The Beat February 2003

There is one detail in our more than visible micro-culture that really brings us all together. We look up to the long-timers who are more in the know than anyone, while the newbies are still toying with this readily available novelty. It is the central part of any social gathering be it dinner, live music and dancing, or decompressing after another gruelling eight hours at the day gig. You guessed it. The 24-7 Demon Alcohol.

Back home in Kingston, Onterrible, the bars call it at two, the liquor store at ten, and The Beer Store at ten thirty. A three hour road trip away to Montreal yielded us the legal ability to drink at eighteen and find beer available at establishments such as McDonalds. In Alberta it was blissfully possible to find off sales from the bars after hours. In Florida, we could drink beer in the car as long as the driver wasn‘t. In Jamaica, the legal age was 1, though it didn‘t pop my rum punch cherry ’til I was fifteen. Maybe things have changed over the years, but alcohol was available everywhere, at anytime except in the clutches of the Ontario provincial government. The Yellow Sea must have parted for me the day I disembarked at Kimpo, woozy from all the free Guinness provided on Air Canada International flights over the course of eleven hours. I had found the drinker‘s Shangri-La.

Don‘t get me wrong; I‘m keenly aware that the beer taps aren‘t cleaned often, if ever. I‘m aware of the rumours of formaldehyde in (s)Hite, but that‘s nothing compared to This cigarette I‘m sucking back right now. I‘ve been sojued, makkolied, and dongdongjued to the point where I‘ve eaten beondegi and liked it. I even paid 40,000 Won for two - count ’em, two - pints of draught Guinness in Haeundae. So why on earth would someone feel this is a drinker‘s heaven?

Well, I guess it all started with the novelty of being able to buy the nectar of the underworld at any little supermarket. Back home all you could get was Near Beer. You know, that beer for beer drinkers when they can‘t drink beer. It was useless stuff really. There was no alcohol in it so you couldn‘t get a buzz on, but the teachers still wouldn‘t let you drink it on the playground. Over here, my boss has gone over and beyond when it comes to liquoring up the foreign teachers so we can get the full-on Korean ’experience‘. After an evening of swine dining with the boss on bulgogi, beer and soju, I can easily slip into a convenience store/gas station because, one, I like the irony here, and two, it‘s four a.m. and I‘m still thirsty. The sun can come up as I leave a bar and if I darned well feel like it, I can take it to the limit all the way home.

I‘ve also noticed the interstellar ratio of soju tents and soju-hofs to thirsty day-raters in almost all areas of town. Every little nook and cranny in this city is filled with either Family Marts full of beer and beer snacks or establishments pouring beer and soju until the patrons have either had their fill or had to yak. These places are everywhere and open until the last guest leaves of their own free will, or are poured into taxis by equally drunk comrades.

This morning I brushed off last night‘s pink elephants as I foraged in my fridge for food, and found a only a one-litre bottle of soju, a 60 pounder of Bailey‘s, a 40 of Kahlua and a mickey of Korean whiskey, that have all been sitting there for at least 6 months, aging patiently. Strange perhaps, but I‘m not a liquor drinker, and I don‘t really drink at home, save for the odd beer I walk home with. I prefer to go to one of those places where everybody knows your name, including the bar staff. It‘s homey, it‘s comfortable, and it‘s my scene.

Maybe this means I have some kind of problem with the devil water. However, this is the way of life for many expats on the scene here. Alcohol is almost always involved when a gathering takes place. It‘s as if every weekend were some festival celebrating our existence here. It‘s a way to drown out the working sorrows and lift the spirits. It‘s how we make friends, and find our flocks.

I will continue to enjoy this way of life as long as I am here. I have to really. The beer back home is tasty but unaffordable, and the bars close too early. I guess another thing that I love about the drinking scene here is that going home ’early‘ actually means sunrise.