Jangma

Beneath a long veil of low-ceiling, gray clouds Korea waits in the shadow of Jangma.  Today officially marks the beginning of the country’s rainy season.  The days are as dark as dusk, the humidity has uncomfortably stabilized in the mid-eighty percentile, and haircare has become something of a nightmare.

Coming from the night culture of bar employment, I am used to quiet days.  Never waiting for a dressing room at stores on Michigan Ave., being one of five people at a matinee, seldom passing another person on walks through the park . . . in Gwangju, a city so densely populated, you would think that these things would be a rarity.   Until Jangma, they were.   Since the temperatures and humidity have soared, the world rests indoors.  Streets, businesses, parks, they are all vacant.  An eerie silence drags the day kicking and screaming through sporadic downpours and light mists.

Like a wonderfully alien sunrise, imminent nightfall seemingly peels the city from its hiding, thrusting the population into the streets, restaurants and taverns.  Traffic is thick, street markets are teeming with mothers bringing their children home from school, shopping centers are full, and in the parks, the avid walkers are shoulder to shoulder.  It is a remarkable transformation.

From the dull hush of morning, through a slumbering afternoon, and into a bustling evening, life adjusts for the weather.  What else will the season bring?  Damp socks?  Innovations in haircare?  A really big umbrella?