Bungee Jumping in Bundang

Wow, my blog already has twenty solid followers and has accumulated over 400 hits in the course of a week. I realize that this is a minuscule figure in comparison to more established periodicals but it is far more readers than would have digested my college research papers and it’s flattering to know that so many people have read all or parts of what I have to say. Thanks guys.

Ever since I’ve landed in the country I’ve wanted to find some recreation on the extreme side of the spectrum so this weekend Tony and I decided to do a little bungee jumping. We heard about a decent jump at Yuldong Park in Bundang and after meeting in Seoul Station we searched for the 9001 Bus. Seoul Station is enormous, being the central hub for the world’s second largest metropolis, and finding the right bus stop was a daunting challenge unto itself. There were eight or nine stops for the red line buses and they were spread out in sporadic locations over a course of several city blocks. It took nearly an hour and a good deal of guessing while traversing back-and-forth over a huge avenue, but we finally found the conveyance we had been searching for. Neither of us had bungee jumped before so we spent the hour-long bus ride hyping up the expectation, speculating about the height, the drop, the stop, telling each other that we must make graceful, well-seasoned swan dives and not simply flail about like amateurs. Upon arriving in Bundang we hailed a taxi to the park. Opening the door to the white cab Tony inquired, “Yuldong Park?”
The driver didn’t understand.
“Bungee jumping?” tried Tony.
“Oh bungee jumping,” laughed the driver with understanding while motioning for us to get in. Either many foolish tourists had come to this neck of the woods for the same reason or he too enjoyed needlessly risking life and limb.

It was only a short walk into the park before the bungee jumping platform came into view on the other side of a wide lake. We casually made our way around the shoreline, taking in the warm afternoon, wildlife, flora, and sublime demeanor of passer-bys. There was plenty of time to consider the elevation of the platform as we wound are way closer to the structure but so far I was unable to fathom any nervousness or cowardly tendencies. I promised myself that I would not come all this distance only to chicken-out and so far, from this perspective, I felt only eagerness. Strutting up to the admission booth in regal anticipation we declared, “Bungee jumping please.”
“Do you have ticket?” The attendant asked in an exemplary degree of English.
“Um…no,” we replied hesitantly.
“Bungee jumping sold out,” he said coldly, “ come tomorrow.”
Awww…what?! You gotta be kidding me. I was displeased to say the least. We just spent the last two hours on public transportation, building up the excitement, only to be flatly rejected like so much crumpled refuse. How could it be sold out? What is there to be sold out of? Did they run out of bungee? I mean there were four guys sitting behind the desk doing absolutely nothing and it was only three in the afternoon. My frustrations were abundant. We tried to make the best of the situation, wandering the park, taking funny pictures, attempting to appreciate the littered examples of public art (only a small percentage of which were actually any good), but the mood was crushed. The highlight of our weekend had been stripped from us and we could not help but be pessimistic.



