Day Five

Day five and I wake up with an all too familiar buzzing in my ears, feeling a little like Pakistan. My airspace has been unilaterally invaded without my permission, although it is me that ends up doing the massacring. I switch the lights on and spend several minutes jumping around in my under pants as I hunt down and exterminate the first of the year’s mosquitoes to make their presence felt, ignoring the fact they are unarmed. I’m enlivened by this sign that summer is on the way, but disappointed in the knowledge that I could soon be leaving it behind for yellow dust storms and smog.

Having visited a PC Bang to print out some vital documents, including the Chinese characters for various key phrases, such as ‘bus station’, we head back to the hostel to beg for assistance. Why? Because we have found it practically impossible to communicate with our ferry company, having made a booking and a payment. We need a) confirmation that this was received and b) any information available as to how we attain our tickets, track down the right terminal and actually board the damn thing. As a worrier, I am worried. As a relatively relaxed individual Meka isn’t particularly. As a thoroughly hospitable and generous host, Mr Choi sorts it all out on our behalf. My worries alleviated, we are on our way, Mr Kim’s Backpackers Friends again proving worthy of the name.

Today’s mission is a fairly straightforward one: to make it to Incheon and ensure that we are in a position to make our ferry on Saturday.

Before making the lengthy subway journey, we pop into a local bank in order to acquire some travelers’ cheques. The language barrier immediately comes to the fore as the dispirited guy attending to me grapples with my admittedly confusing name. Given I am in possession of a bank book sporting the name Hamish McNair (anything else was too long to fit), an alien registration card issued to Hamish McNair-Wilson and a passport boasting my moniker in its entirety, Hamish Robert McNair-Wilson, I can understand his woes. Unfortunately, he fails to ask me for pointers and ends up trying to track down a Hamish Robert on his system for what seems like an age…

After an incredibly convoluted process, during which the stress, which first appeared on the guy’s face the moment a wayguk sat down, tangibly grows with each minute that passes, the cheques are eventually issued. And promptly rejected by us. Why? Because the shiny demarcation is scratched on each and every one, with the word VOID 100% visible on many. I politely ask if this is okay, in Korean. They insist it is. I insist it isn’t. They maintain it is, desperate to get this debacle over with. Security approach, while I thrust the cheques back at him. In the kafuffle the manager appears, realizes our point and persists to placate us with smiles, humour and a gift of a soap and shampoo set.

And then we are on our way. An hour or so of busy subway action later and we arrive in Incheon, tracking down an affordable and clean motel with consummate ease. Here in Korea, they can usually be found with all over the major cities,  equipped with all the mod cons, plus a myriad of free extras including coffee, personal hygiene essentials and a sizeable library of not-remotely-hardcore pornography. And seldom cost more than KRW30 000 a night. Having sorted through our things and said an emotional goodbye to a few more items of clothing, we hit the town for one last Korean bbq and a lengthy nolaebang session. One hour of tuneless wailing rapidly becomes two and two rapidly become more, as the aging couple running the place consistently tear themselves away from the night’s episode of Smackdown to tack 10 minutes onto our time, every time we purchase a beer. It's a fitting end to a wonderful and emotional year in Korea...

Day 4

Day Four.

It's children's day – a national holiday for adults. With that knowledge kicking around in our increasingly relaxed state of consciousness, everything is in place for a day of leisure. The banks are shut, the post offices are too and we can conveniently forget about all the research we should be doing to make our entry into China a little smoother.

Following an extensive travellers' chat and a brief, unsuccessful attempt to pin down where we'll be entering the sprawling red state, we take to the streets, enjoying the hustle, the bustle and the blazing sun. First stop, lunch. Perhaps our final dolsot bibimbap, or stone pot mixed rice. A rice-based dish, mixed in a stone pot, you may be surprised to learn. Throw in the ubiquitous spice, courtesy of the chill pepper paste, gochujang, a load of vegetables and an egg and you have a hearty, carbohydrate rich meal on your hands.

Back on the streets, the vibe seems almost festive, with the fashionable youth celebrating the day off in the way they know best – shopping. Not particularly inclined to join them, we stop off at a takeaway cocktail shop and, armed with impressively sizeable margaritas, served in what appear to be enormous, new rave-styled conical flasks, we make for the park.

A unusually youthful soju warrior with just a hint of punk, swigging his poison straight from the bottle proceeds to join us for some broken conversation, assisted in his efforts to befriend us by any passers by who will help. Having repeatedly and extensively complimented us, the lengthy interaction ends with a hug. Despite the stench of neat liquor and permanent marker pen, emanating from the rather disturbing marker doodles all over one of his arms, I reciprocate and share the love. The day's off to a good start. I celebrate the spring this drunken maverick has put into my step in the only way I can think of. By purchasing some enormous, pink rimmed sunglasses and wearing them with reckless, anarchic abandon. The hoards approve.

