Leaving Seoul, you enter the remnants of war. Grey skies lowered over the city, the first blossoming cherry trees, pinkly white, relieving the gloom on the banks of the Han River. The bus filled with women complaining of the cold. The city fell behind, replaced, after an interlude of light industry, big-box stores, and streams with skimmings of industrial froth, by more city — tightly packed sprouts of that other endemic South Korean growth, apartment blocks: dreary, dated, stained, with boxy air-conditioning units hanging from the exterior walls. Once you’ve left the city proper, rice fields, tubular greenhouses, and deep forest line the motorways. But, still, always, in some direction: a distantly towering cluster of residential development rises to frame and diminish the countryside.
We crossed a bridge, and I…