Hongdae Contretemps

by Aishwarya Anand (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Korea South

Five pairs of strangers’ eyes looked at me in horror, mouths flapping open as they processed the depth of my misfortune. “How on earth did you manage to do something like that?” “Will you be alright by yourself, so far away from home?” “You should definitely call the police. They can help.” Multiple variations of the above statements were thrown at me over the next two days. Everyone I ran into eventually found out what had happened and proceeded to click their tongues in disapproval and pity. Hearing their concern made me panic more than the actual situation did. It all started innocently enough. Nightfall had come to Seoul with neon lights and loud music in tow - the harbingers of nightlife in this metropolis (or, as I like to call it when people party till dawn, Overnight Life). Slowly, it spread from the clubs bars in the city centre where friends catch up at the end of a routine day, or colleagues trudge into another after-work drinking party, to the local bars just outside of town with their quaint decor and old-world charm. I was out with some people that I had just met, scouring the streets of the popular Hongdae area in Seoul, South Korea, looking for a nice spot to have a drink. That night, the smell of Korean barbecue interspersed with the stale stench of cigarettes and flavoured juuls invaded my nostrils. The sounds of K-pop and English chart-topping hits alike blared from the numerous clubs and shops. Not to be outdone, the voices of young hopefuls busking late into the night stole their own corner of each street. I reached into my pocket for my phone so that I could take some pictures. When all five of my pockets and my handbag all pleaded not guilty, I knew something was wrong. It was only my second night in a foreign country where I didn’t know anybody that well and had travelled alone for the first time in my life, and I had already lost my phone. I could practically hear my mother’s monologue about raising irresponsible children. I looked everywhere for my phone - in vain. I called the police on my friend’s phone, but given the circumstances such as my phone being on silent mode, the GPS tracker being disabled and so on, they couldn’t do much for me. Losing an electronic device in the tech-savvy land of Seoul, South Korea is no laughing matter. The prices of electronic goods are unexpectedly high, and the internet about ten times what I would pay for a similar plan back home in India. Plus, as a first time female solo-traveller, I considered the phone to be an extension of my limbs. I was devastated. My parents would kill me. I decided to purchase a phone secondhand. At every secondhand electronics store I went to, I was treading that fine line between asking for what I needed in the local language and succumbing to the travesties of a language barrier despite my efforts. I was just about ready to give up, when my friend received a call from the owner of the first secondhand store we had sought out. He had a phone and SIM card that he could give me for a low price. He was willing to bear a part of the costs himself, and even offered to give me a charger and phone cover for free. If I ever needed anything in the future, I was free to call him. I thought about those days before I came to South Korea. A month before, I was more excited than I had ever been about anything else for the past 2 years in my life. Closer to D-Day, I felt terribly anxious and had more than second thoughts about not going on this trip at all. I didn’t want to be underwhelmed; I didn’t want my fantasies of Seoul to come crashing down with a single blow from reality. When I lost my phone, I felt like a failure who didn’t deserve to be independent. But that man’s kindness saved my trip to South Korea and restored my faith in my ability to take care of myself.