Korean Weather: More Than Just Four Seasons
When I told my Korean friends I was from Canada, they often said, "You must be great at handling the cold!" After experiencing Canadian winters—where -30°C is a regular occurrence—I didn’t think Korea’s weather would be much of a challenge. After all, I’m from a country with four distinct seasons, too. But after living in Korea for a year, I've completely changed my mind. The four seasons in Korea aren’t just a change in climate; they're like four distinct actors that dictate people’s clothing, food, and even their mood. Of course, my Korean friends often complain that their beautiful spring and autumn are disappearing in a flash, with the seasons now feeling more like "summer, summer, fall, winter" or even "summer, winter, winter, winter."
Spring: A Season of Excitement and Betrayal
Korean spring arrives with a flurry of cherry blossoms. The pale pink blossoms that pop like popcorn on bare branches can make anyone feel like they’re falling in love. But hiding behind that excitement are two unwelcome guests: "Hwangsa" (yellow dust) and "Mise-meonji" (fine dust). I was shocked one morning to wake up and see the sky—which should have been clear and blue—covered in a hazy, yellow filter. Checking the fine dust level on my phone has become a daily ritual. And just when the Korea Meteorological Administration declares that spring has fully arrived, a sudden "kkotsaem chuwi" (a cold snap after the flowers bloom) forces you to pull your winter coat back out, which can be quite confusing for a foreigner trying to adapt.
Summer: An All-Out War Against Humidity
"Hot" doesn't quite do justice to a Korean summer. The word "jinda," which means "to steam," is more accurate. It's an all-out war against suffocating humidity that's on a completely different level than Canada's dry heat. Koreans' methods for beating the heat are fascinating. They follow the philosophy of "iyeolchiyeol" ("fight fire with fire") by eating hot dishes like samgyetang (ginseng chicken soup), and every indoor space becomes an "aircon bbangbbang" (AC blasting) zone. Then there's the unpredictable downpour known as "jangma" (monsoon season). You’re likely to get caught if you trust the weather forecast 100%. Getting drenched in a sudden downpour after leaving your umbrella at home is a common rite of passage in a Korean summer.
Autumn: A Perfect, Short-Lived Gift
Is it a reward for enduring the hellish summer? Korea's autumn is pure perfection. The humidity disappears, and the sky is incredibly high and blue, just as the proverb "cheongogabi" (the sky is high and horses grow fat) suggests. Everyone rushes to the mountains and parks, trying to hold on to this short season. The "danpung" (autumn leaves) at Seoraksan or Naejangsan create a breathtaking, fiery spectacle. It's a season so perfect you constantly find yourself saying, "I wish autumn would last a little longer."
Winter: Familiar but Different, and Romantic
I considered myself a winter expert, but I had to humble myself in the face of a Korean winter. It’s not just about the low temperatures; a sharp wind called "kalbaram" (knife-wind) bites right to the bone. The real charm of a Korean winter, however, is not the cold itself but the way people enjoy it. Sweet street foods like "hotteok" (pancakes with brown sugar syrup) and "bungeoppang" (fish-shaped pastries) tempt people on the streets, and everyone seems to be in uniform, wearing a black "long padding" (long puffer coat). What was truly a fresh shock to me was the romantic meaning Koreans attach to the "first snow." In Canada, the first snow is just the beginning of a long, dreadful winter, but here, it's considered a special, almost magical moment where love might happen. Korean weather wasn’t just a backdrop for life; it was a key character that shaped people's daily routines and culture. While they complain about the shortening of spring and autumn and the often inaccurate weather forecasts, the way they enjoy and endure the seasons shows me a glimpse of the rhythm of Korean life.
