My goodness me, did I ever have bad travel karma today (as you've probably divined from the title of this post and the fact that I'm still in Jeju). The morning went off without a hitch. I rose at 7:30 or so, packed, checked out, called home, then rode the bus without incident to Jeju City. From Jeju City I got a cab to the ferry terminal, without fail. Upon entering the ferry terminal, however, I noticed something odd about it. It was deserted. Utterly. Well, except for a few old folks sitting around and waiting for the ferry to Wando (South Jeollanam) that was leaving presently. So I inquired (in Korean...damn, I'm getting good) at the information desk. The ferry to Mokpo had already left, the lady said. Well, when did the next one leave? I asked. Eight o'clock, she said. Tomorrow.
Great.
There followed (after a quick check of my Facebook account and a jettisoning of the contents of my bladder) a period of tough decision-making. I thumbed through my guidebook right and left, considering my options. Flight? Nah, Jeju Air was the only inexpensive option, and they only serviced Seoul, Cheongju (in the center of South Korea) or Busan from here. Plus there was no guarantee that even if I went all the way out to the airport that I'd actually secure a seat on a flight. Buses, of course, were out of the question. This was an island, stupid. That left sticking around for another 21 hours to wait for the next ferry. I didn't like losing a whole day, particularly given my already truncated timetable (I had to go back to Gohyeon early to get some things done on Friday, remember?), but there was nothing else for it. So I exited the ferry terminal and caught a cab to the Jeju City seafront. After inquiring at the White Beach Hotel (70,000 per night, and that was without the benefit of air conditioning), I checked into the Motel Valentine, much better at 30,000 for haneut bam (one night). The rooms were spacious, double beds and wide screen plasma TV en suite, and the air conditioning worked (even though it leaked like a son of a gun).
Not content with merely hanging around in a motel room watching a National Geographic special about moose (dubbed into Korean), I went out of my apartment and caught a cab for the Jeju National Museum. I'd seen the Natural History Museum and wanted to do the National one as well, but due to time constraints (my bus took the scenic route to Jeju) I'd failed. Now was my chance at redemption. Unfortunately, my bad travel karma wasn't done with me yet. After a 3,500-won cab ride, I pulled up to the museum only to discover that it was closed. Fortunately, I hadn't gotten out of the cab. The friendly driver (with flyaway hair and cheap sunglasses, who I'd been chatting with on the way) drove me back to my motel, for a total loss of about 7,000 won or so. Oh well, at least I tried. Not sure what to do in the middle of a sweltering afternoon, I got to wandering around. This is where my bad travel karma kicked in again. First I ate four ice cream cones. That was fine: I'd bought two drumsticks at GS25 and the cashier had run back to the cabinet and given me two more ice-cream related goodies for free."Service," he said in English as he held them out to me. ("Service" is the term Koreans apply to a gift given from proprietors to customers. It's kind of like buy-one-get-one-free. If you buy a certain amount of merchandise, they'll throw in something extra. When all of us went out to the sogogi restaurant to welcome Kevin a week or so ago, the proprietor gave us a complimentary bottle of raspberry wine. When I bought two boxes of orange chocolate at a souvenir shop in Seogwipo on Sunday, they threw in a small sampler box for free. It's called "service," and it's common throughout Korea; and always very much appreciated by yours truly.)So anyway, I'd somehow managed to finish all this ice cream. The two complimentary bars I'd received were vanilla and berry ice cream inside a sort of sweetbread coating, named Dwaejiba, or "Pig Bar." (That seemed apt under the circumstances.) I was trying to hop up on the seawall and take a stroll out into the bay. Either my shoe was too loose or my toenails were too long, because I bent back the nail of my second-largest toe on my right foot so far that it started bleeding. I bent it back by hand and hobbled back to my room. Blessing my foresight, I got some Band-Aids and some antibiotic ointment out of my kit bag and applied both to my toe. (Good thing I didn't bequeath those items to my successor, eh?) Then, wondering why my bad travel karma was piling up so high today, I strolled back outside, successfully mounted the seawall (at a lower point) and had a nice long stroll down the seafront and the streets beyond.
Sitting at the end of this pier were two people: a despondent-looking young woman in a black top, listlessly staring at the ocean; and a heavyset man, seated some six feet to the woman's right, in a white T-shirt, with a somewhat crabby expression on his face. I was unable to tell if they were a couple having a tiff, or they were two halves of two separate couples having a tiff, or whether they were just sitting despondently at the end of a pier for no reason. The view was colorful, but monotonous.
I tried to take some pictures of these two over my shoulder, but to no avail. So I gave it up and headed off again. I made a long, circuitous loop about the waterfront to the west, then headed back east, through business districts and beeping traffic. And then, suddenly, the line of storefronts on my left opened up. I'd reached the Sanji Stream.
