We went to the tubuchongol place, one of our favorites in the city, and ate successfully. Quickly. Without much conversation even. The food was spicy and my nose ran, but it was so delicious. Thick slabs of tubu (tofu) with sliced vegetables, namul (grasses, leaves), and healthy portions of gochujang (red pepper paste) and garlic all cooking over a gas stove at the table. Brought to a boil, add the ramen. When the ramen is done, it’s time to eat. So hot, like I said. So good. We ate it fast, without speaking. Like I said.

They know us there. This place is in a back alley in central Seoul. I expect they don’t see many foreigners; there would be no reason for anyone to turn up this tiny poorly lit side street without a recommendation. We found it by accident, by Dave’s keen eye for hangul and any word containing "tubu" in the distance. We’ve been back many times.

The old man smiling. That smile so irresistible. There are times when I’ve had it up to here with this culture, people slamming into me on the street, vomit on the sidewalks I have to step around… The list could go on and on. But then someone will smile that Korean smile, redeeming them all. This man is like that. Ahh, that smile, it’s burned into my mind. I want a picture of him so I can remember.

On our way out a cat mewed at us through the door. A little skinny boy calico, mewing and closing his eyes affectionately at us. Dave stopped to pet him and the little kitty wound around and around our legs, striping us as territory. I looked back inside to see the man standing there smiling at us. When we turned to go, the cat almost followed but cats know what is more essential and so it didn’t take but a second before he turned back to the door, to the food source.

We caught 83-1 at Samsung Plaza downtown. It sailed passed Namdaemun gate, around Namsan, down across Hannamdaekyo, and through the many intersections of that great thoroughfare, Kangnamdaero. We passed a bus numbered 78-1, with destination Yetgol. In hangul, I’ve been saying it like that, but I was unsure as the sounds are awkward, and I thought maybe the "s" sound was silent in this case instead of making a "t" sound. I asked Dave how he would say it, but he was unsure of my spelling. I was right, but for proof I turned around to find the bus so he could see for himself: I turned around in my seat, which was the back seat, to gaze through the large pane of glass at Kangnamdaero, stretching far to the end of my sight. Headlights and taillights slurring into one another, of course. But it was the skyscrapers seated on the curbs with their giant TV screens playing endless commercials, caging us in. It was the signs, neon and otherwise, narrow and long, hung with words displayed vertically on the sides of these monoliths, just as wooden planks or paper or cloth was hung outside buildings in the old days. These signs moved and blinked in all colors, one behind the other, one on top of the other, for miles on top of miles. For as far as I could see. It is a hundred Las Vegas’ stacked like legos and crushed. Except it isn’t fantasy nor an escape - one cannot escape it - but everyday life, a whole lifetime, home.