August - Mongolian Soy Sauce Again
Monday, 1st August
Arrived in Paris. In Seoul it’s already 2 August but in Paris it’s still 1 August. The fact that the four of us. Dad, Hee-jeong’s dad, Hee-jeong and me. Made it all the way to our Paris flat can only be explained by God’s protection. And if there’s anything else it would be God’s infinite love. My faith spontaneous as it is is getting deeper by the hour.
06.00 Wake up on my own. I spend the night having nightmares about the plane crashing. I doze on and off.
07.00 Dad shakes me awake. I jolt upright. He asks why I didn’t sleep in the bed but on the floor. I can’t say ‘because I get travel-sick’ so I answer. ‘Just because.’
07.05 Check the weather. What if because of the rain the plane can’t take off? Mum says planes take off even with thunder and lightning. I say if there’s thunder and lightning it would be better if planes didn’t take off.
07.20 Hee-jeong calls to make sure we’re up.
07.30 Proper breakfast. Might be the last time I eat ‘Korean-style’.
08.00 Leave for Hee-jeong’s. Mum drives us.
08.25 Arrive at Hee-jeong’s. Since we all know we can’t leave until her dad finally comes out of the toilet we wait calmly. Her older brother wishes us a good trip and goes off to the study room. I feel a bit guilty. Then I forget. Mum tells Hee-jeong to take good care ‘of the men’. I’ve been bundled as a set with them.
08.30 Mum goes to work.
08.45 Hee-jeong’s mum yells at her husband to get out of the toilet or we’ll be late.
08.48 GPS. Hee-jeong’s dad has left his handbag at home. Passport and tickets are inside so Hee-jeong and I run back for it.
09.05 Finally leave for Incheon International Airport. Hee-jeong’s mum grumbles. ‘We’re going to miss the plane!’
09.20 She drives at 60 km/h. I begin to doubt we are genuinely going to Paris today.
10.25 Arrive at ICN. Peak season. The airport is overflowing.
10.55 Get boarding passes and check in baggage. Dad has only one book in his little bag. Places in Paris. I have only my phone in my pocket. Hee-jeong manages her father.
11.10 The security line is endless and it doesn’t shrink.
11.25 Passport control. Dad registers us for the fast-track machine. We pass without queueing. But I’m a bit disappointed. No stamp in the passport. Dad says we’ll get a stamp on entry to France and I calm down instantly. Today Dad looks oddly seasoned.
11.30 Hee-jeong looks at my passport photo and says I’m handsome. I think she’s joking because she’s in a good mood.
11.35 Duty-free circuit. The two dads stare slack-jawed at the alcohol. I can’t buy anything. It’s too expensive. Hee-jeong buys nothing either.
11.55 Dad lingers by the cigarettes. The moment I pull out my phone to photograph him he gives up. Next time I’ll have to do it secretly. Paparazzi fee or Dad’s health. That is the question.
12.00 Wait at the gate. The plane is enormous. I can’t believe something like that can fly.
12.30 Gate opens.
12.40 Boarding complete.
13.05 Scheduled departure but we don’t depart. Thunder and lightning. My whole body tightens. I’m rigid as wood.
13.25 Captain announces there are too many aircraft in Chinese airspace and we’re waiting. Dad says. ‘Then we can just go via India.’ People around us laugh. I’d like to laugh too but I’m so stiff nothing comes out.
13.35 Hee-jeong asks if anything hurts. I say no.
13.50 Captain says we’ll take off in fifteen minutes.
13.55 Hee-jeong’s dad complains he’s hungry. Suddenly I’m hungry too.
14.05 Take-off. Ears clog. I swallow. I cover my face with a magazine. Hee-jeong takes my hand. It barely helps. I learn that I too have a fear of flying.
14.20 Seatbelt sign off. Tribute to the Wright brothers!
15.00 Meal. Bibimbap. Hee-jeong’s dad asks for an extra heated rice. The flight attendant brings it. Then Dad asks for an extra rice too. They look like bears preparing to hibernate.
16.45 Turbulence. The plane shakes violently.
19.30 Hee-jeong wakes me. ‘Eat something.’
20.00 Set my phone to Paris time. Because of daylight saving it’s seven hours behind. Paris, 13.00.
15.00 (Paris time) Captain announces we’re over Moscow. I wake with a start. Who exactly asked?
15.40 Hee-jeong gets up too. Three more hours and we arrive. Dad gets up washes his face brushes his teeth. He looks like someone who flies a lot. Yet I’ve never seen him go on a business trip… Is he an undercover spy disguised as a programmer?
16.00 Hee-jeong’s dad wakes and goes into the toilet.
16.15 A flight attendant knocks on the toilet door. Maybe she’s worried about an incident. Hee-jeong tells her it’s ‘an occupational illness’. The flight attendant can’t hold back her laughter. Hee-jeong says she’s going to file a complaint with the airline.
17.00 Still an hour before landing but everyone’s already standing ready to bolt. If you handed them parachutes they’d jump immediately.
18.05 Landing announcement. The attendants force people back into their seats. There is always someone who never obeys and keeps wandering.
