The patchwork
Sometimes I take a detour leaving campus. Instead of taking four different trains, moving in-and-out of subway cars, blending with the crowd, I follow the river.
In the beginning I didn’t fully understand the city. It felt so different.
The energies, the environments, the people. The walking helps me understand.
It doesn’t matter how many times I take the same route, it’s equally fascinating. The campus with the ginkgo trees, and the heavy masonry buildings.
The scenery that at first almost made me think of fantasy novels. The archways and loggias, too heavy for their own good.
I go through the old, red, wooden gate. Past the Korean lunch restaurant.
It’s well-hidden, this establishment, but one of the best things around campus. The bibimbap so hot it’s sizzling in its iron pot. L-shaped, a little strange in its layout. A row of columns that go right through the room. A precaution in case of an earthquake. Last time only a few of the stores on this street survived.
Onwards, to one of many alleys that make up this neighborhood.
We had our celebration dinner somewhere around here. After the competition. A lot happened that day; the transportation of the models, the anticipation in the room before, the judge falling asleep on stage. Afterwards; the group pictures, the congratulatory toast.
I doubt I’d be able to find my way back to that restaurant again.
The alleys grow wider, the buildings are higher. More traffic. The first time I saw the Dome I was perturbed. It felt like it didn’t belong there. A wide, low shell in the middle of the city. A 17th century botanical garden right next to it.
The path becomes greener around here. Less narrow alleys. The heavy plantations gives the feeling of an oasis in the middle of the city. Even when the highways start overlapping each other, there’s greenery. Despite the width of it all, when the river starts appearing in the periphery, it doesn’t seem that big. On the other side, a train is passing. Walking, with the river on one side. A wide, four-lane road on the other. There’s a strange serenity to it. The sun is starting to set now. It’s going to be dark when I get home.
(You’ve barely started your day. For others, it’s still yesterday.)
It’s an odd feeling, the transition from the open, to the more closed off.
On the side where the river ran, there’s now a high wall. Over three kilometers of masonry, guarding the palace from the outside world. The only thing visible – the tree tops.
The surroundings open up again, and it’s almost like walking into a new country. The city starts to feel present again. Higher, wider. There’s activity in every store front. I enjoy this part of the route, because it’s like a city suddenly coming to life. The farmers market, the fashion university. The club with a tree growing in the middle of the room. We’re approaching the core of the city, the heart.
A turn and the street becomes an avenue. Every building is something here. The best part though, is the people. The mixture, and the eclectic styles. Sometimes I stop here, under one of the zelkova trees, and just watch. The short and heavy trunk of the tree, the wide crown, makes you feel enclosed. Embraced.
The epitome of city life is right around the corner, but despite that, the scale feels very humane. The contradiction of this city. A dog in a wig walks by. I don’t know what I’m more surprised by, its attire, or the fact that it’s not in a stroller. The scramble crossing. The blinding lights. There’s noise everywhere. From advertisements. From the cars that drive around, promoting new music. It intimidated me in the beginning. I didn’t know how to juggle all the different impressions. All that was happening around me. Today I just follow the stream. I’ll end up in the right direction any way.
The parking house on the left side. The structure is very timid, almost mundane from the outside. It’s not an eye-catcher, not at all. But the way it was introduced, almost turned it into a secret. The strangest person I know, was the one who showed it to us. He loves the word maybe.
The building has an air of purposelessness to it. The many doors and stairs that doesn’t actually lead anywhere. The club secret club that’s hidden somewhere here. The many abandoned rooms. The fact that we’re not entirely sure if we’re allowed to be here. Maybe. The balcony provides the perfect view over the scramble crossing. The myriad of people, the constant flow. When we don’t know where to go, we go here.
The rest of the walk home is quiet. The turn of a corner, a small ascension, and once again it feels like a different city. The houses that follows along the railway are low, almost suburban.
I pass the laundromat with the sleeping lady. I’ve never once seen her awake. Someone passes on a bike. There’s no proper sidewalk here. Instead I follow the green line, directly painted on the asphalt. Two convenience stores. At least four hairdressers. I reach the train station. On the 500 meter distance between the station and my apartment, you pass eleven vending machines. I’ve counted. From the window at the far end of the corridor, the city is still present. If I look through my own window, all I see is green. The progression of season. That’s what I enjoy the most. The mixture. The different layers. The miscellaneous.
