It's been a solitary weekend. I went Out last night (first time in Seoul!) to celebrate a friend's birthday, and had a good, long phone conversation with my uncle this morning, but otherwise have been completely by myself. Not for lack of trying either. The novelty and desperation have worn off, and people no longer jump at invitations regardless of who with or where to. So I adventured on alone, and it was a weekend well spent.
Wicked weather reports for Sunday moved my nature encounter to Saturday. I trucked off to Namhan Sansung Provincial Park, reachable by Seoul Metro (passing "where da green loyn intersects wit da pank", as it will forever be known in memory of my single phone conversation with Nick). And being on the subway means an opportunity to buy a bag of little cakes, shaped like an ear of corn and filled with yummy custard, and filling the tunnels with a smell WAAAY better than stewed silkworm larvae. Then to walk down a suburban street, which has much better connotations here than in the US (where, according to Wait Wait, New Jersey is changing its nickname to The Olive Garden State). Quieter, friendlier, full of yellow trees, it was a pleasant, if uphill walk from the subway to the park, where it was a tolerable and very uphill walk to the ACTUAL park, where it was a pretty and uphill walk along the old fortress walls, which I eventually abandoned because I couldn't find a map and didn't know where to get back down and was fast losing the use of my legs. In usual yin/yang fashion, the absence of both a companion and any useful navigation aids, the relentless incline of the cement trail, and the penchant of the Koreans for bringing things like radios to the woods and walking in what I'll charitably call a less than straight line were all trying my patience. On the other hand, the day was warm and rainless, the scenery was compelling, fall was in its full glory, and my new Korean hiking socks and boots were comfy and sturdy. I sat on a rock to write a letter and was, unusually, surrounded by birds of all descriptions twittering and being charmingly birdlike. It might be the most wildlife I've seen since the Lincoln Park Zoo.
I generally do quite well with solo time, often preferring to travel that way, but it seems that my tolerance for it is substantially reduced here. Or maybe it's that I'm fully stocked on it and don't need any more. As someone who has been known to ignore a ringing phone, I'm surprised by how bereft I feel without one. That oft-malfunctioning and intrusive instrument, with the power to restore promise to any day, is sorely missed in my little apartment. Instead, I leave the computer on for hours and hours, one ear perpetually cocked for the pop that means someone wants to chat with me on Facebook...inadequate substitute for a real conversation, but much anticipated all the same. Pricey cell minutes mean that phone is just for arranging meeting details, so even fellow expats use Facebook to just shoot shit for a while. Whatever the cause--no calls, no close connections, no cats--I find myself getting ratty and depressed when I've gone too long without hearing anyone's voice. I think, as I've said before, that that will be the nature of my year. High points, low points, fun times, moments of staring into the face of insanity, and all the while dragging a weight behind me that I may feel but won't fully appreciate until I'm cut free. I discovered a new Alan Doyle song on YouTube, about the Newfoundland diaspora, and while most of it is very Newfoundland-specific, the "punch line" (as it were) is "I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I belong." So poignant, it literally hurts.
At any rate, I was substantially cheered today by talking with my uncle for the first time since I passed through Springfield in May. He doesn't read this blog, so in giving a synopsis of the first 11 weeks, I was treated to fresh interest and insight, and the chance to distill my experiences into something easier to examine and understand. There was also another element I hadn't noticed missing before--immediacy. Blogging allows me to stay connected to far more people far more efficiently than I could do if I were trying to maintain regular correspondence with each & every one of you, but it also robs me of the give-and-take of normal conversation. By the time I talk with anyone, they already know what's going on here and it's old news. So I don't tell the story again, and the debriefing and manipulating of experiences into productive action is lost. But this post is deteriorating into a stream of consciousness more suited to my journal.
So it was with lighter heart that I set out for today's explorations--the Seoul Museum of Art (and Kyobo bookstore, but I never made it there). The art museum is right behind one of the city's palaces, and my timing was good...as I stepped from the subway stairs into open air, I heard the distinctive clang of a Korean band--time for the changing of the guard at Deoksugung. I watched the festivities and followed the procession down the alley next to the palace. I absolutely love downtown, and this was one more incredible spot--brick-paved, lined with a white, tile-topped stone wall, overarched with trees whose yellow leaves popped against the leaden sky. The drizzle made the colors stand out, and it was strikingly beautiful and soul-satisfying.
After blogging recently about how Koreans would rather eat mustardless pizza than speak English aloud, on the way back through this spectacular alley (having quite enjoyed the art museum--and the fact that admission was a remarkable 70 cents!), I was accosted for the SECOND time this weekend by a starstruck Korean wanting to talk. Yesterday, I got on the subway after my hike and a teenager bounded over with a carrying "HI!" worthy of a Texan. She then just stood there and beamed at me until I had the presence of mind to say, "How are you?" I ran through my admittedly short repertoire of pleasantries, then tried to understand what she was telling me--her enthusiasm outstripped her English ability. I'm pretty sure "you are beautiful" was in there--the complete lack of Korean self-esteem weirds me out a bit. I'm beautiful just because I have Western features? I don't get it. (incidentally, ALL the dolls at HomePlus are Western-looking) Another uni student standing nearby felt compelled to help when my fan was struggling to ask where I'm from, so then she got sucked into the conversation too. Finally, the girl went and sat down, but when I got off the train, she yelled "BYE!!!" and turned around to wave through the window as I walked down the platform. I've heard of Koreans getting rude and violent when people speak English in public, and I know they're not fond of making a scene...wonder how they felt about one of their own doing it.
Today's stalker was more subtle (and more fluent), although it started like a scene from a Cary Grant movie. Walking through the alley, she was keeping pace with me, neither passing nor falling back, until it got annoying. I stopped and turned around under pretense of admiring the foliage...and she stopped 20 yards ahead to do the same. I waited...waited...so did she. I started walking, she started walking. The thought that she was "following" me crossed my mind, but only in a comical, Scooby Doo, sort of way. Finally, as I caught up with her, I turned on the jets, intending to speed walk to a comfortable distance in front. At which point, she abandoned the coy routine and whacked me on the arm. She has a friend coming from Ireland and wanted to know what I think of Seoul and the food and what I'd suggest she take the friend to see. She was pleasant and fluent, and I can sympathize with her hesitancy to approach me. I know talking with a foreigner has a rite-of-passage aspect to it, and I don't mind doing it at all. Just getting a taste of how Bono feels.
One more thing; a confession to make. I ate at McDonald's. Just fries. But, the aggravating circumstance: I did it because of an ad. I was painfully hungry (the reason I skipped the bookstore. That, and I don't need/have money for any books. Just shows how addled my thinking was). A bus went by with a McDonald's poster on it. And it succombed. I did my penance, though, carrying that bag through the subway station like a walking stereotype. But, mmmm, they were good!
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