Ever since I remember myself, the world was to me a secret which I desired to divine.

Mary Shelley, “Frankenstein”

When I was 19, I learned my two biggest life lessons.

1. I know nothing.
2. People don’t care.

They only grow more and more palpable with time.

12 May 2023

• 08:55-9:20 Nowon station to Chungmuro station metro, 9:25-9:30 Chungmuro station to Gyeongbukgung station metro
• 9:55-10:15 Sumunjang (royal guard) changing ceremony at Gwanghwamun Gate
• Gyeongbokgung palace (~2.5h)
• 12:55-13:05 guard duty performance at Gwanghwamun Gate
• 13:35-13:45 military training outside Hyeopsaengmun Gate
• Gwanghwamun Square, Myeongdeung street
• Seoul Outdoor Library festival in Seoul Plaza (1.5h)
• Seochon Hanok Village + Bukchon Hanok Village (1.5h)
• Gyeongbokgung palace – night opening (2h)
• 21:15-21:20 Gyeongbukgung station to Chungmuro station metro, 21:30-21:55 Chungmuro station to Nowon station metro

Last night, I didn’t get more than seven or eight hours of sleep, because I woke early. Seeing that only residents with a social security number could book a night tour of Gyeongbukgung – the main palace, accessible at night only until the end of May – I’d resolved to be there first thing in the morning, for a same-day ticket.

The metro was as congested as Tokyo on rush hour. Passengers making their morning commute. I barely had room to stand. Everyone got off at the same station as me and transferred to the same platform. We were like the sea of sardines storming at the Krusty Krab in the first episode of SpongeBob.

One thing I noticed about the local guys here was that they were just as touchy-feely as their Japanese counterpart. One could hold a friend’s shoulder while standing in a train and massage his back. Girls, while on that matter, could show cleavage. I saw more soldiers at the metro. It was curious how a country more militaristic could also be freer in terms of clothing.

Gyeongbok-gung Palace

I alighted at Gyeongbokgung Palace and saw a throng of girls clad in hanboks. This was the main palace – the most popular one – and the one everyone visited with rented hanboks.

It made me feel a bit left out. Here I was, wearing my peasant hanbok, in plain blue and single layer linen, while everyone around me were a dazzle of embroidery and silk.

Just like Kyoto.

I couldn’t afford to rent a kimono, back then. So I’d bought a secondhand jinbei – a casual summer outfit – instead. Three months in Japan, and I hadn’t gotten around to donning a kimono.

Then, in Tokyo, I’d resolved to waste all my life’s savings on travel. I was fully aware of the fact that my life had been going downhill. By the end of my Japan trip, I’d decided to embrace it.

But I’d still landed in Korea with an extremely tight budget.

This feeling of déjà vu had been recurring throughout my entire life. For better or worse, I was probably never meant to blend in.

I tried to take my mind off it by heading to the tourist information booth, where I asked where the guard change at 10:00 would take place, and how to book a ticket to the night tour. To my relief, the staff spoke Japanese.

Thus, before exploring the palace, I started off by watching the guard change at the main gate.

Colorful dresses and banners. Black, wide-brimmed hats. Trumpets and conch shells. Another SpongeBob moment. I felt like I was in the episode with King Neptune, where his guards carried flags and played conch shells.

Maybe it was the SpongeBob vibe, but I chuckled. It was very stern, and very entertaining. That mix of gaiety and seriousness. I imagined the band players blasting off to the sky like in the episode called Band Geeks.

Afterwards, it was time to explore the palace. The largest of the five remaining grand ones. Gyeonbokgung was Korean for “the palace greatly blessed by heaven”. It was built at the heart of Seoul, in 1395, three years after the Joseon Dynasty was founded, as their first palace. But more importantly, it was the venue of a BTS performance in 2020.

Every palace in the city was burned down during the Japanese invasion of 1592-1598. This palace was reconstructed in 1867. Then the Japanese occupation dismantled it again. It had been ongoing restoration since 1990.

A bunch of Korean girls in hanbok saw my hanbok and asked for a photo. We posed together, making heart shapes. That cheered me up.

