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It’s only been a week, but I still cannot get used to that sound. It’s a loud throat-clearing spit that accompanies my stroll on the streets of Seoul. All Korean men seem to do it on every pavement. Older men spit the loudest. In winter it freezes. No, I will never get used to it. The population of 12 million seems to converge on this street alone, but before I know it, I have reached Suyu Subway and jog down the stairs with my T-money card in hand.
Standing in the queue to load my card with Korean won, I notice a woman holding her grandchild’s hand and staring at me. The intense curiosity and length of her stare make me think I’m the first brown person she’s ever laid eyes on. I smile. She continues to stare. I hand 20 000 won over to the cashier without saying a word. He fully comprehends and fills up my card. I swipe it at the entrance and run down more stairs as I hear the train coming. I stood in the only empty spot on the train, trying not to breathe in the stale smell of soju whilst hanging onto the rail. I spot a Korean man passed out in a black suit on the seat diagonally opposite me. It was barely past noon, but he was the one reeking of the rice alcohol that was consumed in shot glasses with every meal in Korea. I wondered what his boss would have to say. I put my iPod on and cranked John Mayor up in the hopes of drowning out the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. Outside it was negative 5, but in here they had over compensated by pumping the heat to about 25 degrees Celsius. With no room to budge between a woman in headphones and a man staring at me, I felt terribly claustrophobic. I began to overheat beneath my black coat and willed Myeongdong station to be the next stop. It was not. I had another five stops to go and needed to unbutton my coat fast. The man pressed up against me on the right with the glasses was still staring shamelessly. I tried staring back. It didn’t work; he didn’t look away but gazed blankly toward me. My lips were dry and the heater had brought on a sweat, but I felt too uncomfortable with nosy next to me to remove my coat or apply lip balm.
I leaped off the train as soon as it came to a stop. I went out exit 3 and prepared for the 15 minute walk towards the cable car as the map had instructed. I tried not to get distracted by the bustling street market laden with leather belts, boxes of perfume, bright scarves and ankle boots. I stopped at a jewelry stand.
There was nothing wrong with a quick look before heading to Seoul Tower. If it wasn’t for the Ojinghae (dried squid) stand right next door, I may have lingered longer. I quickly bought two pairs of earrings and continued through an alley beside a Korean restaurant. The unmistakable stench of kimchi being fermented wafted out the doorway. Perhaps one day I would have the guts to attempt eating the fermented cabbage that happened to be the National favourite food.
A few more alleys and a lot of stairs later and I was still nowhere near the Pacific hotel or the cable car that was meant to take me up Namsan (South Hill) to the peak 262 meters up. I did see a wide patch of green and trees. This meant I had bypassed the cable car, was at the entrance of Namsan Park and was going to have to embark on a hiking trail to reach the top. I saw a lady and asked where the cable car was. She shook her head and mumbled something in Hangul. I proceeded to make hand motions that I hoped resembled a cable car going up the mountain. But she had already whizzed by with her pink tracksuit pants and oversized peak cap. I had no choice. I was going to have to hike.
I took a breath of not-so-fresh city air and took in the vast amount of stairs trailing up the mountain. Seoul was the city of stairs, but this was on another level. I envisioned reaching the peak at nightfall where I could see the city lights from the observation deck at 370 meters above sea level. I passed a young woman in a frilly dress and heels. If she could do it in heels, then I would survive.
A couple of hundred steps later, I saw a couple holding hands. She wore black stilettos and giggled as he told her something. Perhaps I was missing something. But heels on a hiking trail were not my idea of fun or a laughing matter. There was no way she would come off this mountain without blisters. Awhile later and thankfully while the sun was still up, I reached the top. Smiling to myself and heading to the ticket booth, I saw a large group of people disembarking from the cable car that should have brought me up. Lucky Koreans. They were in the know.
I took the elevator to the Observation deck. The view from this high was definitely worth-it. The city unfolded all around me. The Han river, Changdoekgung palace, busy Dongdaemun market and Olympic Park in the south east. Seoul was suddenly so quiet.
I was told that if it was a clear day, I would be able to see up to 50 km from the tower and catch a glimpse of Songaksan Mountain in North Korea. With all the smog which tended to make the sky pink in the evenings, I wondered if there ever truly clear days. After ordering a coffee and a snack, I roamed around the tower for awhile deciding that one day before my teaching contract ended that I would revisit and book a table at the expensive and fabulous rotating restaurant. The ladies restroom was ultra-modern with shimmering mosaic tiles and the best view you’ll ever get in a bathroom. I bought some popcorn and this time I gleefully stepped aboard the cable car. No more stairs for today, even if it was downhill.
I wove my scarf tightly around my neck so the top protected my lips from the numbing wind chill. My beanie pulled down to my eyebrows, I breathed warm air into my cupped gloves. Tonight was perfect for my first visit to a jimjilbang. If the staring already bothered me while I was clothed, I dreaded what it would be like when butt naked and lying in a hot room. I paid at reception and went forth to the ladies floor. I placed everything in my locker sans underwear and wondered if it was that big a deal to leave just a bit on. There wasn’t a foreigner in sight, only masses of naked Korean women who seemed to be minding their own, so I boldly decided that I would survive being the only naked foreigner in a room.
Locker key around my ankle, I carried two tiny towels that were small enough to wrap around my forearm. A pre-shower is mandatory before getting in the hot pools, so once that was out the way I took little steps into the large bathing area and tried to look inconspicuous. As that is it possible in Korea, I sank into the nearest hot bath and resolved to just try and relax there for awhile. I tried the steaming hot room, next the unbearable freezer. I noticed women getting a thorough scrub down from a lady on a massage table.
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The whole process seemed a tad on the invasive side, so I decided to forgo the scrub and head to the clothed unisex area. Everyone was in matching bathhouse outfits, sitting at low tables on the floor and eating boiled eggs. Some girls had even wrapped the towels to form two buns on either side of their heads and were giggling amongst each other. I yearned to jump into one of the massage chairs but decided to crawl into a giant pizza oven instead. Everyone else was busy concentrating on the extreme heat bearing down on them in this sauna room. So I lay my head down on a towel and for a little while became anonymous in Seoul again.
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Copyright © 2010 Lauren Manuel
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