I'm Turning Japanese, I Think I'm Turning Japanese, I Really Think So...





Chicken Soup for the Seoul

There have been a few times in my life where I had booked a flight to a foreign destination, packed my bags, bought the paperback Lonely Planet, and simply didn’t get on the plane.

Today was one of those days. Almost.

I am sitting at LAX, after having consumed a $16 burrito the size of a small infant and am feeling, at best, ambivalent about my impending flight to Tokyo by way of Seoul.

I’m meeting a friend of 15 years that I spent much of my late twenties and early 30s whispering promises across wooden bunk beds in hostel dorms, to make this an annual event - us exploring someplace new, together.

There was the month in Australia and New Zealand, both the Central America and European adventures, and more recently two short jaunts to the Caribbean to both marvel at the sea turtles as well as the glistening men - but the last trip was 2016 I believe.

It’s 2023.

I am no longer a taut late 20 something or a ‘looks too young to be 30-something’ traveler.  I’m 41. So is she. And we’re meeting in Seoul.

The plan is to spend some time there and then fly back to Tokyo, where she has been living out her covid years.

My ambivalence is in no way a reflection on my love for her or my interest in exploring stationary stores galore alongside a 6 foot tall blonde in Japan's capital.

It’s me.

But isn’t it always.

Depression breeds complacency and my lineage breeds depression. That mixed with real life grown up grey area adult issues has left me in a malaise for months and rallying for the trip I packed for many days ago just feels … blah.

My hope is that once my sneakers hit Seoul soil I’ll feel differently. Wish me luck

I’ve been to a handful of Asian countries, though this is my first time to the far east, and genuinely love it. When looking for a permanent homestead I explored Hanoi and Singapore is a place in which I regularly look for employment.

Memory is a funny thing, especially with one as faulty as mine, but every time I am reminded of the spatial differences between Americans and Asians (or much of the world if i'm being honest) I am … uncomfortable. After having a gereatric labial encounter and more than one ass grazing I remind myself, silently, you are not in a position to cast judgement, only to breathe through the panic-inducing claustrophobia that is other people.

An incredibly turbulent plane ride pairs well with a life of chaos and just 13 short hours later we make our descent into ICN. I am guessing after all long flights Asiana Airline offers a pre-recorded guided chair stretch session on our individual screens and I begrudgingly join in as I watch ancient ladies sway left and then right, arms stretched above their adjustable headrests.

Almost immediately after landing, work calls. I had finished a months long project days before boarding and had been happy with the experience. Apparently so had they as they're asking to add more hours to my contract, a gift that would be received completely without hesitation if trying to figure out the math required to schedule the upcoming conference call hadn't practically put me in traction.

I meander through the spotless halls until I see a tall drink of water gliding across baggage claim as in on wheels, bright orange cross body bag beckoning to me, and I know it’s Jackie. I’ve met my travel partner.

There is no time to waste. I pick up my 2 deceivingly heavy black backpacks and we board the completely silent metro headed for Myeong-Dong. There are pink seats clearly marked as reserved for pregnant women and the upholstered seats are all heated. My undercarriage is medium-well by the time we find exit 9 and climb the stairs to the early morning streets.

A Twosome Place seems fated as we grab some tea and black seed and strawberry bread (gross, by the way) before boarding the party bus to our booked half day tour of the DMZ.

It's totally normal to drive an hour to the airport, fly for 13 hours, take the train for 90 mins, take a bus for 90 mins and then do a tour, right?

There are 3 stops on the bus to pick up fellow travelers and we were the first, meaning we've been on the bus nearly an hour when our guide, named 'Cool' for all of the Westerners who can't pronounce his name properly, begins to detail how due to recent missile activity and Covid, we may not actually be able to get in and he is nervous to even be approaching the border himself.

By the time we arrive at the parking lot, aka the deadly, treacherous strip mall at the DMZ, I am exhausted, motion sick and nauseous. I haven’t been horizontal in 2 days and I’m much more interested in exploring a La-Z-Boy showroom than the demilitarized zone between two feuding siblings.

There are many starts and stops to this tour of the DMZ, but Jackie and I stumble upon what appears to be an ideal selfie spot before joining up with the rest of the group and realizing this is, in fact, a restricted photo zone looking directly across a field at North Korea. Don't worry - I looked fantastic! A few more stops lands us at 3rd tunnel, for which I think I deserve an award for making no euphemism jokes aloud. This could also be known as the North Korean Stairmaster from hell as you descend into the bowels to toe the line from South to North, perhaps even cross over and then hike all the way back up in a cement tube far beneath the earth's crust.

The last stop on our never ending half day tour, leaving me feeling far more like Gilligan than the movie star, gives you primo views of North Korea and, honestly, seeing their flag hoisted high into the sky, waving in the wind was thrilling. Is it simply because it is forbidden, perhaps. But don't we all sort of want what we can't have?

