Castella or Clams—That Is the Question

 

It was the fall of my sixth-grade year when my school planned a class trip to Seoul and Incheon. The cost? A mere 360 won, barely enough to cover train fare. Most students struggled to afford it. I, however, didn’t even ask my parents—I already knew money was scarce.

 

My homeroom teacher, Mr. Yoo Panjo, was a tough yet warm-hearted man who had a soft spot for me. Seeing that I hadn’t paid, he took matters into his own hands. For nearly a month, he stopped by my house every evening, pleading with my parents.

 

"Even if others don’t go, Jintae must! We can’t leave ‘German-made’ behind. If necessary, I’ll pay myself!"  (*"German-made" was the nickname he gave me because I was far smarter than anyone else in the school.)

 

Eventually, my parents relented. I had never asked for the money, but deep down, I had longed to go.

 

The Castella Dilemma

 

As the departure day arrived, my parents asked:

"Are you sure you won’t need extra money?"

 

Being a naive optimist, I replied:

"I just need 10 won—for a Castella cake."

 

With nothing more than 10 won in my pocket, I boarded the train. As luck would have it, vendors sold fresh Castella cakes on board. My heart ached with temptation, but my rational mind intervened:

"If you spend your 10 won now, you’ll be broke. Hold off and buy it later."

Meanwhile, my classmates gleefully bought boiled eggs and snacks—none offering me a bite. I muttered to myself, "Ungrateful bunch. I’ll remember this later."

 

The Big Trade

 

We explored Seoul, admired neon signs, rode a tram, and eventually arrived in Incheon, a seaport. There, vendors sold fresh clams—but the smallest portion cost 200 won, far beyond my budget. I could only watch as others bought them to take home.

On the journey back, a vendor passed through the train selling Castella cakes again. This was it—the moment I’d been waiting for!

I bought one, lifted it toward my mouth, and suddenly noticed the hungry stares surrounding me. My classmates had spent all their money and were now penniless. One of them called out:

"Jintae, stop!"

He held up a bag of clams. In that instant, my eyes darted back and forth between my beloved Castella and his offering.

 

"Castella or clams? That is the question."

 

My business instincts kicked in. Trading a 10-won Castella for 200-won worth of clams was a steal. Despite my longing for the cake, I made the deal. At home, we cooked clam soup, and my family enjoyed a meal unlike anything we had ever had before. My sister marveled:

 

"You only asked for 10 won, yet you brought home enough clams for all of us. What are you destined to become?"

 

 

Little did I know, this was my first lesson in business—the art of turning a small investment into something much greater. Years later, when I led a hundred-million-dollar export operation, I realized it all started with that simple trade on a train.