Off home

I get up on time. I’m supposed to be seeing Andrew at 8:30. Just need to brush my teeth, ram a few things into my bags and I’m ready to go.

The bathroom is tiny. Larger than an aeroplane bog. But only just. I can only just about fit my arse on the toilet seat. Not a wonderfully comfortable experience. Andrew would have to bend double to get under the shower.

We check out and walk to the station. It’s not too far, even for someone as old and radged as me. It’s good we know exactly which entrance and staircase to take. Saves pointless fucking around.

After a bit of fiddling with the machine, we get ourselves tickets to the airport. I walk through the barrier and wonder why Andrew hasn’t followed me. I turn back and see he’s talking to a member of staff. Turns out we’ve just bought seat reservations, not actual tickets.

Ticketing issues solved, we go up to the platform. Where our train soon pulls in.

It’s around 45 minutes to the airport. With a pretty fast train. Which, on reflection, looks more like an airliner inside.

We can see a lot more than on the way in, when it was dark. It’s built up very differently than Korea. There, it’s just forests of high-rise blocks. Here, the majority is low-rise housing, with the occasional 10-storey block.

The further out of town we get, the more industrial it becomes. Oh look, there’s a massive Nippon Steel works. Cool.

“We used to have those things in the UK. Places . . .

“Where they made things. Factories. You’ve already done that joke, Dad.”

“Well, I only have a limited number of them.”

“I’ve noticed.”

A long bridge forms the last run into the airport. Which is on an artificial island. One of the largest in the world, Andrew tells me.

It’s all very well organised. The train runs right into the terminal. From there, it’s a few storeys up into departures.

The nice lady at the Korean Air check-in counter asks: “Is Seoul your final destination?”

“No, Amsterdam.”

“Do you want to check your bags all the way through?”

“Yes, please.”

Hopefully, they don’t get lost on the way. Though, as all that’s in them in dirty clothes, it doesn’t really matter that much if they’re delayed. Unlike on the way out.

She also prints boarding passes for the second leg. Zero fucking around needed in Seoul.

The annoying formalities are over quickly. A quick shuttle ride and we’re out at the gates. With almost zero walking involved. That’s what I call a well-organised airport.

The KAL lounge is small, but perfectly-formed. All self-service. I get myself a coffee.

“Where’s the beer machine?”, Andrew asks.

“Next to the coffee machine.”

As these things are quite impressive, I video it while it pours Andrew’s beer.

“Mmm, it’s after 10. Must be time for a whisky.”

“It’s always whisky time for you, Dad.”

He’s not wrong. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

There isn’t a choice. Just a bottle of Ballantine’s 17 year. It’s OK. Having just the one glass would be impolite.

The plane is pretty big for a short hop. A wide-body Airbus. We have two seats on the outside. Again, the legroom is dead impressive for standard seats. Even Andrew can sit comfortably.

Not bad food. Chicken with rice. Not spicy, but pretty tasty. I scoff pretty much the lot. No alcoholic drinks. That’s no biggie, as I’ve already had a couple in the lounge. And I’ll be having a couple more in the next lounge.

We need to go through security again. Doesn’t take long, luckily. Now all we have to do is to find the lounge.

Not as easy as it sounds. We spot one. But it clearly says, on closer inspection: “Not a KAL lounge”.

My back is killing me. I really don’t fancy random walking around in hope.

“Andrew, I need to sit down. Can you try to find the lounge?”

“I’m feeling tired, too.”

“Fucking brilliant. I’ll do it, then.” I’m a bit pissed off. To say the least.

I decide to find a gate with airline staff and ask them. After asking at a few desks, I eventually get directions. Now I remember where they were on the way out. At either gate 249 or 253.

I realise we’re in a different lounge this time when the bar isn’t where I expect. This is an exact mirror image of the other lounge.

What should I get? I know, what about a whiskey? And a beer for Andrew.

I’m going to have to pace myself. We’ve a long layover. A very long layover. As in a full eight hours. No need to go crazy shovelling down the booze. I’ve more than enough time.

Bits of food. Some of those will help. Fruit. That’s always a good idea. And cheese. You can never have too much cheese.

I flip out my flaptop and fire up some Early Doors. Soothing and entertaining. It fills the time like a smelly fart fills a bus.

A couple of hours pass reasonably quickly as I sip whiskey and nibble on cheese.

“Do you fancy some cheese, Andrew?”

“No.”

“You can never . . .”

“Have too much cheese. I know, Dad. You keep saying that.”

I’m feeling a bit knacked after a couple of hours and decide to get my head down. The seat is comfy and I can stretch out a treat. The lights? That doesn’t bother me. I don’t need darkness to kip.

After an hour spark out, I feel much better. Now where’s that cheese?

I work away steadily at the Jack Daniels. Until Andrew returns from the bar tells me that it’s about to close. You what? I rush up to get in another and ask precisely what is happening. Yes, they close at 8. But the liquor bottles will be left out for us to help ourselves. There won’t be any Jack Daniels, though. I’ll have to make do with Glenmorangie.

There’s still some time left when I finish off season two of Early Doors. As with much of the best British comedy, they called it a day after two series.

Andrew starts getting panicky when he sees “Go to gate” next to our flight. Almost two hours before departure.

“I’m not traipsing down there to sit on an uncomfortable seat for 2 hours. I’ll have plenty of time for that during the flight.”

As a compromise, I agree to leave the lounge 15 minutes before boarding is due to start. It will still mean sitting around at the gate for a while. But I feel guilty about how fine we cut things on our previous flight out of Incheon.

Of course, we have some hanging around at the gate. Not too annoying, mind. As we have seats.

The flight is very full. Luckily, for reasons I don’t understand, the bloke in the window seat fucks off somewhere soon after take-off. Giving us a lot more room.

After nibbling listlessly at the food, I attempt sleep. Having tanked myself up well, I don’t even bother drinking any wine. I doze around ineffectually for a couple of hours. Then put on What We Do in the Shadows. To which I keep falling asleep. That sort of works.

I nod off briefly watching more TV. Outside there’s an amazing strip of dawn, a horizontal rainbow. Very pretty.

The breakfast omelette could be worse. Definitely needs some seasoning. And cheese. Everything is better with cheese.

We land at 5:20. Quite likely the first arrival of the day. On the way to passport control, groups of border guards keep passing us. Obviously, just starting their shifts.

No queue at passport control. I guess because we’re so early. Our bags are already on the carousel and Andrew whips them off, sticks them on the trolley and we’re through customs before the lazy arses have even got out of their office.

A cab has us home not long after six. Where Dolores awaits us with tea.
 

Off to Osaka

I rise at 8. To watch Match of the day 2.

So depressing, as the fascist Arses win. The jammy twats. Totally undeservedly. Then again, I always think that. In my mind, the Arses never deserve to win. Just for being the Arses. I dream of their relegation from the Football League. If it was up to me, they'd start every season with a deduction of 60 points. Or maybe more.

We get to the station early. Very early. Andrew is a bit paranoid when it comes to travelling. We sit in the station for 2 hours waiting for our train.

There’s some shouting going on. A bloke is very unhappy about something at the ticket counter and keeps slamming down some piece of paper. All the station staff look very uncomfortable. Soon enough, it ends. Without police intervention.

There’s a little shop on the concourse. I go to check it out. That is, get something to drink for the journey.

