Paris Baguette

The first meal I’ve ever had in Korea was an imitation-crab-meat & scrambled eggs sandwich, which I bought from Paris Baguette. It must have been a Sunday, somewhere in the vicinity of Dongguk University, the Buddhist university of Seoul. It was a special day, my first in Korea: excited by the new adventure to come, I, for once, didn’t even need an alarm to wake up. I was also, admittedly, possibly awakened by hunger. I had landed in Seoul the night before, but too late for any shop to still be open. So I had resolved that I would just skip dinner and call it a night: tomorrow, I figured, I had a whole day ahead of me, a whole Sunday to explore the city at my own leisure. Then, I could have had all the meals I wanted. I remember that night of fasting, spent alone in my dormitory room, with a certain fondness.

The night earlier, after landing, I had made my way to the campus. I was not studying at Dongguk, the university near the egg-sandwich shop, but rather at Hanyang, a word the meaning of which traces back to one of the ancient names of Seoul. The campus of Hanyang University was located at Wangsimni, in the eastern heart of the city. When I had just arrived, I still did not know which dormitory I was assigned to: all the incoming summer students were required to show up and “check in” first at the campus before moving to their accommodations; and so – despite the late hour – that’s where I first went right after I left the airport. It was a hot and humid night of late June. Even though I cannot remember in detail the trip between the airport and the campus, I can imagine it, many years later. The subway, with its funny jingles and its pale blue lights. The streets around the campus, criss-crossed by groups of students that, after a long day of study, were either heading back home or to the nearest pub. The first monsoons of the year, launching their first charges against the city. The Han river flowing peacefully through its wiggled course, across the skyscrapers, surrounded everywhere by highways, bridges, trains.

I remember, though, that I made my way through campus and up a hill (in accordance with Fengshui, Korean universities are often built on the slopes of hills, and always in front of a course of water). At some point, I must have arrived at the place where I thought my “check-in” was supposed to take place (I was wrong, as we are soon to discover). I made my way up a flight of stairs and into a very imposing building with a glass façade: from the outside, I could see by the lights inside that the place still had people in it. I entered to find a man, sitting behind a sort of counter, looking in all ways similar to a receptionist, except that he was dressed in a blue uniform, with a patched badge on his left shoulder, just like that of a policeman. As soon as he saw me, he immediately addressed me in Korean. I should say that I owe the little Korean I know to a girl, but at that time I hadn’t met her yet. And so, I spoke not a word of Korean. I do know now, however, that a Korean would describe that man as an ajeossi: a term that can be simply translated as “uncle”, and that encapsulates all male individuals roughly from the age of 35 to the age of maybe 60 (after which, they get to be called “grandpa”). He was, in all ways and manners, a late ajeossi: his hair fading on the scalp, but still shining with a deep black hue, with tones of blue, possibly the result of a recent dye. Still, I could not understand a word of what he told me: but he seemed to repeat always the same pattern of words, hoping maybe that at some point I would understand.

Seeing that I had no reaction, the uncle figured that he had done his best, and went back to his seat at the concierge. In that moment, a boy appeared from within the building; outside, it must have been starting to rain, because I remember well he was taking out a small umbrella from his backpack as he prepared to leave. The ajeossi then spoke to him, saying something that I can only imagine would translate as:

Young man! This fellow student of yours cannot understand Korean. Tell him that the library is about to close, so I will not let him in.

I was subsequently let out of what turned out to be Hanyang’s university library, and back I was where I had started. The time being quite late, I decided that if I did not wish to spend a night en plein air around the city of Seoul, I had to break the ice: I had to try and ask for directions. Some minutes later, I intercepted a couple of Korean boys who were heading back to their dormitory after a night of study. I stopped them and begged for directions. After looking at my phone, where I kept the address of the check-in venue, they told me that they were going the same way as me, and that I had better follow them. That was my first successful interaction with the people of Korea. I can’t really remember what we talked about on our way: I was too excited to speak to these two fellow students from another world to pay attention to any detail. Thinking about it again now, I’m sure they must have asked me where I was from, and whether I was an exchange student there. And I’m also sure that to my reply, I must have definitely added the qualification: “It’s my first time in Korea.” Possibly, I was telling that to myself, even more than I was to them.

I couldn’t say exactly which route around campus the two students took me on. In the eyes of an innocent Italian, Korean campuses are gigantic, almost the size of an entire city! But after a good walk, we arrived at some sort of administrative building, where a reception for foreign students had been set up. There, I was dropped off by my two brief acquaintances (I cannot but wonder, what must they be doing now?). The reception for foreign students consisted of a room with two rows of chairs placed in the middle: I imagine that during a normal hour of the day, a lot of students would have been sitting there, waiting to be directed to their dormitories. But it was already late at night and the chairs were all empty. I was received by a young girl, a student: she was wearing a blue puffy jacket, decorated with a big script saying “Hanyang Univ” on the front, and the logo of the university mascot (a blue lion) on the back. She seemed to be busy with all sorts of administrative chores and barely had the time to welcome me: “Take a seat on one of these chairs”, she told me, “and wait for me to come back.” While I sat and waited, I couldn’t but realise just how late these students were all still up! And they were not just playing around: it was clear to me that the ones I had met at the library had just finished studying, while this girl here was busy finishing who knows what kinds of tasks. The hints about the well-renowned industriousness of Korean students, of which I was to have many confirmations in the time to come, were already all laid out there.