It was beautiful. Trees spread their flowing canopies over the path, which ran in lazy slaloms beside the stream itself, which was shallow, yet wide and chatty. Old men in suit coats and leather shoes walked slowly up and down, or reclined on benches. A breeze, whose work went unnoticed in the bright sunlight, played deliciously over my face under the shade of the trees. I wandered in bliss.
Near the mouth of the stream I happened upon a small maritime museum of sorts. Impressive scale models of famous ship designs, fashioned in wood, lined the sidewalk in glass cases.
They had the Pinta (from the Columbus expedition), a Viking longboat, a Korean turtle ship, and some other designs. More imposing than these, however, was the life-size model of a Chinese junk that was propped up on the cement in the midst of these models.
It was a free museum, showcasing the Chinese refugees who fled China during a period of civil unrest some decades ago and sought shelter on Jeju Island. They harbored at the mouth of the Sanji Stream, and, with the Korean government's permission, farmed the land and founded a settlement. They endured many hardships and privations before, during and after the voyage, but made a successful go of it. Heretofore I had had no clue whatsoever about refugees seeking asylum in Korea...I was fascinated. The view from the deck of the junk wasn't bad, either.
Not knowing exactly where I was, I caught a cab back to the Valentine. I showered, dried, and then went back out again. I was on the hunt for food and drink.
I'd missed my chance at sampling heungeo (raw stingray fins, a Jeju specialty) the last time I'd come to Jeju City. My guide book stated that they were available in the basement grocery sector of the local E-Mart. It was just down the road, so I strolled down there in the reddish-gold light of the setting sun, in an evening which was only just starting to cool down from the blasphemous heat of the day. I entered E-Mart and found the fish section after a little inquiry. I bought a batch of heungeo hoe (raw, meant for eating straight), waltzed out of the store, and chowed down.ITWASGROSS.I'm serious. There are few Korean foods I don't like. Plain, unsweetened ddeok is not my favorite, but at least I'm ambivalent about it. Heungeo, on the other hand, is revolting. It smells and tastes almost exactly like ammonia. I should've known I was in for a rough time when I opened the package and my sinuses were abruptly cleared by a whiff from the cleaning cabinet. Maybe I got a batch that was past its prime or something, I don't know. Anyway, I forced myself to choke it down (waste not), washed my hands in the E-Mart bathroom, and then practically jogged down to the old GS25 (same one I'd obtained free ice cream at earlier in the day) to get something to wash the taste out of my mouth. I settled on Welch's Grape Soda.I was standing on the street corner and sipping it when an old, round, tiny Korean woman with unruly black hair waddled up to me and began speaking to me, a grin on her toothless face, slapping my forearm and holding out her hand as though asking for money. She'd hit me up once before (as I passed her in Jeju City earlier in the week). I think she recognized me. Her advances, whatever their meaning, were as unwelcome now as they had been then. After a brief attempt to get her to go away, I gave it up and walked away down the street in the direction of City Hall, her cries ringing after me. I felt that to give her money might've insulted her, so I just said goodbye and took off. Hope she hasn't laid an ancient Korean curse on me or something by now...I finished my soda and caught a cab for City Hall. Right across from City Hall in Jeju City there's a Mexican restaurant called El Paso. Think Koreans can't do Mexican? According to the guide book, the chef here learned his trade in Mexico City. I'll admit the decor was authentic and pleasing enough. The chicken enchiladas I got were unlike any enchiladas I'd had before. That is not to say they were bad. They were quite delicious in fact, and spicy to boot. They just tasted a little different, that's all. No, I enjoyed my meal there immensely (the enchiladas were only about nine grand, and I believe there were free refills on the Coke. The atmosphere was calm, quiet, and Mexican enough to pass muster. I ate slowly and jotted down notes on my pad (probably unnerving the waiter) about a comic book idea I've been tossing around lately. Then I wiped my mouth, paid up and stepped outside.