One guy was wearing a baby pink girl’s hanbok. His friends couldn’t stop laughing. I loved it.

I realized where all the tourists were yesterday at the two palaces. They were here. At the main one.

Here there were more people, and also more gold. The king’s throne was adorned with it. Again the same painting behind. It had tall trees, though, in addition. And five mountain peaks.

A gorgeous pavilion stood on a pond. Enormous stone pillars. Designed based on the oriental philosophy of the universe: the three bays at the center symbolized heaven, earth, and human, while the twelve bays outside, the months of the years. Outer 24 columns for 24 solar terms of a certain astronomical or natural event of each year.

The main council hall featured a two-dragon painting, not unlike Kennin-ji in Kyoto. The royal kitchen had been converted into a restaurant where you could eat traditional Korean food. Reservations were required in advance, and the menu included neither English, nor prices. So that was a no for me.

I saw more guys wearing girls’ hanboks. And the omnipresent view of Bukhansan in the background reminded me of Japan. Particularly the Alps and Matsumoto. I would hike that mountain sometime in the next few days.

Every structure being raised on stone pillars created a multitude of liminal spaces: tiny, dark, cool openings underneath colorful halls and painted wood. I peeked in and crouched through some of them. They offered solace from the sea of hanboks, silence from the cacophonic tourists. It was an unexpected charm of the palace.

Once I crossed the main hall area, things got considerably quieter. No more people in hanboks shouting and running amok. Just strolling along the northern gardens.

The northernmost halls were considered “exotic” due to their Chinese characteristics. I took off shoes and put on slippers at the entrance to the library. History books about Korea and the rest of the world. Gorgeous paintings on the doors, walls, and ceiling, especially of dragons and peacocks. I adored the color combination of redwood, aquamarine, hardwood, and white. Pops of orange and sea blue. Breathtaking.

I visited the hall where Japanese assassins murdered Queen Myeongseong. Some of the other halls were plain wood – their paint hadn’t been restored yet. But it was still a pretty shade of light brown.

All throughout the palace, construction workers were hard at renovations.

I explored the entire complex at leisure until 13:00, and then returned to the main gate for the guard’s duty performance. They carried huge swords and sported the same style of goatee. The main guard examined his subordinates’ uniform and made readjustments. They rang bells and shouted commands.

Then, the guards’ military training. Walking in unison, practicing with swords – it didn’t interest me much. Instead, it was the drum player, and a player of another sort of instrument I could not identify. The drummer was so deft, he was practically juggling his sticks. I explained to a group of befuddled Israeli tourists what was going on.

Finally, I exited the palace and walked south, down the main street. The tourist information center was unbelievably helpful. A guy handed me booklet after booklet, so many leaflets, that I could barely fit everything into a plastic sleeve. He advised me to hike Gwanaksan on Sunday and Bukhansan on a weekday (I’d intended to do the former on Saturday and the latter on Sunday), to avoid excessive crowds.

There was some kind of a demonstration outside, with an endless crowd of young Koreans sitting on the road, all the way down to the city hall. They were listening to a disabled person protest the proposed changes to the Disability Act.

From here, I walked to Myeongdeung in search of curry (always a cheap and heavy meal). The streets were full of restaurants with amazing scents – this was one of the food districts of Seoul – yet everything was meaty, so I returned to the city hall, and filled a bag with convenience store food.

The thing that surprised me the most about Seoul was the multitude of palaces and quirky street art. So many funny sculptures. Everywhere I went.  

Seoul Plaza

At Seoul Plaza, the Seoul Outdoor Library was in full force. Performances every weekend during summer, with colorful bean bags for everyone to lounge on. I collapsed on one in front of a concert and had my first bite of the day at 15:20.

No sooner had I downed two bottles of milk protein than I noticed the Israeli girl from the secret garden yesterday.

“Hey!” I ran up to her. We hadn’t exchanged names yesterday. But immediately brought to bean bags together.

We chatted and ate (she, a homemade sandwich, since she was keeping kosher) and watched the performances. Got matching colorful umbrellas to shade us from the sun. She heard the voice of a famous singer from one of the stages.

