About two months ago (at least they gave me warning), I was told that I had two days off at the end of October. Although I have vacation days, Korean hagwons dictate when I can and can't take them. I had about 200,000 won to work with, which isn't much. I looked into international flights to other places in Asia, but they were ridiculously out of my price range. Taipei came close, but I decided against it for now.
As I sit here typing, I am in awe about how smoothly this little trip of mine came together, although it did not start out that way. On Tuesday night, I rather randomly decided I would go to Busan, a port city in the southeastern part of South Korea. I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about this, you understand; going from a city of 11 million to a city of 4 million (the second largest in Korea) does not sound like much of a break to anyone, I would imagine. When I announced my intentions to people who asked me where I was going on vacation , many people, even the restaurant guys said, rather tersely, "Why?" Beleive me, I asked the same question. The best I could come up with was, "Because it is there."
I overslept on the morning I was to leave, which was fine, as I had made no reservations whatsoever (too intimidated by my limited Korean). I hopped on the 3:00 KTX train (bullet train). Th ride was pleasant enough, save for one small incident. I was sitting next to a plump ajuma who promptly shut the curtains (she had the window seat) and fell asleep. Too polite (but slightly peeved, nevertheless), I quietly bemoaned my obstructed view and slowly drifted off to sleep. About an hour into the trip, somewhere between sleep and awake, my head was jostled painfully, and a soft pair of hands caressed my forehead, clucking sounds emerging from a disembodied person. I opened my eyes, but saw stars for a few minutes. I finally asked, in English, "What happened?" The ajuma next to me then did a pantomime of a businessman swinging his briefcase a little too freely and clocking me on the head as he "whoosshhh...!" out of the train. The lady was very kind and soothing and I forgave her for obstructing my view of Korea. Finally, 600 km and two and a half hours later, I emerged in Busan.
The terminal for Busan, by the way, is a fantastic display of architecture. The building can be described as somewhere between a football stadium and Chicago O'Hare. This is not as obnoxious as it sounds; somehow, it works. It is especially lovely at night (I can see it from my window right now). There is an urban park and plaza surrounding it, with interesting abstract sculptures, a fountain, and plentiful seating. There are hotels and motels scattered along the busy street, surprisingly reasonably priced, if a bit seedy around the edges.
Tired, and with a headache fast approaching, I decided to take the subway to Haeundae, the beach resort area of the city. As I reasoned, it was off-season, and probably pretty quiet. The tourist information lady gave me a rather condescending and pitying look and suggested I take the bus. I asked about the subway route, which she reluctantly gave me, but warned that there was a transfer involved as well as a 10 minute walk to the beach (oh no, not that!). I set off looking for the bus depot, but found the subway first. The big "transfer" she was worried about was the ONLY transfer on the entire line (I make three transfers just to get downtown Seoul!), which runs in a sideways "X" shape. I made the transfer fine, then managed to get off at the wrong stop. I paid my fare AGAIN (only 1000 Won)and went two more stops.
I came out of the subway, only to find myself on one of those back streets that every tourist dreads, and only the locals know. The street seemed a bit shady at best, but as I got closer to the beach, it got a little better. Although there was quite a bit of activity still going on in the night, it was very peaceful. There were definately some interesting characters about, being a seaport and all, and I saw the first bearded Korean I have ever seen outside of pictures and Korean melodramas (men are meticulously clean-shaven in modern Korea). I clutched my red bag close to me as I wandered the labyrinth of haphazardly planned streets. I stopped at a McDonalds for dinner, then wandered on. I suddenly found myself in a "motel row." This, I must explain, usually means that a redlight district is not far, and I was not disappointed in this guess, as it turned out.
The "love motel" as it is known here, is very cheap and comfortable, if you have the nerve. They are not skanky or dirty by any means, and families will sometimes stay in them "on the cheap" (about $25). Even so, their purpose for existence is somewhat more blatant than most Koreans would like to admit. They are signalled the same way your typical Vegas strip joint is - loud, colorful neon signs, themes (castles with turrets seem to be popular), and titles. I saw the "Relax Motel," the "Queen Motel," the "SandaFe" (oof...bad unintentional pun!), "21 Themes" (hmmm), "The Seventh" (where are 1-6?), and my favorite "Novios" (Spanish for "lovers," but your average Korean wouldn't know that). I avoided these like the plague, as well as some of the seedier unnamed motels. I could see the "Grand Hotel" getting closer, and began contemplating whether my credit card could bear its lofty weight.
Earlier in my wandering, I had noted a nice-looking, but nameless, motel of the amorous type. It was on a busier street, and the lobby (and the $25 price) looked clean and inviting enough. The walls were lined with aquariums; clearly, sea life was the theme. I headed back there after a few more wrong turns, and paused at the door. Well, here goes nothing. I took two steps forward, and stopped dead in my tracks. There, on the threshold, were three folded "calling cards." The photos were similar to the type you find on the back pages of free publications in any major city, "Feel Frieda for free," and the like. The cards were creased in the center and laid neatly, but pointedly, on the doorjamb. My best guess is that this is a signal that the ladies are at "home" but with clients at the moment. Well, I wasn't having THAT! No drunk Korean businessmen for THIS lady.
I stomped away, peeved at my limited choices. I gazed longingly at the "Grand Hotel" again, and inadvertently wandered down a random side street. Suddenly, I saw an "APEC" banner on the side of one of the motels. That sounded promising. The 2005 APEC (Asian Pacific Economic Convention) is meeting in Busan this year to put Busan, already the third largest port in the world, on the map of tourism, so to speak. I followed the banner to the "Lord Beach Hotel" (not "motel"). I presented myself
to the desk clerk, and she issued me a key. The price, although double that of a "love motel," was well worth my security of mind that I would not get molested in the night by a big bottle of soju. The room was neat, clean, and tidy, though a little careworn around the edges. The only reminder of the district I was in came when I reached into the bedstand drawer in search of magazines, and came out with a handful of "Gold Circle" condoms, manufactured in 2001, according to the package (expiration 2006). There was also the telltale big box of Kleenex by the bed. "Well, at least they play it safe," I thought. I had cable t.v., a warm shower, and a comfortable bed. The neon lights from the love motels around the hotel were a little distracting, as well as the drunk businessmen coming out of the bars, but all in all, I spent a quiet, restful night.
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