The quite good wall of South Korea

Have you ever failed to spot something that's right under your nose?

Maybe it was a boy or girl who was into you, but you assumed you'd never have a chance. Or only realising how arbitrary the religious convictions people live their lives by really are, when you take a wider look at the world and colonial history. Or finally getting that the name of Sonic the Hedgehog's fox sidekick Miles Prower was a rubbish pun on 'miles per hour' when you're 23.

Or that most Koreans wear glasses, something I never clocked the first time I was here, but which I haven't been able to stop noticing since I came back. I don't know if it's genetic, a combination of Korea's notoriously heavy-duty schooling with its heavy-duty gaming culture leading to a general lack of sun exposure, or if looking like a stock 1980s nerd character is popular right now in this conformist and fashion-subjugated society. Whichever way, it makes me feel more at home in the land of the visually impaired.

There's also the massive wall that surrounds Seoul, 18.2 kilometres in length, which I spectacularly failed to notice in all the time I spent here last winter, despite even taking a couple of photos of its gates when I came across them. What did I think they were attached to? You can see the southern section of the wall in my cloudy Namsan photos too, where it was literally right under my nose, but I must have been too busy squinting at the buildings in the distance. There might be some sort of meaningful analogy there.

That'll teach me to travel on the subway rather than letting my feet guide me. Walking around Seoul's perimeter did wonders for my psychogeography and gave me an idea of how the different parts of Seoul I've visited fit together, much like the very similar wall in Suwon last week, and it's more prep work for the inevitable mid-life crisis where I decide to walk across China or some similarly pointless feat. Let's see if this blog's still going by then.

Buk, Buk, Bukchon

I failed again today. It's nice to be back on form after the uncharacteristic success of the used panties vending machine quest and Geisha hunt. That thing I said about Korea not being the easiest country for tourists is holding up - they're even going to the length of closing down tourist spots without letting anyone know. That's commitment!

So I didn't get to visit the egg-di-frying ('edifying') Museum of Chicken Art in Bukchon today, but as I'd already worked out that egg-cellent ('excellent') pun title in advance, ei (that's German for egg) had to find something to make the trip worthwhile (like a worthwhile egg. Watch Histor's Eye for more desperate egg puns).

Despite signs like this one, I couldn't find the museum anywhere in the neighbourhood and the pretty waitress in the cafe nearby told me it had recently shut down. Who'd have thought that basing a museum entirely on poultry-related art wasn't a recipe for success? This waitress was also one of two people who told me I was a 'very handsome guy' this afternoon, which is probably more times than this has happened in my entire life before, so I recommend that any single men visiting Korea don't bother shaving for a month, don't comb their hair and walk around in a slightly sweaty T-shirt, it seems to do the trick.

Though she did specifically single out my big nose and big ears as particularly attractive features, so maybe she was taking the piss. Or maybe these women are bored of preened Korean men and want a bit of rough? Whatever the reason, I was too chicken to do more than just laugh about my bad Korean and bid them 안녕히가세요.

Speaking of chickens, here's what you can do in Bukchon when the museum's clucking closed.

Bukhansan and Gretel

I didn't see a lot of Korea's green side last time I was here, mainly because the green was covered in white and the routes carved through the wilderness for my convenience were frosted over and more treacherous than if I'd just crunched through the snow and branches.

I don't know what's happened in the months since I've been gone, but miraculously the country is now warm and its national parks are more accessible. Well, as accessible as Korea gets for people who don't speak Korean, anyway. At least this meant there were no other bloody foreigners. I've noticed that tourists don't really seem interested in visiting these pastoral places on the outskirts (I only saw Japanese people in Takaosan), maybe because a mountainous forest is admittedly much the same in any country with bumpy terrain and a temperate climate. The only distinctive features are the occasional temples, tombs and shrines, but international visitors can see those more conveniently by hanging around in the city centre or boarding the tour bus.