“I feel like I’m at a country club,” she said.

I burst out laughing. That was exactly what it felt like. Minus the musical performances. Just lounging on a bean bag at a lawn in summer.

I kept thinking back of the beginning of my trip to Japan. My first 2.5 days there were solitary, too. On the third day, in Shiretoko National Park, I hung out with a couple of Japanese tourists.

By 17:00, the festival was over.

Bukchon Hanok Village

After exchanging names and numbers, I bid the Israeli girl farewell, and walked back up to Gyeongbokgung. The streets surrounding the palace were almost as jogger-y as Tokyo’s Imperial Palace.

It was too early to stay there until the night opening at 19:00. No one queued up for 2 hours like in Japan. So I walked to Seochon hanok village, a few minutes away to the northwest. The streets were so narrow that no car could fit. Suddenly, all noise from the city vanished. Mostly private houses and small, attractive cafes.

I continued north to the Blue House, the president’s former residence, recently opened up to the public. I figured it had already closed, but noticed a sign at the entrance about a free festival held tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.

“If there’s a festival,” I thought, “and it’s free, I’M THERE.”

Just like my visit to Meiji Jingu, the chance discovery of a festival made me change my plans on the spot, in order to attend it. How else would I watch traditional dance and performances by the National Dance Company of Korea for free?

My final stop before the palace was Bukchon hanok village, the most famous one in Seoul. East of the Blue House, I crossed Samcheong-dong, a trendy shopping street, and climbed uphill to a cluster of hanok houses, as narrow as their alleys. And, for the umpteenth time on this trip, piano music.

It was as assuaging as the sight of a traditional Japanese village.

“Hey, what’s up?” a couple asked me in Hebrew.

I froze. How did they know…?

“You met us earlier,” the guy said.

“Don’t worry,” the girl said. “You don’t look Israeli.”

I broke into nervous laughter. They were at the guards’ military training. Instead of recognising them, I blanched.

We’d arrived at the village at the perfect time. Sunset over the hanoks and Bukhansan. A perfect sight.

The amazing thing was, none of the shops and restaurants were closed. Art galleries, cafes with sweeping views. In Japan, they would all be open between 11:00-16:00.

Gyeongbok-gung Palace… Again

I ran back to the palace and made it at 18:40, like the information center had instructed me to. There was a huge line.

My hanbok had saved me three tickets to Gyeongbukgung today, and two more tickets to palaces yesterday. Thus, at the ticket office, I pointed yet again at my hanbok.

The staff was dubious.

“Hanbok…?” they asked each other with confused glances, doubtless unused to seeing this outfit.

As I waited for them to decide, one recurring thought crossed my mind.

“WHY am I always the odd one out?”

Exasperated, I explained that I’d entered the palace like this this morning. They let me in for free.

So from 19:00-19:30, I waited for the sun to set.

The palace was even more beautiful now that the sky donned a gradient effect and lamps lit up. The king’s throne was illuminated, the gold sparkling, the sun making way for the moon. It was a stunning room, cool and misty, atmospheric and sacred, intimate and grand and dark and light, subdued and flashy, all thanks to the minimal, warm lighting. Golden dragons shimmered on the ceiling.

The contrast in lighting was so mesmerizing, that it made me laugh. Dark walls and corners, illuminated spots – glistening gold – mysterious paintings – I couldn’t recall a church in Europe that had had this effect on me. Many of them had wowed me, as churches often strived to, but none had struck me as pacifying and mysterious. I adored St Paul’s Cathedral and its medieval-like murals, but it wasn’t mysterious. It was just grand.

I ran into the Israeli couple again.

Also, I heard Japanese again, by the throne room, for the second of third time today. But not in incidents when I could initiate conversation.

So I continued to re-explore the complex under this new lighting. Most cryptic were the halls only lit through paper windows from the inside. What was in there? What did the paper conceal? The secrecy. The inability. The ambience.

The grandness and beauty of the Dancheong painting style were graces I’d expected. But the liminal spaces and arcane darkness – I enjoyed them more than anything.

