To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one’s self…. And to venture in the highest is precisely to be conscious of one’s self.

Søren Kierkegaard, “Works of Love”

17 May 2023

• 8:30-8:40 Hongik University station to Euljiro 3-ga station metro, 8:45-9:05 Euljiro 3-ga to Gupabal station metro (exit 2), 9:15-9:30 bus stop 12-111 bus number 704 to Bukhansan visitor information center
• Bukhansan mountain – going up (~3h)
• Bukhansan peak (1h)
• Bukhansan mountain – going down (~1.5h)
• 15:40-15:58 Bukhansan UI station to Sungshin Women’s University station, 16:00-16:08 to Dongdaemun History & Culture Park station, 16:12-16:30 to Hongik University station
• Partying in Hongdae

Climbing Bukhan-san

Today I woke at 7:00. The Spanish and Korean guys from yesterday didn’t.

It was a weekday with sunny weather. After a sluggish breakfast, I took the metro and a bus to Bukhansan, Seoul’s tallest and most famous mountain. I met my second host, and we started hiking at 9:45.

First, half an hour of a paved road. It was a bit challenging to navigate – inadequate signage – fortunately, my companion spoke Korean.

We crossed a temple, a toilet, a bridge, and turned left to the hard course. The steep stone path began here.

Kumano Kodo vibes. Both the landscape and the panting. It was her first time hiking a mountain like this, and I recalled how Kumano Kodo was the first one for me. As I climbed without exerting myself too much and waited for her at times, it felt like I’d become the Swiss guy who’d hiked Kumano Kodo with me, and she’d become me.

We made extremely frequent breaks, which was just as well, because we had plenty of time, and the mountain wasn’t that populated. Koreans were playing music on speaker while hiking solo. Never in Japan.

Near the peak, things got so vertical, that we had to hold on to stones and ropes to climb. The difficulty of this section was “advanced”. By this point, we were essentially rock climbing.

“It’s cliffy, so please be careful,” a radio announced every now and then.

I’d never done something like this, and it gave me such a rush – such a thrill, to surmount this difficult terrain, to challenge myself, to do something the old me would’ve balked at and found too dangerous. I felt younger than I’d felt in my adolescence, because I was finally doing things that didn’t involve sitting in front of the computer. I was exploring the world, exploring nature, outside my comfort, past my former limits. I was taking photos on the edge of cliffs, standing on one leg and risking falling to the abyss. I was elated to do so.

And the view only amplified all this to a moment of bliss.

We made it to the peak at 12:30. There wasn’t a line at any point. In Gwakansan, during the weekend, I waited thirty minutes in line.

It was a perfect day for this sort of activity, with a clear sky, breezy and gentle temperatures up the mountain, and not too many people.

The peak included a flag of the country, CCTV, and an unbelievable 360 degrees view of nature and the city. The lunch we had on the edge of the peak, simply lounging and gazing down, was the meal with the best view of my life.

“This is one of the best days of my life,” I thought, together with last night.

After the two guys from the hostel had bailed on me, I was elated that my host could come. Watching her exert herself to make it all the way to the top made me both happy for her and nostalgic for Kumano Kodo. I’d gotten better at hiking since then. I grew proud at both of us.

Wild cats arrived at some point. All in different colors, with green eyes. A pack of five or so lived under the boulders on the peak.

I talked to a couple of Arabs from Jerusalem who suspected I was Israeli. Their family was deported from Mahne Yehuda after 1967, and now they lived in Bristol.

After one hour like this, at 13:30, things got crowded. We started our way down – even harder than going up – and saw an old Korean man hiking barefoot.

Further down the path, there was a temple, where we could quench our thirst. Next to the water tank was a mushroom and leek juice tank.

I noticed a couple of wild dogs at some point, until we reached Doseon-sa temple at 15:00. For there, we walked straight all the way for half an hour to the metro.

Partying in Hongdae

Finally, I returned to my hostel, and immediately asked to extent my stay for tonight. It was empty at the moment, but I’d had so much fun yesterday, that I wanted to go clubbing with everyone tonight. The Spanish guy had asked me again and again to go out with him. I wasn’t sure it would work out, because I didn’t know everyone’s plans, and he hadn’t replied to my text yet. But I took a risk in the hope that it would pay off.

It did. The atmosphere at the hostel was lively once more from the late afternoon. People returning from a day of sightseeing. Resting, eating, chatting.

