We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

9 May 2023

• 15:10-15:45 Incheon airport to Gimpo airport AREX (airport express train), 15:50-16:15 Gimpo airport to Yeongduengpo-gu office station metro

Narita Airport

After publishing my last post in Japan, I waited at the gate in Narita Airport to board the plane to Seoul. As I was shoving onigiri into my mouth, a Japanese woman from the national tourism agency approached me with a questionnaire. I answered her questions about my trip. She asked about each place I’d visited and how long I’d stayed there. The list was so long, that we ran out of time; boarding had begun.

In the ten minutes or so of our conversation, I informed her of my intention to revisit the Tohoku region upon my return to Japan.

“I’m from Tohoku, Iwate prefecture,” she said.

I informed her of my desire to attend the three big festival in early August. She pointed out my samue, remarking that I’d struck her as a “変な人” (strange person), and handed me her business card. In return, she asked for my contact detail. I’d promised to stay in touch.

The plane was small and half empty. Only 32 rows. I was alone in mine. Three months ago, I’d have jumped with relief. Now, I was disappointed. No socialising for me.

As the plane began taxiing, airport staff waved at us from outside and bowed. I waved back and broke into tears, already nostalgic for this country. This went on for twenty minutes or so, until takeoff.

Once we rose above the ground, I grew excited. Planes were horrendous for the environment. But they’d always made me giddy, ever since June 20, 2016, when I’d flown to London for the first time (to watch Harry Potter and the Cursed Child) and come up with an airplane story I’d been drafting to this day.

The rest of the flight was tear-free. My seat was too low for me. I was hunching by the window to stare out of it at the Japanese landscape: green mountains, blue lakes, and urban sprawls. Snow adorned a few summits of the Alps.

We continued across the northern coast of the Chugoku region. I spotted the sandy dunes of Tottori, which I hadn’t managed to visit.

Then, in less than an hour, we reached the South Korean coast. The landscape seemed similar, yet the mountains were shorter.

Incheon Airport

Incheon airport was just as deserted as Narita’s. Barely any people, apart from the Japanese passengers from my flight. Everything went smoothly: advanced technology, minimal lines, and zero questions during the passport check. I obtained a three-month entry into South Korea without exchanging a single word. Japanese on signs everywhere, in addition to Korean and English.

First orders of business: withdraw cash (the fee twice as Japanese ATMs, but still negligible); buy a T-Money card (South Korea’s IC card for public transportation, which, as people had often pointed out to me, was unusual of me to spend three months in Japan without owning one); and a SIM card (heinously overpriced at the airport compared to a cheap one I’d found online, so no).

I got instructions for the above at the information center. In the end, I asked the staff how to say “thank you” in Korean. They wrote it down for me. I could not pronounce it.

On the way to the platform, I saw a sign pointing at a maglev line. Even Japan didn’t have one.

I took the Airport Express line bound for Seoul. 2,600 won.

Panic.

2,600 yen? Like the fancy Skyliner express I’d taken this morning from Ueno Park to Narita airport?

No, this was won. Only 260 yen or so. For an express train.

God, Japan was expensive.

The ride was breathtaking. Green everywhere. Clear sky. Not too hot. A few hours ago, I was crying. Now, I smiled.

The train zoomed past beaches with unusual, dark gray sand (or rock?) formation; a foggy factory area; and an underground section.

I couldn’t explain it, but somehow, before listening to them speak, I could more or less tell the Japanese and Korean passengers apart.

A mere hour and a half later, I reached my guesthouse. It was peculiar, not being able to speak to the staff in their own language. There were separate slippers for the bathroom, but no washlet.

I did laundry and didn’t leave my room for the rest of the day. Phone calls, errands, and reading about attractions in Seoul. I knew nothing about the country I would spend the next three months in. It was time to find out.

Today’s highlights: landing in a country completely foreign to me.

10 May 2023

• 9:50-10:10 Yeongdeungpo-gu office station to Euljiro 3(Sam)-ga metro
• Picking up a SIM card near Myeongdeung station
• 10:55-11:25 Myeongdeung station to Nowon station metro, 12:40-13:05 Nowon station to Dongdaemun station train
• Exploring the market area – street food, buying a hanbok (2h)
• Cheonggyecheon river (1h)
• 16:20-16:45 Dongdaemun station to Nowon station metro

Seoul

This morning, inside the metro, a Korean woman was talking on the phone. Korea wasn’t Japan.

