The moon and the cold

My second week in Seoul was lorded over by a five day weekend. What is called Chinese New Year in the “ignorant west” is called Lunar New Year in The Land of Morning Calm. Wednesday through Sunday saw Korea away from work or school...a place it spends very little time.

Wednesday Seoul emptied out like a burning theater. It appears bosses, parents and the culture in general are pretty stingy when it comes to off time, so when this five day weekend rolls around outgoing transport is stuffed. The traditional obligation entails visiting grandmothers, or their graves, on Thursday and spending the balance of the weekend with extended family. This is done in the towns and villages from which people came before the great migration to the city which holds 47% of the nation's population. The less obliged use the break for an out of country experience.

As for me, I spent the five days meandering around the city wondering where everybody went. For hours I wandered the cold, gray streets thinking around the next corner must be the massive, throbbing 24 hour outdoor part that was occupying everybody's time. Needless to say, I didn't appreciate the scale of the holiday on it's approach.

My five days consisted of waking up far too near the pm hours. The blame for this lies in the radiating warmth from the floor and a dim apartment. I would then set off to one of the ubiquitous PC cafes to make contact with the English speaking world amidst a loud and violent bloodbath of aliens, soldiers and rough looking elements of the fantasy world. The sound in these chambers is akin to a Vegas casino, except switch out the bells and dings for gunshots and fleshy explosions. The young gamers seem to come in packs, sit together, kill each other and then run from computer to computer loudly gloating their victory or bemoaning their unfair demise. Almost in equal proportion, the adult gamers stalk alone. Ridding the cyber world of of their foes with the aid of cigarettes and vend-o-mat coffee. Estimating the length of time they've been slaying is as simple as looking at the size of the cigarette butt bouquet blooming in their ash tray. The sight alone inspires a fit of coughing.

I'd emerge from the digital dungeon squinting like a mole and head off on a walkabout. The weather has been cold and clear nearly everyday I've been here. It's not Central Asian steppe cold, but rather that middling cold, lurking in the depths just below freezing. The kind of cold people don't dawn heavy winter armor to battle but rather attempt to mitigate with scarves, gloves and sensible clothing. My efforts to maintain body heat for long periods of outdoor exposure without resembling cargo with legs has met little success. Time and again I choose vanity and cold fatty parts over warmth and a diving bell profile.

My walks would last hours and take in various neighborhoods in the center of Seoul. But my ignorance of the language prevents me from remembering their names as they all seem to rhyme. “-dong”, “-mun”, “-ong”, etc. signify what the area is or its location within the city. Unfortunately, my childlike mind and goldfish-like memory leave me repeatedly only catching the end of the word and remarking to myself, “Wow! That sounds exactly like the other place...” I'm perennially confused by this. I'm like an old person who is continuously cheering at instant replays on sports broadcasts and then unable to figure out why the score of the game is so low.

Due to the weekend diaspora, my ambling tours of Seoul's rhyming neighborhoods yielded less cultural intake then I'd hoped. Though I was presented with the opportunity to take in the endless variety of techniques and equipment used to shutter the storefronts of Seoul. It was also a rare opportunity to appreciate the stark beauty of the naked gray roads, sidewalks and empty alleys of an over-populated city. With no one in front of whom to feel typical, I shamelessly navigated the streets and subways with my blue spined book screaming LONELYPLANET SEOUL spread in front of me.

As the light dwindled and the sun moved on to other destinations, I wandered until I would find a subway. I glided down the electric stairs, groped for my current location on the map and charted a course home.

Frozen upon arrival, I shed my shoes at the door and sprawled out on the heated floor. Turning myself over like a piece of bacon, careful to heat both sides equally, I recovered body heat with my frozen hammy butt cheeks the last to thaw. A book and a glass of Korean plum wine would carry me the rest of the evening until the hours of hard slumber.

This routine was repeated five times with slight variations, but on whole is an accurate account of my first Lunar New Year holiday weekend..

**Things they do just a little more cleverly here: #27 Walls in the toilette stalls go all the way to the ground. (insert your own Sen. Larry Craig joke here)