South Koreans seem to have a much less histrionic reaction to impending typhoons than Americans do to hurricanes. Perhaps because everything here – almost every business and dwelling—is constructed from stone or concrete and rebar. Roofs tend to be concrete or metal, or (in some elegant cases) heavy glazed clay tiles, so there is not much to take wing. By comparison, American residential construction tends to be rather flimsy. My academy did cancel classes for Friday afternoon, but this was not decided upon until the last minute. Also, the only notice that I had gotten that there was going to be a storm was a casual mention from a coworker (“There’s a typhoon on Friday”), with the understanding that I would simply add it to my calendar. Americans would be glued to frantic newscasts, but as far as I can tell (given my linguistic insulation), what with the two little emergency alerts I received on my phone (the equivalent issued for all extreme weather, including heat, cold, and smog), there just wasn’t the emotional response I’m used to. No windows were boarded up (my heavy double-paned sliding glass doors in my sitting room and on my porch offered a full, if uninteresting, view of the rain), things that might blow away were taken in, and cinderblocks and chunks of Jeju stone were used to weight down others...
...although I’m not sure this piece of old metal machinery really needed the extra weight.
And a lot of decent-sized rocks themselves had been relocated by the heavy tide—several stone walls were undermined.
And this metal one was flattened.
But there were hardy individuals perched close to the fierce water fishing—women and men both.