An Autumn Duet in Korea

Apparently, I was replacing some Manitoban named Jack who had recently left my hagwan and returned home. So when my co-teachers brought me to my first expat social, I was jokingly introduced as the "new Jack." I was immediately welcomed; faces coming and going was a common occurrence in the expat lifestyle and everybody remembered what their first week in Korea was like.

There was a gaggle of Canadians from practically every province, though the Newfoundlander was weird and the Québécois guys muttered French among themselves and hit on anything that moved. Including, of course, the pretty American girl that just arrived in Wonju. Fortunately I was able to avoid them with the help of the Toronto girls. The Aussies were a rambunctious bunch of footballers, though in Wonju there was an uncomfortable truce between them and the British football fans, who under normal circumstances would have despised each other, but in the middle of Korea there weren't many options if you wanted to talk football. Stuart, the lone New Zealander footballer, sort of hovered around whichever faction wasn't playing against his country at a given moment.

The salary of an English hagwon teacher was above average compared to the locals, however it led to a situation where we had all this money and nothing to spend it on. Naturally, it was spent on food, alcohol, and staving off the boredom of living in the Korean countryside. There would constantly be outings between the Wonju foreigners, be it to a new restaurant, the latest bar someone discovered, or screaming into the microphone at a noraebang, otherwise known as a "singing room." It was a private rentable room full of strobe lights, disco balls, and a karaoke system. Many evenings of drinking ended with a few hours of renting a flashy room and singing whatever songs we found on the machine. It was shocking how many Bon Jovi songs were queued in a given evening.

If Wonju was feeling a little cramped, it was very common to take a day trip into Seoul on my days off. Maretha, now officially my adopted Afrikaaneer aunt, took me into the big city the first time and showed me where the English bookstores and coffee shops were. The following week, my fabulous adopted gay uncle Richard showed me the bars and nightlife of Seoul, where I somehow managed to keep up with him the whole night. I swear I learned more that weekend than I did my entire college career.

That was my first whirlwind month in South Korea; days spent teaching Korean children colors and animals, and nights spent eating delicious Korean barbecue followed by alcohol and singing rooms. I wasn't much of a drinker before, but the Wonju Expats slowly turned me into one. I slowly got used to the oddities of life in Korea, such as children on the streets shouting "hello" every time I walked outside, or grown adults holding hands with each other walking down the street. Even the awful television shows and the annoyingly cutesy fashion became a source of humor that you sort of shrugged and went along with.

Still, homesickness crept in as I would sit alone in the evenings in my room during the week. Occasionally, I would hear my neighbor in the other apartment, whom I had never actually seen coming or going, practice a piece of music on their piano. It would always make me glance up to the top of my wardrobe, where my lonely violin case lay. I would periodically inspect it, but I kept myself far too busy with the Wonju foreigners and teaching to actually pull it out and start playing. But once things in my Korean life became more comfortable and normalized, hearing the piano start tapping next door began to trigger that longing within me, reminding me of how much I missed playing.

It was midweek towards the end of August, and I had just cooked up a quick rice bowl after work. I was in my pajama shorts and a white camisole with my hair tied up in a messy knot, typing away an email to my parents. As I shoveled food into my mouth, I heard the familiar sounds of Bach being played on the piano next door. I listened for a bit, sighing as I once again regarded my violin, sitting patiently in its case. Holding my breath, I stood up and reached to the top of the wardrobe, hoisting it down.

Laying the case on my bed, I unzipped it carefully. First, I pulled out my bow from its holster. I inspected the horsehair, screwing it until I felt resistance and it bent inwards. Taking my rosin block from the pocket, I slid it up and down in slow motions, making sure the horsehair was coated properly.

The chin rest on the violin itself was already obviously adjusted for my neck, and I checked the f-holes to make sure a rodent or something hadn't made its home inside. I cleaned the strings with the cloth, and turned the knobs until I was satisfied with the sounds of the strings. I have to admit, I missed how familiar it felt in my hands, and I tentatively slid the bow across the strings to see how it sounded. For a moment, that feeling of homesickness had gone away as I plucked the chords.