At first, it looks like they don’t sell any alcohol. Then I spot some cans of beer. And, just further along, soju. Though only 200 ml bottles. I get two.

Every time a train rolls in and passengers tip off, a good percentage are in uniform. All young lads and obviously conscripts. Like Andrew’s university friend Robin, who recently started his military service.

“You should be glad they dropped conscription in Holland.”

“They didn’t. It’s still on the books. I received my papers.”

“But you don’t actually have to do it.”

“Not at the moment. They could easily bring it back, if they wanted.”

“It would be good for you.”

“In exactly which way, Dad?”

“Get you out of the house.”

“Good for you, you mean.”

“Cynicism is so unattractive in the young,”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

I’ve been surreptitiously working my way through a bottle of soju. I nip to the shop to replace it.

Maybe I should say a word about soju packaging. The larger bottles look very much like bottled water. Clear liquid in a clear plastic bottle. Only in Korean. One prominent brand even has an image of a drop of water. It would be dead easy to mistake it for water. It must happen.

I'm glad we booked up our seats when we arrived in Pohang. The train is packed after a couple of stops, with people standing. It’s almost like being in the UK. Though obviously nothing like as stupidly overcrowded as that.

We're lucky with our timing when we arrive in Seoul. The next express train to the airport is in 5 minutes. They only run once every 40 minutes. More lounge time. Yippee!

Checking in is a breeze.

"How many bags can I check in?"

"Three."

Brilliant. Though we only have two that need checking. I wonder if I can save the extra one for a later flight?

Before going airside, I change the remnants of my wongs into yen. Always handy to turn up with local cash. And the wongs aren’t going to be any use in Holland.

There's a bit of a queue at security. Nothing too bad. We're through in 10 minutes. And go directly to the lounge.

It's pretty big. And rather good. They give me a decent slug of whiskey. And there's lots of hot food. It's even better than the Air France lounges. Though maybe not on the cheese front. Mikey still regales friends with tales of the Air France cheese counter.

I watch some Early Doors. Which is rather surreal. And continue stocking my belly with whiskey and scran.

“It’s your round, Andrew.” He doesn’t look very keen on going to the bar, the lazy git.

“What do you want, Dad?”

“Jim Beam, no ice. A Double.”

When he returns, he has that sheepish look again.

“They put ice in, didn’t they?”

“Sorry, Dad.”

We cut it a little fine with going to the gate. Everyone else has already boarded. A couple of staff hurry us towards the plane.

"Don't worry, we've checked in bags. They won't be leaving us behind."

Andrew just gives me a look. Faithless bastard.

“Have I ever let you down, Andrew?”

“Yes. Loads of times. It’s what you do.”

The ungrateful bastard. After all I’ve done for him. Right, well, I’ll not be wiping his arse again.

It’s a good two minutes, three even, perhaps, after we fasten or seat belts that the cabin crew close the doors.

“See, I told you we had plenty of time.”

“Just shut up, Dad. Really. Just don’t say anything.”

I'm not that hungry, but the food is pretty good: spicy pork stew. Lots of legroom, too. Even for lanky legs Andrew. Who is strangely uncommunicative.

I'm knackered when we land in Osaka. Immigration and bag collection go smoothly. And they have baggage trolleys. Free ones. Not like robbing US airports. The robbing bastards.

Customs insists we open our bags. Perhaps, because of our natural sweatiness. I'm tempted to say: "The drugs are in the other bag." But wisely keep my gob shut. Customs officials aren't noted for their sense of humour.

There’s a ticket counter for the express train. So up we traipse to it. We've just a couple of minutes until the next one. I’m not going to rush. We’ll get the one after.

There's a vending machine on the platform and Andrew gets us some drinks. I need a nice cold water. It was weirdly warm in the arrivals hall.

The train has airplane-like oval windows. Giving it rather the appearance of an airliner. If you don’t look too hard or worry about where the wings have gone.

It takes about 45 minutes to Namba. They whisk past in streaming lights and the occasional blinking tower. Impossible to get any impression of what it looks like in daylight.

At Namba Station, where the express terminates. we try for a while to find a taxi rank. It's not very well signposted. Not even on some of the maps. I can’t do with any unnecessary wandering around.

The first taxi driver can't read the name of our hotel. We have to get out again. Luckily, the next one can read Roman script.

It's not that far. But I'm too knacked to walk. It costs 740 yen. The minimum fare is 680 yen. That’s how short a journey it is. Yet one I really needed in my state of totally bollock knackered.

After checking in, Andrew goes down to get some beer from the hotel's vending machine.

“No proof of ID needed.” He says grinning gleefully on return.

“Japanese only channel” a notice says on the TV. Though on NHK they’re showing a programme teaching English. Hah, win for us.

I just drink some water. That’s how tired I am. Then collapse into bed. Over 12 hours travelling, in total. That takes it out of you. Especially an old git like me.

Off to the offie

I rise a little before ten. And write up yesterday on my laptop. Then watch Match of the Day. Thankfully, City win. That'll learn those Arses.

We’re saying goodbye to Alexei today. He needs to finally get back to his dorm. He has a morning class tomorrow and needs to be early to bed. At least that’s what he says. More likely, glad to escape, after almost a week with us.

Outside the hotel, we wait for Alexei’s taxi to turn up. Then it’s time for a tearful farewell.

“Enjoy the rest of your time in Korea.”

“Have a good time in Japan. You bastards.”

“I’m sure we will.”

“See you in a couple of weeks.”

Then off Alexei’s taxi goes. His roommates will be surprised to see him. They probably assume that he’s been kidnapped by the North Koreans. Most likely already drawn lots for who gets his laptop.

It's an extremely quiet day. We do fuck all, other than hang around in Andrew's room watching Youtube and drinking. Interspersed with the occasional trip to the shops for more booze.

We haven’t done a great deal in Pohang at all. Other than hang around together. Though I can hang around with Andrew for free at home. (Could would be a better word. Most of the time he’s in zombie mode, plugged into his laptop.) It was nice for the three of us to have time together. Not sure how many more chances we’ll have for that.

“Do you think Lexxie was pleased to see us?” I ask.

“He stayed here the whole time, didn’t he?”

“I suppose he did.”

Alexei coming out here must have been weird for Andrew. They’ve never spent a long period apart before.

“It’ll prepare them for the future.”

“What, Dad? Who’s ‘them’?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Dad, you’re speaking out your thoughts again, aren’t you? Who’s ‘them’?”

“No-one you know. Don’t worry.”

“You really are going senile.”

“Thanks.”

“And stop saying ‘thanks’ when I insult you.”

“Charming.”

“Just fucking shut the fuck up.”

We go to bed early. While Andrew is in such a good mood.

It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Most of it spent travelling. Train to Seoul, another train to Incheon airport, flight to Kansai airport, and a final train to Osaka city centre. It’ll be late evening by the time we get to our hotel.

Off to the pub

I'm up even earlier today, around 10.

Andrew has been up since 8. He did sleep pretty well all of yesterday. He's looking much perkier.

I grab hold of the chambermaid and ask her to clean my room. Hopefully, that will help. To try to make sure, I hang around in the kids' room again.

Me and Alexei go to a convenience store. But they have no sandwiches. Maybe that's because of the public holiday yesterday. We try another shop - they're every 100 yards or so - which has one sad, lone sandwich. That'll divvy up well between three. Just as well Andrew has the appetite of an anorexic ant.