Abandoning Hongdae in search of new pleasures, we make for Myeong-dong. For those unfamiliar with the place, I consider it the Shibuya of Seoul. And for those unfamiliar with Shibuya, consider the crowds of Picadilly Circus, jazz up and stir in the shopping of Oxford Street, inject the whole thing with some serious steroids, give it a mighty makeover and you are halfway there. Finally, find a few hundred thousand young, lithe, asian women, dress them in shirts so short they barely scrape over the edge of their gluteals, heals so high it would take a talented circus performer a lengthy stint in training to master them, douse them in make up, dye their hair, surround them with uber attentive boyfriends, faffing around them like a bunch of funky styled court jesters, desperate to entertain, remove any space to walk... and you'll have a clearer picture. We spend about 10 minutes attempting to move among, before abandoning the idea in pursuit of a greater semblance of personal space. Our target, North Seoul Tower. It's big enough to see, so we set off in its direction.

A hour or so later and we are in Namsan Park, attempting to find a way up. This proves tougher than you might think and my map reading skills are horribly exposed as I plump for the wrong direction and end up walking around practically the entire park before finding the route to the top. It's a pleasant park, but it's not my favourite Namsan... and everyone should have one. That, my friends, is in Gyeong-ju, a mountain of the same name that is home to a litany of Buddhist relics and sites of religious / historical interest. It was also home to some vibrant, purple azaleas and the most sociable, multi-lingual hermit I've ever met. Go there...

Eventually we make it to the tower. It's buzzing with people from across the globe and offers not-particularly-surprisingly-good panoramic views of the city. These we imbibe, along with the odd beer, as a effulgent orange sun sinks slowly into the smog and a glorious sunset is lost to air pollution. I don't expect to see another for a while.

The day ends on a pleasant note as Mr. Choi finds out we are a couple and, after taking mild amusement from our differing skin tones, kindly offers us a vacant double room for the night, removing us from the sty. Peace, tranquillity, cuddles...

Day 3

It's early and I wake with the realisation that sleeping in closed quarters with so many travellers, can prove akin to bedding down in an ape enclosure for the night, if marginally less hygienic and significantly less comfortable. Still, the good news is the sun has broken through the thick layer of smog that normally engulfs Seoul and there is lots to do. A couple of sickly sweet instant coffees later and we are bound for the subway on a mission to get to the Mongolian Embassy and secure the final visa necessary for the major leg of the trip. As Embassies go, this one, located in what appears to be an apartment block or amidst the kind of offices where David Brent plies his trade, is perhaps the most unassuming I've ever visited. There is no security, minimal signage and just the one, beaming employee.

In interests of stress relief, I opt for the most expensive, urgent visa option, slapping down KRW 86,000 and a hastily scribbled application form with a smile. The thing is delivered before I've taken a sip of the day's third instant coffee. I know Carlsberg don't do Embassies, but if they did... An emotional goodbye to the world's most friendly and efficient consulate – who even saved us a trip to the bank, by taking our cash and wiring some of his own money to the official Embassy account to pay for the visa – and we were off to Itaewon to find some English speaking bank staff. I should note in all of this that Meka, as an American citizen, doesn't require a Mongolian visa, yet the sum total of her two, Russian and Chinese tickets to cultural enlightenment, still cost significantly more than my three. The cold war of hard currency continues.

While there is nothing exciting about the process of banking, it can prove a nerve racking experience. An hour later and a year of our earnings were floating around in cyberspace and here they will remain, until about Wednesday, when they will either show up in our UK accounts or be lost for ever. I'd usually be more confident, but given the lady tasked with the transfer, also supplied me a receipt for about 2900 Chinese Ruan and only 2400 in currency, I'm not so sure. Not all women can multi-task, it would seem.

With the dull stuff out of the way, we pored over the streets looking for some local cuisine, which is harder to come across than you might think in Itaewon, a corner of Seoul that's all done up like an American dog's dinner. If you want leather products, plus sized clothes or the fast food that landed you in them, this is the place to come. For Korean eats, you need to take to the back streets. Fortunately we found some, in a dirty little dive, populated by some aging local builders and some of the dirtiest walls I've seen in a while. Fortunately the Daktoritang was on the nail, a delicious, bubbling, succulent and spicy chicken and potato stew, capable of feeding far more than just the two of us, served on a table top stove with the usual array of side dishes.

The rest of the day was spent leisurely accomplishing more tasks and attempting to soak up as much of the sun as possible, fearful of the fact we might not see it again in a while. And the evening was whiled away, over at the Seoul World Cup Stadium as part of a surprisingly raucous crowd, cheering on FC Seoul to a comfortable, yet impressive 3-0 victory over a team from the UAE in the Asian Champions League. The most noteworthy observation here is that you appear to require at least two children to qualify for a ticket. Unlike the boozy, testosterone laden terraces of Layer Road's Barside, where anything that was not purely man (or an earlier evolutionary incarnation thereof) struggled to survive, here going to the football is a family event and a great excuse to sit outside quaffing a mighty picnic. Ours, as usual, comprised ddeokbokki, a host of chewy cakes of pulped rice, served in a thick, sweet, spicy sauce that glows orange with wrongness yet tastes so right. We'll probably eat more tomorrow...

Glastonbury or Bust. The trip begins...

Destination, Glastonbury 2011. The mission? Get there without flying. My mood? Nervous.

