While I was in South Korea, I had plenty of opportunities to watch people, especially when I was sitting at a table in a restaurant, eating. Whether I was observing fellow patrons at their own tables or watching pedestrians walking past the restaurant window, I saw a lot of brisk activity over the eight short days in this far-away country.
I was hungry for duk-kalbi, a barbecue beef that is wrapped in lettuce and popped into your mouth. From my Airbnb room, I searched Google for the closest restaurant that served this food. It was in the centre of the touristy Hanok Village, less than a 10-minute walk away. I grabbed my smartphone and headed out.
The menu was not suited to a single person, dining alone. I ordered my meal, the restaurant specialty, and a bottle of mokoli, a semi-fermented rice wine.
Because it was fairly late in the evening, almost 8:00, the restaurant wasn't crowded. It was scheduled to close at 9, and so those who were in there were almost finishing up or were in for a short dining experience.
With my dinner delivered, I was prepared to focus on the job at hand: take a leaf of lettuce; add some greens, some noodles, a sliver of raw garlic, and samjang, a red-pepper paste. Take a piece of beef, dip it in a salty sauce, and place it on top. Roll up the lettuce into a bite-sized bundle and pop the whole thing in your mouth.
I had more pieces of beef than I had leaves of lettuce, so when I could no longer wrap a bite, I slowly grazed at all of my side dishes, leisurely popping a piece of the tender meat into my mouth and sipping at my beverage. It was at this point that my eyes started wandering the room.
I didn't see them come into the room. A couple in their mid to late 20s. The woman was beautiful: makeup flawlessly applied and her long, dark hair combed impeccably straight. She wore a navy blue dress with flecks of pink and red. The man was in a tan golf shirt with a light-weight, light-blue jacket over it. His hair was short on the sides, puffed on top.
I noticed the body language right away. The man was leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed either on the food in front of him or up toward the ceiling. He was speaking boisterously, obviously trying to get his ideas out. He would pause only to put food in his mouth, when he would continue to speak and chew at the same time.
I figured he was mansplaining.
The woman had her elbows on the table. The chopsticks in her hand were occasionally picking at her food but it was clear that she wasn't hungry. Her eyes rolled upward and then scanned the restaurant, seemingly seeking a distraction.
She found it in my eyes, as my gaze met hers.
Neither of us flinched or looked away. Her eyes and face said, "Oh, a westerner. I wonder what he's doing in Chŏnju." She held her gaze and let out a subtle sigh.
I raised my eyebrows. My mouth turned to a slight frown. "It doesn't look like you're enjoying yourself," my face said.
"I'm not," she relied, wordlessly. Her eyes turned to her dinner partner, and then back to me. "He's all about himself," she gestured with her face, "he hasn't engaged me."
"That's okay," my face nodded in sympathy, "I'll keep you company."
"You're not with anybody?" her eyes asked as she looked to the empty seat at my table.
"Just me."
The woman's dinner partner raised his voice over some point he was trying to make, and her gaze turned to him. Figuring that our exchange was over, I picked up my smartphone and described my observation on Twitter.
I put my phone down and picked up my chopsticks. I reached for another piece of beef and popped it in my mouth. My eyes returned to the woman, who was once again looking at me.
"Where did you go?" her eyes asked me.
"Sorry," I indicated, "you seemed distracted by your partner."
"Why won't he ask me for my opinion?"
"I'm sorry to say that from my perspective, he isn't interested in your opinion." I reached for my final piece of meat. My meal was pretty much done, with only a few side dishes remaining for me to poke at. I still had almost a third of my mokoli left. I picked up the small bowl that held my drink and, still in her gaze, raised it subtly in a toast. "Kombei," I implied. Cheers.
She picked up her glass of soju, a clear, distilled drink. "Kombei," she answered, also with a slightly raised glass. We both smiled and took a sip. "Do you like mokoli?" her eyes turned to my drinking bowl and then back to me, her eyebrows raised in question.
"Very much. I've missed it." I took another sip without looking away from her.
The man asked her a question and she spoke for the first time. "Nae, nae." Yes, yes.
The man took a quick swig of his soju and spooned some vegetables and rice into his mouth before continuing his pontificating. Once again, I took a pause to live-tweet my wordless interaction.
Phone down, I looked back at her. She looked a bit sad. "I don't want to be here," her eyes told me. "I can't wait for this evening to be over."
"First date?"
"Yes." As if she truly understood me, she gave me a subtle nod.
"Last date?" I rolled my eyes for emphasis.
She smiled and almost laughed, but composed herself, lest her date discover that she wasn't paying attention to him. "Yes," she replied, also rolling her eyes.
A server came to my table with a trolley and began removing some of my empty plates. I could see that I only had a few sips of mokoli. Other dinner guests had left, save for one other table with two women about my age. They too were just finishing up. I looked at my watch and saw that it was just a couple of minutes before 9.
The staff wanted to clean up and go home.
I picked up my mokoli, gave it a swirl, and looked at the woman. "This has been fun but it looks like the time for me to go is now."
"Please stay," her eyes implored, "don't leave me alone."
I took my last swig, "Sorry, but I have no valid reason to stay."
She looked utterly deflated.
"Thanks for keeping me company," I gestured, "and good luck." With my eyes, I bowed, and then I picked up my phone and made my way to the front of the restaurant, where the cashier was ready for me. Behind me, the two women who were at the only other occupied table were also approaching to settle their bill.
As soon as I paid for my meal, I stepped out into the warm, spring evening. There was a bench along the sidewalk, facing the restaurant, and I sat down to give another tweet: I'm now outside the restaurant. The woman looked deflated as I headed from my table to pay my bill and go. As I type this, I can see her, looking at me through the window, as her dinner date prattles on.
I stand, put my phone in my back pocket, and give the woman a wave of my hand. "Good night, fair lady."
She smiles, raises her soju glass once more in a salute, and shoots back the remaining contents before turning to her dinner date. A little liquid courage, perhaps?
I turn to the street ahead, feeling less alone in this city, feeling that for the first time since I arrived in Korea, I've made someone else's day a little brighter.
People watching doesn't hold a candle to conversations in silence.
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