I didn't come here for the temples though, and while Korea's national parks don't have much else that can't be found in the English Lake District, the Scottish Highlands and other places back 'home,' I'm not there right now. So I enjoyed getting away from civilisation and spending the day wandering around Bukhansan National Park accompanied by the rustic folk tales of the Brothers Grimm narrated by amateurs.

As I've pointed out before, I'm like a combination of an old man and a child, with none of the stuff in-between.

Seoul long and thanks for all the kimchi

It's a good thing I made some friends in Seoul who I could go places and eat ludicrous food with, otherwise my experiences in this city would have been mostly negative.

I don't have any problems with Seoul itself, which feels the same as any other fairly anonymous, oversized East Asian capital to me (so nothing special by default), but the problem was with some of the people I met/endured in its guest houses, who seemed to consist mostly (or at least most vocally at 4AM) of inconsiderate, borderline alcoholic, borderline racist, borderline rapist, out-of-work English teachers.

This was partly bad timing on my part, as it turned out my second visit to Seoul coincided with these expats' last week of freedom prior to the new school term/initiation, which would explain the spring break mentality of the new arrivals and old timers. But it was disappointing to have to listen to pissed Brits, Americans and Canadians after most of the people I met in other parts of the country were more polite Koreans. These Koreans don't tend to stay in guest houses when they're in Seoul, because they tend to actually live there.

The party hostels were good for one thing at least - I was more motivated to get the hell out of there and see more of Seoul's mediocre sights. Here are some final things from South Korea - maybe I'll come back, but like a cash-strapped parent I'll take my trip outside of half term. School's in, suckers! (If you're actually on my side with all this, I'm afraid you may be as boring as me).

A childish day out again again again again again again (again)

If you're a white person, you might find it difficult to tell the age of people from East Asian countries, with their clear skin, cherubic complexions and more conservative style of dress compared to the wrinkled, sagging monstrosities you get back home.

I've met a lot of Koreans recently, who not only looked young, but bloody were, thanks to the Korean government offering extremely discounted rail travel to encourage foetuses to explore their country during study breaks. After a year and a half spent mostly in hostels where I usually represent the mean age, it was a bit of a shock to realise none of the people around me were even a glint in their father's cōleī when I was already at the height of my writing career. To rub it in, one person I met was even called 'Im So-young,' which is like a poor quality racist joke that actually happened.

If you're looking for ways to feel like a strange old man, I strongly advise hanging out with people seven years your junior. At least in Korea you have the advantage that age is counted differently than in Western countries, so when someone tells you they're 21 you can pretend they're actually 21 (and just on the border of socially acceptable), and not actually 19. If the alternative is spending my time with racist, out-of-work English teachers my own age, I'll take the local kids every time.

Seoul survivor

I didn't spend all that much time in Seoul - certainly not as long as the inexhaustible supply of Seoul/soul/sole puns would allow. But while I was here, I had to check out some of the city's bleaker historical sites, if only to counteract the torrent of cute cartoon optimism in every shop window.

The DMZ made me angry and frustrated, but Seodaemun Prison made me feel depressed and (this is the strange part) like I was back in the UK (specifically England), more so than anywhere on my trip so far. This was probably due to a combination of the first snow I'd seen in two years and the functional architecture resembling my secondary school. Which was also built to imprison free spirits and torture independence activists - ha ha ha ha ha! No seriously, my school was a Japanese labour camp.

We'll tear your Seoul apart

I finally made it to South Korea, which I suppose would complete one of this blog's long-running narrative arcs if this was actually some kind of slightly tedious drama series and not my actual life. Korea had a lot to live up to, and apart from some state-sanctioned racism, homophobia and widespread gender inequality, it doesn't disappoint - this is one of my favourite countries I've been to yet. Though I might have been easily won over by the delightfully sub-zero temperatures after spending 10 months in perennially sweaty (and perineumally sweaty) South East Asia.

I'm planning on spending at least a couple of months in The Good Korea, so there'll be plenty of time to blog about the Koreans and their unnecessarily great food. But to start things off, I took a trip to the country's heart and Seoul.

(Oh sorry, I just noticed I spelled that incorrectly - it should have been 'soul.' If only there was some way to edit this).