Just then I noticed this rather striking young woman walking by. She had long brown hair, freckled skin, an aquiline nose, a pretty white sundress, and a rather glum expression on her face. We were walking the same way; already my mind was working on a pick-up line.Why so glum?Do you always look that exasperated on a Monday night?You from around here?Our paths split at the intersection. Not wanting to be a stalker, I crossed the road as she turned in to the nearest cell phone shop. Then I turned right around, leaned against a lamppost and watched her through the plate-glass windows. She purchased (or otherwise received) a phone, made a call, then walked slowly back the way she'd come, back past the restaurant.Oh, the hell with it, I thought. I crossed the road again and followed at a discreet distance.She went into a small coffee shop, bought a small mug of something, then sat down and started filling out paperwork. What follows is slightly goofy. I dithered on the sidewalk outside (well, more like a few doors down, so she wouldn't see me) and tried to think of what to do next? Go in? Buy a coffee? Sit next to her? Strike up a conversation? Make a new friend in an unfamiliar city? Or go back alone to my dark room and watch the moose?In the end, I mustered up my courage, went in, bought a hot Americano for three grand, and sat down about four seats from her. I started up a conversation which was halting (she was doing her paperwork, and I was busily trying to get my damn coffee to cool down and be palatable), but refreshing. She'd been here six months and was liking it, especially the Jeju summer; and I...well, you already know if you've read this blog. So, I finished my coffee, said farewell, and walked out. We never exchanged names, but I'd proven that my courage hadn't deserted me during this long dry spell in Korea: I still had the gumption to go in, buy a detestable cup of black muck and strike up a conversation with a pretty woman. I went back to my room and slept.Tomorrow will determine if my bad travel karma persists...
Not content with merely hanging around in a motel room watching a National Geographic special about moose (dubbed into Korean), I went out of my apartment and caught a cab for the Jeju National Museum. I'd seen the Natural History Museum and wanted to do the National one as well, but due to time constraints (my bus took the scenic route to Jeju) I'd failed. Now was my chance at redemption. Unfortunately, my bad travel karma wasn't done with me yet. After a 3,500-won cab ride, I pulled up to the museum only to discover that it was closed. Fortunately, I hadn't gotten out of the cab. The friendly driver (with flyaway hair and cheap sunglasses, who I'd been chatting with on the way) drove me back to my motel, for a total loss of about 7,000 won or so. Oh well, at least I tried.
Not sure what to do in the middle of a sweltering afternoon, I got to wandering around. This is where my bad travel karma kicked in again. First I ate four ice cream cones. That was fine: I'd bought two drumsticks at GS25 and the cashier had run back to the cabinet and given me two more ice-cream related goodies for free.
"Service," he said in English as he held them out to me.
("Service" is the term Koreans apply to a gift given from proprietors to customers. It's kind of like buy-one-get-one-free. If you buy a certain amount of merchandise, they'll throw in something extra. When all of us went out to the sogogi restaurant to welcome Kevin a week or so ago, the proprietor gave us a complimentary bottle of raspberry wine. When I bought two boxes of orange chocolate at a souvenir shop in Seogwipo on Sunday, they threw in a small sampler box for free. It's called "service," and it's common throughout Korea; and always very much appreciated by yours truly.)
So anyway, I'd somehow managed to finish all this ice cream. The two complimentary bars I'd received were vanilla and berry ice cream inside a sort of sweetbread coating, named Dwaejiba, or "Pig Bar." (That seemed apt under the circumstances.) I was trying to hop up on the seawall and take a stroll out into the bay. Either my shoe was too loose or my toenails were too long, because I bent back the nail of my second-largest toe on my right foot so far that it started bleeding. I bent it back by hand and hobbled back to my room. Blessing my foresight, I got some Band-Aids and some antibiotic ointment out of my kit bag and applied both to my toe. (Good thing I didn't bequeath those items to my successor, eh?) Then, wondering why my bad travel karma was piling up so high today, I strolled back outside, successfully mounted the seawall (at a lower point) and had a nice long stroll down the seafront and the streets beyond.
Sitting at the end of this pier were two people: a despondent-looking young woman in a black top, listlessly staring at the ocean; and a heavyset man, seated some six feet to the woman's right, in a white T-shirt, with a somewhat crabby expression on his face. I was unable to tell if they were a couple having a tiff, or they were two halves of two separate couples having a tiff, or whether they were just sitting despondently at the end of a pier for no reason. The view was colorful, but monotonous.
I tried to take some pictures of these two over my shoulder, but to no avail. So I gave it up and headed off again. I made a long, circuitous loop about the waterfront to the west, then headed back east, through business districts and beeping traffic. And then, suddenly, the line of storefronts on my left opened up. I'd reached the Sanji Stream.
It was beautiful. Trees spread their flowing canopies over the path, which ran in lazy slaloms beside the stream itself, which was shallow, yet wide and chatty. Old men in suit coats and leather shoes walked slowly up and down, or reclined on benches. A breeze, whose work went unnoticed in the bright sunlight, played deliciously over my face under the shade of the trees. I wandered in bliss.
Near the mouth of the stream I happened upon a small maritime museum of sorts. Impressive scale models of famous ship designs, fashioned in wood, lined the sidewalk in glass cases.
They had the Pinta (from the Columbus expedition), a Viking longboat, a Korean turtle ship, and some other designs. More imposing than these, however, was the life-size model of a Chinese junk that was propped up on the cement in the midst of these models.
