2013-06-04 17:21
The swarms of locusts
I’m wandering around a room, looking into vitrines containing historical artifacts. I hear a low hum that steadily grows into a roar. Locusts, my husband jokes. At least a hundred children thunder into the room in a long, messy line, speed walking around the perimeter, herded by young adults dressed in red, who keep order by blowing on whistles and yelling into a bullhorn. The children rush by, pushing and shoving, not heeding us or anyone lacking amplified sound equipment. The leaders yell, Hurry! The kids snap pictures with their phones and shout at one another. They run into the next room. We heave a sigh in relief, shaking our heads. But there’s no reprieve. Another swarm runs into the room, this one chanting some slogan as directed by their leaders in red; then another, and another. I scold a few who shove us. My husband is a little mortified that I’m yelling at strangers. We give up and go down the stairs. I’m momentarily frightened that I’ll tumble down a couple of flights. This isn’t a nightmare. This is what happened to us in a museum in Gyeongju. These days, my dad informs us, junior high and high school students go elsewhere, even abroad, and they’ve started bringing elementary school students to these historical sites. The schools hire guides or youth hostel leaders, and the teachers themselves just sit back and relax. It’s a huge problem. I can see that. It makes the viewing experience not only disruptive for the other visitors, but also dangerous. These kids are rude and uncontrollable. It’s also a missed opportunity for them; they have come to a city filled with historical meaning and artifacts, and all they’ve done is run around and take blurry pictures of crowns they’ve already seen in their textbooks. Unfortunately, this ugly phenomenon isn’t isolated to that museum. We also went to Bulguksa, a famous temple. There, the hordes were even larger, and even though posted signs entreat visitors to be quiet and reverent, nobody paid any attention. It was as if we’d stumbled upon an elementary school relay race. Again, there were red-clad leaders shouting into bullhorns, teachers ignoring the entire spectacle, drinking tea by themselves in the temple tea shop, and groups of kids running around, jumping off temple property, screaming and yelling. They’d been given some kind of a checklist, so they were tearing around, yelling at their team members, Here it is! Check it off! We discouraged our toddler from going up some of the steps because we were convinced she’d be pushed off. Even though the buildings are gorgeous and the Buddha and bodhisattva sculptures are intricate and beautiful, I didn’t enjoy my visit. I’m truly shocked. I remember going to Gyeongju many times as a child, and I don’t remember this kind of disruption. My mom says that she’s always embarrassed when she sees Japanese tourists at these sites, because Japanese kids are so quiet and respectful; it’s such a stark contrast. I’ve been to Buddhist temples in Japan where everything is serene, people speak quietly, and even schoolchildren are kept under control. You can really appreciate the temple architecture and being one with nature. In fact, while I remember seeing tour groups, I don’t remember even being affected by them. In Europe, I’ve been in churches where people naturally hush as they walk in; they are respectful in houses of worship. Nobody was horsing around inside or even outside. There’s much talk about Korea being the next tourist destination, but this kind of embarrassing behavior is unacceptable and shameful. I personally won’t be recommending Gyeongju to anyone going to Korea; the viewing experience was so uniquely atrocious that it left a bad taste in my mouth. Of course, kids will be kids. But that is the age to teach them how to behave in public. In elementary school in the States, teachers and volunteer parents accompany children on field trips; my mom remembers being in charge of a handful of kids, telling them how to behave. As a teen in Canada, I remember going to a performance of classical music with my class and being told what to wear and what we should expect. At the museum I work at, schoolchildren tour it about an hour before the galleries open to the public. The classes are grouped into 10 or 15 kids, and a museum educator accompanies the kids throughout the galleries, guiding them around artworks and engaging them in the experience. Later, they’ll go to an adjacent park or the outdoor areas of the museum to eat lunch or run around and play. It works. The kids love it. Something like this needs to happen in Korea, instead of providing the usual surface-skimming education. I can’t wait for things to improve; there are so many wonderful historical sites and museums in Korea that would be even more enjoyable if a visitor weren’t constantly afraid she would break a leg. Chi-Young Kim is a literary translator based in Los Angeles. She has translated works by Shin Kyung-sook, Kim Young-ha, and Jo Kyung-ran. Contact her at chiyoung@chiyoungkim.com or via her website, chiyoungkim.com. |
