Do you know the Korean wave? Are you among the more than one billion people who tune in to watch the Korean drama Descendants of the Sun? Do you swoon whenever Lee Byung-hun appears on the big screen? Do you follow, with perhaps a slightly unhealthy interest, the tangled love lives of K-pop’s megastars? Are you aware that LeBron James really does drive a Kia? Have you ever found yourself, late at night, on YouTube, watching PSY’s 2012 totally bonkers live performance of “Gangnam Style”—the one in Seoul, outdoors, with 80,000 delirious fans singing and dancing in unison? Did you experience the shivers?
If you answered no to these questions, well, I’m afraid you are behind the times, my friend. Your attachment to Cadillac, The Walking Dead, and Taylor Swift is, sad to say, a little parochial. The world has moved on. But it’s not hopeless. You too can ride the zeitgeist. You just need to turn your gaze to Seoul.
Today, South Korea is cool. How cool? Well, the day I arrived at Incheon International Airport—a sleek new Asian hub where you can find a golf course, a skating rink, a casino, a spa and sauna, a museum, a movie theatre, an arts and crafts studio, and the kind of dining options that will make you weep in despair the next time you encounter an airport Cinnabon—North Korea was busy playing with its nukes. My phone was aflame with news of hydrogen bombs, ICBMs, and American F-22 Raptors patrolling the DMZ while North Korea stood ready to launch 5,00,000 artillery shells into the heart of Seoul, just 56 kilometres from the border.
This, I thought, is not good. I had flown in from my home in Washington, D.C. I tried to imagine what it might be like if some heavily armed, psychotic dictator with provocative hair threatened our nation’s capital with Armageddon from his sanctum in Baltimore. I think I can state with some certainty that there would be pandemonium. We do not do sangfroid in Washington. We are, as many have long suspected, mostly weenies. Not so the people of Seoul.
Fans show some love for Korean pop star Kim Junsu in a Gangnam district concert hall. Photo: Adam Dean
“I don’t think about North Korea when I’m stirring my pasta,” said my friend, who wanted to remain anonymous because she works in PR for a large Korean firm. She said this a little wistfully, not because she was especially moved by the current troubles but because she had recently given up carbs. “It’s just another foreign country. And so we ignore it and get on with our lives.”
I had met her in a coffee shop in Gangnam, the flashy section of Seoul south of the Han River, which acts as a kind of border of its own, neatly bisecting the city, dividing the old Seoul of palaces, markets, and government ministries from the new Seoul of cloud-scraping high-rises, cutting-edge restaurants, and tottering fashionistas. Gangnam is where many of Seoul’s movers and shakers live, work, and play. They are fuelled by caffeine, as evidenced by the approximately 30 coffee shops that seem to inhabit each and every block of downtown Seoul. Not a single one offers decaf. I checked. “The energy is addictive here,” she noted, as we mainlined a couple of espressos. “Koreans have a continuous need for change. We have a saying here: Change everything except your wife and kids.”
This was the exhortation Lee Kun-hee, the son of the founder of Samsung, gave to his employees back in 1993 (before his own recent sex scandal), urging his company to forgo conformity and embrace risk and innovation. It worked, of course. Today, despite some embarrassing setbacks, Samsung is a tech behemoth and a major reason that South Korea leapfrogged dozens of nations to become the world’s sixth largest exporter. China may be the world’s factory, but increasingly it is South Korea that determines what people consume, from pop music to television dramas to smartphones to biopharmaceuticals.
