Itaewon Diaries: Survival Tactics
In Seoul, survival meant working harder, sleeping less, and trusting no one.
Seoul is a beautiful city. It’s cliche to say this, but it really is. And its beauty is as much in its old temples, traditional architecture, ultra modern and sleek skyscrapers, as it is in the tangle of telephone wires, mismatched building styles, graffiti and crumbling old ghettos. It’s a complicated beauty. Rough around the edges, yes, but that's what makes it dynamic and why I loved it.
I reflected on how pretty everything was as I sat on a bench in Apgujeong, a luxury shopping district in Gangnam. Sipping on an ice americano, watching women that looked like the Korean version of Elle Woods walk by. Some of them had surgical bandages covering their noses, which made sense since this neighborhood had some of Seoul’s best beauty clinics. I came here a lot, even if I could only afford an americano, I found it inspiring to see all the beautiful, wealthy girls. After I graduate, maybe I’ll finally be able to get a decent salary and afford to dress like that. Get a little work done (boobs or lipo?).
To my left I heard a sudden coarse voice yell, “Changnyeo!!!”
I turned my head to see a woman crawling on the sidewalk towards me. She was at least 80 years old – probably more, extremely disheveled, and obviously homeless. It seemed like her legs were lame, and she was crawling towards me using just her arms, yelling, “Whore!!”
She was looking directly at me. I couldn’t fathom why she would be talking to me, but maybe she just hated foreigners.
“SLUT! CHANGNYEO!” She screamed as she crawled closer. No one passing by acknowledged her or seemed to even see her. “She’s a WHORE! She’s a WHORE! This one is a WHORE!”
I was transfixed, our eyes locked, and she was crawling a few feet from me now. I couldn’t even think of moving away.
Suddenly she was right beneath me, and she reached to grab my ankles, pulling me down to the ground. She screamed,
“YOU FUCKING STUPID WHORE!”
I bolted awake, kicking the sheets off instead of kicking the old woman. My heart was pounding as I realized it was morning, I was in my bed in the goshitel.
Everything was quiet. No, not completely quiet – through the thin wall I could hear my Tunisian neighbor softly crying in her room, as she often did.
Another typical day.
I sighed, sat up, and got ready to go to class.
***
My days would go like this: I woke up in my little narrow bed, drank from a 2 liter bottled water by my bed, then went to my university. Class, student government, the school’s newspaper – I filled up my schedule as much as possible. I didn’t want to waste my time and hard earned tuition money by not taking advantage of opportunities in my program.
After my classes, I’d go to students’ houses as a private English tutor. I liked kids. I was a good teacher. Then, I’d head to The Gambit.
The Gambit was a whiskey bar in a trendy neighborhood called Haebangcheon (HBC) by a US military base. More tucked away and hip than Itaewon – it was not uncommon to have sightings of Korean celebrities and proto-influencers in this district. It was filled with foreigners, off the beaten path, and the cool kids could feel free to be themselves without the judgmental eye of the Korean public on them. Not that I would know who anyone was. I did see JYP once at the bar across the street from The Gambit. If you have no idea who that is – he’s basically like the scandal-free Michael Jackson of Korea.
The Gambit was owned by an ornery middle aged Australian expat who had come to Seoul twenty years ago. His friend had moved here first and told him about how great life was here – the nightlife, the women, the food, but most of all the money. He made a considerable name for himself in the ‘professional foreigner’ industry – showing up on Korean variety shows and giving his insights, opinions, and hot takes. It was a solid D-level celebrity gig.
He cashed out a few years ago and bought the whole building the Gambit was in. I wondered why he never went back to Australia, but it was probably because like most “expats” who come to Asia, their career becomes too niche to translate back home.
The bar was small, moody, with a vaguely retro American jazz themed design. Most of the cocktails on the menu were whiskey based. The room had a bar space and some seats by the windows – in total, ten seats. Most weeknights, we’d get 2-3 customers maximum. That was how I liked it, since nobody tipped and I was paid hourly, I would steal much needed free time to do my reading for my courses. In the dim light of the bar, I’d read about International Political Theory.
I had no bartending experience when I started the job – and I guessed I was hired for being a young, relatively attractive white girl. A good ornament to match the theme. I learned bartending quickly enough, although I never did figure out how to use the digital register system ( it was all in Korean). I’d get people’s orders mixed up all the time – and I didn’t even know if chardonnay was white wine or red wine. I opened my first bottle of wine by myself while at this job.
Most of the customers were regulars – Americans, Canadians and Brits who gathered in this foreigner district. The Koreans who came in were usually artists and alternatives. There was a 40ish Korean Art professor who would come by with his female students – a different one every other night. There was an American journalist who worked for one of the big networks – maybe CNN? – who would come once a week and order a Manhattan every time. Then there was even a Canadian businessman who came twice, who would later be arrested in China on espionage charges. I gave him recommendations for popcorn topping in our last chat.
