seoul
arrival
I'm seated at the plane wing, which makes me uneasy because the plane wing seems to be a vulnerable place, and I'm set to be the victim here. On the bright side, two aisles over are the exit doors, and my window has a shade for me to gleefully try to ignore any signs of impending doom. The wing hides any sort of view I might be getting however, which is the only point of having a window seat, but it's almost seven and the sky is cloudy so I doubt there'd be much of a view anyway.
This morning all I had was my trusty green bun and meat stick on the Narita express platform, (and am happy to see family marts exist in Seoul as well)
Hamlet, the pig, has wandered into the rooms, found two chip bags, and is busy eating away beneath my bed. I feel sorry for whoever those chips belong to, and I feel sorry because I was the one who let him in. Or rather, h slipped through the door as I did. Pigs are surprisingly sneaky. Now I'm busy hatching a plan to get him out, involving me, Pocky, and all my movie knowledge. This can't work. It could. But that'd be ridiculous. I run outside quickly to go get it and then remember it's in my backpack, back at the room. I grab it, then hold it up to his nose. He seems disinterested. Then I remember it's still in the wrapper so I tear it up, pull out a stick and hold it up to his snout, mid-feast. I feel him grab on, and offer another quickly. It takes a couple tries to get his full attention and lure him out of the bed but I do, then I begin to set up a path to the door, of Pocky sticks. Hamlet is smart though. Hamlet is more interested in the full pack in my hand but I have no intention of giving it to him. It's not that I want the Pocky, I don't-I just need it to keep him entertained. After the fifth stick, his tail is just about where the door would end so as he bites away, I shut it quietly behind him, breathing a sigh of relief, and shaking from nerves. I'm not scared of hamlet, not in the least, but I feel so bad that I let him in the room and that plan of action was simply too much excitement to begin the day with. Outside, hamlet notices he's been tricked and nudges and waits at the door to slip back in. I can hear him sniff for more food. Never have you been harassed I tell you, until you've been harassed by a pig.
Arriving, it turns out, was not the problem. After some turn of events, the flight landed on time, and I ran with my carry on to be the first in the customs lines, but ended up instead at a set of doors, waiting for a train, and completely confused if this was right. The train took us to the passenger terminal. Removed from the arrival and departure gates. There, we ran to customs, and I say we because I was not the only one in a rush. But customs wasn’t a problem. Hardly anyone was there except for us, as I suppose we were the only flight that had just landed. I would have been out in about five minutes if the ridiculous family in front of me didn't have a long chat with the officer, who I tell you, looked extremely dissatisfied with his job. But really, how can you ever be satisfied with a job that requires you to take a picture and stamp a passport, day in and day out? It's just not fulfilling, and hardly a thing to make you reach self-actualization on the Buddha scale. The feels, the feels.
Once I was out, bag in hand, black spots from some sort of mistreatment, I tried to remember my escape plan. From here I had two choices: take the Arex train or go with plan A: airport bus to Hapjeong. It was 9:30 and I figured I had time, so hopped on the bus. After asking a woman that knows no English, I spot the ticket counter and ask for bus 6002. The ticket is about ten bucks, which is a third of what I paid in Japan, so I'm surprised, but happy. When we board the bus, I try to remind myself to stay alert and awake, and listen for the Hapjeong station call, which should be first, though on this matter the hosts instructions and Google maps seem to disagree. I busy myself with wiping the bus windows whenever they get clouded up, and wonder if the cord strung up along it is meant to be pulled when it's our turn to get off.
I pull the cord when I hear my station, but nothing happens, I pull again. The guy in front looks at me and I let go, following suit instead of the person who has gotten up n out the bus, awkwardly trampling over the girl next to me in the process.
My accommodation is either painfully obvious or painfully obvious to me due to all the extensive research, worrying, google mapping, and nagging of Jake through the past couple weeks. I'm so covered now that I could find this place from South Africa, kidding.
No elevator, but thankfully the flights between are short and just when my knees are about to give out, I reach the door.
Welcome to Seoul base camp.
That pig is a handful. Of course, the first time I meet him, I'm excited to see a pig, and reach to pet him, though I'm still unsure of exactly how to do that. The feel of his hair is bristly and thick and needle-like. He follows people around, looking for food. No one is at the counter when I arrive, so I try not to look awkward, set my bags down, and walk around the room instead. The place looks quite homey, low lighting, one fridge, a bathroom that leaves me longing for the private stalls in the capsule hotel, long couches and chairs, and a wooden breakfast bench and table against one side. And oh yeah, a guitar. I stare at it, unsure I’m allowed to touch, and quite sure I'd make a fool of myself trying to play it. But it's been so long since I last touched a guitar! I settle for looking through the books on the bookshelf next to it instead. I'm in Seoul, and tomorrow is day one of my trip officially, and I've got about an hour before its time for bed, and no plan as of yet as to how I'm going to spend my time here, but the shelves are full of guides to Seoul and Korea, so I think myself lucky, and sit down and read, straining to catch some of the light coming from the dimly lit lamp next to a boy on the couch facing the entrance. I try to read, but am too distracted and anxious, waiting to check I’m and be shown my room. After a while a girl that has been busy showering and moving to and fro quite easily, as if she fits in naturally with this scene, as if she's lived here all her life, comes up to me with long black hair and a smile. "Hi where are you from? I love what you're wearing by the way"
"Chicago and thanks"
"Did somebody check you in?"
"No not yet"
"Do they know you're supposed to be here?"
"Yes I talked to them before but it's okay, it was kind of weird timing because my flight was delayed and I didn't know if I was going to get here in time or not"
"Oh we're you just going to wait? Let me show you around" I get up and eagerly follow her, happy to have a direction to go in and some friendly conversation, at last. She shows me the towels behind the desk and where the lockers are, shows me the showers and leads me through the couches, the dim light, indie music, and busy looking twenty something's to a hall of doors, opens one and reveals the bunk beds, small room cluttered with luggage and shopping bags. "If no one comes in half an hour, I would just take this one, no one’s claimed it yet." She explains, pointing toward one of the bottom bunks near the doorway. She disappears for a bit and I'm back to pretending to read until the boy next to me strikes up a conversation.
“You all done with u-ee?”
“What?”
“University”
“Oh yes. Yes and no. I finished but I went back to get my masters to teach art, but then...o was doing observations at this point, and everyone I went to was like, I started off as an artist inky doing this for a while and just never went back to it...and I just couldn't do that, it was going to take up all my life, so I stopped. And I'm taking a break.”
“Figuring it out, that's good”
“And you?”
“Oh I've got no plans. I'm from south of England, taught in China for a year, now I'm here for I don't know how much time, left my last place cause it was a bit unclean,” I look around, wondering how long he'll last here, which doesn't seem like the best of places itself, “I got an offer to teach here in South Korea, but thought I’d check it out for myself first.”
“Exactly. That's kind of what I'm doing too, thought I should before I sign any contracts, had another one lined up but it was to teach kids and I didn't want to do that.”
“Oh no, I get you, I teach kids now, and no, just no.”
“Yeah exactly. So it's here or Japan.”
“Oh I was just in Japan, you'll like it there.”
“I heard it was expensive”
“A bit. But there's English everywhere, and u can get anywhere on the subway.”
We are halfway into a good conversating before Jake comes over to remind us that at this time, they like us to be quiet for the people that are sleeping. Were quiet for a couple minutes, pretending to be productive, and then we are off conversation again, me enjoying him talking for the pure joy of hearing his accent, and also it’s the second human conversation I’ve had here, and the second longest conversation I’ve had on this trip total. Which all makes you realize, just how much of a loner I really am.
() is sitting with the guitar on her lap, the one I’ve been wanting to touch ever since I got here, I walk over and ask her if she plays, or if she just likes to look cool, regretting instantly because it sounds very much rude and like I’m trying to be cool, which I sadly, am. I feel like the new kid at a school again. It’s all very terrible. To my relief, she laughs and says, “That’s a good question. I don’t really play, do you?”
“A little but not really. I’m not any good.”
I bet you are”
“no I’m not, I still have to read the chords when I try to play a song,” I laugh.
“Want to hear a song I’ve made up?”
She plays a little and I watch her fingers move in the dim light of the room. She laughs, “One chord, total”
“Are you going to sleep soon?” () asks as she sits down on the couch next to me, popcorn chips in hand.
“No it's fine, I'm used to irregular sleep schedules thanks to my mom, lots of middle-of-the-night emergency room visits.”
“What's wrong with her, is she sick?”
“She's got end stage kidney failure but that's kind of a weird conversation topic.”
“Yeah I was going to say sorry for getting so personal.”
“Ha-ha no it's fine I'm actually not as phased by it as I should be, don't take it as seriously as I should, I still feel removed which is kind of bad.”
“It must be nice to get away from that for a while and just focus on you.”
“I guess. Maybe.”
the conversation strays back to what normal conversations are like and soon me and her are pals and she is complimenting me on my great attitude on life, and I just keep thinking, this person is so cool, she is 26 and an investment banker, owns a company and travels the world, Australian, easy to get along with, and seems to just go with the flow and fit in anywhere, so I can’t take any compliment from her seriously, because she is just too amazing to be complimented by.
“That's great, you're so unapologetically you and I love that, it's a shame we met in my last day here,” she says, and my heart soars. “Do you blog? Cause I'd like to read it" I imagine her reading my blog, and how disappointed shed be at the thoughts of little old me. “Pisces! Idealistic, u think is all good and want love, and life, and unicorns.”
“Okay I don't know about all that...”
“You know what's great about Chicago? Do u like sports at all, baseball! Also, the first Starbucks, and the most law firms in the nation,”
“Really? I thought you were going to say the world’s best art museum, which actually I've been there, and find it a little overrated."
Its past midnight but I just keep thinking, I want to stay here just a second longer in this space where I fit in with all these wonderful strangers, but its late and I have to get up in the morning and still have no clue as to where I’m going, so I head into my room and begin to charge things and wrestle with the plug that won’t seem to accept any of the adapters I’ve brought with me, then crawl into the sleeping bag and soon, I’m out.
This morning all I had was my trusty green bun and meat stick on the Narita express platform, (and am happy to see family marts exist in Seoul as well)
Hamlet, the pig, has wandered into the rooms, found two chip bags, and is busy eating away beneath my bed. I feel sorry for whoever those chips belong to, and I feel sorry because I was the one who let him in. Or rather, h slipped through the door as I did. Pigs are surprisingly sneaky. Now I'm busy hatching a plan to get him out, involving me, Pocky, and all my movie knowledge. This can't work. It could. But that'd be ridiculous. I run outside quickly to go get it and then remember it's in my backpack, back at the room. I grab it, then hold it up to his nose. He seems disinterested. Then I remember it's still in the wrapper so I tear it up, pull out a stick and hold it up to his snout, mid-feast. I feel him grab on, and offer another quickly. It takes a couple tries to get his full attention and lure him out of the bed but I do, then I begin to set up a path to the door, of Pocky sticks. Hamlet is smart though. Hamlet is more interested in the full pack in my hand but I have no intention of giving it to him. It's not that I want the Pocky, I don't-I just need it to keep him entertained. After the fifth stick, his tail is just about where the door would end so as he bites away, I shut it quietly behind him, breathing a sigh of relief, and shaking from nerves. I'm not scared of hamlet, not in the least, but I feel so bad that I let him in the room and that plan of action was simply too much excitement to begin the day with. Outside, hamlet notices he's been tricked and nudges and waits at the door to slip back in. I can hear him sniff for more food. Never have you been harassed I tell you, until you've been harassed by a pig.
Arriving, it turns out, was not the problem. After some turn of events, the flight landed on time, and I ran with my carry on to be the first in the customs lines, but ended up instead at a set of doors, waiting for a train, and completely confused if this was right. The train took us to the passenger terminal. Removed from the arrival and departure gates. There, we ran to customs, and I say we because I was not the only one in a rush. But customs wasn’t a problem. Hardly anyone was there except for us, as I suppose we were the only flight that had just landed. I would have been out in about five minutes if the ridiculous family in front of me didn't have a long chat with the officer, who I tell you, looked extremely dissatisfied with his job. But really, how can you ever be satisfied with a job that requires you to take a picture and stamp a passport, day in and day out? It's just not fulfilling, and hardly a thing to make you reach self-actualization on the Buddha scale. The feels, the feels.
Once I was out, bag in hand, black spots from some sort of mistreatment, I tried to remember my escape plan. From here I had two choices: take the Arex train or go with plan A: airport bus to Hapjeong. It was 9:30 and I figured I had time, so hopped on the bus. After asking a woman that knows no English, I spot the ticket counter and ask for bus 6002. The ticket is about ten bucks, which is a third of what I paid in Japan, so I'm surprised, but happy. When we board the bus, I try to remind myself to stay alert and awake, and listen for the Hapjeong station call, which should be first, though on this matter the hosts instructions and Google maps seem to disagree. I busy myself with wiping the bus windows whenever they get clouded up, and wonder if the cord strung up along it is meant to be pulled when it's our turn to get off.
I pull the cord when I hear my station, but nothing happens, I pull again. The guy in front looks at me and I let go, following suit instead of the person who has gotten up n out the bus, awkwardly trampling over the girl next to me in the process.
My accommodation is either painfully obvious or painfully obvious to me due to all the extensive research, worrying, google mapping, and nagging of Jake through the past couple weeks. I'm so covered now that I could find this place from South Africa, kidding.
No elevator, but thankfully the flights between are short and just when my knees are about to give out, I reach the door.
Welcome to Seoul base camp.
That pig is a handful. Of course, the first time I meet him, I'm excited to see a pig, and reach to pet him, though I'm still unsure of exactly how to do that. The feel of his hair is bristly and thick and needle-like. He follows people around, looking for food. No one is at the counter when I arrive, so I try not to look awkward, set my bags down, and walk around the room instead. The place looks quite homey, low lighting, one fridge, a bathroom that leaves me longing for the private stalls in the capsule hotel, long couches and chairs, and a wooden breakfast bench and table against one side. And oh yeah, a guitar. I stare at it, unsure I’m allowed to touch, and quite sure I'd make a fool of myself trying to play it. But it's been so long since I last touched a guitar! I settle for looking through the books on the bookshelf next to it instead. I'm in Seoul, and tomorrow is day one of my trip officially, and I've got about an hour before its time for bed, and no plan as of yet as to how I'm going to spend my time here, but the shelves are full of guides to Seoul and Korea, so I think myself lucky, and sit down and read, straining to catch some of the light coming from the dimly lit lamp next to a boy on the couch facing the entrance. I try to read, but am too distracted and anxious, waiting to check I’m and be shown my room. After a while a girl that has been busy showering and moving to and fro quite easily, as if she fits in naturally with this scene, as if she's lived here all her life, comes up to me with long black hair and a smile. "Hi where are you from? I love what you're wearing by the way"
"Chicago and thanks"
"Did somebody check you in?"
