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Published: September 18th 2006
For all of those I met in Korea, this is for you. I Left Bangkok on Wednesday morning, and flew back to Seoul after a short layover in Hong Kong.
The last weeks have been ones of adventure, of breathtaking temples, torrential rain, burning whiskey, muddy schools, spicy foods, and smiling faces that shadowed tears.
The thought of returning to Seoul was like the thought of returning home. Seoul, in many ways, had become my home over the last months. I found shelter in the temples, peace in the eyes of the strangers, and comfort amidst the towering skyscrapers. The street venders knew my face and the buses knew my stops. I was, at heart, a Seoulite.
Previous to my travels in SE Asia, this was where I had spent 5 of the last 6 months studying at Yonsei University. This was where I fell in love with the liberating educational system, and where I had found refuge in a society whose conservative ways of life brought me to accept the world more freely. I had met people from all over the globe. Some I knew I would not see again and others I
was going back to visit now, but these people grew with me nonetheless.
I had surprisingly connected with business majors and serious entrepreneurs; I also met others who were there for adventures like hooking up with Korean women and to practice Kendo; I even bonded with those whose sole purpose was to drink away their time and party hard, living the highlife. I also met individuals who came strictly to learn language and others to explore this fascinating and isolated country in East Asia.
Believe it or not, these were the people I lived with, studied with, and drank coffee with. We walked into the Buddhist temples, the silencing halls of incense where we met the simplicity of a clear mind; we stole away into the world trade center just to be able to see the same views of Seoul as the birds; we doused our selves in the sweet taste of Soju, and then headed off to Nori Bong’s and DVD rooms, not being aware of their striking purposes in Korean society; we flooded street markets and restored palaces with people staring at us in every step we took; we struggled with language and met the barriers
in laughter and often times in dilemma; we experimented with street food and Korean barbeques, and on the rough nights some would dine at Ruby Tuesday’s or Burger King.
We also traveled the country, going to Seoraksan, Busan, Geojo-do, and Inchon.
Together we even ventured to North Korea on what was to be an educational experience. We saw the strict structure of government firsthand and the isolated poverty from only a distance. We danced with North Korean women and drank with communist leaders in celebration of Kim Il Sung’s birthday.
Together we watched the brittle winter turn into a blossomed spring. We sat through the phenomenal storms of yellow sand and walked in the sewery smells of the summer’s dead heat, passing Koreans shaded by umbrellas, large hats, and visors. We became tied to this city through the webs of our experience as it transformed from season to season. The monsoon season even came to bid us farewell at the end of the long vivacious semester.
Seoul is a city of contrast, but in the contrast lies the heart and foundation of its society. While studying in Seoul I had hoped to write a blog
on the city. I wanted to glorify its strength of culture amidst a booming economy. I wanted to serve as a testament to the unique and diverse aspects of the people, I wanted to paint pictures of the streets with my words and show you the compassion that can be found in close friendship and loss.
I do not regret not having time to write it then; it allows me to do it for you now.
From the winter: The city is alive. It is thriving on the constant motion of people, busses, taxies, street venders, advertisers, delivery bikes, and stray cats. Like New York, Seoul never sleeps. It is easy to get lost and blend in with the masses.
Yet there is a certain element of freedom that allows me to feel separate from the city. Maybe it is because I make a point to have the time to walk around aimlessly for the sheer purpose of observation and exploration, rather than a business date or other appointment that requires my presence at an exact time. I have things that must be done, but I make sure that all of my plans are
in fact tentative.
The city is inviting, but you will not meet the eyes of the passerbyers, nor will you be greeted by a smile. The city is open to you, but if you do not follow the unposted rule that you can never fully belong to it, you may be disappointed.
There is a silence that can be found beneath the hum of the City.
I believe it is a gift to be able to find stillness and peace in a world that does not offer it freely. When I say that time moves slower, it is not the city I am refereeing to by any means, it is my place in it. For in the multitude of people that seem too busy to recognize anything outside of them, I have studied their faces and watched as though I myself move in slow motion compared to them.
Here is a piece I wrote in early March that depicts what I mean:
“My eyes followed the busy mountain of ant-like people scurrying on their ways. Three inch heals covered the ground like cherry bosoms in spring. Wistfully, gliding by, were the long petty coats
and feminine ties of the distinguished. An array of white and pink hose scurried in long, shivering strides underneath miniskirts, as girls grabbed each other’s arms in hopes to find some withering warmth amidst the 20-degree weather. Street venders swept the sidewalks in ownership, and store clerks shouted eagerly at those hurriedly on their way. After a few minutes, the streetlights changed, and in a motion that seemed as structured as a dance, the people became still as the streetcars charged forward bumper-to-bumper, moving swiftly. Buses seared through the streets as colored beams in a light show. Horns yelled and tires screeched. The red man soon changed back to green, reversing the movement as the ant-like creatures scurried again across the white horizontal lines.
From the third floor of a coffee shop window that seemed to sit on top of Sinchon , I leaned relaxed at a table that overlooked the busy street below. The bitter coffee burned my throat as my eyes fell through the glass of what seemed to be a movie screen: separating that world from the one I was in.
People simply passed as they usually do with no
From Beomsa
Over looking the city from the templeinclination that eyes were watching. I couldn’t help but think that there was a secret that can be found in that stillness. But my mind simply slipped on without trying to answer such a question of grandeur. In that moment, I could not understand what it meant to be apart of a world that did not have time to ‘slow down and smell the roses,’ yet I was relieved that I was capable of it.”
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rosiepink
non-member comment
Great Photos!
Can't wait to visit Korea someday. I just recently read Lonely Planet's Guide to Korea. Thanks for sharing the photos and your thoughts!