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www.groovekorea.com / August 2014 12 J eju’s mythic volcanic statues — known as stone grandfathers, or dol hareubang — have altered the course of my life. For most tourists who visit the island, they are no more than a kitsch souvenir: a last-minute airport gift in the form of a keychain or orange-fla- vored chocolate. For many who live on Jeju, they are gods that offer protection and fertility, as well as centuries-old symbols of Buddhism and shamanism. But for me, they’re a sym- bol as powerful as the giant statues on Easter Island or the faces carved in stone at Angkor Wat. When I was 6, I lived on Jeju for a year with my family. We flew halfway around the world to live on what was then a poor little island at the end of nowhere. When we left, one of the things we brought back was a dol hareubang statue carved out of porous volcanic rock. I was so young when I went to Jeju that as I got older, I wondered if the island even existed. The statue was the only physical evidence that our trip ever happened. When I moved away to college I took my stone grandfather with me. From then on it became my talisman, a reminder to keep searching for the mythical and magical in the everyday. I knew I would go back — had to go back — one day. Years went by. My statue followed me from Boston to Barcelona and beyond. By the time I hit my 30s, I felt like I had to make my re- turn trip to Jeju or I never would. I drew up my own little romantic pilgrimage route. It started in Mongolia, ran through China, then on to Seoul and finally ended on Jeju. I bought a ticket, packed my bag and left for Asia. When I finally arrived on the island in 2007, I couldn’t recognize it. There was a multimillion-dollar World Cup stadium, a sex sculpture theme park, a ted- dy bear museum, five-star resorts and huge apartment blocks. Now Jeju is the self-pro- claimed Peace Island, yet a naval base big enough to hold 20 military vessels is being built. It has three UNESCO World Heritage sites, yet a huge, garish billboard for an Amer- ican multilevel marketing company was erect- ed right in front of one of the island’s most iconic sites: Sunrise Peak. And Jeju has one of the most distinct dialects and histories in all of Korea, yet locals worry about the Chi- nafication of the island as increasing num- bers of Chinese now enter Jeju visa-free. In fact, a major cruise line will run 33 voyages a year from Shanghai to Jeju in 2015 for over 60,000 passengers. And that’s just the be- ginning. Billy Joel’s song about change, “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” played in my head as I tried to figure out where the Jeju of my childhood went. I knew it would be different, just not that much. Even though the island transformed, Jeju still is what it always has been: one of the most intriguing and mystical islands in Asia. Little by little, parts of the old Jeju came back to me. It usually happened when I left the tour- ist trail, like when I smelled the burning brush in the fields or saw the black lava shores. At the end of my year’s stay, I felt reconnected. I wonder, will I be able to recognize the place if I come back 35 years from now? Regard- less of the inevitable changes, I think I will for- ever feel connected to the island. If you really want to go deep into the heart of Jeju, look into the eyes of a stone grandfather, and remember that it is you who brings Jeju to life. Food Little Russia’s culinary joy Beyond Dongdaemun History & Culture Park Station lies a largely undiscovered piece of multicultural Seoul: Little Russia. There are Mongolian textile shops, Uzbek travel agents, and Rus- sian mini-marts selling vodka, caviar and pickled beets. Many of the denizens look Korean, but speak a polyphony of Central Asian and Eastern European languages: Russian, Ukrainian, Tajik, Kyrgyz, Ka- zakh, Uzbek and Mongolian. In fact, most residents of Little Russia are not Russian at all, but come from former Soviet states once dominated by Russia. It’s an interesting place to walk around for an hour, but you don’t want to exaggerate the exoticness too much – like the French com- munity in Sorae or Chinatown in Daelim, you always know you are in Korea. The real reason to come here is for the food. We took a Korean, a New Zealander, two Americans and a Russo-Ukrainian to try out three of Little Russia’s restaurants. What we got was an afternoon of reasonably priced culinary joy. Story by Dave Hazzan next up: SeptembeR 2014 To comment, email editor@groovekorea.com EDITORIAL the Jeju of my childhood By Peter DeMarco editorial destinations New Orleans: the best and the worst of America A buddy picked me up at the airport in New Orleans, and we headed straight for the Commander’s Palace, a local landmark that features 25 cent martinis at lunch. Upon arriving, however, we were told it would be a two-hour wait. Checking out the number of men in khakis and navy blazers, alongside women wearing proper church hats, I suspected this was a clever ploy to keep pond scum like us from low- ering property values. It worked. So we found ourselves parked on the sidewalk in front of Ignatius, a well-established joint on Magazine Steeet. We had several $2 martinis (gin, dirty), perfectly paired with two po’boys: fried oysters and shrimp re- moulade. The sun was warm with the faintest bit of chill upon the wind, and as I sat there, I was thankful I chose to visit in the win- ter. Like my hometown Wilmington in the Cape Fear region of North Carolina, and Charleston South Carolina, some places are best avoided in the summer, when the swamp-like conditions make everything lit- erally drip with condensation; the muggiest of muggy. In addition to shared climates, I was imme- diately struck by the similarities between all of these colonial port cities: the amazing cuisine, architecture and music that comes from this blending of cultures. Along with it, the institutionalized racism that still plagues the south as a whole. Truly, some of the best and worst America has to offer. Story by Ian Henderson