Between Fiji and Frankfurt, I decided to try to make the best of an exceptionally l e n g h t y layover in Seoul, South Korea. Knowing myself, and my skill deficiencies, I took the easy way out and hired a tour guide. At the time of planning, Kim Jong-Un was also making his usual threats, so it seemed like a no-brainer. Thus began my search for a tour guide Korean “date”.
I scoured websites, reflected on what I was truly looking for, rationalized what I was willing to sacrifice. I sent e-mails, asked questions, tried to discern personalities and trustworthiness from poorly-written sentences. Without stating it directly, I was looking for flexibility, safety, and a good conversationalist. Tangibly, I wanted to see the town, have dinner, be picked up and dropped off. You know…like a date. So much weighing on electronic communication! Isn’t that how on-line dating works?!
Slowly, I narrowed down the responses to my request and found my perfect match – the guy (we’ll call him ‘host’ from here on) that was going to take me for an “evening out” in Seoul.
So, from the airport, off we went on our excursion. We visited Insa-dong, Gyeongbokgung Palace, and the Jogyesa Temple (which is really beautiful, by the way). I also got a good earful on the South Koreans’ attitudes toward North Korea, Korean women, plastic surgery, and the American Military presence in Seoul. But I’m not going to discuss any of that. I’m going to focus on what you can’t read in a tour book.
Time for dinner! My ‘host’ selected our restaurant and led me to the door. True to traditional Asian style (I’m sorry, but stereotypes are based on fact), there was a placard outside with pictures of each meal option. An, “Ok, this place looks great!” wouldn’t suffice. I had to make my selection by pointing to the picture before entering the restaurant. We stepped in, and then stopped. There was a lake of shoes in the small foyer of the restaurant. My ‘host’ dropped his slip-ons in an instant and was sprinting to the table. Coming straight out of the Fijian highlands, I was wearing gym shoes with knots that seemed to swell during the 10-hour flight. Oh jeez, hurry up – I thought to myself – you’re gonna lose him.
Sock-footed, I scampered through the restaurant searching for my ‘host’, trying not to let my face show that everything in my body was screaming, “No shirt, no shoes, NO service!” He was already seated. Less than two seconds later, my dinner selection showed up at the table. It looked nothing like the picture outside. Rice, kimchee, meat, and boiling soup. Yes, it was literally BOILING. I forgot to say that it is monsoon season in Seoul, which means sweaty temps, choking humidity, no air conditioning. More boiling soup, please!
Yes, that is steam coming off ALL the food.
My ‘host’ explained everything on the table, as well as made a poignant statement about the chop-sticks. “Japanese eat with wooden chop-stick. Korean eat with metal. These much harder. These better.” Then he started to eat. I will admit: I am a slow eater, even with traditional cutlery. Trying to consume soup and rice with metal chopsticks (read: everything slid right off) was no speedy process. There was an offer of a spoon, but that was it. My ‘host’ was done in about 5 minutes, then just sat there and stared at me. I tried to make idle conversation, but after being told “No hurry,” I realized there was indeed quite a hurry. So, I pushed on, trying not to let my perspiration drip into the boiling soup. At one point in time, I caught a Korean business man taking photos of me with his iPhone. I wanted to rip the sock off my shoeless foot, wipe my sweaty brow with it, and then hold it up for him to take a good Korean Facebook photo of! Despite a few twinges of mortification, I was thankful to be eating in an authentic restaurant. There were no signs of tourists anywhere…except for me.
After I finally finished, I figured it was a good time to use the restroom. I was also hoping to cool off from the boiling soup and tropic temps with some cold sink-water. As I walked up to the bathroom, I found myself hesitant to go in. I have been in some precarious bathroom situations before, but this was a new one: I wasn’t wearing shoes! How gross is that?!
I tried to pause for no more than a few seconds, and upon opening the door, my concern was eliminated!
Blue for boys, pink for girls!
However, a new sense of unease soon cropped up. I couldn’t figure out how to flush! No joke, I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.
Toilet controls
I discovered some directions hanging on the wall and contemplated how quickly I could type them into my iTranslate App, then realized standing in a bathroom stall translating paragraphs of Korean was not how I wanted to spend the rest of the night. Hmmm…oh well! It was only #1 anyways! I waited for evidence that the other bathroom-users were gone, washed my hands, and then ran!
I know what you’re wondering: How long were you in there? And why did you have a camera in the bathroom? Well, it actually wasn’t that long (as my ‘host’ was waiting [not so] patiently outside), and after traveling to 32 different countries, you learn to always have a photo-capturing device ready.
After dinner, it started to pour…of course. I mean, monsoon-style downpour! Hey, why not trek all the way to the top of Namsan Mountain to the North Seoul Tower? It should be a beautiful view through the torrents of water! Maybe it was the deluge being absorbed by my jeans and gym shoes, or maybe hiking up a near-vertical incline in the dark, or maybe the stifling humidity was fraternizing with my sleep-deprivation. Regardless, I was getting left behind by my ‘host’…again! Clinging to the umbrella that kept pulling a “Mary Poppins” on me and winded from my uphill jaunt – when I finally caught up with my ‘host’, he presented me with options for the next activity. Really? Already? I chose the Fish Market. It was inside.
As we arrived to the Market, I wondered if I had made a fatally poor decision here. The place was abandoned, outside of the fishmongers. “It open all night!” he told me. What I heard was: this is where horror movies take place. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling that I was the only woman, let alone foreign women, in the entire place and tried to focus instead on the hundreds upon hundreds of stalls selling the exact.same.fish. They went on for miles!! There were a few Koreans, pointing to the fish in tanks that they wanted to eat at the small tables placed around the stalls. I wondered how that public bludgeoning process was going to go down. (For the fish, not the people.) I also got a quick lesson on the difference between Korean and Japanese sushi: “Korean like eat fish now. Japanese eat fish later.” I still don’t get it.
I’m sure the place is really amazing (read: crazy filled with people) during the daytime.
When my ‘host’ asked if I wanted to go to the Dongdaemun Night Market, I looked at my watch: past midnight. We had already logged more than 6 hours together. I had already been awake for more than 36 hours straight, thanks to some kid’s vomit session on the flight between Fiji and Seoul. I politely declined. The tour date was a success, but there was no chemistry between us. I was satisfied with my Seoul experience, but disappointed in my Internet-dating skills.
On the drive to my hotel, I fell asleep. Probably poor Korean date etiquette on my part. Oh well. My capacity for small talk was exhausted. I didn’t feel like screaming above the barrage of rain battering the windshield. I’m glad I experienced Seoul. I’m glad this weird tour/date thing ended safely. Moreover, I’m glad to finally be headed home.