It felt both romantic and emptying, snug and solitary, pacifying and sad.

The vast majority of the night visitors were couples. The rest, friends or family. It was hard to find fellow solo travelers. Not just for picture-taking, but also for company.

I fell into ruminations about my place in the world, and in society.

I left the palace at 21:00, having spent no less than six hours today delving into every nook and cranny. For the first time, I possessed pictures of myself that didn’t involve smiling.

After the metro ride back to my host’s, I bought some kind of a ball-shaped pastry filled with cream cheese walnut at my favorite stand in Nowon Station, to cheer me up. Heaven.

The light inside my host’s studio was on.

Finally Meeting My Host

“Hi! Come in!”

At last, we met.

It couldn’t have been a better match. She was 31, a full-time painter, and full-time beamer. Chin-length hair and heart-shaped face. Nice, cool, and cosmopolitan, having couchsurfed for fun – and work – around the world.

“I can wake up whenever I want,” she said, when I couldn’t shut up about how fun her life must be.

She even had an assistant.

The first thing she did was give me another “mattress”, to make mine thicker, as well as a third blanket.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked, pointing at the doorway to my tiny room.

“Of course!” I exclaimed, shocked. This was her place.

My square room was around 1.85×1.85. She suggested I stayed in the bigger room, where she painted, but I didn’t mind the tightness.

“I came from Japan,” I reminded her.

Small rooms and thin mattresses, I could deal with, but I did ask her about the lack of Wi-Fi, which was a bit problematic.

“Aw,” she exclaimed at various points at the challenges I’d faced in the last few days, in a high-pitched voice, accompanied by hands folded one on the other. The type of reaction a cute baby usually elicited.

It was endearing, rather than condescending. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being.

We talked and talked, about her life, and my few days in Korea. I recounted everything I’d done, including how easy the metro had been to navigate without Wi-Fi.

“I am just so astounded by how organized Koreans are,” she mused.

I chuckled. “Have you been to Japan? The station gates here aren’t even manned.”

Japan wasn’t in war with any countries, so it didn’t have to funnel so much of its budget to national security. But South Korea? A militaristic country in active conflict with the North? If they could balance both – a strong army and futuristic infrastructure – why couldn’t Israel? Or the US?

But I wasn’t in those countries at the moment, and my present location, and company, gave me a rush of energy.

“You have such a smiley face,” she said.

She told me about her favorite place in the country, a tiny port town called Tongyeong. I immediately added it to my list.

Finally, she went to sleep in her apartment down the street.

Today’s highlights: the horde of hanboks at Gyeongbokgung palace; the guard changing ceremony; the liminal spaces inside the palace; the dancheong of the library; that drum player; the quirky street at of Seoul; Seoul Outdoor Library festival with the Israeli girl; sunset over Bukchon hanok village; the mystical night view of Gyeongbokgung palace; and becoming instant friends with my host.

Stray observations:

• Japanese girls dress conservatively, while Korean girls wear crop tops revealing tiny waists.
• Metal bowls, trays, pots, cutlery. Japan favors wood and pottery, while Korea, metal. The reason: metal changes color when in contact with poison – something historically important to Korea.
• Most pedestrian lights count down seconds instead of dots.
• Every time I ask a local for directions, I have to stop myself from mumbling “arigatou”, pause, and recall the word “kamsahampnieda”.
• Ambulances here glow green rather than red.
• Every time I bite into an onigiri, I discover ham stashed inside.

13 May 2023

• 11:10-11:35 Nowon station to Chungmuro station metro, 11:45-11:55 Chungmuro station to Gyeongbukgung station metro
• Blue House (2h)
• Dignity of Tradition festival at the Blue House (1h)
• Deoksugung palace (45m)
• 19:25-19:55 city hall station to Chang-Dong station metro, 20:02-20:04 Chong-dong station to Nowon station metro

The Blue House

Last night, I slept ten hours. My double mattress and three blankets were extremely cosy.

My host arrived at 10:30, ten minutes after I woke. We had mint Oreo cereal for breakfast.

Afterwards, I took the metro back to Gyeongbokgung palace, and walked straight to the Blue House. The festival was due to begin at 15:00. I arrived at 12:10.