"No not yet"
"Do they know you're supposed to be here?"
"Yes I talked to them before but it's okay, it was kind of weird timing because my flight was delayed and I didn't know if I was going to get here in time or not"
"Oh we're you just going to wait? Let me show you around" I get up and eagerly follow her, happy to have a direction to go in and some friendly conversation, at last. She shows me the towels behind the desk and where the lockers are, shows me the showers and leads me through the couches, the dim light, indie music, and busy looking twenty something's to a hall of doors, opens one and reveals the bunk beds, small room cluttered with luggage and shopping bags. "If no one comes in half an hour, I would just take this one, no one’s claimed it yet." She explains, pointing toward one of the bottom bunks near the doorway. She disappears for a bit and I'm back to pretending to read until the boy next to me strikes up a conversation.
“You all done with u-ee?”
“What?”
“University”
“Oh yes. Yes and no. I finished but I went back to get my masters to teach art, but then...o was doing observations at this point, and everyone I went to was like, I started off as an artist inky doing this for a while and just never went back to it...and I just couldn't do that, it was going to take up all my life, so I stopped. And I'm taking a break.”
“Figuring it out, that's good”
“And you?”
“Oh I've got no plans. I'm from south of England, taught in China for a year, now I'm here for I don't know how much time, left my last place cause it was a bit unclean,” I look around, wondering how long he'll last here, which doesn't seem like the best of places itself, “I got an offer to teach here in South Korea, but thought I’d check it out for myself first.”
“Exactly. That's kind of what I'm doing too, thought I should before I sign any contracts, had another one lined up but it was to teach kids and I didn't want to do that.”
“Oh no, I get you, I teach kids now, and no, just no.”
“Yeah exactly. So it's here or Japan.”
“Oh I was just in Japan, you'll like it there.”
“I heard it was expensive”
“A bit. But there's English everywhere, and u can get anywhere on the subway.”
We are halfway into a good conversating before Jake comes over to remind us that at this time, they like us to be quiet for the people that are sleeping. Were quiet for a couple minutes, pretending to be productive, and then we are off conversation again, me enjoying him talking for the pure joy of hearing his accent, and also it’s the second human conversation I’ve had here, and the second longest conversation I’ve had on this trip total. Which all makes you realize, just how much of a loner I really am.
() is sitting with the guitar on her lap, the one I’ve been wanting to touch ever since I got here, I walk over and ask her if she plays, or if she just likes to look cool, regretting instantly because it sounds very much rude and like I’m trying to be cool, which I sadly, am. I feel like the new kid at a school again. It’s all very terrible. To my relief, she laughs and says, “That’s a good question. I don’t really play, do you?”
“A little but not really. I’m not any good.”
I bet you are”
“no I’m not, I still have to read the chords when I try to play a song,” I laugh.
“Want to hear a song I’ve made up?”
She plays a little and I watch her fingers move in the dim light of the room. She laughs, “One chord, total”
“Are you going to sleep soon?” () asks as she sits down on the couch next to me, popcorn chips in hand.
“No it's fine, I'm used to irregular sleep schedules thanks to my mom, lots of middle-of-the-night emergency room visits.”
“What's wrong with her, is she sick?”
“She's got end stage kidney failure but that's kind of a weird conversation topic.”
“Yeah I was going to say sorry for getting so personal.”
“Ha-ha no it's fine I'm actually not as phased by it as I should be, don't take it as seriously as I should, I still feel removed which is kind of bad.”
“It must be nice to get away from that for a while and just focus on you.”
“I guess. Maybe.”
the conversation strays back to what normal conversations are like and soon me and her are pals and she is complimenting me on my great attitude on life, and I just keep thinking, this person is so cool, she is 26 and an investment banker, owns a company and travels the world, Australian, easy to get along with, and seems to just go with the flow and fit in anywhere, so I can’t take any compliment from her seriously, because she is just too amazing to be complimented by.
“That's great, you're so unapologetically you and I love that, it's a shame we met in my last day here,” she says, and my heart soars. “Do you blog? Cause I'd like to read it" I imagine her reading my blog, and how disappointed shed be at the thoughts of little old me. “Pisces! Idealistic, u think is all good and want love, and life, and unicorns.”
“Okay I don't know about all that...”
“You know what's great about Chicago? Do u like sports at all, baseball! Also, the first Starbucks, and the most law firms in the nation,”
“Really? I thought you were going to say the world’s best art museum, which actually I've been there, and find it a little overrated."
Its past midnight but I just keep thinking, I want to stay here just a second longer in this space where I fit in with all these wonderful strangers, but its late and I have to get up in the morning and still have no clue as to where I’m going, so I head into my room and begin to charge things and wrestle with the plug that won’t seem to accept any of the adapters I’ve brought with me, then crawl into the sleeping bag and soon, I’m out.
day one: myengdong
My pillow is so flat that it might as well not even exist.
Back at home, my sister informs me my father has gone back to work and it makes me sad that I missed his last day’s home. My father is sixty six. He should really just retire.
Up for another hour planning last night, but still feeling unsure about my day, I decide to head to Myeongdong, the only place I am sure I want to visit. First though, I go through my bags, pulling out fresh clothes and my towel to give myself a rinse before I'm off. The showers are intimidating: coed, no doors, only separated by orange curtains that make me want to tape the sides to the door to avoid any accidental peeking. Oh Shinjuku nozzle, how I miss you now. It takes me about ten minutes to figure out a strategy on where to place my clothes and towel so they won't get wet, and how to take my clothes off without wetting them also which involves reaching up to put them all on a shelf above the shower, which seems the lesser of two evils, even though I am unsure how clean the shelf is and whether or not critters are waiting there. This shower too, has a nozzle, but it's smaller and the hot and cold seem a lot more absolute in their definition, leaving me either burning or with a shiver. I shower quickly and am out in search of the waffles I've been promised, highly recommended per online reviews and the handwritten thank you notes I saw pinned last night on Jake’s welcome board.
The waffles, excuse me, waffle, is delicious-fat and plump and fresh, and soon I am out the door and down the block where the subway is. Like japan, the subway is not intimidating. I’m getting good at reading maps but since it is my first day, I use the app I downloaded a week ago to guide me through the two transfers (one from Hapjeong to Hongik university, then Hongik university to Seoul station, and finally Seoul station to Myeongdong) that it takes me to get to Myeongdong. Myeongdong is the shopping destination of Seoul, according to the internet. And as soon as I am off the train its evident why. I stick my card into the deposit machine and receive my fifty cents of return, the card working much like Chicago’s ventral card, just touch and go, and soon I am following the twists and turns of the subway-already used to the multiple exits like Tokyo-passing shops along the way, as apparently I am in the underground shopping center. I exit in Migliore, which is a large department store here, as it is visible in almost every shopping center map in Seoul. I head into it for a second or two then come back out, as its just more clothes and random goods and I can’t afford to get lost in there for no reason right now, and head down a street perpendicular to it instead.
I know I’ve arrived at Myeongdong shopping center when I spot etude house, beside it, a tony moly, then proceed to freak out like a girlish school girl because anybody who is as obsessed with Korean dramas as I am is likely to recognize Etude House as one of the greats in Korean cosmetics. I head inside and stay there for another hour as I debate which lipstick color to take (I want them all) and curse the airline restrictions for not allowing me to take liquids on board, and thus denying me any skin products like emulsion and essence which we do not have at such great prices at home, and deciding what colors would best go with the perspective skin tones of the girls at home, and whether or not my sister deserves anything. meanwhile, the shop boy eyes me as I walk through the store, trying on colors, picking up this and that, and I’m there for so long, that I don’t even blame him for thinking I’m weird. when I finally step out, I’ve spent my first sixty dollars, and am lamenting that they were all out of a specific blush shade I wanted (though no worries, as I find it later at another etude house where I proceed to spend another hefty sum then vow to spend no more at any further etude houses and cosmetics from then on is dead to me). Myeongdong streets delight me, as they are full of shops id only ever seen online or in Korean dramas, mostly cosmetics and skin products-they are obsessed, but soon I’ve lost track of where I came from and where to go next, as the streets all melt into each other, each containing the same set of bones-made up of etude houses, Tony Molys, It’s Skin, Banila, and other stores that seem to line every single block of Myeongdong. There are some nicely quirky shops here and there though, offering things like robot clocks and a small spinning Ferris wheel. I pass the Drop top cafe and snap a pic, knowing I recognize it from a kdrama for sure, then before I know it standing in front of Lotte department store.
Despite all the hubbub of the Lotte store, I find it unremarkable. Young Plaza is something more of an excitement with a store like Stardium that sells k-pop goods but seems currently rather obsessed with Exo and Big Bang, and funny little stickers and other goods. but Lotte department store itself is filled with Gucci, Prada, Salvatore Ferragamo, Chanel, and all the high quality name brands that I’ve already seen back home, and cannot afford in any country, so I walk out, only appreciating the fact that Park Shin Hye is on their door, though at the same time judging her because now I realize she is a spokesperson for luxury, not just a down to earth kind of chick and I liked her better before I made that connection.
I cross the street back to Myeongdong plaza, and decide to search for food while I’m here. walking into a shop, I order the chicken Galbi with vegetables though I have no idea what that is, am directed to sit at a community table with a large stove looking thing in the center, and set my things down. the salad bar is self-serve, I am told, but even though I watch others take some before daring to myself, I have no idea what goes with what and where, so I serve myself a plate of pineapple-looking yellow bits and sit down to my table, where I’ve already been brought a plate of chicken and rice with other bits. utensils out, I prepare to dig into my meal but soon someone comes over, begins the stove, and throws the chicken, rice, and vegetables in and soon I realize they were just ingredients that are about to be mixed together. the man picks up to wooden paddles and mixes them, then walks away, letting the chicken sizzle a bit, I say thank you unsure if this is a service everyone receives or if I’m just an inconvenient tourist that doesn’t know how to cook for herself, but soon random workers stop by, look at the sizzling pan, and take the paddles and mix and smush and mix and smush until it all looks a bit orange, and this goes on all over the place, so I feel much more reassured that it’s not just me. Soon the chicken Galbi is ready and I am left with one of the large wooden spoons to heap it all bit by bit onto my plate.
the chicken Galbi is delicious. Spicy, but delicious. I take a bite, then gulp some water, and bite some more, using the spoon unabashedly because chopsticks just wouldn’t do it justice. I use the chopsticks instead to pick up pieces of the yellow salad bar bits, which though it is not pineapple, is strangely good with its undefinable flavor. it’s all more food than I’ve had to eat in weeks, and I wonder if I can finish it all, but I think of the waste it would be not to, and soon have finished it all and get up for another plate of the yellow stuff before leaving and paying a mere five dollars for the entire thing-Korea beats japan in food any day, I think.
It’s around four o clock, and I could go home, but that seems like a waste of such an early time, so ahead to Hongdae to sneak a peek at the Promised Land.
Hongdae is at first disappointing when I spot nothing but shops, and yet another Etude House and Tony Moly. But soon I spot a square where large blocks have been set up, each individually painted, a contribution from Ewha Womens' University and I decide I really do like this place. I told myself I’d only stay another hour though, so I walk down a side street, see some small shops, visit the tourist center and pick up a few pamphlets to look through later, spot Freebird, the indie club I’ve been wanting to go to, (though I now realize its only free Monday through Thursday and I’ve already missed my chance..) and get excited for the free market on Saturday, where students set up shop and try to sell whatever they’ve been working on. Hopefully bands play. I’m dying to hear real music.
When I get back home, I realize that () has probably already left by now, and I won’t get to talk to her ever again, though I know I have her on my Facebook, and European guy, I’m sorry, Chris, is nowhere to be seen (though later on I hear his voice in the living room as I’m about to sleep) so I hole myself up in my room, pretend to write for a while, then watch TV until it’s time to give in to Mr. Sandman.
I know for sure that the capsule hotel has spoiled me when I flush I am left waiting for a noise machine in the bathroom, and have to remind myself to manually flush the toilet instead of just getting up and leaving it to handle that on its own. I miss the facial washes and the numerous hair dryers and other girly goods.
Back at home, my sister informs me my father has gone back to work and it makes me sad that I missed his last day’s home. My father is sixty six. He should really just retire.
Up for another hour planning last night, but still feeling unsure about my day, I decide to head to Myeongdong, the only place I am sure I want to visit. First though, I go through my bags, pulling out fresh clothes and my towel to give myself a rinse before I'm off. The showers are intimidating: coed, no doors, only separated by orange curtains that make me want to tape the sides to the door to avoid any accidental peeking. Oh Shinjuku nozzle, how I miss you now. It takes me about ten minutes to figure out a strategy on where to place my clothes and towel so they won't get wet, and how to take my clothes off without wetting them also which involves reaching up to put them all on a shelf above the shower, which seems the lesser of two evils, even though I am unsure how clean the shelf is and whether or not critters are waiting there. This shower too, has a nozzle, but it's smaller and the hot and cold seem a lot more absolute in their definition, leaving me either burning or with a shiver. I shower quickly and am out in search of the waffles I've been promised, highly recommended per online reviews and the handwritten thank you notes I saw pinned last night on Jake’s welcome board.
The waffles, excuse me, waffle, is delicious-fat and plump and fresh, and soon I am out the door and down the block where the subway is. Like japan, the subway is not intimidating. I’m getting good at reading maps but since it is my first day, I use the app I downloaded a week ago to guide me through the two transfers (one from Hapjeong to Hongik university, then Hongik university to Seoul station, and finally Seoul station to Myeongdong) that it takes me to get to Myeongdong. Myeongdong is the shopping destination of Seoul, according to the internet. And as soon as I am off the train its evident why. I stick my card into the deposit machine and receive my fifty cents of return, the card working much like Chicago’s ventral card, just touch and go, and soon I am following the twists and turns of the subway-already used to the multiple exits like Tokyo-passing shops along the way, as apparently I am in the underground shopping center. I exit in Migliore, which is a large department store here, as it is visible in almost every shopping center map in Seoul. I head into it for a second or two then come back out, as its just more clothes and random goods and I can’t afford to get lost in there for no reason right now, and head down a street perpendicular to it instead.