Back in the hotel, I bump into the housemaid and she says something while pointing at a bag of rubbish. Probably about how much of it there was in my room. After a couple of days of drinking with the kids there, it was like the aftermath of a student party.  Empty bottles and cans everywhere. My guess is: three or four bin bags full.

After a bit of lounging, drinking and watching Youtube in the kids' room, we decide to go to the craft beer pub.

“What’s the pub called, Lexxie?”

“The Goethe and Baby. “

“The what? What sort of name is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’re just random words again. Like those shops the other day. “

“I suppose so, Dad. But I really couldn’t give a shit.”

The pub is out at the beach, where we were the other day. Meaning we need to get a taxi.

Outside it's raining more heavily. Which may explain why Lexxie is struggling to find a cab. What to do?

"Why don't we go the chicken place we went to the other night?" Lexxie suggests.

"Sounds like a plan." It's just around the corner. And I’m a lazy git. There we traipse.

It’s pretty empty again. Which is fine by me. I don’t need crowds of other people to feel justified in my choice of restaurant.

Fortunately, the menu has pictures. It makes ordering less of a leap into the unknown.

“It takes the thrill out of ordering.”

“What, Dad?”

“Having pictures. It removes the excitement. The thrill of the unknown.”

“Dad, don’t be stupid. It makes sure you don’t order crap you hate.”

“Or stuff you didn’t realise you loved.”

“You’re so full of crap.”

We boringly order a mixed platter to share: fried chicken, prawns, chips and roast spuds. Along with some salad.

“That’s very South American?”

“What?”

“The dual carbs.”

“Shut up about Brazil, Dad.”

The kids order a 3-litre pitcher of Cass. While I get a bottle of soju. I’m going to miss it when I’m back in Amsterdam. I wonder if Ton Overmars sells any?

The platter comes with three colours of sauce: red, yellow and brown. A bit like the Belgian flag. The red one is pretty spicy. Which isn’t much of a surprise.

It's about exactly the right amount of food. We pick away at it. Some of us picking rather more than others. About 60%, 30% and 10%. In the order Alexei, me and Andrew.

Maybe that wasn’t quite enough for all of us. Alexei is still peckish and nips into a shop for more food. Where does he put it all? I suppose he is 2.10 metres tall.

“Are you looking forward to Osaka, Andrew?”

“What? Are you going to Japan?”

“Yes, just for a couple of days on the way back. Didn’t we mention it?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“We’re going to Japan, Alexei.”

“Oh, right. Now you tell me.”

“Sorry about that. We’ll send you some photos.”

I’m such a generous father. No wonder the kids love me so much.

Back at the hotel, feeling a bit knacked, I lie in their bed watching Youtube. After an hour or two my stomach feels bad. Really bad. So bad I return to my room. Fuck. I can do without a fucked stomach.

Sleep is what I need. And what I get.

Goethe and Baby
395H+RG Pohang-si,
Gyeongsangbuk-do.

Off to nowhere

I rise at 11:00 and go to the kids' room. They're both still lying in bed, the lazy gits.

I watch a programme about Korean chef having a popup restaurant in Marrakech. The locals seem pretty keen on his food. Though, obviously, they’ve toned down the pork content considerably. They do love their pork here in Korea. It’s one of the country’s most endearing features.

The next episode in Naples is weirder. When they mention that they’re Korean, almost everyone they meet says “Oh. Kim Jung-Un!” Who is the only Korean they’ve heard of. The Koreans getting visibly increasingly pissed off the more he’s mentioned. Despite their best efforts to hide it. The locals this time don’t like that there’s no wine.

We hang around in the kids' room for a while. Mostly in the hope that they'll finally clean my room.

It's Children's Day and lots of stuff isn't open. Though, obviously, the convenience stores are, where me and Lexxie stock up with essentials. Whisky, beer, soju. Andrew is just lying in bed, as he still feels crap.

Late afternoon Lexxie and I start thinking about food. A look on the web finds a place very close by with the promising name of Meat. That's where we head. It looks really good. Like a butcher's at the front.

Too good. It's full. We're told that we need to write down our name and telephone number and they'll call us when a table is free. Lexxie isn't keen, as a call will cost him a lot of money. Instead, we look further. As it's raining, we don't want to be walking around too much

Happily, there are plenty of eating opportunities around the corner on the main road. Why didn’t we come this way the other day? Another Korean BBQ place, for example. We settle in there. Other than a father and son sitting on the opposite side of the room, we’re the only customers.

Lexxie does his phone magic with the Korean menu on the wall. Which reveals it’s mostly various cuts of pork. We order the most expensive, which looks like a chop, as it’s not that fatty. Unlike the belly pork we had the other day. 

There’s an impressive array of accompanying bits: kimchi, garlic, onions, salad leaves, chili and some weird soggy leaf. All the stuff you need.

The pork is very nice. But doesn't fill us up.

“Do you fancy some beef, Lexxie?”

“I could eat some.”

“Don’t let me force you.”

“Yes, I want some beef, Dad. Is that clear enough?”

It’s good that we’re bonding like this on Children’s Day. I order a round of beef. Which is also pretty damn good.

They’re using real charcoal to barbecue. Which means they need to have an extractor right over it to stop the room filling up with smoke.

While Lexxie is drinking beer, I'm on soju again. Which I've got a bit of a taste for. Not that it has that much taste to speak of. Probably, the main reason I like it. That and all the alcohol.

Back at the hotel, Andrew is still in bed. He looks a little better. But not much.

“Can you try not to die, Andrew. It would be murder getting your body back to Holland.”

“Sorry to inconvenience you.”

“And I’d have to explain to your Mum.”

“That’s would be so bad for you, Dad.”

“I know. Your Mum would be so angry. With me.”

“What about me?”

“You’d be OK. You’d be dead.”

“Cheers, Dad.”

I think I’ve managed to cheer him up.

We eventually coax him into drinking some beer. Which definitely helps his mood.

I check my room. They still haven't made it up. Best to carry on partying here in the kids’ room. Which isn’t quite totally filled with rubbish yet.

We don’t leave it too late. Not this time. It’s not far past midnight when I decamp to my rubbish tip of a room. Clearing a path to my bed before collapsing into it.

Off to the beach

The kids knock on my door about noon again. They’re so lazy. I’ve been up since six. Or would have been, if I hadn’t known how lazy they are. And hadn't stayed up late myself last night.

We start the day with the leftover sandwiches from yesterday. As you do. And the little whisky that remains. I do, that is. I’m not letting anyone else get near it.

“Do you have to start drinking so early, Dad?”

“Yes. I’m on holiday. It’s like being in an airport. Drinking at any time of day is acceptable.”

“Says you.”

“It’s not me who decides, but society.”

“And it just happens to fit in with what you want to do?”

“That’s a mere happy coincidence.”

“Riiight.”

The plan is to visit the beach. But, as the pubs there don't open until six, we hang around in the hotel for a while. Occupying ourselves with weird Korean TV. And whisky, obviously. For me. I wouldn't let the kids near it.

Lexxie uses an app to get us a taxi. It's a mere 5,000 wong. Well under 4 euros. It costs 6.50 euros just to step into a cab in Amsterdam.

It's rather breezy on the seafront. Which means it's quite cool. Best thing is the view of the steelworks across the bay. It's just like being in Ijmuiden. Other than all the Korean signs.