An art installation in Yeouido Hangang Park promotes a new city logo. Photo: Adam Dean
Jebi Dabang Café, in the Hongdae district, transforms from daytime coffee shop to late-night live music venue. Photo: Adam Dean
And yet, it sometimes seems as if South Koreans haven’t quite internalized just how revolutionary their recent history has been. One great curiosity of Seoul is the locals’ insistence that they are the Italians of Asia. It’s something I would hear often, and, frankly, I found it inexplicable. Yes, Koreans are expressive, emotional, impulsive—all attributes typically associated with Italians, as well as Brazilians, Lebanese, Nigerians, Tahitians, and my kids. But are the office lights still on at 11 p.m. in downtown Naples? Do little boys and girls in Milan spend their weekends at cram schools? Does anyone tune in to Italian television shows? No. I think what Koreans mean—and they are quite proud of it—is that they no longer feel tethered to the old Confucian ideals of duty, fealty, and hierarchy. And this has led to the thrum of energy one can feel crackling through modern Seoul.
The first-time visitor might find it a little intimidating. I consider myself a city boy, but greater Seoul, with its population of 25 million people, can make even the most hardened urbanite feel like a country bumpkin. I was familiar with the long workday (well, not personally, but I know people), but I didn’t realize that in South Korea this extends to infants. Korean babies are the most sleep deprived little people in the world. And, having spent some time in the megacities of China, I thought I understood the kind of scale that boggles the mind. But did you know that, after Tokyo, Seoul has the highest concentration of restaurants per capita in the world? The South Korean capital is full of such brain-melting factoids. Somehow, without anyone noticing—and by anyone, I mean me—Seoul has become one of the great cities of the world, a giant pulsating star, radiating its energy to the farthest corners, too busy with the here and now to worry about the apocalyptic shenanigans of its northern neighbour. Where, I wondered, does one even begin to explore a city like Seoul? “You should begin in the very centre of Seoul,” my friend said.
As it turns out, the centre is found on Mount Namsan, an idyllic 860-foot promontory capped by the N Seoul Tower, which looms over the city like a watchful sentry. I like to begin the day with a little serenity, and the undulating six-kilometre footpath that encircles the hill is about the only place you’ll find it in this dense urban wonderland. It was late winter when I strolled up its slopes—the streams that tumbled down the hillside remained frozen and the trees barren—but the ever present clamour of birdsong suggested that spring was imminent.
The Cheonggyecheon stream refreshes downtown Seoul. Photo: Adam Dean
Here and there I came across remnants of the old city walls, constructed during the early Joseon dynasty, when Mount Namsan marked the southern border of Seoul. Interspersed throughout were the exercise yards typical of East Asia, which seemed to be the exclusive domain of elderly gentlemen, each with an old-timey transistor radio emitting the warbling love songs of a bygone Korea. There is a cable car to the peak, but I chose to follow an enchanting stone stairway, and after 45 minutes of clambering I emerged at the top, where I was greeted by the sight of tens of thousands of “love locks” hung on fences, gates, railings, and even officially sanctioned, specially designed metal “trees of love” that line the paths like Christmas trees.
Love is a serious business in Seoul. One of the first things that come up in a budding relationship is determining whether or not a couple is blood compatible. Many Koreans believe that blood type determines personality. Type A’s, for instance, are understood to be kind though prone to being introverted and perfectionists. I, as a Type O, am apparently a confident, expressive, egotistical risk-taker, which does not sound good but does help explain some questionable life decisions.
But I had not come here for romance. I bought a ticket to the observatory deck of N Seoul Tower and rocketed up in a swift elevator. At the top, the first thing one encounters is a Weeny Beeny candy shop, and while tempted, I had not come to the mountain for sugar either. No, I had come to behold Seoul.
Its immensity is staggering. Tower after tower stretching off as far as the eye can see, filling every nook and valley of the rugged landscape, from the Lotte World Tower, which ascends to 1,821 feet, to the hundreds of apartment blocks.
Bukchon Hanok Village is a slice of tradition in hightech Seoul. Photo: Adam Dean
And for the visitor, there is everything here, as I would discover in the days ahead. Do you desire some old-school imperial Korea? Well then, head on down—via cable car, regally—to Changdeokgung, the Palace of Illustrious Virtue, the home of Korea’s last emperor, and wander the grounds, making sure to visit the secret garden, and accept your insignificance.
