Bus to Busan Part III: Pretty Pictures and Tales of International Scum

I think what this blog really needs is more pictures and this entry is jam-packed with images of Busan.

It was a nice crowd on the bus for the most part, except for a gang at the back who, not content to just ignore the rest of us and keep to their elite little clique, had to make a show of snapping their necks to the side with pursed lips and squinted eyes whenever someone made the fatal mistake of speaking to them or anyone in their vicinity. While this kind of behavior would be considered freakish most places you go, you get used to it amongst English teachers in Korea, especially in my town of Icheon. Seoul is considerably better but what can you do with these snotty brats? We're all better off facing their cold shoulders than their vacuous hostile faces.

They were six of them: four sloppy young women, an effeminate boy and a big contender for a Tor Johnson look-a-like contest who seemed rather eager to straighten out anyone who disturbed his peace, like a small town bully in the local bar who works harder every year to maintain his reputation as a man to be feared while his gut continues to spread, picking his battles more carefully and putting on a big show. He hunched forward to glare openly at Edgar and Ariel like he was ready to straighten them out if they thought they could just waltz on to the bus and.... Well, they hadn't done anything remotely offensive. Yet. But he was ready, damn it. Just try something. Ariel and Edgar didn't seem to notice him. They were sleeping long before the bus pulled out of Itaewon.



By the second night, this crew relaxed enough to talk to other people and they were excited to tell us all about their previous night's adventure when they harrassed some local on the beach. One of the girls insisted I was there when I knew I'd been hanging at Haeundae.

"Don't you remember? We strangled Superman."

Superman was a local man, not very big, who walked the beach in a costume selling fireworks. They thought his product was substandard and they had a picture to show everyone of Tor Johnson himself pretending to strangle the poor guy. I would have remembered that. It was gross. Whether Tor just grabbed the unsuspecting hero by the neck while one of his nasty girl friends snapped the shot or they coerced him
into posing, there seemed to have been real intimidation involved. Either way, the big joke was that he could still walk all over a smaller man.

Have I mentioned that I'm not always a nice guy? I try. I really do. But I didn't laugh politely as expected. I said, "Oh yeah, and look, you're Lex Luthor." an easy obvious reference to his completely bald head and villainous behavior. I didn't add "a gluttonous lardass Lex Luthor." but this meathead looked so offended, stupefied by such harsh words, as if I'd said "#@*%^@, you *&#@*%y, *&@#%*&88y *#@*head, and walked away like it was all he could do in the situation. He might have liked to strangle me too but somehow that wouldn't be as much fun as tormenting a hard working class peddler. Such a sensitive man. It was back to business as usual with him and the other charmers, at least for me. I overheard one of the girls muttering "That guy's an asshole." I felt warm inside.





Now the time has come to spill the beans on Adventure Korea, the tour company that caters to the foreign clientele. The problem with a lot of package tours is they keep to a schedule. Sometimes you'll see something very cool but it's already time to get back in the bus. Adventure Korea had a special trick of telling everyone to be back by the bus half an hour before it was actually time to leave, ensuring they were never inconvenienced by their guests. A bunch of us finally caught on after the visit to a lighthouse and some dramatic cliffs. It was one of those situations where you barely get there in time to take a picture before spinning on your heels to go back. Nice place too. I could have enjoyed it for hours. People were settled in for a day of dramatic coastal beauty. There was live music on the rocks.




From there we stopped in downtown Busan for dinner. They set an unrealistic time frame to get back to the bus but according to them it would simply be assumed that people chose to stay behind and find their own way back later if they were late. A few were left behind. This was one occasion when return time was exactly what they said. Ariel and I returned on time but they were already revving up the bus and we had to run. It was Saturday night and our guides had no intentions of allowing their jobs or responsibility to their guests interfere with their personal lives.