I liked it there. My friends who lived in HBC would come and hangout at the bar with me most days. I liked spending my time away from the goshitel.
My friend Mina was also a bartender and a grad student in the same program as me. She spoke Korean fluently, unlike me, and was able to get a job at an ultra upscale members only bar in Hannam-dong. One of the patrons took a particular liking to her. When she quit that job, he followed her to my bar – where she would come and I’d give her free drinks as we chatted.
The patron’s English name was David. David was a wealthy businessman from Seoul, about 5 '10, somewhere in his 40s, and had an affable soft featured face. If I were more shrewd, he could’ve been the perfect target to get money from, ask for help getting out of the goshitel, get a job, anything. For some reason, this never crossed my mind.
David and Mina sat at the bar talking about his latest failed relationship. Another professional model just wasn't good enough for him. I served him Bulleit bourbon on the rocks. Mina, a glass of white wine.
“So Mina, why won’t you teach me English?” David asked with a wry smile.
“I told you, David! I don’t want to, I’m too busy with school – plus, I’m not even a native English speaker.” I knew the real reason was that Mina wanted to keep him at arm’s length. And she didn't need the money.
“But you’re getting your MBA at Yonsei University and the whole program is in English!” He said, in perfect English.
“David, didn’t you go to an international boarding school in Switzerland? Your English is better than mine.”
“Yeah, I did. But that was so long ago, and I’m rusty now.” David spoke perfect English, with a barely perceptible accent. “It was the world’s most expensive private school at the time, y’know,” he added with a chuckle. Why it was funny, I didn’t get.
“I told you, I don’t want to do it. Why don’t you ask Alicia. She’s the native English speaker here, not me.” Unlike Mina, I was not going to turn down an income source.
“You know what. That’s a good idea. Alright, you should teach me English!”
“Sure, David. For 800,000 won per hour.” I came up with a ridiculous number – about $75 an hour. He immediately agreed. I should’ve asked for more.
***
So, from then on, I was David's English teacher.
I didn’t know much about David until we started our “lessons”. He was the son of an ultra wealthy family in Korea. His mother was a famous fashion designer from the 80s. His father lost almost all of the family money from a few bad investments when David was in his 20s.
“You’ll never understand how bad it is to go from being so rich that you can buy anything, to poor,” he told me while driving a Porsche to our lesson location – Signiel Seoul Hotel, one of the top luxury hotels in Seoul.
“It’s one thing to be poor all your life. But when you’re really rich like I was, and then you lose everything… its soul crushing. I wanted to die. I even walked across Mapo Bridge once, thinking about jumping.” David had been born into one of Korea’s old money families. He went from being the top 1% to the top 5%.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard that must be… So what did you do?”
“Well, my mom really pulled through with her fashion thing. She was basically dressing half of Gangnam’s women back then, and thanks to her my father was able to reinvest and get his company back. But it never was the same….” He trailed off in thought, “But I’m going to get back to the top again. That’s what I’m doing with my businesses. It’s not easy.”
We arrived at the hotel. The pristine lobby had strings of glass or crystal hanging from the ceiling. A pretty woman in a hotel uniform greets David like she’s welcoming him back home, “Welcome, sir!”
They exchanged a few words in Korean that I couldn't understand, but they spoke like old friends. She showed us to a low table and handed us menus. I glanced at the prices and I had to force my face to not react. One cup of coffee was $20. I knew that I didn't have to worry about the price, though, because David would pay for everything. "Let's get the bingsu! It's famous for their bingsu here," David said. The bingsu, a Korean-style shaved ice, was $50.
As they brought our order to the table, David saw somebody he knew. He waved to a beautiful, well-dressed woman wearing designer clothes that I couldn't recognize. An old acquaintance, he later explained. She glanced at me. I became aware I may be underdressed. I was wearing a striped T-shirt, jean shorts, and cheap sneakers.
The lesson time was just having a conversation. I had tried to bring a textbook once for class structure, but he waved it away. "No, no, I don't want that," he said. "I just want to talk." So talk, we did. He always was inviting me out, even if it wasn't a lesson. Or joining Mina at the bar with some friends. It seemed like he never was alone. Every time we met up he took me out to eat, and it usually was the only full meal I had that week.
This English teacher companion arrangement was more lucrative than bartending, and I asked David if he had any other friends who needed lessons. I started to meet with a few other of his acquaintances to help them practice “English conversation." These other men didn't have as high an English level as David and didn't seem to be quite as rich, but nonetheless, they paid for my time and fed me.
