I
am fortunate enough to have my own living space, yet as a writer, I still need
that push to get out of said living space and into a work space, both
physically and mentally. I’ve always wanted to find a cute little coffee shop
and become a regular, build a relationship with the owners or the baristas, and
have them know my drink. That kind of thing.
Korea is crawling with coffee shops, so I figured finding a suitable working space would be the least of my problems. Turns out, I was wrong. My biggest obstacle to writing was being “foreign” and English-speaking, and not for the reasons one would think.
One day, I decided to wander down the
street with the hope of finding something close and I came across a little shop
called Santiago. From the outside, I
couldn’t see any patrons, so I poked my head in to make sure they were open. A
woman waved me inside and I ordered an Americano, then I sat down at a table
tucked in one corner and pulled out my laptop, notebooks and pencil case.
I got to the halfway mark in my coffee cup with no new words typed into the document on my computer when the lady brought me another Americano in a to-go cup. At first, I took this to mean she was closing up shop and wanted me to pack up, but then she sat down and tried to talk to me. I don’t speak much Korean and she doesn’t speak much English, so it beats me how I got roped into practicing English with her middle school son on the next Sunday after several hours of gesturing and guessing. Also, my phone, one’s lifeline in Korea, was almost dead from trying to translate bits and pieces of this two hour non-conversation conversation. I left soon after and my brain felt like I’d just slaved over a chapter, only I hadn’t written anything at all.
The next Sunday, I showed up at the specified time, or at least what I hoped was the specified time. Her son waited for me with an anxious look on his face. We proceeded to talk for an hour. Actually, I asked him questions for an hour and he answered them with short sentences, none of which could really be elaborated on. I couldn’t coax any more words out no matter hard I tried. By the time it was over, I felt like a mouse in one of those sticky, glue-like mouse traps. My heart was beating wildly at the fear of never seeing freedom again. His mom was going to beguile me into making him speak more elaborate sentences.
The lady’s eager demeanor was so sweet that I wanted to keep helping her son out, not for his sake, but for hers. But, I knew I couldn’t commit. I enjoy teaching and I would have loved to practice speaking under different circumstances, but the time I have in between teaching is all potential writing time. I get cranky when someone or something distracts me and tricks me out of it. Though, I think sometimes there’s a fine line between trying to please and just saying "no thank you" when you’re a visitor in someone else’s country.
In my situation,I knew just enough Korean( which isn’t saying much) to overhear the boy tell his mom that he really doesn’t need this and would prefer not to do it. That made two of us. What a relief. So, I packed up my things, bowed, thanked her for the coffee, smiled a lot, and took off for home.
I haven’t been back.
I thought being a non-Korean in a Korean coffee shop would be perfect. No one would bother me. They’d get my patronage, and I’d get epic amounts of writing done on my manuscript. But no, that wasn’t in the cards, not at Santiago. However, since then, I’ve found several other worthy coffee shops to get my brain- grinding writing done in. The baristas are friendly without being hoverers and once in a while, they bring free drinks to my table. I have a feeling they are “practice” drinks, but it’s awesome and appreciated nonetheless. And at these coffee shops, I don’t feel tricked out of my writing time.
Korea is crawling with coffee shops, so I figured finding a suitable working space would be the least of my problems. Turns out, I was wrong. My biggest obstacle to writing was being “foreign” and English-speaking, and not for the reasons one would think.
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| One of Thousands of Coffee Shops |
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| My Favorite Pencil Case: Owls! |
I got to the halfway mark in my coffee cup with no new words typed into the document on my computer when the lady brought me another Americano in a to-go cup. At first, I took this to mean she was closing up shop and wanted me to pack up, but then she sat down and tried to talk to me. I don’t speak much Korean and she doesn’t speak much English, so it beats me how I got roped into practicing English with her middle school son on the next Sunday after several hours of gesturing and guessing. Also, my phone, one’s lifeline in Korea, was almost dead from trying to translate bits and pieces of this two hour non-conversation conversation. I left soon after and my brain felt like I’d just slaved over a chapter, only I hadn’t written anything at all.
 |
| Santiago Coffee Shop in Gyeongju |
The next Sunday, I showed up at the specified time, or at least what I hoped was the specified time. Her son waited for me with an anxious look on his face. We proceeded to talk for an hour. Actually, I asked him questions for an hour and he answered them with short sentences, none of which could really be elaborated on. I couldn’t coax any more words out no matter hard I tried. By the time it was over, I felt like a mouse in one of those sticky, glue-like mouse traps. My heart was beating wildly at the fear of never seeing freedom again. His mom was going to beguile me into making him speak more elaborate sentences.
The lady’s eager demeanor was so sweet that I wanted to keep helping her son out, not for his sake, but for hers. But, I knew I couldn’t commit. I enjoy teaching and I would have loved to practice speaking under different circumstances, but the time I have in between teaching is all potential writing time. I get cranky when someone or something distracts me and tricks me out of it. Though, I think sometimes there’s a fine line between trying to please and just saying "no thank you" when you’re a visitor in someone else’s country.
In my situation,I knew just enough Korean( which isn’t saying much) to overhear the boy tell his mom that he really doesn’t need this and would prefer not to do it. That made two of us. What a relief. So, I packed up my things, bowed, thanked her for the coffee, smiled a lot, and took off for home.
I haven’t been back.
I thought being a non-Korean in a Korean coffee shop would be perfect. No one would bother me. They’d get my patronage, and I’d get epic amounts of writing done on my manuscript. But no, that wasn’t in the cards, not at Santiago. However, since then, I’ve found several other worthy coffee shops to get my brain- grinding writing done in. The baristas are friendly without being hoverers and once in a while, they bring free drinks to my table. I have a feeling they are “practice” drinks, but it’s awesome and appreciated nonetheless. And at these coffee shops, I don’t feel tricked out of my writing time.
 |
| Free and Delicious "Practice" Drinks |
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