Four months later...
It’s my fourth day in Seoul and my third very lazy one. I’m homesick and tired of planning things. Or thinking about planning things. Or thinking about thinking about planning things. I want someone to set an itinerary for me then lead me by the hand. Or not. I mean, do I have to see everything? What’s wrong with soaking up a culture by walking aimlessly around the city? Or just sitting on a bench and eating gelato?
Dave always says that I am Newton’s first law of motion in action (or inaction). He’s so right. (Congrats buddy, it happened.)
My second day here I got up at 7am, ate breakfast, then spent 12 hours walking from one neighborhood to the next. I explored Changdeokgung Palace and its secret garden, Bukchon Hanok Village, Gyeongbokgung Palace and the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art . But today I awoke without a concrete plan (or unbalanced force to set me in motion) and soon I had wasted my entire morning reading Snowflower and the Secret Fan, thinking about foot binding and hugging my dogs (unrelated thoughts), scrolling through my favorite Insta pet accounts (@harlowandsage, @pumpkintheraccoon and @goatsofanarchy) and watching House of Cards. Only occasionally thumbing through my Korea Guide, pretending to plan things. I finally left my dorm only to end up at a book café around the corner. It’s where I always end up when I’m missing home or overcome by travel agoraphobia (is that a thing?).
I miss having a travel partner. My convos have evaporated to nods, gestures and a few staccato words. My hostel also lacks the communal vibe of my dorms in Taiwan, so I haven’t met any solo travelers. And most Koreans, if they do speak English, appear hesitant to use it. I assume because they haven’t had much practice. Guys, I am no one to judge. It took me four days to figure out how to properly pronounce “hello” (annyeong haseyo) and “thank you” (gomaseubnida) in Korean.
In this sprawling city and homogenous culture, I feel like a bit of an alien. Eyes appear to avert when I walk by, except when I tripped over that bench. Few smile back, which I attribute to cultural differences and Koreans’ tendency to avoid displays of emotion. (Is this true?) Or maybe it’s because of these freckles. God, I bet it’s the freckles. Or “those things” as my Chinese friend Shirley called them as she pointed at my arm in disgust.
I started really missing Dave again in Taiwan. At first it was because I knew he had been to Taipei, so I pictured him everywhere. Riding on the train, ambling through tiny alleys, eating stinky tofu. It was also a place I knew we’d love exploring together. Luckily, I soon met great friends and my days—and my mind—were occupied. In Seoul I’m alone again. And sure, sometimes I like that. But I want someone else to accidentally eat a pig’s ear (the shape should’ve given that one away). Or see me get chased (two nights in a row) by a woman with pineapple cake. Or remind me how to say, shit, how do you say “hello” again? This is the part of the world I’ve been most excited about, but it’s also the part I’d most like to share with someone, specifically one David A. Harper.
In the beginning of my trip I met so many travelers who quit their jobs, gave up their apartments and packed up (or sold) their belongings before hopping on a plane to wherever. Many told me they had nothing to go back to. Most were young, early twenties, with their future in question. It’s different for me. My future is right where I left it, tucked inside my little corner of St. Paul, where two dogs sit on the back of the couch staring out the window eagerly waiting my return (I hope) and Dave stands in the kitchen doing dishes and folding laundry. Kidding. Where Dave sits in the basement sorting fishing gear. I have so much to go home to. I mean, all that gear.
Once you realize what a good thing you have at home, leaving it behind becomes so much harder. Ironically, leaving home is what always makes us realize just what we left behind. I'm so lucky to be here now. And once I return I’m certain I’ll experience that ol' tinge of wanderlust and ennui. I’m already thinking about my next adventure. But right now, sitting here in this café listening to Regina Spektor and watching the girl next to me study a comic book while the Korean girls on either side of her take selfies, I’d love nothing more than to snuggle up in my bed with my puppies, my Dave and a huge box of chocolate chip cookies. I mean HUGE. Milk too, obviously. Yes, IN BED.