We spent a good half hour moping around, thinking about potential activities to offset the disappointment of the afternoon, when our vigorous fighting spirit was reignited. No, we reasoned, we didn’t come all the way out here just to be turned away. If we don’t at least give it one more shot we’ll be doing ourselves a disservice. We marched right up to that ticket counter, chin up, chest out, put our fingers on the desk and…pleaded like children.
“Oh please, please let us bungee jump,” we implored. The man stared at us unamused. We tried playing dumb, offering bribes, anything to get in a harness and up that elevator. Finally, with an exasperated sigh the man in charge asked, “only two?”
“Yes yes, only two,” we replied knowing that we were in. We signed a quick paper, strapped on some Velcro harnesses, and got weighed. We asked if we could take turns going to the top so that one of us could get video from the ground but the staff seemed rushed to get us on our way and since we were already pushing our luck, we dropped the issue of the video. Then we were riding an elevator to the top. Surprisingly, I still did not feel nervous or afraid. On the contrary, I was collected, eager, and rife with anticipation. At the top I stood behind a red line while Tony took the first jump, having won a quick game of Ro-Sham-Bo. When it was my turn I approached the edge while two attendants hooked me up to the intricate cables and weights with the enthusiasm and skill of assembly line workers. It wasn’t until I looked over the lip of the platform that the gravity of the situation truly hit me (pun definitely intended). My heart fluttered and my hands began to shake. The feeling of anticipation was replaced with gut fear. The entire scenario was a contradiction to my basic survival instincts, but I kept my promise to myself and when the man said it was time to jump I took a deep breath and stepped over the edge. It was not the graceful swan dive I had envisioned and as I plummeted I could feel myself flailing about like an amateur. The initial drop was the most intense and scary part of the entire experience. You seem to leave your stomach behind while in free fall and time slows down. You know terrified screams are issuing forth from your diaphragm but it seems a distant drone, masked by sensory overload and acceleration. The fear of death is at its climax as you near the water, all at once nullified by the comforting tension of the rope slowing your descent. Suddenly a huge grin breaks out on your face and your screams are no longer that of horror but exhilaration. Then as the elastic energy building in the rope overcomes that of gravity you are sent hurtling back up into the sky, laughing and screaming for more. Nearing the top of the throw there is a brief, awesome moment of weightlessness and then you plummet once again towards the earth. When there is no more energy in your elastic lifeline you hang dangling over the lake, laughing and clapping as they lower you onto a rowboat. The gentleman piloting the little dingy wasn’t quite quick enough in securing me and I ended up getting wet, which I actually appreciated as the cherry on my adrenaline sundae. Back on the ground I felt as high as a kite. I wish I could do that every morning before going to work. While we took off the harnesses the guys running the show gave us little cards that we could present the next time we came, allowing us to do our next jump only by the ankles if we wanted. Awesome! At only 45 meters high, this platform is clearly for amateurs, but that’s exactly what we are. Before I leave the country I’m definitely seeking out the largest jump I can find. Bungee jumping is too freakin cool!


The bus ride back to Seoul was uneventful and by the time we arrived in the city I felt very tired, theorizing that the one massive surge of adrenaline had completely drained me. We decided to get coffee but weren’t in the mood for overpriced corporate chain java. Instead we sought out the most obscure, back alley coffee house we could find. It ended up being this prissy, upscale tearoom with hand stitched couches, classical music, porcelain cups, and doilies, but it was privately owned and the coffee was superb. Rachael, you would be proud.

Having been rejuvenated we were back out on the street. We heard weird music up ahead and made our way towards it. The tune ended up being the last thing we would have expected. It was a handicapped man in an electric wheelchair/ karaoke machine hybrid. He was belting Korean Pop Music at the top of his lungs and drawing quite a crowd. Admiring the man’s courage, heart, and entertainment value I left a generous donation.

Over the mountain we could see that gigantic spire that had reminded me of a James Bond villain’s lair the last time we were in Itaewon (it's actually called North Seoul Tower), so we resolved to make our way to the top. I could go into detail about the bustling market we walked through or the thousands of steps we climbed up the mountain, but we were there for the view and the pictures tell the story better. Enjoy!




After the long hike down the mountain a beer at the nearest Family Mart seemed like a spot on idea. As we neared downtown seeking out cheap suds we happened upon thousands of police officers, getting off buses and gathering in a central square. They were all decked out in riot gear with shields, clubs, and helmets as if in preparation for enforcing martial law, and yet the city could not have been more at peace. We could have made guesses straight through the night as to what all the manpower was for but at the end of the day we’ll never really know. Still, I couldn’t leave without getting a picture.

I’d like to thank the guys at TheYeogiyo.com again because I couldn’t have found my way to Bundang without their help. You guys do great work. Thanks you. Another Korean weekend successfully seized.

Cool Thing About Korea #9: Funny T-Shirts with grammatically incorrect and largely nonsensical English phrases. Some notable examples include My Karma Ran Over My Dogma, I Am Dot Man Dressing, Living for Sneakers, One Turn Over Entirety, Stand Up and Victorious, and many more.

Pubway

Former South Korean President Roo Moo-hyun is dead, having committed suicide by jumping into a ravine behind his house. Roo, who was known for being a clean politician and fighting corruption during his term of office, has recently been interrogated for accepting nearly 6 million in bribes. The news of Roo’s death is a historic landmark, having flooded the Korean media, and it is the tone with which I began an unforgettable weekend.

