As you walk in the small office located on a corner of two alleys in a poor neighborhood, the smell of gas immediately reaches your nostrils (and brain?)
Two ladies dressed in dark and sobre clothes are busy behind the counter. It's hot in there and the only thing decorating the immaculate walls is a framed Korean flag.
The place is tiny, filled with boxes and packages all over the place.
Suddenly, I don't feel like i'm in the wealthiest part of Seoul anymore - it looks like i'm in some developing country, at a post office temporarily opened as a result of a flood or civil war that has destroyed the entire country, or something.
It's like we're 50 year ago.
Like I said, it's so hot in there. I'm sweating like you wouldn't believe just as i'm filling out the address on my package. I can't write in English; it has to be Korean characters. I do my best. The lady smiles and nods, thinking "they should be able to understand this"
Just as i'm about to pay, an ajashi (old dude) cuts me off and starts talking to the employee. They both forget that I even exist. He seems confused and he smells like alcohol and cigarettes. It's 11am.
That adds up to the gas smell. I notice the heating device on the floor. It feels as if the whole place could blow up any minute now.
Mailing stuff from Korea is cheap. A letter to Canada is a dollar and fifty cents. A package to Madrid, about 6 bucks. Soju, sake, tea and other silly things to France cost maybe 10 dollars to the most.
