French Indo-Korea

I have to issue an apology to anyone who has been waiting for a blog post for a solid two weeks now. A mixture of illness, lack of interesting content, and good old fashioned laziness have kept me from away from the keyboard. I've been rationalizing the tardiness by saying it’s better not to post than to post lackluster writing. Whether that's true, I'm not too sure. If anyone would like me to write about a specific topic or aspect of my life, please let me know. I'm always open to suggestions. 

The girls. Left to Right: Neama, Lola, Ibtihal, Bérénice, Capucine

Perhaps more than anything else, my time in South Korea has been defined by the people I live with. Capucine, Neama, Ibti, Bere, Lola, Andre, and Dongryeong. All accounted for, there are three Frenchies, two Moroccans, one German, one Korean, and, of course, one American. As I’ve mentioned before, the Moroccan girls grew up in French speaking schools and attend French universities, so for simplicity’s sake, they are French-Moroccan. I only emphasize their Frenchness to fully portray the completeness with which France has invaded my daily life. 

It’s a funny thing, moving all the way to Asia only to have French culture dominate what I hear, see, and taste. I haven’t decided whether that's regrettable, typical for foreign students, or a lucky happenstance. My time in Seoul has been far less "Korean" that I originally imagined. Does that mean I didn't fully experience Korea or that I wasted my time here? I certainly don't think so, but I can already imagine the conversations when I return, where my stories of Korea will be curiously laden with baguettes and bad French pop music. But, that's the way it goes, so instead of reflecting on my Korean life, I thought it would be more authentic to reflect on my French one.

Our polaroid wall

Buddha's Birthday

The most obvious point of assault is language. French voices account for the majority of what I hear on a daily basis. “Ça va?” is much more common in our apartment than “How are you?”.  At this point, I vacillate between a great respect and an inordinate disdain for the French language. It truly is beautiful at times, with a rich history and fascinating usage. However, I don’t speak French and, accordingly, can't share in its benefits. As punishment, I am forced to regularly sit in rooms full of nasally laughter without having the slightest clue of what’s going on. Andre and I, in efforts to avoid this cluelessness, often have our own conversations across tables or rooms. The frustration goes both ways, though. The plethora of French speakers often have to speak my mother tongue, despite being in the large majority.

Food, as is the French way, is the next infestation. I believe the girls only made it a week before hosting a crêpe night. The Frenchies take great pride in their food, and I have thoroughly enjoyed the benefits of that pride. My diet has become a hodgepodge of American, Korean, and French foods. Thanks to visits from Capucine and Lola’s parents, our fridge is stocked with odorous cheeses, champagne from Champagne, and the spreadable meat/fat concoctions that are pâté, rillettes, and terrine (I still don’t know the difference but, apparently, all terrine are pâté but not all pâté are terrine). Writing this, I am reminded of the potent smell that seems to accompany everything the French eat. Also, I would like to shout out saucisson for being the best cured meat product I've had since my dad's famous "deer sticks".

Enjoying Spring in Seoul

I thought I had escaped the madness that is political elections after I left the U.S. 4 months ago. Two years of grueling elections had left America, me included, absolutely exhausted. Little did I know that France – and Korea for that matter – was in the middle of its own presidential election. Although not as vitriolic as our own, the French election brought its own brand of fascinating politics, with international implications and scandals galore. The names of candidates – Macron, Le Pen, Melenchon, Lassalle – were commonplace enough in my apartment that I might possibly be able to correctly pronounce Emmanuel Macron’s name. Possibly. Each week, I'd bother the girls for recent news or their opinions of the candidates. I have to say, sitting on the outside as a witness makes politics remarkably more enjoyable. With no skin in the game, there's no reason to live in perpetual fear. Now that the dust has settled, I am once again without polls to check incessantly or headlines to read. I’m not sure how I’ll survive...

One thing I’ve come to realize over the past few years is how completely separate media consumption is between cultures. Obviously, French people watch French T.V. and movies, but it’s always a strange to me when they don’t know Stevie Ray Vaughn or have never seen Saturday Night Live. The lack of overlap means I am in a constant state of astonishment. I can't tell you the number of times I've said, "Wait, you haven't seen that?!?" after I make a reference to The Office or something similar. For every important American figure or piece of media they don’t know, there’s two French equivalents I would never have heard of otherwise. For every Jon Stewart there’s a Yann Barthès, and for every Breakfast Club there’s a Qu'est-ce qu'on a fait au Bon Dieu? We all live in these little bubbles of entertainment that shape our collective conscious, and now my bubble, for better or worse, has grown to include French reality T.V., racist comedies, and cult classics from the 90’s. In my limited experience, I think this entertainment gap accounts for just a much cultural diversity as language or cuisine. It's the nitty-gritty of who we are, or in other words, the stories, music, and art that define how we think and feel. Learning about the intricacies of these cultural identities is probably my favorite aspect of living abroad. It's exciting to know that there's this abundance of unknown things to read, watch, and listen to. 

Regardless of how much time I spend idly listening to French conversations or complaining about silly French idiosyncrasies, I want to express my gratitude towards my French companions in Seoul. Thanks for taking the time to explain the entirety of French politics to me, thanks for feeding me your most prized French delicacies, thanks for translating jokes ten minutes after they were funny. Most of all, Lola, Bérénice, Neama,  Ibtihal, and Capucine, I'd like to thank y'all for welcoming me into your culture. 

As always, thanks for reading. I promise I'll try to keep it more Korean next time! 

-JCP