18.25 Safe landing. I discover what psychological stability feels like when both feet finally touch the ground.
18.30 Dad and I handle the luggage. Hee-jeong handles her father.
18.45 Entering France is almost nothing. Stamp and you’re through.
18.50 Hee-jeong’s dad disappears. Dad goes looking for him in the men’s toilets.
18.55 Hee-jeong tells him he should warn us before wandering off. He says he was too desperate. He doesn’t apologise. Not once.
19.05 Our bags still haven’t appeared.
19.15 Finally retrieve the suitcases.
19.20 The two dads start discussing how to get to the flat. They could have discussed this on the plane. Honestly.
19.35 Decision. Roissybus to Opéra then taxi to the flat.
19.40 We can’t find the Roissybus stop. Dad goes to the information desk and asks in very clear Korean. ‘Where do we take the Roissybus?’ Hee-jeong and I stand there with our mouths open. And unbelievably a blonde French woman points the way using gestures. I think. Thank goodness we’ve met a French woman who knows Korean.
19.45 Dad asks a cleaner still in Korean. ‘Is this where you take the Roissybus?’ And even more unbelievably the man replies. ‘Oui. Oui. Yes. Yes.’ Hee-jeong laughs, I laugh, Dad laughs, Hee-jeong’s dad laughs. We all laugh until our stomachs hurt. My father that fox.
19.55 The bus doesn’t come. We wait with the blonde ladies.
20.05 Still no bus. The waiting group grows to about ten.
20.15 Hee-jeong’s dad says we’ll be too late. Let’s take a taxi. We agree.
20.20 Walking towards the taxi rank. The Roissybus arrives. A violent moment of indecision. But Hee-jeong’s dad decides. ‘Taxi. Taxi’s quicker.’ We were properly stitched up. It’s his first time in Paris. We regret listening to him immediately.
20.21 The taxi queue is monstrous. I write it into my brain. Never listen to Hee-jeong’s dad again.
20.30 Finally get into a taxi. Dad says something to the driver. It is definitely not Korean. Dad sits in front.
20.35 Dad explains that in Paris even if there are only three passengers you can’t necessarily sit in front. You need the driver’s permission. Hee-jeong is stunned. So am I.
21.30 Paris appears. Hee-jeong and I look at each other and smile. It’s still light as if the sun is refusing to set. I feel like I’m stepping into Amélie.
21.55 The big red gate in front of our building. We’ve arrived. The driver receives a generous tip.
22.00 In Seoul it’s 5 a.m.
We lug the bags up and quietly tour the flat. It’s small and narrow but warm. What impresses me most are the solid wooden pillars. Even the ceiling beams are exposed. It looks like a house that’s been standing for centuries. Nothing like our concrete apartment blocks in Seoul.
I share the largest room with Dad. Hee-jeong’s dad and Hee-jeong each take a tiny room. Or rather room. They’re the size of cupboards.
We did nothing in Paris and yet the first day is already over. Time stop it.
Tuesday, 2nd August
According to our original schedule today was the Louvre. But we missed the Louvre because we slept in too late. When I open my eyes it’s 10.30. Only Dad got up early. He says he went out alone to look around as far as Goncourt and République stations. By the time Hee-jeong’s dad finally emerges from the toilet it’s the perfect time for lunch. At least we saved a meal.
‘Five minutes from here there’s a good restaurant. Let’s eat there.’
‘Oh yes? You said this is your second time in Paris? Or the third?’
‘Second. But it was ages ago. I don’t remember clearly.’
‘Dad you’d been to Paris before? Why didn’t you ever say?’ I ask appalled.
‘You didn’t know? I thought you knew.’
‘We didn’t know.’ Hee-jeong adds.
‘You were babies when we came. I never had the chance to talk about it.’
And it’s true. It hasn’t been that long since Dad and I started having real conversations. When he was working I hardly ever saw his face.
‘Look. You see Hôtel du Nord?’
‘Hôtel du Nord. Isn’t that the Hôtel du Nord?’
‘Yes. There’s the book and the film too.’
‘Yes. I remember. I saw it a long time ago at an arthouse cinema.’ Hee-jeong’s dad lights up. ‘So that’s Hôtel du Nord. Incredible this place still exists.’
‘I didn’t know either but in the book Uncle lent me there’s a passage about it. Apparently it’s not a hotel anymore. Just a restaurant.’
‘That’s astonishing. Truly astonishing.’
‘I think I glimpsed it once walking along the Canal Saint-Martin. Back then I looked at it without thinking. But this morning I searched for it on purpose. It’s just behind our flat.’
‘Dad. That’s the Canal Saint-Martin?’
‘Yes. That’s the Canal Saint-Martin.’
‘Waaah!’ Hee-jeong and I shout at the same time.
‘Don’t tell me you were imagining the Panama Canal.’ Dad says laughing.
Hee-jeong and I glance at each other. The smile rises again. Found it. Canal Saint-Martin.
After a French lunch that’s a bit greasy and heavy we walk along the canal. Canal Saint-Martin is really tiny. Crossing from one side to the other takes less than thirty seconds. It’s impossible to tell where Amélie skipped stones. It all looks the same. But it doesn’t matter. We’re walking along Canal Saint-Martin. The two dads are affectionate like old friends. My father. I don’t understand him.