Finally, our final boarding of the bus that now smells like an elementary school classroom (a smell single-handedly worth not breeding) and I try to make my Jolly Pong and bootleg Pringles tide me over until we reach Seoul.

As our half day adventure pulled back into South Korea's smoggy capitol I was spent. It was 5pm. I'd been in the same socks and underwear for nearly 2 days and I was so sleep deprived that the herkie jerkie motion of the tour bus left me so nauseous I could not see straight.

The Airbnb I'd booked has 2 addresses. According to the proprietor, the city changed all the addresses in recent years for no known reason other than to cause confusion on the already very far from grid systemed streets.

Our driver is forced to call his daughter to help translate through the windy roads and it becomes quite clear, regardless of culture, the 'younger' generation helps guide the former through technology and communication hurdles.

We finally find our building, schlep up the stairs. I walk in and take a look at the beautiful view and the very well kept abode before unraveling a down comforter and immediately falling asleep, in my clothes, in my jacket, in the underwear I’d put on hours before actually heading to LAX, several calendar days ago now!

A few benefits of falling asleep at sundown: you are up to see the beautiful view over the Han River; you have enough time to catch up on emails but not enough rest to be as diplomatic as one should be; you have the quiet early hours to eat the remnants of the $9 cookie you purchased at Erewhon last week which wasn’t very good then either but you held on to it in case of emergency -this is the emergency.

It’s quiet in our tiny one bedroom with a patio that wraps around and windows so well insulated it puts my apartment back home to shame. I’m aware that a 3 am call time will leave me ready for bed with the other blue hairs but the body wants what it wants - and mine wants to be wide awake.

With our first full day spoken for by our VIP travel tour we have today, Saturday, left totally to our own devices. I want to go to the market and Jackie wants to get soup - so our sights aren’t set too high.

Seeing the sun rise over a new day is still thrilling. Will it always be? The river becomes lighter as cars began to traverse the Seongsu Bridge, no doubt for early morning markets and work. As  the orange orb emerged from the haze of clouds and pollution streaked across the vast expanse of sky I couldn’t help but get giddy with what I had been gifted. A new opportunity to see the sun come up over the buildings, a new opportunity to eat noodles and wander circuitous streets, a new number of hours to yammer with an old friend; a new day.

With no real direction, we take a sharp left and follow the long and winding roads, first to Champ Coffee, a tiny den of an establishment, then by MM Records, with a windowed facade beckoning me to come by later.

The internet has ruined many things, most notably the generation behind me, but that is a Ted Talk for another day. It has also allowed us to do some research as to where we may want to eat and it's been decided that breakfast should be Gamjatang, despite the fact that I have no idea what Gamjatang is.

The roads wind down and we finally located a hidden gem of a restaurant set behind the Panera of Seoul. Jackie doesnt like spice, at least not on Korean levels, so we agree to opt for some sort of chicken soup for our first K-meal (see what I did there!).

First things first, turns out I love kimchi. All these years I'd assumed spicy, fermented cabbage would be gross but nothing says I am in Korea like kimchi before 10 and it was amazing.

This chicken soup was one of the most delicious breakfasts I’ve ever experienced. Under the fluorescent lights the steam rose off of the hot pot between us and in my bowl I mixed red oils and yellow pastes until my broth was a deep orange of aroma and flavor fit for my lemongrassed mouth. In less than 45 mins Jackie and I had devoured 2/3 of this enormous skillet eager to return tomorrow for more of the same.

After nearly climaxing at the table, Jackie makes note of my increased level of foodiness, from non-existent to somewhat notable. I'd be lying if I said outside forces weren't to blame.

Trying to navigate a new city can be challenging and though Google maps would have you believe it's easy to catch the 420 bus, it is not. Needless to say we still found our way, but to where it is unclear. We did manage to stumble upon Jon Myo Shrine well worth the $2 entrance fee if only to marel at baby Kim Jong with his shades and fanny pack checking out the grounds.

Next on the agenda was actually recommended by a former colleague and friend I always remembered being very proud of her Korean roots. She suggested essentially the old city, called Ikseondong Hanok Village. The narrow winding, intertwined roads in this postage stamp piece of land are filled with professional selfie stations and eateries. We tucked into the sunlight drenched scone shop, Ramey where I continued to live my best culinary life. 2 lemon grapefruit fruit-ades with sparkling water and two scones one for the basic bitch ,walnut chocolate chip, to play it safe and a pumpkin honey scone made with real whole Chinese pumpkin that was like heaven on a fork.

Making our way back down to Myeongdong for much needed skincare products the roads were flanked with vendors and dancers swirling in blues and reds and yellows. The sun had finally come out from behind the swaths of cumulus and pollution clouds in equal measure, and we’d been informed how lucky we were to have such weather while here.