We walk out onto the pavilion, a concrete and wood structure sticking out into the sea. Which, according to the internet, is one of Pohang’s top attractions. Probably because of its ace view of the steelworks.

“I remember when you had those things in Britain.”

“What things, Dad?”

“Those places where they make things. Factories, I think we used to call them.”

“Very funny.”

There’s not much to the pavilion. A Concrete pier topped by an open wooden structure. It feels even breezier here. There’s nowhere to shelter, either. Not much of anything, other than signs warning you not to fall into the sea. Glad they warned me. Otherwise, I might easily have dropped over the edge.

“Best not hang around too long, lads. Especially as it’s just about opening time.”

“You wouldn’t want to miss five minutes of drinking time, would you.”

“Of course not. With the old UK licensing laws, you had to grab every second you could.”

We're headed for a bar restaurant called 1943.  A place Lexxie has been to multiple times. It’s quite large.

"Why is it called 1943?"

"No idea."

"I can't imagine that was the happiest of years in Korea."

"Probably better than 1953."

We're the first customers and have our choice of seats. We pick ones close to the chandelier. Which is about a foot off the ground.

"That wouldn't last 5 minutes in Britain. Some drunk would fall into it and smash it." Andrew says.

I'm so proud of the country of my birth.

The kids order beer. By beer, I mean a 3-litre pitcher. That should keep them going for a while. I get a soju. It's more interesting than a bland industrial Pils. And perhaps a tad more alcoholic.

Lexxie orders food for us. A dish of tiny sausages covered in cheese and one of fried squid with hot sauce. The former is a bit odd. Not really my idea of Asian food.

As we eat, the place begins to fill up. I say we. Me and Lexxie, really. Andrew isn't hungry again and only has a couple of mouthfuls.

After we've polished off the first two dishes, Alexei orders another. Something spicy. It's a sort of meat and vegetable stew. Lexxie finds it a bit too hot. I don't find it that bad. Then again, I'm not drinking the broth. After a while, Lexxie nips to the shop to get some milk. Just to cool down his mouth.

“I thought you could cope with spice?”*

“Fuck off, Dad.”

“Charming. How dare you speak to your father like that?”

“Really, Dad, just fuck off.”

We sit and chat. The kids get another pitcher of beer. I get another soju. We don't manage to finish the stew. Though I pick out all the pieces of meat. Which are super yummy.

“It’s not that spicy.” I remark, as I sift through the stew.

“Remember what I said about fucking off, Dad?”

“No.”

“That’s the problem. You’re going senile.”

“What did you say?”

“And deaf, too.”

Lexxie orders us another taxi to return. It doesn't take long.  Bouncing along at an only slightly scary speed through the glowing streets of downtown Pohang.

We lounge around in my room until the booze runs out. Then the kids nip out to the shop. That's the great thing about Korea. The convenience stores all sell alcohol and are open 24 hours. Not stupid licensing laws here. And having kids to go and fetch stuff for you. Not that it happens often.

We stay up quite late again. Watching the Standy-Uppy guys on Youtube. It's 2 AM when we turn in.

The kids are a bad influence. That’s what I’m going to tell Dolores. Or that we’re having priceless family bonding time. “You’re just a bunch of drunks, really.” I can already hear her say.



* Both kids bit into a Carolina Reaper pepper once in Newark.



1943
12번지 1011 두호동 Buk-gu,
Pohang-si,
Gyeongsangbuk-do.
 

Off to market

Lexxie knocks on my door at noon, as arranged. Andrew trolls up a little later. He isn't looking great.

First things first. We need more drinks. How did the kids through that much beer? Who stole all my whisky?

After provisioning up, we hang around for a while and eat a little. The plan is to visit the market, which is just over the road, then later head to the beach.

The market is very like the one we visited in Seoul a few years back. Though there's rather more emphasis on fish. (A lot more emphasis. Almost to the point of obsession. But not quite. Like a relation crazy enough to be best avoided, but not quite crazy enough for sectioning.) Not surprising, as it's right next to the fishing port.

It's not too busy, I guess because it's a bit late - after 3 PM. So big, I’m sure we’ll never get around all of it. But it’s fun to randomly stroll a little.

Loads of dried fish. Lots of live fish and crabs, too. It is slightly disturbing, all the live things. I’m pretty used to my food being pre-killed. Disappointed that there isn’t much in a state ready to eat. Unlike the Seoul market, where there was stuff cooking away all over the place. Despite the brain-melting heat.

Though mostly fish, there is other stuff. Fruit and veg. Flowers. Clothes. Hardware. One stall sells nothing but chillies. I’m surprised there’s much demand for them here. It’s not like the food is spicy or anything.

We end up on the dock, where all the fishing boats are parked. As Andrew is feeling pretty rough, we return to the hotel. After stocking up again in a convenience store. I can’t understand why we need to visit them so often. Someone must be breaking into our rooms while we’re asleep.

We hang around in my room again. Andrew sleeps in my bed. He really doesn't look well. While me and Lexxie watch Transformers 2 on the TV. Luckily, it's subtitled. Or maybe not, given the quality of the dialogue. At least, the increasingly ridiculous action sequences that stop them talking too much.

I send Dolores some of the photos from the market. For some reason she wants snaps of the kids.

“Do you want some photos of fish?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“So, you do want photos of fish?”

“No, I don’t”

“Here you go, then.” I’m a bit like the toaster in Red Dwarf.

I’m sure she loves the fish photos. She’s just too proud to admit it.

“Stop sending me photos of fish.”

She definitely loves them. I can read between the lines. That’s why I’m such a great husband. And father.

Andrew is feeling too crap to go to the beach. We’re postponing that until tomorrow.

Instead, around six me and Lexxie head off in search of fried chicken. He has a couple of leads. But warns me:

“Google maps doesn’t work very well in Korea.”

As an example, he shows me where our hotel is marked. It’s not on a street.

The place he has in mind isn’t open. And never will be again, as the unit is empty. Oh well, must look further.

We’re in what I would call a high-streety type of area. Lots of clothes shops. Some with pretty weird names. Like Kidnap. “With sincere gratitude” is their slogan. What the hell message is that trying to convey? As they’re selling menswear, are those clothes for kidnappers?

Soup is another one. Any guess what that sells? Women’s clothes. Has someone just been picking random words from an English dictionary? Next door is Codes Combine. Posh women’s clothes, what else?

Any guesses what Sexy Cookie might be purveying? You’ll never guess. Lingerie. That’s confusing. A shop name that sort of makes sense.

It takes us a while to find somewhere to eat. Mostly because we're a little early. And in the wrong area. The weird clothes shops are a clue.

Eventually, we find somewhere open. It’s almost all the way back to our hotel. We're their first customers. It sort of looks vaguely pub-like. Very vaguely. If you squint and ignore all the signs in Korean. And the fact that there’s no bar.

“Who’s that on the TV?” I ask.

“The South Korean president.”

“He looks a bit dodgy.”

“He is.”

We order a pile of roast chicken and chips between us. Plus a beer for Lexxie and a soju for me. I do try my best to fit in with local traditions.

“Isn’t this the laughing woman brand soju, Lexxie?”

“You mean the one advertised by that model?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“No, Dad. But, yes, it the one you’ve seen advertised.”

“It must be crap, then. If they have to advertise it.”

“You’re weird, Dad.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?”