I met a Canadian photographer of cars and nature (and cars in nature) who had come to Seoul for a gig. Short hair and blistered feet. He was as adventurous as the old Koreans fond of hiking barefoot.

I learned that the Swedish stan had served in the royal guard of the Swedish king and queen. Then German girl and I had a deep conversation about philosophy (a favorite subject of her, which she’d learned in high school, and now tutored remotely) and creative writing (a degree she’d been considering pursuing). I described to her pros and cons of creative writing programs. We discussed at length novels of ideas – philosophical literary fiction, e.g. Kierkegaard and Camus – which we both adored.

Every person I talked to in the hostel, I invited to go out with me tonight to Hongdae. I had a feeling the Spanish guy would be down. His late reply confirmed this.

After yet another desperate scour at the nearby convenience store for meatless food (the American student had told me fish in Korea were only to be found in expensive restaurants that specialized in them), I ate a cheese gratin, tofu chips, and that Korean knock-off of my favorite Japanese snack, mini-mushroom-shaped chocolate and biscuits. At 23:00, the Spanish guy, the German girl, the Swedish guy, and I went out to Hongdae.

It was the hip student nightlife neighborhood in Seoul. The trendiest place to party. Relatively lively, despite it being a Wednesday night. Mostly foreigners though.

First, preliminary convenience store drinks at a park where people gathered for pre-game. Two old drunk guys were shouting and playing a horn not unlike the Jewish Shofar. Never, ever, ever in Japan.

A Ukrainian girl working for a local bar gave us coupons for a free drink. The French guy joined us, assuming we would be at the park first. Literally everyone started off there.

We headed to Thursday Party, the most famous bar in Hongdae. Large yet virtually impassable at night between Thursday and Sunday, due to its immense popularity with foreigners. Tonight, however, it was half full.

The vibe was a bit lame. We were the only ones on the dance floor. Everyone else was simply talking.

The average age was a bit too high for us, too. The Swedish stan taught me about “hunting”: if two girls or two guys went out together, they were looking to meet someone. If they went out in groups of three or more, they weren’t. This was the Korean code of hooking up.

We left Thursday after twenty lame minutes or so and went to that bar to use our coupons.

“This place is dead,” I said upon entering. Too loudly, because the Ukrainian girl heard me.

There were hookahs on tables and an open-air area in the back. We were again the only ones dancing. So we left soon thereafter, craving a club instead.

The Ukrainian girl recommended a hip hop club called XX, just down the street. It was half full, so probably the busiest place around on this weekday night.

The Swedish guy treated us all to drinks and shots. We danced for around two hours. The German girl really just bounced up and down on her spot, like a rabbit. It was entertaining to watch.

On the one hand, I wasn’t alone at a club for once. Four companions were dancing with me, and sometimes other people joined us.

On the other hand, I didn’t know most of the songs. Pop was my preferred genre for dancing – the songs were infectious, and made me want to move my body. I also knew the lyrics of the popular ones. So I grew nostalgic for the clubs in Shinjuku, even though they made me feel lonely.

Back then, closing my eyes and letting the crowd push me around as I danced had done the trick and freed me. Now, I couldn’t do it. The dance floor wasn’t as congested, and the songs didn’t boast a liberating spirit.

I found my sweet spot on an elevated platform featuring a pole, which I danced around on and off for an hour or so.

“Do you love the pole, or does the pole love you?” the Swedish guy asked after a while.

“What do you think?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I’d been doing a good job.

“I think the pole loves you.”

I closed my eyes and danced some more, smiling like in Shinjuku. Then I noticed the French guy had retreated to a corner, where he was shifting uncomfortably.

He did not enjoy clubbing. And it was already 2:00. So I suggested we called it a night.

The German girl and I left with the French guy, while the Spanish and Swedish guys stayed. The three of us hit a convenience store. The French stayed there to eat a hamburger (“I always crave one after partying”), while the German girl and I crossed the empty and quiet streets of north Hongdae back to the hostel.

I went to bed at 3:30. Today was as long as it was memorable. Couchsurfing and staying at a hostel had enabled me to hike a mountain with a local friend and hold interesting conversations, and experience enjoyable clubbing, with fellow travelers from all over the world. Less money than hotels, more social interaction. The loss of privacy didn’t bother me at all.

