In the winter of 1996, I found myself embarking on a journey into the unknown, a journey that would take me to the bustling city of Seoul, South Korea. Little did I know that my arrival would coincide with Seolnal, the Korean Lunar New Year, a time when the city would come to a standstill.
I had been hired by Sisayongosa through their Korea International hagwon, and my destination was the DongNamJang hotel in Chongnosamga. The excitement mixed with a hint of trepidation as I landed at Kimpo Airport, only to be greeted by DR Kim, the person who would become my guide through this new chapter of my life.
Driving into Seoul, the magnitude of the city struck me like a tidal wave. Buildings towered above, casting shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity. The vastness of the urban landscape was unlike anything I had experienced before.
As we navigated through the city, DR Kim made an unexpected stop at a construction site. He gallantly shouldered my vintage (though not so at the time) red Samsonite suitcases and led me over planks that would eventually become part of the Purple Line subway, then still under construction. It was a symbolic introduction to a city constantly evolving, building its future with each passing day.
Finally, we arrived at my temporary residence, the DongNamJang hotel. The entrance was unassuming, and the reception area, a mere hole in the wall. My eyes were drawn to a peculiar wall filled with VHS videos, a quaint reminder of a bygone era.
Up to the fifth floor we went, my cases in tow. Room 505, or 'Oh Kong Oh' as it was called, was to be my sanctuary for the foreseeable future. It was at this point that I discovered I had no key to my room. Fatigued but thrilled to be in Seoul, I improvised by placing my suitcases against the door, a makeshift barrier providing me with a sense of security.
Recollections of a warning from my ex-manager, Carol Jean, echoed in my mind. She had warned me that I was selling myself into "white slavery." Yet, standing in that room, surrounded by the unknown, I felt a surge of determination and excitement.
The room was compact but clean, with a hard bed and rough linens that hinted at the simplicity of life in this new place. A vanity with a mirror, no refrigerator, but a private bathroom with a tub awaited me. In the window, a small shelf held a pot of barley water – a gesture of hospitality that warmed my heart.
Exhausted from the journey, I succumbed to the comfort of the bed and slept. Seolnal had rendered the city dormant, and nothing was open. There was no urgency to explore immediately; instead, I allowed myself to soak in the anticipation of the adventures that awaited after the holiday.
Eager to taste the local flavors, I ventured out into Chongnosamga, discovering a Mom and Pop store where I purchased Mandarin oranges and rice cakes – a simple yet symbolic welcome to Korea.
Thus, my journey began – a tale of a stranger in a new land, surrounded by the unfamiliar but embracing the adventure that awaited. "Welcome to Korea, Maria," I whispered to myself, feeling a sense of gratitude for the serendipity that brought me to this vibrant and enchanting city.
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