Lately, one thing about life in Korea has surprised me: walking on a sidewalk no longer feels as straightforward as it once did.
I notice it most in the crowded parts of Seoul. Around Gwanghwamun, office workers hurry between buildings while tourists stop mid-stride to take a photo. Gangnam-daero is busy in a different way — workers, shoppers, students and tourists all moving through some of the widest pavement in the city. Even there, I find myself glancing left, then right, then over my shoulder, out of habit now more than choice.
A bicycle appears from the side without warning. An electric scooter cuts toward the crowd and slips through whatever gap opens up. A delivery motorcycle rolls onto the pavement and, more often than not, stops exactly where people are trying to walk. The rider can see me. I usually can’t see the rider until it’s too late to do much about it. That gap in awareness is what makes these moments unsettling — there may be just enough room to avoid a collision, but “enough room” and “felt safe” are not the same thing.
It isn’t only the busy avenues. Delivery bikes climb onto the sidewalk in quiet residential alleys too, and lately there are more runners out early in the morning and again in the evening. Running is a good habit, and I don’t begrudge anyone for it. But on a narrow, crowded pavement, someone moving fast from behind can still give a person a fright. The sidewalk now has to carry everyone — walkers, runners, riders — at whatever speed each of them happens to be going.