Google Maps was even worse here, too. It didn’t say how much the ride would cost. In Japan, I often picked the cheapest option.

Moreover, it never calculated walking distance. Instead of instructing me how to walk for five minutes somewhere, it told me to go back, take a train, make a detour, and then walk from another location.

Completely useless. Kakao and Naver were the two local navigations alternatives.

In Myeongdeung, I made sure to cross the main shopping street. It was colorful and vibrant, with cool music playing inside stores. I saw a lot of 7-11’s. Half of the people were wearing masks.

I picked up a SIM card (prepaid, rather than unlimited, like in Japan; I resolved to use my mere 2.5 gigabytes for the next three months only when absolutely necessary, to save money). Before leaving the office, however, I asked the two girls who worked there if they had any unique recommendations for Seoul.

They blinked at me.

“Namsan tower…?” one uttered, confused.

“Nah, everyone knows about that,” I said. “What’s the coolest thing you’ve done here?”

Silence.

They couldn’t come up with anything. So I thanked them and left.

Next stop: my second couchsurfing host. I took the metro and sat next to a soldier with South Korea’s flag embroidered on the sleeve of his uniform. Even his hat and backpack were camouflaged.

Plenty of locals inside the train were eyeing me with curiosity. It was probably the samue I was wearing.

At Nowon station, I took advantage of the public Wi-Fi to call my host. She’d just left, but gave me instructions on how to enter her studio, including the door password.

Every single station I’d visited so far smelled of the most incredible pastries. They all had bakeries right outside the ticket gate. So tantalizing.

After walking to my host’s street, a woman waited for me and helped me find the correct place.

“Gamsahapnieda,” I repeated, not knowing I was terribly, terribly mispronouncing it.

My host’s studio was lovely. She was a local painter whose apartment was across the street. This one, a a small basement apartment, she was using as a studio for her paintings: colorful depictions of a cartoon toco toucan, which had become her symbol. There were welcome snacks on a floor table – all Japanese. I ate a matcha KitKat.

Yet there wasn’t any Wi-Fi in the studio. I couldn’t find any networks to connect to. So I asked the helpful neighbor where I could buy a cheap hanbok. A former friend had told me that wearing one granted you free entry to attractions such as Seoul’s palaces. And after buying a jinbei and a samue in Japan and preferring them to western clothes, I decided my first activity in Korea would be buying their traditional summer garb.

The neighbor escorted me to a fancy shop where all the hanboks were custom made. The woman at the shop gave me a complimentary bottle of some Korean drink. But everything was too expensive for me, so I left, and, having not bought anything, didn’t take the bottle with me.

Thinking a market might yield a better result, I headed off to the market area, in Dongdaemun.

Dongdaemun

First, Pyeonghwa market. Heaps and heaps of hats. Heaps and heaps of books. Stickers. Towels. Everything stacked on top of each other in messy towers of merch. I had no idea how the staff could find anything.

I saw colorful scooters, a river with pleasant greenery and a nice breeze. Crochet bucket hats everywhere. Locals carrying metal food trays with empty dishes on their heads. One lady walked with the tray perched on a towel on her head without even holding it. Hands-free. While striding.

At various points I thought I’d heard Japanese. I talked to two girls in Japanese and they freaked out. They spoke Korean.

Gwangjang market was the first place in Korea, outside the airport, where I saw foreigners. I sat at a stall in the middle of the market and ordered cold soybean noodles soup. Tasted rice wine – very different from sake. I enjoyed the atmosphere at the market, and before long walked right into the hanbok section – the reason I’d come here. This was the only place mentioned in Google for cheap hanbok in Seoul.

Like Pyeonghwa market, there were endless shops carrying endless hanboks. I asked a few for a cheap secondhand hanbok (using a translation app); the aunties looked at me with confusion. Were there no secondhand shops here…?

Finally, I found one selling a cheap, modern, summer, peasant, worker’s-uniform version of hanbok. Perfect: I’d be in Korea until August.

Apparently, it was possible haggle here. I did that and got a small discount. I might have been able to push it a little more.

I saw so many forms of hanbok I wanted to get. They came in many styles, all in light linen. Temptingly breezy. The West had T-shirts and dress shirts. The East – jinbei, samue, hanbok – I could just wrap them around my torso and call it a day. They were big and comfy, and I felt so fresh wearing them, that I no longer desired jeans and T-shirts.

