The walls are covered in silver leaf. It’s about 42°C, and I’m witnessing a Korean love affair in the making. A 20-something woman and her boyfriend lie together, feet away from me. They’re snuggled up, whispering. I’m doing my best to eavesdrop—my Korean sucks, but perhaps I’ll catch a naughty word or two. Suddenly she sits up and a teardrop runs down her cheek. “Ha!” I think, “he’s asked her to marry him.” Then she laughs.
