Sure Travel Journey Vol 4.1 Summer 2018 | Page 22

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© PAVONE/ADOBESTOCK
The bridge connecting Busan to the island of Yeongdo.
WAEGUGINS IN A JJIMJILBANG
A TA L E O F C U LT U R E S H O C K A N D S T E A M B AT H S I N S O U T H K O R E A , B Y K A T H F O U R I E
22 // MAKE MEMORIES FOR LIFE
in hand we push through the swing doors
and into the steamy, sacred area of the
all-female bathhouse.
My awkwardness, standing entirely
naked in rubber slippers that are far too
small for me, is soon replaced by slack-
jawed wonder at a shining, dripping, high-
roofed room filled with deep pools. Digital
thermometers blink the temperature in
giant neon-red numbers, and I head off to
what looks like the most scalding pool as
Gigi scolds, “No, Kitty! Don’t be gross, you
have to shower first! Duh!”
I trail after her and squat on a plastic
stool, one in a line of identical stations,
and we use handheld showers to rinse off
the sweat of the day. I try not to stare at
the rows of local women, all vigorously
scrubbing, brushing, washing, exfoliating
and generally making themselves squeaky
clean, completely comfortable with being
totally naked. Squatting on miniature
pink stools, grandmothers, mothers and
daughters chat and groom, best friends
share secrets and wash each other’s hair.
I realise that the jjimjilbang is about far
more than personal hygiene.
“
I TRY NOT TO
STARE AT THE ROWS OF
LOCAL WOMEN, ALL
VIGOROUSLY MAKING
THEMSELVES SQUEAKY
CLEAN, COMPLETELY
COMFORTABLE WITH
BEING TOTALLY
NAKED
“
Gigi is six foot tall, with a curly mane
of hair down to her backside and dark
honey-coloured skin. She is the product of
a military love affair between her African
American biological father and her petite
Korean mother. Gigi is, like me, a waegugin
– a foreigner – trying her inexpert hand
at teaching young South Korean children
how to speak English.
We live on an island attached by a
bridge to the mainland of Busan. Our
island is called Yeongdo and is famous
for its large navy school on one side,
fresh-fish restaurants on the other (so
fresh the wriggling creatures are mostly
served live) and the cliffs of Taejongdae.
It’s Friday night, and Gigi and I head off to
the local jjimjilbang, or bathhouse, at the
top of an obscure alleyway.
The receptionist tries her best not to
gawk as we hand over our 7 000 Won
– I don’t blame her, considering we’re a
rather comical pair when compared to the
standard clientele. We’re sent off into the
females-only side of the jjimjilbang, where
we are given starched pink pyjamas with
elasticated waists and string ties. Towels
Once sufficiently pruned we find the
“hot room”, which consists of eight deep
pits of different crystals and rocks. First I
bury Gigi in pink crystals up to her neck,
then I worm my way into a pit of tiny black
rocks and lie beside her. We sweat. Two
waegugin heads whisper to each other,
bodies buried in geodes and crystals,
trading stories about heartache and boys
late into the night.