Dad says it’s the first day we shouldn’t push ourselves. Let’s just see a few things. Museums should be early morning otherwise you can’t get in because of queues. So we go to the Eiffel Tower. According to our schedule the nearest station was Bir-Hakeim. But Dad takes us to Trocadéro. Hee-jeong and I follow anxiously. We come out of the metro. The Eiffel Tower is suddenly there right in front of us. Dad was right. You could almost touch it. But there are too many people. Hee-jeong takes my hand. I squeeze hard. Not ‘for anything’. Just so I don’t lose her in the crowd. Hee-jeong’s mum asked me didn’t she? ‘Please take good care of our Hee-jeong.’
‘Do you like boats? Right next door is the Maritime Museum. Not too crowded and it’s really good.’
‘Dad that’s in our plan in two days…’
‘Is it? Then since we’re here we’ll go.’
Our schedule starts to derail. Hee-jeong and I decide to trust Dad.
The Maritime Museum is incredible. There are even life-size boats. Sailing ships, submarines, aircraft carriers and warships as models. Many are bigger than me. In one corner there’s a model-making workshop visible behind glass.
Dad explains one model. How they transported an obelisk from Egypt.
‘But wasn’t the obelisk a gift from Egypt? I think I heard that…’
‘The French say Champollion deciphered hieroglyphs and Egypt offered it as a commemoration. That’s the French version. I’d like to hear what Egyptians themselves would say.’
‘Yes. France and Britain grew rich by looting cultural property.’
Suddenly our trip turns cultured. These dad-to-dad conversations are unexpected.
And in this museum where there’s almost no one Hee-jeong still doesn’t let go of my hand.
Wednesday, 3rd August
With rice and banchan we bought yesterday at a Korean grocery near Opéra we make a simple breakfast. Hee-jeong’s dad sang all evening that after only one day he already wanted Korean food. Today he says he’s going to buy jokbal to eat. Ugh. Jokbal. Here it’s Paris. Paris.
Because Hee-jeong’s dad spent thirty minutes in the toilet we give up on the Louvre again. Dad says the first Sunday of every month entry is free so we’ll go on 7 August. I don’t know when he prepared all this.
Because of the rain the streets are wet. Dried dog poo dissolves in the water and runs. The whole city smells of dog shit. Sometimes there’s even human shit mixed in. Paris city of flowing shit. Unforgettable impression. And yet even in the rain homeless people sleep outside without seeking shelter. Hee-jeong gives a coin to every homeless person she sees. In Paris it feels like there’s one every hundred metres.
Today we went to Montmartre. We also stopped by the café from Amélie. There were lots of Japanese women. Unlike the film there was no cigarette stand.
From the top of Montmartre I looked at Paris. No tall buildings. The view is open. On the way down we saw the sculpture The Man Who Walks Through Walls. I thought it looked more like ‘the man stuck in the wall’.
Hee-jeong’s dad wanted to pass by Montmartre Cemetery. François Truffaut’s grave is there. Our schedule gets pushed to the side.
Hee-jeong’s dad makes an icy joke. Truffaut like Romeo and Juliet isn’t ‘two people’. In the August sun we shiver. He says he dreamed of being a director but his family opposed it strongly. The two dads talk about Truffaut for a long time. I understand nothing. So Hee-jeong and I wander the cemetery holding hands. A cemetery in the middle of the city is strange. The coexistence of the living and the dead unsettles me.
And in that huge cemetery I find a familiar name. Berlioz. Of course I’ve never listened to his music. I only know the name. And obviously I can’t remember where I heard it.
Thursday, 4th August
Mum calls to check the ‘no smoking’ clause. I report Dad hasn’t smoked. Mum says when we get back she’ll demand a health check for insurance. If he smokes even a single cigarette he fails and his sabbatical year is over. Dad darkens.
Today it didn’t rain. But there are lots of clouds. Nothing like Seoul’s sky. Here the clouds are low thick soft.
Hee-jeong says. ‘These clouds look like a Magritte painting.’
Ugh. Who is Magritte?
Fourth day in Paris. I already feel like a Parisian. Foreigners no longer feel foreign. This morning we went to the Musée d’Orsay. On the top floor we saw the Impressionists. What can I say?
I liked Degas. I like his crooked framing. Hee-jeong stood for a long time in front of Van Gogh. She says her favourite is The Siesta. Eventually I came to prefer Van Gogh to Degas. And I decided. My favourite painting will also be The Siesta.
In a Manet who is that beautiful woman with thick eyebrows? She looks like Hee-jeong.
Friday, 5th August
Dad and Hee-jeong’s dad say. ‘Today we’ll do a bit of walking.’ As if we aren’t already walking daily until our feet blister. What does ‘a bit of walking’ mean? I understood last night when they drank two bottles of wine with jokbal. Their chatter drove me mad.
We take an overground metro and get off at Corvisart. Then we follow Dad. Up a slope past a playground down a street with odd engravings painted on the walls. Dad talks nonstop about the Paris Commune, exile and bloody massacre. Hee-jeong and I don’t understand adult stories. But I like this quiet lane. No tourists no crowds. The place is called Butte-aux-Cailles. An island within Paris. Yesterday we were on Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis. They didn’t feel like islands. Too many people you can barely move queues everywhere so in the end you do nothing.
When the sun gets strong the two dads want ‘a beer’. They step into a tiny pub Le Diamant on the corner of an even tinier square. Hee-jeong’s dad orders a Guinness. No Guinness. So they drink whatever draught the pot-bellied owner recommends looking disappointed.
