The Only Clove in the Ham
When I told my parents about my plans to travel to South Korea with my friend Sydney for spring break last year, my father explained that we'd be "the only cloves in the ham," a quippy way of saying we'd be the only black people for miles.
I began laughing with them, replying that it wouldn't necessarily be anything new for me, to which he fired back, "You better start practicing your modeling poses now! When I went to China I was asked for photos so much I might as well have been Barack Obama!" I jokingly assured them that I would call up Naomi Campbell for tips, said goodbye and quickly went about being excited about the trip. I'd heard rumors in the past about black people having their photos taken "in secret" while traveling around Asia, but I had been to the continent before and it hadn't happened from what I remembered. Clearly my dad had to have been full of crap.
However, it was on the train en route to Hongdae's shopping street that, in the middle of one of our many mundane conversations, Sydney and I were surprised by the flash of a camera. We both immediately stopped chatting and looked over at our photographer, a college-aged girl whose face turned totally beet red. She shyly peered up at us, as if to check if we were going to scold her and immediately looked back down at her phone where a photo of our very surprised, and very black faces, was captured. As we looked around the crowded subway car, my dad's words suddenly echoed in my head: we were the only cloves in the ham.
Image Credit: Youtube/Zhian Mostofi
My (incredibly exhaustive) inner monologue usually involves questions like, 'Will I be able to buy lotion while I'm there, or should I bring some?'"
Traveling as a black woman usually leads to a handful of specifically odd experiences, and preparation for my travels is extensive. As an example, my (incredibly exhaustive) inner-monologue involves questions like, "Will I be able to buy lotion while I'm there, or should I bring some?" or "What is the best way to dress to avoid too many questions from during the security check?" The most stressful element of travel prep usually has to do with my hair in some way shape or form. Don't get me wrong, I love my afro, but that doesn't change the fact that managing it while away from my personal apothecary of products is a bit of a struggle. There also comes the issue of making sure it's small enough to avoid a pat down while dealing with the TSA (yes, this happens). But preparing for Seoul was a whole different bag of nuts.
Image Credit: Mario Sànchez Prada
"The country itself is overwhelmingly racially homogenous; a recent report notes the country's population is around 50.22 million people, of which only 1.9 million are foreigners."
Once we arrived, my curiosity and excitement quickly took over, and my nerves disappeared rather quickly. Of course, after the photo-taking incident, other instances in which our "other-ness" was amplified occurred. I had tied my hair back into two French twists for the flight over, but for our first real "night out" with our Swedish friend on exchange in Seoul, Maria, I decided to wear my hair out. It was definitely big, but nowhere near as curly as usual. I confidently left our hotel to explore Hongdae's club scene with my 'fro free. We were in the club for perhaps ten minutes before I felt a hand creep into my hair. After switching clubs and being challenged to some sort of dance off, I was somehow integrated into a Korean hip-hop dance group; they were excited to finally meet someone that knew all of their favorite moves.
While idling around Gyeongbokgung palace, locals took more photos us than they did of their cinematic surroundings. Another day, while shopping around Myeongdong, we stopped two college students to ask for directions, only to have them ask if we were celebrities and if we'd be willing to travel with them an hour away from where we were to their university's campus so they could show off their new "foreign black friends."
As isolating as it often felt, the city's apparent fascination with us wasn't really all that surprising. The country itself is overwhelmingly racially homogenous; a recent report notes the country's population is around 50.22 million people, of which only 1.9 million are foreigners. And, furthermore, of that 1.9 million, only 7.4% are Americans. So it really didn't matter if Sydney and I were white, black, purple or blue. As it stood, we were going to be a spectacle no matter what.
Image Credit: Elizabeth Segre-Lawrence
It wasn't as if our presence stood out to just Korean locals -- we were just as much of a surprise to other American and European expats as well. Glenn, a friend who we met via Tinder, invited us out to the ever-buzzing Noryagjin Fish Market for some hoe—the Korean equivalent of sashimi—and a few drinks. Glenn had lived in America for a few years and had an international education like we had. Unsurprisingly, he had a handful of foreign friends who were working and living in the city. When he asked us if we wanted to meet two of his friends, one from Germany and one from France, we jumped at the opportunity to make more friends. Full of the freshest, most mouth-watering fish I had ever eaten and an adequate amount of soju, the three of us somehow avoided the zooming traffic typical of Seoul and stumbled into a cab headed over to Iteawon, one of the city's more Westernized areas.
It wasn't one of my favorite places but Iteawon is definitely unforgettable. The streets surrounding our taxi were strewn with foreigners. For the first time that week our ears were suddenly filled with English phrases and expletives as opposed to Korean ones. Up and down the streets you could find a handful of Irish and American bars sprinkled in with more traditional Korean ones. Our destination was something more so aligned with the latter and was crowded, noisy, yet oddly intimate. Bundles of college students sat together drinking somek and chattering excitedly back and forth. Glenn instructed us to follow him through the crowd, and we made our way up a hidden staircase into the bar upstairs. It resembled the kind of swanky bar that you'd find in Le Marais. It took twenty minutes or so of conversation with Glenn's French friend before he brightly told me how happy he was to "finally see a black girl after so long." I laughed, out of both tipsiness and a vast amount of discomfort, to which he replied by stating proudly that he "absolutely loved black girls." Then he winked.
"It took twenty minutes or so of conversation with Glenn's French friend before he brightly told me how happy he was to 'finally see a black girl after so long'."
Throughout my time in Paris I've had the great privilege of being able to explore Europe rather extensively. The idea that Europe is a diverse continent is true, but that doesn't change the fact that black travelers like me (particularly black women) are privy to these same issues no matter what destination our wanderlust drives us towards. While there isn't so much of a need for texts like The Negro Motorist Green Book, there are heaps of articles on the issue of "traveling while black." And while a good amount of them are set in Asia, it's not hard to find equally lengthy accounts of experiences in Europe, like this great read about a black woman's experience with Tinder abroad.
Image Credit: Elizabeth Segre-Lawrence
My trip to Korea had its bumps, but most of them ultimately turned into funny stories. And what's more, what trip doesn't have its bumps? Traveling is something that I will always love and my trips are something that I will always treasure. Each one requires a bit of mental prep, but in the end it's always worth it -- even if I am the only clove in the ham.
