Foodies. I know Koreans like to center much of their social world around food. Meals are lynch pins in many cultures, and I remember that from my Grandmother. In fact, during our first visit with her she overcame her initial skepticism of her Grandson’s choice of soulmate after Jenny professed a preference for rice and kimchi for breakfast. Before that moment it was touch-and-go. But I digress.
It’s only day 1, but wandering through bustling warrens of restaurants and food stalls, ranging from fascinating to somewhat terrifying, delicious to the very opposite, mundane to unidentifiable, qualifies as a full fledged revelation. They are stacked and packed together in a density usually reserved for bars, brothels or other dens for debauchery. I’ve never seen such intense focus reserved for the taste buds (and electronics, makeup and other sundries of opportunity). Sure, beer and soju (Korean rocket fuel distilled from something benign into a potent hangover-maker) flows, but at least for a few claustophobic blocks between Insadong and the Cheonggyechean stream, chopsticks, soup spoons and greasy fingers are the preferred implements.
The stream is a revelation as well. A gash of calming green and flowing water in the teaming heart of 10+ million souls. A place for strolling and “light intimacy” between best friends and new lovers. Nothing attracts human company like water.
By day’s end we had walked 16 mikes by Izzy’s Fitbit, and settled for piles of mandu dumplings from a miniscule, humid stall around the corner from our hanok.
Home on the Roam 
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