The plan was to tour the DMZ between the North and South Korean borders with a friend I have in Seoul. Between the Third Tunnel (a passageway supposedly dug by North Korea in preparation for an invasion to the south) and various observatories for looking into the communist nation, the weekend was intended to be a relaxing, educational tour of a historically significant geographical location. This was not how it turned out. I can pinpoint the exact moment when the anticipated timeline of the weekend deviated from its foreseen course. I was walking into the post office because I needed to mail in some forms for student loan consolidation when I brushed past another foreigner, the first I’d seen in my neighborhood. We exchanged a polite nod as I walked by and I was prepared to continue about my business, when the notion that an opportunity might have been presented occurred to me. I did an about face and ducked out the post office door in time to catch the foreigner mounting a red scooter. “Hey,” I began to inquire, “is that bike 125cc’s?”

My last-minute greeting paid out in dividends as over the next few days I was introduced to a number of Canadian, American, and British foreigners living in my neighborhood. Finally, the beginnings of a social network in this far off land were beginning to take shape. In addition to a handful of English speakers with which to pass the time, my new acquaintances informed me that an annual event known simply as Pubway would be taking place over the weekend and that nearly fifty other foreigners would be in attendance. Well, I rationalized, the DMZ isn’t going anywhere and I sure could use an opportunity to increase my social circle.

Before any of that however, it had become strikingly obvious that any attempt to integrate with this ramshackle collection of adventurers would prove futile or compounded by difficulties without having a Korean cell phone. Acknowledging this fact, I made my way to Suwon Station where I’d encountered a plethora of cell phone retailers. The operation of these outlets continues to perplex because of their abundance and close proximity towards one another. In the basement of the train station alone there is easily twenty mobile phone stores, their glass cases packed to the gills with first and second hand devices while employees stand jaded and unoccupied. It seems obvious that there is too much competition, but they soldier on day after day. I picked a shabby looking store across the street from the station because I liked that it was an independent shop and the owner spoke some English. For 100,000 Won I managed to get a tight little Samsung slider and two months of service. Plus, it’s only 5,000 a month after that. Can’t get that kind of deal in the states.

So Saturday finally rolled around and a group of six of us got on a bus to Seoul to begin the Pubway tour. The premise is to start in Seolleung, the beginning of the Yellow Line, and at every stop grab a beer at the nearest convenience store before moving on. It was actually an endurance run of sorts and while somewhat juvenile and dangerous it proved to be a fantastic way to make friends. Foreigners from all over the place were in attendance; Americans, Canadians, South-Africans, Swedes, Australians, Brits. It was enlightening to mingle with such a diverse group of people and I can't think of a single moment that was unexciting. The day was sunny, warm, and the first few stops proved relaxing, arriving in scenic urban centers or parks. There was Frisbee, racing up the wrong way of the longest escalators ever installed in a subway, and climbing large examples of corporate artwork.

We were halfway down the yellow line at nine-o-clock when a gargantuan foreigner draped in a multi-colored woolen poncho, cowboy hat, and known only as Bone, suggested having Gaegogi for dinner. For those of you who have never heard of Gaegogi it is in fact dog meat. Though technically illegal, there are certain areas where those daring enough can go to experience the grittier aspects of Korean culture. Gaegogi is rare and expensive and if you plan on visiting Korea you need not worry about accidentally being served dog at an ordinary restaurant. Bone led us through a labyrinth of poor houses and shacks, every step taking us further from the familiar comforts of downtown and into a nefarious underground. We emerged from the alleyways into a large open market, dead quiet and abandoned for the evening. Our saunter past empty carts, empty tents, and empty tables was eerie and illuminated only by the light of the moon. As we progressed we saw the cages, half covered by canvas tarpaulins and hidden in the dark recesses of shoddy enclosures. The captives, brown medium-sized canines packed nose to tail, watched us in silence. The expressions of the condemned were those of complacency and acceptance.

Coming to the far end of the vacant bazaar there was a single restaurant offering light and asylum from the barren expanse. It was built in the traditional Korean style and as I removed my shoes I couldn’t help but notice the huge cauldrons of ribs and rendered fat. The four of us who were brave enough to come this far sat and sipped a fruity wine while Bone ordered in well-rehearsed Korean. We were the only patrons in the establishment and as we joked, waiting for our order to arrive, I searched my conscience for a moral conflict and could find none. Instead I was tingling with the excitement of trying something new, exotic, and taboo. There are those disgusted with the thought of eating a dog, associating the animal with a loving pet. Having accepted the act of consuming another being as a natural means of survival and in no way malicious, I harbor no such sentiments. Weather it’s cow, pig, or dog…food is food.