Some time passed before the girl came back. As she suggested that I follow her out of the building, she spoke to me in English: “You are lucky! We were about to close the reception for today. I will bring you to your dormitory in Majang.” We stepped out, back onto the campus fields again, and I noticed a large black SUV had stopped right in front of the exit. Another student, who was in the driver’s seat, came down and helped with my luggage. Then the girl told me, “Hop on!”, and entered the car. I must admit that I was quite thrilled, partly excited, partly maybe scared, to be entering the car of a complete stranger, just a few hours after landing on the other side of the world for the first time. But I could see that both the girl and the other guy were students like me, and I had no other choice anyway, so I hopped on, and there I was. The car started moving, and soon enough we were cruising across one of the large highways that, in Seoul, usually run next to the river and the canals. The boy and the girl started talking, in Korean this time, while I silently moved my gaze outside the window. The rain hadn’t started yet, but the sky was dark and cloudy. Yet the darkness of the clouds could do nothing against the lights of Seoul. In awe, I could admire a myriad lights coming from all sorts of skyscrapers surrounding me. To these were added the bright lights of the tall highway lamps, which followed each other rapidly before my eyes. My ears fixated on the sounds of the Korean language, which I was listening to for the first time, while this spectacle of lights unfolded. I could not but feel like I had landed on another planet, on some sort of strange moon.

The drive was short, and very soon I was dropped off at the entrance of my dormitory. There, the guy came down to help me with my luggage again, while the girl started calling someone on her phone. We waited like this, in front of the entrance, for a few minutes at least, while it was clear that the person the girl had called was not picking up. Finally, the caller picked up and the girl said something in Korean. Moments later, a young man appeared smiling at the dorm’s doorsteps: he was dressed casually, while his flashy red face and puffy eyes communicated, quite obviously, that he had been drinking. He was the dorm manager, and would have turned out to be quite a good friend in the future. Later on, he confessed to me that on the night of my arrival, he had been hosting a small party inside his dorm room.

The next day, as I said, I was excited to explore the city. And so, up relatively early, I started walking: first, in the area around my dorm, and then farther and farther away, getting lost in the neighbourhood that was hosting me. I couldn’t say how I ended up in front of Paris Baguette, but in my memory, the shop sits clearly at the end of a small hill that I had just climbed up. At that point I must have been very hungry, because seeing the blue and white script of the shop, and especially the word baguette, I jumped in without a second thought. At that time, Paris Baguette had not become as famous as it is today: this was probably before the company had opened any of its branches abroad (especially the Paris one). So, back then, I had no idea about what the shop sold: in my mind, that was just a baguette shop. I was quite surprised, then, and impressed, when upon entering I was faced with a vast assortment of sandwiches, cakes, doughnuts, stuffed breads, and all other kinds of baked delicacies. And to think that, to that day and age, my breakfasts had always consisted of plain and simple cookies poured into warm caffelatte: I was lost to say the least. I wandered inside the shop, moving from one counter to the other, literally embarrassed at the sheer amount of options. In the end, I gave up and, encouraged by the brief exchange I had with the two Korean students the night before, I decided to ask for directions again: this time, for directions on breakfast.

So I pulled out my phone and started searching for a translation app. An ajumma (that is to say, a Korean auntie) had been staring at me from behind the counter with a mix of interest and apprehension since the moment I had entered the shop. After finding what I was looking for, I proudly walked towards her while pointing at my phone, and with a big smile on my face, I said:

아침? (Breakfast?)

Now imagine entering a shop full of pastries and, without an inch of hesitation, going forth and asking the clerk: breakfast? I’m sure the poor ajumma must have thought something along the lines of: “Poor soul, everything here can count as breakfast, if you are willing to eat it at this time of the day! What is it exactly that you want to know from me?” But there I was, smiling awkwardly and, moreover, convinced I had left a great first impression by wanting to speak Korean. The auntie smiled back at me, but timidly: then, she raised her eyebrows while pointing with her hand at the whole of the shop. In her facial expression I could only read a sort of helpless incredulity. Realising the silly question I had just posed, I turned around and, from the closest counter, grabbed the first item that was in my reach: I then had the courage to turn around again and, still smiling, confirm with the auntie that what I had grabbed was indeed a breakfast item. “Yes, yes!” she seemed to be saying, nodding resolutely while her smile turned wider. Immensely relieved, I moved to the cashier, aware of having successfully purchased my first, authentic Korean breakfast. Having finished paying, I was about to leave, when suddenly I froze: how could I be so rude as to go without even saying thank you? So I turned around and faced the ajumma again: this time, an expression of sincere concern appeared on her face, which was only relieved when, having found the word I had been looking for on my phone, I finally exclaimed:

고맙습니다! (Infinite thanks!)

Out of the shop, imagine my reaction (that is, of an Italian boy brought up with latte e biscotti) when I actually stopped and read the label of what I had just bought: Imitation-crab-meat & Scrambled eggs sandwich. What a first breakfast! But it was my first breakfast in Korea: anything, even the weirdest sandwich, would have tasted just delicious.

-End of the first post in the Memories of Korea series.