Travel
D R E A M D E S T I N AT I O N
Cocos Hotel ANTIGUA
At the adults-only Cocos Hotel, perched on a cliff amid lush vegetation and overlooking a crystalline blue Caribbean sea, life is all about soaking up the dreamy vibe and tuning into the sound of serenity. Days are spent swimming, kayaking, feasting and kicking back in your rustic bungalow, which all come with unhindered sea views. On clear days guests can see the volcanic isle of Montserrat, as well as myriad small deserted atolls. Tatyana Leonov FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE
Seoul mates BY
Amelia Lester
ILLUSTRATION BY SIMON LETCH
T
HE ONLY public holiday shared by both North and South Korea is Liberation Day, which commemorates Japan’s surrender at the end of World War II. This past August 15 in Seoul it rained. In the morning, 10,000 residents put on plastic pastel rain ponchos and came to a central city square not to celebrate, but to demonstrate. They sat cross-legged in rows and demanded three things: for the South Korean Government to scrap the proposed deployment of a missile defence system; for forthcoming military drills to be cancelled; and for the American president to stop talking. “TRUMP SHUT UP” read one sign, held by a 20-something man in a neat button-down. Although most of the world would agree, the problem of Donald Trump’s big mouth is, for obvious reasons, especially vexing to South Koreans. Still, the gathering was peaceful, even muted. Between speeches, a dance
troupe in black performed a rite equally mesmerising and confusing. No one felt the need to shout; in this same square last year, a million people successfully rallied for the downfall of president Park Geun-hye. My trip to Seoul was planned long before Trump and North Korea’s Kim Jong-un lost their tempers, but happened only a few days after their bombastic volley. I was a little nervous. “Interesting time to be going there,” read the unnerving sign-off in an email from a colleague. On a TV screen at the airport, CNN was explaining how to deal with the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. (Apparently you’re not meant to use conditioner, because it binds the radioactive matter to your hair.) But the Liberation Day protest was the only evidence I saw all week that anything was awry on the Korean Peninsula. Seoul has been here too many times before. That’s why there are placards everywhere pointing to the nearest shelter site, and gas masks in glass cabinets alongside the vending machines at subway stations. And why, whenever I asked a local if they were worried, they would give me the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Forty years ago, people here didn’t have enough money to feed themselves,” a lawyer told me over $28 old
fashioneds in the speakeasy-style bar at the Four Seasons Hotel. “Now, South Korea is one of the biggest economies in the world. That didn’t happen by accident.” It wasn’t a direct answer to my question, but it didn’t feel entirely unrelated, either. After the protest was finished, it was still raining, so I took this as an excuse to do as the locals do and shop. The Coex is the world’s biggest underground mall, and has all the regular global chains – but there’s one big difference. At its heart there isn’t a food court but a library, a giant atrium with bookshelves soaring all the way up to its glass ceiling. You might think, as I did before I saw it: how nice. Must have looked great in the architects’ rendering, not to mention the development proposal. But what was astonishing was how well used it was. Long, lamp-lit tables, the kind which trigger nostalgia for student days, were packed with readers of all ages. (Would Westfield or Chadstone even be able to fill a carrel?) Every bench, every sofa, and a lot of the more desirable floor space was taken. The crowd milling by the “Domestic Essays” section was three-deep and children were just as rapt in books as their parents. No one had to buy anything and no one seemed to be on their phone. It, too, was a powerful demonstration. n
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