Satisfied, I turned to my laptop, pulling up my folder of sheet music files. Since my neighbor had chosen to play Bach this evening, I decided to go with one of Bach's violin sonatas for myself to play around with. Feeling the violin under my chin guard and the bow in my hand, I was pleasantly surprised that the frustration I had felt in the spring was replaced by a familiar comfort. I guess Mom was right; maybe I just needed time to be ready to play again.

And play I did. I started tentatively, and immediately felt like I was way out of practice. Sure, it was only a handful of months that I was out of sorts with my music, but I could feel it in my fingers. I made sure to start slowly, wincing a few times as I missed a few strokes. In no time, however, I was hitting the chords just like I had before, and I had that genuine feeling of contentment of just making music. I started to go just a little faster and grinning, when suddenly I heard a gentle knocking on my door. I jumped a little, making a screech with my bow, and immediately stopped. No one ever knocked on my door -- was I making a racket? Taking my violin and bow in my left hand, I went to my door and tentatively peeked out.

Standing outside of my door was a young Korean woman, perhaps a couple of years older than me. She was slim, wearing a pink and white casual house dress that went past her knees. She was very attractive -- beautiful, if I was honest -- with bright brown eyes and black wavy hair that spilled past her shoulders. She didn't have that fake porcelain skin that was in vogue in Korea; her skin was fresh and flawless with a quiet smile on her pale lips. I immediately felt like a mess with my casual PJ's and my hair in a lazy knot.

Her eyebrows lit up in surprise as I opened the door. "Oh! You're American!" she exclaimed.

Koreans automatically assumed that every foreigner they met was American. Fortunately for me, it was always accurate.

"I am," I replied. "You speak English?"

"I do," she said with a modest smile. "I studied before, in New York. Is that where you are from?"

"No," I answered, "I am from Iowa. It's...somewhere in the middle."

"Like Wonju?" she said playfully.

I chuckled. "Yeah, kind of like Wonju."

"My name is Hye-Jin."

"I'm Elizabeth, but you can call me Ella."

"Nice to meet you, Ella."

I was a bit stunned. Hye-jin was the first Korean to actually pronounce my name correctly.

"I knew someone moved in next door," she continued, "but I haven't seen you in the building before."

"I've only been in Korea for a month or so," I replied. "I teach in the afternoons, so I'm usually not up in the mornings."

"I see. I work early in the mornings and am gone most of the day," she explained. "I didn't know you were also a musician. You play beautifully."

I blushed a little bit. "I've heard you play in the evenings. You play very well, too."

She flashed another modest smile. "Thank you. I teach piano sometimes. Do you play with anyone?"

I shook my head. "I haven't really been practicing since I arrived in Korea. Today was the first time in a while."

She waved me into the hallway. "You should come over. I can make some tea. Bring your violin and we can play together."

I readily agreed, and stepped into the hall and stepped over to the other apartment. Hye-jin's studio was a mirror image of my own, with the same white walls and fake wood flooring. However, whereas my room looked as sparse as a dorm room, Hye-jin's was well-lived in. Her furniture wasn't secondhand and flimsy like mine - the low table she had in the middle of the room had interesting carvings and an intricate rug underneath it. Her piano was in the same place where my desk was in my own apartment: an older but well maintained upright piano. She has an electric keyboard as well, off to the side.

She boiled the water for the tea as I inspected the apartment. She had a few flowers and plants scattered about, and various little pieces of traditional artwork on the walls. She had a mature sensibility to her decor; she was clearly better at adulting than I was. The teapot whistled as I sat on the floor at her table. I still wasn't used to sitting on the floor, as was customary for most Koreans, but at least she had some nice cushions. She set down the kettle with teacups and sat across from me, her dress spread underneath her, as we let the tea steep.

"Your apartment is really pretty," I told her.

"Thank you, I've been in this building for three years now," she replied.

"Your English is very good, too. You mentioned New York -- did you learn there?

"I learned here first," she said as she shyly smiled at my compliments, "but I got better in New York. I went to school there, and I studied music there."

"I studied music, too!" I exclaimed. "My major was in musical performance, and I only just graduated in May."

