Oct. 4, 2022 – A half hour before sunset, the cab dropped us at the cable car station at the foot of Namsan, a mountain on the southern side of downtown Seoul. Low clouds and fog were settling over the wooded mountain, and a light rain was just beginning to fall. It looked like our long-awaited trip up Namsan, the best, most romantic place to view the city lights of Seoul, might be a bust. 

There was no line at the cable car, another warning sign. Our car was only half full as we made the smooth ten-minute glide up the mountain. Outside, the stairs that climbed the rest of the way to the summit were slick with rain. The rails along the walkways were covered with thousands and thousands of “love locks,” padlocks that couples had attached to the railings symbolizing their enduring love. Most were coated with rust, the messages scrawled on them faded from weather and time, but still they held tight. At least the locks did.

The light rain was still falling, the clouds still gathering, when we went inside the tower and joined a short line for the elevator that would zip us up fifteen floors to the observatory, and the restaurant two floors below. We had only a few minutes to enjoy the 360-degree views of Seoul, looking down on the Han River, the sprawling U.S. and Korean military bases, the ghostly shape and bright red warning lights of the massive Lotte Signiel Tower, one of the world’s tallest buildings, before we went downstairs for dinner. Our table against the windows looked out over miles and miles of southern Seoul, including the bright lights of Gangnam and the steady streams of traffic going over the bridges of the Han River.

As the darkness fell, and our waitress grilled steaks at our table, the clouds and mist steadily moved off the mountain, and away from Seoul, and we saw what we came for, what we had hoped, the lights of this beautiful city coming on, one after another after another. It was a special time, one of the best, most memorable moments of our vacation so far. Long after dinner, it was still hard to leave that table, that view.

And, well, the bathrooms: The men’s urinals stood in a line against a wall of windows, hundreds of feet high, overlooking all of Seoul. I’m told the women’s stalls provided equally epic views.  

We waited for the elevator behind groups of laughing teenagers, mostly groups of girls. We followed the long trail of love locks back to the cable car station and rode down from Namsan. From there, we strolled beneath some of the brightest lights in Seoul, in Myeongdong, a loud, glitzy, pulsating neighborhood crowded with shops, restaurants, food alleys and video billboards. We shopped our way home, walked past Seoul’s stunning City Hall, its transparent curves changing color every few seconds from blue to purple to gold. 

It was one of those vacation nights that you always remember, everything you imagined during the months of planning, just what you dreamed: the darkness falling, the clouds lifting, a very nice meal with people you love, and all those lights, as far as you can see.