Seoul is a city that never chooses between past and future — it keeps both.

Beneath a skyline of glass and steel, wooden hanoks still breathe. Ginkgo leaves fall onto subway exits; monks pass teenagers in K-pop hoodies. Palaces and palpitations exist side by side. Here, every street is a timeline. One turn leads to a centuries-old temple, the next to a late-night convenience store. Tradition is not a memory — it’s part of the everyday choreography.

Seoul is fast, but never careless. It glows, but never shouts. It holds its contradictions gently, like snow caught in sleeves.