The three courses that arrived were steaming spicy and fragrant. There was soup, a gigantic plate of dark carved meat the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, and thick cuts of prime rump with chives. My first bite was electric and stimulating, the texture being sinewy and very fat with a mild hint of saltiness. It was juicy, tender, and slid right off the bone. The general attitude amongst my compatriots and I was that of flippancy and humor. There was still a good deal of meat on the table after our bellies were full and as the conversation began to drift towards rejoining the group at the next station I couldn’t help myself, “Miss,” I called, motioning towards the table, “could we get a doggy bag please?”

We caught up with the group around eleven-o-clock. By now the weaker members had surrendered to fatigue and we’re en route to their respective homes on the metro. Those who remained were gathered in the parking lot of a GS25 mini-mart, rambunctiously floundering about in perpetual merriment and animation. Whatever sensations of languor I might have felt earlier were abolished in wake of a hearty, nurturing meal. They say that Korean men dine on Gaegogi for its properties of strength and vitality. Perhaps it was a mental placebo, but I felt charged and rife with energy. Some were content to dilly-dally in the same location, but I was restless. I found three others who shared by passion to move forward and together we took on the night. With four stops left the metro shut down so we continued onward using cabs. Korean nights are filled with life and energy, the trek continued in an unorganized, rapid stride. The last stop on the yellow line was dark and empty, located on a cold stretch of vacuous highway. Of fifty people who started this mad quest four of us actually completed it. From noon until four a.m., it took sixteen crazy hours to finish. With a vigorous lassitude we crawled from our final taxi, finished our last beer, and took a picture for evidence to combat any naysayers. After a round of handshakes and a hasty goodbye I rode a cab back to Suwon, alone, exhausted, and with an awesome sense of accomplishment. Another Korean weekend successfully seized!

Update 5/27/09: It has come to my attention that there were several more members of the original group who finished Pubway at 6a.m. following a Norebang detour and extracting a team mate from the police station. Awesome job guys. Your endurance in commendable.
Cool Thing About Korea #7: Issacs Toast

Happy Birthday Colton!

This entry is dedicated to Colton, Jenn, and Scott. Thank you for bringing life and love into the world. As the day wore on and I anticipated a chance to do some writing, my mind was occupied with the task of conjuring insightful sentiments, allegories, or themes in which I could relate the content of this posting to the profound miracle of birth. Since my creativity fails me, I’m afraid I can offer but a maudlin recollection of my friends Jenn and Scott to set a tone for this latest chronological account. Though a sound thesis and structure evades my ingenuity, know that my words are from the heart.

I’ve known Scott all though college and for the most part he was but a casual associate, the type of guy I would run into at an obscure social function. I was always surprised with the amount of friends he had that turned out to be mutual acquaintances. It wasn’t until a week in North Carolina, midway through my senior year, that Scott became one of my best friends. I remember campfires on the beach, a 24 –7 karaoke joint known simply as The Jolly Roger, and the fact that we both digested The Road in a matter of days. The rest of that summer was highlighted by swimming in the Brandywine, rooftop parties, and developing life long relationships. Scott met his fiancé that summer and while I didn’t know Jenn well, being that she was outside of my immediate social circle, it was impossible to ignore the positive impact she left on my friend. Scott went from being a full-time hippie and pushin’ pizzas with the likes of me, to straightening up and getting a career that many of us are envious of. Jenn, we had some memorable times together as well and I’ll never hesitate to call you my friend or swing halfa’ broken beer bottle on your side of a bar fight, but more than anything I love you for the change you’ve made in Scott. The guy went from being a carefree juvenile to a conscientious man. When I saw the pictures of Colton from the other side of the world I’ll admit that I began to tear, overtaken with the incontrovertible reality and joy of the situation. The smile on my face was such that I can’t fathom the reaction I’ll experience when I am in the same position. You’re both going to make awesome parents and I’m anxious for the day when Uncle Eric can be with your family in person. I’ll always be there if you need me, thanks for the friendship, and Happy Birthday Colton!