It was early enough for me not to stand in line for the main building. Only the entrance was accessible, with lavish chandeliers inside. This building had served as the official residence and office of the president between 1948-2022. The focal point for me was the outside, though, with aquamarine roof tiles shimmering like the ocean on a bright day.

I climbed the heritage trail, from the main bilding to the presidential residence, to sweeping views of the city. Stone-seated Buddha and Square Pedestal from Gyeongju on top. Ounjeong Pavilion, acting as a rest house. Everyone in Korea – even the guards – were carrying UV parasols. I had to buy one.

I’d always found blue a boring and overused color. Yet the roof’s shade, and the rays of sun reflecting on it, made me reconsider. Viewed from above, it was like a diamond sea captured in architecture. And the pavilions were in the same style as the palaces, a lighter blue, more turquoise. All stunning.

I circled the presidential residence and peeked inside the back rooms (all empty). From there, I continued to Chimryugak pavilion, which was understated – only wood and white paper. And straw roof. Another lavish hall, with eye-popping gold, was used to host state events.

I was the only foreigner.

The Dignity of Tradition Festival

At 14:00, I arrived at the festival venue, an hour in advance. It couldn’t have been more fortuitous. I snagged a front row spot under a tent with mats for sitting. Furthermore, I was given a bottle of water and a traditional fan upon entering.

I couldn’t believe it. Everything was in perfect order. Where else in the world did they hand out free water at free festivals?

While waiting, I read a bit about Seoul from the book the tourist information center had given me, but ultimately decided to nap instead.

The wind was blowing. The sun was shining through the flapping fabric of the tent. Traditional music was being played. I shut my eyes and listened to it. I felt the same way I had on the return ferry from Miyajima. At this moment, life was good.

Then performance began. Very interesting and baffling to look at. At the end of the first one, a Korean man yelled “bravo”.

They featured, by order:

• Taepyungmu, a dance performed to pray for peace and prosperity of the nation.
• Jinsoechum, a dance perofmred to cast out evil spirits, featuring kkwaenggwari (a small gong).
• “Singleness of Heart_With”, A sword dance expressing the hearts of artists.
• Granny Miyal, a mask dance drama full of humor.
• Pyeongchae Sogochum, a cheerful sogo sance that interacted with the audience.
• “Lovers Under the Moon”, a love story.
• Tae, a rumbling percussion.

The third one involved funny grunting and peculiar singing. But the final one, with percussion so strong that my chest was rumbling – I felt every beat in my bones, in my ears and around my heart. The female players in the front were grinning all the while. Their enjoyment was infectious.

As soon as I left the festival, the sky turned cloudy. So that was lucky.

I walked down Gwanghwamun street again. Another free library event, with colorful bean bags, was at full force. “Someone in the Crowd”, a song from the movie “La La Land”, was playing. I appreciated how the city hosted events like this.

There was also another demonstration, which was loud and annoying. It seemed as though something went on in this street every day of the week.

I found a random konbini and bought some stuff for a very late lunch at 17:30. My first gimbap (bigger, burrito-like version of sushi) included tuna, which I hated. But the red bean and custard pastry was good. While devouring it, I noticed trash on the street. Never in Japan.

Deoksu-gung Palace

At 17:30, I entered Deoksugung palace. Between 1611-1897, it had acted as a secondary palace, under the name Gyeonggungung. Then King Gojong had established the Great Han Empire and became an emperor. This palace had become his central one, in which he’d erected western buildings, to symbolize the modernization of the country. In 1907, he had abdicated, and moved here permanently. The palace had come to be known as Deoksugung. In 1933, nearly all the buildings had been removed.

This was my fourth palace and, since they were all in the same style, it slightly bored me by now. But then, at the main hall, I learned the meaning behind the folding screen painting. The sun symbolized the king; the moon, the queen; the five mountain peaks, the land of the dynasty. In this way, the king’s authority extended all over the world.

Deoksugung housed the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, which I’d resolved to visit in the summer. The building was neoclassical, with ionic and Corinthian columns.