"It's very competitive," Hye-jin said quietly, as she poured into our cups. "I auditioned for a few schools, but I had to come back to Korea."

"I know what that's like," I sympathized as I took my first sip of tea. "That's one of the reasons I came to Korea. To save some money, maybe travel a little, and take a break from music. Well, until tonight, that is."

Hye-jin nodded, and took a drink. "You do play very well. I recognized Bach, so I came over because I thought you were listening to me."

I laughed. "I kind of was! But I'm glad you did. I was feeling a little homesick and lonely tonight."

"I'm happy I could help you," grinned Hye-jin.

We shared a laugh, and continued drinking our tea. We chatted about a lot of things: my life in Korea so far, Hye-jin's time in New York, and about our mutual lives. The conversation flowed very easily -- we never really stayed on one topic for too long. Hye-jin was very sweet, yet sophisticated and relaxed. I was usually kind of awkward with other people, but she had a way of putting me at ease. I eventually asked what piece she was working on, and in no time at all we were sitting at her piano and talking shop. I recognized the piece, and we started going over it together. It was clear right away that we had a sort of musical synergy, because in no time I picked up my violin to accompany her on the piano.

I never really did many piano and violin duets, since I had more experience with quartets or a full string section. However, Hye-jin was very easy to follow as her slender fingers floated gracefully across the keys. We chattered away, going over and over the notes, experimenting a little but really coming up with a good harmony. I couldn't remember the last time that I had had this much enjoyment practicing with someone!

At some point, I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Holy moley! It's 2 AM!" I cried.

Hye-jin gasped as well. We were so engrossed in the music that we completely lost track of time.

"Oh no," Hye-jin groaned, "I have to be up for work in five hours!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up so late!"

"No no, it's fine!" Hye-jin assured me. "This has been very fun!"

"I had fun too," I smiled back at her. It was a wretch to leave, but I knew I had to let her get to sleep.

"Do you want to continue tomorrow?" asked Hye-jin, expectantly.

"Of course! I can't wait!"

With the greatest reluctance, we flashed each other one final set of grins, and I made my way back to my apartment. My head was still buzzing from the thrill of just playing music again, and the pleasure of the entire evening. I put my violin back in its case, and started brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. I could hear Hye-jin puttering around on the other side of the wall in her own bathroom, probably doing the same thing.

I climbed into bed, still excited about the evening. I lay in bed in the dark, and I kept going over the piece and working out the notes in my head. But mostly, I kept thinking about Hye-jin. About how talented she was, and how sweet. I pictured her thoughtful smile, and the way her hair dipped when she played her piano. It was as if I forgot about my homesickness while I was with her. I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually I faded out and fell asleep.

The next day at work, I couldn't help but spend the entire day humming at my desk. Even some of the more rowdy kids in my class couldn't ruin my day. Maretha commented that I looked refreshed, and though Richard organized the English teachers for a midweek drink at the local bar, I took a rain check and went straight home after work. I heard Hye-jin on her piano as soon as I entered the building, so I quickly went into my apartment to drop off my bookbag. I also made sure to give myself a once-over in the mirror to make sure I looked nicer and more presentable than I had the night before. I fixed up my hair a little and even retouched my makeup for no particular reason.

Grabbing my violin case, I knocked on Hye-jin's door. She halted playing immediately and let me in. She looked just as perfect as yesterday, and noticed that she was wearing a bit of makeup as well. In no time flat we picked up right where we had left off the night before, and several productive hours later we grudgingly stopped for the evening, this time well before it got to an unreasonably late hour. I wanted to make sure Hye-jin wasn't up too late, since she had to start work way earlier than I did. She kept insisting on keeping me just a few more minutes several times, but with an iron determination I somehow managed to make it back to my apartment. I once again found it hard to sleep as my mind kept wandering back to Hye-jin and our music.

For the next two months, we were practically inseparable. We kept consorting on pieces, and it became common for us to spend our evenings at home together. Having Hye-jin around to order food was a godsend; I didn't have the ability to order in Korean over the phone, so Hye-jin happily ordered for both of us. In Korea, food is delivered in actual bowls and silverware, and after you finish eating you set them outside of your apartment door so that the delivery guy can come back hours later to pick them up. Sometimes we would go to a local restaurant that she knew and spend the evening chattering away. I was very thankful that she was there to translate my utility bills for me, and she was grateful for the chance to practice her English, which she insisted was not very good despite how many times I insisted it was.