It gets much worse. We were all supposed to meet outside the hotel at 9 pm to check out a bar they'd recommended. I'd been told it wasn't another trendy club so this time I came along. They kept us waiting for an hour and a half, blaming it on the taxi company. They were busy on their cell phones the whole time arranging their own social lives. When the taxi van arrived, everyone except for our guides and the two women they'd picked up, dropped in 2 bucks. It was pretty cramped. I ended up on the floor, squished behind the driver.

My math skills are poor but there were a lot of us in there and, for the short drive, I hope the taxi driver got a nice tip out of it. Sure, it was a van but my own ride home was 5 bucks and more than 20 had been collected.

It gets worse. We stopped at a bar where some of the guide's friends had been waiting for them and then we (the guests) were given directions to the bar intended for us about a mile back the exact way we had come. These guys wouldn't even stop the cab to let us out, likely because the fare wasn't collected until the end of the trip and they wanted their evening's entertainment subsidized. We'd walked a good ways before I understood how we'd been used. I was furious and frustrated that no one else felt the same. I didn't understand these people at all.

"Oh, come on now, don't be negative."

"Are you *&@@*&&@* serious? We waited an hour and a half for no reason. We paid for the cab and they let us walk a mile instead of letting us out on the way. Their behavior is negative. They're scum."

"Aw, I'm just happy that somebody's getting laid tonight."

I was astounded. There is such a thing as being too nice and understanding. To my mind, if you smile and say "No problem. Have a nice day." to everyone who screws you over, that's bad karma. All you achieve with that kind of complacency is empowering them to abuse the next person.

"Yeah, like I care. Do you seriously think those muscled pretty boys have a hard time getting laid?" Well, maybe they do. Somebody was laughing at a bunch of glossy prostitute flyers he came home with that night. Turns out they were given to him by one of the guide's dates.

We walked on. I kept getting madder with every step. "I will tell everyone I know about these people and how they treat their guests."

"Aw, don't do that. Just let it go. Let's have a nice evening."

Well, there's the story in my world famous blog and now both people who read this know all about it. Take that, Adventure Korea.

"I'll be damned if I go to any bar where those guys get a kickback." I grabbed a cab and called it a night. The rest were glad to see me go since I was being such a Mr. Negative. Whatever.


It was a good choice. The reviews the next morning were not good. No wonder our guides didn't come along. It was touted as a one price all-you-can-drink place, sort of like an alcohol buffet. That wasn't quite true. The place was so understaffed it was more of an all-the-drinks-you-can-manage-to-get-at-the-ridiculously-crowded-bar type of place. It was just a trough and not even a good one. Anyone who thought they were in for a cheap drunk had their dreams crushed.



It must be said. Adventure Korea sucks. If you manage to learn Korean, do yourself a favor and go to other tour companies or do some research and go on your own at your own pace. Busan is an interesting city.

Check out the pictures. I'll go back another day and make my own tour.

Bus to Busan Part II: The Flat Sea

A couple of vids from Busan. The first is Seonjong Beach, near Haeundae but much quieter.

And here we have scenes of Haedong Yonggungsa



You have to see these videos on the Youtube site for the crisper high quality versions. They have an icon to click for that. If you tap the mouse on these embedded blog vids a few times, the Youtube page pops up in another window.

We arrived in Busan around noon and hit the water in our wet suits at Seonjong Beach after checking into our hotel and changing rooms after finding a used condom on the floor. Call us high maintenance guests if you like. That room wasn't even superficially clean.

Since I never quite made it standing on the board, and not for a lack of trying with practise on the beach and almost two hours struggling in the water, there's no point in blaming the serious lack of significant waves for failing to catch a ride. I saw one girl make it up on her board (I thought she might have done this before) but she wasn't going anywhere. The instructors did their almighty best. They got out there with us and tried shoving our boards toward the beach any time we had one of these ripples we called waves. I had fun and a good workout. I think it did my left shoulder some good. The good news is that there was almost no chance of anyone getting hurt. Except for Edgar. He doesn't swim and he didn't tell anyone but Ariel and I so I ratted him out to the instructors. Someone with a better chance of saving him than me needed to know.

