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We had big plans yesterday to spend a good part of the day on a Royal Asiatic Society tour of “Chosun Dynasty Seoul.”

Led by architectural historian Peter Bartholomew, the tour covers several of the capital’s famous palaces, as well as some family homes of the era’s aristocracy, and other historic sites. I know, pretty much everyone who’s spent a day in Seoul has already seen Gyeongbokgung, but seeing it with someone who can put the history in context—who, for example, knows that the lilies planted along the restored pond around Hyangwon Pavilion aren’t native to the country, or that the bridge there was rebuilt on the wrong side—adds a lot to the experience.

I’ve missed the past two opportunities, and was really looking forward to this one.

Unfortunately our plans were interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Namely, a good chunk of China’s Gobi Desert, which descended unexpectedly over the lower half of the peninsula on Sunday. We’ve already encountered the notorious Hwangsa, but this was ridiculous. To get an idea of what the dust looks like, you can check out some pictures at The Daily Kimchi and these from Busan Mike. (Unlike yours truly, they were willing to risk life and limb—or, at least full lung function—to bring you such grassroots journalism. They’re hard core.)

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Some things you see here in Seoul just make so much sense I am amazed that the trend hasn’t caught on elsewhere. (Or, at least in the places I’ve visited, admittedly, only a tiny percentage of the planet).

One of these would be the small metal stands with plastic bags placed outside department stores and office buildings during rainy weather. Usually manned (well, womanned, actually) by an 아줌마 wearing a matching coat and cap ensemble. The ones I’ve seen are greyish (the outfits, not the women), but look similar to the yellow ones worn by women selling yogurt and drinks near the subway stations.

Yesterday, winter finally arrived in Korea, the fall sunshine vanished, temperatures dropped into the 30s and 40s and a drizzling rain fell almost all day. I had an early morning appointment and had to walk 10 minutes to a subway station and another 15 at my destination. I’ve never been so glad to see the women who, upon my arrival at different doorways, gruffly shoved my closed wet umbrella into a slot containing a narrow plastic bag. There’s nothing worse on a rainy day—short of being caught without an umbrella—than to have to drag a dripping one around with you on errands. Ensconced in plastic, the umbrella can then put in your bag or coat pocket or whatever.

I’m actually not surprised that this service developed here. In my experience, Koreans are meticulous about keeping the floors clean. Given that many of them still eat and sleep on or very close to the floor, that’s not surprising either. But it’s still impressive to see. People mopping the floor at the office two or three times a day, restaurant workers cleaning the floor during slow times, or market vendors mopping the walkway in front of their stall between customers. Once when I was waiting with a group of people to board the neighborhood bus at the subway station, the bus driver made us wait on the curb while he ferociously swept every speck of dust from under the seats. When we boarded, I swear the floor looked clean enough to eat off of.

So, it makes sense that they’d develop a method to keep people from wandering through their establishment dripping water and mucking up the place. I am curious about who the umbrella ajummas are, though. Is it part of some employees’ job description that they have to do umbrella duty? (Is it one of those “female staff” things, too, because I’ve yet to see a man do it.)

Or, is there a special group of umbrella stall people that businesses hire to work outside the door during the rain? Whatever the case, ‘umbrella ajumma,’ I salute you.

Well, the monsoon season is well and truly here. It’s rained steadily most of every day this week and, yesterday, my coworkers told me that flooding closed parts of the No. 3 subway line in the northwest part of the city.

As for me, the rain hasn’t been much of an impediment, but the FTA protests have. A masssive protest near City Hall downtown closed off two major streets just as I was trying to get to work. Traffic backed up through the Namsan tunnel, stranding my bus in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

After we exited the tunnel, we could see why. The street was closed just after the toll booth and large tour buses full of people wearing red and yellow protest headband things and carrying signs were disembarking. (Of course, this is the day I leave the camera at home to keep it from getting wet!)

(Picture ripped from here.)

The U.S. embassy said they expected around 20,000 participants to protest the free-trade agreement, and I’d say they got that many at least.

As the road was blocked, we all had to get off the bus and walk. Fortunately, at that point, I was within about a quarter mile of the office and could find my way there. I was a little nervous because I had to walk through throngs of the demonstrators as they headed for city hall. I kept practicing a few key French phrases and debated whether I’d try for Canadian, French or German, if confronted. But no one paid me any mind.

The only angry words I saw were between two ajummas arguing in the doorway of a shop, which appeared unrelated to any free trade with the United States. More of a limited immediate trade dispute . . .

I’m sticking with the subway the rest of this week, which is a real bummer because I finally found a bus route that takes half the time. At least on normal days.