As a flight attendant, it is not exactly surprising that I like to travel. Every month, I get this teensy thrill when I check my schedule. And truth be told, I have been lucky. Just in the last weeks, I have ticked off Dubai, Singapore, Bengaluru, New York, just to name a few.

I love all of them. Whether I’m indulging in local treats, buy the most random souveniers (I got a sparky pink, singing camel fluffy toy, a pen that wants to fight with you, a vast collection of essential oils, and more magnets that will ever fit on my fridge), or take a million pics of a million impressive skylines while I sip on a cocktail in some fancy club or bar alongside people who are half my age but twice as pretty, there is one airport code that always makes my heart skip in a way the others don’t.
Three little letters that hit differently, that tug on my heartstrings more than any BKK, HAN, or LAX ever could:
ICN—Incheon Airport. My gateway to Seoul.

What is it about this city that gets under my skin?

Amazing food? Sure! But that can be found (almost) anywhere. (I really did gorge my way through Singapore.)

Shopping? Love it, always. But the same could be said for a dozen other cities, right? And if one needs an array of K-beauty products, or K-pop merch, it is not even necessary to step foot in Korea. Just open a browser. Whoop! There it is.

Is it the landscape? The culture? The nightlife? I genuinely don’t know. I can’t pin it on just one thing. I love all of it.

Still, there is something about arriving in Seoul that makes it feel different.
Hearing the familiar chime of the subway. The buzz of Myeongdong once tourists crawling from their hotel rooms. The all black and white fashion, and the obligatory hair curler in everyone’s fringe. Crogs during all seasons.
K-pop idols selling everything from ramen to real estate. Street food stalls sizzling at every corner. The smell of hotteok and tteokbokki cutting through the cold air in winter. Or the salty-sweet steam rising from a cup of broth you didn’t realize you missed until it touched your lips.

There’s a word for it in German: Fernweh. It doesn’t translate perfectly, but it’s a kind of homesickness for a place far away. A longing for somewhere that isn’t home, but feels like it could be. Seoul is that for me. And then some.

When I think of home, I do not think of my apartment or my postal code. I think of dishes I crave, the people I have shared them with, the rituals that root me. And when I think of Seoul, it is the same.
Dishes I’ve come to adore. Faces I wait to see again.
Customs I was not born into, but somehow feel like second nature.

It is not about whether I belong or not. It is not exactly home. It’s not exactly foreign. It is somewhere in between. And somehow, that in-between is where I feel like the best version of myself.

Whenever I land, there are places I always return to.

The Spot Fabulous, my favorite café—minimalist, grounded, full of character. And their pastries are to die for (You got to try the Chestnut Tiramisu if you get a chance, or the Jeju Cookie) 

Ikseon-dong Hanok Street, where modern cafés breathe life into century-old houses. Walking there feels like stepping into a living story.

Namdaemun Market, for a proper local feast. Tucked into one of its oldest corners is a no-frills place that’s been serving the best Samgyeopsal you can imagine. It’s messy. Loud. And Perfect.

And if you ever want to literally bottle a moment in Seoul?
Lumière Perfume, is a boutique atelier just outside the city near Songju.
You sit with a perfumer, describe a memory, a feeling, a season—and they help you turn it into scent. (Mine smells like cedarwood, fig, and amber, with a touch of coffee)

And then there’s Seoulshare.
This is where Seoul becomes more than a place. Language exchanges where you exchange more than grammar or words, but enjoys each other’s company during a meal and a drink afterward. Whether its a remote working event, running, hiking or handcrafting: everyone keeps showing up again and again. And eventually, every face feels like part of your story.
It is not just about where you are. It’s about who you meet there. Seoulshare makes the city feel less like a destination and more like a community.

So no, I don’t have one clean reason why Seoul pulls at me the way it does.
But I’ve stopped needing one.

Some places just claim you.
Quietly. Completely. Utterly.

And if I’m being honest—maybe ICN is more than just an airport code to me.