I know I’ve arrived at Myeongdong shopping center when I spot etude house, beside it, a tony moly, then proceed to freak out like a girlish school girl because anybody who is as obsessed with Korean dramas as I am is likely to recognize Etude House as one of the greats in Korean cosmetics. I head inside and stay there for another hour as I debate which lipstick color to take (I want them all) and curse the airline restrictions for not allowing me to take liquids on board, and thus denying me any skin products like emulsion and essence which we do not have at such great prices at home, and deciding what colors would best go with the perspective skin tones of the girls at home, and whether or not my sister deserves anything. meanwhile, the shop boy eyes me as I walk through the store, trying on colors, picking up this and that, and I’m there for so long, that I don’t even blame him for thinking I’m weird. when I finally step out, I’ve spent my first sixty dollars, and am lamenting that they were all out of a specific blush shade I wanted (though no worries, as I find it later at another etude house where I proceed to spend another hefty sum then vow to spend no more at any further etude houses and cosmetics from then on is dead to me). Myeongdong streets delight me, as they are full of shops id only ever seen online or in Korean dramas, mostly cosmetics and skin products-they are obsessed, but soon I’ve lost track of where I came from and where to go next, as the streets all melt into each other, each containing the same set of bones-made up of etude houses, Tony Molys, It’s Skin, Banila, and other stores that seem to line every single block of Myeongdong. There are some nicely quirky shops here and there though, offering things like robot clocks and a small spinning Ferris wheel. I pass the Drop top cafe and snap a pic, knowing I recognize it from a kdrama for sure, then before I know it standing in front of Lotte department store.
Despite all the hubbub of the Lotte store, I find it unremarkable. Young Plaza is something more of an excitement with a store like Stardium that sells k-pop goods but seems currently rather obsessed with Exo and Big Bang, and funny little stickers and other goods. but Lotte department store itself is filled with Gucci, Prada, Salvatore Ferragamo, Chanel, and all the high quality name brands that I’ve already seen back home, and cannot afford in any country, so I walk out, only appreciating the fact that Park Shin Hye is on their door, though at the same time judging her because now I realize she is a spokesperson for luxury, not just a down to earth kind of chick and I liked her better before I made that connection.
I cross the street back to Myeongdong plaza, and decide to search for food while I’m here. walking into a shop, I order the chicken Galbi with vegetables though I have no idea what that is, am directed to sit at a community table with a large stove looking thing in the center, and set my things down. the salad bar is self-serve, I am told, but even though I watch others take some before daring to myself, I have no idea what goes with what and where, so I serve myself a plate of pineapple-looking yellow bits and sit down to my table, where I’ve already been brought a plate of chicken and rice with other bits. utensils out, I prepare to dig into my meal but soon someone comes over, begins the stove, and throws the chicken, rice, and vegetables in and soon I realize they were just ingredients that are about to be mixed together. the man picks up to wooden paddles and mixes them, then walks away, letting the chicken sizzle a bit, I say thank you unsure if this is a service everyone receives or if I’m just an inconvenient tourist that doesn’t know how to cook for herself, but soon random workers stop by, look at the sizzling pan, and take the paddles and mix and smush and mix and smush until it all looks a bit orange, and this goes on all over the place, so I feel much more reassured that it’s not just me. Soon the chicken Galbi is ready and I am left with one of the large wooden spoons to heap it all bit by bit onto my plate.
the chicken Galbi is delicious. Spicy, but delicious. I take a bite, then gulp some water, and bite some more, using the spoon unabashedly because chopsticks just wouldn’t do it justice. I use the chopsticks instead to pick up pieces of the yellow salad bar bits, which though it is not pineapple, is strangely good with its undefinable flavor. it’s all more food than I’ve had to eat in weeks, and I wonder if I can finish it all, but I think of the waste it would be not to, and soon have finished it all and get up for another plate of the yellow stuff before leaving and paying a mere five dollars for the entire thing-Korea beats japan in food any day, I think.
It’s around four o clock, and I could go home, but that seems like a waste of such an early time, so ahead to Hongdae to sneak a peek at the Promised Land.
Hongdae is at first disappointing when I spot nothing but shops, and yet another Etude House and Tony Moly. But soon I spot a square where large blocks have been set up, each individually painted, a contribution from Ewha Womens' University and I decide I really do like this place. I told myself I’d only stay another hour though, so I walk down a side street, see some small shops, visit the tourist center and pick up a few pamphlets to look through later, spot Freebird, the indie club I’ve been wanting to go to, (though I now realize its only free Monday through Thursday and I’ve already missed my chance..) and get excited for the free market on Saturday, where students set up shop and try to sell whatever they’ve been working on. Hopefully bands play. I’m dying to hear real music.
When I get back home, I realize that () has probably already left by now, and I won’t get to talk to her ever again, though I know I have her on my Facebook, and European guy, I’m sorry, Chris, is nowhere to be seen (though later on I hear his voice in the living room as I’m about to sleep) so I hole myself up in my room, pretend to write for a while, then watch TV until it’s time to give in to Mr. Sandman.
I know for sure that the capsule hotel has spoiled me when I flush I am left waiting for a noise machine in the bathroom, and have to remind myself to manually flush the toilet instead of just getting up and leaving it to handle that on its own. I miss the facial washes and the numerous hair dryers and other girly goods.
day two: lotte world
I have a rough plan of what I might want to do by now, but still haven't yet decided, but it's seven thirty and if I get up any later, I will be behind schedule so I reluctantly unzip the sleeping bag which has kept me so nicely warm in this cold cold room, unzip my luggage and grab my belongings as quietly and sneakily as possible (somehow finding my missing toothbrush and toothpaste waiting for me very obvious like as I open the first pocket of my carry on), try to make my hair not look like a monster, and step outside where humans are already awake, and unfortunately, showering away. When I get in the shower, I thankfully already know more or less what to do, but today I'll be showering my hair, and I'm nervous about the red mess it'll make and whether or not everyone will think I'm having my period. Maybe If I’m really obvious about the fact that I have red hair, they will eventually come to the right conclusion, I think, and focus on enacting that plan once I leave the shower.
The girl next to me has very nice clothes, I think, as I towel dry my hair and watch her blow dry hers, a little dust brown pixie cut. She's got light brown overalls over a light orange top, dark tights, and tall socks over it all. Very me, but of course looking much better as she is not a size eleven or something, but rather something closer to what tinker bell might look like. I brush my hair quickly, wait for her to leave, blow dry it enough for it not to drip, but not to dry either, and head back to my room to repack my luggage and come back out for waffle time.
Once I'm back out, Jake asks "want some breakfast" and I say "sure" though I mean, hell yes, and grab a plate and load it with two fat waffles, then head to the table where I notice now there is sugar, and a boiling pitcher of water, cups filled with tea bags and coffee packages waiting at its side. Tea! I wondered what the cups were for! I long for tea and here it is, staring at me in the face, teasing me taunting me, because I cannot have it due to Mother Nature and girl issues. Or as I explain to my sister, I wouldn't want to maximize my liquids.
Three waffles and one mistaken piece of toasted bread topped with coffee that I thought was cinnamon later, I am out the door, with a backpack full of stuff I'm sure I probably won't need, a coat, though it's supposed to be 60 degrees later, and an umbrella though today, there is no rain forecasted.
the only for sure thing I know I want to do, is visit Lotte world, so I head there,, I can take line two straight, so as soon as I spot a seat, I sit down and let the train do the rest, grateful that I won’t be walking for another thirty minutes or so. As the train rolls on, I spot a river, a bridge, and some mountains in the distance. Mountains with the bright morning sky! It seems promising.
Lotte world is the South Korean knock off of Disneyland, though really it doesn’t hold a candle to it. with the discount coupon I picked up yesterday in Hongdae’s tourist center, I buy the full day passport for access to both magic island and adventure land, which the pamphlet informs me is the biggest indoor theme park in the world, and it all totals to only forty bucks, a little more than half the price of Disneyland-which seems fair to me. Lotte world, like Disneyland, celebrates seasons when they can, and currently they are in the middle of their mask festival, in which they dress up in venetian masquerade style, and given that adventure land is supposedly set up to look like a European place, this is something I am excited about.
Upon first glance, Lotte world appears to be a bit kid like, and I think I may be disappointed until I realize that the reason it seems so kid like is that I'm literally standing in the kids section. Once I'm out and have gotten a map from the information booth, I spot some attractions worth seeing/doing, but head to the garden stage first where some school-idol seeming girls are doing a choreographed dance.
The first attraction I try is a four d shooting game, that leaves something to be desired in the laser quality of the gun, and the fact that the goggles begin to make me feel a bit sick-a sickness that persists through and ultimately ruins my experience at Lotte world-but once the game is over and I'm declared to be the best player, I decide I rather like the fact that I keep beating boys at their games, and go in search of another thing to master.
after wandering through the park, watching a circus act in the garden stage, being delightfully entertained by the golden-costumed band playing Broadway medleys next to the information booth, and chickening out from entering the ride called the giant loop, for fear of height and dislike of roller coasters like rides, I decide to head outdoors, to where the weather must be nice, having ditched my coat, umbrella and backpack in the storage lockers downstairs in Underland. Magic Island is more like Disneyland with its large castle in the center and a few attractions all around. adventure land is a dome like place with ride able air balloons attached to the ceiling, a train that wanders through the entire park, both on land and in the air, two roller coasters, a folk museum, European-esque decor, a garden stage a fantasy forest, ice rink, and a building with Egyptian motifs and hieroglyphs where the ride the pharaoh's tomb is located.
Magic Island is bright and sunny and happy looking, but houses two giant drop rides, one giant spin type ride, one roller coaster, and other attractions that i seem unlikely to ride.
I am just no fun.
I remind myself that I only have an hour to be out here though, because I want to catch the parade that’s going to start at two o clock back at Adventureland, so i ride the leaf-ride that is basically a big swing that elevates you in the sky a bit, go into the haunted house (which is not scary at all-the premise is that you are a cat that’s wandered through the haunted house, but it’s nothing but a 3d film and I’m very aware that I’m not this cat, so I just feel sorry for the cat doddering the entire thing) then return to Adventureland to see the show.
I have forty minutes until ShowTime but I’m not feeling so good so I sit constantly, wander around a bit, eat a snack to avoid hunger later just in case that was the cause of my sickness, and pick a spot to sit down and watch.
the parade is glamorous and beautiful, with dancing and gorgeous costumes, and every once in a while the music stops and the actors seem to do a freeze frame, perfect for me to try to snap a picture or two. At first, there’s only masquerade-donning characters, but they are soon followed suit by fairies and flowers, and animals of the jungle, the actors playing and responding to each other as animals would. Then the children are invited to dance and play with them, before they return to their poses and the parade marches along.
my time in Adventureland is spent discovering where the second and third levels are and what’s on them, riding bumper cars, a large swinging boat that leaves me both giddy and nervous, and several four d 'wild tours' rides that make me laugh once or twice as I react to the sprays of water, bumps in the road, or gusts of wind-for the first time, not thinking about how alone I am or how nauseous and sick I feel.
I visit the folk museum and am surprised by a second parade, a traditional wedding procession, and decide I’ve had my fill and it’s time to go home-because home is an hour away.
when I get back, min is at the desk and two new girls, are seated at the breakfast table, both looking similar, with long black hair and Hawaiian looking skin, with cheery smiles on their faces, very friendly looking, are asking if that’s his pet pig and what his name is. min replies that its hamlet, and I’m relieved because I thought this whole time I had just assumed it was, without knowing if it actually was, but min goes on to explain its this or piggy, or bacon. The girls laugh. A pig named bacon.
The girl next to me has very nice clothes, I think, as I towel dry my hair and watch her blow dry hers, a little dust brown pixie cut. She's got light brown overalls over a light orange top, dark tights, and tall socks over it all. Very me, but of course looking much better as she is not a size eleven or something, but rather something closer to what tinker bell might look like. I brush my hair quickly, wait for her to leave, blow dry it enough for it not to drip, but not to dry either, and head back to my room to repack my luggage and come back out for waffle time.
Once I'm back out, Jake asks "want some breakfast" and I say "sure" though I mean, hell yes, and grab a plate and load it with two fat waffles, then head to the table where I notice now there is sugar, and a boiling pitcher of water, cups filled with tea bags and coffee packages waiting at its side. Tea! I wondered what the cups were for! I long for tea and here it is, staring at me in the face, teasing me taunting me, because I cannot have it due to Mother Nature and girl issues. Or as I explain to my sister, I wouldn't want to maximize my liquids.
Three waffles and one mistaken piece of toasted bread topped with coffee that I thought was cinnamon later, I am out the door, with a backpack full of stuff I'm sure I probably won't need, a coat, though it's supposed to be 60 degrees later, and an umbrella though today, there is no rain forecasted.
the only for sure thing I know I want to do, is visit Lotte world, so I head there,, I can take line two straight, so as soon as I spot a seat, I sit down and let the train do the rest, grateful that I won’t be walking for another thirty minutes or so. As the train rolls on, I spot a river, a bridge, and some mountains in the distance. Mountains with the bright morning sky! It seems promising.
Lotte world is the South Korean knock off of Disneyland, though really it doesn’t hold a candle to it. with the discount coupon I picked up yesterday in Hongdae’s tourist center, I buy the full day passport for access to both magic island and adventure land, which the pamphlet informs me is the biggest indoor theme park in the world, and it all totals to only forty bucks, a little more than half the price of Disneyland-which seems fair to me. Lotte world, like Disneyland, celebrates seasons when they can, and currently they are in the middle of their mask festival, in which they dress up in venetian masquerade style, and given that adventure land is supposedly set up to look like a European place, this is something I am excited about.
Upon first glance, Lotte world appears to be a bit kid like, and I think I may be disappointed until I realize that the reason it seems so kid like is that I'm literally standing in the kids section. Once I'm out and have gotten a map from the information booth, I spot some attractions worth seeing/doing, but head to the garden stage first where some school-idol seeming girls are doing a choreographed dance.
