In to Daegu: Out of the Funk

Becoming complacent.
I knew I needed to make a change in my personal appearance.

Being in Korea and tattoos and/or piercings out of the question, I went for a haircut. Unfortunately, I wanted to get a haircut the same weekend that the Australian grandpa of the only English speaking hair stylist in the country passed away. So, after a fabulous lunch in a cutesy little restaurant, Marize and I headed out into the unknown world of Daegu hair salons, only stopping every four or five minutes to check out a cute scarf or hat or vintage clothing store. And we had to get some pictures at one of those chinzy photo booths. Which was actually harder to figure out then you'd think...but all the middle schoolers were doing it!

We found a hair salon that wasn't "full," as sometimes these kind of things are "just closing" or "no space" when you're a waygook. Traveling around in Korea, no one has to ask if I'm a foreigner. It's the only place I've been where I didn't have to open my mouth before natives knew I wasn't from around there. I have blue eyes, for heaven's sake. Some people will go out of their way to help you find what you're looking for or to get you someplace, while others take one look at you and refuse to deal with you in any capacity. Taxi drivers won't stop, restaurants aren't open, places are full with empty seats. Some of it is pure racism. Other times it's because they just don't want to deal with a foreigner. Typically communication is a lot of work.

And communication at the hair salon was a trial of patience and Marize's nerves. I had printed out a picture  of the kind of haircut I wanted (a photo of Victoria Beckham), just to give them an idea. Marize had forgotten her picture, but found one online there. We waited around for a while and finally one of the stylists came over. What followed was about a twenty minute ordeal that I thought was going to leave Marize in tears with or without a haircut. I arrived at the conclusion that I was getting my hair cut whether or not I had to sit in a spin chair and do it myself. The stylist had some qualms about our pictures, but of course, we couldn't understand. Marize called a Korean co-teacher of hers and after passing the phone around and around, the fears were relayed and hurriedly dismissed.

Things I wish I could have said in Korean and tried to convey by charade:

I know I will not look like Victoria Beckham when you are done with my haircut.
I know I am not Posh Spice.
I know I am not married to an international soccer star, nor do I have a team of stylists.
I just want it short in the back and long in the front, bit of an a-line.
No, it will not curl when it's short, I am not going to blow dry it, and I promise I won't scream at you if I don't look like Victoria Beckham when you're done. Promise pinky swear.

What ended up happening went much like this: Picture, picture, point, point, pray, pray.

I ended up loving my haircut. And Marize didn't end up with orange hair or bangs halfway up her forehead. Now she looks even more like Liza Minnelli in Cabaret than before. Which is fabulous.

Marize caught a train back to Jeomchon and I was left on my lonesome for awhile. Emily gave me directions to a bookstore, which I wish she hadn't because of course I just had to have a book of Korean poetry, one on Buddhist temple symbolism, and some Bertrand Russell. Wallet lighter, backpack heavier, I preceded through the streets of downtown Daegu.

I'm not exactly what you would call a "city girl." I'm from Idaho, we don't have them there. I've been to big cities, I'm not scared of them, I like visiting; I always feel so wide-eyed walking through one. So I didn't mind having an hour or so between friends. Neon lights, people, stores, alleyways, I just followed my feet. When Emily called, I knew I could meet her at the McDonalds, no problem. One of the few things I inherited from my father was a good sense of direction.

It's always good to see Emily, she's from the "before time." I knew her in Oregon, we went to college together, she dated my roommate, etc. So with her and a few friends, two British, two Korean, we headed to a cat cafe. Which is a cafe where cats are free range and not on the menu. Though I could imagine that happening, PETA hasn't gotten to Korea yet. Unfortunately, the cat cafe was "closing" early at ten that night. It was 9:50 and we knew they were simply refusing to "deal" with all of us foreigners, but what can you do? So we got some cat hair on our clothes and headed to a bar.

Well, we stopped at a bag-drink place first. I have no idea why we don't have these in America. Besides the obvious conflict with open container laws. And that they make drinking way too easy. You can't spill your drink or break a glass, they're drunkard proof. I've watched a guy drop four of them, kick one, and still bring them back to his buddies, full.

Bag-drinks: Drinking just got easier!

So then to a bar for cheap beer and a game called Pirate Roulette. Which is just what I'm looking for in a drinking game, some thing that pops up at me. I wanted to kill my liver AND get high blood pressure tonight, this is great! Two organs with one bar.

Then it was a bar and another bar. Someone ordered food. More beer. Hey, I know you from orientation! Another vodka cran. Another bar.  I know her from orientation, too! Taxi ride. Another bar. Did we pay our tab? And then the sky is a lovely shade of blue because the sun is going to come up soon and what time is it anyway?

You just can't stay out in America like you can in Korea. Places close in America. You're home by three because the bars close at two, Pita Pit is only open to three, and you had to call your taxi an hour in advance. Here you can literally party until the sun comes up. Don't worry, mom, I rarely do. And never on a school night.