So on Saturday, after I got the news from Scott, I went to Korean BBQ with Charlie where I insisted we drink numerous toasts to my friends and their newborn. Later in the evening I decided to finally uncover some places in this town where foreigners hang out. In Suwon Station I wandered from place to place, transfixed by the neon lit throng reeling through the streets. I found English speakers in a matter of minutes, military personnel mostly. We strolled from one club to the next, exchanging stories and forgetting names. In one club we perplexedly discussed the strange dancing rituals laid out on the strobe lit floor before us. If you happened to be a Korean man you couldn’t just go up to a Korean girl and start dancing, but rather the girls would dance with each other while the guys danced with each other and over time gravity would pull the two spiraling masses into a suitable proximity. It looked awkward and very much like a middle school dance. If you were on the other hand, an American, you need not bother with these trivial formalities as both sexes were equally interested in your awesome foreign moves and flocked to shake it right next to you.

On Sunday I rode the tube back to Itaewon to meet Tony, a West Chester University graduate with whom I have mutual acquaintances. We had lunch, walked around the shopping district, and eventually explored the Korean War Memorial and museum. There is this really huge Cold-Warish spire mounted atop a nearby mountain that reminds me of a James Bond villian's lair. I’d like to say that, while inside the museam, I paid attention to artifacts of historical importance and mind-blowing statistics about however many of this or that nationality died in whatever war, but I was more concerned with having an English conversation and getting to know someone who can relate to Jakes on Matlack Street. Still, the military museum did instill an amazement in me as to how many creative ways our species has invented to destroy each other. Since I am apathetic towards describing the rest of that day in words I’ll let the following pictures do the talking. Oh, the Turtle Boat was the coolest part.

As my camera is now fully functional I decided to spend my Monday afternoon walking the perimeter of Hwaseong Fortress and taking pictures. It really is an awesome place, being built towards the end of the 18th Century in honor of some guy who was murdered by being locked in a rice chest for failing to commit suicide. Yeah…I really don’t know. I’ve seen a scale model of the fortress back when it enclosed all of Suwon, but the town has since, vastly overgrown its boundary. While the main gates and the majority of the wall remain intact, there are portions that are destroyed or lie concealed in grimy back alleys. I think it was meant to be a relocation of the capital Seoul, but this is not a history lesson. If you have further interest in Hwaseong Fortress click here, otherwise just check ou these snapshots.

Today was cool. My classes went very well following a revision of my lesson plan and Ms. Huh says she’s pleased with my performance, claiming I am both professional and a quick learner. Also figured out how to transfer money through my bank accounts but at present, you get screwed with the exchange rate. After school I decided to get some exercise and ran to the top of Chilbo Mountain. I hiked the ridge but took an unfamiliar trail down and got lost on the wrong side of the divide. As the sun was setting I was loath to return to the wooded confines of Chilbo, so I set off across the rice patties. Coming around to the southeast I happened upon a construction site and decided to cut across, my mental compass assuring me that it would save me valuable time. The site was massive, easily a mile across with deep gulleys and littered with Samsung earthmovers. The center featured the complex foundations of unborn skyscrapers and soaring golden cranes that dominated the region like thin, mechanical sentinels. Halfway across the barren expanse the earth was cut down to thick red-clay for as far as the eye could see. Aside from the odd tent here and there, the flat, red sea was devoid of human activity and for a few moments I could picture myself on Mars. I paused in my trek as the local squadron of F-16s screamed overhead, a low-altitude treat that I’ve yet to tire of. Eventually I found my way out of the torn, prepped earth and back in civilization.

It’s late now and in a few hours I’ll be waking for school. Before I go, let me extend a final Happy Birthday to Colton, I have no doubt that you will be one of the most enjoyable people I’ll have the pleasure of knowing in this life.

Cool Thing About Korea #6: Turtle Boats

3rd Annual Seoul World DJ Festival!

