Me and My Scar Go to the Jingabong

The first stop on this journey was South Korea, galvanized by friends who were teaching English in Suwon (never underestimate the power of a friend to get you out of your comfort zone). Suwon is twenty miles from Seoul and an industrial center where companies like Samsung have their headquarters.



Straight away, I was awed by the grace of Korean women and the chauvinism of Korean men. In airports, ladies nimbly push carts of luggage while men walk behind them empty-handed. In trying to get an oversized suitcase off the baggage conveyor belt, I appealed to a strapping young Korean man beside me. He seemed bewildered, pointed at me, pointed to himself, shrugged and stalked off. So much for chivalry.



Another custom is the love of communal heated baths, affectionately referred to as the Jingabong. Everyone swims stark naked in these 100 degree pools, most often filled with spring water. Reminiscent of old Roman baths, this is a social activity with folks chatting, reading magazines, etc. and yes, they can be co-ed. Being a fan of spas, saunas, whirlpools, and anything that causes me to sweat on a cold day, you'd think I'd be first to hit the Jingabong, right?



Wrong. Remember that ordeal with my body? It culminated in a pretty conspicuous scar. Let's just say the contrast is startling and my belly has not seen the light of day since. So I decided to stay away. And I found out how smokers felt trying to quit. For four days, it was torturous. Then I did the classic American thing: I gave in.



Before I knew it, I donned a cotton robe and rushed down to the Jingabong. Gingerly, I stepped into the water and remembered the humiliation of my eight year old self when someone pointed out that my fly was unzipped. I waited for someone to point out the zipper in my flesh. I imagined those beautiful Korean women, preening themselves like swans, wrinkling their noses at my imperfection. I could almost hear the snickers.



Then I looked up and realized that no one was looking at me. They were carrying on conversations, checking out tabloids, falling asleep in recliners in that blissful state between sleep and relaxation. No one even bat an eyelash when I moved from one side of the pool to another.



I discovered that I was not nearly as important to everyone else as I thought I was. That's the strange thing about insecurity; we expect people to spend far more time thinking about us (and our faults) than they actually do.



My scar? It finally got some fresh air. And I got to sit in a heated thermal spa brimming with spring water. It was fabulous. Some people say that you can touch divinity through meditation. I think a Jingabong could get you there with a lot less work.