Pay it forward: Lunch in Jangheung

Entering the working world has made me a lot more cynical a person - which is not to say I wasn't at least a little bit to begin with, but I did have the basis sense that people inherently tend to be generous.

If there's one thing I've learnt after 18 months of working in an office though, it's that professional life is a lot more self-serving. Because, you know, if you're sitting comfortably in an air-conditioned room, ceiling-to-floor glass windows in a building at the harbour, earning almost a five digit salary, it's kinda hard for you to care about other people. It's not as if you're a farmer in a small rural community somewhere.

Except,

1. When I was backpacking through Korea in the midst of what was publicised as the coldest winter in 20 years, I happened to go by a little town that was famed for its 3-combo BBQ set of beef, mushrooms and scallops.

The problem was, outside of Seoul the ATMs generally only accepted cards that had 5-digit PINs; mine has 6. This means that I had no access to cash, and for the past week had been subsisting on a bowl of instant noodles a day, with one cherry tomato daily for its minuscule amount of fibre. So at this point I'm not exaggerating when I say I was starving, freezing, and exhausted.

Eventually I stumbled upon the Saturday Market, a weekly event where villagers and townsfolk come to sell and buy produce. (Unrelated: there was a stall selling scallops larger than my fist, and by that I mean the actual flesh and not the shell, a fact I recall very fondly and will recount to anyone willing to listen.)

The whipping cold made me a little reckless, and together with the fact that I was travelling through a town - let's repeat this - known for its beef, mushrooms and scallops BBQ, I pushed open the door to a family restaurant in search of a hot meal. Sadly, there wasn't much I could afford without invoking some kind of religious miracle, so I settled for the cheapest stew there was available. 

Before long a pair of old men at the table next to mine took an interest in me and struck up a conversation. They found out I was travelling alone, and my stilted Korean amused them enough that they invited me over to their table to chat.

They shared their food with me when they saw my simple stew and secretly paid for me. When I found out, I tried to buy them some beer in return, but they waved it off and said that I should save it for myself, because they knew how it was like to be alone and hungry.

Oh, and did I mention it was Christmas day? :)

Instances like this taught me that it's not about the amount involved, and that saints and heroes and Santa Clauses and whatever you used to believe in before the world crapped on your head do exist - they just wear ordinary clothes and work ordinary jobs, and don't always have a name to them.

(#2 tomorrow - let's make this a series.)