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JUNE 20, 2007 - "Korea has entered a Free Trade Agreement with the US, and we are afraid our country will be flooded with cheap imported food," said Yi-Hyun Kang, a Korean local-food activist on a visit to Vancouver. We were walking along the railway tracks beside the Cypress Community Garden, where I had a plot for six years until moving to the east side. "You should be afraid," I said. "I just hope you can learn from our mistakes. Industrial agriculture has been terrible for family farms in North America." She andwriter photographer Jeong-Min Yeo were on a fact-finding mission in Vancouver, San Francisco and London for the Korean online publication Pressian, hoping to learn what these three countries have done to protect and promote their local food systems. However, I was most interested to learn from them about what traditions they are trying to protect in Korea, an ancient country whose cuisine developed according to the dictates of its local climate and landscape. But Seoul, where the two young women live, is a dense modern city of 10 million people where it is hard to stay in touch with the land. "Please could you tell me what these vegetables are?" asked Yi-Hyun shyly. "I am a city girl, and have never seen them growing." I felt suddenly knowledgable as I pointed out carrots, tomatoes, lettuce and garlic; though she wonders if they might in fact be leeks? And I admit that they could be. What is the favorite vegetable of Korea? I asked. "Kimch'i," said Chris Kim, a Korean Vancouverite who is along to translate the more complicated questions and answers we might exchange. We laughed, though I'm not quite sure why. Kimch'i is, of course, fermented cabbage, a vegetable that I have heard many North Americans scorn when I suggest that it is a perfectly reasonable thing to eat in winter. And there it is, the national favourite of Korea! The women asked me if we can move inside a nearby cafe, as they are cold. "When will it be summer?" Yi-Hyun asked. Sheepishly, I said that it is, though it's unseasonably cold at about 12 degrees Celsius (53 Fahrenheit) and overcast. They tell me it is 35 degrees Celsius (95 F) back home, and even in winter it is an average of 19 degrees (66 F). Sipping herbal teas, they told me that the first official farmers market just opened in Seoul, and they showed me pictures on their laptop computer. It is just like a larger version of North American ones, with shiny new awnings set up in a parking lot. Before that, they said, the most common markets were informal housewives' buying clubs, or co-ops, where the farmers would come round in trucks with their orders. The focus before now, they said, was organic food, as Korea had a number of tainted food scares. (Shades of the China wheat gluten scandal?) Interestingly, when Chris spoke to them in Korean, I heard him say repeatedly in English "local food movement." Isn't there a word for local food in Korean? I asked. Chris thought for a moment. "'Well-being' food," he said. Also in English? Yes, he said. I realized this made sense; because in essence, local food is what would have, until recent decades, been simply the word for "food" in a country like Korea. Though "well-being" applies to food, it can be used to describe clothing, travel, and other things, he said. It's a trend that has an element of luxury to it. So when he had asked me earlier, "Is local food expensive or does it take up time?", I realized the question probably had a different meaning to someone in Korea than in North America. Playing it safe, I had explained that it is possible for local food to be either: you can spend time canning and gardening, and save money; or you can go to an upscale grocery and spend money on it. In retrospect, I realized the right answer was probably that it can be expensive if you like, the opposite answer to what people seem to hope for in North America. Chris explained to me that, while labour laws are much better in Korea than, say, China, people who work factory and office jobs often work 12-hour days - not because they must, but because people expect that you should to get ahead. I sighed, thinking that the process of industrialization is always the same as it repeats itself around the globe. "People think that life in North America is perfect," Yi-Hyun said. But you must tell them, I said, that people in North America never believe they have enough, that they are depressed, they are disconnected from family and community. Can others ever learn this lesson from afar? Certainly, it seems that many in North America have never learned it, and I wonder how small of a minority I am in for thinking so. I didn't know much about Korea before I met with these interesting, well-informed, passionate people. Before now, the main thing that had stuck with me was what I heard about a Korean farmer at the World Trade Organization meeting in Cancun in 2003, where the powers that be talked about "globalizing" agricultural policies. (In other words, welcome to our hell.) What had that Korean farmer done? He stabbed himself in protest, and he died. Crazy, maybe, but no more crazy than tearing culture apart piece by piece to suit the needs of big business. "Korea has some powerful food traditions," I said at the end of our meeting. "You need to convince people to hang onto that." I wish them well and feel humbled that they thought they could learn anything from me. If anything,we could learn from a nation whose favorite vegetable is kimch'i. -ADS

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