First, Valentines day is where women give men chocolate.
Exactly one month later comes White day, where the men pay the women back by giving them candy, lollipops and the afore mentioned toys and flowers. Convenience stores and supermarkets across the country hip-hip-hooray one extra time.
Finally, Black day. On April 14th those who received no gifts on the previous two months observances go and eat jjajangmyeon (black noodles) together to mourn their singledom. Chinese restaurants rejoice.

Yesterday I was given more chupachups than if I were at a rave. Students shyly slipped me single chocolates and wrapped lollies on their way out of the room. Yes, I could ramble on about capitalism and hallmark holidays but why bother? This is just how it is here. People enjoy the celebration, expectations aren’t too outrageous and advertising appears limited (to my foreign and thus partly removed self). Plus, I do have a bag of lollipops to show for it.

It’s winter still in Seoul. Last weekend it snowed overnight. I just returned from a short holiday to Hanoi and in case you were wondering, two weeks is just enough time to become acclimatised. I suffered through the South East Asian heat but was happily surprised when Hanoi turned on the cool misty gloom, and have come back to Seoul to find my tolerance for winter obliterated. Outside turns my fingers to ice even through gloves, and inside is uncomfortably warm.

This is only some of the clothes I’m going to wear to work today. Woolen socks are necessary. I feel as though Seoul will never be warm again.

A quiet side street near my house.

Seoul is unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived. Exotic, sure, but not on the same level as my previous home, Hanoi. It’s more developed, more familiar, less wild-west. Things seem to work here, and they’re not held together by bamboo and luck. It’s big and bustling in a way that far exceeds anywhere I’ve ever even visited. Served by a public transport network that the world should envy.

The city is bisected by a river, the Han. South is home to the glitzy and glam areas, which I steer clear of. Central north is the CBD, businesses interspersed with ancient palaces and historic sites. I live north west, on the outskirts of town.

Han River, mid winter.

Those in the know say that my area, Eunpyeong-gu, is low income, though you’d never known it. The streets are clean, franchises abound, and as in the rest of the city, crime is low.

My studio apartment, cosy in the best possible way, is in a small, newly built, building. A far cry from my last sprawling home in the Korean countryside, on the ninth floor of seventeen, in a group of 5 towers disrupting farmland and low mountains. A minutes walk down any of the streets near my new house will bring you to a 7-11 or Buy The Way convenience store. A few moments more and there is a fish shop, multiple restaurants, a butcher who seems to sell more cigarettes than meat, and a full sized supermarket. The subway is 5 minutes away, and a ride of 15 minutes will take me Hongdae, an arty univeristy area full of cool kids, where I choose to spend a lot of time.

My place is tiny, which is great when it comes to cleaning and was cheap to furnish and heat. But it also means that the kitchen is so small it’s almost non-existant. Two gas burners, a sink and a bar fridge. But I still cook, most days.

My job is the best I could find, if only for the short working hours.  I teach six 40 minute classes back to back, and that’s my day. It’s a marathon, but I’m in and out in 6 hours. I’d prefer not to teach, or to have no job at all, but that is impossible here, where you can’t even get a mobile phone without being a registered Alien. And you can’t be a registered Alien without a full time job. And you can’t get a full time job without a mountain of paperwork and selling your soul.

Astro boy statue, near my place.

I’m writing this after work. In my second last class there was a kid with a jumper emblazoned with the phrase ‘I love penda’, and a kid with Harry Potter glasses, ‘The half-blood Prince’ adorns the arms. The girls are dressed in pink, the boys in darker colors. They pick English names like Angel and Alicia, John and Rio. They study for long hours, quantity over quality. These kids will either go home or move on to their next class, maths or violin or art. Not a wonderful way to spend winter holidays.

Me, I’ll layer up against the cold, and on the walk home I’ll stop to buy groceries, just like in Sydney. But here I won’t be able to read the labels or recognise what might be inside the containers, or understand what people are saying to me. Life as usual.

One frigid Saturday a few weeks ago I went explored Daerim. Full of Sichuan pepper numbing noodles from Seoul’s China-village, loaded with Chinese groceries (including coriander!) we braved the train back. This beautiful view is from the train-platform. Sunset at 5pm.

For one reason or another, ‘the west’ seems to refer to America here. The most visible foreigners here, in the areas I frequent anyway, are from the US. And, in an attempt to not confuse my lower level students, I omit British English’s extraneous ‘u’. But not here. Here are some pictures of my neighbourhood, taken on a recent surprise off day when there was still a hint of autumn in the air.