Do you want to know the hardest thing about staying in Korea? I stayed in eight places altogether, three of which were called Gyeongju, Gwangju, and Gongju. That said, either my pronunciation is top-notch or the bus stations employ really excellent staff because I ended up in the right place every single time. Young female Koreans are obsessed with their beauty regimes. The Art Street was lovely, and worth a wander for pretty ceramics, private galleries, art materials, and hand-painted scrolls.
Actually Gwangju was an interesting place to visit as a non-Korean. I only saw one western couple during my three days there, and everybody I spoke to asked if I was a student. What was I expecting? A city of people still in mourning for an event 36 years in the past?
Clearly, that would be ridiculous. But it is hard to ignore the fact that this city felt quite a bit richer than many others in Korea, and the dedication to immediate gratification greater than anywhere else. Simply a fact of modern life? Or the result of some savvy funding by the Korean government, resulting in a subtle shift in social consciousness? One really stand-out aspect of Gwangju was my accommodation. For two nights I was in a private room and one night in the dorm.
The garden should have been on TV. I wanted to be in Seoul for about a week, which gave me two nights somewhere else. In Russia, the visa application required all hotels to be pre-booked. But Gongju looked to be a pretty small city, and as I boarded the bus, I felt a thrill of the unknown.
I recalled how this was the way I had always travelled in the past. This was real travelling! I was getting old! What was there to fear? I had plenty of won in my pocket, an 8-year-old Rough Guide, and a positive outlook. There were no hostels or an obvious area for guesthouses. I turned to the establishment behind me. A wizened but probably only middle-aged woman gestured at me.
