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Authors: Ron McMillan
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the cut of their suits and the density of sycophants hovering in their proximity. The mere hint of a camera pointing in their direction had the also-rans jostling for positions closer to VIPs.
Bobby Purves arrived with a Westerner whom he introduced as Eric Bridgewater of the British Embassy. As I did my best not to recoil from Bridgewaterâs dead-fish handshake, Bobby gave me a lop-sided grin.
âYou ever find yourself in trouble over here, any trouble at all, pick up the phone, Alec, and whatever you do, donât bother calling Eric.â Bridgewater laughed politely, but made no effort to protest.
âNice to meet you.â He turned his back and addressed a couple of rotund Europeans in what sounded like native German. I grabbed Bobby by the elbow and took him a few paces into the crowd.
âWhat do you know about K-N Group factories in Cholla-do?â
âYouâre kidding, right?â
âTomorrow morning I have to go to Cholla Province to photograph a factory.â
âYou do know what âK-Nâ stands for?â
I didnât know. He helped me: âKyongsang-namdo. K-N.â
The southern end of the Korean peninsula had a cultural divide going back centuries, and the rivalry between the Kyongsang provinces in the East and the Cholla provinces in the West was almost as fevered as the one between North and South Korea.
âK-N is a Kyongsang company, and always has been. It has offices and businesses and factories all over the country, but there are no K-N factories in Cholla.â Shaking his head, he pushed through the crowd towards where Bridgewater held two wine glasses high.
The rumble of hurried foot traffic announced the opening of official events to the impatient hordes of Press photographers and cameramen. Company juniors herded them to a platform set up behind ranks of seats. On a raised podium facing the seats was a long table in front of a brightly-lit partition emblazoned with the K-N Group logo.
The formalities were blessedly brief. Schwartz played master of ceremonies, switching effortlessly from English to Korean and back again, welcoming all distinguished guests, many of whom he drew attention to by name.
Next up, a government Minister delivered a ten-minute address in a Korean monotone that made even the locals squirm with boredom. Schwartz made no attempt to translate, an apparent oversight that was only explained when the Minister repeated the monologue in stilted, uneasy English.
When Changâs turn came he spoke English, breaking his speech into short paragraphs, followed by pauses while Schwartz translated into flowing Korean. As an icebreaker it was inspired, drawing murmurs of appreciation all round. The speech itself was a stream of platitudes, and soon he wrapped up with the hope that his esteemed guests might remain and enjoy a celebration of cocktails and other delicacies. Cue enthusiastic applause and clinking of glasses which the security men took as their signal to move in and herd the still-grumbling Press pack towards the exits.
After another hour I needed a break. I intercepted a waiter and relieved him of two champagne goblets, which I downed in quick succession before tackling the cold meats and cheeses. When I had my fill I moved on. Cameras held to the fore in fake professional zeal, I zig-zagged to the exit and along the corridor to the toilets where I idled in a cubicle for ten minutes and wished I still smoked. I hadnât had a cigarette in years, but occasionally I would give almost anything for a smoke. This was one of those moments.
Back in the crowded reception I stayed well away from Lee, who stood next to the buffet with a fat European man who plucked relentlessly at the spread of food while talking non-stop.
Schwartz popped into view on the far side of the room, talking to a well-dressed woman with her back to me. Her immaculately coiffed black hair, perfectly straight and severely cut to hang just below her
Bobby Purves arrived with a Westerner whom he introduced as Eric Bridgewater of the British Embassy. As I did my best not to recoil from Bridgewaterâs dead-fish handshake, Bobby gave me a lop-sided grin.
âYou ever find yourself in trouble over here, any trouble at all, pick up the phone, Alec, and whatever you do, donât bother calling Eric.â Bridgewater laughed politely, but made no effort to protest.
âNice to meet you.â He turned his back and addressed a couple of rotund Europeans in what sounded like native German. I grabbed Bobby by the elbow and took him a few paces into the crowd.
âWhat do you know about K-N Group factories in Cholla-do?â
âYouâre kidding, right?â
âTomorrow morning I have to go to Cholla Province to photograph a factory.â
âYou do know what âK-Nâ stands for?â
I didnât know. He helped me: âKyongsang-namdo. K-N.â
The southern end of the Korean peninsula had a cultural divide going back centuries, and the rivalry between the Kyongsang provinces in the East and the Cholla provinces in the West was almost as fevered as the one between North and South Korea.
âK-N is a Kyongsang company, and always has been. It has offices and businesses and factories all over the country, but there are no K-N factories in Cholla.â Shaking his head, he pushed through the crowd towards where Bridgewater held two wine glasses high.
The rumble of hurried foot traffic announced the opening of official events to the impatient hordes of Press photographers and cameramen. Company juniors herded them to a platform set up behind ranks of seats. On a raised podium facing the seats was a long table in front of a brightly-lit partition emblazoned with the K-N Group logo.
The formalities were blessedly brief. Schwartz played master of ceremonies, switching effortlessly from English to Korean and back again, welcoming all distinguished guests, many of whom he drew attention to by name.
Next up, a government Minister delivered a ten-minute address in a Korean monotone that made even the locals squirm with boredom. Schwartz made no attempt to translate, an apparent oversight that was only explained when the Minister repeated the monologue in stilted, uneasy English.
When Changâs turn came he spoke English, breaking his speech into short paragraphs, followed by pauses while Schwartz translated into flowing Korean. As an icebreaker it was inspired, drawing murmurs of appreciation all round. The speech itself was a stream of platitudes, and soon he wrapped up with the hope that his esteemed guests might remain and enjoy a celebration of cocktails and other delicacies. Cue enthusiastic applause and clinking of glasses which the security men took as their signal to move in and herd the still-grumbling Press pack towards the exits.
After another hour I needed a break. I intercepted a waiter and relieved him of two champagne goblets, which I downed in quick succession before tackling the cold meats and cheeses. When I had my fill I moved on. Cameras held to the fore in fake professional zeal, I zig-zagged to the exit and along the corridor to the toilets where I idled in a cubicle for ten minutes and wished I still smoked. I hadnât had a cigarette in years, but occasionally I would give almost anything for a smoke. This was one of those moments.
Back in the crowded reception I stayed well away from Lee, who stood next to the buffet with a fat European man who plucked relentlessly at the spread of food while talking non-stop.
Schwartz popped into view on the far side of the room, talking to a well-dressed woman with her back to me. Her immaculately coiffed black hair, perfectly straight and severely cut to hang just below her
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