BATH HOUSE BLUES

Bath houses are a big deal in Korea. Open 24 hours, found in any significant sized settlement around Korea, advertised by an easily recognizable neon sign of three flames, they offer comfort and fun in a cleansing ritual for the whole family. Of course, the family has to have their fun segregated if they want to enjoy the tubs. Why? Because the bathhouse is something performed naked. There’s nowhere to hide. You’re left exposed and isolated, subject to looks and sideways glances, murmurs and shared moments in the bathtub. People of all ages there to enjoy the ambience. Generations of men sharing time with their sons and grandsons, conducting and finishing business deals. Tales of adultery and gossip, talks of national and even international importance have all been conducted inside the walls of a bathhouse.During my first time at the bathhouse, I was naturally extremely shy, using my towel strategically to preserve my modesty. I was paranoid, thinking everyone was checking out the anatomy of a foreigner. All bits the same, tick. Naked, stripped down to my most base human form, I was forced to watch the equally naked Korean men, hoping I would learn by osmosis, correct sauna etiquette. Random people would be my guide in this intricate ritual. They would guide me in a process where I couldn’t afford to err; I couldn’t afford to break some formal rule of bath housing. This I assumed would be fatal. I wanted to avoid a dressing down from a naked middle-aged man, not knowing where to look. Stories I had heard from Japan about breaches in bathhouse behaviour tormented and teased my brain. In the end, like many things, it didn’t seem that formal. You had to shower before entering the hot pools. You could do this by standing or sitting on small stools, letting the water cascade over you as you scrub away your daily grime. Only after you felt clean and pristine, having scrubbed away the top two layers of skin, could you then proceed to the pools. You had the choice between three hot pools of different temperatures, a cool pool and an extremely hot sauna. The best combination seemed to be alternating between cold and hot pools, going into hotter pools each time before finishing off by staying in the sauna as long as you could endure. I couldn’t do more than 2 minutes in this room when I first started but by the end could muster the strength to do several.


While the first time was awkward, I soon got to enjoy my irregular forays to the bathhouse, especially in the wintertime. I got over my modesty issues quickly. In fact, I noticed that I was a star in the bathhouse. I don’t want to use this as a format to perpetuate any stereotypes nor is it intended as a ego booster. Let’s hypothesize Korean men are growers not showers. Certainly, they are growers of a copious down low fro. But rightly or wrongly, I came to think of myself as a King of the bathhouse. I walked with a conscious, some would say arrogant strut around the bathhouse. I welcomed the stares, secure in my self worth. I got used to talking to the men there, used to keeping my eyes at an appropriate level. I never went with any of my foreign friends apart from one time, afraid of losing my status, being outshined.One man I befriended at my local bathhouse at the gym was a Korean man we dubbed Tony Soprano. Tony Soprano was a well-built man who wore plenty of bling. He was always at the bathhouse even when I went at random times. When I asked him his occupation, he replied none. He had tattoos. He was buff. All these things added up made us think he was a Korean gangster, the equivalent of the yazuka in Japan. Hence the mafia honorific of Tony Soprano. We spoke in a mishmash of Korean and English in our infrequent conversations. One of these conversations stands out from the rest. It started out in the sauna at our gym, following the format of our previous conversations, small talk about how I found Korea, the weather etc. Then after ten minutes of talk, he must have felt he had gained my confidence. Pointing at my groin, he said “very big, very nice.” A little taken aback and aware that bathhouses have a reputation of being a gay pickup place (and I wasn’t ready to be the love object of a muscular Korean gangster). I was flustered and flummoxed. I felt red, redder than the steam would make me. I blurted out, hoping to defuse the situation, pointing quickly to his muscles “very big, very nice”. OK, not exactly a putdown if he was flirting but in my defence, I was in shock. Tony, empowered by my response, carried on. “Sexy time with wife, how many times a week”. Still feeling awkward but now also intrigued in the direction of the conversation, I answered “ 4 or 5 times”. He told me he had ‘sexy time” at least ten times a week. With a broad smile on his face, he then asked “sexy time how long”. I gave him a number that he seemed impressed with. “Me 2 minutes”. Then he pointed at my penis and asked me what it was in English. I told him penis and then he said “long penis long time” Then self deprecatory, he said of himself “small penis small time”. He carried on talking; telling me that his wife was boring in bed but his younger “wife”, who I presumed was a mistress, was a tiger. Then he made me swear that I wouldn’t tell anyone at the gym about his second wife, whom he said was also a member of the gym. He did this by doing a pinkie swear, making us wrap our pinkie fingers together. Picture this if you want, two large men sitting naked in the sauna, wrapping pinkies and solemnly swearing to not reveal acts of adultery. Then he excused himself and retired to the changing room. I took some time to recover my dignity before doing the same. Very strange, very strange indeed.