pork fumes

A sea of black-haired heads parted as I strode through the swarm of people pouring out of the Dong-Seoul bus terminal in the southeast corner of the city.  I felt like a scuba diver swimming into a dense school of identical fish, except these fish didn't work as hard to avoid contact with me, as old ladies threw elbows into my ribcage, high school girl's suitcases ran over my ankles, and obstinate old men stopped suddenly in their path in front of me, forcing me to throw down a Walter Payton sidestep and pivot.  Next time, no more running back moves.  I will relive my high school days as an all-conference offensive tackle, lead blocking for a speedy wishbone offense; running the triple option around outside linebackers who I planted firmly on their back.  At least I can fantasize about it?  I surfed the black-haired wave of humanity across the sidewalk and street to the subway station, surveyed the map, and proceeded towards the westbound platform of green line #2.  The green line is a loop that runs around the city, mostly above ground, connecting both the north and south sides across the Han River.

It was Friday, 9:30 p.m.  As the doors parted and I stepped on the train full of tired Seoul workers, the medicinal, exhaled vapors of soju lingered in the air, and the perfume from beautiful, high-heeled women mingled with the residual smoke of charred Samgyeopsal and Galbi emanating from work-clothes.  The popular (obligatory if the boss is involved) after-work ritual of soju and barbecue is a sight to behold, as strips, chunks and meaty bones of sweet marinated pork are cooked over small grills set in round stainless steel tables.  Koreans sit in brightly lit rooms on short stools around the table, eat banchan, drink soju from small shot glasses, and tend to their grilled meat with tongs and culinary scissors.  (A side note for the cooks out there:  they don't use knives with meals here.  If it can't be eaten with a spoon, chopsticks, or cut with scissors, they don't eat it.)  The sugar-heavy pork marinade caramelizes and smokes, and to deal with this, most establishments have a centralized ventilation system, terminating in futuristic-looking, flexible ventilation snorkels that can be positioned at any location and height above the grill.

The train clicked away westward, interrupted by a stop every now and again, as an exceedingly polite recorded voice announces each stop in Korean and English, with a smattering of Chinese.  Korea is all about automation and making machines talk.  Machines with voices that I've seen so far here in Korea include:  trains, elevators, rice cookers, washing machines, subway turnstyles, and now, english teaching robots!  Judging from the videos I've seen so far, it doesn't look like any waygooks are in danger of losing their job to a robot any time soon.  Plus, can a robot play guitar and sing along with his 3rd grade students?  I think not!

I off-boarded at the Dongdemeun history and culture park stop, the location of the new Seoul design plaza and park, designed by Zaha Hadid, currently under construction, over budget and behind schedule.  Surprised?  I continued to an area where my odds were good to find a cheaper motel, and happened upon a Russian/ Uzbek district nearby.   I found a motel about 200 meters from the subway exit, right next to several inexpensive Korean restaurants.  As I approached the reception desk, the Korean lady working started jabbering at me in Russian.  I suppose I look more Russian than Korean.  I told her "Mi Guk Saram" (American) and she handed me a key for my ₩45,000 room and I settled in for the evening.