I’m still uncertain if the sky is ever truly clear here but the sun led our way to Olive Young, the Sephora of Seoul thronged with eager 20 year olds trying to reverse the not yet ticking lock with collagen and snail seamen. I waited for Jackie as she loaded up on products with which to fill her counter as I sat on the corner and watched the crowds of black haired citizens navigate one another at the busy intersection.

A quick search revealed Cat’s Playground was just meters away and it was absolutely time for the distinctly Asian experience of an animal cafe. Kitties worked and soon we were climbing the rickety staircase, taking our shoes off, placing our belongings in plastic bags and ordering overpriced tea to sit in, what is essentially, an enormous litter box of delight.

After more than 2 hours, Jacks and I were back in consumer mode and as she spent her retirement on promised magical skin care, I sampled the candied fruit kebabs and yaki noodles at the Myeongdong Market.

I love Seoul. Everything I have eaten has nearly brought me to climax. There seem to be just as many black people as white people wandering amongst the locals. When wandering through Itaewon, the party district nestled amongst rolling hills and steep alleyways, solidifies how rich and robust this city is in all it has to offer.

One of its offerings was a foreigner by the name of Sinjin who's lacisvious gaze almost gave Jackie chlamydia. But other than that. Beautiful!

The hike back up to our humble abode was a sharp pitch, but bed (and heated floors!) never felt so good.

.

Another early morning, waking up before the burning toxic ball of fire known as the sun, with air quality sailing by 300 before the city is even officially awake.

We head in a slightly different direction this morning and have those run of the mill philosophical intensely personal conversations only female friends can have en route to breakfast.

After 30 minutes or so, we reach the oasis of a Korean breakfast spot near Usadan Ro that has a clean, calm aesthetic and is flanked with patrons wearing varying shades of beautifully tailored camel coats.

We split a full English breakfast, the most delicious hummus I’ve ever had, served with avocado with bread, and a kale juice that brought me back to life. Back to reality.

Expensive delicious breakfast with minimalistic decor by Kanye.

We quickly mastered the subway and tunneled our way through the city.

If you’re looking for a culture more obsessed with staring into their hand held black mirrors, you’d be hard pressed to find one outside of Seoul. On platforms, walking down the streets, in queues. I feel well acquainted with the Korean forehead as that is the body part with which I’ve come into contact with the most.

There is a long and arduous journey from Seoul out to Nami Island, which, if the internet is to be believed, is a safe haven amongst nature. A place of peace and tranquility. After stopping at a bus station and popping into Korea's largest convenience store chain simply entitled CU, to which I like to add Next Tuesday, in Gapyeong for lackluster snacks we are off again for another hour's journey to Nami.

More trains, planes, automobiles and long walks on foot and we're approaching the ferry to Nami. The pier is not unlike that in San Francisco, save for the bellowing sea lions. There is a bungee station and restaurants that are not Bubba Gumps, but might as well be.

Once we finally reach the ferry to Nami Island, a micronation touted for beautiful natural landscape and outdoor art, I feel at ease.

The sky is almost perceptibly blue and my consistent nausea wanes ever so slightly at the prospect of a whiff of fresh air. Though a different energy than Seoul, this is certainly not the nature preserve I'd been promised. Almost as soon as we deboard we become painfully aware that this is simply an instagrammer's paradise in tree'd clothing. The world has truly become one big selfie station and I am merely here to sit back and judge it.

We meander. We stroll. We take in the outdoor art and the outdoor rabbits.

Do I think a nearly 6 hours of travel was worth the maybe 2 we wandered on this tiny island - probably not. But at least we got out of the city.

The sun hangs low in the sky as we board the train back to the capital city, but the entertainment is at an all time high as an elderly passenger in an ever so slightly tipped fedora, a houndstooth cravat and shell toes yells at the ticket taker for a solid 20 minutes. There is no need to speak Korean to understand these men were swinging their presumably uncircumcised dicks around over for what amounted to approximately a $6 train fare.

Back at the Hannam-dong stop we begin the ascent to Bogang-ro and decide on Little India Seoul for our evening feast. I can't help but notice, as we hike up the hills of the city, that Seoul seems particularly dog friendly and even more black friendly. For those of you who research whether or not it seems prudent to visit specific locations based on your level of pigment, I'd give a big thumbs up to this capital city.

The arduous hike back to our temporary abode led us, not by chance, past Mm records. It’s felt like much more than a few days that I’ve been curious about this low key music cafe/bar and after finally entering the hallowed halls the self created hype was right! The vibes were mellow and the light was magenta. A woman behind the counter in a Phillies hat took our order of a chamomile tea and Chang beer, offered no friendly hospitality because when you’re super cool you don’t have to be nice, and we lounged on a well loved leather couch and mellowed listening to an excellent playlist of euro trash synth jams.

March 2023