Restore your humanity with a walk through the alleyways of Bukchon Hanok Village, where more than 900 traditional Korean homes and guest houses have been carefully preserved. Absorb the lilting, angular roofs, the heavy wooden doors, and the decorative brick walls, and remember that once upon a time Seoul was but a small town. Then make your way to nearby Hyoja-dong, long a home for craftsmen but increasingly recognized for its avant-garde art galleries. Not as well known as Samcheong-dong, Seoul’s venerable art mecca, Hyoja-dong is notable for its commitment to preserving the historic ambience of this district of hanoks and maze-like passageways while welcoming the hot glare of the contemporary art world.
And now you’re hungry, of course. And because you’re a first-time visitor to Seoul, you have no idea where to go. That’s okay! Because what Seoul does really well is street food. There are dozens of markets spread throughout the city. Some, like Dongdaemun, are known for fashion. Others, like Namdaemun, are known for, well, everything. If you can’t find what you’re looking for in Namdaemun, it’s probably not available anywhere on Earth. Spicy rice cakes and Korean fried chicken are ubiquitous, but keep your eyes open for silkworms (beondegi) and poo bread. Trust me.
Nearly every Korean, it seems, is passionate about food. And you soon understand why. Korean cuisine is not subtle. Every bite is a carnival of tastes, from the fiery chicken feet (dakbal) to the bitter dandelion salad (mindeulle muchim) and sweet Korean pancakes (hotteok). Me? I like the traditional galbi restaurants, where you grill marinated beef short ribs at your table while your dining companions get marinated on soju, the local firewater. And perhaps no place does it better than Mapo Sutbul Galbi in trendy Apgujeong-dong, where the stars of K-pop and film come to dine. People are beautiful here, but now so are you. You have arrived. You are in the centre of the universe. You are in Seoul.
The swirling shapes of Dongdaemun Design Plaza, by architect Zaha Hadid and Korean design firm Samoo. Photo: Adam Dean
This playful, high-design spot is located in Itaewon district, with its trendy restaurant and bar scene (imperialpalaceboutiquehotel.com; doubles from KRW1,00,000/₹5,690).
Perched on Mount Namsan, this luxe hotel offers grand views, indoor and outdoor pools, and possibly the best health club in the city (seoul.grand.hyatt.com; doubles from KRW2,20,000/₹12,900).
Business travellers love this centrally located hotel across the street from the popular Myeongdong shopping district (lottehotelseoul.com; doubles from KRW2,10,000/₹12,315).
Travel back in time at a traditional Korean house (hanok), with its paperscreened windows and interior courtyard. Home-cooked meals are often included. The Hanok Homestay Information Center, in Bukchon Hanok Village, can book reservations (20-27, Bukchon-ro, Jongno-gu; +82-2-742-9987; doubles from KRW60,000/₹3,405).
Chicken skewers grilling at a sidewalk stall in Yeouido Park. Photo: Adam Dean
Over a hundred years old, Gwangjang Market, near Dongdaemun, sells everything from bedding and classic Korean dresses to an endless variety of street foods. Try the bindaetteok (mung bean pancake) and the bibimbap (a mixed rice bowl) (88, Changgyeonggung-ro, Jongnogu; restaurants and vintage clothing shops open daily, other stores closed on Sunday).
Buddhist nuns serve multicourse vegan dishes (pickled lotus root, miso soup) in Jongno-gu. The menus, based on Buddhist principles, change seasonally (balwoo.or.kr).
Sample Korea’s unfiltered rice wine, called makgeolli, at any number of bars around town, including Neurin Maeul and Moon Jar, both in Gangnam.
Appeared in the January 2017 issue as “Non-Stop Seoul”.
J. Maarten Troost
is the author of several travel memoirs. His latest, "I Was Told There’d Be Sexbots: Travels Through the Future", will be out in 2017.
is a photographer based between Bangkok and Beijing.
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