The first attraction I try is a four d shooting game, that leaves something to be desired in the laser quality of the gun, and the fact that the goggles begin to make me feel a bit sick-a sickness that persists through and ultimately ruins my experience at Lotte world-but once the game is over and I'm declared to be the best player, I decide I rather like the fact that I keep beating boys at their games, and go in search of another thing to master.
after wandering through the park, watching a circus act in the garden stage, being delightfully entertained by the golden-costumed band playing Broadway medleys next to the information booth, and chickening out from entering the ride called the giant loop, for fear of height and dislike of roller coasters like rides, I decide to head outdoors, to where the weather must be nice, having ditched my coat, umbrella and backpack in the storage lockers downstairs in Underland. Magic Island is more like Disneyland with its large castle in the center and a few attractions all around. adventure land is a dome like place with ride able air balloons attached to the ceiling, a train that wanders through the entire park, both on land and in the air, two roller coasters, a folk museum, European-esque decor, a garden stage a fantasy forest, ice rink, and a building with Egyptian motifs and hieroglyphs where the ride the pharaoh's tomb is located.
Magic Island is bright and sunny and happy looking, but houses two giant drop rides, one giant spin type ride, one roller coaster, and other attractions that i seem unlikely to ride.
I am just no fun.
I remind myself that I only have an hour to be out here though, because I want to catch the parade that’s going to start at two o clock back at Adventureland, so i ride the leaf-ride that is basically a big swing that elevates you in the sky a bit, go into the haunted house (which is not scary at all-the premise is that you are a cat that’s wandered through the haunted house, but it’s nothing but a 3d film and I’m very aware that I’m not this cat, so I just feel sorry for the cat doddering the entire thing) then return to Adventureland to see the show.
I have forty minutes until ShowTime but I’m not feeling so good so I sit constantly, wander around a bit, eat a snack to avoid hunger later just in case that was the cause of my sickness, and pick a spot to sit down and watch.
the parade is glamorous and beautiful, with dancing and gorgeous costumes, and every once in a while the music stops and the actors seem to do a freeze frame, perfect for me to try to snap a picture or two. At first, there’s only masquerade-donning characters, but they are soon followed suit by fairies and flowers, and animals of the jungle, the actors playing and responding to each other as animals would. Then the children are invited to dance and play with them, before they return to their poses and the parade marches along.
my time in Adventureland is spent discovering where the second and third levels are and what’s on them, riding bumper cars, a large swinging boat that leaves me both giddy and nervous, and several four d 'wild tours' rides that make me laugh once or twice as I react to the sprays of water, bumps in the road, or gusts of wind-for the first time, not thinking about how alone I am or how nauseous and sick I feel.
I visit the folk museum and am surprised by a second parade, a traditional wedding procession, and decide I’ve had my fill and it’s time to go home-because home is an hour away.
when I get back, min is at the desk and two new girls, are seated at the breakfast table, both looking similar, with long black hair and Hawaiian looking skin, with cheery smiles on their faces, very friendly looking, are asking if that’s his pet pig and what his name is. min replies that its hamlet, and I’m relieved because I thought this whole time I had just assumed it was, without knowing if it actually was, but min goes on to explain its this or piggy, or bacon. The girls laugh. A pig named bacon.
day three: namdaemun
It is rainy and shitty and gray, my shoes are wet, the wind is strong, and I feel bits of hail pelt down on me as I flee into the base camp three hours too early to be home. Its only three o clock, but that’s what happens when the world is shit. Of course, it’s all good now. The sun has even come out, just an hour later. As soon as I was in, it seems the weather seemed to think it was okay to be okay again. But now I am inside, and though it looks fine, I am a bear unlikely to leave the cave. I want a snow cone though, I want it so bad. Ice give me ice! I am dehydrated, I know but I’m a masochist to the core and will not let myself have any liquids. The most I’ve had to drink today is a sip, literally a sip, of the mountain dew I put in the fridge yesterday. But back to today.
When I woke up, and I say this loosely, because what I did during the night cannot be defined as sleeping, as I was mostly half in and half out of that thing you call sleep, woken up once or twice by banging or by others waking up at weird hours of the night, then once to pee, and another time to remind myself it would be morning soon-it was almost eight o clock so I quietly unzipped my stuff, grabbing fresh clothes and a toothbrush, then went to change and have breakfast. When I sat down, there were two people already at the table, conversating away. One was an older woman, and yeah, this happens sometimes here and somehow the older people seem out of place in a place like this which feels hipster-y and more like a place twenty somethings go to get away from real life and pursue that -artist thing-that -traveling thing- that -living life thing- that I guess I myself am in search of. she brewed a fresh cup of tea and I eyed it wistfully as the pig wandered around, not willing to nibble on my feet today beyond that first nibble he had in front of Jake, until Jake moved his chair closer to the pig, as if in warning. That pig can certainly listen to his master.
Hamlet makes a strange sound from the kitchen that reminds me of a villainous sinister type of laugh, so I giggle, and the boy across from me does so too, and exclaims, "That’s the cutest pig ever, isn’t it?"
"He makes the strangest sounds sometimes though. Yesterday, I swear, he barked. I was so shocked, I jumped a little"
"He must be confused as to his identity, can’t really blame him" he smiles and it’s an honest, kind smile. "Got to wonder though what’s going to happen when he gets bigger-cause he has to get bigger."
“I hear he’s on a special diet. which explains why he’s always going around searching for food-can’t really blame him for that either" I laugh.
"Where you from?" he asks.
"Chicago, you?"
"London" another brit! i think, but it matches him perfectly, with his accent, blonde hair, and pale skin.
"Nice! What you doing here?"
"Visiting my girlfriend, and you know just seeing the sights."
"Me too. I was in japan before this, I’m just wandering around, taking some pictures, I’m an artist so I plan on making some paintings later"
"me too! I just finished art school so I’ve just been doing some exhibitions here and there, but doing the same mostly"
"yeah I’m enjoying just doing something kind of minimal during the day, and getting back and working on my stuff"
"do you have a studio?"
"no, do you? I’ve been looking, but they’re a bit expensive, I mean at this point, it’d be better to get an apartment."
"no me neither, I know what you mean."
"yeah but I’d better cause right now I just take over the kitchen, and they’re all over the place so I need to find a place to stick them"
we laugh together. Then continue to sympathize over the artist struggle between earning money to get by and having time to spend on art, and receiving strange requests to use our artist talent to paint dogs or in my case, married couples resembling pictures of Marilyn Monroe. Then he’s off to his room and I’m off to do whatever it is that I do, wishing id gotten the name of his website because I probably won’t see him again.
I settle on the couch for a bit, knowing that if I leave now, will arrive too early. It’s supposed to rain today, so I’m full of all my usual gear, boots, coat, hoodie, and umbrella, the works, down to the pink hat that I love because it covers my hair while looking quirky enough to be cool and normal enough to go with the rest of my outfit. I am a beautiful, multicolored mess, I assure you, but it’s all very strategically planned. I am method in madness incarnate.
the subway is getting easy so even though my Wi-Fi is shitty and spotty, and it takes me about ten tries for my phone to see that it exists and finally connect, I arrive at Namdaemun easily and am soon facing the Namdaemun gate, snapping pictures, then heading down to Namdaemun market streets, which pretty much resemble a very large flea market, and this is the way I describe it when my sister asks and I call my uncle later. It’s a cultural thing, I tell them, and really it is. This is what I expected, and it’s better than wandering around an overpriced mall so I walk on even though the skies look stormy and gray and I know soon will have to open up that umbrella, and many already have, even though no drops are actually falling. the air is growing chilly, but there are ahjummas and ahjussis in shops setting up fruit stands, and grills, frying this and that, skewering doughy substances together, waiting for customers with big rolls of cloth, and ramshackle shops of clothes, toys, shoes, and k-pop posters. "Who do you like?" one man asks me as I step up to peruse, "many" I reply, and laugh.
One handcrafted quilted fishlike bag, a postcard set of Lee Jong Suk, a keychain of Kim Woo Bin, and a freshly fried red bean paste bun later, I am out of Namdaemun market and heading to Dongdaemun market, already more productive than I thought I’d be today. But first, Seoul city plaza.
It’s a ten minute walk to the city plaza, but halfway through I’m already excited because I see mountains in the distance. Namsan Mountain is up there, and somewhere around that, Namsan Seoul tower, but that’s closer to Myeongdong so I know I’m not going there today since I don’t particularly feel like heading back to Myeongdong. The South Korean flags are flying, and I can hear an odd beat of a drum every now and then, and think maybe, just maybe, I might get to catch a band play.
I know I’ve reached city hall because I can see large white tents set up and a small circular globe sculpture and about seventeen flags flying in the air. I head towards the drum beating, and the wind picks up in gusts that threaten to knock over the white tents that suddenly seem weightless despite the several heavy bags they’ve got tied around the posts to help keep them down. I look warily at a girl standing oblivious next to one, wanting to tell her to stop being so stupid and move move move away from that danger just waiting to happen. the weather is getting worse and the band is still doing sound check, and though I see vans of the big broadcasting stations around here, rain is coming and it doesn’t look like anything exciting is about to happen sometime soon so I take a moment to look through a small sculpture set up in one corner next to the library, and head back to the tunnels to Dongdaemun.
When I step out of the subway station, the first thing I notice is that the world has gotten brown, dust brown, like the color of desert sand. I am standing in front of Dongdaemun gate, but the rain is starting to come down hard, and its direction rain-so despite my umbrella, it manages to dart away at my pants as I head down the street to the gate, viewing the wall that seems to go up a hill and the purple flowers growing in small bushes against it.
Dongdaemun gate is not so different from Namdaemun gate, but it’s the first truly historical looking thing I’ve seen so far, which is quite sad and makes me rethink my itinerary priorities, thinking maybe I should take a day to see a palace or something. Culture! Give me culture! If only I didn’t hate history so much, maybe I could find it in my heart to appreciate the real beauty in Seoul. Because it’s there, I swear it is, I can almost see it. But I might be all traveled out by now.
I can see the beginnings of a large shopping complex and some malls here and there but I’m all shopped out and if we are being honest, I just can’t be trusted with money, so I keep walking and soon I am in sight of the famously restored creek people supposedly like to walk through, make a note to walk through it later (although I really actually don’t) and walk through the newly built Dongdaemun design plaza instead. The design plaza is very large and modern looking and reminds me a bit of a frank gory-like design in its chaotic but smooth looking curves going here and there and everywhere. People are ducking in and out of the rain and I’m avoiding going inside because unfortunately, you have to pay for that sort of thing, but there’s things to keep me interested out here like a large camera in the street, and by large, I mean the size of a small car. Eventually I do cross the street, and despite myself, head into two of the malls opposite it, the rain forcing me through the doors to safety, where others seem to have been inspired to take the same path. I grab a souvenir or two (finally finding a small Korean flag to bring to tine back home), indulge in another street bite-fried crab, yum-and then decide it’s time to give in, and though it’s too early, head back home, because the weather is just not conducive for sightseeing. All this trip really is, I think on my way home, is me finding new ways to be alone.
Now I’m back here, writing, and it’s time to grab a sandwich or something because if I don’t leave now, its likely I’ll never leave this spot, and I’m chilly so I’d probably take my shoes off now and soon enough id be in bed as unproductive as ever. I was hoping for conversation but during the day, laptops come out and humans disappear inside them. I’m one I guess, here set up with my chair on this desk, facing the window and Seoul, having a conversation with this very silent city that wants nothing to do with me.
Oh yes, that sandwich.
Fuzzy socks. What I lack in my carry on is fuzzy socks. It would also be nice if I could have that glove I lost back. Because god, it is freezing in here. Maybe it’s just me. But I feel so cold. as I headed out the door I watched Jake take the soda id been storing in the fridge, my only source of hydration, pour it into the pigs bowl for him to drink, then throw out the cup and decided, I really don’t like Jake at all. Everyone says he’s nice, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much, and I know he saw me drinking out of that earlier.
When I woke up, and I say this loosely, because what I did during the night cannot be defined as sleeping, as I was mostly half in and half out of that thing you call sleep, woken up once or twice by banging or by others waking up at weird hours of the night, then once to pee, and another time to remind myself it would be morning soon-it was almost eight o clock so I quietly unzipped my stuff, grabbing fresh clothes and a toothbrush, then went to change and have breakfast. When I sat down, there were two people already at the table, conversating away. One was an older woman, and yeah, this happens sometimes here and somehow the older people seem out of place in a place like this which feels hipster-y and more like a place twenty somethings go to get away from real life and pursue that -artist thing-that -traveling thing- that -living life thing- that I guess I myself am in search of. she brewed a fresh cup of tea and I eyed it wistfully as the pig wandered around, not willing to nibble on my feet today beyond that first nibble he had in front of Jake, until Jake moved his chair closer to the pig, as if in warning. That pig can certainly listen to his master.
Hamlet makes a strange sound from the kitchen that reminds me of a villainous sinister type of laugh, so I giggle, and the boy across from me does so too, and exclaims, "That’s the cutest pig ever, isn’t it?"
"He makes the strangest sounds sometimes though. Yesterday, I swear, he barked. I was so shocked, I jumped a little"
"He must be confused as to his identity, can’t really blame him" he smiles and it’s an honest, kind smile. "Got to wonder though what’s going to happen when he gets bigger-cause he has to get bigger."
“I hear he’s on a special diet. which explains why he’s always going around searching for food-can’t really blame him for that either" I laugh.
"Where you from?" he asks.
"Chicago, you?"
"London" another brit! i think, but it matches him perfectly, with his accent, blonde hair, and pale skin.
"Nice! What you doing here?"
"Visiting my girlfriend, and you know just seeing the sights."
"Me too. I was in japan before this, I’m just wandering around, taking some pictures, I’m an artist so I plan on making some paintings later"
"me too! I just finished art school so I’ve just been doing some exhibitions here and there, but doing the same mostly"
"yeah I’m enjoying just doing something kind of minimal during the day, and getting back and working on my stuff"
"do you have a studio?"
"no, do you? I’ve been looking, but they’re a bit expensive, I mean at this point, it’d be better to get an apartment."
"no me neither, I know what you mean."
"yeah but I’d better cause right now I just take over the kitchen, and they’re all over the place so I need to find a place to stick them"
we laugh together. Then continue to sympathize over the artist struggle between earning money to get by and having time to spend on art, and receiving strange requests to use our artist talent to paint dogs or in my case, married couples resembling pictures of Marilyn Monroe. Then he’s off to his room and I’m off to do whatever it is that I do, wishing id gotten the name of his website because I probably won’t see him again.
