The Korea W Philharmonic Orchestra

Last week, Mark came over to me with a secretive look in his eye. He turned his back a bit to the others in R&D and said, “Hey. Would you be interested in going to an opera?” After I looked at him stupidly for a moment, he elaborated.

“Janet bought ten tickets to an opera or something. Do you like that kind of stuff?” I explained that, having been educated in a private Montessori school, I was not unfamiliar with opera, and would enjoy attending one. He showed me one of the tickets, and I realized it was not an opera at all, but a performance by the Korea W Philharmonic Orchestra (essentially pronounced in Korean as, “Ko-ri-ah W Pil-ha-mon-eek Oh-ke-su-tu-ra”). Mark told me I’d get a ticket for sure if less than ten wanted them, but if more than that were interested, we’d have to raffle them off.

By Friday, there was enough interest that we had to have a raffle after our monthly meeting. Furthermore, three of the tickets were for the VIP section, and we had to choose who would receive those as well. To make a long, boring story shorter, I ended up being the recipient of one of the VIP tickets. We decided that we would go to a Canadian Thanksgiving party at Maria’s, then head out together to the concert hall.

I was excited to wear my suit – and to see if it still fits. So many people have told me that I look skinnier since I moved to Korea, but I haven’t lost weight. I still weigh about 80kg, but I have somehow lost fat. My face looks thinner, the pants I brought from America don’t fit well, and I had to add a hole to my belt. Regardless, I was eager to don the suit, bought a short 11 (whoa… 11? I guess that’s not so short…) months ago. Indeed, the pants are too loose, but I still think I pulled it off.

I showed up to the Thanksgiving dinner in my finest, but immediately loosened the tie and collar as I downed as much delicious North American cuisine and wine as I could. The soiree was a blast, but soon the time came to leave for the concert.

Our cabbie was spectacular, but with that in mind, a segue/explanation of Korean cabs: Cabs are invariably driven by ajusshis. An ajusshi is simply a middle-aged-or-older man. They are often grouchy, undoubtedly skilled but intense drivers, and unlikely to speak English well if at all. Occasionally, they will “treat” foreigners (as we are called) to rides around half of Seoul before delivering them to their destinations. Can you imagine why they might do that? Indeed. Do not fall asleep in a cab if you don’t want to pay an exorbitant fee upon arrival at your destination.

In any event, back to our cabbie. I, along with Kelly and Jadwega, got into the car and handed the ajusshi one of our tickets. He scanned it, exclaimed comprehension, and started to drive off, but swiftly turned and said, “What time?” I figured he meant “What time does your event start,” so I told him, “8:00!” He nodded grimly, said, “Okay,” downshifted, and floored it. He deftly maneuvered his Hyundai Sonata through the legendary Seoul traffic, and delivered us in record time. We actually arrived 10-15 minutes earlier than our comrades, who actually got underway before us. Apparently, their cabbie was of the caliber I described in my segue.

Together and at the concert hall at last, we found Jay, one of the Korean teachers from work. He looked at our tickets, and told everyone where to go. Maria, Abby, and I, however, were in a spot of trouble. Apparently, VIP tickeholders needed to arrive 30 minutes early to be seated. Jay assured us that he could get things rolling, which was true. We were able to get tickets, but not together. That would just not do – we’re all far too social for that nonsense. The ticket agent offered to downgrade our seats, though, so give us some next to each other. We took that option in the interest of camaraderie.

The orchestra looked spectacular, as did the hall. The performance was also comfortingly familiar to anyone who had been to one before. The orchestral rituals were the same, as was the attire and general aesthetic. However, this was a special performance honoring the Republic of Korea’s 60th anniversary! As such, some of the songs featured traditional instruments. Used during the show was a taepyeongso, an oboe-like instrument, and a gayageum, a spectacular stringed instrument. Both pieces were my first experiences with traditional Korean instruments, and I was very impressed.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the exposure to Korean tradition, what really caught my attention was a song called (I think), “Wine and Manner.” The soprano singer began to sing this song, and it sounded more jovial than the rest, and it was. I picked up two words in her song as soon as I heard them, for they made me start – makgeolli and mekju. The former is my favorite alcoholic beverage, a sort of sweet/tart rice wine. The latter is the Korean word for beer (you likely know my attitudes toward that particular beverage). It was fairly clear by the way the singer shook her finger that she was chiding over-drinkers, and a later conversation with Jay confirmed my assumption. Indeed, the song was satirizing the Korean drinking culture of soju binges and chants of “one shot!” (this call means one must finish whatever drink they’re holding in one shot – even if it’s a full mug of beer)

I’m going to back-track here for a moment, but I needed to save this for last because it’s embarrassing. Likely, those few who read this will never get this far, but in the sake of honesty and posterity, I must record it. I said the cultural infusion from the traditiona instruments caught my eye most sharply – but that is a half truth. In normal conversation, yes, that is what I say, and it is almost the case. However, what, or I should say who caught my eye the most was our hostess of the evening – a former Miss Korea – Lee Ha-nui. All I can say is that she was the most captivating Korean woman I’ve seen yet (yes, much more beautiful than Lee Hyo-ri). She, too, is a gayageum player, as well as a Seoul National University student and graduate student.

I immediately professed my undying love for Miss Lee and desire to propose marriage (not to her, but to Maria). Of course, during intermission, we saw her a few feet away. I couldn’t help but stroll casually past to get a good look – stunning, obviously – only to grow red-faced and hurry back to my colleagues. Maria, though, thought it would be a good idea to go tell her that there was a poor, young, foreign man pining for her across the hall. Luckily, Maria’s plan was thwarted by the end-of-intermission bell. Oh well. It was not meant to be.