So I took photos of certain clothes I liked. I had three months to return here; perhaps I’d find even cheaper alternatives outside the capital. And besides, my suitcase was already bursting.

I couldn’t think of a market in Japan I’d enjoyed as much as Gwanjung. The food was amazing and it was fun to sit at tiny stalls. Plenty of people, but barely any lines. A third of the visitors was white, like me.

After buying my hanbok, I sat down at another stand, and got a mung bean pancake. Japan didn’t have that.

I left the market, resolving to return there without fail.

Cheonggyecheon River

Next was a stroll along Cheonggyecheon river. It was extremely shallow, but nonetheless pretty. And the water was crystal-clear.

Then came the moment to ask someone to take my photo. I asked several passersby. They didn’t even stop to look at me. One outright refused. Maybe if I’d talked to them in their own language, it would’ve helped.

So I waited and waited near my desired photo op and asked two French girls, who were here for two months. One had visited Tokyo for four short days last week, and went to Asakusa the day before me. The other would fly back home later today.

We chatted for a long time. They gave me some tips (turned out I could’ve gotten an even better deal for a SIM card…), and taught me a heart pose using the arms that was popular in Korea.

Afterwards, I strolled around the city, beholding more and more shops.

The thing that surprised me the most about Seoul so far was the shops. Tokyo was multiple cities squeezed together to form an urban behemoth. Seoul, or at least the part of it I was visiting, was basically one city comprised of endless markets. It seemed as though 70% of the population owned small market stalls and sold clothes or accessories. Everything was stacked endlessly on top of each other. The selection was boundless.

It was too much, actually. At some point I told myself to stop browsing, and return to my host’s.

So far navigating the metro was a lot easier compared to Osaka or Tokyo. None of the stations were a labyrinth. But I hadn’t visited Seoul Station yet.

At Nowon station, I was again attacked by intoxicating scents, wafting toward me around the ticket gate. I caved in and bought seven mini taiyakis for the price of a regular one in Japan.

I returned to my host’s studio in the afternoon. She wasn’t there. A couple of hours later, while using my extremely limited data on my new SIM, she texted me that she would be staying at her hometown outside Seoul tonight, and that she’d see me tomorrow.

In the absence of her insight and knowledge as a local, I postponed all planning of this trip for our meeting, and resolved to visit some of the palaces tomorrow. They were the number one tourist attraction in Seoul, so I figured there’d be some English there. I reserved a tour to the secret garden – a section at one of the palaces featuring a famously beautiful garden – the only palace-related activity one had to book in advance.

The bathroom inside the studio was on an elevated platform. This made the ceiling way too low for me. I had to crouch while inside.

Then came the time to sleep on a “yo” – the Korean version of a futon.

Futons were thick mattresses compared to Korea. The yo was tablecloth-thin, and a bit too short for me. I had war flashbacks to my first night in Iya Valley. But I was staying by myself for free in a local artist’s studio. No complaints from me.

I went to bed at 21:30 without putting an alarm. Finally, slumber.

Today’s highlights: the madness of merchandise at Seoul’s markets; the food and atmosphere at Gwangjang market; and mini taiyakis.

Stray observations:

• Escalators here have a yellow line in the middle, to separate those standing with those walking up or down.
• I’ve visited a handful of stations in the last 24 hours. Not a single one was guarded by a station officer.
• Instead of stating a train’s direction by its destination, here the next stop marked it on the platform.
• The metro cars are wider than Tokyo’s, allowing for three people to stand between the seats.
• I keep seeing aunties with short, puffy, purple hair, a stern, tight-lipped expression, and Gucci or Parada or LV knockoffs.
• Despite the geographical distance, there was no time difference between Korea and Japan.

11 May 2023

• 11:05-11:25 Nowon station to Dongdaemun station metro
• 11:35-11:40 Dongdaemun station to Jongno 3(sam)-ga metro
• Changgyeonggung palace (~1.5h)
• Changdeokgung palace (1h) + secret garden (1h)
• 17:25-17:30 Jongno 3(Sam)-go station to Dongdaemun station metro, 17:35-18:00 Dongdaemun station to Nowon station metro

A New Culture

I slept 11 hours and woke up stiff. Yo was no futon.

