It is difficult to be surprised in Korea. Perhaps, it is the pollution in the air, wringing the eyeballs dry, till one only experiences the outside world as sepiatone and myopic. Or the stench of fertilizer and nightsoil as you squint across the vista of a ripening, flowing field of rice. And, especially, in the pre-dawn hours in the town of Pyongtaek, where nothing meaningful ever happens.

My American friend, a soldier with whom I had been stationed, invited me to his wedding. That was the easy part. I now live in Pusan, and he is stationed at Camp Humphreys in Kyong-gi province. I also had to take the train on Sunday morning and arrive just hours before the ceremony started at 11:00 a.m. Accompanying me was a Korean friend. I had invited her, because she had never witnessed a wedding between an American and a Korean. As a matter of fact, a few other Korean-American couples were invited, as well as their children. I was accustomed to this; I was worried about my Korean friend.

In the US Army, there are scores of naturalized American spouses of  soldiers from all over the world, including Korea, and no soldier really seems to notice. The little children running around are always so cute, they do not appear, as if they worry about to which culture they belong. But, on the train, I could think of only the downside of marriage between people of different cultures. It was as if every Korean national were whispering, in that ugly, gossipy tone:

"The divorce rate is so high!"

"Its only about sex and money!"

"The children will never learn about their own language and people. They will never be Korean!"

"How can he even understand her?"

My Korean friend and I discussed names for children. She read my copy of the Far Eastern Economic Review. I asked her about difficult Korean vocabulary--"high pressure system". She drifted off to sleep, her head landing softly on my shoulder. She started to snore.

Fortunately, my American friend met us at the station lobby, and I tried to ignore the odd sensation of disorientation I was experiencing. The entire place seemed diminished, dirtier, suddenly malodorous. My friend had a little, red bubble car. He acted calm, or maybe it was just lack of sleep. No, he acted contented. Like people do when they have been happily married for four months. I forgot about my earlier doubts.

His in-laws' three-story house near Osan Air Force Base, where my American friend and his wife lived with her parents and brother, was situated in a small farming village far from the main highway. It was 5:30  a.m., but inside the house everyone was stirring. The spacious interior, decorated tastefully with western-style furniture, was buzzing with hospitality and warmth. Soon breakfast was cooking, replete with eggs and soup, rice and numerous side dishes. My Korean friend and I retired for a few hours of much-needed rest. We each showered and dressed.

I was overwhelmed by my hosts' generosity and genuine friendliness. The father remarked about my suspenders and the absence of a belt. We all had to convince him suspenders were proper attire. We, the groom, bride, and her mother rode to the wedding hall in a taxi. Upon arrival, the women went to the beauty salon (mi-yong-shil), to apply the bride's make-up and hair pieces (because of her shoulder-length hair). My friend and I scouted out the rooms.

I was surprised, as an American, that the bride and groom both changed clothing and put on their make-up together, although, in truth, both had been married in April. This was just the ceremony for the parents and the community. Hundreds of guests from the village were expected, and they started to arrive after 10:00. The American contingent drifted in also, including the American sergeant who would be the announcer. We all joked in the salon and proceeded downstairs, to greet the guests.

The new father-in-law had invited the whole village, extolling the virtues of his new American son-in-law. I remarked to my Korean friend about Amish barn-raisings and weddings. Here the guests just paid money. Everyone took their seats, and I prepared myself for the tedium of an American-style wedding. Only, I was completely shocked and somewhat pleased. Although the whole ceremony was brief, it was almost commercial. Between it all, the baritone voice of the American sergeant cut through the bubbles and smoke with Korean and English commentary.

At times I thought I was in the audience for the filming of the "Wheel of Fortune". The bubbles piped in from spouts in the floor during the bride's procession were reminiscent of American television in the 1950's. The fog billowing from the cake platform almost alarmed me, as if a gas attack were underway. At one point, neither bride, groom, nor audience could see the cake. And, the official speaker (churae) spoke for too long. I understood that he was talking about both the bride and groom, but my Korean friend also translated for me. I was certainly pleased they were such good candidates, but after a few minutes, I thought I had suddenly been transported to an auction. Even the guests were commenting: "he is handsome, but a little fat!"

The photo sessions were amusing, especially trying to rig the perfect shot of the bride, tossing the bouquet to her one hopeful maiden. Then, a quick lunch upstairs, with a generous spread of Korean soups and side dishes, and American beer and soju. It was done. The guests melted away, a few assembling at the in-laws' home for a reception. At the house Americans and Koreans mingled some, and shared beer. It was an endearing moment when four men ordered a Guinness for the first time, from my friend, who was wearing traditional Korean clothing.

I left Pyongtaek that evening contented, but also concerned. I watched my friend bow to his new parents, kneeling on the ground and head bent to his hands resting on the carpet. The announcer speaking Korean. The bubbles and smoke. A cake with two fake layers and one, topmost layer, used only for cutting, not eating. The facade of flowers. The men inspecting the  bottles of Guinness. My friend in Korean dress. A married couple, Korean and American, holding hands during the ceremony, and their two daughters squirming impatiently in their seats. My friend in light make-up. It was all so commonplace, but yet, so special. It seemed so uncomplicated to get
Koreans and Americans together for a brief period of time, laughing, talking, and sharing food, during a ceremony more American glitz than Korean tradition. 

Is this the new Korea?   

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