Complete juxtaposition between the cleanliness of Japan and the relative filth of Korea was my initial reaction to being dropped off by the airport bus at Hapjeong station. In Japan a stray piece of trash on the pavement was an anomaly but in the five-block walk to the hostel in Seoul I could have easily filled 10 fifteen gallon garbage bags. I’ll stop short here and leave the other senses out of the picture.
After dropping my bags at the hostel, discouraged, I set out for the city center. Ascending out of the subway, I was greeted with a spectacle of literally over 300-thousand demonstrators. They were striking government workers. The demonstration even made it on the international version of CNN.
Starting at the city center and stretching for over a mile, past the Imperial Palace, police buses lined the street. Thousands of what appeared to be seventeen-year-old police troops waited for orders. They leaned against buses, smoked, and told jokes, killing the time.
The Imperial Palace complex was very impressive, even more so than the Kyoto imperial grounds. Although architecturally similar the Korean Imperial Palace was preserved and much more colorful. The painted buildings were only rivaled by the ginko tree's yellow display of fall folliage.
The highlight of the tour was a group of Korean schoolgirls that I kept running into at differing palace locations. Each time, the poor ugly duckling of the group was relegated to taking the group picture. So I came up and offered to take a group picture with everyone included. This brought a roar of giggles. These girls didn’t take a stone face portrait, but were a perpetual motion machine, posing in as many goofy positions as possible. After coming across the group for a second time, complete with group photo, I asked them to wait so I could take a picture with my camera. They thought it was hysterical that I took the camera and made a self-portait/group snap. They then grabbed a Japanese tourist to take group photos of all of us together. The energy was contagious.
The ginko trees were ablaze in yellow fall foliage, especially behind this stoupa erected in the Goryeo dynasty circa 1085. Most of the other trees had already dropped their leaves, with the exception of a few maples. A school group of 5 and 6 year olds was playing in the leaves. It was great to watch them chase each other with sliding, crunchy feet. Then the teacher asked all the children to throw leaves at the same time resulting in a fireworks of leaves, screams, and giggles.
On the way back to the hostel, I stopped by one of the many street vendors to see what people were eating. Before you knew it, a couple had pulled me in to try various hot foods. I think the first was some sort of tofu on a stick in fish broth. You get a stick and a cup of broth. Tasty, but the communal double dipping in the soy sauce was a little gross.
Next was some form of rice noodles in an unbelievably hot & spicy red sauce.
It was freezing outside but the sweat was still rolling off my forehead. The final course was a type of tempora of squid, sushi rolls, and various vegetables. All this cost about three dollars. No one spoke any English and the group around the stand would watch with each new item to see whether it drew a smile or grimace. Each affirmation brought head nods, smiles, and even a few elbows delivered from believers into the ribs of those who had apparently bet against my accepting palette.
I was just beginning to receive a foretaste of Korean hospitality.
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