![3DImage](3D"cid:1253376.surfulater.com")
Tourists crowd around aquariums for a peek at =
lunch, fresh seafood that was harvested earlier in the day, as a haenyo =
emerges from the water with her catch, a squid that will sell for 25,000 won =
(about $25 Cdn).
HANNAH SUNG PHOTOS =
Hannah Sung =
Special to the Star
Seongsan, Korea–There's a feeding frenzy happening but it's on land, =
not in the water.
"Receive the money! Receive the money!" a woman in a wetsuit yells as she =
squats, decisively placing a glistening sea cucumber onto a wooden chopping =
block on the ground.
Brown, lumpy, exposed, it ejects a limp spray of water from one end for a =
brief moment before it is rendered into a neat row of round slices, the =
oozing coral and brown innards neatly whisked away with the flick of a large =
knife.
Another woman in a wetsuit receives a wad of cash, as the first woman =
vociferously suggested, taking it from a man waving bills in her general =
direction.
Tourists have crowded along a row of aquariums that hold sea creatures =
yanked from the ocean mere moments ago.
There's a raw lunch to be had. The eaters and about-to-be-eaten are having =
their introductions made by a knife-wielding team of rowdy Korean women in =
wetsuits.
These women, ages ranging from the mid-50s and up, free dive for seafood =
in the waters around Jeju Island, off the southern tip of the Korean =
peninsula.
Haenyo, as they are called, can dive up to 20 metres deep and hold their =
breath for up to two minutes, using small metallic tools to loosen sea =
creatures from the sea, then placing them in floating nets.
On this mid-winter afternoon we are at Seongsan, a volcanic isthmus that =
forms a naturally protected cove of shallow water on black rock.
These women divers have just given an early-afternoon demonstration of =
their livelihood.
A narrator with a microphone began with a welcome greeting as the haenyo =
stood on the black volcanic beach for a gathering cluster of winter holiday =
tourists.
We gazed curiously at these five aging women in wetsuits and weighted =
belts.
Once introduced, the haenyo began to sing a spirit-bolstering song, to =
ward off the doubts and dangers of a wintry sea.
Holding nets with drum-shaped styrofoam floats attached, the haenyo began =
singing in a plaintive, slow tempo.
They rocked to the beat of their dirge, marking time with the =
watermelon-size float each held with both hands, their call and response =
marked by the tremulous vibrato of traditional Korean song.
With each passing verse, their singing picked up speed, becoming downright =
raucous with Korean chutzpah.
A few whoops and cackles accentuated their singing, their salty, wrinkly =
expressions breaking into wry grins.
As the spirited lead haenyo was about to hurl herself into launching a new =
verse, the staid announcer grabbed the mic away, a not-so-discreet message: =
Less singing, more swimming.
At this, the ladies shuffled off towards the water's edge like a =
mischievous gang of girls who have been chastised by their team coach to go =
out and do what they do best.
To picture the aquatic movements of haenyo, one needs to dispel any images =
of sirens or mermaids or Darryl Hannah in Splash.
These women are foraging to give life to themselves, their families and =
their community, as did their predecessors for centuries.
It isn't about romantic notions of water nymphs and pretty, feminine =
swimming.
There's a job to do, and the haenyo lean into it with aplomb, gently =
lowering themselves into the water and kicking, frog-leg, away from the =
shore.
They are as comfortable farming the ocean floor as they are in a field on =
land.
Being image-conscious doesn't factor in to it.
After 15 minutes in the water, Oh Hyun Soo, 56, emerges with a squid.
The kids on the shore gasp and squeal.
After a brief, shy moment, but egged on by their parents, one by one the =
kids stand next to Oh, the moment, and the squid, captured on cellphone =
cameras.
"Hurry to get a photo, you have to hurry!" Oh calls out, splaying the =
squid mid-air for photo ops.
"This is 30,000 won," she says, which is the equivalent of about $30.
"But because I caught this just for you, you can have it for 25,000!" Oh =
announces the price of her squid to all of us and no one in particular.
Which is how we come to find ourselves gathered around Oh and her =
colleagues, after the other haenyo emerge with varying hauls including kelp =
and abalone and sea cucumber, trading Korean cash for fresh, raw seafood with =
a side of red, hot pepper paste and a green bottle of soju, clear Korean =
liquor.
For centuries, or millennia, according to some historians, haenyo have =
been plucking their way of living from the sea, one fistful of food at a =
time. While haenyo have been known to work the costs of mainland Korea and =
Japan, too, it originated in Jeju Island, with shamanic rituals specific to =
this ancient practice and an island culture rich with mythology.
Today, there are about 5,000 practising haenyo on Jeju Island, their =
numbers are dwindling. In the 1950s, there were approximately 30,000. The =
average age of a haenyo now hovers in the 50s, with some still diving well =
into their 80s. In the past, girls learned to dive starting at the age of 6 =
or 7. Today, there are only two known haenyo under the age of 30. To preserve =
the diving tradition, Jeju Island has begun treating haenyo as heroes.
The Haenyo Museum opened to the public in 2006. It is devoted to their =
craft and their role in resisting Japanese occupation during the first half =
of the 20th century. Their hardy, far-flung missions, as far as Vladivostock, =
Russia, are well-documented. There is also a school for haenyo training, a =
17-week course that is free to locals and foreigners.
Regardless of these efforts, the aging haenyo population is history in the =
making, as young local women now have a myriad of options in modern-day =
Korea.
Even on this mainly agrarian and sleepy island off the southern coast of =
the mainland, job options for women are wide enough that they generally don't =
include long diving excursions, breaking through the surface with prizes that =
garner only $10 or $20 or $30 each.
But for the women who have been doing it for a lifetime, it is a way of =
life.
I ask Oh whether she has daughters. She does. They decided to not become =
haenyo.
I ask whether it was due to their mother's wishes.
Oh respectfully demurs and says they made their own choices in life. I =
change the topic by gesturing to the array of sea creatures in the tanks, =
items she plucked from the sea floor.
"What is your favourite food?" I ask.
"Vegetables," she promptly replies. And laughs.
Hannah Sung is a Toronto-based freelance writer. Her trip was =
subsidized by Jeju Tourism.