Rotimum. Another oddly named Konglish translated attempt at the a seat with the feasters of the world banquet. Strong coffee, yellow tank tops you coul rip off with one hand, the MP3 generation. Forcing my way through a crowd of young professionals, work’s over, it’s Friday night in Seoul.
Octagonal tables with waiter call button, so forward, man. Makes me want to write a beat, humming back-of-throat kick sounds of a house track to myself, the DIY human jukebox, pumping beats to myself walking down the road and now we’re here, the work crowd.
A few idle words – baby talk in English to well-intending, adult Korean men.
And the beauty, the joy, the blessing, the spectacle of the whole bustling, harrowing side-splitting scene around an indoor cofee table in a stylish western-styled wood-panel restaurant somewhere in South Korea, the sheer delight is the rain. Every coded adboard neon brilliant in the night. And a gift of double reflections cast luminescent into my every field of vision. For 360 describes only one dimension. What about up? Down? What about time, and teh bullshit fades away into reflected glory of nowhere-in-the-worldness, the type you just can’t imitate.
Surrounded in some back-alley place by a chirpy group of older men and women, speaking some alien tongue, I remembered what travel truly was.
– 1st staff dinner, Seongdong-gu, August 2010