Monday, August 15, 2005

Pusan...Is Jus Lyke Compton.

Home again. It was a nice trip. Like to hear about it? Here it go.

I knocked off work at 11am on Friday, packed my shit, and we took the express bus to Seoul station, which, I'm sad to say, is almost entirely bereft of homeless people (I didn't see any, but I'm sure there were some lurking about). I did see a pubic hair on the soap in the subway bathroom, though, so it wasn't a total loss.

Our train left at 3:15. We decided not to take the KTX, because I've heard it's cramped and not exactly ideal for families with a two-year-old. Plus I like riding trains. Almost as much as I like masturbating. Almost.

All was well until my mother, who unbeknownst to me was feeling nauseated all day (she didn't say anything because she was afraid I might cancel the trip), got sick. We were talking, when all of a sudden she sneezed and said "oh-oh." I knew what was next and quickly made way, urging her to head to the nearest bathroom. Unfortunately it was occupied, so she ended up barfing in the sink. Not good times, I bet.

So it wasn't exactly the most serene train ride. We arrived shortly before eight and then took a slow (due to the heavy traffic) cab ride to Haeundae beach, where we had a reservation at a hotel.

Make that a motel. Actually, scatch that; make it a love hotel (or, 모텔). Wifey claims she didn't know it was a love hotel when she made the reservation, but I think she's feigning ignorance. She's kinky like that.

The place was nice; there was a plasma TV, PC with Internet, a king-size bed for the wife and my moms (I slept on a cozy yo, or floor matress; the little girl slept outside in the hallway. Kidding. I'll make sure to keep the child abuse jokes to a minimum from here on out), and a totally kickass bathroom which included a Jacuzzi and a full body massage shower.

But it was still a love hotel.

My conscience gnawed at me until I decided that, awesome room or no, I couldn't have my mother, wife and (especially) little girl stay in such a place. Yes, I'm a total prude.

So the next day we made a reservation at a proper hotel located a few blocks away, the Lord Beach. For the same price as the love hotel (which is named Motel Free, in case you're interested) here's what we got: a room 1/3 the size, a bathroom with a shower head fastened to the wall at the height of my knees, and a 13-inch TV. Hooray!

Also, there was no shampoo or toothpaste, which would have been appreciated because I always forget to pack shampoo and toothpaste (and gloves to cover fingerprints).

But we made due. On Saturday we took a trip to Goje island. We had planned to spend Saturday and Sunday night there, but it wasn't feasible with my mother still somewhat ailing.

With only 3 hours to spend on Goje, we took a scenic drive through some winding mountain passages to a POW camp museum/tour. It was better than the war memorial in Seoul, which isn't saying much, but I mean it quite a lot. It was good. Plus they didn't discount the contribution of the allied forces.

But, goddamn, was it ever hot.

When we got back to Pusan/Busan/Kalamazoo, the wife, I, and the little girl went out for shabu shabu. We had planned to have raw fish, but this restaurant -- which is close to the Lord Beach hotel, and which I haven't the slightest recollection of its name (a reoccurring theme) -- looked too good to pass up.

In short, it was the best meal I've had in a loooooong time. Extra bonus points awarded because the waitress cooked everything for us, and because the little one got a children's meal -- on the house -- in a space shuttle-shaped dish. I apologize for not including many photos of food and shit -- because I can't be bothered. When I see food in front of me I eat it. I don't pull out my camera and take pics of it like it's the fucking Mona Lisa. But I'm weird that way.

The next day we took a boat cruise to the Oruk islets, which was fun. The trouble was that, after the trip, it was only 1:30, and we had no idea how to spend the rest of our day. What we ended up doing was going back to our hotel to devise a plan...but I and my mother ended up falling asleep. Nothing wrong with a nice nap during vacation, I say. When I eventually awoke, we, minus my mother, who would rather eat cookie dough with glass shards in it than raw fish, took a cab down to a renowned 회 restaurant. Again, for the life of me I can't recall its name -- a real shame, too, because it was one of the most memorable dining experiences of my life.

(I won't bore you with the details, but 2 things must be said:

1) I've always heard that raw fish is cheap in Pusan. Well, maybe that's true at some establishments, but it sure as hell wasn't true at this place. Our meal -- flounder, small -- cost 60,000 won. Still, it was worth it.

2) One of the restaurant's specialties is 생선 완자. I have no idea what -- apart from 'fish __' -- that translates to, but I have to say that it was THE BEST FUCKING SHIT I'VE EVER TASTED! I think it was breaded scallops...or scallions...or something. I don't care. It was like crack. I ate about a dozen. And the kickass part was that the waitress kept bringing more and more, free of charge.)

Afterwards we walked along the boardwalk and did touristy stuff: I won the little girl a Winnie the Pooh doll by popping 5 balloons with 5 darts (a feat I'm sure anyone with arms could do; the doll was worth maybe 1,000 won, and the game cost 2,000), and the wife picked out a nice heart necklace that lights up, which our daughter absolutely loved for approximately 3 minutes.

The train ride home was cool. No barfing, and the little girl slept, which gave me some time to crack open a book of Dostoyevsky's short stories. All in all, a nice trip. It's a shame it couldn't have lasted longer, and that my mother was feeling so ill for the better part of it.

Some fottergrafs:



















PS - I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the Lord Beach hotel served my mother toast that was moldy. Because of the "regretable" incident, we got a night's free stay, plus comped meals for the day...but, still, they tried to poison my moms. Warrants mentioning.

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