It was a free museum, showcasing the Chinese refugees who fled China during a period of civil unrest some decades ago and sought shelter on Jeju Island. They harbored at the mouth of the Sanji Stream, and, with the Korean government's permission, farmed the land and founded a settlement. They endured many hardships and privations before, during and after the voyage, but made a successful go of it. Heretofore I had had no clue whatsoever about refugees seeking asylum in Korea...I was fascinated. The view from the deck of the junk wasn't bad, either.
Not knowing exactly where I was, I caught a cab back to the Valentine. I showered, dried, and then went back out again. I was on the hunt for food and drink.
I'd missed my chance at sampling heungeo (raw stingray fins, a Jeju specialty) the last time I'd come to Jeju City. My guide book stated that they were available in the basement grocery sector of the local E-Mart. It was just down the road, so I strolled down there in the reddish-gold light of the setting sun, in an evening which was only just starting to cool down from the blasphemous heat of the day. I entered E-Mart and found the fish section after a little inquiry. I bought a batch of heungeo hoe (raw, meant for eating straight), waltzed out of the store, and chowed down.
IT
WAS
GROSS.
I'm serious. There are few Korean foods I don't like. Plain, unsweetened ddeok is not my favorite, but at least I'm ambivalent about it. Heungeo, on the other hand, is revolting. It smells and tastes almost exactly like ammonia. I should've known I was in for a rough time when I opened the package and my sinuses were abruptly cleared by a whiff from the cleaning cabinet. Maybe I got a batch that was past its prime or something, I don't know. Anyway, I forced myself to choke it down (waste not), washed my hands in the E-Mart bathroom, and then practically jogged down to the old GS25 (same one I'd obtained free ice cream at earlier in the day) to get something to wash the taste out of my mouth. I settled on Welch's Grape Soda.
I was standing on the street corner and sipping it when an old, round, tiny Korean woman with unruly black hair waddled up to me and began speaking to me, a grin on her toothless face, slapping my forearm and holding out her hand as though asking for money. She'd hit me up once before (as I passed her in Jeju City earlier in the week). I think she recognized me. Her advances, whatever their meaning, were as unwelcome now as they had been then. After a brief attempt to get her to go away, I gave it up and walked away down the street in the direction of City Hall, her cries ringing after me. I felt that to give her money might've insulted her, so I just said goodbye and took off. Hope she hasn't laid an ancient Korean curse on me or something by now...
I finished my soda and caught a cab for City Hall. Right across from City Hall in Jeju City there's a Mexican restaurant called El Paso. Think Koreans can't do Mexican? According to the guide book, the chef here learned his trade in Mexico City. I'll admit the decor was authentic and pleasing enough. The chicken enchiladas I got were unlike any enchiladas I'd had before. That is not to say they were bad. They were quite delicious in fact, and spicy to boot. They just tasted a little different, that's all. No, I enjoyed my meal there immensely (the enchiladas were only about nine grand, and I believe there were free refills on the Coke. The atmosphere was calm, quiet, and Mexican enough to pass muster. I ate slowly and jotted down notes on my pad (probably unnerving the waiter) about a comic book idea I've been tossing around lately. Then I wiped my mouth, paid up and stepped outside.
Just then I noticed this rather striking young woman walking by. She had long brown hair, freckled skin, an aquiline nose, a pretty white sundress, and a rather glum expression on her face. We were walking the same way; already my mind was working on a pick-up line.
Why so glum?
Do you always look that exasperated on a Monday night?
You from around here?
Our paths split at the intersection. Not wanting to be a stalker, I crossed the road as she turned in to the nearest cell phone shop.
Then I turned right around, leaned against a lamppost and watched her through the plate-glass windows. She purchased (or otherwise received) a phone, made a call, then walked slowly back the way she'd come, back past the restaurant.
Oh, the hell with it, I thought. I crossed the road again and followed at a discreet distance.
She went into a small coffee shop, bought a small mug of something, then sat down and started filling out paperwork.
What follows is slightly goofy. I dithered on the sidewalk outside (well, more like a few doors down, so she wouldn't see me) and tried to think of what to do next? Go in? Buy a coffee? Sit next to her? Strike up a conversation? Make a new friend in an unfamiliar city? Or go back alone to my dark room and watch the moose?
In the end, I mustered up my courage, went in, bought a hot Americano for three grand, and sat down about four seats from her. I started up a conversation which was halting (she was doing her paperwork, and I was busily trying to get my damn coffee to cool down and be palatable), but refreshing. She'd been here six months and was liking it, especially the Jeju summer; and I...well, you already know if you've read this blog.
So, I finished my coffee, said farewell, and walked out. We never exchanged names, but I'd proven that my courage hadn't deserted me during this long dry spell in Korea: I still had the gumption to go in, buy a detestable cup of black muck and strike up a conversation with a pretty woman. I went back to my room and slept.
Tomorrow will determine if my bad travel karma persists...
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