The Provinces Of Heaven and Hell

We never considered or even gave much thought toward how we would feel about visiting the American districts in Seoul. We had made a habit of finding ourselves as the only white people anywhere to be seen, and were suddenly feeling ill prepared toward how we would relate to seeing legions of Caucasians and confused travelers again.

Our destination was Itaewon, a highly popular district widely reputed among locals as the place where all the foreigners go. This fact had us feeling a bit weary of the area and what we would see. The only grounds for relating to other foreigners we have had is the premise that we both are either white, or obviously enough, not Korean. Besides raising our eyebrows at one another or awkwardly waving, we haven't conversed much with many other people of our own heritage. Not that its a problem in any way, but what we tended to forget was that certain types of travelers you see abroad tend to make you blush a bit at being American. Upon seeing multitudes of bright eyed blondes and gelled hair, we entered the district with an immediate distrust of its charm and authenticity.

We found that Itaewon truly preserves Korea's slogan, "Land of the Morning Calm." Vendors have yet to open before noon, the general inhabitants are fighting off their hangovers, and the Korean mistresses don't dress to impress until under the neon veil of night. The general attractions were merely corporate fast food chains and restaurants. For the homesick westerner it was a haven, but for the thirsty traveler it was nothing more than foreign fraud. It was hard at one point to even recognize where we were. We sat down to lunch eating Arabic food, observing three Indian men walking down the street who bumped into a very culturally confused white man with his rented Korean, next to a bistro whose patio was filled with more white people than a life boat on the Titanic. Perhaps it was because we weren't prepared for what we were seeing, but even in the presence of other Americans, we didn't feel any kind of attachment or even fondness for the place. It felt a bit like driving through Vegas, never quite being sure how to feel about what your seeing, other than the notion it can't be good. The majority of people there carried no desire to leave with a heightened understanding of culture, but merely the best imitation Loius Vuitton purse. If its any indication that we can't even spell that brand right, Itaewon felt like hell. Insadong brought us into the light.

A short distance from one of Seoul's remarkable palaces, which we were lucky enough to walk through for about 75 cents (1,000 won), lies the neighborhood of Insadong. Bedecked with cobblestone streets, tea shops, calligraphy studios, and fine art, it seemed appropriate to find ourselves caught in a rain after having been through such a drought of culture. Seeming to persevere its ambiance with a likening to European architecture and aesthetic, we were fortunate enough to find ourselves trying some of Korea's infamous tea, while shifting through a parade of colorful umbrellas, couples, and the personal efforts of vendors. No, we were not the only Americans here either. There were other tourists, but the whole atmosphere was happier and healthier in comparison to Itaewon. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the nice little art shops and tea houses as much as they were enjoying just walking in the rain with their friends and loved ones.