Seoul's Incheon Airport, Terminal 2, on my way to Washington. My first impression isn't kind.
There isn't a speck of dust anywhere. Everyone looks serious and in a hurry. World-class hardware. I find myself wondering what happened to the software. I'm ready to write the whole country off as stressed out and soulless.
In the middle of the hall stands a sculpture. Three wooden spheres on a black plinth. From where I'm sitting, it isn't doing anything.
So I walk over and look properly.
It's moving. Very slowly, and only once you're close enough to see it.
The exhibition guide explains the idea. The wood stands for nature, the motor for machinery, the thread for the connections between people. Nothing turns unless all three work together. The artist, Jung Uk Yang, calls it A Little Closer Each Time.
Korea had already asked itself the same question, and put the answer at its front door.
I've spent nearly forty years in Asia learning that nothing important happens at arm's length. And I'd just judged a country while sitting on a bench in the departure hall.
And I'm not the only one. Ask people whether they've been to Seoul, Tokyo or Bangkok, and you'll often hear "Yes, but only the airport." Most of them still have an opinion about the place.
There was plenty of life in Korea. I just had to get up and look.
PS. More from the corridor here: https://www.linkedin.com/in/davidthomas-asia/
