Just what I like to see -- I go away for the weekend, come home, and the place is spotless. (PK, of course; my tangible place is Mark Messier than a real-life version of Katamari Damacy.) Way to keep the place tidy, boys and girl.
Where was I? Nice of you to ask. On Friday I took a trip to the east coast of Le* Peninsula. Just me, myself and I. Oh, and my imaginary organ grinder's monkey. His name is Ivan. He likes Was (Not Was).
Some highlights:
- Taking the bus from Bundang to Seoul, the driver, naturally, didn't turn on the a/c. Because who needs air conditioning in 30-degree heat when it's raining? Not you, and certainly not me.
- Arriving at Cheongnyangni Station, the people who run the joint, naturally, didn't turn on the a/c. Because who needs air conditioning in 25-degree heat when it's humid as a motherfuck at 10 in the evening? Not me, and certainly not you. Just as man would know no hapinesss were it not for sorrow, control the temperature of his environment so that it's at a comfortable level and what do you get? Anarchy, friends. Word to Jon Bender. Sweating is important, vital. Everybody knows that. You don't sweat, you may die. Word to Outkast and C+C Music Factory.
- Trifecta. This train is as hot as the friction between a sumo wrestler's diaper. Ivan just fainted.
- I was worried that the 6-hour train ride would be boring. Fear no more, 'cause there's a drunk guy sitting behind me, and he keeps passing out and slamming his forehead against the back of my seat. This is the best vacation ever! Word to Clark Griswold.
- The drunk guy behind me -- who in intervals is muttering to himself and grunting like a porn actor -- lets rip a fart that could possibly rival the decibel levels of the games played at ORACLE arena during this year's Warriors/Mavs' playoff series. Immediately thereafter, a college-age girl gasps almost equally as loud. I am now officially having fun. Ivan, too.
- All good things must soon pass; and so it is that my drunken source of amusement must disembark at Wonju Station. Ivan, too, looks forlorn.
- To answer your question, no, I am not drinking. Alcohol would weaken -- cheapen -- the buzz I'm feeling right now.
- To answer your second question, yes, I can get through a 6-hour train ride without smoking a cigarette -- I mean, I could if I wanted to. And I just don't wanna. God bless this train's bathroom. It even has toilet paper!
- It's 4:40AM, and I can faintly see the sky lighten -- like a pair of navy blue slacks fresh out of the washing machine.**
- I've already shown most of my hand as far as the PK 27/34 goes, so here's another one: Someone Great by LCD Sound System. And I'm confident that it is a song which would have slipped past me had I not been sitting up all night, sober, aboard a train bound for (Glory?). Clarity, friends. Plus, the song's final seconds sound like my broken electric fan.
- The train stops at Jeongdongjin, and Ivan tells me it's time to get off, time to see the sunrise. We stroll along the beach, monkey paw-in-human hand, smiling like kindred simians. Unfortunately, at 5:05 (the Sun's ETA), all we see are clouds. "No way this is a metaphor for our love of each other," Ivan whispers to me. "No way," I whisper back. Then I pull his leash taught and swing him around in a circle like he's a helicopter's blades. Or the blades on my broken electric fan.
- Sand in our toes and sea breeze in our nose(es), an ajumma solicits us for a place to rest our weary heads. "Don't worry, we accept animals," the ajumma reassures Ivan, looking at me.
- No air conditioner? Par for the course. Ivan, however, is more than a little irate that the room's television has neither a remote control nor Animal Planet. I tell him to put the moves on the Jindo dog chained up outside if he's looking for easy access, but he just falls asleep facedown on the bed. That's Ivan for you.
- We set out for the day on a few hour's sleep, because, like Shaq in the playoffs, it's not a vacation unless you exert yourself, push yourself to the limit. Case in point: a 2-hour bus ride to a harbor where they serve -- Ivan assures me -- the freshest sea food on the peninsula. And I'm all for freshness.
- I am not, however, for so-called restaurants crawling with all manner of insects. I think I saw a centipede the length and girth of a Pringle's can***. Still, because the place's multi-tiered floors remind me of the staircase scene in Vertigo, I sit and await my meal. And it's a winner. Because who doesn't love sea slug? Certainly not me, and most certainly not you. It tastes like shampoo. Mixed with bad.
- Please don't get the mistaken notion that I disliked my meal. It was better than a million sneezes. Particularly the 'maeun-tang,' which blew my mind. Word to the Delfonics. Ivan liked the live squid. The live squid liked him, too. Moreso, perhaps. He has ten hickies to prove it.
- Yep, we're in the countryside -- a girl on the bus just asked me how to say English IN ENGLISH. "Break my heart, I deserve it," I tell her. I'm such a bastard, I know.
- Ivan and I, bellies full and spirits high, are frolicking at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that will, hopefully, take us back to our place of rest. After about 40 minutes, a young police officer -- I bet he managed to dodge full military service by pretending he was a woman -- strolls over and tells us that we've been waiting at the wrong spot. I thank him and follow the directions he gives, but, as we're walking away, he pulls on Ivan's tail and gives him a wink. Ivan, violated****, says, "Let's just get back to the motel so we can make love and wash the the stink of that bastard's scent off with the remedy that is your Tiberious Meat Hammer." I oblige.
- After delousing at the "creamatorium*****", we see the sights -- a giant fucking hour, nay, year glass! -- and eat fried chicken. Ivan, strength weakening like the first time I played Metal Gear Solid 3 and foolishly thought I could beat down and then eat a crocodile, wants to retire. I oblige.
Then I oblige again.
- Then I wake up. Then I notice a mosquito has bitten me -- fuck everything holy -- on the sole of my right foot. He's dispatched with extreme prejudice. Then I bite my fist until the itchiness resides. Then I fall asleep, roughly an hour later, for roughly 4 minutes. Then I wake up, scratching above my left eyebrow. Then I realize another mosquito has "obliged me," tugged my Tiberious Meat Tail, so to speak. Then I go on a killing spree, splattering six-legged, blood-sucking flying insects right to left, up to down, up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a, b, a, start.
Then we're cool.
- I WAKE UP, turn off the caps lock, take a shower, shave, save, and eat jajang fried rice. Ivan prefers choicer fare: my bleeding heart.
I, naturally, oblige. Werewolf monkey, dig it.
- Take the train, take the train. Wouldn't you know it, a group of drunken mountain climbers boards and sits behind us. Sadly, no Earth-shattering farts. I can wait.
- I'm still waiting.
- Sunday evening, roughly 10:13 by my watch, I get off the train -- always a hard thing to do; I could spend my life on a train like you could spend a lifetime in Purgatory --, kiss Ivan goodbye and take the subway to City Hall. Then (then!) I take a bus back to the Holy Land, aka Bundang.
- Now, I'm going to bed.
-----
Best vacation ever, as if you needed to ask.
* La?
** Write what you know.
*** And do it again.
**** Ivan Violated: the name of my new band and our eponymously-titled CD.
***** Punch me, now.
Back when I lived in Seoul, I grabbed the International Herald Tribune pretty much everyday. I don't imagine that I read it much, but it felt good to have (semi) reputable journalism in my hands during my long commute. Afterall, I was living in the land of the Chosun Ilbo. Shit, I was happy to read anything that didn't endorse the restorative effects of pickled cabbage or speak of the perils of fan related injury and mortality.
