Apartment living in Pyeongtaek
It is my second morning in Pyeongtaek. As I did yesterday, I am sitting on my “porch”, a small room divided from the bedroom by sliding glass doors and from the outside by glass, screens, and a barred railing. The view out the window is a microcosm of Korea. To my far right are the tall buildings of the university and downtown Pyeongtaek. Closer to the right are neatly divided fields of rice and an irrigation canal spanned by a small white bridge (see photo).
Each morning one or two men in Wellingtons and overalls have come and picked something from the truck garden bordering the rice fields, but from seven stories up I cannot tell what they are harvesting.
Straight ahead of me is a Presbyterian Church. At night the three crosses on top glow with bright red neon, a common sight across Korea. It is too hazy today for a picture, but far behind the church are two small mountains which I think mark the border of the province.
At the far left is an apartment building exactly like mine. There are 21 stories in each building and there are 15 or 20 of the buildings in this complex. In the courtyards are arbor-covered picnic tables and playgrounds, little nooks of green that turn cramped quarters into friendly spaces.
There are 45 million people in South Korea, which is the size of the state of Indiana. That so many rice fields, truck farms and pear orchards continue to exist speaks both to how recently Korea has urbanized and how little physical space each person needs to live. My apartment is spacious by traditional Korean standards.
Three feet inside the front door there is a step which symbolizes the entry to the house. Everyone takes off their shoes before climbing this step (I of course completely forgot when I got here - I was carrying luggage - and I was politely reminded). From there one can turn left into a little “front room” which at the moment is mostly empty except for the microwave, toaster oven and rice cooker (I think the first two were provided specifically for the American).
If one heads straight from the door you walk through the galley kitchen. It includes a double sink, three burner stove and refrigerator, and plenty of storage space. A small alcove has a table and two chairs (again I think provided specifically for the American).
At this point you can turn left into a tiny divided room. The front half has a washing machine. Sliding frosted glass doors allow entry to the bathroom.
A brief explanation of the bathroom is necessary since it helps explain a great deal about Korea. Look at the pictures.
You will notice that the medicine cabinet has a glass front - there seem to be few secrets in a Korean bathroom. The sink is only about 5 inches above my knee, a reminder that until very recently average Koreans were far shorter than Americans. Note that the electrical outlet and toilet paper holder are covered.
When you combine these odd facts with the frosted doors and the thus far complete lack of mention of a shower, you will have the dawning awareness I did my first evening here - the bathroom IS the shower. There is a drain in the floor and a nozzle with cord on the wall and one learns VERY QUICKLY not to leave anything on the bathroom counter that cannot get wet.
Straight through from the kitchen is the bedroom, the largest room in the house. In a typical Korean home the beds would be rolled up every morning and the room used as workroom, playroom, and living room. In my case there are two western style beds and a low table.
The far bedroom “wall” is glass and leads to the porch, which contains two fascinating features. First a spigot and sprayer which I at first thought was the shower, but the large bank of windows suggested not. It turns out to be a version of the American utility sink, used for cleaning plants, kim chee pots, muddy shoes. The water simply swirls across the tiled floor and down the drain! Near the ceiling is a fascinating contraption which turns out to be the clothes drying rack. It can be lowered for use and raised up out of the way. The doors in the photo can be used to shut the bedroom off from the kitchen but I have not chosen to install them.
The apartment came furnished with sheets, pots, plates and bowls, Korean metal chopstick and spoon sets, and (for the American) two forks. There are no towels however so I am off today with dictionary in hand to see what I can manage. So far it is amazing what one can do with a little polite Korean, a little mangled English and a whole lot of pantomime and good will. The adventure continues….
2 comments August 22, 2007