My job is awesome! I’m always a little nervous on Mondays because I’m never sure if my lesson plan for the week will work out until the first period is over, but it went awesomely today which means it’s smooth sailing the rest of the week. My work hours are 8:30 a.m. – 4:30 p.m., Monday through Friday but I only teach for three hours a day. The rest of the time I spend on the Internet, composing next weeks lesson plan, talking to the staff, or staring out my awesome floor to ceiling windows. It was humid and rained today but the view was nonetheless spellbinding. My scope encompasses the schoolyard, agricultural fields, vineyards, a large highway, the Suwon skyline, and finally a thick ridge of mountains accentuating the horizon. There are so many flowers in Korea that the rain washes the pollen off buildings and cars in thick rivulets, consolidating the yellow substance into a substantial skin that floats on the top of puddles. After a rain storm the smell is deficient yet lively.

When school let out there was a staff dinner, paid for by the school board, which came without warning. I was about to get on a bus back to Topdong but Ms. Huh intercepted me and told me that all the teachers were going for a night out. The restaurant was a traditional Korean spot, near the entrance to Chilbo Mountain. It was the kind of place where the tables are only six inches off the ground and you have to sit cross-legged. Upon entering the establishment I was, admittedly, worried that I would be unable to sit in such a posture throughout the course of the meal, yet as the night wore on I was not only able to maintain such a stance but found myself quite comfortable. I love Korean fare. They put 20 different dishes in front of you and you pick at whatever you want. The main course was duck cooked on a grill at the table. You pick little pieces of meat up with your chopsticks, slap it on a piece of lettuce, add garlic, onion, mustard, or what else have you, roll it up, and chow down. It was the best meal I’ve had since I’ve been in the country. Koreans love their Soju and it is customary to fill your neighbors glass if you see that it is empty. As the night wore on several male members of the faculty began challenging my ability to keep up with them at their own game. “Hah”, I scoffed confidently, “this is a pastime for which my American education has me adequately prepared gentlemen! Clearly you’ve never been to West Chester, Pennsylvania.” Within an hour I had garnished their respect and my new brothers promised that they would soon take me bungee jumping. I sincerely hope they keep their word.

Before continuing, I would like to say that I am sorry for not posting an update sooner but I have not been well this past week. For four days I had, what I believed to be, a terrible cold. I was in such a state that I regrettably missed two days of classes. On Friday, I finally gave up on the "chicken soup/Gatorade/sleep/I don't have health insurance," remedy and asked to be taken to a doctor. Going to the Korean doctor was an interesting experience unto itself. We walked into the waiting room, checked in with the secretary, and took a seat. So far, not unlike going to any other doctor in the States. When they called my name I followed an assistant in to the back. The examination room had a familiar flair to it but was very alien nonetheless. Where the butcher paper covered examination table should have been sat a rigid wooden cathedra, similar in form to what you'd expect an electric execution chair to look like. Instead of a tidy cabinet complete with individually wrapped and sanitary tongue depressors, cotton swabs, and disposable thermometers, there sat a wheeled stainless-steel cart riddled with hundreds of indecipherable implements from scalpels and bone-saws to powder-filled glass jars and tooth-brushes to vacuum pumps and stethoscopes. The apparatuses at hand suggested that the practitioner was equally surgeon, dentist, and necromancer. The examination itself took less than two minutes and in that time the doctor inserted a dozen probes into my nose and mouth. Some shot bursts of air or a vinegar tasting substance while others simply sucked snot from my nasal cavity. In the end his diagnoses was that I was allergic to something in the air. He gave me a prescription and I had it filled next door less than five minutes later. The cost for the examination and the medicine was less than 9,000 Won or about $7.00 U.S. Long live socialized medicine. Go to hell and die United States privatized health care system. My medicine had enough doses for three days and after the first dose I began to feel better. Awesome!

Since I was in a decidedly better state of affairs on Saturday I figured that I was well enough to go to Seoul with Charlie. We were riding the bus to Suwon station, chatting, laughing, going on about life, love and opportunity, when a terrible concussion tore through the lull. The report rocked the bus and in an instant reality seemed miles away. I gazed around, saw terrified glares from pedestrians, could hear people talking though their voices sounded muffled, as if through ear plugs. I spun, tracing the sound of the blast and across the street I could see black smoke pouring from under a green bus, identical to the one I was riding. Was it on fire? Was it a bomb? Was it an attack? In a microsecond my brain unarchived a thousand different terrorist reports and propaganda that had been lying dormant in my cerebellum, residual observations from calcullating corporate media. As my body prepared a surge of adrenaline adequate to endure a survival situation Charlie put his hand on my shoulder and pointed at the smoking bus, "Tire blew out," he said. Really, I thought as I regained composure, was that all it was? I mean, I've had blow outs in a few cars myself but I never figured that a bus tire could go off with such a thunderous detonation . And all the black smoke! Was it atomized rubber. Don't think that I exaggerate when I say I thought it was a bomb. Regardless, it got my momentum going in the morning better than a cup of coffee ever did.

