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...