From karaoke to fortune-telling, Crocs Jibbitz to nipple masks, writer Annabel Downes shares her comprehensive guide to detoxing from Frieze Seoul.
“You got this, babe! It’s always more fun than you think.” It was a few Venice Biennales ago, and I was an intern doing laps of St Mark’s Square, gathering the courage to step into a Pace Gallery drinks. There’s never a seat, and you inevitably (and fortunately) end up in the corner with the same people you came in with. A few years on, you may now be an indispensable cog with an inch more confidence — if still seatless — yet the feeling remains: why do biennales, fairs, and exhibitions never end with the art itself? It’s tricky not to be swept up in this extra-curricular fervour, and nor should you resist. But we all have our thresholds (some higher than others), and knowing when to step back, to take a little time away from the booth, the boss, the business, is important. So ahead of Frieze Seoul, I’ve pulled together the best spas, karaoke booths, fortune tellers, and markets where you can while away your time in the epic South Korean capital.
SPA
Admittedly, the nudity takes a minute to adjust to, but once you accept that everyone’s too relaxed to notice you’re the only one with pubes and boobs to your knees, you get over it. Spa Lei in Gangnam’s Seocho-gu, is my pick, and it seems Frieze agrees, naming it as one of the city’s more “refined” women-only jjimjilbangs. The facilities are nothing if not comprehensive: a seawater bath, a lower-body bath, a foot bath, plus a red clay room and a charcoal room, the latter promising to cure indigestion, aid “stool removal” (?), and relieve constipation — a handy pre-COEX remedy, though perhaps less advisable before a flight home.
For a little extra, you can experience a selection of masseuse add-ons. A word of warning, though: while I was happily reclined, getting my lower calves kneaded in an airport massage chair and sipping on a peach iced tea, my London visitor had opted for the soil bath — a treatment that requires full-body submersion in hot earth for thirty minutes. The only visible part of her body was a beet-red face under a polypropylene bath cap. “It was the closest I’ve come to being buried alive,” was the feedback, as the kind ajumma dug out her panicked body and complimentary disposable maternity briefs from deep within the furnace. A fitting treatment for an overdue collector, perhaps.
FORTUNE TELLER
Despite Kenny Schachter’s best efforts this summer crusading against the doomsayers of the current art market, more than a few will be walking around Frieze wondering if their job (or gallery) will see it through to Thanksgiving. To them, I say: if your boss won’t give you answers, Seoul’s fortune tellers might. Across the capital, practitioners set up pop-up tents in Myeongdong, Hongdae, and Insadong, charging between ₩20,000 and ₩60,000 (£10 to £30). Services include face and palm reading, tarot, and the style I tried — saju, an ancient Chinese method based on the four pillars of one’s birth: year, date, time, and place. As someone who wants to ram my Aries horns into anyone who dares ask my star sign, I was sceptical. So when he explained that my birth pillars spelled out impatience, a need to quit smoking on account of weak lungs, two marriages, and a financial crisis by 42, I left feeling somewhat deflated. However, it wasn’t all bad. The kind man assured me I was verbally talented, which nudged me into the bold decision to go freelance with writing — a move that has actually just brought my financial crisis forward by a decade. So, don’t trust everything they tell you. You might well find yourself manning the booth again next year!
KARAOKE
We all unwind differently. Elephants take dust baths. Carrie Bradshaw shops. Koreans sing. Across the country, some three thousand karaoke rooms — or noraebangs — provide disco-lit, snack-fuelled escapes for the simple catharsis of song. After a gruelling VIP preview day, the privacy of a booth for one can feel like salvation. Arguably, the best spot in town for this is Su Noraebang, a hot-pink, glass-fronted Barbie dreamhouse on the Hongdae strip, draped in fake cherry blossoms, mirrored in disco lights, and a song list that leans heavily on NOW That’s What I Call Music! discs 1 and 2.
If your tastes run more to fruit platters, whisky, and female “companions,” Seoul’s underground options will do you just fine. However, bear in mind that the laminated tome of a songbook these establishments provide, coupled with the rising anxiety that the frolleague you dragged along may not be familiar with your version of Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive, could leave you wishing you’d stuck with the former. For those reluctant to stray far from the InterContinental Seoul COEX in Gangnam — favoured by the fair’s PR corps — there’s another great spot (the name escapes me, but Naver, Korea’s answer to Google Maps, will deliver if you paste in the address). It had the full album of Mika’s Life in Cartoon Motion.
MYEONGDONG NIGHT MARKET
You’ve spent three days wandering the COEX halls, wallet twitching, only to find the Tracey Emin bronze you had your eye on at White Cube already snapped up. We move; souvenirs must still be bought, and nowhere does it better than Myeongdong Night Market. Open from 3 p.m. daily, its stalls brim with spicy tteokbokki, fish cake skewers, grilled lobster tails, dog accessories and, notably, the most comprehensive offering of Crocs Jibbitz you’re ever likely to browse. Pick wisely, as with the right charm, you might even win favour with Emin herself, who, as an advocate for these extremely practical shoes, could be persuaded to put in a good word with Jay Jopling about saving you a sculpture for next time.
Once you’ve finished shopping for others, it’s time to look after yourself. Olive Young — South Korea’s epic health and beauty store chain — will see off your travel stipend in a single haul. Far from Boots’ tired line-up of Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse and Impulse body spray, this K-beauty behemoth will keep you entertained and glowing from Incheon all the way to Heathrow. To basket, I would suggest a placenta face mask (sheep, pig, or vegan alternative), promising plumper, firmer, and more refreshed skin. By that logic, I can only assume the nipple care patches I plastered across my bosoms promised similar restorative effects. Other success stories include snail repair eye gel patches to improve those pesky dark circles after a sleepless fair run, and the neck-lifting mask to help counteract the jowls you’ve inherited from a week hunched over your inbox.