My good mood at work continued, and I even started bringing my violin with me to class. It was fun playing a little violin for my students, who were entranced. I have to admit, I was showing off a little. My students started putting in requests for songs; they would tell me some video game that they liked and insist on having me play a song for them. The deal was that if everyone finished their homework and only spoke English in class, I would play whatever song they showed me. I appreciated the challenge, though eventually Richard and Jasper pestered me to bribe their classes with a song. I told them to go learn an instrument of their own!

It was a Friday night in October and the foreigner crowd had planned an outing at one of our favorite joints. Félix, one of the Québécois guys, had just finished his contract at his hogwan and was set to return to Montreal the following week, so tonight was going to be his last hurrah in Wonju. I had introduced Hye-jin to the foreigner crowd weeks ago, and she had quickly become one of the regulars. Not many Koreans could keep up with the craziness of our eclectic group -- hell, sometimes I couldn't -- but Hye-jin handled it with aplomb. She was always talking about how much she missed hanging out with Americans when she lived in New York, and sometimes Wonju felt too small for her despite being her hometown.

Hye-jin and I got ready in our respective apartments -- I wore a pink blouse with straps and skinny jeans, and she wore a casual black and white dress -- and we hailed a taxi together. We headed to an outdoor pub called Blues Sanjo, which was a place you'd never think to find in the middle of rural Korea. Tucked away on a side street, it consisted of a small building canopied by trees with a sizable outdoor area and seemingly random objects scattered about the courtyard. The interior was cozy and crowded, with walls of CDs, paraphernalia, and music posters everywhere. Random chairs of all shapes and sizes littered the area, and it was one of the best places in Wonju to socialize, drink, and chill outside.

The party was in full swing by the time we got out of the taxi. Opening the gate, I could see Jasper sitting with the rest of the Brits engaged in the usual heated political discussions. His bored girlfriend Fiona next to him looked desperate for an excuse to dislodge. Hye-jin and I made the rounds, waving at Richard and Maretha who were sharing a table in the back. I narrowly dodged the guest of honor Félix, who would have used any excuse to flirt with Hye-jin or me, by hiding behind Stuart. Hye-jin and I nabbed one of the vacant tables to make our roost for the evening, and were shortly joined by Jeannie and a couple of the Canadian girls.

More of the expats poured in as the evening went on, and soon the garden was lit up and music was blaring from the speakers on the roof. Our table made it through several shots of soju - a sort of Korean vodka which was literally cheaper than water and we were feeling quite good. The Aussies were the first to start dancing, and the Canadian girls at our table grinned as they leapt up to join them. Jasper and Fiona had somehow gone from an angry argument to a corner making out. Jeannie wandered to the bar and was busy chatting up with a new face, a blonde-haired guy who looked about as lost as I did when I arrived three months ago. A new transplant to Wonju, I assumed. Hye-jin and I stayed at our table and watched with amusement as the dancing got rowdier and rowdier.

Hours later the party started winding down, with the older folks like Maretha and Richard heading home. Félix, of course, insisted that the group head downtown for some more booze and some karaoke action at the noraebang. The group packed into taxis in waves, eventually with all of us meeting at another one of our regular bars, where more shots and beers were poured. I got happily and giddily drunk, and even Hye-jin was getting a bit unraveled.

However, Félix started getting a little grabby as the night wore on, and at a certain point he was getting a little out of control. He leaned in close and was breathing French into my ear as I sat uncomfortably. Sneakily, Hye-jin paid up both of our tabs and when he stumbled off to the bathroom she took me by the hand to whisk me out the front door. She was my absolute hero. Both of us were quite tipsy, and laughing we stumbled down the crooked streets of downtown Wonju together. We hooked on to each others' arms, mostly to keep our balance on the cobblestones, and skipped down the lane. We were still holding onto each other when we got to the taxi stop and climbed into the back seat of the first taxi that pulled up.