of hospitality becomes suspect. Indeed, he later offered for me to come to his house to listen to music and talk about it, but I can’t help feel that all he wants from me is my English. Granted, I’m fully willing to use my English as a bartering tool, in exchange for Korean lessons for instance, but at the same time I have no desire to sit in someone’s house while they shower me with food and offers of money (the latter which I cannot accept) while we awkwardly try to converse in my native tongue and I am constantly asked, “Is this right? Is that the correct expression?” I teach during the week. The weekends are supposed to be my time off when I can experience Korean culture, not practice my American culture in a Korean context.

At any rate, I politely told him that I was not allowed to teach English outside of my high school’s permission, that I had a contract that I had to abide by, and that if I was discovered in violation of said contract, I would be sent back to America, thus, I could not teach the government class he wanted me to teach. He’d have to talk to the high school about that. We (unfortunately) exchanged telephone numbers. Maybe I will take him up on his offer of a visit, but as I said, I suspect his motives. I am not a fan of the so-called Aristotelian “friendship of utility” and would like to avoid it at all costs.

Though, one positive benefit of all this is that I just had my first opportunity to practice receiving a business card in Korea, something which requires a bit of attention to detail (receive with both hands, examine the card carefully, do not put it away until the person you’re conversing with is distracted, etc.). Once again though, this is a bit of a utilitarian perspective to my having met this man. Sigh…

Upon leaving the community center, I met one of my adult students outside quite by accident. She was talking with some of her friends, so I decided to say hello to her in English and hello to her friends in Korean. This was fortunate as I now had a friend for the evening. I found out from her that she went to seminary at one point, but upon meeting her husband there decided that she’d much rather be a pastor’s wife than a pastor. It seems my advanced adult class abounds with theological persons—one student, a pastor, another, a pastor’s wife, and I, a pastor’s son and perhaps one day a pastor myself.

She eventually introduced me to a poet from the area, 엄기종 (another religious figure, as I believe that all people who devote their lives to poetry believe in some kind of God or at least muse), who ended up treating us all to sam-o-something, a delicious entrée combining the fattiness of samgyeopsal and the chewy-ness of squid. I actually felt rather bohemian during the entire evening. I was after all sharing food and drink with a poet, bleary eyed about life and love and nature and the founding of his hometown. He was a fantastic storyteller (or maybe it was my student who was a fantastic translator of his stories), and it was during this time that I discovered the true meaning of Noseongjea.

There are apparently two stories that accompany this festival, which acts as a sort of founding day for the hamlet. The first story is this:

Hideyoshi, a great Japanese shogun, decided to invade Korea in the 16th century. Korea, at that time, had no standing, organized national army. Why should it? It was not as if invasions happened every day, and most military power was feudally organized so that the king could call on troops if absolutely necessary, but with a benevolent China to the north protecting Korea as a tributary and a “dwarfish” people (the Japanese) safely across the East Sea, the was no reason for the king to ever actually call on them. (A Confucian scholar, however, had warned the king a few decades before the invasion to raise an army of 100,000 troops. The king did not listen.)

Hideyoshi easily overran much of Korea as most of Korea’s soldiers had rested in bellicose idleness (i.e. they’d become farmers). But the magistrate of the hamlet I’m living in decided to try and make a defense. He built a fortress atop Noseongsan and there fought the Japanese to the last man. They lost, of course, but the people of the hamlet still celebrate the event as the county had the will to fight the Japanese, even if they had not the means.

Another story associated with the Noseongjea Festival is one that is fairly similar to many Native American legends, especially that of Princess Wee-no-nah near Winona, Minnesota, in that a woman decides to kill herself to preserve her honor.

Three Japanese generals in Busan had made a wager about which could arrive in Seoul first during the invasion. One of these generals chose to go through my hamlet’s area, though I am unsure if it is the same general that fought the Koreans on Noseongsan in the story above.

Now, the Japanese soldiers were of course enjoying the spoils of war as any invading country did in the 16th century. In particular, they were enjoying the Korean women they had captured at the expense of their and their husbands’ honor. One woman in particular, the most beautiful woman in the county, of course, and the wife of the county magistrate decided that she would not allow her honor to be sullied, however, and instead threw herself from a very high cliff.

