INSADONG

Struggling with allergies, today was the first day in a week I’ve felt like exercise and outside. There is a major bus hub at the gate of DanKook University, only a few blocks away. You can catch a bus there for just about anywhere in the greater Seoul area. It’s like Santiago, Chile; learn the number of the bus you need and it’s also the one to get you home, from anywhere you can get on. Number 8100 goes all over the place from DanKook but it finds its way into the middle of Seoul (10 million +) a couple of million more souls than New York. Thanks Google, for satellite view and zoom on your maps. I wanted to go shopping on Insadong St., where Westerners go. It runs at an odd angle to other streets and narrows down to a pedestrian thoroughfare, not that hard to find.

Imagine shuffling cards from different decks together. In this case shuffle the Amish flea market in Shipshewana, Indiana with Royal St. in the French Quarter. Sorry, it’s the best description I can do. I you haven’t been to Shipsie or the Quarter, use some imagination. I’m shopping for gifts to take back so I was looking at everything. The walk was good and I found some good stuff. Time to head back, wandering side streets that narrow down, just wide enough for two people walking to pass, I started looking for Jackie Chan to come somersaulting out of a second story window.

Insadong is probably the best place to see Occidentals and you notice the native tongue, even on passing. Something about the rhythm and timing, you don’t need to understand, just enjoy the meter. People behind me had that rhythm and I tried to listen. Then I heard, clear and perfectly phrased; “Goat cheese...” They were close and I didn’t want to turn around so I stepped aside and let them pass. They looked to be middle age, Korean ladies but they weren’t speaking English. I realize that context is everything and I didn’t have any. Goat cheese... give me a break; I’ll think again next time. 

Late in the afternoon, time to start finding my way back to a bus stop. The major bus stops, usually located adjacent to subway stations, have overhead monitors like the air port. You can see incoming bus numbers and how long it will be before they arrive. Rather than go back the same way, I go the general direction that #8100 went after I got off earlier. At an intersection, with no crosswalk or light, I realize it’s another pedestrian venue but it’s really wide. In a fabricated median, food vendors are set up with makeshift tents and stalls, grill tables and deep fry kettles. I think to myself, ‘If I see something the right color that doesn’t smell bad, I’ll eat something.’ I actually like the deep fried, Korean  empañadas, loaded with rice and seaweed. At a stand I asked the lady about some cakes; looked like hash browns with some green and orange mixed in. Several minutes later, after bubbling in the hot oil, I was fishing morsels out of a styrofoam bowl with a pointed stick. 

Caught my bus, sat in the front seat by the door and tried to recognize landmarks I noted on the ride in. The ride in is a lot faster than the way home. Almost an hour coming; an hour and a half return. They have express lanes for busses on the highway but we’re always getting off to pick up and drop off. Home before dark, already fed and feeling pretty good. It’s wednesday night, going on midnight. In 48 hours, I’ll be on an airplane somewhere over the Indian Ocean, going to New Zealand. It was a spur of the moment thing about ten days ago. My help has been appreciated here but no longer necessary and I’ve always wanted to go down under. Lots of youth hostels in NZ and plenty to see and do. Next post I’ll be talking Kiwi.