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U.S. talk-show host Conan O'Brien recently visited Korea, and the comedic sketches he made here are now circulating on social media. Despite his impressive pedigree as an entertainer, I found his efforts pedestrian, his comedy puerile.
Nevertheless, cross-cultural mishaps are (or should be) a rich seam of comedy. So permit me to entertain you, kind reader, with a brace of droll tales. Neither is scripted; both are true (really). Both feature foolhardy foreigners who underestimated the power of Korean food and drink, but be warned: these stories are X-rated.
The hero of our first yarn is "Paul," a good-looking, 20something Australian, who travelled to Seoul soon after the 1988 Olympics.
Paul was a lover of spicy grub who fancied he could master any foodstuff, however incendiary. Consulting "Lonely Planet," he discovered that Korea's most fearsome dish was yukgaejang (spicy beef stew). That became dinner on his first night in Korea. Although he had honed his palate on some of the world's most ferocious curries, he found yukgaejang searing. Still, he manfully finished the bowl.
The following morning, he took a bus from downtown Seoul to Mt. Namsan to visit his pal "Buddy," an American living in one of the foreigners' cottages that used to dot the mountain slopes. It was a gorgeous spring day as he took his seat. The bus departed.
Behind him sat a gaggle of local school girls. Judging by their glances, coos and giggles, they were quite taken by the Aussie Adonis: blond haired, blue-eyed and with his surfer's tan set off by white jeans and T-shirt, Paul was an exotic sight.
He enjoyed the attention, but was finding that his dinner was having an insidious effect: He simply could not stop breaking wind. As the bus climbed the Namsan road, his backside was firing farts like a machine gun fires bullets.
Fortunately, the window was open and fresh, alpine air wafted through the vehicle. The time came for Paul to alight. As he stood to press the "stop bus" buzzer, the schoolgirls behind him put their hands to their mouths, and in unison, they let out a collective gasp of utter horror.
In slow motion, as if in a nightmare, Paul realized he had been breaking more than just wind. A noxious, yellow-brown stain had spread across the seat of his white jeans; the liquid was now oozing down the backs of his thighs…
Off the bus, puce-faced, he flitted from tree to tree like a ninja, exploiting all cover to hide his embarrassment. Finally, sanctuary beckoned: Buddy's home. Paul rapped urgently upon the door, hissing at his chum to come to his rescue with a shower hose and a spare pair of trousers…
Alas, it was not Buddy who opened the door: It was his middle-aged mother! Grasping his hand she dragged him inside - where a crowd of friendly and inquisitive American matrons interrupted their coffee morning to warmly greet their Australian guest. As their smiles of greeting dissolved into looks of disgust, Paul's degradation was complete…
Food is one area of potential catastrophe. Drink is another. Korea's most notorious drink is soju, and it is soju that would be the downfall of our second hero, "Aaron." This young Briton considered himself a manly drinker, so when a Korean friend, "Mr. Nam," challenged him to sup soju in Jongno, he agreed with a flourish.
The first bottle slipped down smoothly. So did the second. A third bottle appeared; it, too, was downed. Mr. Nam suggested it was time to depart. Aaron concurred: he felt in fine fettle. But as he stood up from the table, the room seemed to spin and Aaron fell flat on his face. His balance was shot, his legs inoperable. Like a war casualty, he was dragged to a taxi. In the back, he passed out.
Aaron woke the following morning in a motel. His head throbbed, his belly churned as he tried to recall the previous night. To his surprise, he discovered he was wearing only his boxer shorts. Then he sensed a presence in bed beside him. Mr. Nam was snuggled up beside him…
Rarely in human history has any man exited a bed more swiftly. Aaron shot out, convinced he had been indecently assaulted. Mr. Nam bolted awake, and informed the panicked Brit in broken English, that it was normal for Korean men ― heterosexual men - to sleep together after a night of boozing.
Aaron finally calmed down, convinced that his virtue was intact. But the shock of those waking moments would never wear off. To this day, Aaron does not trust himself to drink more than a bottle of soju.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
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