Let’s try an SAT analogy:  “sub-Saharan Africa” is to “precision watch-making” as “Northeast Asia” is to: 1.) ship-building, 2.) plasma TV production, 3.) quality dental work.  Yes, the correct answer is #3.  Or so I very much believed.  It’s not surprising then that last week, when a retaining wire on the back of my teeth came unattached while munching on bean sprouts, a deep and dark fear immediately consumed me.  Jesus Christ, I thought, I have to go to the dentist in Korea...

The panic worsened a bit as I prepared myself for the trip.  (It wasn’t to be a long trip though, as there’s a dentist in our apartment building!  Along with a Thai massage parlor, three realtors, a travel agency, seven restaurants, a karaoke bar, two “waffle” cafes, Starbucks, three whiskey bars, two clothing boutiques, a spa, wedding hall, two convenience stores, and something mysteriously called “Club the Nine Hole”.)  I readied myself for the dentist by memorizing the necessary phrases to explain my problem.  Do I go with “the wire has detached from my tooth” or “the wire is broken” or just “help, my mouth is broken”?  In the end, of course, in front of the reception desk I couldn’t remember anything I studied and ended up pulling the broken wire out of my mouth and gasping “ahn dwei yo”, which translates literally as “it does not become”.  Trust me, it wasn’t as poor a choice of words as it sounds and anyway, they seemed to get the message.

When a dental assistant came out and saw that I “speak Korean” she did what usually happens next:  start speaking really quickly, employing mostly words I don’t know and will never know.  I understood “please wait” though, so that’s what I did.  The office itself looked about like any other dentist office I’d visited, in a slightly miniaturized form.  Furniture in Korea seems to always be about 70% the size of its American cousins.  Their lack of space or our large behinds?  After five minutes of pretending to remain calm while thumbing through a magazine, a girl that looked about 16 years old came to get me and took me back to exam room #3.  The girl, Miss Kim, may have been a dental hygienist, a dental assistant, the dentist herself, or she may have been a cook--I didn’t ask.  I just sat in the chair, asked humbly for her to “please make re-apply cement please”, and opened wide.

What proceeded to happen was remarkable precisely because, well, nothing remarkable happened.  She fixed everything, fairly comfortably and quickly.  The patient room was exactly as one would find one back home.  Everything clean and organized, nothing bloodied or taped together.  I was startled briefly though when she began working as in Korea they cover your face with a sterile cloth with a hole in the center for your mouth.  So I could hear her drilling--well, polishing--my teeth, but I couldn’t see a thing.  There was one funny moment about half-way through the procedure where she stopped me and, deadpan, told me the work was going to be expensive and asked if she should proceed.  How much?  About 80,000 won.  I told her I would happily pay and asked her to just do her best. 

So, after about 40 minutes in total, and $68 poorer, I had a shiny new wire running behind my lower front teeth.  The dental office even sent me a text message that evening to check how I was doing and remind me to come in anytime should I have trouble in the future.  To be honest, I should have known better.  For one, Koreans have nice teeth!  Memories of living in rural Japan--a very different story--were still controlling my mind when the wire busted.  Additionally, a friend of mine lived in Seoul for a number of years and always raved about the medical care here, far preferring it to back home in Colorado.   So be optimistic, dear reader, when you find yourself traveling through Busan and happen to crack a tooth on one of those nasty bits of bone they like to hide in the grilled pork.