Being unaccustomed to large cities, I didn’t know how I’d like going to Seoul. Late last year, I visited my sister who was studying there and I was surprised at how snuggly it felt. My experience of Seoul has been strangely cozy and unruffled, probably due mostly to the cold weather and tiny coffee shops…

The air is cool and crisp. On days like this, life feels wide and full. Too full. The cold hurts and the sun shines down the street into my eyes. We go for coffee – good, smooth coffee. The coffee shops open at nine in the morning, others at noon.  They’re quiet and tucked away on side alleys and hidden-away corners. We kick up the leaves at our feet – bits of yellow paper, covering the ground in autumn. The traffic sings. I have never been this far north before. Everything feels dry, cold, and punctuated by sharpness. Seoul is an extensive place, its own expanding world – buildings running to the horizon; giant streets banked with traffic; city lights at sunset; everything crisp and obscure.   

We walk along the narrow streets and pass a modest yellow Vespa sitting discreetly in the dappled shade. It winks at us as we wander by. More leaves – even the trees feel urban in this place where any sense of wildness is lost in the clustered spreading and grey smear.

From our kitchen window we look out at busy wires, window frames, blue sky, and concrete. The rooftop is cluttered with plants, old ceramics, a plastic children’s slide, and flaking green paint. It’s shaded by a forest of buildings. Steel cranes line up along the horizon. The air bites, the moon rises above the mountains and an old lady comes out of her apartment. She says something to us in Korean, her dark eyes sparking at us. We just smile and chuckle stupidly.  

Along the busier streets old people sit huddled in layers of jumpers outside shopfronts selling vegetables displayed in cardboard boxes and spread out on mats. Behind their worn faces all wear a look of wounded pride. A deftly disguised good humour hides deep within the wrinkles and forgotten stares.       

The subway screams the same tune whenever a train pulls away from the station. It’s a familiar tune. Sounds like something out of a movie. The stations smell like bread, sugar, and concrete. We walk home along Olympic Park – the moon half-full and in-the-blue of a clear city sky. On Namsan Mountain the crowd waves goodbye to the sun as it sinks deep and fluorescent behind the smoggy grey, behind the bare branches of the cherry blossom trees. On a particularly bright day, we visit a greenhouse full of bonsai trees and roses. The breeze is slight, there are orange flowers, a calendar, and a clock. In Seoul, time seems to trickle along – surprising for such a big city. In Seoul, the sky is never grey, only blue.