Charlie had to go to Seoul to buy books and I needed to go to a Kodak service center to get my camera fixed. Somehow Charlie managed to track down this obscure Kodak office in the middle of the city that promised to have the parts I needed for my camera. If I had a Samsung camera I could probably pick the parts up off the street but finding parts for a Kodak is like the plot of National Treasure. Well, we get to this corporate office in the capital of Korea and I can see that they have a thousand boxes of batteries, lenses, SD cards, and other contrivances stashed in the back but they don't have the specific part that I need. Go figure. So they suggest a place in Suwon, which really brought my sweat to a boil. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to paint pictures with words for my adoring audience.

Around 2 p.m. on Saturday Charlie had to disembark to take a test for a government job that he is gunning for. Since, I was feeling egregious I decided that I would join Carlos, Steph, Mark, and this cool Korean chick, Bo in Seoul for the 3rd Annual Seoul World DJ Festival. There was a slight miscomunication as to the whereabouts of the festival itself and I ended up spending the afternoon in Olympic Park, an enormous outdoor facility that I imagine hosted the world games at some point in the past. Though beautiful, the park appeared to be entertaining a few thousand boy scouts at the present and I couldn't imagine that the city planners would allow a rave festival in conjunction. Digging through my pocket for change I called Carlos, obtained the proper coordinates, and was back on board the train to Itaewon.

I had not yet seen as many foreigners in Korea as when I exited the subway in Itaewon. American, British, Austrailian, New Zealanders, and other English speakers abound. As I stood on the curb, chatting with seasoned travelers and waiting for cabs, I decided that I was not to be outdone. Casting aside public transit and taxis as the conveyance of commoners I hailed the largest, most luxurious limousine within sight, ... yes...it was a The Chairman. I arrived at the Rainbow Hotel in unparalleled style to join my companions for the evening. After several hours of procrastinating we managed to garner transportation to within walking distance of the festival.

Tickets to the festival were 50,000 Won, which we considered to be a little steep. In a foolish attempt to bypass this exhorberant fee we transversed a perilous expanse of highway via an unfinished over pass. Over scaffolding, exposed steel rebar, and plywood we crept, eight lanes of high velocity death roaring thirty feet below. We made it to the other side safely enough but there was still three or four tight barriers of security between us and bass heavy madness. It's unfortunate that the event planners were not as incompetent as we hoped they would be. After sucking it up and paying the entry fee we entered a swarm of funkadelic freaks, countless nations and creeds represented. Two huge stages pumped thick pulsing base over a rolling crowd of vivacious youths. In lost time we rebounded between various players, abandoned to the night, to the music, to the carefree mentality of the herd's strange mass, 10,000 vagabonds consolidated in a sandy plot, half a world away from the familiar. Hands flew, pillaged spirits were poured, states of being previously unequaled were achieved. I even met an astronaut.

The festival promised to roll on until 5 a.m. but there was more of Itaewon to be seen. We sold our wrist bands to new comers for 30,000 Won after three or four hours and caught a cab back into town. Itaewon has everything...shopping, clubs, food. We did some Mexican, hung out at a Hookah bar, and danced the night away. The details regarding the later part of the evening escape me as I was overcome with fatigue and I admit that I did not see the sunrise as did the majority of my compatriots, choosing instead a well deserved respite on a hard motel floor.

Another Korean weekend successfully seized! I hope that my accounts were intrepid enough for you oh steadfast reader. With that I will pledge the remaining few hours of my night to Venture Brothers re-runs and ironing. As my camera is incapacitated the pictures published here are courtesy of Mark Hayden and Stephanie Swayne. Thanks guys. Should you desire further narratives from Korea I recommend you to Mark Hayden's blog or the Korean Blog List.

Cool Thing About Korea #4: Pizza School - 12 original medium pizzas for only 5,000 Won.