Attack of the Adjuma

Korea has loads of adjumas and adjushis roaming the streets looking to start trouble. Due to the level of respect required for your elders in this confucian society once you go grey you can almost do as you please.

One peaceful sunny day in the park I was doing some reading when I was asked by an adjushi if I wanted an empty soju bottle. Quite the ice breaker. He then proceeded with the usual banter, where are you from?, what do you do?, do you like Korea?, how about kimchi? Then he informs me that he is fluent in French and studied French poetry. When he spotted my ceramics book he grabbed my hand and praised me for studying this Korean craft. Ten minutes later, and still holding my hand, he asks me to stand up so he can recite a French poem to me. Charming, even with all the teeth sucking and projectile spit.

My Korean co-teacher Betty took me to a Buddhist Temple in Seoul. They were having a special event and were displaying some Buddhist artwork. I was the only wagukin on the grounds and one lady was so thrilled to see me she ran over, babbled something to Betty, latched onto me, and didn't let go, or give me any wiggle room, for the next ten minutes. This bond turned into a photo shoot with me, the Buddhist, and every piece of art in the gallery. Scurrying from one piece to the next, I was pleading with my eyes to please remain open so only one photo was necessary at each piece.

While on a trip south a group of 30 or so foreigners were taking in the local scenery when a adjushi influenced by the potent soju was delighted to see so many western faces. He embraced a male comrade; hugging him, declaring his love for him, even getting a nice feel of his butt. When the link was broken he came for me. Terrified as he was stumbling towards me, I saw the way be grabbed the guys butt and didn't want to be a victim of that clench. Luckily I was only graced with an overtaking hug and a confession from his heart.

On the way to the mountain an adjuma helped me find my way. After the hike she spotted me again, offering me an apple and a seat on her well spotted rock. She was collecting acorns as many do here. In return for my apple I tried to help her with her gathering. I don't think I'm cut out for an adjuma's assistant because no matter how many acorns I found, none of them were good enough. They were all rejected with a “aughsssss” sound and a toss over her shoulder.

On topic of the gathering adjumas, I was told that in many parks there are signs to these collectors discouraging them from hoarding the acorns. The adjumas are too fast for the wildlife and they are seeing a decline in the wildlife population.

The cook at our school doesn't speak english, and she doesn't usually understand my attempts at Korean. I was unsure if she liked me or not because she usually has to help me prepare my lunch because these Korean conglomerates can be very confusing, and more often than not I turn down the murky, fish smelling soup, which she then prepares for me anyways and grunts at if I bring it back untouched. One day on the street outside of our hagwon I see the cook and wave hello, keeping on my way. I hear the running steps behind me, next thing the cook is arm and arm with me. We walk together speaking a lot, but in our native tongue till our directions change. Now I know we are friends, but I think the whole time we were walking she was probably telling me I should eat the soup because 'it's good for my health'.