Busan is far from the Pacific coast of Mexico in more ways than one. One of the instructors assured me they had days there with decent, even intimidating, waves. I've seen the videos on Youtube. It's true. And there are some dedicated surfers in Korea that must get very excited on wave days. There was supposed to be a huge surfing competetion somewhere in Busan that weekend. Shame about that.

That was the event of the day. In the evening, the tour bus took everyone downtown to hit the clubs and find their own way back. Ariel and I took the second option and hopped out at Haeundae Beach to check out the sand cupltures and talk about life and women. A giant angry cigarette announced there would be no smoking near the sculpture displays. A super nice couple at a brand new Smoothie gave us free cookies. We found a Wa Wa bar, drank some over-priced beer and called it a night.

Bus to Busan: Part 1: Hooker Hill

I have never successfully stood on a surf board and I still haven't after the adventure weekend to Seonjong Beach in Busan but I gave it my best.

Another teacher planned and paid for this trip for a couple of friends when one of them bailed, leaving an opening for me. Surfing? Of course I wanted to go. It involved a few sights of the area as well and two nights unfabulous accomodation.

Our preparation plans kept changing until we realized the only possible way was to spend the night in Itaewon, possibly my least favorite part of Seoul, where the Adventure Korea tour bus left at 6 AM.

Edgar had a twist of genius the night before. Why get a hotel when we could stay awake all night at the clubs and bars? Uh-uh. I wanted to surf and I was going to have whatever sleep I could manage.

It was 9 when I made it to Itaewon. The Lonely Planet Guide to Seoul recommended the Hilltop Hotel. I followed the crap map to a street by the quaint name of Hooker Hill but I wasn't too sure I had the right place. It was a hill. But was it Hooker Hill? Oh yes. Prostitutes started jumping out of doors in bras and panties saying "Yes. Come inside." This was the place. It was like a gauntlet. Some of them were pretty. I suspect they were window dressing and clients had to pick from plainer women inside while the sirens kept station at the door. I'll never know. I kept trudging up that hill, feeling a bit creeped out and smiling politely.

"No thank you."

"No thank you. Yes, you're pretty."

"No thanks. Just sleep. Good night."

They kept coming. All those eyes must have been watching from dark windows the entire trip. Every door sprang open just as I reached it.

The last one was the most aggressive, a dolled up transvestite with a sad attempt at a feminine voice who took me by the shoulder and tried to drag me (guilty pun) through the door. "It's okay. One minute. Special massage. Just one minute."

Well, my left shoulder was still aching after the bicycle accident but she wasn't a masseuse. And she had a penis! I think the assumption was that, since I'd passed up all the warm offers of real women en route, s/he must be what I was looking for. Sometimes good manners won't work, not with the persistent and desparate and business must have been slow that night. I pushed away with a much firmer "No thank you." than I'd given the others.

I stopped under the outdoor yellow light of a tavern to check the guide again. Some young soldiers hanging outside asked me what I was looking for and pointed me to the Hilltop Hotel, right at the hilltop. Only regulars could have known that. I couldn't see the sign on that dark street until I'd walked right up to it. Closed. I can't imagine business being poor for a hotel near all those clubs and bars. Probably health violations. Thank you so much, Lonely Planet Guide. An older haggard prostitute had been eavesdropping and stepped up to point me to another hotel down an alley with a single yellow bulb. It looked exactly the sort of dead end place an old crone with a million sad stories might endorse. I figured I'd lose something or catch something there so I said "No thank you. Good night." and faced the gauntlet on my way back. They wouldn't give up.