Peaceful afternoon. We did well to flee the tourists.
But then. Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Élysées, Montparnasse, Pompidou, Saint-Ouen flea market, Orangerie and Rodin. When are we going? There aren’t many days left.
Red alert.
Saturday, 6th August
Hee-jeong who loved Butte-aux-Cailles asks my dad where we’re going today. Unbelievable. Even Hee-jeong betrays me.
Dad says. ‘Today. La Santé Prison.’
Prison? Who’s locked up there? Are we breaking someone out? And what about the Champs-Élysées?!
La Santé Prison is very impressive. A prison in the middle of the city with walls so high. Luckily near the wall there are several temporary public toilets. Hee-jeong’s dad looks for a toilet at any hour. French food must be destroying his stomach. I take a photo of the prison and a man on the street gestures ‘no’ as if it’s forbidden. It must be a no-photo zone.
From the prison we walk to Montparnasse Cemetery. We don’t go up Montparnasse Tower. Dad says in Seoul we have towers everywhere. But the cemetery has Sartre.
At Montparnasse we meet several famous dead people. Dad explains in detail but I know almost no one. Sartre, Beauvoir, Serge Gainsbourg, Jean Seberg and Baudelaire ‘the poet with the softest name’ but apparently his poems are frightening. I’ll decide to read them in Seoul.
In front of Jean Seberg’s grave Hee-jeong’s dad looks like a man reuniting with an old love. And he says to my dad. ‘Tonight a drink?’
As if he didn’t drink yesterday.
Sunday, 7th August
If my friends ask what we saw in Paris I’ll have to answer. ‘a prison, cemeteries and hills.’ Total catastrophe. Aaah.
Fortunately today we went to the Louvre. Even if Hee-jeong’s dad keeps repeating ‘looted treasures’ beautiful is beautiful.
06.00 Wake up. Dad tells Hee-jeong’s dad to go to the toilet first.
06.30 The moment he comes out we each take turns showering.
07.25 Breakfast ready. We set only three portions. For Hee-jeong’s dad breakfast forbidden.
07.45 Meal finished.
07.55 Washing up done.
08.00 Leave for the Louvre.
08.35 Arrive. Dad doesn’t go towards the entrance by the Arc du Carrousel. He takes us somewhere ‘odd’. There are hardly any people. Over at the Arc du Carrousel it’s already a human tide.
09.00 Enter. Over there the queue stretches for hundreds of metres. Dad makes a V-sign with his right hand. Hee-jeong bursts out laughing. So do I.
09.10 Hee-jeong’s dad goes into the toilet.
09.25 He comes out.
09.30 Hee-jeong sets a rendezvous. Everyone visits as they like. We meet at 12:30. Everyone agrees. Hee-jeong and I go to Denon Wing, Hee-jeong’s dad to Sully and Dad to Richelieu.
09.35 So I won’t be separated from Hee-jeong I take her hand first. Also because of her mum’s request…
10.15 Wonder after wonder. In front of Michelangelo’s Rebellious Slave and Dying Slave I’m speechless. The Dying Slave, could he not put on a bit of clothing? It’s awkward in front of Hee-jeong. Psyche and Cupid kissing. Awkward too. My hands sweat.
10.25 Winged Victory of Samothrace. I flinch. It’s enormous. A Chinese man touches it for a photo. Panic. The guard shouts ‘S’il vous plaît!’ but the man pretends not to understand and continues.
10.27 The guard finally roars ‘S’IL VOUS PLAÎT!’ and only then does he stop. And in the motion the guard’s wig falls on the floor.
10.30 The guard puts his wig back on.
11.25 Mona Lisa. You can barely see her from a hundred metres away. Next to her another Leonardo portrait. A woman who isn’t smiling. No one looks at her. Up close she has a truly unpleasant face.
11.55 My soles hurt. Paintings all of it. I just want a chair. But the chairs are monopolised by men with prominent bellies. Hee-jeong and I sit on the floor in a corner. I put down my handkerchief so Hee-jeong can sit.
12.15 We’ve seen everything we can. The paintings even begin to bore me.
12.30 Go to the meeting point. Nobody. We assume the two dads are lost. We search everywhere.
12.45 They’re sitting in the café. And they ask why we’re ‘so late’. Honestly.
13.00 Light lunch at the museum café.
13.30 Hee-jeong and I head off again. The dads say. ‘We’ll take it easy. You go see what you want. Come back to the café.’
14.05 Egyptian department.
15.15 After Egypt I feel like becoming a mummy. My legs are numb.
15.55 We get lost. We keep landing in French classical painting. French landscapes. Saturation.
16.05 Everywhere men half-collapsed. Everywhere you can lean men with bellies already installed. Long benches occupied by ladies.
16.30 End room. Dead end. There a strange painting. A Pierrot with an unfunny face by Watteau. Hee-jeong half emptied stares at it. So do I. Hee-jeong photographs it. It was an adorable painting.
16.55 Return to the café. The two dads haven’t moved an inch.
17.15 At the Korean grocery near the Louvre we buy a mountain of jokbal, sashimi, etc.
17.20 I say. ‘Let’s take a taxi.’ Dad. ‘A taxi for such a short distance?’ The dads rested all day in the café so their feet don’t hurt. Ours do. Dad refuses.
