THE QUIET REPORT

I managed to dodge the typhoon that caused considerable damage in Japan, the news says that almost two million people were advised to leave their homes because of the risk of flooding and landslides, and last night I landed in Seoul, Korea, where I think I was last about ten years ago.

Actually, to be more precise, I was supposed to come here in the spring of 2020 for one of my usual bloody “optimization” jobs, but Covid stopped me. It didn’t stop the job, though: I ended up doing it remotely while living in Singapore.

I’ve come back to a hyper-technological Korea, although one that isn’t always particularly easy for a foreigner.

Google Maps is only partially useful for navigation, so you quickly have to enter the local ecosystem, mainly Naver Map and KakaoMap. Some foreign credit cards can also be rejected by payment terminals, vending machines, or online services, an interesting contrast in a country generally perceived as extremely digital. A couple of ATMs insisted on speaking to me only in Korean, and when I finally found a machine willing to exchange some of my Singapore dollars, it asked me to scan my passport. Which, of course, was back at the hotel. So I had to go all the way back to get it.

Not exactly one of my happiest moments.

But if technology is the initial barrier, people are often the solution. When an app doesn’t work, almost invariably one of the apps I use most, a machine refuses my card, or I have no idea which subway exit I’m supposed to take, I can usually grab some poor soul passing by and ask for help or directions. Coming straight from a few communication struggles around Osaka, English here has been a pleasant surprise. Quite a few people speak at least a bit of Shakespeare’s language, and serve it back to you with a generous flavour of garlic and kimchi.

This morning I walked about fifteen kilometres, observing the Korean paradox: skyscrapers, smartphones, digital payments, gigantic subway systems, and a society seemingly projected into the future, and then, just around the corner, labyrinthine markets, tiny shops run by elderly people, small restaurants, and rhythms of life belonging to another generation.

Perhaps that is what I came back to photograph: not one Korea replacing another, but both of them occupying the same frame. The polished and the improvised, the futuristic and the stubbornly human, the systems that know exactly where you are and the people who still have to point you in the right direction.

I’ve also upgraded my camera bag, the historic one finally developed a few holes, and brought a new one, both the M11 Monochrom and the Q3 43 with me. They seem well suited to the job: one for stripping the city down to light, shadow, and structure; the other for keeping hold of its colour, texture, and small absurdities.

So these are not just a few random images from today. They are the first attempts to make sense of a place that refuses to choose between the future and the past.

Seoul, South Korea, 22.09.2026, Leica M11 Monochrom and Leica Q3 43