Finding Samcheong Dong

I love ruins. Old buildings, architecture, decrepit rocks that are shadows of their glorious past; they all make me feel connected to the long line of human history, that continuum on which we are mere specks, no matter how important we think we are.

So I am fascinated by the past. I don't know what that says about my optimism or ability to move on. All I know is that I tend to be more interested in dead stones and departed people than I am about the latest figment of pop culture. (Who the heck is Kim Kardashian?)

In Seoul, my idea of fun is hitting every archaic imperial palace and strolling around, imbibing the atmosphere of kings and queens who reigned centuries ago. I believe that karma exists not only in people, but in places. The walls and floors around us absorb the love, faith, power, struggle, and blood of generations past. That karma, the karma of places, can influence events of the future. I wandered about the Gyeongbokgung, the largest royal palace in Seoul, my eyes drinking in every detail. I imagined a lonely concubine in the courtyard; a stately mandarin in the official hall.

My mother nudged me forward, pointing at our empty water bottles and the grating sun of about 93 degrees Fahrenheit. She surveyed the lake, ceilings, and buildings; then sat in the shade waiting as I completed my circuitous tour. "I don't see what all the fuss is about," she confided, shrugging. "They all look the same. Upturned eaves, pavilions, elaborate red and green etchings; it looks like the Forbidden City, except the roof is grey." I glanced around, hoping no Koreans understood Vietnamese. So much for my grand imaginings of the past.

We left, both annoyed; she feeling exhausted and me feeling slighted because I was not ready to leave. Like any good mother and daughter pair, she rushed me, I snapped, and we fought. Somehow, we managed to miss a turn, a street, and the metro station. We ended up lost.

Now, in a wonderfully organized city like Seoul, it is impossible to really be lost, even for the directionally challenged like us. We poured over the map and located another metro station within a few blocks. I grated my teeth the entire way, since it made such a huge difference in the grand scheme of things and it was naturally all her fault.

A block from the metro station, there were crowds of people heading into a side street. The station was faintly visible in the distance, beyond the teeming heads rushing into that alley way like ants. I looked at my mother and she nodded. What do we do when we see everyone else jumping off a bridge? We follow.

At first it was just people, and I wondered if we joined a rat race, literally. Gradually, shops and cafes began to emerge from the dust of foot-traffic. Tasty barbeques and scallion pancakes grilling in the street. Green-tea and red bean ice cream shops. Intoxicating smells. Artsy jewelry like turquoise and moonstone. Snazzy boutiques that even I, clearly no fashionista, could appreciate. We walked the entire 1.6 miles of that neighborhood without tiring.

"What is this place?" I wondered aloud.

A friendly bystander replied: "Samcheong Dong."

Samcheong Dong!

Todd, a NYC friend who had visited Seoul with native Koreans, recommended Samcheong Dong as one of the coolest neighborhoods in the city, kind of like Brooklyn or Soho. I had searched for it, but it wasn't marked on any of the maps and I was forced to bypass it. And if we hadn't gotten lost, we would never have found it.

I thought about that as my mother and I sat down in a cafe. I thought about it as she sipped some pomegranate-flavored green tea aloe vera drink and I drank my brandy infused cappuccino. I thought about all the things I was searching for with no luck: love, inspiration, a sense of self and the knowledge that I was not just living, but going somewhere. The somewhere I landed was not where I wanted to be, and I woke up one morning lost to myself.

So maybe we need to be lost before finding our way. Maybe there is no roadmap to the best things in life. And like Samcheong Dong, maybe I'll find them not when I'm looking, but when I'm desperate to make a quick exit.