Now, the general happened to see this, and was so moved by this woman’s desire to preserve her chastity that he stopped his army in the hamlet to bury her himself. Thus, he lost the bet, but showed honor to the Korean spirit despite the travesties his soldiers wrecked upon the land.

I was also informed during the course of the evening that my hamlet’s name means “Way of Peace” or maybe more accurately, “Gateway to Peace”. (Earlier this year, I had plugged the name into Google Translator and got back “Window of Criticism”. Google Translator for Korean to English is still in BETA, so I guess I can cut it a break.) With such a name, the Poet was of the opinion that the county, which goes by the same name, would be a perfect candidate for the International Winter Sports Competition featuring a flag with five rings, and thus was sure to win the bid for 2018. One can only hope.

It turns out that the Poet ended up being my host for most of the rest of the evening, despite the fact that he could not speak English. We had fun using my phone’s dictionary to learn new words though, especially 뿔꽃 (bbulggot, sparkle) to describe the lone professional singer’s dress. My student and her family dropped us off at the festival where we watched some of the concert. Here, a little girl from church approached me with a dried squid head, which I politely nibbled on until I could throw it in the grass. (It was a little fishy…) My host grandmother saw me with the Poet and we had to assure her that I was alright where I was and didn’t need an escort for the rest of the night.

The Poet was apparently bored with concert and ushered me over to the soju tents where we met some of his friends, my TKD kwanjangnim included. Drinking is apparently the main event at these festivals. Many of my students were around that night, so I told the old men that I could not drink a lot, but I still shared a few shots with them. Eventually, the woman administering drinks noticed that we were neither eating nor drinking, but merely loitering and insisted (politely, I’m sure) that we pay and continue on our way. This we did.

I was a little worried about getting home at this point, as my ride, the Poet, was clearly sloshed. Fortunately, my friend from church H.W. and her sister H.J. came to the festival to meet me. We walked around a bit and talked about our weeks and how I would have to leave early on Sunday afternoon, so the tutoring may seem a bit much. Just idle conversation really. H.J. does not speak very good English, so I practiced a bit of Korean with her. Eventually, we said goodnight and I began my sojourn back to the house on foot, regretting that I had not rode my bike to the festival instead. This gave me an opportunity to talk with Glypie G. about her adventures in Busan at the international film festival—apparently navigating the mainland’s mass transit system is much harder than navigating Jeju Island’s—and the possibility of her visiting the hamlet, which we decided was impossible. Ah, well. I will see her and everyone else at the upcoming Gyeongju Conference.

And then came some unexpected trouble. I knew that my host family would be returning Saturday at some time, but I was not sure when. Since it was past 10:00 pm, their car was predictably in the driveway, but much to my surprise, both locks on the front door were locked. I only have a key for the one. Well, perhaps they’re inside, I thought. They do tend to lock both locks when they’ve gone to sleep, and I’m sure they were tired from the trip to Seoul. So, I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. I tried the side window and the back door with similar results as well as shouting into the house a very formally polite annyeonghashibnika into the house to no avail. Well, perhaps they went to the festival on foot (parking was a nightmare after all) and chose to lock both locks on their way out for some odd reason. Presumably, they’d have a key for both after all. No ill will towards me, I’m sure. They must’ve just forgot that I don’t have a key for both locks.

Rather than wait outside for their return, I decided to sneak in via my usual path when I’ve forgotten my keys. I’ll not go into the details on the off chance that a hamlet resident is reading, but let’s just say it involves a bit of awkward free climbing. I finally made it into the house, only to discover my host mother and father sleeping soundly on the living room floor.

Well! I never!

At any rate, I retrieved my effects from outside (I’d removed them for the sake of the climbing), and made my way as quietly as I could to my room a little perturbed. The next morning, I surprised the host family quite a bit when I appeared from my room. The mother turned from her hair brushing to exclaim, “Oh! Jeremy! 언제 왔어요? (When did you come?)”

What apparently had happened was this: The host family had thought that I was going to Wonju for the weekend, which was true, but they also thought I’d left Saturday and would return Sunday, which was false. I was still to leave on Sunday and would return on Monday. This may have been my fault however as my days of the week are not nearly as fluent as they could be. I suppose I may have confused 일요일 (ilyoil, Sunday) with 토요일 (toyoil, Saturday) when I was informing the family of my plans for the weekend.