I settle on the couch for a bit, knowing that if I leave now, will arrive too early. It’s supposed to rain today, so I’m full of all my usual gear, boots, coat, hoodie, and umbrella, the works, down to the pink hat that I love because it covers my hair while looking quirky enough to be cool and normal enough to go with the rest of my outfit. I am a beautiful, multicolored mess, I assure you, but it’s all very strategically planned. I am method in madness incarnate.
the subway is getting easy so even though my Wi-Fi is shitty and spotty, and it takes me about ten tries for my phone to see that it exists and finally connect, I arrive at Namdaemun easily and am soon facing the Namdaemun gate, snapping pictures, then heading down to Namdaemun market streets, which pretty much resemble a very large flea market, and this is the way I describe it when my sister asks and I call my uncle later. It’s a cultural thing, I tell them, and really it is. This is what I expected, and it’s better than wandering around an overpriced mall so I walk on even though the skies look stormy and gray and I know soon will have to open up that umbrella, and many already have, even though no drops are actually falling. the air is growing chilly, but there are ahjummas and ahjussis in shops setting up fruit stands, and grills, frying this and that, skewering doughy substances together, waiting for customers with big rolls of cloth, and ramshackle shops of clothes, toys, shoes, and k-pop posters. "Who do you like?" one man asks me as I step up to peruse, "many" I reply, and laugh.
One handcrafted quilted fishlike bag, a postcard set of Lee Jong Suk, a keychain of Kim Woo Bin, and a freshly fried red bean paste bun later, I am out of Namdaemun market and heading to Dongdaemun market, already more productive than I thought I’d be today. But first, Seoul city plaza.
It’s a ten minute walk to the city plaza, but halfway through I’m already excited because I see mountains in the distance. Namsan Mountain is up there, and somewhere around that, Namsan Seoul tower, but that’s closer to Myeongdong so I know I’m not going there today since I don’t particularly feel like heading back to Myeongdong. The South Korean flags are flying, and I can hear an odd beat of a drum every now and then, and think maybe, just maybe, I might get to catch a band play.
I know I’ve reached city hall because I can see large white tents set up and a small circular globe sculpture and about seventeen flags flying in the air. I head towards the drum beating, and the wind picks up in gusts that threaten to knock over the white tents that suddenly seem weightless despite the several heavy bags they’ve got tied around the posts to help keep them down. I look warily at a girl standing oblivious next to one, wanting to tell her to stop being so stupid and move move move away from that danger just waiting to happen. the weather is getting worse and the band is still doing sound check, and though I see vans of the big broadcasting stations around here, rain is coming and it doesn’t look like anything exciting is about to happen sometime soon so I take a moment to look through a small sculpture set up in one corner next to the library, and head back to the tunnels to Dongdaemun.
When I step out of the subway station, the first thing I notice is that the world has gotten brown, dust brown, like the color of desert sand. I am standing in front of Dongdaemun gate, but the rain is starting to come down hard, and its direction rain-so despite my umbrella, it manages to dart away at my pants as I head down the street to the gate, viewing the wall that seems to go up a hill and the purple flowers growing in small bushes against it.
Dongdaemun gate is not so different from Namdaemun gate, but it’s the first truly historical looking thing I’ve seen so far, which is quite sad and makes me rethink my itinerary priorities, thinking maybe I should take a day to see a palace or something. Culture! Give me culture! If only I didn’t hate history so much, maybe I could find it in my heart to appreciate the real beauty in Seoul. Because it’s there, I swear it is, I can almost see it. But I might be all traveled out by now.
I can see the beginnings of a large shopping complex and some malls here and there but I’m all shopped out and if we are being honest, I just can’t be trusted with money, so I keep walking and soon I am in sight of the famously restored creek people supposedly like to walk through, make a note to walk through it later (although I really actually don’t) and walk through the newly built Dongdaemun design plaza instead. The design plaza is very large and modern looking and reminds me a bit of a frank gory-like design in its chaotic but smooth looking curves going here and there and everywhere. People are ducking in and out of the rain and I’m avoiding going inside because unfortunately, you have to pay for that sort of thing, but there’s things to keep me interested out here like a large camera in the street, and by large, I mean the size of a small car. Eventually I do cross the street, and despite myself, head into two of the malls opposite it, the rain forcing me through the doors to safety, where others seem to have been inspired to take the same path. I grab a souvenir or two (finally finding a small Korean flag to bring to tine back home), indulge in another street bite-fried crab, yum-and then decide it’s time to give in, and though it’s too early, head back home, because the weather is just not conducive for sightseeing. All this trip really is, I think on my way home, is me finding new ways to be alone.
Now I’m back here, writing, and it’s time to grab a sandwich or something because if I don’t leave now, its likely I’ll never leave this spot, and I’m chilly so I’d probably take my shoes off now and soon enough id be in bed as unproductive as ever. I was hoping for conversation but during the day, laptops come out and humans disappear inside them. I’m one I guess, here set up with my chair on this desk, facing the window and Seoul, having a conversation with this very silent city that wants nothing to do with me.
Oh yes, that sandwich.
Fuzzy socks. What I lack in my carry on is fuzzy socks. It would also be nice if I could have that glove I lost back. Because god, it is freezing in here. Maybe it’s just me. But I feel so cold. as I headed out the door I watched Jake take the soda id been storing in the fridge, my only source of hydration, pour it into the pigs bowl for him to drink, then throw out the cup and decided, I really don’t like Jake at all. Everyone says he’s nice, but he doesn’t seem to like me very much, and I know he saw me drinking out of that earlier.
day four: insadong
the Hawaiian girls turn out to be Australian, from Rigby, but they tell me that it’s okay to think they’re Hawaiian since they’re both technically pacific islands so we decide well just call them pacific islanders. It sounds cooler anyway. The Hawaiian girls also turn out to be best friends, not sisters, as I had originally guessed. I remark to one that it must be nice to travel with your best friend. And yes, I say this quite sorrowfully since I am missing mine. She tells me it’s actually their first trip taken together, and that usually they travel with a missionary group, which should make me like them less, but they’re quite nice so my feelings of resistance towards religious kinds are gone within a second. They seem impressed that I was in japan beforehand, and I’m starting to like the way it sounds. I sound traveled. I sound like I have my shit more together than I actually do. At the very least, now I can say I’ve been to japan. I’ve been to South Korea, and that’s starting to sound very cool.
the waffles are going fast but I’m feeling like I might be abusing the free bread and don’t want to gain back all the weight I know I’ve lost, so when min asks me if I want some, (how nice min is compared to Jake), I tell him no thanks. the girls indulge in the waffles, and one gets up to get the other chocolate syrup and I think how much I miss sharing a meal with my friends and how much id kill for a mango smoothie right now.
Dehydrated, I haven’t let myself take a full drink in days but today I’ve allowed myself to sip some tea, thinking it safe until I go to the restroom in the subway later. Being in a coed dorm is making me quite sneaky. I’m headed to invading today and the girls ask me if I’ve seen any art yet, and by art it turns out they mean the design complex in Myeongdong which I saw yesterday, but only from outside because who wants to pay the entrance to that?
I tell them no but I’m planning to go to Insadong to look at galleries (which I hope there will be) and that I wanted to go to Heyri Art Village but that plan may be scrapped due to the fact that it takes one hour on train and one on bus to get there. Even though I’ve just found out that boys over flowers was filmed there, at the farmer’s table restaurant.
There is a Gangnam pamphlet on the table and the older lady, who is quite kind, asks if that’s where they’re going. The girl says no, but they went there earlier, and then she proceeds to fan girl and tell us about how when they went, they passed by the JYP building and another of the famous companies around there, and saw a couple of Kdrama stars.
"I think they had an important meeting or something....a lot arrived." she says, and I’m thinking that that might be the way to spend my Sunday, stalking some Korean stars. "I felt like one of them," she giggles, "one of the girls went to buy us all coffee and biscuits-I felt like I belong end to their fan clubs." I smile and linger at the table, though my breakfasting is over, listening to the conversation happening between the pacific islanders and the boy who's been here all along but that I’ve never met, who is apparently from los Angeles. I have to go to Insadong but the train isn’t far and I doubt it’ll be too exciting, so I don’t want to miss the little human interacting this day is promising me and stay until people start to leave.
Strangely enough, Insadong turns out to be my favorite place so far. When I get off the train I turn my Wi-Fi off and though it tells me the town is still a bit further away, I decide to take walk through the streets instead. When I turn the corner I see shops of Hanboks made of fine textiles and patterns, looking beautiful and expensive in shop windows. There's about three drum shops on every block, and every now and again I see an art gallery and excitedly walk in. ART! CULTURE! A young girl hands me the pamphlet, and I’m grateful that I get to keep it because really the art is very good, oil paintings that remind me of days spent in my kitchen feeling the smoothness of the paint on my brush and being careful not to ruin my canvas by making the wrong move. I can appreciate oil paintings, because I think of all the moves the artist must have made, all the second guessing. I should cross the street, but I don’t, and just keep moving further down it instead, passing coffee shops here and there that make me think if only I could eat here every day I wouldn’t have such a problem getting fed. When I reach the main street, I can see the palace across from me, though I’m unsure which palace it is. There’s buses lining the street and tourists pouring out of them into the ticket window. The tickets are about eight dollars, and that’s for being part of a tour, but I am not part of one, and there is no option to go solo, so I decide to skip it and just wander the streets of Insadong. There’s just something about the restrictiveness of a tour that makes me think you are missing out on the authentic experience of being a local.
Once I’m back on the street I take some time to analyze some old looking stone sculptures, then head down the road where the subway was, viewing the menus of various restaurants as I go, thinking if only I was hungrier and could walk in without shame.
Insadong is full of instruments shops, and I take my time through most of them, wishing the prices were in sight, and that I didn’t have to worry about checking bags or getting them through the airport, if I bought one. up some stairs I find myself in the instruments arcade I wanted to see while I was here, and it is like a shopping mall of guitars, amps, microphones, basses, and keyboards, all looking beautiful and begging to be touched, played, loved. My favorite is a turquoise acoustic guitar that I want to take home with me, and that almost every shop sells, but will not bother tagging with the price. After perusing for some time, I turn away and head back down to the main street before I make a ludicrous purchase.
I know I’ve hit the main street of Insadong when I see throngs of tourists pouring in and out of shops and galleries. Its souvenirs galore here, but good souvenirs, including the personalized Korean stamps that Seoul is famous for making-though I’m more interested in finding the tall ice cream cones they are famous for selling, and decide to make that my mission for today.
I spend my time in Insadong wandering in and out of galleries, the most fun one being Hana art gallery, which sells small canvas works for 10 to 30 dollars depending on the size, along with other small gifts in the shop below their main gallery. Then shop for souvenirs, delighted to find a baseball-cap to give my father when I come home, and a pop up card of Seoul city to match the one I got of Tokyo in Narita airport. I pass an ice cream place but it only sells the main three: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, so I walk on, determined to find a fruit-flavored ice cream, and instantly regretting turning that ice cream down as I roam through the streets, craving something, anything cold. What I would give for just a nice cup of ice!
I am at the end of the Insadong streets when I stop to watch two men as they push and pull dough through a machine, creating long yellow spirals. As I look up at the shop, which is decorated, strewn, with the finished pieces, I realize that they are really just very long ice cream cones, and peruse through the flavor options. Mango. There is mango. I give the boy his money and they both both laugh at me, waiting with the large, strange, loopy patent-protected cone in hand, as I stuff all my stuff back into my backpack, get my camera, phone, and shopping bags in one hand and prepare to take the ice cream cone. Unsure whether to bite the head or the tail of the cone (because this one is shaped like a hook and has two openings) I lick the top, and it is pure heaven. Like a mango pineapple smoothie on a rough lollapalooza day. Heaven.
At the end of Insadong street are tent shops that are beginning to open, filled with ahjummas and ahjussis waiting to grill up some food, and at the opposite street, fortune tellers reading tarot cards. Behind them is a park with temple-like buildings lined with grandfathers sitting, conversating, enjoying the weather. I stay, feeling the winds that blow fiercely, the day not too hot and not too cold thanks to the sun that shines upon us. And then I hear the drums. I hear drums and I’m so excited, that I look for an exit as quick as I can and follow the sound like a dog follows the smell of meat.
The beating of the drums is a group performance of what I can only assume to be a traditional form of dance and music. The dancers are all wearing traditional Korean costumes, hats that I’ve only seen in shops around here, and have massive drums strapped to their chests, long white ribbons flying through the air as they bob their heads to the beat. the performance lasts long, each song weaving into the other, me wondering if their heads hurt from moving like that, and appreciating the choreography, while also enjoying the way the crowd reacts: and the several ahjummas and ahjussis that eagerly join into the dance, not part of the performance, but enjoying the music all the same, and letting go and dancing their wild weird, crazy dances, not caring who sees.
When I decide to have lunch is when all the great lunch places seem to disappear and I end up eating a bowl full of strange tasting spicy chicken, then return for another mango ice cream cone, knowing I will regret it if I don’t, but regret the calorie intake all the same. Home is not far away, but it is four o clock and the tourist crowd is dying down so I head back home, back sore from carrying my bag.
When I get home, I am amazed to see the shower empty so I take my chance and shower away. The water feels great, nice and warm and my hair is finally nice and wet, and I miss home, but I’ve had a good day so I try to enjoy the rest of the night and remind myself I’ve only got two more days until I head back to the airport anyway.
the waffles are going fast but I’m feeling like I might be abusing the free bread and don’t want to gain back all the weight I know I’ve lost, so when min asks me if I want some, (how nice min is compared to Jake), I tell him no thanks. the girls indulge in the waffles, and one gets up to get the other chocolate syrup and I think how much I miss sharing a meal with my friends and how much id kill for a mango smoothie right now.
Dehydrated, I haven’t let myself take a full drink in days but today I’ve allowed myself to sip some tea, thinking it safe until I go to the restroom in the subway later. Being in a coed dorm is making me quite sneaky. I’m headed to invading today and the girls ask me if I’ve seen any art yet, and by art it turns out they mean the design complex in Myeongdong which I saw yesterday, but only from outside because who wants to pay the entrance to that?
I tell them no but I’m planning to go to Insadong to look at galleries (which I hope there will be) and that I wanted to go to Heyri Art Village but that plan may be scrapped due to the fact that it takes one hour on train and one on bus to get there. Even though I’ve just found out that boys over flowers was filmed there, at the farmer’s table restaurant.