I donned my new hanbok – high wasted, baggy pants, just like my samue, except the fabric was light and perfect for the upcoming summer.

My host hadn’t returned. No reason to stay at her Wi-Fi-less studio and read about Seoul using my precious data. Better to just head out and explore it.

At Nowon station, I returned to the intoxicating stand from yesterday, and ate something that had caught my eye: coffee bean bread. It was good, but cold and dry, rather than freshly heated, so that let me down a little.

I noticed that a trumpet fanfare always heralded the arrival of trains to the platform.

During the train ride, I put on sunscreen. After that night at the capsule hotel in Tokyo, I resolved to be more careful from now. My hands had already changed ethnicities. They looked transplanted, compared to my torso.

After alighting at the city centre, I came face to face with a 7/11. Time for a visit in the Korean version of my favorite Japanese konbini.

It was odd and indecipherable, with not much English, nor any recognizable products. My usual tofu bar turned out to be chicken. Even less options with just fish. Everything here was meat.

I got a fried egg onigiri. When I bit into it, I discovered ham.

Changgyeong-gung Palace

My first stop was Changdeukgung palace. I obtained my ticket from the ticket office for the secret garden tour at 15:30. General admission was free for me, thanks to my hanbok.

Since I had plenty of time to kill until then, I walked to an adjoining palace, asking many people the way. This included three French girls who had chosen this palace as their first activity in Korea.

I crossed a pretty avenue where all the trees were connected by wooden poles. It was full of locals strolling while holding cups of coffee. The time was 12:20, presumably lunch break.

The palace It was built by the ninth king of the dynasty due to a “shortage of residential space in Changdeokgung” palace. The first western greenhouse in Korea was built here.

In Changgyeonggung palace, I immediately saw quite a few visitors wearing hanbok. Not the lame, summer version. The famous and fancy winter version, which, like kimono, was expensive, complicated to put on, involving many layers, and featuring luxurious patterns.

The palace was built by the ninth king of the dynasty due to a “shortage of residential space in Changdeokgung” palace. It served as living quarters for concubines, princesses, and lady attendants.

Palaces in Seoul always faced south, but here the main building faced East, so as to view Hamchunwon garden and Mt Naksan. The architecture here was considered relatively liberal.

Built in 1418, it was burned during the Japanese invasion of 1592, and rebuilt in 1616. Between 1910-1945, during the Japanese occupation, it was converted into a zoo and botanical garden. Thus, the first western greenhouse in Korea was erected.

In 1983, the government restored Changgyeonggung to its erstwhile days as a palace.

The palace grounds were, weirdly enough, nearly empty. It was scorching hot. Approaching the throne room, I felt how cool the air was inside.

The room was quite bare. Far less fancier than I’d expected. Mostly painted wood. I enjoyed this style and the folding screen painting of mountains and a river on wood, both the sun and moon gracing the formers’ peaks.

Apart from sounds of cars, the palace was very tranquil. Halls for banquets and discussions and literary events. All very simple and serene. No gold in plain sight. Just wood, gravel, and an expansive garden.

The buildings were all inaccessible, yet I could hear noises of cleaning from the inside of one hall.

Walking around the ground, I ran into the French girls from this morning. Then I met a couple – a French guy who was in Tokyo last week for four days (just like the French girl from the river yesterday), and a French-Korean girl. Both were wearing the most elaborate rented hanboks; his was a prince’s variant, with the funniest tower-like hat.

I continued to a pond with weeping trees, where a tree with red foliage made me think it was fall, and the greenhouse, where I found a bunch of bonsai and sweet fragrances from exotic plants. I met an English girl in a golden hanbok, and heard a bird make the oddest cry while talking to her.

Changdeuk-gung Palace and the Secret Garden

The time was a little after 14:00; my tour of the secret garden was fast approaching. I entered Changdeukgung palace through a gate at the back of Changgyeonggung and explored it for an hour.

This was the best-preserved palace of the dynasty, where they spent the most time. Every palace in Seoul featured a stream at the entrance, but at this time of the year, the streams were completely dry.

The main hall was a bit fancier, but still understated, compared to palaces I’d visited in the past. Very dark and cool inside. In addition to painted wood, there were round lamps covered by fabric, reminiscent of Renaissance Europe. Again that painting of mountains and a stream with both the sun and moon behind the throne.