Perhaps I had indeed become an extrovert, like the German girl had suggested.

Today’s highlights: the vertical rock-climbing of Bukhansan; lunch with the best view; chatting at the hostel; clubbing with the guests; and realising I had finally overcome my shyness.

Stray observations:

• The American influence on Korea is palpable. Military bases, Nutella in convenience stores. More western restaurants and chains than in Japan.
• Chinese characters are read here from right to left.
• Unlike Japan, every bar and clubs requirs ID at the entrance. Moreover, people smoke freely indoors. Don’t bother smelling good before going to a club – you’re going to stink.
• Korean elevators take forever to close. And you can’t press the close button it doesn’t work

18 May 2023

• Lunch: soybean noodles at an affordable Michelin restaurant in Myeondeung (need to check the name)
• 19:00-21:00 language café with my new host
• Metro to Ogeum station

Myeongdeung

I woke at 10:30 and took my time in the morning. Chilling, ironing my hanbok, slowly eating breakfast. After the intense last day and a half, I had no plans for today.

This was the Spanish guy’s last day in Korea. He had time until the afternoon. After the fun I’d had with him, I decided to dedicate today to him.

Talking to him and the French girl, he said something to me that was a bit of an eye-opener.

“You’re such a hater,” he said. Not in a spiteful, offensive way – just as an observation. “You keep saying ‘yes, but…’”

I realised most of my replies to the French girl had started this way.

“That’s true,” I said. “I need to change.”

Every suggestion he made for his last day here, I accepted. Not because of the above exchange. Our activity for the next few hours did not interest in me in the slightest. Only his company.

“You’re very calm,” he said, surprised by my complete cooperation.

“I like being with you,” I replied.

I enjoyed the way he said “bro” nearly every single sentence with a rolling R. He was fun and spontaneous, and never took anything too seriously. I’d been taking things too seriously my entire life.

In the end, we went to a Michelin noodles restaurant in Myeondeung, where he’d eaten twice already. This was his pick for his final activity in Korea.

On the metro there, we discussed our attitudes toward life, and how he just rolled with everything. A perpetual smile and positive outlook. Wanted to live all over the world and do business in China.

He was 21, and had already done infinitely more than I had. Two exchange semesters in Montreal and Singapore. Life was a party to him. He didn’t need nice things. Neither did I. His daily budget for traveling was 30 Euros. Mine too, minus accommodation. I appreciated the way he lived.

He said I’d given him a similar impression.

“You’re funny,” he said, and looked at my blue hanbok, green bucket hat, and Luigi bag. “You’re like Luigi.”

I hadn’t realized how much my recent uniform had grown to resemble my favorite Mario character. It was a complete coincidence. One I did not mind at all.

He started calling me Luigi from now on. I liked that.

As we looked around Myeondeung for the restaurant, time became of the essence.

“Bro, you’re walking way too fast,” he exclaimed.

He was only a little shorter than me. So maybe it wasn’t the difference in height. Maybe it was my mentality.

I had to take it easy. I recalled the British student from Tokyo saying I was constantly anxious around him. It was true.

The entrance to the restaurant featured two lines. In a state of confusion, we asked two Asian girls for help.

They were just as lost as us. Both were Chinese in ethnicity – one from Canada, another from Australia. They’d met in Singapore, where they were students.

The girls were so easy to talk to, while waiting on the staircase, that went without saying that we’d sit together at a table of four. We immediately hit it off.

Our conversation was as lively as the ones in the hostel. At some point, the Spanish guy focused on the Canadian girl, enamored by her beauty, while I talked to the Australian girl.

“Sydney is one of the least friendly cities in the world,” she said at some point, to my great wonder. “It’s so insular.”

She asked about military service in Israel. I explained my exemption and how I wouldn’t have been able to serve back then, based on who I was.

“But I kind of changed since then,” I said.

“How so?”

I wondered myself.

“You know the Myer-Briggs personality types?”

She nodded.

“Guess mine.”

She thought for a moment.

“E…” she started.

“See?” I interrupted. “I became an extrovert.”

I started to believe it. Nothing was more enjoyable to me at this moment than discussing everything with this stranger.  

“What else do I live for?” I said in the end. “Traveling and meeting people from all over the world. It gives me life.”

I blinked back tears. All four of us were smiling throughout the entire meal.

Then we noticed the time.