There is a Gangnam pamphlet on the table and the older lady, who is quite kind, asks if that’s where they’re going. The girl says no, but they went there earlier, and then she proceeds to fan girl and tell us about how when they went, they passed by the JYP building and another of the famous companies around there, and saw a couple of Kdrama stars.
"I think they had an important meeting or something....a lot arrived." she says, and I’m thinking that that might be the way to spend my Sunday, stalking some Korean stars. "I felt like one of them," she giggles, "one of the girls went to buy us all coffee and biscuits-I felt like I belong end to their fan clubs." I smile and linger at the table, though my breakfasting is over, listening to the conversation happening between the pacific islanders and the boy who's been here all along but that I’ve never met, who is apparently from los Angeles. I have to go to Insadong but the train isn’t far and I doubt it’ll be too exciting, so I don’t want to miss the little human interacting this day is promising me and stay until people start to leave.
Strangely enough, Insadong turns out to be my favorite place so far. When I get off the train I turn my Wi-Fi off and though it tells me the town is still a bit further away, I decide to take walk through the streets instead. When I turn the corner I see shops of Hanboks made of fine textiles and patterns, looking beautiful and expensive in shop windows. There's about three drum shops on every block, and every now and again I see an art gallery and excitedly walk in. ART! CULTURE! A young girl hands me the pamphlet, and I’m grateful that I get to keep it because really the art is very good, oil paintings that remind me of days spent in my kitchen feeling the smoothness of the paint on my brush and being careful not to ruin my canvas by making the wrong move. I can appreciate oil paintings, because I think of all the moves the artist must have made, all the second guessing. I should cross the street, but I don’t, and just keep moving further down it instead, passing coffee shops here and there that make me think if only I could eat here every day I wouldn’t have such a problem getting fed. When I reach the main street, I can see the palace across from me, though I’m unsure which palace it is. There’s buses lining the street and tourists pouring out of them into the ticket window. The tickets are about eight dollars, and that’s for being part of a tour, but I am not part of one, and there is no option to go solo, so I decide to skip it and just wander the streets of Insadong. There’s just something about the restrictiveness of a tour that makes me think you are missing out on the authentic experience of being a local.
Once I’m back on the street I take some time to analyze some old looking stone sculptures, then head down the road where the subway was, viewing the menus of various restaurants as I go, thinking if only I was hungrier and could walk in without shame.
Insadong is full of instruments shops, and I take my time through most of them, wishing the prices were in sight, and that I didn’t have to worry about checking bags or getting them through the airport, if I bought one. up some stairs I find myself in the instruments arcade I wanted to see while I was here, and it is like a shopping mall of guitars, amps, microphones, basses, and keyboards, all looking beautiful and begging to be touched, played, loved. My favorite is a turquoise acoustic guitar that I want to take home with me, and that almost every shop sells, but will not bother tagging with the price. After perusing for some time, I turn away and head back down to the main street before I make a ludicrous purchase.
I know I’ve hit the main street of Insadong when I see throngs of tourists pouring in and out of shops and galleries. Its souvenirs galore here, but good souvenirs, including the personalized Korean stamps that Seoul is famous for making-though I’m more interested in finding the tall ice cream cones they are famous for selling, and decide to make that my mission for today.
I spend my time in Insadong wandering in and out of galleries, the most fun one being Hana art gallery, which sells small canvas works for 10 to 30 dollars depending on the size, along with other small gifts in the shop below their main gallery. Then shop for souvenirs, delighted to find a baseball-cap to give my father when I come home, and a pop up card of Seoul city to match the one I got of Tokyo in Narita airport. I pass an ice cream place but it only sells the main three: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, so I walk on, determined to find a fruit-flavored ice cream, and instantly regretting turning that ice cream down as I roam through the streets, craving something, anything cold. What I would give for just a nice cup of ice!
I am at the end of the Insadong streets when I stop to watch two men as they push and pull dough through a machine, creating long yellow spirals. As I look up at the shop, which is decorated, strewn, with the finished pieces, I realize that they are really just very long ice cream cones, and peruse through the flavor options. Mango. There is mango. I give the boy his money and they both both laugh at me, waiting with the large, strange, loopy patent-protected cone in hand, as I stuff all my stuff back into my backpack, get my camera, phone, and shopping bags in one hand and prepare to take the ice cream cone. Unsure whether to bite the head or the tail of the cone (because this one is shaped like a hook and has two openings) I lick the top, and it is pure heaven. Like a mango pineapple smoothie on a rough lollapalooza day. Heaven.
At the end of Insadong street are tent shops that are beginning to open, filled with ahjummas and ahjussis waiting to grill up some food, and at the opposite street, fortune tellers reading tarot cards. Behind them is a park with temple-like buildings lined with grandfathers sitting, conversating, enjoying the weather. I stay, feeling the winds that blow fiercely, the day not too hot and not too cold thanks to the sun that shines upon us. And then I hear the drums. I hear drums and I’m so excited, that I look for an exit as quick as I can and follow the sound like a dog follows the smell of meat.
The beating of the drums is a group performance of what I can only assume to be a traditional form of dance and music. The dancers are all wearing traditional Korean costumes, hats that I’ve only seen in shops around here, and have massive drums strapped to their chests, long white ribbons flying through the air as they bob their heads to the beat. the performance lasts long, each song weaving into the other, me wondering if their heads hurt from moving like that, and appreciating the choreography, while also enjoying the way the crowd reacts: and the several ahjummas and ahjussis that eagerly join into the dance, not part of the performance, but enjoying the music all the same, and letting go and dancing their wild weird, crazy dances, not caring who sees.
When I decide to have lunch is when all the great lunch places seem to disappear and I end up eating a bowl full of strange tasting spicy chicken, then return for another mango ice cream cone, knowing I will regret it if I don’t, but regret the calorie intake all the same. Home is not far away, but it is four o clock and the tourist crowd is dying down so I head back home, back sore from carrying my bag.
When I get home, I am amazed to see the shower empty so I take my chance and shower away. The water feels great, nice and warm and my hair is finally nice and wet, and I miss home, but I’ve had a good day so I try to enjoy the rest of the night and remind myself I’ve only got two more days until I head back to the airport anyway.
day five: hongdae
I linger in the morning. Today is Hongdae day, free market day, but Hongdae is a place of night so in the morning, not a lot happens and to prove it, the free market doesn’t actually open till 1pm. so I linger.
at the breakfast table, unnamed art guy visiting his girlfriend in Korea attempts conversation but is still nursing a hangover from last night, when I could hear them attempting to sing along to the song 'I’m yours' on guitar and drinking shots in between. "the one great thing about being someone who doesn’t drink, and basically doesn’t have fun," he laughs and I continue, "is getting to laugh at everyone who does in the morning."
"so you never drink?"
"don’t like the taste of it." "also Pisces are known substance abusers"
"that’s impressive." he remarks weakly but with a smile.
"I’ve also never had a cavity" I respond, taking a sip of tea. I’m allowing myself more liquids gradually. The body seems to respond well. More liquids, less waffles. Everything is restricted.
I peruse the Hongdae map and he shows me a place he went to yesterday that has a lot of art galleries. I tell him I’ll keep it in mind for Sunday, since Sunday is still wide open and unplanned, a mystery even to me.
I pick up the guitar and attempt AA few songs but it resists and my body resists, my fingers hurting whenever I try to push down on the strings. The sound is weak and distorted because I can’t get the chords down properly with such weak fingers. Two weeks and this is what happens, I can’t even play a simple song when before I could go on playing for three hours straight. I have deep lines in my fingers where the strings are cutting grooves. I’m getting closer to hearing somewhat of a song, but it’s not close enough, and the time isn’t passing as nicely as I should, and people are waking up, and the thought of them hearing me fail makes me nervous so I give it up and retreat to my room for a while.
When I come back out it’s to head to the rooftop to check on the weather. Inside the base camp, it seems to be eternally cold, leaving me stranded in my room, clinging to my sleeping bag for dear life. But today it’s supposed to be sixty seven degrees out, and sunny. So I DITCH my umbrella but keep my hat and scarf. I stop at the window by the door, but the breeze feels chilly and I wonder if the sun will make a difference, so I climb upstairs.
Upstairs is the kitchen, the place that always feels as if I’m intruding even though I’m pretty sure were allowed in there for washing and microwaving purposes. the boy I suspect suspects I have my period but really I was just washing my hair that day, is up on the rooftop and notice a clothesline that I wish I’d noticed earlier because then I might have actually put some clothes on it to wash/dry. We strike up a conversation on this very subject, and I discover he’s actually quite nice, and like me, going to Hongdae today, but unlike me, he’s going with friends. Sigh* I’m just perpetually alone, and to prove it, everyone is outside in the living room right now, sharing food and drinks, and me? I’m in this room, writing.
I wander around the Hongdae streets looking for art galleries. It’s around 1130 and I the ink I’ve done a good job of making myself wait. The few art galleries I find seem to be filled with paintings I’ve seen in America, copycats of van Gogh’s etc. etc. the other art galleries showcase the work of students from Hongik University or the numerous other art academies there are in the area. There seem to be a lot, as there are also numerous art supply stores in the area. I wander into a few, and the clerks greet me and ask me something in Korean and I give them the 'I have no idea what you’re saying look' and they repeat it, then give up. I know the phrase for 'do you speak English?' but for some reason can never really bring myself to use it when the occasion calls. Also, responding 'do you speak English' seems a bit rude. Maybe I should just memorize the phrase 'I don’t understand' instead. My problem is, after going to japan, I have to remind myself not to respond in Japanese.
Once the free market has started, I make my way through the tables, admiring this and that, and noticing how much they remind me of things back home, and thinking that in a couple of weeks, it’s going to be me at one of these tables, with my work set up in plumbers hall, eagerly waiting for others to come, peruse, and buy my art. I strike up a conversation with one of the girls at the tables, who stops to explain to me about the series of illustrations on the table of her cat wearing traditional Hanboks dress. I tell her I can appreciate her work because I too am an artist, and when she asks what kind, I realize that I am starting to transition from a traditional fine artist focusing on painting, to an illustrator and of that I’m proud, because I see all of these tables filled with illustrators and always admire their work and now I’m part of that- I can make that, and I can be proud of that, without thinking its small or clichéd. As I’m walking around however, I also notice that these students are much more talented than we will ever be back home. I mean, most of them are mid-program right? But somehow they find the time to make all of these handcrafted trinkets, so many of them, and sell them. There's students selling handmade leather bags, incredibly detailed and beautiful, or hand painted baseball caps, there is even a boy making hats right at his stable-millinery, for all to see. There are many selling metalwork’s and jewelry pieces, or pillows and other things that we just don't think about making or teaching at home. I've seen Columbia students make some things, but it’s more of a here and there, and once in a while kind of thing-but here are many students, all capable of creating, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps I should have gone here instead, I think.
The bands haven’t started yet but the day is young, so I walk away from the flea market back to the streets which have become more alive now that the afternoon is approaching. not too far from the free market I find what I’ve been looking for my entire trip: incredibly tall ice cream cones and with my luck, they have my favorite flavor: mango, I order the combo cone that mixes the mango with another flavor that I’m unsure what it is, but it looks fine, and the whole thing is only two dollars, which is even better. When I am handed the cone, I can hardly contain my excitement. I lick. And it is even better than the one in Insadong. I try my best to savor every taste, every bit of it, knowing I will most likely return at the end of the night anyway.
As I go on, happily eating away at my ice cream, I pass the love museum and consider going in, but as exciting as it looks, it also looks lonely, like another thing that requires friends to enjoy and take pictures, so I walk away instead. Korea has a way of making one feel lonely, with their restrictions on who can order what lunch menu and so forth.
By the time I get back I notice there's someone actually playing in the afternoon stage and sit down. There’s a schedule scribbled on a chalkboard by the information booth and I can see this is the first act, and they’ve got more acts lined up for every half hour until six o clock. I figure I have nothing better to do so I stay and listen to the students performing, and the crowd gathering and sometimes joining in happily. this is where I belong I think, and though I may not get to see the bands play live at night in the bars, this is enough for me, because music is music and all I want to do is hear them play.
I leave when an older man starts singing and I’m just not feeling it anymore and it’s close to lunchtime so I figure ill grab something to eat, then come back to catch the closing acts. I expect the food shops I saw on the way here to have magically disappeared by now, and they have, so after two rounds around the streets surrounding the free market, I give in and go to a little place right next to it and before the 'art stop' shop.
This place has a salad bar also, and I already know that I love that mysterious yellow food so I get a plate of it, and serve myself some kimchi although I think I hate the taste, then grab a cup of nice cold water, and down it all even thorough I’m supposed to be dehydrating myself, and it tastes amazing. Then I sit down, and when the server comes, I am amazed to be served one embarrassingly large plate.
I’ve ordered the fried rice with beef, and the plate is incredibly large and square-like which makes me wonder if this is intended to be a family meal-as it even includes something that looks like a salad and a bowl of ramen broth. The broth tastes like Maruchan, and I still have that bowl of self-serve salad, so I decide not to drink the broth and focus on the food instead. I hate salad, but the salad tastes incredible, and I am getting very good at eating with chopsticks, and though I am wondering how I’m supposed to finish it all, I dig in, determined. Soon I am happy to see the girl beside me served an embarrassingly large plate of her own-hers with rice, salad, and another side of something, and then a Korean girl served the same-and it’s all very natural so I guess that’s just the portion sizes you get here, which is great because the food is about eight dollars so you get more bang for your buck. Altogether, the food is the most delicious thing I’ve had during my whole trip, and I’m amazed that they offer two sushi rolls for only a dollar-if only they had that kind of offer back home-and though I don’t want to leave, and stop drinking that magnificent water, I gather my things and walk out the door. Oh the marvels of eating in Asia and paying up front, not worrying about the check or the tip! Flat fees!!! Flat fees everywhere!