17.25 Hee-jeong tells Dad she wants a taxi.
18.05 Taxi. Arrive home.
After dinner I ask Dad. ‘When are we doing a Seine cruise?’ Dad replies. ‘Byeok do Seoul people take a boat on the Han River?’
‘No. So what?’
‘You think Parisians take tourist boats?’
‘But we aren’t Parisians.’
‘Exactly. It’s a thing for bumpkins.’
Strategic retreat. I’ll ask Hee-jeong later. Dad listens to Hee-jeong better than he listens to me.
Monday, 8th August
Hee-jeong’s dad says the accumulated fatigue is too much and we should rest all day. What! After already resting all day yesterday at the Louvre he wants to rest again? We ate lunch at Hôtel du Nord then Hee-jeong’s dad went back to the flat. Dad Hee-jeong and I went out for a walk. Hee-jeong’s dad told us to come back before sunset. But in Paris in summer the sun is endless. It doesn’t start getting dark until after ten p.m. So does he mean we should come back or that we shouldn’t come back?
Walking along Canal Saint-Martin we saw a boat cross it. It moved so slowly it looked as if it would take days to cover the canal.
We followed Dad from Goncourt station towards the ‘Chinese quarter’. Truly just as the Korean students said this place looked like an exhibition of human races. From Arabs to Chinese. People of all kinds lived there dressed in a thousand different ways. The market looked like a traditional market in Seoul. What struck me though was the number of men sprawled in cafés all day. Don’t they work? Or do their wives earn the money? Strange people.
Dad suggested we go into a café for coffee.
Tuesday, 9th August
Red alert. I scraped my ankle on a rusty nail and had to get three stitches. We were supposed to go to the Musée de Cluny today but I slipped heavily on an enormous amount of freshly deposited dog poo. As I slid my ankle hit a nail sticking out of an abandoned chair. Hee-jeong’s dad looked at the wound and said it wasn’t deep but it would be best to get a tetanus jab.
Thanks to the help of a kind Arab man we were able to go straight to the emergency department at Hôtel-Dieu Hospital near Notre-Dame around Saint-Germain. Without him we would probably have wandered for ages before finding the hospital.
Luckily this Arab man had seen with his own eyes me slipping on dog poo and then impaling my ankle on the nail so he could explain everything in detail to the doctor. The doctor looked at the wound and said it was nothing then asked me to wait. Wait? When life and death are at stake? I wonder if he really has a medical degree.
Dad tried to thank the Arab man by offering him something but he refused politely. While I waited in the waiting room Hee-jeong held my hand firmly. In truth I was so shocked I couldn’t even feel the pain in my ankle yet.
Eventually the doctor put me in a wheelchair and took me to the treatment room. Hee-jeong’s dad came in with me. I got a tetanus injection and three stitches. The doctor said that fortunately there was no danger to my life. We left the hospital with a simple prescription for disinfectant. Seeing me limp out Dad called me ‘dog poo’. Ugh. While I was being stitched Hee-jeong carefully cleaned my shoes covered in dog poo.
My ankle throbbed so much I said we had to take a taxi but Dad told me to stop being precious. Luckily Hee-jeong’s dad managed to catch a taxi and we returned comfortably to the flat. At home Hee-jeong looked after me. In the end getting injured may not be entirely bad.
But today we didn’t pay the hospital bill. I’m afraid I’ll be arrested at the airport.
Wednesday, 10th August
We’ve already been in Paris ten days and so far we’ve visited frightening prisons, depressing cemeteries, quiet hills and hospitals reeking of alcohol. Yes, we saw the Louvre and Orsay but this trip feels unreal as if we’re under a spell. And now I have to walk with a limp. The overall look is miserable.
Today I really wanted to do something meaningful. Something that resembles an actual trip. For example admire the Eiffel Tower at night or take a Seine cruise. Or at least go up the Arc de Triomphe and walk hand in hand with Hee-jeong along the Champs-Élysées.
But Hee-jeong’s dad had severe diarrhoea and couldn’t go out. After taking the emergency anti-diarrhoea medicine he’d brought it finally calmed down.
Hee-jeong and I walked along Canal Saint-Martin. Canal Saint-Martin. I’m sick of it now.
Thursday, 11th August
It’s our last day in Paris. Since Hee-jeong’s dad was better early in the morning we climbed the Arc de Triomphe walked the Champs-Élysées and took a Seine cruise. But contrary to my expectations everything was rather ordinary. I already missed the quiet lanes of Butte-aux-Cailles. Walking along the high walls of La Santé Prison felt more pleasant. In the afternoon we saw Monet’s large canvases at the Orangerie. Monet looks as if he had a white veil over his eyes. Why are his paintings so blurry? Napoleon said everything great is beautiful didn’t he? In any case the paintings were big.
To see the Eiffel Tower lit up we ate dinner at home before going out. It was our first evening without alcohol. And we finally understood why we’d never seen Paris at night until now.
We got off at Trocadéro to see the Eiffel Tower at night. In the packed crowd we barely managed to take one souvenir photo. Then we saw the night view of the Champs-Élysées once more from the Arc de Triomphe. Still I kept thinking about the quiet alleyways of Butte-aux-Cailles.
‘It’s too crowded. I don’t like it. Do you?’ Hee-jeong said.
