The Dream Holiday vs Imposter Syndrome
A female traveller's worst nightmare
image sourced from Lonely Planet
“Captivatingly charming. Undeniably underrated. Wonderfully welcoming. Marvelously modern. Effortlessly elegant.” The appeal of South Korea’s capital city is widely known. Even more to a person who’d dreamt of the vibrant city since K-Dramas had filled our screens during lockdown.
A year of learning the language to somewhat competency, months of planning, weeks of stalking the hashtags on Instagram and travel sites had finally gotten me off brown Australian soil and onto the lush green grasses of South Korea.
I was as prepared as I could be, with more knowledge than the average Webjet travel agent, and enough Korean phrases memorized to scrape by. I was certain there was nothing that could damper my excitement for the best week of my life.
But one week suddenly looked impossibly long, the second we stepped into Incheon International Airport. In all my daydreaming and meticulous planning, I had forgotten a crucial detail.
I was an imposter syndrome and anxiety-ridden introvert.
Airports are bad enough for any anxious person. Would the burly security man pull my fake Gucci suitcase aside. Gesture me forward with a look that promises divine punishment as he holds up the gun I somehow packed into my suitcase without realising.
With seven years of living and travelling abroad in Europe under my belt, I was certain those days of fear were behind me. Plus, I had a high school friend and fellow introvert, at my side for comfort.
It made no difference, and together we had to quell our excitement of being in Seoul at last. Then run the risk of making more noise than the sea of silent locals on the shuttle bus.
The fear of being mistaken for rude American tourists, rendered us mute. Heads ducked low to avoid the scythe swing of foreign social etiquette.
The feeling remained as we left the airport. Following my carefully crafted script on autopilot.
Make for the row of booths and buy a Wi-Fi pod for the duration of the trip (thank profusely, in lieu of an apology for terrible Korean language skills), find the bus terminal area and purchase an airport bus ticket to our hostel (blissfully via a self-service machine, no human interaction required). All the while thanking our lucky stars, we packed light as we trudge up a maze of hills that ripple from Mt. Namsan smack in the center of the city. N Seoul Tower looking down on us mockingly from her perch.
We collapsed onto the classic hostel bunk beds (top bunk, take that) in a daze. Stunned that we were truly here and could acknowledge it out loud. But still reeling from the immense feeling that we definitely did not belong here.
And by god did we want to.
I was hell bent on having the ‘local experience’, starting with the food. Everything I ate was as far from my hometown cuisine as I could manage. Ox bone soup with bang chan (traditional side dishes), deep fried whole crabs drizzled with chili sauce, tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes) so soft they seemed to dissolve in our mouths only to reappear on our hips Finished with sweet hotteok (sweet dough stuffed with chocolate, red bean paste, anything really). I was conjuring a dream of eating this way for the rest of my life, fluently asking for each one and laughing with the locals over soju and beer.
The shopping was a unique blend of three things. Mass-produced accessories that fit any aesthetic at a fifth of the prices we were used to in Melbourne. Pop up shops with the sweetest selections of handcrafted socks, jewelry and clothing gone within the month. And finally stunning visual displays claiming they served coffee and treats amongst the traditional hanok architecture, water features and fully functional train that chundles past the delighted patrons. I added an impeccable wardrobe to the dream. Picturing myself fitting right in with the locals, strutting down the streets of Gangnam.
Lounging alongside Han River, watching the Banpo Bridge Moonlight show, the shining streams of water marking the end of yet another glorious day in Seoul. My friend and I made plans for our next trip back to Seoul before we had a chance of leaving and forgetting our time in this stunning and vibrant city.
But, like every holiday we could not stop the cracks appearing in our rose-tinted glasses.
As the, somewhat self-appointed I’ll admit, adult of the trip I was tasked with all the talking. Any time the opportunity arose to speak with a local I had to step forward and pray my memorized scriptures would fit whatever was being asked of me. The immense sense of dread, similar to stepping onto a soap box to face the masses, we can all remember the fear when the oral presentation section of school raised its ugly head.
Ordering food at the markets we had researched on Instagram, telling the kind lady that we ‘did not need a bag thank you’ at Olive Young. Every one of these experiences were prefaced with the most intense internal pep talk, before I reached the counter.
As for the picturesque restaurants and cafes I resigned myself to tackling those next time. Promising myself I’d have either more confidence or better language skills by then, better yet both.
For a moment, as we relaxed on the lawns of Seoul Forest, belly’s full and recalling our favorite parts of the week. I was envious of those obnoxious tourists. How much more would I have seen, experienced and enjoyed if anxiety and imposter syndrome hadn't plagued me the second, I opened my mouth.
South Korea had seen a steady increase in inbound tourism prior to the COVID-19 pandemic. While the tourism industry was severely affected worldwide. My friend and I were two of 7.7 million foreign arrivals in the first half of 2024, reflecting a 74% increase from the previous year.
And Seoul, as the country’s capital city was poised to welcome this influx of tourists with open arms. Offering foreigner only deals for hallyu attractions and activities and English-speaking employees at all the popular stores.
But all this was not enough to quench the overwhelming guilt I felt as a foreigner in a city I had been desperate to visit. My love had morphed into anxiety which took the wheel and obscured what could have been the most incredible holiday I had ever experienced in my adult life.
Was it the countries imbedded traditions of perfectionism prevalent in their inhuman beauty standards?
The perfectly accommodating and friendly impression I had received from social media?
Or had I just placed too much pressure on myself to hide my Australian accent under a butchered Korean one to better ‘fit in’.