“Shut up, Dad.”

They serve these things that look like hula hoops as a sort of amuse bouche. Along with a clear soup and some pickles. Interesting.

The food isn't bad. With a dead spicy hot sauce. Exactly what you’d expect.

You may have noticed that I’m not drinking much beer. There’s a good reason for that. Industrial Pils is all that’s on offer.  I could drink it. But why should I? I’m not going to really enjoy it. Far better to drink soju. A proper local drink. And sort of beer, as it’s made from rice. That it contains far more alcohol than Pils in just a happy coincidence.

Back in my room, we drink and watch TV. Andrew has livened up a bit. Top Gun is on. I’m sure that’s not the reason he’s chirpier..

What a terrible film. The Tom Cruise character is such an arsehole. Why doesn’t everyone just tell him to fuck off? By the climactic battle, I’m rooting for the Soviets to shoot the twat down. Or maybe one of his own side.

We watch Peep Show on Netflix. It cheers Andrew up even more. Or maybe it’s the beer, to which he has returned. What a shock.

It's after three when we turn in. Lexxie is showing no signs of returning to his dorm.

Off to Pohang

I'm in no rush to rise. Our train isn't until 12:38.

Our train to Pohang, that is. Where my other son, Alexei, is currently studying. Did I explain that visiting him is the point of our trip? No? OK: we’re in Korea to visit Lexxie. South Korea, obviously. I’m not insane.

I don't have much in the way of packing to do. As I didn't unpack yesterday. Other than my laptop. I soon get that in its bag. Despite it putting up a bit of a struggle.

We stop off at a shop on the way to the station, picking up provisions for the journey.  Sandwiches, cola, soju, beer, whisky. Just the essentials.

Sitting on the pavement close to the station, some blokes are enjoying a morning soju. How sweet.

“That’ll be you in a couple of years, Dad. When Mum finally gets fed up with you.”

“That’s an inspirational thought to start the day.”

“No need to thank me, Dad.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

The train is very long and not that full. We speed along, wooded hills and greenhouse-packed paddy fields smearing past the window. Then packed cities, surrounded by protective high-rise bristles.

Everything goes very smoothly. Including the train itself. Which is based on the TGV. I do sleep for quite a lot of it. Maybe the special drink I assembled is partly to blame. Diet cola and whisky. 50-50. Well, more 40-60, if I’m being realistic.

They’ve got this train stuff so wrong here. You can blame state control for that. Clean, modern stations, a network of high-speed lines, toilets cleaned during the journey, reasonable ticket prices. It’s clear that nationalised railways are a total disaster. Thank god the UK avoided that route.

“What would a South Korean think of UK trains, Andrew?”

“That they were surprisingly cheap, clean and efficient?”

“Don’t take the piss.”

I'm disgusted when the train arrives in Pohang a full two minutes late. I thought KTX was better than that.

We immediately go to the counter and get tickets for our train back to Seoul in about a week. Less stress on the day we travel by doing getting them now.

We get a taxi pretty quickly. From our experience over here last time, I noted down the name of the hotel in Korean. Just as well, because the driver can't read Roman letters. We’d have been screwed.

After checking in, we lounge around in the hotel a bit. This time we do have adjacent rooms. Which, oddly, contain a desktop, keyboard, mouse and screen. Not that we’ll need to use them.

We spend quite some time searching the room for the aircon remote. Until we sheepishly realise we’ve been holding it in our hands the whole time: it shares the TV remote.

We've arranged to see Lexxie outside the hotel at 18:00. His taxi pulls up just we step outside. He’s looking rather slim and mature. Korean food seems to be agreeing with him.

“What the fuck is this? You’re two minutes late.” I greet him cheerily.

“Dad, can you just be normal for once?”

“Just bantz, lads.”

“Please never use that word again. You sound like a right twat.”

“Pleased to see you, too.”

“You started it, Dad.”

“Just ba . . .”

“Remember what I said about using that word?” Andrew reminds me.

“. . . Ba ba bloody delighted to see you, Lexxie.”

“Stop being weird, Dad.”

“I can see you’re pleased to see me, too.”

“Don’t push it.”

Food is what we need. Off we go in a random direction. We spot a place with a pig in its sign. Which is a good sign. It's a Korean BBQ place. The menu is only in Korean. Lexxie uses his phone to translate it.

So glad I made sure the kids were computer literate. Not just dumping them on the computer in the hope it would entertain the little bastards, for at least a short while. Long enough for the shouting in my head to stop.

Soon we have a big pile of belly pork cooking away. The staff are very friendly and helpful. Which is just as well. I doubt they get many foreigners in. They patiently explain exactly what how we’re supposed to eat the food.

Noticing a proper supermarket on our way back, we nip in for some provisions. Mostly drinks. Though, as they sell no spirits, we need to call into a convenience store for whisky. Well, I do. The kids won’t be drinking any of it. Why were there no spirits? Did we just miss them?

We have a little trouble finding our way back to the hotel. As we wandered off fairly randomly. And our hotel is down a tiny side street. Oh, and we didn’t pay attention to where we were walking. Luckily, there's wifi and Lexxie can use Google maps to guide us back. The wonders of modern technology.

I suppose we would have found it eventually. How did I sue to find my way around strange cities without a map? I really can’t remember. It was all a very long time ago. My memory is really crap, too. Other than for “that stupid beer stuff” as Dolores calls it.

Back in my room, we spend a few hours chatting and drinking. Just as well we got in enough booze for three nights.

Before we know it, the clock has ticked past Lexxie’s dorm curfew. It's even later by the time we go to bed.

Off to Asia

Not an early start by any means. Our flight isn't until 17:30.

Wanting to get in some good lounge time, we get a cab to Schiphol around 1:30.

Luckily, Schiphol isn't too busy. We go directly to check in.

“How many bags can we check in?”

“One.”

It looks like Andrew will be lugging his bag around.

Then suddenly the KLM lady says: “You can check in a second bag, if you like.”

Where did that come from? Not that we’re complaining.

They’re still playing silly buggers about using priority security. Telling us we did to go through the non-priority bit. Grudgingly, they let Andrew through, “Just this once”.

Even passport control doesn’t have much of a queue. Unlike the last couple of times I’ve been through Schiphol.  I suppose because it’s a Sunday afternoon.

Andrew is travelling on his UK passport. And they’re about to stamp it until he shows them his Dutch ID card.

“Do you want anything from the duty free, Andrew?”

“No.” That’s a bit of a surprise. I’d been ready to get him a bottle of rum.

“Well, I do. Some hotel whisky.”

The Aberlour still isn’t too crazily expensive. The stuff I really like – Islay – is all way out of my price range. Damn the success of the Scottish whisky industry. Hopefully Brexit will fuck it up and bring the prices down.

The lounge isn't too busy, either. It's all good. I get myself a pair of whiskies and Andrew a beer. Then I get stuck into the food. The warm stuff doesn't look very appetising, so I stick to the cold: cheese, ham, various salad bits and bread. I fill myself up quite well. You never know how edible the meals on the plane will be. Safest to assume the worst.

“Go and get another round in, Andrew. A Jim Beam and a Teachers, please. No ice.”

He looks a little sheepish when he returns.

“I’m sorry, Dad. They’ve put ice in them.”

Oh well, just have to drink them quickly before the ice dilutes them too much.