‘Yes. Me too. I prefer Butte-aux-Cailles.’
‘Me too. I like the wall of La Santé Prison or Montparnasse Cemetery better.’
‘Isn’t that strange?’
‘Your dad seems to really know things.’
On the way back Hee-jeong’s dad bought two bottles of a grand cru. How could you spend the last night in Paris without alcohol?
Friday, 12th August
My head hurts from the hangover. Hee-jeong’s dad offered a glass of wine to his future son-in-law. I had trouble refusing my future father-in-law’s request so I drank it in one go. After that I remember nothing. I hope I didn’t do anything stupid… But why is Hee-jeong who drank with me completely fine? She must be more resistant to alcohol. Family trait presumably.
Dad accompanied us to the airport. Since I didn’t know what to say as I left him I shouted ‘Don’t smoke!’ Dad smiled a bit awkward. What is he thinking? I realise I don’t really know my father.
Fortunately nobody mentioned the Hôtel-Dieu bill at exit control. The officer looked totally uninterested in his job. After all where’s the joy in stamping passports all day?
At the Charles de Gaulle duty-free shop I bought a pen set and a keyring shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Hee-jeong’s dad bought her a white sweater she can wear in autumn as a souvenir of Paris. Hee-jeong held the sweater against her chest and asked if it was pretty. Of course it is.
So our Paris trip ended. But Aunt Jeong-su isn’t going to propose a maths lesson tomorrow is she? Please.
Saturday, 13th August
I’m too tired to write anything. Because of the time difference I can’t even sleep. And the sky is overcast. My whole body feels heavy and sore.
Sunday, 14th August
Mum told me to go and greet Grandpa and Grandma. Grandma saw my ankle and stroked my head saying. ‘My little puppy you had a hard time didn’t you.’ Grandpa asked what I liked most. I answered the quiet time on that hill called Butte-aux-Cailles. Warm light and a silence as if time had stopped. More than the famous tourist-packed places of Paris that spot is what stayed somewhere deep inside me.
In my room I was sorting the Paris metro tickets museum stubs and so on when Dong-wan called. He asked how Paris was. I only said ‘It was good.’ I couldn’t tell him about Paris’s prisons, cemeteries, hills, the running dog poo, the homeless people and the gloomy hospital. Those kinds of stories have to be told slowly face to face.
On my way back after greeting Aunt Jeong-su and Uncle I stopped by Hee-jeong’s. Her mum welcomed me warmly. Her older brother wasn’t there. He must have gone to study. Hee-jeong said she’d suffered the time difference all day yesterday too. If it hadn’t rained she would’ve gone cycling on the Han River…
We spent time flipping through Impressionist art books. Seeing reproductions of paintings we’d seen in real life felt strange. And Hee-jeong said ‘The paintings we saw at Orsay were in 3D but in the books they’re 2D.’ Listening to her the images looked a bit flat.
Soon it’s the new term. Aaah.
Monday, 15th August (Liberation Day)
Without Liberation Day today would have been the first day back at school wouldn’t it. I applaud warmly Korea’s independence on 15 August 1945. A day so important and full of meaning should become a three-day weekend. Well if that’s too long two days would do.
Dong-wan and Jong-gu came to my place. Dong-wan had spent two weeks in Mongolia and Jong-gu had had fun at English camp with Hye-seon. I told them about Paris. The prisons, cemeteries, hills, dog poo, homeless people and the hospital. Of course I told them about the Louvre and Orsay too. But these idiots had no interest in my serious Paris story. They kept asking whether I’d kissed Hee-jeong.
I need friends at my level.
Tuesday, 16th August
First day back. Obviously Hee-jeong’s and my Paris trip is the topic. The boys surrounded me and the girls surrounded Hee-jeong. I explained with dignity that my dad and Hee-jeong’s dad were senior and junior from the same university. They were travelling together and by a twist of fate Hee-jeong and I came along. It sounded slightly off but it wasn’t a complete lie was it? But they were only interested in one thing. Whether I kissed Hee-jeong in Paris. Honestly. That’s a secret. There’s the dignity of a young lady isn’t there. Do you think I’m going to shout it everywhere you morons?
On the way home after school Jong-gu pushed Dong-wan to run for class representative.
‘Dong-wan do it this time. You’d make a good rep.’
And miracle. The words ‘bloody’ and ‘proper’ and swearing had disappeared from Jong-gu’s mouth.
‘Hey Lee Jong-gu. You don’t swear anymore?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. Hye-seon kept lecturing me at English camp so I decided to stop.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Even without swear words we understand each other perfectly.’
‘Well done Lee Jong-gu.’ I said ‘And Dong-wan you really should run. You’re popular.’
‘I’m not very confident…’ Dong-wan said.
‘Why?’ Jong-gu asked.
‘Because. I’m only half Korean.’
Dong-wan’s face darkened a little.
‘Hey what does ‘half’ even mean? Nobody even calls you Mongolian soy sauce anymore. You’re fine.’ Jong-gu insisted.
Dong-wan said he’d talk to his parents.
I’d never known Dong-wan thought of himself as ‘half Korean’. I thought I knew him well. Apparently I don’t. People don’t easily show what they carry inside. I’ll have to ask Hee-jeong what she thinks. Dong-wan as class rep. What would that look like?
