Seoul Series: The Collector's Hunt

"Who turned the air-conditioner all the way down?," you ask TC, your travel companion, as you step out of your train and into Incheon train station. TC looks at you with a blank face, probably wondering how this trip has been barrage of nonsense jokes only you yourself find funny.

How can you not joke about the AC when it seems like 5 degree Celsius now? When you left Namyeong, in Central Seoul, an hour earlier, the Korean news channel flashed a symbol of the sun shining, under the word Seoul - and it was supposed to be just about 8 degrees.

Only a handful of people were headed to this part of the metropolis. Incheon has always lived in the shadow of its more vibrant sister, Seoul. Being an hour away from  the capital's center, Incheon has its own swag and its own vibe. It is where the airport is. It is where the seaport is. And it is where Chinatown, your next stop, is.

Ahjummas and ahjussis (elder women and men) in their neutral colored fleece jackets and sweaters walk slowly beside you and TC towards the train station exit. A group of younger Seoulites laugh at the top of their lungs, as they point to where the exit seems to be. Passengers entering the station, on the other hand, start boarding the train, which is heading back to Seoul in a few minutes. This station, called simply Incheon, is the last stop in the west of Line 1. Seoul's complicated subway station is a web of about sixteen different lines, each with its own assigned number and color - from red to orange, to purple and blue. In fact there are about three shades of blue on the subway map. And for someone a bit color blind like you, a simple two to three-transfer trip could turn out to be an Amazing Race task.

You reach for your leather jacket's front pocket and marvel at your new T-Money card. The convenience store clerk who sold this to you last night said you can use it practically for anything. You remember him saying "Pay taxi, call phone, use GS 25, Family Mart, or 7-11." You get the message.

 And yes, you will need your T-Money card too to exit the station.

 Beep.

Wow! High tech! You and TC look at each other's cards swiping against the gate's machines,  to make sure you both could get out of the station hassle-free. You are officially in love with Seoul's subway network.

If it felt like 5 degrees earlier in the open-air train station, it now feels like the temperature has dropped a couple of notches again. Strong, cold wind blows on your face the moment you step out of the station's door. You reach for your jacket's hood and put it over your head.

Your right hand reaches for your Lonely Planet Seoul tucked under your left arm. With your forehead muscles wrinkled, you scan the bookmarked page of your travel guide. Highlighted neon green, the short entry says that The Chinatown arc should be visible once you exit Incheon Station.

You lift your head up, as if in a slow-mo scene of a movie, with the sound of Chinese Gong  in the background.

You see it. Incheon's Chinatown Arc.

You are in Chinatown!

"There it is!", you call out to TC, who is already taking photos of the park by the station.

"It's been there since we got out," he sarcastically chuckles. Oh, okay. You didn't notice. Your brain freezes in cold weather after all.

Your feet lead you to a tourism information board past the arc. You were checking out a map of the area, when you notice a big screen beside it, a touchscreen Idiot's Guide to Incheon's Chinatown. Okay, that may be an exaggeration. But you really are star struck with this plus-sized gadget.

TC asks you to scoot over so he can check it out, but you refuse, determined to find on the digital map what you came here for. You have to find it fast, as the sky is starting to gray.

"There!," you surprisingly exclaim, pressing the screen so hard, it goes back to the main menu.

With your eyes still on this giant iPad, you ask TC, "Do you want to eat now? Because if we go straight that way..."

Your peripheral vision tells you that TC has left you. He is taking photos (again) of hundreds of red Chinese lanterns, with his plastic Lomo film camera, a white Fisheye.

You holler at TC while walking towards the lanterns, "Shouldn't we eat now?" But TC looks like he could not hear you.

The sky is getting darker and darker, and with no umbrella, you to start walking faster as TC tries to catch up with you. You pass by a Chinese house, vending machines, shops and stores, and a giant bowl of Chinese noodles. Yes, a giant bowl of noodles! Which reminds you, it's 11AM, so you better grab a quick bite here.

The once faint smell you earlier noticed is becoming stronger and stronger now, as you tread up the hilly road of Chinatown. The aroma in the air reminds you of Binondo back home. It reminds you of Luk Yuen. And Super Bowl. It reminds you of Hong Kong.

The only English sign outside the establishment reads TOURIST RESTAURANT. And even if you refuse to be classified as a tourist (though there's nothing really wrong with that), you doubt that you will find a place that says FLASHPACKER RESTAURANT, right?

So you and TC decide to go in. The two storey restaurant is a lot warmer, but  a bit busy, with servers running around, customers coming and going, checks being  delivered and settled.

The smell of Asian spices tells you you need to find a table fast, so you can eat right away. You call out to a twenty-something female server, "Ahjumma, table for two!"

She stares back at you, as if her eyes are two flying daggers that pierce through your chest. You wonder what's wrong. "You're dead," TC laughs, as he reminds you that the term ahjumma is actually meant for older females. Oh shoot, you forgot.

She quickly leads you and TC to a smaller room, and asks you to remove your shoes and leave them in the shoe cabinet. You are seated at a table only ten inches high; the table top so close to the floor that you had to sit on pillows with legs crossed.

Hungry and still with three items to cross off your day's itinerary, you quickly order for what looks like tofu and ground pork rice, relying just on the photo on the one-page menu. She quickly lays plates of side dishes, which is making you think if you can just order rice with all these veggies. Ha, Cheapskate!

You and TC finish your meal in minutes, as families and friends happily enjoy their early lunch around you. Your lunch tastes Chinese, but not quite, since there's a slight Korean flavor to it as well.

TC asks for the check, but the lady you called ahjumma points to the cashier. Oh, that's where we pay the bill. Okay. You get up, with legs numbed from sitting too long, put your shoes on, and head to the counter to pay.

35,000 won ($30) seems pretty steep, but you convince yourself that most of the time, you are not just paying for the food, but also for the experience (geez, how many times have you done this). Seoul's Chinatown is not always on a tourist's list after all. And so whatever the travel brochures say, you still feel that you are off the beaten track. No tourist would spend an hour on the train, just to go to Chinatown, which is close to 30 subway stations away from the center of South Korea's capital.

But this Korean-Chinese meal is not the only reason you traveled all the way here.

 "It should be somewhere in this area," you tell TC, as you leave the restaurant, cold wind brushing against your face again. You put your hood back on.

He points to a small shop, "Do you think that's it?"

From afar, the store seems to have a bright, neon glow around it, and with an imaginary PIT STOP NUMBER 1 sign posted on its walls, you go in.

As you haggle for Korean-Chinese trinkets for your mom, you see them hanging on the wall. Your heart jumps in your chest as you flash a big smile. You ask a real ahjumma how much they are. You try to bring down the price from 25,000 Won ($20) to 20,000 Won, for two. Ahjumma agrees, packs your purchase, and thanks you. You bow down to her and say Kamsamnida! And Annyeong Higyeseyo as you leave.

Your Chinatown trip is over.
You found what you wanted.
You just started your mask collection.  ●