Day Six and the decaying husk of a once opulent cruise ship

Day six and we hoist our mighty packs to our back and make it out of the motel, only to be greeted by a second grey and miserable day on the trot. With the bus stop we require only a few metres away, we stumble down the street past a myriad of gawping faces and are soon aboard a bus heading for the port.

We are still sitting comfortably as we zip past the thing, forcing a heavily-laiden trek alongside one serious eyesore of  an industrial roadway on us.

As International Terminals go, it’s an innocuous one, not least because you can’t see the slightest hint of water or boat from the entrance. However, through the gates, we find a hive of activity, with hundreds of small traders packing various dried foodstuffs into as many cardboard boxes and battered packing cases as they can carry for their trip. Some of them are Chinese, some Korean, some , we later learn, are Taiwanese. We, on the other hand,  as Westerners - one white, one black - stand out like sore thumbs and are stared at as such.

This makes picking up our tickets a breeze, with Meka greeted by name as she approaches the counter, a clear sign that this isn’t the classic route tourists use to get into China. Signing out of Korea, with a final meal of bulgogi at a food court, we squeeze through a waiting room jammed with packages and people with little conception of queuing and make it onto the boat.

The ferry itself immediately proves surreal. The first outstanding characteristic to capture the attention is the confidence-denting array of scrapes, dents and scratches along its side. Once on board, the theme continues. 

Finding our cabin, we are delighted to discover clean, comfortable bedding and our very own porthole. This comes accompanied by a functional en suite bathroom, boasting a shower just about big enough to stand in. Lathering, on the other hand, would require the flexibility of a contortionist, or stepping out of it all together. Taking the gloss off this watery boudoir are the gaping holes where light fixings once stood and open, live electrical connections leading to an apparently defunct flat-screen TV.

Meandering around we discover some revealing signage that suggest we have entered the decaying husk of what was once an opulent cruise ship. This leads us to the deck and an open air swimming pool, hot tubs and a shower that clearly haven’t bikini-clad Asian babes, or indeed been cleaned, since the 1980s. Further English pointers guide us to a casino, cocktail bar and nightclub that have long since ceased to be.

The one restaurant remaining proves less inviting than the swimming pool, with the staff greeting our entry with a not-remotely-warm cross of the arms. Our refusal to leave immediately, prompts a loud, high-pitched, high-octane debate between about five members of staff, conducted at volume across several bemused eaters, before the only male in duty emerged, to greet us with perfect English. Having asked what we wanted, refused to wait for an answer and taken a reassuringly paltry KRW4,000 our money, he returned and unceremoniously dumped two large plates of shabby looking dumplings on our table. No rice, no garnishing, no further options, no frills, leaving us disappointed, hungry and Meka clutching an aching stomach.

This experience under our belts and lord knows what nestling in our bellies, we slunk back to our cabin, disheartened and a little concerned at how we may be greeted in China. Fortunately the comfortable beds, some comedy downloads and a couple of bottles of Korean fruit wine took the edge off, leading us into a considerably more rewarding slumber…