While exploring the premises, I ran into the French guy from two days ago. Why did I keep bumping into the same people?

Then I chatted with an English tourist who, like me, had family in Ealing, London.

I stayed at the palace grounds for a while to use the public Wi-Fi. Finally, I strolled around the main street again, and returned to the same convenience store to stock up in preparation of tomorrow’s hike. I was squatting in front of the fridge section, trying to decipher the difference between two kinds of hard boiled eggs, when…

“Hey, man.”

The English tourist again.

The same people, again and again.

We exchanged details. He was here for business, so the chance for meeting again was slim. But the coincidence prompted us both to try.

From there, I returned to my host’s studio, bag full of provisions. My host was painting Tokyo Tower for a client. She’d taken a business trip and stayed at a capsule hotel nearby, in the Hamamatsucho station area, close to my capsule hotel.

Today’s highlights: the shimmering aquaramine of the Blue House; the performances at the Dignity of Tradition festival.

Stray observations:

• Apparently, the Korean phrase for picture taking, equivalent to “cheese” (English) or “ikimasu” (Japanese), is “kimchi”. But that’s only for embarrassing tourists. I haven’t discovered the local version yet.
• Absolutely mind-boggling the number of people (both men and women) I see carrying (fake) Gucci bags. Never saw this in Israel or Norwich.
• No one gives receipts here. Five days in Korea, and zero receipts.
• Whenever buying take out in Japan, you’re automatically given chopsticks, a wet cloth, and a spoon, if necessary. In Korea, these are all readily available at the cash register, yet no one hands them out to you. It’s possible to grab them yourself, in case of need. I prefer the latter, more environmentally-friendly way.

14 May 2023

• 08:45-9:35 Nowon station to Sadang station metro, 9:45-9:50 Sadang station to Seoul National University station (line 2 westbound, NOT eastbound to Seoul National University of Education), 10:10-10:30 Seoul National University station bus stop outside exit number 3 to Construction Environment Research Institute Front 건설환경종합연구소앞 bus number 5511 (number 5513 goes there as well)
• Gwanaksan – trail up (1h)
• Yeonjudae peak and temple (1.5h)
• Gwanaksan – trail down (1.5-2h)
• 15:50-16:35 Sadang station to Nowon station metro

Today I woke up early in preparation for a day of hiking. The weather was sunny, the temperature would be 22 degrees – I had to take advantage of this, before summer.

Since the tourist information center had advised me to avoid Bukhansan during weekends (due to insane congestion), I’d picked a less-known mountain, called Gwanaksan.

Climbing Gwanak-san

During the long metro ride, from the northeastern outskirts of the city to the southwestern outskirts, I planned my course. My map featured a trail I didn’t want to do. It was long, and more importantly, didn’t lead to the mountain peak and cliffside temple, which had drawn me to Gwanaksan to begin with. Plus, it might have required some rock climbing (I wasn’t sure). Thus, I followed an article I’d found on the internet about the shorter, yet more exciting trail, in the hope that the information presented about a non-tourist mountain on an English-language website was up-to-date.

At Seoul National University station, the toilets were called “water closets”, and were all squatting style.

At the bus station, I waited with a bunch of middle-aged Korean hikers in professional gear. At least I was in the right place.

We filled the small bus like a nightclub. It was pretty fun. They got off at the main gate, while I wondered whether to follow suit. The online guide specified a later stop.

It was very fortunate of me to have purchased a T-Money transportation card. Buses had gone cashless in March. Japan, in comparison, was cash-centric.

The bus stop I got off at was a bit different from the name on the website. “Engineering-research-institution” something. I just saw a bunch of hikers there and a beginning of a trail, asked the driver if this was it, and trusted his nodding. There was no need walk fifteen minutes down some road to the beginning of the trail, like the guide had instructed.

Yet I was the only foreigner, in a place unmarked, at least at first, with English. After a few hesitant minutes, an elderly hiker helped me navigate. He spoke English well.