We each go to the bar a few more times. And I load up with some more ham, cheese and salad. You can never have too much cheese.

Our gate isn’t far away. Pretty sure I can see our plane from where we sit.

I'm getting good at timing boarding. After a short walk to our gate, we walk straight onto the plane.

It's not full, which is great. The window seat isn’t occupied, so I sit there leaving an empty seat between me and Andrew.

The first meal is OK and I eat most of it. Soon after the lights go out. And I get stuck into some films. King of Staten Island, Locked Down, Half Brothers and some total shit. I finish with Frayed.

The flight heads due east. Over Germany, Rumania and then the Black Sea. Luckily, we don’t bump into any Russian warplanes.

I wisely invested in some miniatures of Jack Daniels in the duty free. They sustain me through the long night. Along with a few extra wines picked up from the galley.

A lot of the flight is over China. The first bit just barren desert. It looks very grey. Even when we get to obviously cultivated parts, there’s nothing in the way of green.

I don't bother with the breakfast. Other than a coffee and an orange juice. Something to perk me up and a few vitamins. That’s all I need.

We breeze through immigration, partly because we got a Qcode and so don't have to fill in the health form.

Our bags are some of the first off. Another win.

I didn't even try to sleep on the flight. Which was probably a mistake. I’m feeling pretty shattered when we hit the station around 13:00 where we buy train tickets. On the express train to Seoul Station. Whizzing through alternating concrete and countryside

Everything has gone without a hitch so far. Other than me being knackered.

Remembering how deep the airport express platforms are, we skip the multiple escalators and take the lift. To get to our hotel, we have to walk through the main KTX station. Where we try to get our tickets to Pohang for tomorrow.

Most of the ticket machines don't accept foreign credit cards. The couple that do, we can't get to work. So, we queue up at the ticket counter.

There's a bit of a queue. Knacked as I'm feeling, I can do without queueing. Luckily it doesn't take too long. Tickets in my pocket, we trek over the road to our hotel. Which is just a long enough walk to piss me off, what with dragging my luggage.

I'm on the 30th floor, Andrew on the 29th. Not sure why our rooms aren't closer together.

After getting our act together, we traipse downstairs to the convenience store. To get some bits and bobs. And beer for Andrew.

Back in my room, we just hang around and drink a little. I’m too tired to do much else.

Looking on my laptop, I notice there’s a gimbap (the Korean equivalent of sushi) close by. Though it’s not clear exactly which building it’s in. We go and look for it. Not very successfully. Instead, we go into another convenience store and get more provisions. There are two of the things within 50 metres of the hotel. Which is handy.

We laze away the evening with bee, whisky and TV. While occasionally looking at the trains flitting in and out of the KTX station.

It's low-key start to the trip.

Who will be the first?

To buy my latest book. So far the sales number just one. The proof copy I bought.

Bit irritating after after paying Alexei 20 euros to perform his cover magic. That's the kids in a really cool bar in Kyoto. In those far-off days when intercontinental travel was normal.

It's the follow up to my other poor seller "Can we go home now?" Of which I've sold almost five copies.

Some of my finest writing, I'd say. "More of your pathetic made-up crap, Dad.", the kids told me.

Be the first to buy a copy.

There may be a prize for the first purchaser. https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/ronald-pattinson-and-alexei-pattinson/can-we-stay-longer/paperback/product-2rp4vy.html

New book proof

The proof copy of my latest book, "Can we stay longer?"

I must say that it's looking dead cool. And it's in colour. One of my best, I think. Though I doubt I'll seel many copies. Or any, based on past experience.


Buy your copy now.

New book

After a couple of hours struggling with fucking pdf files, I've finally managed to get my nrew book into Lulu. What a total pain in the arse the process was.

But it's finally up there. The follow up to "Can we go home now?" Me down the pub with the kids again. Except this time they're keener than me to be there. The USA, Canada, Japan and South Korea are our destinations.

Buy your copy now.

Seoul day four

It’s our last full day in Seoul. Best make the most of it.

We’ve not indulged in a hotel breakfast yet. Not much point, really. We’d have to pay for it and it’s just as easy to nip to the shop and pick up bits and bobs. Especially as Andrew has the appetite of an anorexic sparrow in the mornings.

“This may sound weird, Andrew, but I could understand much more in Japan. The written stuff, I mean.”

“Me, too. That bit of Mandarin I learnt was dead handy.”

It’s odd, because Korean has a much more logical and simple system of writing. Alexei has even managed to learn the Japanese phonetic characters. They’re quite good at this language stuff, the kids. Though, being bilingual, they should be.

The kids have found a craft beer bar to visit. Well done them.

“It’s close to the Military museum.” Andrew informs me “We just have to go one stop further.”

That sounds easy enough.

It’s still like a hot afternoon in hell outside. Just as well that the metro stop is so close.

The metro is pretty modern, only dating from the 1980s. Which makes the size of the system all  the more impressive. It took getting on for 20 years to build the Nord-Zuid line in Amsterdam. And that only has half a dozen stations.

Like many modern systems, glass partitions and doors seal off the tracks. I suppose to prevent accidents and “incidents”, as they call them on the London Underground.

“Have you noticed the stickers on the doors, Dad.” Andrew asks, pointing at a sticker. “The Boycott Japan ones.”

Sure enough, there’s one on every door of the metro train.

“It must be official. You don’t see any graffiti here. And there’s one on every single door.”

Our destination is Namsam Chemistry. In an area evidently known as “Craft Valley”. As we’re walking there we realise why there might be some many craft beer places in this particular spot: it’s next to a huge US base. We spend some time walking past the walled site.

“There’s a craft beer place over there. But it isn’t open yet.” I remark, not very helpfully.

It’s still effing hot.

“Oh look, there’s a Belgian beer bar.”

“Dad, can you hurry up. And stop taking stupid photos.”

“At this rate we’ll have no photos to show you mum.”

“Just get on with it, Dad. I’m boiling hot.” Always the same story from Andrew: “I’m about to pass out from heat stroke, hurry up.”

Namsam Chemistry is up a bit of a hill. Which doesn’t help my walking pace. The kids have got quite a lead on me. By the time we spot the pub.

“What do you want to drink, kids?”

“I’ll have a cider.”

“Me, too.”

“That’s annoying.”

“What , Dad?”

“They describe it as “apple cider” on the menu. That’s tautology. The term is cider.”

“What the hell does it matter?” Alexei asks, with some irritation.

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You talk some real crap, at times.”

I opt for a Nam-Chem IPA.

“Going for the strongest one again, Dad.”

“Hah, that’s where you’re wrong. The Double IPA is stronger.” I feel so validated.

At around 6 euros for 14 oz, it’s not bad value.

“Have you noticed that, kids?”

“What?”

“The prices for the beers miss off the last three zeroes. While the spirit prices are written out in full.”

The pub has the typical industrial-style interior beloved my craft beer bars the world over. Bare concrete walls, exposed ducts, hard, angular furniture. We're the first customers by the look of it, even though they've been open a couple of hours. When other punters do show up, most are women.

“How’s your cider?”

It's like English cider, dad."

My IPA which is pretty good. Judging by the name, it’s specially brewed for the pub. Or at least rebadged. The brewery seems to be Namsan-Pongdang.

Juice News Double IPA from Mysterlee is my next beer. Oh no. It’s a sludge beer. I should have guessed from the “juice” in the name.

