Subways, drunks and black people

Today was our first adventure upon the vast subway system of Seoul. I must say, I am impressed with the whole deal. I had never really gone on a subway in general, but they are relatively fast and efficient modes of transportation. I heartily agree with the concept.

Like the mass transit system of Seattle, which envolves the Metro, you get all kinds of people on the subway. For example, near the university district, three black young men got on, and sat down. I contemplated on the fact that they might be the only three black people I will see for the rest of the trip. However, their differences soon attracted a quite drunk man, who began to yell at them in Korean to go back to their country and leave Korea in a bellicose manner. One of the black men knew Korean, and kept saying over and over, "Sir, I'm not a bad person. I am Korean also!" while the other ignored him. The third one wanted to fight the drunk and even got up a couple times to do so, only to be waved down by his gracious friends. The whole subway train was watching, some with amusement, others with disgust, many with some mixture in between.

This went on for about fifteen minutes, until finally one Korean man (of who I look upon approvingly) yelled out, "Sir! Let us have some peace and quiet! Are you the only one riding on this train, or something?" This silenced the drunk and as he sat down, an uneasy quiet followed by an atmosphere of relief entered the train.

We got off in downtown Seoul, tourists through and through, visiting the South Gate, and the open air market named after it. The open air market is like a modern-day bazaar. Merchants hawk their goods, and a great deal of haggling is involved. My mother is a fearless haggler, while I sat there trying to follow the rapid-fire Korean. This is not to say that I don't speak any Korean; my Korean is basic and I have probably said more Korean today than I have in the past three years, but it's not enough to survive on the streets.

My quest for a messenger bag ended in absolute failure - many of the bags here resemble large purses. The fashion here for the men is incredibly metro, one that I am not awful comfortable with, and one I'm sure would draw quite a bit of attention (both negative and positive) in conservative, culturally bubble-encased Provo. It seems I will have to wait before I buy a messenger bag anytime soon.

One of the more heart rending moments was passing through a courtyard in front of a building. There were many trees planted in the concrete, and under each one was a homeless person trying to sleep underneath it. One particular group of homeless people caught my eye - a mother and a father curled up on the cardboard, their faces creased with lines of worry and stress, and a two year old child in the middle, looking curiously over the father at the passing people. Had I the money (for I had no cash on me) and obligations to follow my family around, I would have bought them something to eat and listened to their story.

That is, perhaps, the biggest impression on me so far. Everyone in Seoul is a character, and everyone has a story. I wish I could go about collecting them, writing them down so that they could be perserved throughout history. The city is teeming with them, waiting to be listened to. Someday, when I return, I plan on doing just that - collecting and recording the stories attached to all these people who live out their existence in this unique city.