Synopsis

In May 2023, after planning every day of my three-month trip to Japan, I flew to South Korea on a whim, without knowing a single thing about this country. It was a whole new world for me, full of palaces and markets, spicy food, and meat (“Annyeonghaseyo | 안녕하세요“).

I hopped from attractions to festivals and mountains in Seoul, elated to explore uncharted territory, discover a myriad of cultural differences, and not know what tomorrow had in store. But the latter point also distressed me, because lack of prospects continued to cloud my future. With no one to reach out to, I felt forlorn (“Somewhere Waiting to be Found | 발견되기를 기다리는 어딘가“).

New friends from couch-surfing and hostels proved that increasing budgetary constraints eclipsed lonely hotels (“The Extrovert | 외향적인“). I partied, slept little, hiked mountains, and partied again (“The Table of Babel | 바벨탑의 식탁“). Multiple festivals, crowned by the sublime Yeondeunghoe, rivalled Japan’s. But then two frenzied weeks in Seoul ended with premature goodbyes (“Enough for You | 충분하다“).

Jeju Island lifted my spirits with its tropical paradise. Never had I seen such gorgeous beaches. I hiked Korea’s tallest mountain, explored volcanic caves, marvelled at waterfalls, and accidentally trespassed into an abandoned sex museum in the countryside at night (“A Blue Day | 푸른 날“).

In Busan, I began volunteering for the first time, by cleaning a party hostel for one month. Four months into my trip, I took a break from fast travel, visited local temples at a leisurely pace, and resumed dating (“Housekeeping | 하우스키핑“). I went clubbing with the volunteers, changed sheets, cleaned bathrooms, and mopped floors. This taught me humility, and made me feel young at heart. Yet distance from Tokyo broke my ties with the British guy I’d been dating (“Real Friends, Garbage People | 진짜 친구, 쓰레기 사람들“).

On my days off, a trip to Pohang and Gyeong-ju accidentally led to my second abandoned sex museum in the countryside, followed by a martial arts temple stay (“Up in the Air | 계류되다“). After condemning the disappointing mundanity of Korea, recent adventures finally made this country feel special (“One Month in South Korea | 한국에서의 한 달“).

Back at the hostel, surprises at the Israeli volunteer’s surprise birthday party exploded into one of my most memorable nights. Alcohol, vomit, tears, and trauma proved that I was the only person who didn’t disappoint me (“It’s Not a Surprise Birthday Party Till the Ambulance Shows | 구급차가 나타나기 전까지 깜짝 생일파티가 아닌“).

A second trip on my days off continued the thrills and perils of my spontaneous escapes to nature. Obscure Tongyeong (an artistic port town) and remote Somaemuldo (a tiny island) confirmed how special Korea could become (“Special Vibes | 특별한 분위기“).

Yet rejection marred my last weeks at the hostel. The attractive heterosexual volunteers were making the most out of their twenties, while I was being friend-zoned. Korea was not LGBT-friendly, nor were Koreans foreigner-friendly (“The Friend Zone, Part 1 | 친구 영역, 1부“). Moreover, Busan and Miryang’s attractions were too dull. In the absence of dates, I cleaned other guests’ blood and vomit (“The Friend Zone, Part 2 | 친구 영역, 2부“). Instead of going out with me to Busan’s limited queer scene, my volunteer friends insisted that a straight Korean guy was making moves on me, when he was just using me to date my friends (“The Friend Zone, Part 3 | 친구 영역, 3부“). Fed up, I left bleak Busan and the dismal hostel (“The Friend Zone, Part 4 | 친구 영역, 4부“).

In quiet Jeon-ju, a hanok stay, lotus flowers, and zero drama offered respite (“The Calm Between the Storms | 폭풍 사이의 고요함“). Then I blew off all my steam at Seoul Pride. I took partying to dark extremes, which didn’t pay off. Even though I never won what I chased, my life was no longer boring, like in Israel (“Looking for Pride | 프라이드 찾기“).

Xenophobia, messy nights of clubbing, and friend-zones. Such was my time in Korea (“Two Months in South Korea | 한국에서의 두 달“). I returned to form as I explored Seoul’s attractions, enjoyed great food and friendships, and hurried to make the most out of this period (“Ppalli Ppalli | 빨리빨리“). Museums, noraebang, and bizarre dishes made way for a transformative date at a drag club (“A Stroke of Magic | 마법의 한 획“).

During a tour of the east coast, I visited a North Korean settlement, slept on top of a mountain, and cried at the stars (“A Mortal Being in an Indifferent World | 무관심한 세상에 사는 인간“); attended a goblin festival, screamed at waterfalls, laughed at a penis park; and fell in love (“New Heights | 새로운높이“).

I’d never felt so mortal and alive. But the Korean guy I started dating in Seoul disappeared because of our looming distance. I stopped eating, and cried myself to sleep over a person for the first time. It was a painful reminder of how people always ghosted me, even friends who promised to stay in touch (“New Lows | 신저점“).

Finally, my three months in Korea were over. This country fostered my new ability to form instant connections; turned me into an extrovert; and taught me the value of humility and a cleaning staff. It boosted my confidence in venturing alone into dangerous places in nature; threw me into youthful shenanigans; and introduced me to K-pop.

Most of all, it made me feel like a piece of tofu in a Korean barbecue. Every day was alienating and hot. I felt unwanted, out of place, and recalled that no one cared, at the end of the day. Friends had forsaken me, and so had the person with whom I was in love (“Annyeonghi Gyeseyo | 안녕히 계세요“).

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