“One of the quiet joys of my first two years in Seoul in the early 1990s was riding the subway to work each morning — a small ritual that became a kind of meditation. Back home in America, I’d always driven everywhere, cocooned in my car, my own music filling the air, convinced that the steering wheel offered some illusion of control. But in Seoul, I surrendered to the rhythm of the city. I was just another passenger in the great underground artery, moving in step with thousands of strangers whose lives brushed briefly against mine. Every morning, I rode Line 2 — the Green Line — which looped underneath this great city, surfacing twice to cross the Han River in brief shimmers of daylight before diving back underground. It was my first real acquaintance with Seoul, an introduction not through its streets or skyline but through its pulse belowground. Back then, there were only a few lines crisscrossing the city — including Line 1 (red, now dark blue), Line 3 (orange) and Line 4 (blue) — but the Green Line was mine. It carried me to work, through new neighborhoods, and deeper i
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