Wednesday, May 25, 2011

What a dame!

Seoul. Five thousand miles west of anywhere called 'home'; thirty-one miles south of hell. The last time I was here, this city almost broke me. I swore I'd never give it another chance. The Universe had other plans [takes a drag from his cigarette].

Yes: I have been working on that paragraph since I decided on this trip two months ago.

Yes: I am back in Seoul, though only for two weeks (really, two more days, but I've been here for eleven).

The last time I was here, Eric (my boss) was eager that we should all experience "Doctor Fish." The year before, he and a few other Berkeleyans had gone to a cafe where, for a nominal fee, you could soak your feet in a fish tank while you drank your coffee. The fish -- known to biologists as Garra Rufa (does one capitalize species names?) -- feed off of dead and diseased skin. Your feet are not ignored during the experience. According to the wikipedia page on the species, the Turks use this as a treatment for psoriasis and other skin diseases (giving us something to ask after we've sorted out why Constantinople got the works). Incidentally, I saw something similar going on in a mall in Bombay when I was there for a friend's wedding this past January. (Un)fortunately, by the time I arrived in Seoul in September 2009, the cafe in question had closed and no replacement could be found.

Until now.

Two days ago, an intrepid expedition made up almost entirely of foreigners (the one Korean who joined us opted not to partake; I guess, maybe, that should have been a warning) traveled to the Gangnam district where we had rumors of active "Doctor Fish." The rumors were not hollow. There were two tanks of fish. One tank contained fish that were about as long as the last two knuckles on your little finger and, volumetrically, a little smaller than that. Anyone who was ever five years old with a sibling who enjoyed tickling the bottoms of your feet knows what it felt like when these fish fed. The other tank contained fish that were fifty percent larger than an adult thumb. I repeat: these fish were larger than your thumb. When they swam to the surface to beg for food, you could clearly see their mouths opening and closing. Feeding these fish was significantly less nerving. Imagine lowering your feet (or any part of your body) into what you thought was an empty pool only to find a human hand there, waiting and eager to take hold of whatever you had to offer. I stayed in that pool about thirty seconds before deciding I was done.

It is unclear that the experience had any effect other than to provide substance for this post. When I returned to my room and took off my shoes, I thought I could see red pockmarks on the bottom of one of my feet, but I only saw five of them and there were significantly more than five fish. At the very least, I have completed the final stage of my vegetarian certification: I have allowed animals to feed on me. I'm told that's what it's like in Soviet Russia.