The actual weather on the foot of the mountain turned out to be 27 degrees, cloudy, and somewhat chilly. We climbed up a forest for around ten minutes. At the first divergence, he went right, to an easier route (he had bad knees), while I continued left with all the young hikers to Yeonjudae. I hiked up a creek in a forest, with water streaming next to the stone path.

“Bring hiking boots,” the tourist information center had advised me, “because it’s very rocky.”

It was indeed. Not as neatly laid out as in Kumano Kodo. Quite challenging to traverse.

There were lots of people, but not too many, so that was good. I wouldn’t get lost.

Having grown to Japan’s taller mountains, I was outpacing those people. Their multitude meant that their presence wasn’t exceptional enough to warrant a hello. In Japan, hikers usually greeted each other.

Forty minutes of rigorous climbing later, I made it to the first rest area with sweeping views. Panting and sweating, I beheld foreigners for the first time today, from France and Italy. A Korean guy was selling water bottles and popsicles. I had a small breakfast on a boulder. The eggs I’d bought yesterday were brown, and tasted like cholent.

A German girl and her local friend soon appeared. I approached them, and we ended up hiking the rest of the trail together. It wasn’t their first time.

It wasn’t that long, either. All in all, one hour to Yeonjudae peak – 600 meters – including my quick break. It was extremely jagged and steep, with eccentric rock formations, and a 360-degree view of the city. One half of my view was pure green; the other, pure gray.

The peak was also chock-full of hikers. There was barely room to move or stand.

“No Japanese person would ever come here,” I said at the end of this challenging ascent, in awe of its popularity.

The local girl laughed.

“Not Koreans,” she said. “We are rule breakers.”

One elderly hiker was rock-climbing barefoot.

“Hiking is like the national sport,” she said.

The cliffside temple, just like in the photo, was an alluring blur of red lanterns on the edge of the peak. But the girls didn’t want to wait in line to see it. So I gave them my number, and bid them farewell.

I waited half an hour to take a photo. Koreans didn’t wait neatly in line, and photobombed each other.

At the temple, I took off my shoes and entered. It was tiny. A woman was reciting a sutra under her breath. Golden Buddha inside. Silence. Birds – the same as the black-and-white ones at palace – sounded like a whistle. People were doing prostrations again and again. In Japan people never did that. Temples there were less strict and practice-y. Barely no one from the huge crowd at the peak descended to the one here. I prayed momentarily and left.

The other trail down the peak required five minutes of dangerous rock climbing. But it wasn’t so bad. It led to the best photo op on the mountain.

I spent no less than 45 minutes there, trying to find someone to take my photo. In the end, I couldn’t get the angle I had in mind.

At 13:45, on the way down, I wasn’t sure where to go. No signage. I asked a couple my age if I could follow them. The trail they took me to was even more advanced than the way up, involving a few rope sections. Not too many hikers here. The couple could speak little English, so we walked quietly in a single file.

Then the few locals on the trail started greeting me.

“Hello!”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” I replied, much to their delight.

I saw 63, the tallest golden building in the world; Naksan Mountain, N Seoul tower, Han River, and buildings upon buildings. Lottle Tower, the tallest building in the country.

“If the weather is good,” one of my companions said, “you can see New York from the tower.”

“What?” I chuckled in confusion. “No.”

“It’s a famous joke in Korea.”

We passed a middle-aged couple hiking barefoot. Walking poles, but no shoes. My companions were just as shocked as me.

Our trail was barely marked on my map. I wouldn’t recommend doing it without a local already familiar with it.

The giant bees from Kansai region were here as well.

At the foot of the mountain, we encountered an abandoned, old gym, all rusty and creepy, like the park in Nachi. Finally, we reached Sadang station, and parted ways.

Gwanaksan was my first hike in Korea. It made me exclaim “wow” at various points throughout the day. Having finished it early in the afternoon, I was tempted to scour my list for another attraction. I almost hit one of Seoul’s main temples. Ultimately, I decided to return to my host’s and make progress with my giant list of errands instead. I still hadn’t found a place to stay in two days. I needed to book some accommodations.

