마침내 터키의 도시 이스탄불에 도착해 호텔을 찾아가는 길, 저 멀리 바닷가에 로맨틱한 식당들이 눈에 띄었다. 호텔에 짐을 풀고 식당을 찾아 바닷가 쪽으로 꺾어 걸었다. 번화가에 그 많던 상가들이 멀어지며 좁은 골목이 미로처럼 얽혀져 바닷가로 이어졌다. 분비던 관광객의 모습은 점점 사라지고 두 방향으로 갈라지는 후미진 골목에 다다랐다.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
천국보다 낯설은 이스탄불
마침내 터키의 도시 이스탄불에 도착해 호텔을 찾아가는 길, 저 멀리 바닷가에 로맨틱한 식당들이 눈에 띄었다. 호텔에 짐을 풀고 식당을 찾아 바닷가 쪽으로 꺾어 걸었다. 번화가에 그 많던 상가들이 멀어지며 좁은 골목이 미로처럼 얽혀져 바닷가로 이어졌다. 분비던 관광객의 모습은 점점 사라지고 두 방향으로 갈라지는 후미진 골목에 다다랐다.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Istanbul, stranger than heaven
“Spain? Turkey?”
Every time I felt the urge to escape somewhere, Istanbul was the first city that came to mind.
But somehow, I always ended up choosing other places instead.
Finally, I arrived in Istanbul, Turkey. On the way to the hotel, I noticed some romantic restaurants by the sea. After dropping off my luggage, I headed out in search of one. As I walked, the busy shopping area faded, replaced by a maze of narrow alleys leading toward the water. Tourists disappeared, and soon I found myself in a quiet, unfamiliar backstreet split into two paths.
Mesmerized by the city I had long dreamed of, I didn’t realize someone had been following me. A face I had passed several times reappeared. That’s when I knew something was wrong. A group of teenage boys—likely Kurdish—started to close in on me. It was already too late. I felt someone’s breath behind me. At the same time, my bag was yanked.
I was pulled back and spun to the side. A large, dark hand grabbed my bag and tugged hard. I instinctively held on to the strap, but I couldn’t overpower the teenager’s strength and fell forward.
Still gripping the bag, I was dragged across the cobblestone ground until the strap finally snapped. Though it happened in seconds, it felt like forever. I heard voices around me, but no one stepped in to help—only watched. The boy, victorious, looked back with a mocking grin before disappearing into the distance.
I tried to get up, but my body wouldn’t move. I lay in the middle of the alley in shock. The onlookers scattered, glancing at me as they left. It felt like the entire crowd was in on it. Anger boiled inside me.
As I slowly came to my senses, pain radiated from my knee. It was bleeding, my whole body bruised and sore. My legs were so swollen I couldn’t fit into my pants. I couldn’t bend my knees or even walk.
It was early January, and Istanbul was bitterly cold. During the holiday, people slaughtered sheep, and blood spilled out onto the streets. The metallic smell, the brutality—it all disgusted me. I had planned to continue my trip to Greece after Turkey, but that now seemed impossible.
Because government offices were closed for the holiday, I was stuck in Turkey until they reopened and I could replace my passport.
I rested my head on a pillow by the hotel window. Outside, people in fresh clothes hurried by, carrying boxes of baklava, celebrating and returning home smiling. Every morning at 6 a.m., the Islamic prayer call rang out through the city, but in my ears, it sounded like a cry of rage. It woke me from my shallow sleep.
I turned on the TV and flipped through channels until a Korean drama called “Hae-shin” appeared. Lying in bed watching it reminded me of a friend who had once visited New York from Paris. Instead of sightseeing, he stayed in and binge-watched a Korean drama, “Damo,” before flying back. Back then, I had thought, “How pathetic.”
Now I realized—I was the pathetic one.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
7월의 고국여행
Friday, August 6, 2010
A trip homeland in July
Whenever I missed home, I longed for the comfort of sitting at a street food stall with a shot of soju—everything felt better after that. Then suddenly, a reason came up to go to Seoul. Even if there hadn’t been one, I might have invented one just to visit Korea.
When I checked for hotels, there were no rooms available in mid-July. It was peak season, and trying to book just two days in advance didn’t help. Still, it was the country I once lived in—so I just got on a plane without a real plan.
With no hotel booked, I took the airport bus toward Jongno. First stop: the haejangguk (hangover soup) restaurant in Cheongjin-dong. I ordered the special soup and a bottle of soju. Drinking soju early in the quiet morning, I could feel the cheap airline food being pushed out of my system as the warmth spread through my body. Yesterday I was scrambling in New York, and now I was stretched out in a completely different world. And I liked it.
A little tipsy, I wandered the streets of Jongno. As I walked, I passed the YMCA building I used to visit during my university days. Most of the streets had changed so much that I couldn’t ecognize anything—but that dusty glass facade of the YMCA building looked just the same, like it had been waiting for me all this time. On a whim, I walked in and found out there was a hotel on the 8th floor. They had rooms—and even gave me a 20% discount. After years of cooking every day, this felt like a perfect excuse to enjoy meals made by someone else. Luckily, the alleys around Insadong were full of restaurants. It was a great first morning.
The next day, I ran an errand in Dongbu Ichon-dong and sat at a shaded bus stop waiting for a ride to Yongsan Station. The cicadas were deafening, pouring down their song from the trees.
It reminded me of lying on a wooden floor in the countryside as a kid, staring up at the bright orange persimmons hanging in the backyard tree. I tilted my head way back, lost in thought, gazing up through the leaves—so much so, I didn’t even notice three or four buses pass by.
From Yongsan, I took the high-speed train and arrived in Mokpo in just three hours. Sitting at a pavilion in Dalseong Park, I looked down at the city and felt like I was taking in all of Korea at once. The breeze from every direction felt like the land itself was welcoming me home.
As I walked down past the rocky mountain of Nojeokbong, I passed a restaurant corner where a drunken man and a taxi driver were arguing. It started because the drunk wanted a U-turn, and the driver refused. The shouting turned physical and the two tumbled onto the road, arms flailing.
The confident taxi driver, thinking he could overpower a drunk, soon found himself struggling—and without anyone stepping in, the two simply made up. After brushing themselves off and yelling once more, they both got into the taxi and drove off—U-turn and all.
It was so anticlimactic. It felt like I’d sat down expecting to watch a thrilling episode of “Hell in Korea,” only for it to end in a quick truce. There was something sweet and raw in the way Koreans argue loudly but forgive easily.
I ended up taking a speedboat to Hongdo. Back in college, I once made it to Mokpo intending to go there, but a storm kept the boats grounded. I had always promised myself I’d return someday. The boat glided past islands floating like brushstrokes on water before arriving at the dock. Even before I got off, I caught a glimpse of the harbor—dark, messy, and oddly eerie, like something pulling me into a deep, shadowy lake.
The accommodations were poor. I understood that building hotels wasn’t allowed for environmental reasons. But still—couldn’t the residents at least clean up a bit? That thought once again made my throat ache with quiet frustration.
Down by the pier, I dipped a piece of sea squirt deep into red pepper sauce and looked out at the open sea. Chewing slowly, I took a shot of soju. And little by little, the untidiness of the island faded from view.