Sure, in the midst of the action, Seoul can be your typical boisterous city with blaring music and business vendors yelling out discounts on their echoing microphones, children running and screaming, ajimas (old Korean ladies with permed hair and flowery visor hats) scuttling about, teenagers laughing and texting and flirting, cars honking, buses zooming by...
but then you climb a hill, or walk further down..a little further..and then a bit more...sound suddenly, completely mutes. As if you're flying above a mountain in a dream and the only sound you can hear is that of your own, inside your mind, gasping for more.
Some moments of hiking further up the peaks of inner Seoul, I turn to take another glance, just to make sure that deep grey cloud hugging the green mountain hasn't faded into the blue sky. Then there's that serene moment of resting your elbows over the ancient city walls, as if holding onto a blue blanket and talking to Charlie Brown until the sun goes down. Resting at these chunks of walls that notes the original city limits makes me feel that time travel does indeed exist; I'm suddenly not standing in modern day Seoul, that's for damn sure.
Over these walls, small houses are cluttered below with rooftops in an obvious struggle of not collapsing, rather, they steady themselves with beautiful gardens galore. The only noise heard is the buzz of the monster-sized dragonflies swirling around and around within the city walls. They nearly swat my face in their obtuse angle of flight, showing off their enormous wings.
Anybody feeling lifeless and dead inside should take a look at Seoul from the top of a hill or the tip of Seoul Tower, and rethink their life. These points of the city is equivalent to recharging your camera battery. It seriously does the same to your inner energy.
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