Winter in Seoul descends as an bullet-gray sky — windy, dry and cold. Once established She hangs on with the arctic tenacity of a jilted lover. The wind cuts through you and sends you scurrying into the underground, a labyrinth of wide walkways beneath the streets, lined with small shops. Hand warmers have evolved over the years, but back when I spent time there, it was common to buy steamed chestnuts from a vendor and put them in your pockets. Besides saving your hands from turning into frozen mallets, the nuts were also a snack food.
While I don’t miss those winters, I do miss the hospitality of the people, the history infused in ancient dynasties, the wisdom in the temples, and the soft sheen of a Celadon vase. And I remember the chestnuts, warm and comforting, offering the distant promise of spring.
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