✧ Series Note – South Korea Trip 2024 ✧
Feels like coming home. Like flipping through a familiar chapter, this time with braver eyes and a bolder heart. 🇰🇷✨
📅 November 01-06, 2024
🧳 Revisiting Seoul: A Solo Traveler’s Return
I woke up at 5 AM local time and checked out of the guesthouse early. With my 7 AM KTX high-speed train departure looming, I headed straight to Busan Station, determined not to miss a beat. Before boarding, I grabbed a few snacks to enjoy on the ride—some I had bought the night before, others I picked up that morning.
Sure, this was my last day in Busan… but something told me I’d be back again. The city had only begun to unfold its magic. The platform at Busan Station was still wrapped in early morning quiet when I arrived, luggage in hand and heart somewhere between gratitude and anticipation. My 7 AM KTX train waited patiently, sleek, efficient, and ready to carry me north.
KTX departed right on time. As we glided through South Korea’s picturesque countryside, I watched as lush green fields, sleepy villages, and autumn-tinged landscapes rolled by. This wasn’t my first time boarding a train in South Korea. But it was my first time returning—not as someone trying to see everything, but as someone ready to simply be.
Two serene hours later, I arrived in one of my favorite cities in the world—Seoul. Stepping off the train, the familiar rush of announcements and footsteps filled the air. The chaos hadn’t changed. But I had.
Straight from the KTX, I walked toward the Seoul Station subway, specifically Line 4, Jinjeop-bound. That was when it truly hit me—I was literally in Seoul. I found myself reflecting on how much can change in a year—and how much can stay the same.
The KTX carried me from Busan to Seoul in just two hours. But what about the distance between who I was then and who I am now? That journey took longer—and it was worth every mile.
I found myself standing inside the train, luggage in hand, eyes and ears alert for the next station. Stepping off the train at Seoul Station, memories from my first visit rushed back like a familiar song.
Chaotic? Yes. But this beautiful chaos was Seoul—vibrant, kinetic, and alive, effortlessly blending centuries-old traditions with sleek modernity.
🏠 My Home in Seoul City
I stepped out of the station like a seasoned local—only to discover I had taken the wrong exit. Naturally. The short walk to my guesthouse turned into a tiny urban adventure. After all, it wouldn’t be a CJ trip without at least one navigation hiccup. Still, I eventually made it to my cozy sanctuary, suitcase in tow and spirit intact.
Tucked in a prime location—just steps from Hoehyeon Station and within walking distance of Namdaemun Market, N Seoul Tower, and Myeongdong Night Market—it was the perfect base.
The owner kindly allowed me to leave my luggage since check-in wasn’t until 2 PM local time. As I scanned the space, I noticed the kitchen and dining area were squeaky clean, inviting, and stocked with coffee, tea, and water—perfect for winding down after a full day out or striking up a conversation with a fellow traveler.
✍️ Travel Lessons from My Return to South Korea
Returning to South Korea as a solo female traveler taught me powerful travel lessons about growth, independence, and perspective. Traveling back to Seoul felt like meeting an old friend. The place stays steady. I notice the shift within myself. I wasn’t rushing anymore. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was simply present. And presence feels richer than ambition.
🌿The Distance Between Who I Was and Who I Am
Some journeys present themselves as a collection of places—Busan, Seoul, train stations, guesthouses, and unfamiliar streets that slowly become familiar. But looking back now, I realize this trip was never just about moving across cities. It was about the quiet space between who I was when I left and who I became when I returned.
On paper, it looked simple. A KTX ride. A few hours of travel. A return to Seoul, a city I had already been to before. But time doesn’t measure growth in hours or distance. It measures it in awareness—in the way you begin to notice things differently, even when everything around you appears unchanged.
Busan taught me how to keep going even when things didn’t align with my plans. Seoul reminded me how to arrive—not just physically, but mentally. And somewhere in between those two cities, I started to understand that travel is not always about discovery. Sometimes, it is about recognition. About meeting versions of yourself you didn’t know you had already become.
This return felt softer than my first arrival in Korea. Less urgent. Less about proving I could navigate everything alone and more about allowing myself to simply exist within the experience. I wasn’t rushing to tick off places anymore. I wasn’t measuring the day by how much I accomplished. Instead, I found myself paying attention to the small pauses—the quiet moments between train rides, the stillness before stepping out of a station, the comfort of carrying my own suitcase through a city that once felt overwhelming.
Even getting lost—something that used to feel frustrating—started to feel familiar. Almost expected. And strangely enough, it no longer felt like failure. It felt like part of the rhythm of traveling alone. A reminder that not everything needs to be perfectly mapped out to still lead you somewhere meaningful.
Seoul remained the same in many ways. The rush at the station. The glow of convenience stores at night. The mix of tradition and modern life unfolding in every direction. Busan still carried its ocean winds and unpredictable turns. The trains still ran on time, as if nothing ever faltered in this country’s rhythm.
But I noticed the shift in how I moved through it all.
I moved with a little more ease. A little more trust. A little less resistance when things didn’t go exactly as planned. And that change—quiet, unannounced, and deeply personal—was perhaps the most meaningful part of the entire journey.
Because in the end, I didn’t just travel through South Korea. I traveled through moments of hesitation, courage, frustration, wonder, and calm. I learned that independence isn’t always loud or bold. Sometimes, it looks like sitting quietly on a train, watching the world pass by, and realizing you are no longer afraid of where it might take you.
Seoul didn’t change. Busan didn’t change. The stations, the streets, the maps—they all stayed the same.
But I did.
And somehow, that was enough.
*** I wrapped up 2024 with a solo trip to South Korea as the finale. From visa anxieties to subway rides, I’m documenting the highs, lows, and everything in between. Thank you for reading, supporting, and walking this path with me—one step, one train, one heartwarming misadventure at a time. 💙***
