The Art of Anchoring Travel Memories in Jeju
“People say a picture is worth a thousand words. I disagree.
A picture captures the scene, but a song captures the air, the temperature, and the heartbeat of that moment.
This is a story about a winter in Jeju Island, a 10-year friendship, and how we curate our memories not with cameras, but with headphones.“
Humans need to leave home periodically to stay healthy. And just when the sweetness of the trip begins to marinate into nostalgia, the body starts to ache for departure again. In those moments, I put on my earphones and replay the journey.
Even when the heavy souvenirs I bought are scattered around the house, losing their original context, the travel memories roll around in my mouth like hard candy. Sweet, hard, and ultimately, fleeting.
Looking back, I have always practiced the art of anchoring travel memories through music. Auditory memory has a power more distinct than photography. Even years after the trip ends, the moment we hear that specific song, we are transported back to that place without a single word of explanation. Music engraves the moment in its most accurate form.
The Soundtrack of Serendipity
So, once again, I boarded a plane to Jeju Island at the end of December.
Every trip usually has a theme song. But this time, I decided not to choose one intentionally. Instead, I turned to a playlist inspired by Murakami Haruki, knowing his taste for solitude and rhythm would fit this journey. On the bus heading to our accommodation in Seogwipo, I closed my eyes and pressed shuffle.
The song that played was ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ by Stan Getz & João Gilberto.
It was a strange but perfect juxtaposition. The cool winter breeze of Jeju mixed with the warm, swaying rhythm of Bossa Nova. It felt like I was floating somewhere between reality and a dream, just like a character in a Haruki novel.
We stayed in a quiet neighborhood a bit far from the touristy center and walked through the island every day. From the bustling Seogwipo market to the quiet stone-walled alleys, and to the black sand beaches we love so much. We walked until our shoes wore out, moving from main roads to back alleys, from tourist spots to local living zones, drawing a map with our feet.
To me, Jeju is a familiar place I have visited many times. But for my friend, it was her first time exploring the island deeply. I spent 10 days introducing her to the places I love. Familiar roads and buildings seemed to wear new faces in front of us. Travel changes its texture depending on who you are with and when you are there.
Comfort in Silence
Looking back, it was comfortable to the point where I couldn’t recall a single moment of unease. As expected from a friend I have been in sync with for a long time, there were no difficulties. It was fascinating that we were thinking similar thoughts, feeling similar emotions, and looking at the same scenery.
We are not the type to focus on tourist attractions. The camellias blooming in winter, the tangerine trees peeking over stone walls, the distant view of Hallasan Mountain—these trivial moments linger longer. Seeing the sky swallowed by orange light outside the bus window by chance, or capturing a beautiful cafe while walking aimlessly.
We got off near the coast and walked along the Olle Trail where the sea is visible, leaving our footprints on the black sand. We stared endlessly at the sea and drank coffee. Sitting on the terrace, listening to our own songs without a word, we were anchoring travel memories into our auditory senses.
Now, I will become a person who thinks of the Jeju sea just by hearing ‘The Girl from Ipanema’.
A Decade of Friendship
We knew too well that every word we threw out without much thought would become a longing phrase in just a week. Moments are too fast, and memories are easily distorted. Even if we want to press every second into our hearts forever, the only way is to insert a trigger into the fragmented moments.
It was exactly the 10th anniversary with my friend. It has been a decade since we first spoke and started hanging out. It feels funny that the two of us, who used to roam the school hallways in uniforms talking about trivial worries, are now sitting side by side in a Jeju Izakaya clinking draft beers.
If you ask if our friendship was solid for 10 years, not really. There was a time when we acted coldly like strangers for a year, and there were times we greeted each other awkwardly and then cried and apologized. If we hadn’t fought back then, I think we would have had a precarious friendship that could collapse at any moment.
The lyrics of the song that played randomly tell a similar story. The ‘curse’ might not be a grand tragedy, but the residual emotions left by unspoken times, misunderstandings, and silence. Travel cannot change the past, but it can move the sadness or negative emotions of that time into a different form. Through words, laughter, or the silence of looking at the Jeju sea together.
When the Light Shines
“The sun will rise soon between those clouds. Light will shine on this sea. At that moment.”
The moment the sun rises between the clouds and light shines on the sea. ‘That moment’ does not exist only in the travel destination.
When I return home and listen to the song again, and suddenly that sea and the present me overlap—even then, the sensation of travel will still remain. This is the power of anchoring travel memories.