When I get back a new act is on the stage and the sun is starting to set and it’s all unfortunately making me quite sleepy. but soon it is six o clock and the free market has ended, but I’m not ready to go home so I wander around the streets some more, taking the long way back to the train stop, and eating another ice cream cone on the way, although I know I’m going to feel guilty about the potential weight gain later. The night is setting in by the time I get back, but back at the sculpture-street, I can hear performers. When I cross the street there is a man with a guitar and a great crowd around him, laughing and reacting as he crosses back and forth between them, and when he is done playing the crowd asks for an encore, so he plays some more, then makes everyone do the wave, and everyone is happy and enjoying themselves. The street is alive with talent and joy. Down some feet from the performing guitarist, a large crowd is gathered around a group of dancers, and I manage to make my way to the front, laughing as they perform amazing hip hop routines wearing large bunny onesies, and pulling in people from the crowd now and then, making them laugh and asking them to join in and dance with them. It’s interactive, and the best kind of performing there is, and I’m delighted because every once in a while the leader, who seems to be a blonde boy who is crazily energetic, directs the group towards my camera, and they come up and dance a little, or just dance up to me, beside me, around me, and I feel included and inclusion makes me happy. I stay there until they leave, then consider being one of the girls who stays behind to get a selfie with the blonde boy, but feel too shy and move on instead. The night has set in but the street lights make it look like daytime all the same, and there are more crowds and more dancers waiting. the first dancers I come across is a girl group this time, dancing sexily and prettily like many k-pop groups do on TV, and the girl comes up to other girls in the crowd, and dances next to them, and soon she is coming up to me and doing sexy moves alongside me, and I don’t know what to do, but I’m happy, so I smile and enjoy the performance.
I don’t want to leave Hongdae, but my camera batteries just can’t keep going even though I have three, and it seems like there isn’t much on the streets beyond those crowds, so I reluctantly head back to the subway, reminding myself that I could come back tomorrow and happy that I live so close by that that's not a problem at all.
on the subway platform as I wait to buy my ticket, I realize that the boy next to me is part of the dancer group from before because I recognize his jacket, and then realize the entire dance group is right there next to me, blonde boy included. I say hi, surprised, and the blonde boy recognizes me. I remember him shouting, 'show me the money!' mid-show while staring at me, so I hold up a dollar to thank him for the performance but he shakes his head. "No money' he says, ' I don’t need it. I have much money.'
The other boys agree, 'he’s very very rich.'
I tell him it’s not hard to be richer than me, but that they did a really good job and made my night, so thank you, and then they're off and away and I’m sad because I wish I was in an alternate universe where I was their friend.
God, I’m a loser.
day six: gangnam, coex, and the bongeunsa temple and the long trek up namsan mountain
The day is forecasted to be rainy and gray, my clothes are all used up except for some that I don’t feel like wearing, I’ve woken up too late and fear I’m going to have a hard time readjusting to my lack-of-sleep-work schedule, and I still have no idea what I’m going to do today, but I head to the bathroom to change into a long black Dick Blick t-shirt and jeans, brush my teeth, and return to the kitchen for breakfast. The shirt is the signal really. The signal that it’s time to go home. Anyone that knows me knows I would never step out of the house in a simple t-shirt. but I’m just so tired, and I figure with the rain no one will notice anyway, so I’ve caved in, and now this is what I’m wearing.
Today is a toast kind of day. After eating two ice creams yesterday, I’ve weighed myself and now weight one more kilogram than I did last morning. That one more kilogram is going to send me back into extreme dieting mode, it is. Because once you’ve had a taste of the good life, you just don’t settle for going back to good enough. So no waffles, just toast, but I allow myself more tea than usual because my body can handle the liquids now. Today there's two older ladies at the table, and though one can’t speak English, and communicates with smiles, body language, and through the other lady, we engage in some light conversation.
"You are so brave" one tells me, and the non-English speaking lady nods in agreement.
I smile, "I’m not."
"You did this all alone" she remarks.
"Yeah, but I did think it was scary. The night before I came, I was calling everyone and asking them, 'are you sure I’m not crazy??'" I laugh. Deep down I am proud of myself though.
I actually wanted to go to Europe first. Ever since I was little I was saving money to go to Europe someday." "But then I came here instead."
"That’s what I did." the lady tells me, one waffle bite and then she continues, “When I was young I went on a trip to Europe. But then I had kids and I missed it....are you in school?"
I explain to her that I’m on a break but technically finished school. She tells me her daughter is in her freshman year of college.
"Whenever I check her Facebook, I see her pictures and think 'this is not my daughter!'" I’m unsure whether she means that she’s doing outrageous things, or that she's growing up quickly. "But now that the kids are away I decided to come back and travel."
I wish my parents were like that." I tell her, "they just kind of focused on raising us, and now they don’t do much for themselves. My sister had a baby though so now they just busy themselves with raising her." I tell her that as for the Europe trip, deep down I was scared of it all seeming too familiar, of being unimpressed by how much they would be like us, easy to understand, with many speaking English. "But I’m going. In a year." I tell her "right now I’m too tired. I’ll go home, and maybe New York but Europe will be in a year. I also need to get the money for it. Right now I’m busy paying back student loans." she nods comprehensively.
"Europe is nothing like here though. It’s beautiful. The architecture of everything. They speak English everywhere."
I smile. I’m all traveled out but maybe someday. The women ask me where in Seoul I’ve gone so far and I tell them the places and my recommendations. then she asks me about what it was like in Tokyo and where I stayed, and seems so impressed with my recommendation for the accommodation I stayed at, that she asks me to write it down for her, and then I’m off to get ready for my last adventure.
Today is Sunday and performances are made in Seoul nor Madang by Jamil, where Lotte world was but that sounds far and the performances don’t start till 3pm and will most likely get rained out anyway, and ditto for city hall performances, so the only logical place left to visit is Gangnam.
Gangnam’s subway, much like Myeongdong, is an underground shopping mall, and after walking in the rain for about an hour, seemingly the only thing Gangnam really has to offer. but its only twelve o clock and it’s too early to call it quits, so I look up the location of Bongeunsa temple and Coex mall again, (the only things I actually wanted to see in Gangnam, realize they’re actually two more subway stops away, and decide to give it another try.
Coex mall is just a mall and that’s what was afraid of. It’s a large one, with very white walls and very luxurious brand, but a mall is a mall is a mall, so I head instead to Bongeunsa temple.
The temple is beautiful even from the outside. Two stony sculptures guard the entrance, elephants, and as I make my way to the temple doors, I wonder if there’s an admission fee but there is not. There are four sculptures behind glass at the entrance, and large paintings on the temple doors, and as people leave, they bow in respect to each of the statues. I enter, feeling like an intruder at this holy place, feeling how low it is to be a tourist with one camera and zero faith.
The temple leads up to a golden room, the ceiling strewn with dozens upon dozens of paper lanterns. Below them, people grab mats, take off their shoes, and bow, praying. A woman stands up front, lighting candles. From some unknown space, I hear what sounds like a sermon being broadcast. The temple is split up into many different buildings, all which are open for worship today, and which people move freely through. As I head further up the hill, I hear the choir sing. I hear the gong as it’s struck, spirits reaching salvation.
When I see the Buddha I know for sure that coming here was definitely worth it, Coex mall or not. At its base, people bow in respect, and encased behind small glass doors are plants that I can only assume are meant to be offerings to the Buddha, a pit beside it filled with incense sticks. I observe the people as they come and go, follow the path around the Buddha, let the temple air sink into me, then bow out.
When I leave the temple, mass has ended, and I cannot resist bowing in respect to the Buddha, and the two statues at the entrance as is custom. Bowing is contagious and when you are on sacred ground, it comes naturally.
back at Coex mall, its only two o clock and too early to head back to my room, so I stay and listen to a few live acts at live plaza, a small performance space in the mall. after listening to a poor heavily accented rendition of 'lost stars' from begin again (a movie that seems to have been really popular in Asia), I make my way back to the subway station, only stopping for a little while to watch a guitarist as his hands move blindly through the strings, masterful in a way I could never be with a guitar.
I’m stubborn but my stubbornness suits me well. I’ve decided I have enough time to visit Namsan Mountain, and google has assured me that instead of taking the cable car, I can simply climb the steps up to the top and it’ll be around 20 minutes from the subway stop to do so. 20 minutes of walking/climbing, I think. No sweat.
I question my life choices several times as I ascend the stairs up Namsan Mountain.
Today is a toast kind of day. After eating two ice creams yesterday, I’ve weighed myself and now weight one more kilogram than I did last morning. That one more kilogram is going to send me back into extreme dieting mode, it is. Because once you’ve had a taste of the good life, you just don’t settle for going back to good enough. So no waffles, just toast, but I allow myself more tea than usual because my body can handle the liquids now. Today there's two older ladies at the table, and though one can’t speak English, and communicates with smiles, body language, and through the other lady, we engage in some light conversation.
"You are so brave" one tells me, and the non-English speaking lady nods in agreement.
I smile, "I’m not."
"You did this all alone" she remarks.
"Yeah, but I did think it was scary. The night before I came, I was calling everyone and asking them, 'are you sure I’m not crazy??'" I laugh. Deep down I am proud of myself though.
I actually wanted to go to Europe first. Ever since I was little I was saving money to go to Europe someday." "But then I came here instead."
"That’s what I did." the lady tells me, one waffle bite and then she continues, “When I was young I went on a trip to Europe. But then I had kids and I missed it....are you in school?"
I explain to her that I’m on a break but technically finished school. She tells me her daughter is in her freshman year of college.
"Whenever I check her Facebook, I see her pictures and think 'this is not my daughter!'" I’m unsure whether she means that she’s doing outrageous things, or that she's growing up quickly. "But now that the kids are away I decided to come back and travel."
I wish my parents were like that." I tell her, "they just kind of focused on raising us, and now they don’t do much for themselves. My sister had a baby though so now they just busy themselves with raising her." I tell her that as for the Europe trip, deep down I was scared of it all seeming too familiar, of being unimpressed by how much they would be like us, easy to understand, with many speaking English. "But I’m going. In a year." I tell her "right now I’m too tired. I’ll go home, and maybe New York but Europe will be in a year. I also need to get the money for it. Right now I’m busy paying back student loans." she nods comprehensively.
"Europe is nothing like here though. It’s beautiful. The architecture of everything. They speak English everywhere."
I smile. I’m all traveled out but maybe someday. The women ask me where in Seoul I’ve gone so far and I tell them the places and my recommendations. then she asks me about what it was like in Tokyo and where I stayed, and seems so impressed with my recommendation for the accommodation I stayed at, that she asks me to write it down for her, and then I’m off to get ready for my last adventure.
Today is Sunday and performances are made in Seoul nor Madang by Jamil, where Lotte world was but that sounds far and the performances don’t start till 3pm and will most likely get rained out anyway, and ditto for city hall performances, so the only logical place left to visit is Gangnam.
Gangnam’s subway, much like Myeongdong, is an underground shopping mall, and after walking in the rain for about an hour, seemingly the only thing Gangnam really has to offer. but its only twelve o clock and it’s too early to call it quits, so I look up the location of Bongeunsa temple and Coex mall again, (the only things I actually wanted to see in Gangnam, realize they’re actually two more subway stops away, and decide to give it another try.
Coex mall is just a mall and that’s what was afraid of. It’s a large one, with very white walls and very luxurious brand, but a mall is a mall is a mall, so I head instead to Bongeunsa temple.
The temple is beautiful even from the outside. Two stony sculptures guard the entrance, elephants, and as I make my way to the temple doors, I wonder if there’s an admission fee but there is not. There are four sculptures behind glass at the entrance, and large paintings on the temple doors, and as people leave, they bow in respect to each of the statues. I enter, feeling like an intruder at this holy place, feeling how low it is to be a tourist with one camera and zero faith.
The temple leads up to a golden room, the ceiling strewn with dozens upon dozens of paper lanterns. Below them, people grab mats, take off their shoes, and bow, praying. A woman stands up front, lighting candles. From some unknown space, I hear what sounds like a sermon being broadcast. The temple is split up into many different buildings, all which are open for worship today, and which people move freely through. As I head further up the hill, I hear the choir sing. I hear the gong as it’s struck, spirits reaching salvation.
When I see the Buddha I know for sure that coming here was definitely worth it, Coex mall or not. At its base, people bow in respect, and encased behind small glass doors are plants that I can only assume are meant to be offerings to the Buddha, a pit beside it filled with incense sticks. I observe the people as they come and go, follow the path around the Buddha, let the temple air sink into me, then bow out.
When I leave the temple, mass has ended, and I cannot resist bowing in respect to the Buddha, and the two statues at the entrance as is custom. Bowing is contagious and when you are on sacred ground, it comes naturally.
back at Coex mall, its only two o clock and too early to head back to my room, so I stay and listen to a few live acts at live plaza, a small performance space in the mall. after listening to a poor heavily accented rendition of 'lost stars' from begin again (a movie that seems to have been really popular in Asia), I make my way back to the subway station, only stopping for a little while to watch a guitarist as his hands move blindly through the strings, masterful in a way I could never be with a guitar.
I’m stubborn but my stubbornness suits me well. I’ve decided I have enough time to visit Namsan Mountain, and google has assured me that instead of taking the cable car, I can simply climb the steps up to the top and it’ll be around 20 minutes from the subway stop to do so. 20 minutes of walking/climbing, I think. No sweat.
I question my life choices several times as I ascend the stairs up Namsan Mountain.
departure
Strangely enough, the only person I manage to say goodbye to, is Jake. Not even hamlet sees me depart.
When I get up in the morning, I want to keep sleeping, and I’m cold as usual, and though I know I should save all my sleep for the airplane, I let myself stay in bed for a little longer. But today is the day I leave Seoul. Today is the day I go home. There’s still packing to be done, not a lot, but some, I must get up and eat breakfast. the thoughts tug and tug and tug and there’s no way I’m getting any more sleep anyway, so I get up and get ready, eating my two very last homemade waffles.
I get ready quicker than id expected and sit in the living room, wondering if I should wait a little longer or if I should just go ahead and leave now, but I’m feeling antsy so soon I grab my stuff, show Jake my bed so he can pack it up later, and am out the door. Jake helps me with my bag, surprised about its lightness and I explain that I’m too mistrustful of checked baggage to actually keep a lot of things in my checked bag, and he gives me recommendations to take the bus to the airport instead of the subway, but since I’m not sure exactly how to do that, I stick to my subway plan.
"So what’s next?" he asks
"oh just home, but that’s okay I’ve got a lot to do there"
"what do you do?"
"I’m an artist. And a writer. I’ve been writing this whole time."
"Oh really? That’s interesting" he remarks, standing there at the foot of the doorstep. The conversation is a little awkward and seeming forced. Jake is polite, but his politeness seems late. "I wish I would have asked you more while you were here. Talked more." I nod comprehensively, thinking, well of course, but you were kind of a jerk.
