The Seoul of Hospitality
When the samurai hordes poured across the Sea of Japan into Korea almost four centuries ago, a legendary Korean kisaeng (courtesan) named Gae Non vowed to kill the invaders' leading general. She toasted her prey at an outdoor party, then bound herself to him with a sash as a token of eternal love. A moment later, so the story goes, she plunged into a nearby ravine, dragging the general with her to death and fulfilling her vow. In Seoul these days, the kisaeng response to a new and different kind of Japanese invasion is a lot more affectionate and hospitable.
Between 1971 and 1972, the number of Japanese visitors to Korea more than doubled, reaching 190,000; this year Seoul officials expect more than 500,000, about 70% of them in all-male tour groups. Last year Japanese tourism was worth $58 million; in 1973 the figure is expected to reach $120 million. The major reason: many Japanese males have come to believe that the Korean kisaeng are more accomplished (and quite a bit cheaper) than the ladies patrolling the Ginza back home. In recent years, Japanese males with a penchant for lechery almost automatically headed for Taipei and the charmers of the red-lit Grass Mountain. But last September's break in Taiwan-Japan diplomatic relations also had a depressing effect on carnal relations.
Scenic Pleasure. Korea was happy to provide an alternative. Not all the tourists spend their time wenching: Seoul has a host of scenic and historic attractions. But the main lure still seems to be the sight of hostesses rather than the host of sights. Complains Korea's Director of Tourism Yong Kul Lee: "The Japanese men seem far more interested in unwholesome things."
Perhaps not too unwholesome:
Seoul offers 1,500 registered kisaeng, most of them young and pretty. The girls are licensed, as an official directive specifies, to "entertain her guest in his hotel room." Among licensing requirements: a rigid twice-a-month phys ical checkup. (Kisaeng pick up their cards, oddly enough, in Seoul's Y.M.C.A.) Once approved the girls trip off to work in one of Seoul's twelve "licensed restaurants," don their time-honored chogori (loose blouses) and chima (flowing skirts) and get to work.
As witnessed by TIME Correspondent S. Chang recently, a typical party begins when the kisaeng, each bearing a numbered tag, flutter into a banquet room filled with an equal number of Japanese males. Matching their numbers to those borne by the guests, the giggling girls kneel and begin serving food and drinks. A band plays, but the guests never quite enter into the party spirit. Instead, after an hour or so of eating and nervous fidgeting by the guests, the kisaeng leave, change swiftly into bell-bottoms or miniskirts, then lead their partners to a line of cabs and off to a hotel. Sighed an exiting visitor: "Ah, what a night, and you say this all costs only $120? Nothing like this can happen back home so cheaply.* South Korea's response to the newest Japanese invasion is equivocal. On the one hand, the money is welcome:
hotels and flights are jammed, and at least a dozen new hotels are now under construction in Seoul to provide more rooms. The growing emphasis on tourism is backed at high government levels --including President Chung Hee Park.
Some South Koreans, however, are disturbed by the fact that their country seems to be turning into Japan's bordello. An American tourist, shoved around at Kimpo Airport by a mass of eager arrivals from Tokyo, asked:
"Does the U.S. have to post 40,000 G.I.s in Korea to defend these guys' right to have a good time?"
Most Koreans, however, take the invasion in stride. When Correspondent Chang asked three lovely kisaeng, who earn $500 per month, how they felt about the Japanese, one replied: "It's hard for us to accept some--but we must work hard not only for ourselves and our families but for our country's future. Our country needs more money for its economic development."
* Cost of a similar Tokyo evening: about $360.
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