Kansamnida, Korea!

The Land of the Morning calm was, for me, strictly read about only in my school text books. South Korea was the place that North Koreans tried to escape to, and where children suffered through a high-pressure school system even worse than the ones in Singapore. And of course, the DMZ was one of those curious and fascinating places that was on my bucket list.

As 2016 dawned, never did I think this would be the year I would get an education on the ways of this gorgeous country and it's people. I have to confess that only when I looked up the Koreas on the globe did I realize that South Korea was up up there (or down down, depending on how you look at it), higher up than Shanghai or Beijing, almost kissing the Japanese archipelago. In fact, it is the Northernmost point I have traveled to so far.

I've never been to a first-world country before. The unapologetic consumerism and the pleasant near-perfect predictability of life I saw left me oscillating. Over two weekends, I wandered around taking in the Confucian calm of the old palaces and the hyper-modern bustle of Seoul. The 24 x 7 convenience stores were well-stocked with, umm, every convenience, and also with shock-inducing sugary drinks pretending to be healthy and hep. Everything is predictable and calming - the easily navigable train network, the location of toilets, the carefully reconstructed tourist haunts, the zebra crossings and the traffic lights, beautiful pine tree-lined pavements. Too predictable and far away from the chaos in my home country! For the first time, I looked with a little more empathy and wonder at those who choose to leave this behind to dive into the madness that is India. 

In suburban Suwon where I stayed, the morning calm was only broken by the screeching cicadas and the occasional fast car. Everyone seemed smiling and happy, except for a few of the taxi drivers. I had my share of clueless drives that led me everywhere except my destination, but they were honest enough to charge me lesser than the meter.

Every other street and building had a chaebol connection. 

The museums were filled with kids of all sizes chaperoned by teachers telling them all about Korean history, and perhaps instilling a strong sense of Korean identity and pride. Just the nonsense they need to hear. Well, indoctrinate them early I say.

The subway trains were full of people startled by brown me, but after a moment of surprise they'd return to their phones and phablets. Young and old alike are united in this cell phone addiction. The typical first world complaint one hears is that the internet doesn't work in the bowels of the earth. Huh. But mostly, the wi-fi and the internet work a little too well. 

I searched for the poor people; I asked my hosts where the poor lived. They didn't understand what I meant. I managed to see exactly two poor-looking people drinking soju out in the open on a bench in the heart of Seoul.

My work colleagues plied me with sweetness, overt courtesy, Korean food, Korean beer, Korean wine, sushi and everything else that is wonderful about Korean food, while overlooking my inability to eat with chopsticks and getting me a fork everywhere we went.

When I close my eyes and drift back, what comes to mind is the bus service. The courteous Anyeoung Haseyo and Kansamnida and head-bowing assault you from everywhere, including the bus. Given the rather colorful nature of the bus drivers and conductors in Bangalore, this took me a while to get used to.

Somehow, going to the first world made me appreciate, and even like (!!!) my third-world chaos a little more. Anyway, I've never liked the thought of too much order. Not for me a designer home, with designer sofas and matching blinds and fancy embellishments with everything in it's place. That's what you get in a fancy hotel. I crave that slight disorder, that lived-in feeling, for that's what makes a house a home. But that aseptic 5-star hotel feeling, that's what Korea always brings to my mind.