Old Soul

by Brian Connor (United States of America)

Making a local connection Korea South

“Oh wow, why there?” I’ve been called an old soul, and most of the time I think that fits. With that, a first trip to Asia might have brought me to the likes of China, Japan; yet Seoul was what I circled on the map. It always struck me as a place where each turn brings something timeless and exciting, a world 500 years ago and 5 years later at the same intersection. Fits whatever I am trying to find that day. In the cab from Incheon to Seoul, my old soul emerged. The skyline drawing nearer, I focused instead on the sunset, the peachy orange glow taking up the entire sky. What should have been chaos was rather peace, a deep, calming sigh that pervaded all around. We turned off the highway when the sun completely submerged, and the countless neon insignias lit our way. Then my first trip outside the country by myself truly began. Eventually I’d make my way out for food, winding up at a hotpot place. Made for at least two people, but being hungry, eager and jetlagged, eating and paying double was neither a challenge nor an inconvenience. There’s something daunting about that first meal in a country by yourself, when the realities of this new place become more evident. You reach a feeling of zen with the new food and the sounds of spoken language you know five words of, pleasantly observing the day to day that had only existed in web forums, travel articles, subreddits before then. This zen ebbs and flows, with loneliness and human nature each taking a turn in reciprocity. Knowing no one, surrounded by five plates of kimchi (only two of which had vegetables I could identify, all of which were great) and large groups of locals, I vowed that I would make this unfamiliar place, this sprawling Asian city still entirely mysterious to me, feel more like home. The remedy for this exact feeling is a place called Gwangjang Market, where I went the next day. “Did they speak much English there?” Walking through the haze of pots boiling water, an onslaught of comforting smells, with old ladies beckoning with food at every other booth, there was no need for that. Food has no language barrier. I found myself at the Netflix booth, unintentionally, because that’s where the most locals and biggest “smile and point to the open seat” from the owner were. In a “that sounds familiar” reflex, I ordered bibimbap A local came up and told me I looked like a movie star. Another, an old man, sat next to me. “Too cold”, he said to me. Come again, I asked. “Too cold for that”, he elaborated, pointing to my bimibap. “In summer, we have that. When it’s cold, pancakes”. Potato pancakes, specifically, which he then offered me. I must have looked colder than I felt: the Market a true traveler’s rush, I could have stayed hours. The old man and I split more pancake, some soup, some rice wine. I told him how cold it gets back in Chicago, and he looked surprised I’d lived to make it to Seoul. He’d tell me to eat more of the pancake, and to hold my chopsticks higher. Eventually, “Why here from America?” I told him something like I’d always wanted to go to Asia, I’d met Koreans back home, I’d found myself able to take some time off, all of which was true. The real reason I’d gone to Seoul, the real reason I’d done the “brave” thing and solo travelled there, was that exact scenario: getting to be somewhere new, eating a great meal, and chatting up a local. I’d do the VR, the hip coffeeshops, the rest of Seoul; that day at Gwangjang, though, that was food for the old soul. If you find yourself in Seoul (and you should), and find yourself wanting a local connection, head to Gwangjang Market in the middle of the day, listen to the old lady when she beckons, and offer the person next to you some pancake. Worked just fine for this old soul.