"Well thanks." I tell him, and say goodbye, grab my bags and wanting to end the awkwardness, head to the subway entrance.
Seoul is filled with mountains. Mountains upon mountains upon mountains. And rivers. In the daylight, I can appreciate the way to Incheon airport, and notice that the highway is lined with cherry blossom trees, or the way that you can see houses leading up to the mountaintops.
There is an Etude House at Incheon airport, and though I make a note to return and buy some more stuff before leaving, and hunt for some last souvenirs, I don’t actually get a chance to. I’m grateful I’m here early because I’m panicking over how to return my Wi-Fi device when I can’t find the counter of the Wi-Fi company, and after adding 10 dollars of credit to my google hangouts account in order to place a local call, (which is ridiculous because I haven’t even had to pay for all the international calls back home) I realize that this is because the company doesn’t have an actual booth, but instead just have representatives that sit there, next to the charging booth, and somehow expect this to be obvious. Stressed and severely pissed off, I return the device and look for a way to check in.
Incheon airport is the world’s best airport but I honestly have no idea why. When I find the check in counter, I end up waiting an hour because for some reason or the other, people are not actually allowed to check in until one twenty for my flight. Thankfully, once I’m checked in (and I’m the first one thanks to my use of the self-check kiosks) customs and security doesn’t take very long, even though they do take the time to search through my bag, and pull out all my cables and cords. The pudding is safe though folks, so I slink away before they notice my excess liquids.
after wandering around inside a bit, I realize that for once, there is no more etude houses and all the souvenirs that I could have bought in Insadong for 3 to 5 dollars are worth about three times that price here, at the airport, and I have yet to spot a cheap place to eat before boarding, so I try to find my gate instead.
the international gates are located a train ride away, and once you’re on board, you can’t return to passenger terminal, but I’m on board already and there’s not much else to do but see what lies ahead. At first, when we land, I’m happy to see that there’s shopping and food in this concourse as well, but it doesn’t differ at all from the first one, with the exception of the existence of a dunking donuts, so I order a grilled cheese ciabatta, (which to my surprise, turns out to be quite tasty) and a mango smoothie (which to my surprise, isn’t tasty) then sit down and wait to board.
Nothing ever really lives up to that very first flight from Chicago to japan. My flight now has seats so squished together, I feel the pain of not being able to stretch my legs the entire flight, and wonder how I’ll get to the washroom through the two very asleep ladies next to me. there’s no power outlets in the seats and the inflight entertainment is reduced to only main screen entertainment, though thankfully, I’m somewhere near a large screen. I try to limit my viewing TV during the flight to maximize on sleep, but end up watching three movies anyway, or rather two and three quarters, as the last one gets cut off upon landing. Halfway through the flight, I lift up my window to notice the sky is jet black, then look closer, and see the stars. So many stars.
before landing we are given the usual customs forms and I spend some time inking my hand with numbers, declaring every single souvenir I can remember buying, and totaling the amount for the inspection officers to see.
When we land, I hurry to through immigration and customs, though they never live up to the terrible one hour customs experience in japan, and I’m through it considerably quickly, without fingerprinting or picture taking, and with a friendly send-off and pudding approval to boot. I tell the officer I’m worried about making it to my connecting flight on time but he says I’ve got plenty of time to get there.
If only he wasn’t right.
In San Francisco you must grab your bags and re-check them, so I do, and must go through security too, but security is fast and simple, as they do not require you to take everything out and sort it into specific baskets, but rather, through the whole lot in and just let you grab it at the other end, simple as pie. bag check turns out to be no problem as well, as though I have to wait for my bag to come through, and get to see the horror show that it is to watch as a conveyor belt destroys luggage, once I have the bag in my hands, I only have to head to my connecting flight, give the nice customs officer my declaration forms, and drop off the bag a few feet away to be scanned and processed, then it’s out of my hands again, and I am on my way to my gate.
It would all be quite nice if it were that simple. But the officer said I had time, and time I have plenty of because the flight to Chicago has been delayed an hour due to a late arrival of the airplane from Denver. I wait an hour, but no staff is here and the boarding time I’m quite sure is wrong now, and will be delayed again, as I see no plane and know enough that we must wait for the plane to be cleaned and ready first, so I head to the washroom, play with the tiny tornado and weather-themed attractions in the kids zone, then line up to board, and wait there for another hour until the plane finally comes, and we board. And by this time, I’ve decided I don’t like San Francisco much either.
My plane which was supposed to arrive at 7 will not arrive at 9, and the TV screens just keep getting smaller and smaller.
When I get up in the morning, I want to keep sleeping, and I’m cold as usual, and though I know I should save all my sleep for the airplane, I let myself stay in bed for a little longer. But today is the day I leave Seoul. Today is the day I go home. There’s still packing to be done, not a lot, but some, I must get up and eat breakfast. the thoughts tug and tug and tug and there’s no way I’m getting any more sleep anyway, so I get up and get ready, eating my two very last homemade waffles.
I get ready quicker than id expected and sit in the living room, wondering if I should wait a little longer or if I should just go ahead and leave now, but I’m feeling antsy so soon I grab my stuff, show Jake my bed so he can pack it up later, and am out the door. Jake helps me with my bag, surprised about its lightness and I explain that I’m too mistrustful of checked baggage to actually keep a lot of things in my checked bag, and he gives me recommendations to take the bus to the airport instead of the subway, but since I’m not sure exactly how to do that, I stick to my subway plan.
"So what’s next?" he asks
"oh just home, but that’s okay I’ve got a lot to do there"
"what do you do?"
"I’m an artist. And a writer. I’ve been writing this whole time."
"Oh really? That’s interesting" he remarks, standing there at the foot of the doorstep. The conversation is a little awkward and seeming forced. Jake is polite, but his politeness seems late. "I wish I would have asked you more while you were here. Talked more." I nod comprehensively, thinking, well of course, but you were kind of a jerk.
"Well thanks." I tell him, and say goodbye, grab my bags and wanting to end the awkwardness, head to the subway entrance.
Seoul is filled with mountains. Mountains upon mountains upon mountains. And rivers. In the daylight, I can appreciate the way to Incheon airport, and notice that the highway is lined with cherry blossom trees, or the way that you can see houses leading up to the mountaintops.
There is an Etude House at Incheon airport, and though I make a note to return and buy some more stuff before leaving, and hunt for some last souvenirs, I don’t actually get a chance to. I’m grateful I’m here early because I’m panicking over how to return my Wi-Fi device when I can’t find the counter of the Wi-Fi company, and after adding 10 dollars of credit to my google hangouts account in order to place a local call, (which is ridiculous because I haven’t even had to pay for all the international calls back home) I realize that this is because the company doesn’t have an actual booth, but instead just have representatives that sit there, next to the charging booth, and somehow expect this to be obvious. Stressed and severely pissed off, I return the device and look for a way to check in.
Incheon airport is the world’s best airport but I honestly have no idea why. When I find the check in counter, I end up waiting an hour because for some reason or the other, people are not actually allowed to check in until one twenty for my flight. Thankfully, once I’m checked in (and I’m the first one thanks to my use of the self-check kiosks) customs and security doesn’t take very long, even though they do take the time to search through my bag, and pull out all my cables and cords. The pudding is safe though folks, so I slink away before they notice my excess liquids.
after wandering around inside a bit, I realize that for once, there is no more etude houses and all the souvenirs that I could have bought in Insadong for 3 to 5 dollars are worth about three times that price here, at the airport, and I have yet to spot a cheap place to eat before boarding, so I try to find my gate instead.
the international gates are located a train ride away, and once you’re on board, you can’t return to passenger terminal, but I’m on board already and there’s not much else to do but see what lies ahead. At first, when we land, I’m happy to see that there’s shopping and food in this concourse as well, but it doesn’t differ at all from the first one, with the exception of the existence of a dunking donuts, so I order a grilled cheese ciabatta, (which to my surprise, turns out to be quite tasty) and a mango smoothie (which to my surprise, isn’t tasty) then sit down and wait to board.
Nothing ever really lives up to that very first flight from Chicago to japan. My flight now has seats so squished together, I feel the pain of not being able to stretch my legs the entire flight, and wonder how I’ll get to the washroom through the two very asleep ladies next to me. there’s no power outlets in the seats and the inflight entertainment is reduced to only main screen entertainment, though thankfully, I’m somewhere near a large screen. I try to limit my viewing TV during the flight to maximize on sleep, but end up watching three movies anyway, or rather two and three quarters, as the last one gets cut off upon landing. Halfway through the flight, I lift up my window to notice the sky is jet black, then look closer, and see the stars. So many stars.
before landing we are given the usual customs forms and I spend some time inking my hand with numbers, declaring every single souvenir I can remember buying, and totaling the amount for the inspection officers to see.
When we land, I hurry to through immigration and customs, though they never live up to the terrible one hour customs experience in japan, and I’m through it considerably quickly, without fingerprinting or picture taking, and with a friendly send-off and pudding approval to boot. I tell the officer I’m worried about making it to my connecting flight on time but he says I’ve got plenty of time to get there.
If only he wasn’t right.
In San Francisco you must grab your bags and re-check them, so I do, and must go through security too, but security is fast and simple, as they do not require you to take everything out and sort it into specific baskets, but rather, through the whole lot in and just let you grab it at the other end, simple as pie. bag check turns out to be no problem as well, as though I have to wait for my bag to come through, and get to see the horror show that it is to watch as a conveyor belt destroys luggage, once I have the bag in my hands, I only have to head to my connecting flight, give the nice customs officer my declaration forms, and drop off the bag a few feet away to be scanned and processed, then it’s out of my hands again, and I am on my way to my gate.
It would all be quite nice if it were that simple. But the officer said I had time, and time I have plenty of because the flight to Chicago has been delayed an hour due to a late arrival of the airplane from Denver. I wait an hour, but no staff is here and the boarding time I’m quite sure is wrong now, and will be delayed again, as I see no plane and know enough that we must wait for the plane to be cleaned and ready first, so I head to the washroom, play with the tiny tornado and weather-themed attractions in the kids zone, then line up to board, and wait there for another hour until the plane finally comes, and we board. And by this time, I’ve decided I don’t like San Francisco much either.
My plane which was supposed to arrive at 7 will not arrive at 9, and the TV screens just keep getting smaller and smaller.
arrival
I arrive and everything is dark. Night has set in and I can see the lights of Chicago from above like copper wires running through perfect blocks. I see the fashion outlets as we touch down.
The bags are slow to arrive and my friends have petitioned to be the ones to pick me up. I want to go home and sleep but I am feeling loved, and as I grab my bags and head to the door to look for their car, I hear someone scream my name.
“Maria!” I look back, and Ariana is rushing towards me to grab my bags, give me a hug, and welcome me home. Her beanie atop her head, her winter jacket still snuggly on, past her bedtime, but here she is, excited. I spot Tino behind her stuffing a parking ticket into his back pocket, and I think, here are two people who couldn’t wait to see me back. They picked me up, they paid the ticket, they are arguing with me over who gets to carry my bags. I love them. We stop at Denny’s to eat even though I hate Denny’s and it’s past my eating time. Its past anyone’s eating time really. Its past 9 o clock and I know somewhere not too far away my parents are waiting for me to arrive. They’ve been waiting since the second I left. I order an omelet, and everything seems too large for my consumption, the portions much bigger than in Asia. I’m unaccustomed but surprise myself as I scarf it all down, and promise to work it off in the morning. In the morning I have promised myself to return to work, so I must go to bed early tonight. Tine pays for my food although I assure him he doesn’t have to. I tell them stories of hamlet the pig while we drive through almost-empty streets and tell them of Korean boys dancing in Hongdae. I tell them I will divide souvenirs up later, we make a date to see each other again, and then I step into my quiet, lonely house.
I expect the lights to be on but they’re not. I expect my parents to be awake, but hardly. I put down my bags on the couch, and head into my room to change and grab things to shower. My room looks foreign. Was the bed always this low? This small? Something seems out of place but I can’t quite put my finger on it. In the kitchen, I can’t help but notice just how many baskets of fruit we have, all completely full. In the shower, I find myself missing the hand nozzles of japan and South Korea. I love being home. I love being there. I’m split between the two. I jostle my parents awake. They ask me questions, but not too many. Dad has work in the morning, he has to sleep. My mother says goodnight. I am in pajamas and all is well and settled and once again I am without stars. I tell my uncle goodnight, I’m back. I don’t tell anyone else I have returned. I want to keep it secret.
The bags are slow to arrive and my friends have petitioned to be the ones to pick me up. I want to go home and sleep but I am feeling loved, and as I grab my bags and head to the door to look for their car, I hear someone scream my name.
“Maria!” I look back, and Ariana is rushing towards me to grab my bags, give me a hug, and welcome me home. Her beanie atop her head, her winter jacket still snuggly on, past her bedtime, but here she is, excited. I spot Tino behind her stuffing a parking ticket into his back pocket, and I think, here are two people who couldn’t wait to see me back. They picked me up, they paid the ticket, they are arguing with me over who gets to carry my bags. I love them. We stop at Denny’s to eat even though I hate Denny’s and it’s past my eating time. Its past anyone’s eating time really. Its past 9 o clock and I know somewhere not too far away my parents are waiting for me to arrive. They’ve been waiting since the second I left. I order an omelet, and everything seems too large for my consumption, the portions much bigger than in Asia. I’m unaccustomed but surprise myself as I scarf it all down, and promise to work it off in the morning. In the morning I have promised myself to return to work, so I must go to bed early tonight. Tine pays for my food although I assure him he doesn’t have to. I tell them stories of hamlet the pig while we drive through almost-empty streets and tell them of Korean boys dancing in Hongdae. I tell them I will divide souvenirs up later, we make a date to see each other again, and then I step into my quiet, lonely house.
I expect the lights to be on but they’re not. I expect my parents to be awake, but hardly. I put down my bags on the couch, and head into my room to change and grab things to shower. My room looks foreign. Was the bed always this low? This small? Something seems out of place but I can’t quite put my finger on it. In the kitchen, I can’t help but notice just how many baskets of fruit we have, all completely full. In the shower, I find myself missing the hand nozzles of japan and South Korea. I love being home. I love being there. I’m split between the two. I jostle my parents awake. They ask me questions, but not too many. Dad has work in the morning, he has to sleep. My mother says goodnight. I am in pajamas and all is well and settled and once again I am without stars. I tell my uncle goodnight, I’m back. I don’t tell anyone else I have returned. I want to keep it secret.