Tomorrow: to the border between North and South Korea with the USO’s DMZ tour
Then, we’ll leave Seoul to spend a few days in a city in the south of South Korea called, ‘a museum without walls’, Gyeongju
And to wrap things up, an island excursion to Ulleungdo before heading back to Seoul for our return flight to San Francisco on August 23.
Too bad it’s the monsoon season, temps have been in the 90s with as much humidity and while the forecast predicts some relief there, it looks like a lot of rain in our future:
We’re loving the food in Korea, but Benjamin’s craving for garlic bread led us to an Italian restaurant last night. I was excited to order a bottle of wine, as we’ve been drinking Korean beer since we left the states. In Mongolia, they serve a Korean beer called Hite that we renamed ‘Shite’ according to taste, which wasn’t helped much by the fact that beer is served warm, for lack of refrigeration. In Korea we’ve been drinking a brand called Cass, which we haven’t renamed, but if we did (as you can probably guess), it would be ‘Ass’.
Back to the Italian restaurant…
Perusing the wine list, Benjamin mentioned something under his breath about concern whether or not the restaurant accepted Visa. I asked the waiter about this and he kept telling me ‘no’ thinking I was asking for a pizza. Yes it was an Italian restaurant, but most of the menu consisted of spaghetti (100 different ways) and steak (20 ways). We shared a bottle of wine, bruschetta and a caesar salad, and each had a plate of spaghetti, finished off with tiramisu and port. We didn’t come all the way to Korea to eat this way, but after being on the road for more than 3 weeks, something from home is a nice treat.
It’s also nice to have some options that don’t include mutton, and in general, to be presented with a menu with a high probability the options included are actually available. It’s a running joke amongst Mongolian travelers about the lack of availability of items on the menu and it’s not uncommon to hear people placing bets when they sit down at the table: “What’s your wager this time? I’m betting they have this 1,” while pointing at something written in cyrillic. We frequented 1 Turkish restaurant (go figure) in Olgii almost daily, and they consistently only had 4 of the menu’s 20 or so items available to order. After a while I couldn’t bear to eat there again, having sampled all 4 options repeatedly, but there were as few restaurant options in Olgii as there were available items on any menu in town (i.e. limited).
So far in Korea, we’ve had BBQ (thanks to our Me No Speak book, which helped us to order), bibimbap in a stone pot (a rice dish with veggies and raw egg), juk (rice porridge with various additions such as seafood or chicken), and some sort of sushi roll without raw fish but other ingredients, which Benjamin likened to a variation on a sandwich.
Last night we received an email from a newly made Mongolian friend, John, asking if we have had a nice foamy bath now that we’re in Korea. I wonder if we really smelled so bad that this is one of his main questions or if he just has a nicely sardonic acceptance of Mongolia’s deficits–specifically, the lack of convenient access to bathing facilities and hot water.
Having just got out of the shower moments ago, I am reveling in the thought that I have been squeaky clean for 4 days in a row now, with a bathroom ‘en suite’ and a toilet I can sit on if I choose to, toilet paper provided by someone other than myself, and access to a hot water shower whenever I like. When we departed Mongolia, I was going on day 6 without a shower, wearing the same clothes I’d had on since my last bath. I am so thankful the immigration officer at the Seoul airport didn’t ask me to take my bandana off when checking my passport–he’d asked the gentleman ahead of me to remove his hat and upon seeing this, visions of my 6-day-old, greasy bed head on display popped into my head and worried me that I wouldn’t be allowed into the country.
Benjamin and I were both embarrassed to enter Korea as dirty backpackers, especially as the Korean people are crisp and respectable in the appearance. On the flight, Benjamin told me he couldn’t cross his legs because if his foot left contact with his shoe, the foul odor the pair had developed would waft throughout the plane’s cabin and possibly kill or maim his neighbors. I can attest that this is not an exaggeration. Our second night in Seoul was spent scrubbing both of our pairs of shoes with a bar of soap and toothbrush.
Here’s a photo of us as we left Mongolia:
Korea | Cheryn August 11, 2008 | 
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