“I thought you didn’t like beer that looks like fruit juice.”

“I don’t. I didn’t realise it would be a sludge beer.”

“Serves you right for ordering the strongest beer.”

My DIPA which isn’t very impressive, so I switch back to IPA.

Why is the door open and the air-conditioning on? That doesn’t seem very energy efficient.

There’s a weird nailed together screen for the video projector on the wall at the end. Showing music videos while totally different music plays on the stereo. Occasionally the two parts eerily match up.

“Time for one more, kids. What do you fancy?”

“I’ll have an IPA this time.” Andrew got a taste for IPA in the US last year. Alexei just sticks to cider.

I’m feeling peckish when we leave. “Either of you two hungry?”

“Not me.” Now there’s a surprise from Andrew.

“I am.”

“Let’s look for somewhere down here.” I suggest, pointing to an alley lined with restaurants.

It’s late afternoon and an odd time to eat. Quite a few of the restaurants look like they’re just closing. I guess to pause between lunch and dinner. We find a suitably ethnic looking place and park our arses. Thankfully they do have an English-language menu.

“how about sharing that.” I say to Alexei, pointing at a pork and squid combination.

“OK by me.”

“Pork and squid it is, then. With some soju for me. What about you , kids?”

Alexei opts for a beer. Andrew just scrounges some of my soju.

The waitress warns me that the dish is spicy. I'm English. I love me some spice. Alexei is cool with a bit of heat, too.

It's pretty effing good. And nowhere near too spicy for me. It comes with several little side dishes. One of which looks very much like spam fritters.

Andrew doesn’t eat, but he does criticise my eating technique. “Dad, me more careful when you eat.”

"Fuck off, Andrew, I'm the dad here." That’s starting to be my new catchphrase.

I saw on TV the other day that the tradition is to eat octopus while it's still moving. I guess that's why they have the live ones in tanks outside restaurants. Must say that I prefer my food to be immobile.

Despite being dusk, it’s still way too hot. It doesn’t ever seem to cool down.

Which is why we just shelter in the cool embrace of the hotel air conditioning. I need to finish off that soju as we’re travelling back to Japan tomorrow. I manage to drink with out a side order of nagging from Alexei. Now there’s a win.

Me and Andrew have been staying up well after midnight. Apart from last night as we needed to leave the hotel around 7 Am to catch our flight.



Namsan Chemistry
33 Hoenamu-ro,
Itaewon 2(i)-dong,
Yongsan-gu,
Seoul.
Tel: +82 2-797-2227

Seoul day three

With the kids away at Robin’s, there’s no need for me to get up early. Or even at all.

The “Do not disturb” sign is out and I’ve a great big bed to stretch out. This is wonderful. And I can see the Seoul skyline through the window.

I drag myself out of bed around midday and start fiddling on my laptop. I get a message from Alexei: they’re just leaving. Which gives me an hour or so to potter around, brush my teeth, have a shower, get into stupid arguments on the internet. All the usual morning stuff.

Just after one, there’s a rapping on the door. Thankfully, it’s the kids and not a hitman from the provisional BJCP. They seem to be reasonably intact. Though Andrew is his usual cheerful morning self. No change there.

“How are you this morning, Andrew?”

“Fine.”

“Did we really spend all of yesterday either eating or sheltering?”

“I suppose so,” Chatty Andrew isn’t, early in the day. And 1 PM counts as early in the day for him.

“Robin suggested we take a look at the Korean military museum.” Alexei says.

“Sounds good to me.”

As the journey requires going outside and taking a couple of metros, we stock up on food and drink first.

“Dad, what is it with you and soju?” Alexei is getting quite aggressive again.

“It’s the traditional drink here. I’m just being traditional.”

“You keep saying that. Traditional pisshead, more like.”

There’s a metro station just around the corner from the hotel. It can’t be more than 150 metres. Yet we’re still close to collapse – at least me and Andrew are – when we reach its comforting air-conditioned embrace.

‘Have you noticed that kids?” I say pointing to a cabinet. “They must be expecting the worst.”

It’s full of emergency equipment: gas masks, water and other stuff. There are also torches attached to the wall.

“Those torches would have been handy in the King’s Cross fire.” I suggest to Andrew.

The museum is pretty close to the metro stop. But far enough for the walk to turn into a hell march. We just manage to drag ourselves inside before dying of dehydration. But no time to hang around. They’ll be closing in a couple of hours.

It’s very educational. Makes me realise how little I know about Korean history, Andrew.”

“Me, too.” Both the kids are, like me, very into history.

Korea has had an awful lot of wars. Meaning there’s lots for the museum to discuss. Which they do rather well with objects, texts and audio-visual displays.

Most of Korean history seems to consist of fighting off Chinese or Japanese invasions. With the Mongols joining in occasionally, just for variety. Oh, and the odd period when the Koreans were fighting each other. Nothing much seems to have changed. Currently, Korean politics is all about the external influences of China and Japan and internal conflict between different parts of Korea.

We don’t have time to get around all the displays before the museum closes.

Outside it’s still maddeningly hot. The square in front of the museum is lined with flags. On closer inspection, they mark monuments to each of the countries that took part in the Korean War, listing how many troops took part and what the casualties were,

“I didn’t know Holland took part in the war.”

“Neither did I, Dad.”

“Where’s the Chinese flag?”

“They were on the wrong side, Dad.” Alexei says scornfully. “You know that.”

“Still a bit mean, leaving them out. They had more killed than anyone.”

There’s a weird rally going on by the side of the road.

“I wonder what that’s all about?”

“Probably something to do with Japan, Dad. That’s what most stuff here is about”

Andrew is looking close to fainting again.

“Shall we find somewhere with air-conditioning for a beer?”

“Yes. Just get on with it.”

A couple of little places do seem to have just opened. But their doors are wide open. Not a good sign. Sure enough, no air-conditioning. This is frustrating.

Then we spot an Italian pub/bar. That’ll do. Especially as it has air-conditioning.

We're dead lucky. It’s happy hour and a half litre is just 2,000 won - or 1.50 euros. Result.

“We can wait until rush hour is over.” Andrew suggests.

“That’s fine by me. I’ve a beer in front of me and it’s nice and cool.”

 We have three pints each, watching the traffic and waiting for rush hour to end.

“Have you noticed how many German cars there are? Mercedes and BMWs. You didn’t see that in Japan.” I’m so observant. Occasionally.

“They’re probably made over here.”

“Do those insects bite?” Alexei asks, pointing at the dragonflies darting about outside.

“No. They’re dragonflies. Some of the good insects.  Ones that don’t bite you, pass on horrible parasites, weird you out, wake you up at night with their weird noises or lay their eggs in your ear. They’re the pretty looking type. Like butterflies.”

“No need for a lecture, Dad. I just wanted to know if they bite.”

Ungrateful git.

When the traffic has calmed and we’ve cooled, we venture out into the furnace again. It doesn’t feel any cooler. At least the metro is well air-conditioned.

Andrew doesn’t feel like venturing out tonight. Instead we shelter in the kids’ room. Grazing on snacks and soju.

I noticed a little hole in the wall takeaway right next to the hotel. “I’m off to get some food. Anyone want anything?”

“No, dad.”

The dish described as “fried things” is off. Instead I get some fried dumplings. They’re dead good.

Alexei is still fretting about my drinking habits. "Don't drink that bottle of Soju, Dad."