Wednesday, 17th August
Hee-jeong says Dong-wan would be a good class rep. And he’s popular with the girls. Only Dong-wan doesn’t realise it.
Hee-jeong herself had been elected deputy rep last term and she did it unwillingly. She says she doesn’t want to wear that kind of ‘decoration’ anymore. Instead she wants to study more with me.
Exactly. Then why am I not running?
Thursday, 18th August
Pushed by Jong-gu Dong-wan finally entered as a candidate. Jong-gu and Hee-jeong endorsed him. I’m Dong-wan’s desk neighbour so I deliberately didn’t put myself among the endorsers. Shin Bo-ram and Yoo Ha-neul ran too. And at the very last minute Cheol-uk—nice boy—was nominated and ran as well. Surprising. Cheol-uk is introverted. He isn’t particularly good in class nor particularly good at sports. And yet people like him. Hee-jeong says Cheol-uk listens very well to other people. That’s why the girls like him.
Anyway the election is next Wednesday. In my opinion Dong-wan will win by a landslide. But Cheol-uk is a variable. We can’t relax.
I studied maths for the first time in ages. But the formulas felt so alien. As if I was seeing them for the first time. Catastrophe. Aunt Jeong-su said she’ll test us on Saturday on everything we learned.
Friday, 19th August
Since this morning diarrhoea. I didn’t eat anything strange but my stomach hurt. The moment I got to school I ran to the toilets. And there I heard a strange conversation.
‘Hey you know the Mongolian soy sauce from Class 3 is running?’
‘Yeah it’s well funny isn’t it?’
‘Proper. He’s good at studying good at sport sure but bloody hell… still… how can a Mongolian soy sauce be class rep?’
‘Ah bloody hell it’s not even funny seriously.’
‘And what next? After that the ‘Vietcong’ in Class 1 runs for student council?’
‘The kids in Class 3 are pathetic. Seriously haven’t they got anyone else?’
It was as if I’d swallowed ten anti-diarrhoea tablets. Everything stopped at once. I tried to see who was speaking through the gap in the stall door but I only saw the backs of heads. When I finished and opened the door they’d disappeared. Disgusting blokes. But I didn’t tell anyone. Because in our class there isn’t anyone that nasty.
Saturday, 20th August
Thanks to the maths i studied late last night I barely passed Aunt Jeong-su’s test. She said from now on we’ll move to a harder workbook. Hee-jeong praised me. ‘You worked hard.’ These days life has flavour again.
I also had a good time with Mr Jamie for the first time in ages. I told him my bizarre experiences in Paris. He said that rather than only going where everyone goes finding a place of your own that stays in your heart—that is also the pleasure of travel. Thinking about it Butte-aux-Cailles might be exactly my place.
I told him I’d been in a wheelchair in Paris. That I’d been scared. He told me to be careful so I never get back on one again. Once is enough. You must never return. Yes sir.
From next week Hee-jeong will also study English with Mr Jamie. She saw me stammer out a few sentences and decided she’d learn with him too. Good. When I study maths Hee-jeong studies English. When I study English Hee-jeong studies maths. We are a perfect duo.
But once we’re back in Korea I no longer have a chance to hold her hand!
Sunday, 21st August
Since Dad isn’t here all the little household chores are mine. After breakfast I was sorting recycling to take out when Mr Sisina greeted me.
‘Byeok you’re back from Paris?’
‘Hello sir.’ I said smiling. ‘Yes It was good.’
‘Well done. I heard there are many Sri Lankans in Paris too. I’d like to go one day.’
‘Yes you should. In Paris there are many Black people, many Asians and many Arabs. Near where we stayed there were hardly any French.’
‘The French may have all gone on holiday?’
‘Oh is that possible?’
‘How would I know?’ He burst into bright laughter.
Mr Sisina always has a smile at the corner of his mouth. What can possibly make him so cheerful?
Then he asked ‘Byeok is there a bus from here to Guro? Direct?’
‘A bus? The metro is fast—you’ll be there quickly.’
‘I didn’t ask the metro. Do you know the bus number?’
‘Take the metro. It’s only a few stops.’
‘Yes but I don’t really like the metro…’ His smile vanished.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘When I take the metro people move away from me. That… that does something to me.’ His face darkened.
‘I’m sorry sir.’ I said without thinking as if I should apologise.
‘You—why? It’s fine. Don’t worry.’ The smile came back softly.
‘Wait a moment. I’ll ask Mum the bus number to Guro.’
‘No no. It’s fine. I’ll take the metro.’ He stopped me. ‘See you.’ And he hurried out of the alley.
I didn’t feel well. The nasty men insulting Dong-wan in the toilets a few days ago flashed through my mind. And that very brief shadow that had passed over Mr Sisina’s face stayed in my heart.
Monday, 22nd August
It’s hot and yet Jong-gu and Hye-seon are still holding hands. Aren’t they hot? Dong-wan says. ‘If you’re jealous you’ve already lost.’ Jealous me? Why would I be jealous!
This weekend should I suggest to Hee-jeong that we at least go to Namsan since Dobong-san is too far?
Tuesday, 23rd August
Hee-jeong says after the gifted maths class she argued with some girls. Some of them said ‘How can a boy with Mongolian blood become class rep?’ Hee-jeong too stunned asked what that had to do with anything. They said Dong-wan is good at studying popular sure but as class rep ‘still it’s impossible’. Hee-jeong asked what they meant and they said a Mongolian soy sauce as class rep is unthinkable.