One day I was having a lesson with a friend of David's. His English name is Paul. Paul was like David in his mid-50s, although I had a suspicion that he could be older because of his obvious use of Botox. I couldn't really tell. We were having dinner in Hannam-dong and sharing a bottle of premium Hwayo soju. He put his hand over mine and said, "in English you call me Paul, but in Korea you should call me oppa. That's what you would call me if we were speaking Korean.”
I laughed with a soju shot glass in my hand, and I said, "Okay, Paul, do you want me to call you oppa from here on out?"
Paul took a shot of soju and laughed, "Yes, of course!" We both burst out laughing.
Despite the pocket change that I got from the English lessons, after tuition I still could only afford to live in the goshitel. As summer approached, Seoul was hit with a blistering heatwave. It worsened the smell on the goshitel floor: an unsettling mix of mildew, human filth, and an accumulation of the last 20 meals cooked in the kitchen.
My room was unbearably hot. I tried to make things better by buying a cheap room fan, but instead of cooling the room down, it created a vortex of hot wind. I had hoped the heat would ease, but after two weeks of it being almost 40° inside my room, I began to feel sick. I had a headache, I was shaking, and I could barely move. I knew that it was some kind of heat sickness or heat stroke.
I called Mina and asked if I could come to her house and take a nap and cool down. She said, of course, I could barely make my way down the street, but when I arrived, she had already arranged a spot on the bed for me to sleep, gave me a glass of water, and let me be. When I woke up, she said that I could stay with her as long as I needed to.
I was tempted; but how long could I stay before she actually started to secretly want me to leave? I wouldn’t be able to relax constantly worrying about overstaying my welcome. The only real option was to do it on my own, and luckily there was already a culturally appropriate route for me to take: to stay at an overnight spa, aka a jjimjilbang.
Once I felt better by evening, I told Mina that I was OK to leave. I gathered a few things back in my room, and went to Spa Lei, a women’s only overnight spa that I had been to several times before. It’s a trope in Korean dramas to stay overnight at a jjimjilbang – fighting with your family, falling on hard times – the 24 hour spa was a cheap temporary place to stay. Spa Lei cost about $12 for an overnight stay. I put my valuables in a locker, put on the uniform robe, slept in a big communal room on the floor, and in the morning I’d wake up and take advantage of the hot baths. It was refreshing to be completely naked in front of other women, being bare and not having to care about how I'm perceived. My beauty or lack of beauty was meaningless there. I stayed there for 10 days, and whether it was out of kindness or they just didn’t care, the staff never said anything against me.
These days at Spa Lei were pleasant, unexpectedly. Before I went to sleep, I would go into a communal area where women would relax in our cotton robes, lounge on the floor, watch tv, eat some snacks, and chat. I was engrossed in reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. Every page was filled up with my notes in the margins and underlined passages. It resonated deeply with me. It talked about being Light or Heavy. Light, like a balloon, like Icarus, rising up untethered by responsibilities or attachments. Heavy imbued meaning into everything. Heavy people were often burdened by their attachments and weight they gave to life.
The two main characters were a couple, Tereza and Tomas, and were an odd mismatch of a very light man and a very heavy woman. Their outlook on life were so different, Tomas was a compulsive womanizer who slept with an epic number of women and constantly cheated on Tereza. Tereza couldn’t accept the concept of sex without love. She gave everything profound and poetic meaning, struggling with jealousy, insecurity and possessiveness.
I was a ‘heavy’ person – and I had tears in my eyes as I read, “The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.”
***
The goshitel room eventually cooled down and I moved out of the jjimjilbang. Life continued as usual, and I had just 6 weeks until I finished my masters program.
Nights at the Gambit we’re off and on – some nights we had no customers except for maybe Mina and David. Other nights it was full. Tonight, it was Mina and I and no other customers for hours. I put a Billie Holiday playlist on. It was just an hour until closing time when two men came in. Both were Korean, dressed fashionably, yet understated. One was around 50, the other looked late 30s and was in a dark baseball cap.
“Hi, welcome!” I said as they sat at the bar.
“Two manhattans, please,” the older one said. I began to make their drinks, and with my back turned to him he asked “do you know Da-hye?” Da-hye, the owner’s hot artist wife.
“Yeah, Tom’s wife. She’s great. Is she a friend?” I handed him and his friend their drinks. Mina was sipping a mojito while trying to look like she wasn’t intently listening.
“Oh yeah, she and I go way back. Before she got married. Haven’t seen her in years, though.”
The younger man smirked, “He’s going down memory lane tonight.” It looked like the older one could blush.
“Did you date Da-hye?” I asked – it seemed she had a thing for older men based on her husband who was 15 years older than her.
