Recently, we had a new
student show up at the Institute, a young woman from Ukraine, I
believe. The woman's presence caused a small stir among the Western
teachers, in part because of the novelty of having a non-Korean
student at the school and also because this woman was amply endowed.
(Korea is, after all, the Land of the A-Cup, and the Ukrainian
woman's bra had to be at least a C-Cup.)
After the young woman left
the teacher's office, I jokingly suggested that the Institute should
put up some recruiting posters along Texas Street. Perhaps we could
get some new students among the Russian hookers. While we considered
that idea, the thought struck me that I myself didn't know exactly
where Texas Street was or what it looked like. So, on the next
Saturday night, I decided to pay a visit.
Texas Street, of course,
originally got its name from the Americans, but the area, officially
called the "Choryang Shopping Area for Foreigners," is predominantly
Russian now. There is also a growing number of Chinese there as the
Shanghai Gate (Sanghaemoon) is located one block southwest of the
uglier CSAF Gate. According to one of my tourist maps of Busan,
Texas Street is now known as "Shanghae Street." However, despite the
crazy quilt work of Russian, Chinese and Korean influences, the
"Texas Street" name prevails.
Now one of the things I
love about Busan is its incredible nightlife. There are a number of
neighborhoods in the city?Seomyeon, Nampodong, the areas around
Busan National University, Bukyung National University and Kyung
Sung University?where there's an almost palpable energy flowing
through the streets. Tens of thousands (hundreds of thousands?) walk
around, shop, dance, eat, drink, and sing in the equivalent of
neighborhood-wide block parties every night, no matter what the
weather. It's the type of street scene that American merchants and
politicians salivate for.
Which is why my visit to
Texas Street was so depressing. There was hardly anyone there at
all. Walking along several blocks in each direction, I saw
perhaps two hundred people at the most. Many shops were open, but
each had only a few, if any, customers. A few Russian hookers walked
the streets, dressed in heavy coats and short skirts. They were
mostly middle-aged women, perhaps a few years older than me, and not
terribly attractive. Looking through the open doors and windows into
the bars and restaurants, I saw few patrons (except at the Chinese
restaurants). A few Russian women sat in chairs next to the open
doorways. "Come, come," they would beckon, but I felt like a moth
trying to be seduced by spiders and I continued to walk on.
I felt the most pity for
the few Koreans working there. One woman, standing next to a credit
card application table, seemed to have few prospects for the night.
Another woman sat behind an empty food cart, the only one in this
neighborhood in a city filled with hundreds of food carts. As I
walked by, she said "Hello," and I said "Hello" back to her. For a
second, I almost went over to buy something from her, me feeling so
bad that she had no other customers, but I was already beginning to
feel uneasy and I walked on. (A few minutes later, I walked by her
again. A few men had stopped by to eat some of her food, and I felt
a little bit better for her.)
After about fifteen minutes
of walking around, I had had enough. I began to long for the company
of Koreans, so I returned to the subway station and took the next
train for Nampodong, two short stops away from Texas Street.
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