The Spanish guy and I said a premature goodbye to the girls (who would fly to Japan in two days) and rushed back to the hostel.

“My Luigi,” he said, as we embraced.

It was the first dispiriting farewell for me in South Korea. I wanted to be his friend.

He grabbed his luggage and grinned at me. “Have a nice life!”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” I muttered. It was too sad.

Afterwards, in the afternoon, I met a Dutch girl who owned a dojo in the Netherlands, teacher of Karate for a decade now. She would soon return to Okinawa for some training.

But I couldn’t stay any longer at the hostel. I was supposed to meet my third couchsurfing host in Korea at 19:00, at a language café where he volunteered. Bitter at my inability to pay for more nights here, I left.

Language Cafe

I was the only non-Asian at the café. A mix of Korean, Taiwanese, Japanese, and English around the table.

“Is this a Japanese outfit?” my host, a 25-year-old Korean guy who spoke multiple languages and had been to Japan, asked.

“It’s a hanbok.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m tired.”

The vibe was cool, but I kept yawning in their face, tired as well. The last few days had drained me. Moreover, I was missing the guests from the hostel.

After the café, while riding the metro with him and his girlfriend (who also volunteered there), he told me I’d be staying at his uncle’s apartment in a different location.

“Make sure not to get on the wrong line,” he said, “because it splits into two destinations. Foreigners always get it wrong.”

“I survived Tokyo,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

He sent me the address, and we parted ways.

Panic in Ogeum

I found the correct platform. After some time, I realised I’d gotten on the wrong line.

I took the train back and waited for the correct one. My phone battery was at 10%. I realized I’d forgotten my charger at the hostel.

Finally, I got off at the right station, Ogeum, in the southeastern outskirts of Seoul. I began to freak out. Not since the Japanese countryside had I felt anxious to find my accommodation. So I rushed out the station, and nearly bumped into an elderly man.

I apologized and kept on. He started talking to me in English.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Foreigners never come here.”

We talked near the exit. He was growing concerned.

“Where are you staying?”

“At a friend’s,” I lied. Couchsurfing at a stranger’s uncle’s place would’ve aggravated that man’s concern.

“What’s the address?”

He looked it up on Naver and gave me detailed directions. Quite forcefully, as a matter of fact, ensuring I got everything right.

“If anything happens to you, here’s my number,” he said. “Give me your number. Tell me if something happens. I live nearby. I’m going to another city the day after tomorrow on vacation, and to visit Japan in June, but maybe we can meet up, I can guide you.”

“Don’t worry,” I repeated, “it’s okay.”

He probably would’ve invited me to his home on the spot. He was that worried. I tried to downplay the situation, but I was as well.

I walked for five minutes or so. My phone battery was at 6%. The area seemed a bit dodgy, because it was so deserted. Apart from a few locals hanging about in street corners, just passing the time.

But I made it to the apartment. My host’s uncle let me in, no questions asked.

It was huge, and my room was big. Mattress again like a thin blanket. The blanket itself was actually five times thicker than the mattress. I asked the uncle if I could borrow a phone charger. He said he had allergies, and didn’t touch things touched by others.

After a few tense minutes of deliberating whether to look for a convenience store, I recalled I’d packed a spare charger with me before leaving Israel, back in February.

Relieved, I went to bed, trying to process the events of the last few days. Had I really become this fun-loving extrovert? After years of writing alone at home instead of going out, had life all of a sudden become an adventure?

I’d been writing speculative fiction since high school. Hating real life, I’d always gravitated toward stories with speculative, unnatural elements. Not fantasy or sci-fi, but simply a narrative that could not take place in the real world. Because the real world was boring, and cruel, and sad.

Now, I’d been writing about my life instead – me, for once, and things that had happened to me on this Earth. Nothing imaginary or speculative. Nothing fictional or invented. All fact.

Yet somehow, the genre still felt like fantasy. Because sometimes, it was too hard to believe.

Things that had scared me made my heart flutter now. Situations I’d lied to avoid, I sought. A person a million lightyears away from me, I’d become.

I was far away from my life before this trip, both geographically and mentally. The Far East had grown on me so much, that this was where I wanted to stay.

The lyrics of the K-Pop song that the Swedish stan had shown me came to mind. Both the Korean and English sentences described me at present. They did so all too well.

Today’s highlights: hanging out with the Spanish guy; lunch with the Chinese girls.