"Fuck off Lexie, I'll do what the fuck I want. I'm the dad here."

So much fun travelling with the kids.



War Memorial of Korea
29 Itaewon-ro,
Namyeong-dong,
Yongsan-gu,
Seoul.
https://www.warmemo.or.kr
Tel: +82 2-709-3139


Tama's Pasta
104-1 Hangangno 1(il)-ga,
Yongsan-gu,
Seoul.
104-1 한강로1가 용산구 서울특별시


Kukdo Store
Next to our hotel
Euliji-ro
Seoul.

Seoul day two

It’s going to be a slightly strange day. We’ll be meeting Robin. Andrew’s South Korean friend from university. Be odd seeing him on his home turf.

We start the day by picking up breakfast bits and bots at the convenience store downstairs. It’s nice not to have to venture outside. I’m assuming it’s still ludicrously hot. Any chance to remain in the civilised, air-conditioned world I’m going to grab hold of, run all the way to the try line and then way up into the stands. It’s that effing unpleasant outside.

I head straight for the soju section with Andrew, while Alexei stares at the sausages. In a slightly worrying way. Not sure I’d want to be a sausage right now.

After a while he trundles over, seemingly unable to decide on which meaty treat to devour.

“Dad, don’t go mad with that soju stuff.” He says.

“As if I would?  Sane is my middle name. Or at least not-crazy.”

“Can you stop with that crap sometime?”

“No.”

“Daaad.”

Andrew seems a little uncertain of which soju to get. Unlike me. I know exactly which one I’m going for.

“Getting the strongest one again, Dad?”

“The most traditional. You know I’m a traditional sort of guy.”

“Right. Just keep on believing that.” Cynicism is so unappealing in the young.

At midday we get a message from Robin: he’s setting off. It’ll be a while before he gets here. He lives way out in the suburbs. In a city as large as Seoul, that means a long way.

Giving me a chance to try out some soju with my breakfast sandwich.

“Dad, really, can you stop with that shit? It’s still morning.” Alexei is starting the day in good nagging form.

“Not technically. It’s ten past twelve.”

“Just stop with that shit.”

“I’ll just finish this bottle off. Bad luck to reseal one, once opened, you know.”

“That’s vodka and Russians. Not Koreans and soju. I’m not stupid, Dad. Stop with that bullshit.”

I sip my soju in a chastened silence. Still get to drink it, mind.

Just after 1 PM we get a message from Robin that he’s downstairs.

“Just in time for lunch. I expect he knows some good places to eat.” I’m being very positive today.

“What would you like eat – chicken or seafood?” Robin asks us.

The consensus is chicken. And with that he leads us off into the maze of tiny streets opposite the hotel. We nip down various alleyways, lined with tiny, specialist shops, then through a covered market, packed with rolls of material and heady with the smells of exotic food being. Dead cool. Except that it’s boiling hot.

After five minutes of intoxicating exotica, we emerge at our destination. A rather well-known chicken place, according to Robin.

We get a table upstairs and Robin explains how it works. There’s a big pot with two chickens and some bits of veg. That bubbles away until cooked, then we eat it with a sauce we assemble for ourselves from chili paste, soy sauce and vinegar.

Cooking will take a while. And we’re hot.

“What would you like to drink?” Robin asks. “I usually drink Terra.” Robin tells us.

“Four of those, then.”

Made from 100% Australian Golden Triangle malt, it says on the label. What the hell is that?

A man comes and cuts up the chickens with a pair of scissors. None of that deboning crap.

I mix my sauce up quite spicy. I do like a bit of heat. We fish out lumps of chicken with chopsticks, dip them in sauce, then try not to crunch up too many bones. Not so successfully, in my case.

After lunch, Robin asks: “Would you like to see some traditional houses?” Sounds like a good idea. “We can take the metro.” Even better.

I always like to give public transport a whirl when on my hols. Especially one as exotic as this.

“Did I mention that I’ve been on trains on five continents?”

“Stop showing off, Dad. It’s so boring.”

The Seoul metro system is enormous. Just looking at the map makes my head spin. The ticket system isdead easy. You buy a one-shot card, for which you pay a deposit. After exiting you simply pop the card into a machine and it spits out your refund.

Our destination, from where we exit the metro, is a few hundred metres. Within ten, Andrew is having a sweat bath. I’m not joking. His T shirt is totally soaked. How does he sweat that much that quickly?

“There are a lot of women in traditional dress. I wonder why that is?”

“Could be something to do with all the places that rent it out, like that one, Dad.” Andrew remarks, pointing at a nearby shop. “But stop with the chatter and find where we’re going.”

“Just trying to enrich the experience.”

“Go and experience your arse, Dad. I’m burning up.”

I’m impressed Andrew can still talk, as he seems to mostly consist of liquid. By the time we get to the houses, half of him has run away down the drains.

An old woman is holding up a sign in several languages. “Silence!” is the English. An intriguingly simple message. Un-nuanced, direct and readily comprehensible. I understand what she wants, but why?

A few metres further. All is explained. A sign reads: “This is a residential area. Please speak in whispers.” Bit of an anti-climax. I’d expected way more exciting reasons. Power of the imagination, I guess. Life is so much more mundane than the reality in my head.

“Dad. I’m feeling really hot. Can we go?”

“Nae probs, Andrew.” I often drop into cod-Glaswegian, when under stress.

“Stop with that shit, Dad.”

“Let’s get a taxi.”

“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

I feel so proud. I’ve said something sensible today. And it’s only 7 PM. The kids are finally appreciating me for the super dad I am.

“Dad, can you stand somewhere a taxi can actually stop. Remember they drive on the right here. You’re so dozy.”

Yes, still appreciating what a super dad I am.

We hide away the hottest hours in the hotel. But browse the downstairs shop before. For essential provisions.

As the soju labels are all only in Korean, Robin’s assistance is very much appreciated. He can finally explain what they all are: traditional, modern, flavoured.

“This is the most traditional one.” He says picking out the one I’d been drinking.

“Told you, Alexei. Not just the strongest one.”

“The more modern style isn’t as strong.”  Robin explains.

“Always been big on tradition me.”

“Especially when it means stronger, eh, Dad?”

“You’re such a cynic, Andrew.”

“Realist.”

Once the sun has gone down – as have my bottles of soju (only the most traditional type) – peck is in the air again.

“Any suggestions, as a local, for somewhere to eat this evening, Robin?” Putting no pressure on him at all.

“There is a Korean barbecue place. Would you like that?”

“Is my pope a barber?”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. Dad talks in gibberish like that. He means: yes.”

“Why doesn’t he just say yes?”

“Because he’s an annoying twat.”

The Korean barbecue is down another set of alleys I’d not like to retrace my steps along. Like those ones in my dreams. Where they’re never the same on the way back. Though, after enough beers, all streets are like that. Even when I’m awake.

The food is very nice. Pork with all the fiddly bits. Including a small crab I wasn’t sure how to deal with. Very nice pork. Kimchi not quite as good as Dolores's, dare I say. Hers is dead good.  Though the kimchi soup to end is dead good..

We don’t stay out late. Well, I don’t. The kids go back to Robin's for the night. Who knows how late they’ll be up? Don’t know, don’t care. There’s a pillow with my name on it.

I trundle off to bed. No need to get my arse out of bed too early tomorrow. No way the kids will be back before noon.