“Date…” he trailed off in thought. “We were friends, really good friends.” There was definitely a story there. If he wanted to say more, I’d let the alcohol take its time on him but then Mina broke her silence and perked up, “So! were you in love with her and she friend zoned you?” Her directness made me smile. She loved a good Korean drama.
For the next hour, the older man, who told us his English name is Kevin, gave Mina and I the story of him and Da-hye. She was the one who got away. He had fallen in love with her when she was a junior graphic designer working for his friend’s marketing agency. She would come to him “crying over her boyfriends” and he had wanted to protect her, save her from these “jerks”. He lost touch with her when she left for Australia on a working holiday visa a few years ago. Through the course of the hour, his friend bought a bottle of 20 year-aged Bulleit bourbon and shared it with the four of us.
The baseball cap guy went out for a cigarette, and Kevin joined him for one outside. Mina and I were alone, and she said in a low whisper, “Girl, that guy in the baseball cap is famous!”
“No way, really? Who is he?”
“He’s an actor. He’s in a bunch of movies.” She quickly pulled out her phone, “Look!” She had pulled up some google search on him, I glanced over at the window to see they were not looking over.
There he was, the guy in the baseball cap, with dozens of pictures and articles. Paparazzi pictures, movie posters, magazine photoshoot portraits. Damn, he was the real deal. Mina put her phone back in her purse, “Dude. He was super famous like ten years ago.”
Kevin and the actor came back in. “Is there anything to eat here?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah, we have a menu for the restaurant upstairs.” He asked for my recommendation, and I replied honestly that I hadn’t tried any food on the menu because I was a vegetarian and it was all meat.
“I’m a vegetarian, too!” the actor said. “It’s just a cleaner way of living. Meat is so heavy.”
“That’s what I hear! I’ve never eaten meat so I can't compare – my mom raised me vegetarian.”
“Woah, so you must be really high vibe, huh?” he said, in full earnestness. I laughed.
“I don’t know about that… Sure, why not.” I poured him another glass from his whiskey bottle.
“When do you close? Let’s go to another place. I know this cool spot in Itaewon that we can go to after.” Was a famous, kind of hot actor asking to hang out with me?
“Yeah, no one is here. I can just close up now.”
“Yeah, we have a menu for the restaurant upstairs.” He asked for my recommendation, and I replied honestly that I hadn’t tried any food on the menu because I was a vegetarian and it was all meat.
“Do you like this place?” the actor asked me.
“Yeah, it’s really cool. I’ve never been. I’m always working nights so I haven’t gone out in a while.”
“Aw man, that’s terrible. You should be going out. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be spending her nights working.”
“A girl's gotta make a living,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant about him and his compliment.
“No, I’m serious. You’re cool. You have a really good energy. This city needs more chill girls like you out being seen, not hiding away behind a bar.” I didn’t know what to say to that, or how to say it. I just said in reply, “Aww that’s nice.”
“Come dance with me.” He took my hand and held it as he led me to the small dance floor. He was funny – he danced in a half-joking way, trying to make me laugh, and I did.
“Your laugh is so sexy. Did you know that?” No, I did not know that. More and more I wanted to be seductive, embody ‘sexy’ to keep his intoxicating attention on me. This could be a way more lucrative friend than David or Paul combined.
“Oh yeah?” I stepped closer to him.
“Yeah…” he put his hands on my hips and kissed me in the middle of the dance floor. When he pulled away, I felt my face smiling a dumb smile.
In the corner of my eyes, I noticed some people glancing at us – or him. I guess he was easily recognizable. Kevin was watching us, too. The Actor turned, half shouting to Kevin, half announcing to the room, “I like this girl!!”
I felt a rush through my chest. High on dopamine, slightly drunk. When was I last alive like this? Was my life in Korea going to be literally like a k-drama trope? I’m broke, living in squalor, sleeping at a jjimjilbang, and then at the final hour a rich, famous man comes and falls in love with me? I felt like a plush doll being picked by a UFO catcher, pulled up to the sky.
The actor was dancing, Kevin watching on. Mina came over and started dancing with me. The music blared. She mouthed “Girl!” and we spoke with our eyes (‘Oh my god, girl, he kissed you!?’ ‘Yes!! WTF!’ and ‘Ahh!!!’).
The actor made another announcement to the room, “I’m a LEO!!” He came over, and gave me another, longer drunken kiss. “What’s your sign?” Scorpio, I told him. “That’s PERFECT! You’re perfect.”
Another surge of glee swept through me. I kept it cool, still sober enough to force myself not to smile too much. Smiling too much and too wide is why white girls get wrinkles earlier, at least that’s what Da-hye told me. I kept it to heart.
Everything was going to get so much better from here on out, I knew it. My luck was finally changing.
Kevin was still at the bar staring at the Actor. It looked like his eyes said, ‘this fucking guy.’
To Be Continued in Part 4