Such a simple mission would have been easy, back in the day, cruising down from Colchester in the back of the clapped out mate's car of choice, singing our hearts out and chomping on Tesco Value pork pies. Aside from the odd break down, before we were even off the A12, that is. However, today you find me on Geoje-do, an island off the South-Eastern tip of the Korean peninsula, armed only with a hard fought ticket, burgeoning desire, two rucksacks and a hefty wedge of cash, accrued from a) the intensity of my thriftiness and b) singing songs to kindergarten kids for a year.

The major thing I lack to achieve this dream is organisational prowess, but fortunately my girlfriend has risen to the fore on that front. While I brought a hollow dream, that would otherwise have remained of the 'pipe' variety, to the table, she has brought the planning. With her drive, determination and clarity - and my ability to retain a bank account with a working bank card - we may just make it. Whether this will constitute the genuine eco-travel I dreamt of remains to be seen, but it should certainly offer some insight into what is attainable for anyone out there with a Denis Bergkamp-esque aversion for flying or those with a particular affinity for travelling by land and sea.

Day One.

I wake up with a bang. Well, a banging. In my head. Needless to say, I spent my final day on the island neglecting all the important things: planning, packing, cleaning the apartment. These were replaced with a final motorbike ride around Geoje, that included a bumpy trundle down a coastal path in order to finally get a glimpse of the glimmering turquoise waters and the metallic hues of the pebble beaches rolling into Hallyeo-Haesang marine park below.

This done and bike sold, we completed a swift hike up the third tallest mountain in the city, Oknyeobong, to be met with a disappointingly hazy view – of haze - and a distinct lake of path as we made / scrambled our way down in the dark, post-sunset. The day was completed with a boozy session in the local convenience store, with some of our nearest and dearest friends from the year, and a final blast in the decrepit batting cages that have proved so therapeutic throughout our stay.

Two minutes into my day, my ears still ringing, and our boss pops his head through the doors, without even knocking. Korean style. This would be the first of several visits to see if we are ready to head off yet. Eventually, around three hours later, a tokenistic effort to wipe the remaining dismembered mosquito parts from last summer's cull off our walls completes our duties. We're ready to roll out. Our get bus-ed out, in the back of a kindergarten vehicle, as it transpires, because when a senior local insists, they insist.

The only significant belongings in our possession shoved in the post and the first leg proper of the journey begins: the bus ride from Okpo-dong to Busan. It's a good one. We get on and off it goes, neglecting the entirely unnecessary sojourn to Gohyeon they usually take, heading straight for the open road and the enticingly named Busan-Geoje-Fixed-Link bridge.

Upon arrival our lack of preparation comes back to haunt us as the Russian Embassy has already shut for the day, locking its doors for business and our passports behind them for another day. We have no choice but to bed down for the night.

With a wealth of motels at our disposal, I decide the best idea is to head to a spa. This might sound bizarre, but Korea is the country of the jimjilbang, a hard-floored resting room located within a complex of saunas and baths, usually open for 24-hours, without a time limit. They're cheap, cheerful and a popular alternative to private accommodation for the locals. You wash, you stew, you sweat, you sleep.

Our bags dumped at the airport, we proceed to try to make the most of our day. We do this by attempting to visit the Guiness Book of Records official entry as the largest department store in the world. And end up at the Lotte store in Seomyeon, which we subsequently learn is only the second largest department store in Busan. Walking around it in dirty, battered clothes, smelling of cleaning products and yesterday's hike we are rather out of place, but still find time to spend a small fortune on a depressingly small amount of overly elaborate sushi. And then it's off to the Hurshimchung spa, which claims to be a) the biggest in Asia and b) the best in the world. Sadly, the reality is, it's not even the best one I've visited in the Gyeongnam province and it shuts at 9:30. Another plan fails to come together. We take a few hours to pickle ourselves therein, before bedding down for the night in a familiar motel near Haeundae Beach, drifting off to an atrocious Statham movie. Cars with guns. Death races. Snooze.

Day Two.

Today's itinerary is rather clearer. Get the hell up and get to that Russian Embassy before it shuts. We accomplish this, post haste, striding across the city with genuine purpose. I briefly abandon my avowed agnosticism to pray we've been given the stamp of approval. We have.

Avoiding another warning to run from the Russian skinheads, by a chirpy, obese consulate clearly incapable of doing so himself, we head to Busan Station, foolishly opting to take the cheapest train up to Seoul. Foolishly because, by the time we arrive, everything we need from the city is shut: the banks, the post office and the Mongolian Embassy. This leaves us with another afternoon and evening of aimless mooching at our disposal, having checked into Mr Kim's Backpackers Friends hostel in Hongdae, not quite capable of enjoying ourselves, but with little else we can do. A stroll, a few drinks and some tasty food see the day out, before the night sets in and we attempt to sleep. Having checked into a 10 bedroom dorm, in the area of Seoul most notorious for its night life, this proves easier said than done, as various people from various parts of the world, slink in at various times, in various states of inebriation. Then proceed to snore and break wind concurrently, consistently, ad infinitum. I get up at six and write this...