Seoul for the Weekend, Part 1

·2 January 2010·


Brandon and I had the chance to spend the day together last Saturday, January 2, as we headed to Seoul to visit Korea's National Museum. We spent about two hours wandering the museum, looking at artifacts ranging from cursive calligraphy and Vietnamese pottery to an inside pagoda. I really enjoyed going with him because I was able to pick his brain a little as we enjoyed the exhibits together. We talked about many things, including our own thoughts and beliefs. We discussed what Jesus meant by His words, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." He thought the statement could have meant "life" in the context of Christianity, but I wanted him to consider a broader thought: What if Jesus meant life to the full in general, not just in a strictly religious context? We also talked about pleasure, idol worship, and what the Buddah statue is all about.


After our stimulating conversation, we paid our 10,000 won and hit the other side of the museum to browse through the traveling exhibit on loan from Peru about the ancient Inca civilization. It proved to be less enjoyable than the other exhibits, if not entirely a mistake. Instead of perusing the artifacts casually and deliberately, we were shoved from corner to corner and carried along by the masses, excluded from even a good look at the relics due to the sheer number of the throng gathered. In the other exhibits, photography was aloud (at least presumably) as long as it was not flash. The moment I whipped out my camera here, however, I was immediately approached by an attendant. Good pictures are so conspicuous! As my conscience was then seared and sensative to the issue, I put my camera away for the duration of our stay. Brandon and I laughed together as, around the elbows and heads of Korean spectators, he snapped picture after picture of the relics. He trumped me in the coolest contraband shot of the day with those antics, a rather good photo of Francisco Pizzaro's conquering sword.


We had decided to view the special exhibit because we were at the museum already and may never get a chance to see a display like that again. Throughout the show, the most instriguing thing for me was Brandon's and my distance from the exhibit itself. I marveled at the different culturo-linguistic layers embedded into the arrangement: first the Inca's cultural heritage and language, then Spanish Peru, then the culture of the host country, Korea, and finally the culture of the waeguk, the foreigner. That's thrice removed! If I were to view a presentation like this at home in America, it would only be once removed, imported as it would be from only one culture. If I were experiencing Incan culture or history in its native land, it wouldn't be at all removed from me because for one, the Incan heritage has largely been absorbed by the Peruvians, and Spanish is my second language. The experience of this ancient way of life had to travel across four cultures just to make its way to me. It makes the experience all the harder to understand, however, as it necessarily needs translation from Spanish to Korean to English, and sometimes it doesn't make the full leap.


After the first exhibit walk-through, Brandon and I took a break for lunch, a "snack" he told me, at the museum's cafeteria. I thought it would be something small, a la carte, perhaps, and simple. We still had plans to find a good vegetarian restaurant in Insadong. I watched him wolf down rice and curry sauce, the same thing that I ate, without the courage to tell him that I was full enough after that. I couldn't believe he was still up for more! By the time we wandered into the vegetarian place a couple of hours later, my food had settled enough for me to attempt another "meal," but I wasn't too hungry. Blissfully it was a buffet, so I could pick at my food--but I had to eat something! I couldn't just be a party pooper. What's the fun in trying a new restaurant by yourself? I felt like Andy on his recent trip to Thailand: He said he and his friend ate a good meal at one restaurant only to find another several blocks away and a half an hour later to eat at again. I had two lunches that day.


Shopping for me at Insadong was kind of a bust. Touted as an all-in-one locale for tourists' shopping pleasures, I thought I might find more authentic Korean cultural relics there than in Chungju. I didn't know quite what I was looking for, but was prepared to consider purchase once I found it, even if the price were high. What I found instead was a crowd of teaming spenders, loud Korean cooks that operated out of butcher-like shops, and stores too small to explore. Brandon and I stumbled upon something that looked and smelled promising, but we found out through our broken Korean that it was a restaurant serving temple food. As we had just eaten, it wasn't very appetizing. Had I known where to look, and what specifically I was looking for, it might have been a better experience. I tried walking into two cramped calligraphy stores cluttered with brushes and all manner of paper sheaves, but neither sold any calligraphy sets familiar to my Western eyes. I left Insadong having spent 21,000 won on black tea that tastes suspiciously like disguised green tea whenever I brew it.


For Brandon, his shopping experience seemed to be equally as frustrating. We tried to find a famed second-hand store that he was interested in and asked one of the girls at the Insadong information booth where it was. She gave us a map, highlighting our route, and told us it would be a ten-minute walk. The hand-drawn map indicated that we would have to cross to the other side of the street, cross a connecting street after that, and then round the corner of the next block; in sum, it was no more than three blocks away. The two of us reached the third block feeling as if that was too short of a walk; there had been no connecting street to cross. Assuming this was the connecting street, we kept going and felt confident we'd find our destination soon. We passed a palace on our excursion and thought the shop would be just past its walled perimeter.


Twenty minutes later, we still couldn't find the shop. We finally reached the corner of the palace wall's perimeter, much more than three blocks from the information booth and far enough away to no longer be considered inside Insadong. "If [the wall] comes this far down the street, I bet you it goes down that way just as far," I said to Brandon, pointing to the adjoining street. It was then that we examined our surroundings for familiar landmarks from the map, finding none. As it was approaching five o'clock, we headed back the way we came, hoping our inadequate outline of the area would lead us home. We finally figured out which street we were supposed to turn onto--oddly enough, the one just before the palace--but discovered it only to find the shop closed.

Despite the difficulties, I felt it was a beautiful day. Upon finding the shop closed, we decided to go back to Insadong's main street and sit down for a nice cup of tea. I was quite disappointed for Brandon, but it was still an enjoyable outing and a nice walk. After tea Brandon and I parted company, as he wanted to finish shopping and I had plans to spend the night with a friend from Seoul.