Standing in front of the hall, I noticed how several bugs had been pestering me throughout the day. A clinging spider, a caterpillar, and a buzzing bee. Summer was coming.

Yet I continued to just stand there, completely transfixed by the architecture. I could watch the distinctive painting style for hours. It was called Dancheong: vibrant, traditional paintwork applied to walls, pillars, and ceilings. I wanted a house decorated with it.

My reaction took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected to be this excited by something in Korea.

The government complex of the palace features many small halls. I allowed myself to get lost inside this maze of thatched roofs and low passageways. It was gorgeous and tranquil, and I wanted to return here just to wander. My hanbok ensured it would be free.

It was curious how every single hall had the same painting. I wondered if there was some significance to this image. Also peculiar: every gate and hall had Chinese characters. Not Hangul.

The king’s library and living quarters were restrained, without dancheong. Pretty flowers and interesting rock formations.

I made it to the secret garden tour at 15:20. There was no tour. No guide. Just an entry ticket.

The secret garden was mainly used as a retreat for studying, taking exams, and holding banquets. I entered it and arrived at a beautiful pavilion with a pond. After exploring it for 10-20 minutes, I noticed there was indeed a tour, only the guide was late. I decided I’d rather explore the garden on my own.

By this point, I’d been hearing French as much as Korean. Everywhere I’d been to. Every attraction, every location. Nearly every single foreigner I’d met or passed spoke the language of love.

I wondered if I should start learning Korean, for my three months here, or French.

Then I asked a foreign girl to take my photo. When I took hers, I noticed Hebrew on her phone. My first Israeli encounter in South Korea.

She was twentysomething, with long, silky hair, pearly teeth, and what seemed like Moroccan features. It was her second time in Korea; both trips were a few weeks’ long.

“Any cool places in Seoul?” I asked her, my usual question to people who knew it better than me.

She didn’t have much of an answer, either.

After talking for some time, I left the garden. The entire time I was there, I could hear loud pop music. A concert was probably being held nearby.

Digital Detox

On my way back to my host’s, I stopped at 7/11 for instant noodles. It was the only thing I was confident had no meat in it. I found a Korean knockoff of my favorite Japanese snack – mushroom-shaped chocolate and biscuit – and happily bought one.

Then I passed a restaurant with water tanks at the front. Fish were floating inside it. It smelled like the ocean.

I returned to my host’s studio early in the evening. She wasn’t there. It was my second night sleeping at her place, without even meeting her.

Another thing that was missing, yet again, was Wi-Fi. I was alone and, in a sense, isolated from the world. Almost like my two days in Aoni Onsen.

I ate my instant noodles and stitched the torn parts of my backpack. I’d been carrying it around like this for three months.

For tense ten minutes, I turned on cellular data, to book a flight to Jeju Island. Nearly every person I’d met had been urging me to fly there (instead of urging me to visit cool places in Seoul). Apparently, it was Korea’s version of paradise.

May was considered the last best month to visit it, weather-wise. Right before the humid rainy season.

There was no time to waste. Nor to think long and hard about my plan. I picked the cheapest dates I could find, ten days from now, right after a festival I’d been meaning to attend in Seoul. Since I’d already reserved a spot at a hostel in Busan, where I would volunteer for a month in exchange for free accommodation, I booked separate flights: Seoul to Jeju; Jeju to Busan.

The latter was much shorter in length, and cost twice as much.

Afterwards, I turned off my cellular data. I couldn’t afford to answer people’s texts or send anyone photos. So I returned to B.C.

I took a shower. Squatting on the elevated platform, I waited and waited for the freezing water to get warm.

A couple of minutes like this, and no change in temperature. I washed my face, shivering all the while, and decided to call it a night, when it hit me.

This was the Far East.

Turning the faucet to the right did the trick. Everything was the opposite here.

I took a hot shower, and went to bed again at 22:00.

Today’s highlights: wearing traditional Korean clothing; discovering dancheong; the government complex at Changdeokgung; the Korean knockoff of my favorite Japanese snack; and doing an unplanned digital detox by stitching rather than being on the internet.

Stray observations:

• Japanese guys wear baggy pants and T-shirts. Korean guys tuck polos into trousers.
• I don’t know why, but sometimes, when Asian people take my picture, they turn off the live feature on my phone. This happened in Korea as well as in Japan.
• None of the taps in public restrooms are automatic.