The guide book listed another place right above McDonald's at the far end of the Main Street. It was quieter down there, away from the bars. The hotel was there and open for business. I found the entrance at the back of a driveway, an isolated stairwell with no security cameras, leading to the desk on the third floor. Nobody to be seen. My "Anasayo" was answered by strained grunting noises behind a curtain like someone having a very difficult dump. Not wanting to intrude on such an important personal moment, I waited before making anymore noise. Eventually an exhausted man dragged himself out to give me a room key before collapsing on his cot again. No security cameras, dark halls and a night clerk in a coma. I suppose the arrangement was designed so guests wouldn't feel self-conscious about bringing home friends or stabbing someone in the hall but at least the clerk could hear you if you screamed loud enough.

That taken care of, time for a late dinner. Edgar and I were supposed to meet for dinner. I marched back to the subway station, past a huge and ugly bag lady who offered a special massage. Edgar kept calling to say he was almost there. Half an hour stretched to an hour. I gave up on him after he said he just got off at the Itaewon station, five minutes from the street. Never mind that those stairs take two minutes, he still hadn't emerged after 12. I timed him. The offer was still open from the bag lady.

I forgot my alarm clock. Luckily for me, Edgar was sticking to his all-night party animal plan and promised me a wake-up call. He had to be a better bet than the night clerk but he ended up ringing me at 5:45 instead of 5:00 and he was just about insensible.

"Edward! Meet me in front of the Hamilton Hotel. We'll go to McDonald's for breakfast."

"Edgar, I'm already at McDonald's."

"You're at McDonald's?"

"Yes, my hotel is right above McDonald's.

"Oh. OK. So meet me in front of the Hamilton and we'll walk down to McDonald's and have some breakfast."

Not a word I said was getting through. This went back and forth. He pretended to understand before telling me to meet him in front of the Hamilton. I had had some sleep but not quite enough and I lost patience.

"Edgar. I--am--at---McDonald's." A slow angry voice seemed to do the trick but I wasn't convinced until I saw him swaggering down the street.

The place was jammed with all night party people, mostly athletic looking army guys. I smelled potential trouble when Edgar started bragging about the fight he'd almost been in and doing sloppy make believe kung fu moves. Edgar is soft and overweight, a big fan of escalators. Definitely not a fighter. Anyone in the room could easily have hurt him. All the big guys just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But a short guy who I pegged as strong, fast and mean had this grin and gleam in his eye that I didn't like. "I'd love to see this guy get in a fight." It's wise to be wary of men who might have something to prove, especially at McDonald's first thing in the morning when women have given them the cold shoulder all night long and they're still stuck with just their buddies. This guy was strong but came up a little short of my shoulder and seemed ready to make a point about how tough short guys can be at a moment's notice.
I distracted Edgar immediately. "Get in line, man. Are you hungry?" That did the trick.
Edgar helped me order and I somehow ended up with two of everything. A pile of trays and garbage kept a prime sidewalk table available. Since no one else wanted to sit there, I set my bag on a chair and cleaned up the mess.
"No man, that's their job. Get them to clean it up."
There were easily twenty customers at that counter; not all of them were nice. We were running late. I had more greasy food than I wanted. Thirty seconds cut everybody concerned some slack.
Ariel, our third person, showed up. He'd been awake all night too but he was amiable and perfectly coherent. Never met him before. I liked him instantly. Yay. I had an ally to hustle Edgar along.


The bus was still there, full of very tired looking people.
I wasn't the crankiest person on board. That's always nice.

It works!

Wowee. I have a blog and nothing to say right now. This blog is to cut some slack for all the friends and acquaintances who made it on to my bulkmail list whether they wanted or not, some of whom will never visit here. Visits may be scarce. This isn't a fancy pop culture blog with tunes and videos; just another of those self-centered personal journals about the things I do and see.

Whether or not anyone comes here, this is open to the public so I'll have to watch my spelling and refrain from venting rage when the mood hits. This blog may even make me a better person. Does this mean I can never indulge in a long rant again?
Bookmark this if you like. It's bound to get better.

BTW Are Blogger's automated math skills worse than mine? I typed in my honest birth date and year and now my profile says I'm 46. Gosh, I feel younger. Let's see. Born in '61. It's 2008. I must be 47. That's what I've been telling everyone.