Catastrophe. Maybe we were wrong to push Dong-wan to run.
Wednesday, 24th August
Cheol-uk became our class representative for the second term. Dong-wan got only six votes. So apart from our group of five only one person voted for Dong-wan. Dong-wan’s face was dark. Jong-gu even apologised to him. But Dong-wan said it wasn’t our fault. He even consoled us telling us not to worry too much. I don’t know what to say to Dong-wan. I can’t see a path. What do we do?
Thursday, 25th August
Cheol-uk ran the class meeting and did it very well. He isn’t good in class he’s introverted so I’d never really noticed him but today I saw him differently. Of course Dong-wan would also have been excellent as class rep.
Today I thought this. What if later Dong-wan became a judge? He would surely want to be fair and impartial. But wouldn’t people discriminate against him even more saying Mongolian blood runs in him? On the other hand if Dong-wan became a mover a factory worker an ordinary employee he might face less discrimination. The more Dong-wan used his abilities the greater the discrimination would become. That’s what I feel.
Why didn’t our classmates recognise Dong-wan? Not long ago they begged him to explain hard maths problems they pleaded with him to play basketball. Why did they change? I know Cheol-uk is kind and good but that doesn’t give any reason to hate Dong-wan does it? If Dong-wan hadn’t run would they still be treating him the same way as before? Nobody says it openly but I can feel the way people treat Dong-wan is no longer the same.
Then Mr Sisina—how hard must it be for him in Korea?
Friday, 26th August
After school there was a basketball match. Class 4 asked for a rematch because of the previous game. Dong-wan didn’t play. Nobody suggested he play and he didn’t look like he wanted to.
Of course we lost.
Saturday, 27th August
Dad called from Paris. He still seems to be hanging around weird parts of Paris. Last Sunday he says he went to the Paris racecourse. He suddenly wanted to see horses run. Yet in Seoul he’d never once set foot in a racecourse. Dad is strange. He must not have lost all the travel money on betting…
At bedtime I kept thinking about Dong-wan so I called him in the end. ‘Dong-wan tomorrow—shall we cycle by the river?’
‘I’ve got no energy.’
‘Then… the cinema?’
‘The cinema’s crowded. I don’t like it.’
‘Pizza, burger?’
‘It’s fine… but sorry. If you don’t want to go alone go with Hee-jeong. Not with me.’
This can’t continue. Red alert. I have to find Dong-wan a girlfriend or something.
Sunday, 28th August
Eating breakfast alone with Mum feels strangely empty. It’s like Mum doesn’t even miss Dad. I asked when Dad would come back. Mum replied ‘How would I know?’ What if Mum and Dad’s marriage has a problem…? No. That can’t be… can it?
Monday, 29th August
Since this morning I’ve been in a foul mood. Cheol-jin called Dong-wan Mongolian soy sauce so I put him in his place. This week Dong-wan and Cheol-jin are on classroom duty. And Cheol-jin says to Dong-wan. ‘Today the Mongolian soy sauce wipes the board. Tomorrow I’ll wipe.’ The moment I heard it I shoved Cheol-jin against the wall and told him if he said that word even once more I’d beat him up. Cheol-jin got scared and avoided my eyes.
Something’s wrong. I’m worried.
Tuesday, 30th August
Cheol-jin’s mother came to school. The form tutor called me into the staff room and told me to apologize to Cheol-jin. I refused. I said it was Cheol-jin who should apologize to Dong-wan. Cheol-jin’s mother screamed 'What kind of child acts like this!?' And I answered ‘He’s right there.’ The teachers in the room stared at me stunned.
When I explained that Cheol-jin started it by calling Dong-wan Mongolian soy sauce the form tutor still said it was wrong to hit a classmate. So I said I hadn’t hit him. But I added that if Cheol-jin kept lying next time I really would hit him. At that moment Cheol-jin’s mother screamed even louder and tried to hit me. Without Mr Kim Su-yeong I don’t know what would’ve happened.
From today I will never again call Mr Kim Su-yeong ‘Ppagasari’.
Wednesday, 31st August
Hee-jeong told me I behaved well by not hitting Cheol-jin. If I’d hit him the situation would have got worse. In reality Cheol-jin’s mother’s intervention flipped the class atmosphere completely. Students whisper that Cheol-jin is a liar and a loser and that his mother stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. According to Hee-jeong our classmates praise me. They say I held to my convictions to defend a friend without backing down.
Thanks to Mr Kim Su-yeong whom we called ‘Ppagasari’ Cheol-jin’s mother’s madness calmed down and Cheol-jin finally had to apologize to Dong-wan. In our class nobody calls Dong-wan Mongolian soy sauce anymore.
But I’m still uneasy. I’m afraid of living with people who don’t think like me. If Cheol-jin hadn’t simply avoided my eyes and if he’d wanted to fight. What would have happened? Just thinking about it scares me. I might have ended up living with the whole class—no the whole school—as enemies.
All of a sudden I feel like I’ve become an adult. But this dark heavy mood. What is it? What is Dong-wan thinking right now? What did his mother say to him? And his father. What does he feel?
Tonight I miss Dad. Dad is probably on a train somewhere between Paris and Milan…