Nowon

My host returned in the evening and showed me around. Her usual dinner spot: I had bibimbap (rice mixed with egg and vegetables) for the first time, because it was the only meatless option, with gochujang, a hot sauce. Her usual secondhand bookshop. Her usual Korean sweets stand (yakgwa, honey cookie, instantly became my favorite local snack).

“Did you see the baby from the table next to us? It kept staring at you,” she said after dinner. “Especially when you used the chopsticks.”

We continued to a grocery store. Always an experience to tick off, compared to convenience stores. She was explaining Korean snacks to me, when all of a sudden she grabbed my arm and gasped. A tall, black guy was browsing next to us.

We struck up a conversation. He was Welsh, and had lived in Ealing for three years.

Small world.

Now he lived in Nowon, a few minutes’ walk from the grocery store, teaching English at a university. We chatted for half an hour or so. It was so fun to meet such happy and interesting people. Good vibes everywhere. I bought my host’s favorite snack – cartoon-turtle potato chips.

We returned to her studio. She put on Korean music and painted slowly and carefully. We ate ice cream and laughed and had the most wonderful time. I recounted more of my travels in Seoul – everything I’d been up to, and everything I would do.

“You’re so diligent,” she said. “Usually travelers I host are meh meh meh. But everything makes you smile.”

“Your paintings are so colorful and happy,” I complimented her in return. “They light up every room.”

She grinned.

“I get that a lot.”

She offered to host me again upon my return to Seoul in July. My second couchsurfing experience turned out no less incredible than the first one.

Tonight was my final night at her studio, and tomorrow morning I would leave before her return. So we hugged goodbye, only it wasn’t hard to do so, because we’d see each other again.

Nowhere Waiting to be Found

I went to bed and realised: I wasn’t sad. Not about leaving Japan and spending the next three months in Korea, a place I’d known nothing about, and, after the last few days, couldn’t wait to explore. I was excited to be here. And I knew I’d return to Japan in the end.

My present raised a smile on my face. It was, as always, my future that kept me awake at night.

So many chance encounters had transpired in mere five days. I recalled a family member telling me on the phone a few weeks ago, “I hope you find someone who will be able to help you.”

A few years ago, I would’ve seconded this sentiment. Now, it had felt like an insult.

I’d known I was in deep shit. I needed help. Out there, someone had the power to make my dreams come true. To publish my novel and help me become a full-time writer and filmmaker. To do all this while traveling the world.

Yet no one would.

I’d been meeting people on this trip in an overwhelming rate. And I’d gotten better and better at approaching them myself and initiating conversation. Sometimes I’d left a good impression, and became friends with them. Other times, I’d been ignored and ghosted.

“Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know,” I recalled Emma Stone singing as I crossed Gwanghwamun street south of Gyeongbokgung Palace. “The one to finally lift you off the ground.”

No encounter like this was waiting for me in my future. Because no one had solved my deepest issues in the past. I’d always had to count on myself.

And I was desperate for something like this to happen, for someone to take my hand and lead me where I wanted to go, because I was, as the song put itm “ready to be found”. I’d been on a mission ever since high school to make writing work for me, and for a decade, it was all I’d done. Instead of enjoying my youth.

But now, I’d given up.

Well, sort of.

I’d come to Korea ready to let go of my mission and focus on my present instead. To forget about my grim future and lack of prospects, and have fun. To use up all my savings and act irresponsible for once.

Judging by people’s reactions to my last-minute decision to extend my trip, not knowing what my life would look like upon its end, and how hard I would in all probability crash, I’d managed to do all that.

In three months, I’d discovered the place for me. Japan was my vision of heaven. But even it wasn’t the place where I would find who I’d be. I doubted such a place was waiting for me.

Today’s highlights: the view from Gwanaksan; witnessing the hiking spirit of the locals; bibimbap and yakgwa; and a night out with my host.

Stray observations:

• I keep seeing women with protective patches under their eyes. As I learned later, it was a mark of recent surgery. 70% of Korean women got their monolids “fixed”.
• Most houses in Korea feature ondul, traditional floor heating. Sleeping like this in winter on the floor must be amazing.
• Metal cups in restaurants are stored inside UV ray sterilizer.
• PDA is more common in Korea than in Japan.