I found a gym today. It may seem like a small feat to most people, however, it was a tricky task for me. In Korea, I am nearly illiterate. Despite the exhausting amount of information available to even a first grader on the internet, it is not available to me without the guidance of a good and patient friend who is fluent in the Korean language. I suppose I could have asked someone to help me do a search on Naver, but, I wondered if I could accomplish it alone, using basic animal instinct and curiosity.
I suspected there would be a gym just a few steps from my house.
My downtown Seoul apartment is situated among hundreds of restaurants and bars, hair salons, hagwons (schools) and dance studios in a quarter-mile radius. But, since I cant read (or choose not to, given the unusual span of time needed to comprehend everyday ads and billboards), I had to resort to alternative methods.
So I wandered. I wandered around my neighborhood looking for a place to stay fit and healthy. Eliptical machienes positioned against the third floor windows of an office building would be ideal. I tried to walk to work a different way each day, hoping I would bump into something great. I walked uphill to Kukiwon National Taekwondo Center, and downhill back towards the main street. I weaved in and out of the city side streets and alleyways, scanning buildings six floors high, but still, no gym.
Though I often came up emptyhanded, I began to enjoy taking the scenic route, whenever I had plenty of time and energy. It was a time for me to be alone and listen to the voice of curiosity. Like my snowboarding buddy Gergz—who can't ride a single chairlift without mapping out his route for future travel and exploration, without scoping out a line to ride on one of the many picturesque snowcapped-mountains in the distance—I, too, have become more curious about the world. I often find myself wondering, “What’s behind that building? What’s beyond that street?” But not everyone feels this way.
I captured my roommate Paul one Sunday afternoon, on a mission to do some necessary“wandering around" in exchange for a suitable lunch buddy. I asked him, "Do you ever feel the need to, you know, see what's over there?" “No,” he said contently. Just plain no, and that’s okay.
I’ve found a number of places while wandering around my area. There are a couple of small shops located just behind my house, including a very mini-sized grocery store with select vegetables and fruits available, a meat shop, and a place to buy kimichi and other banchan—-which is handy when I don’t have enough energy to make the trek to E-mart. There are a few bunshiks too, for those many times I want to grab some mandu or kimbab pojang (take out). There are even a number of snowboard and wakeboard shops one big street over. They are surprisingly still filled with winter coats and boarding gear during the height of summer. Score!
I've discovered a number of places which I've added accordingly to my mental map. I’m not even sure what a real map even looks like. But, I do know what the urban alleyways of Gangnam look like, even though I can never figure out if I'm traveling East or West. There are trucks loaded with fruit in the evenings around 8pm. There are street stalls filled with purses for sale on Sundays. There are run-in's with handholding couples and taxi drivers alike on Fridays. A zoo of young professionals parading around in the evenings. Alass, more calming, sobering early mornings; a time just for me and the streets be be alone. Restaurants and shops change overnight, but the buildings are always the same. Cars park wherever they can fit, squished alongside the shop doors and electrical poles.
I sometimes read the posters posted on these poles as I walk to work, curious if one will lead to the fitness center of my dreams. I was surprised to sound out the symbols“hwuah wit tuh ness sen tuh” (fitness center) with a mini map attached below. Yoink. I ripped one off and began to follow the map like a pirate seeking treasure. Within a few minutes, I found myself on top of a small hill just above my house--in a direction I rarely traveled. And here it was. My gym. Only a five minute walk from my doorstep.
is the place to be: belt out a few tunes, sway those hips, and tap your feet to the rhythm of a jingling tambourine. Finally, there’s a place to sing all the numbers you were too embarrassed to sing in the shower. In America, we call it karaoke, after the Japanese version, but in Korea, this celebrated national pastime is known as Norebang (which literally means "song room"). 
Hire out a private singing room for an hour and see your “chin-goos” (friends) in a whole new light. When the music starts, neon lights dance around the room, glittering in the eyes of your companions. Song lyrics appear on the giant widescreen TV, and rising stars perform before your very own eyes. Audience members bop to the beat, while scanning the songbook to plan upcoming hits. It’s not a crime to sing off key, however, the worst of all sins is to let silence creep onto the playlist. Don’t drop the ball, every minute is cherished at Norebang.
The best of venues provide "service" (free time) to dedicated customers and are equipped with wireless mics and even a stage (so you can really feel like a celeb). Stage fright? Check it at the door. Get ready for pop songs and love ballads: Whitney, Mariah, and a whole lot more. 
