Julie and I went to PNU Friday night. Going out is a major undertaking, being that the foreigner bars are an hour by train from Young-do island. Drinking makes riding Julie's motorcycle out of the question. The entire public transportation system shuts down at midnight, so once you're there, you're stuck there until six-thirty the next morning.

Friday was Mike's last day. He and Dennis went to say their goodbyes over a pint or two at O'Brian's while Julie and I headed to the Busan National University district. On our way to the subway we stopped by a GS25 and bought a bottle of soju and some orange juice. Drinks are expensive in PNU and the subway takes 45 minutes to get there. I mixed the soju and orange juice while Julie bought a ticket.

FOOTNOTE: Soju is the Korean's signiture booze, much like Sake in Japan. However, soju is nothing to be proud of. Sake actually tastes good. As far as I can tell, soju is glorified rubbing alcohol. It's cheap. It hurts like hellfire in the morning and I keep urging myself to stay away from it when I go out. Oh wait, it's cheap.

The subway car was packed with commuters. Some talked, some slept, others focused curious eyes on the two foreigners getting silly as the soju worked it's devilish magic. I chatted briefly with an ajumma (old/married lady) sitting next to me. All my conversations with strangers in Korean are exactly the same:

"Hello, how are you?"
"I'm good, how are you?"
"Good. Thank you."

It's getting to where I want to learn the language simply to have something else to say.


An older man with a basket of perfect red roses got on the train at Seomyeon and walked up to the steel bar above our heads. He set the basket down and laughed as I photographed his flowers. A University student sitting next to Julie helped us strike up a conversation with him. He was an administrator for the transit system. He was learning English and was happy that we would talk to him. The flowers were for his wife.

We bounced from bar to bar. I wasn't watching myself and the alcohol got the better of me. Around 3AM I collapsed on the curb in front of SoulTrane and prayed, "Please God, stop the world, I'd like to get off." But the world kept spinning, faster and faster. What was worse, it was after midnight and the subway had changed into a pumpkin and mice. It would be three hours before it reverted back to a subway car and took us to our palace on Young-do. I hung my head between my knees and fell into a troubled sleep.

Julie discovered me around 4 and we too a taxi back home.

I didn't come to Saturday until 1PM. It was a gorgeous day. The wind smelled of fall: Crisp, cool and dry. My hangover was tremendous, and I spent the better part of the afternoon on the couch, a bottle of water in my right hand, half-heartedly watching a Wesley Snipes action flick. Nameless villians speaking in Korean subtitles died violently on my television screen while far below children played soccer in the parking lot, reminding me of the perfect day I was pissing away.

The hangover had cleared enough by five that I could stumble to the window. I turned off the TV and watched a cargo ship round the point, moving like the minute hand of a clock: imperceivable at first glance, but indeed moving. I followed it as it disappeared behind the Taejongdae light, the sunlight glinting off it's wake. A cloud passed and the sunlight illuminated an ajumma in the parking lot pushing a toddler in a stroller far below.

I decided to make something of the day. I dressed and started up Bongnaesan mountain. The wind soaked up the alcohol as it fled my flesh in tiny drops of sweat. About half way up the peak my beleaguered body put on the brakes by a rock outcropping overlooking the sea. The acute angle of the sun sillouetted the ships anchored in Nampo-dong harbor and made the sea look like a field of snow, seemingly frozen, immobile. Lines of fishing boats stretched from the mouth of the harbor to the horizon. The further away they sailed the less they appeared to move, the wakes stretching for miles from their source.


After my hike I put my camera on my shoulder and took a bus down to the Pusan International Film Festival. Many of the films being shown are Korean pop flicks, movies akin to the Wesley Snipes action movie I shared my hangover with earlier. However, there is a huge collection of movies from directors the world over, and I wanted to find the good ones. This would prove difficult: Cue language barrier.

What few movies were in English or English subtitles didn't seem to be in Nampo-dong. My guess was they were shown in the Haeundae beach area (where all the English-speaking tourists would naturally hangout), an hour away. The other problem was that the movie descriptions, times and locations were all in Korean. I can read Hangul, but I don't know what it means.

Nampo-dong, being distantly related to Hollywood, bears some resemblance to it's American counterpart. Nampo-dong square is home to the Korean Walk of Fame, where famous Korean directors, actors and comedians cast their handprint in the sidewalk. Colored floodlights painted the bronze plaques in red and yellow. People periodically separated from the crowds to photograph the plaques or place their hands in the bronze casts. I photographed them as they honored their idols.


Sunday saw Julie, Haydee and me don helmets and escape Busan via motorcycles. Julie wanted to see a real Korean hot spring before she left the country in a month, and she read a city called Bukgu had the best. Visions of rock-encrusted pools of crystaline water steamed in my head as we navigated the harrowing streets of Saha on the outskirts of town.

After an hour and a half of driving (stopping periodically to check the map and stretch our legs) we reached the hamlet of Bukgu. To our disappointment the hotsprings weren't the visual wonders we had invisioned. They were deep underground. The many hotels and spas that lined the streets of Bukgu piped in the hot mineral-rich waters into elaborate pools and jacuzzi's for their guests. We shrugged our shoulders, paid 6000 won ($6) and enjoyed a few hours in a spa.



Dennis called in sick Monday. Michael came in to work one last day. The director, Mr. Kim, held a going-away party for Mike in the auditorium at 8:15PM. The middle and high-school age students filled the wooden pews, chatting excitedly. A few who knew me turned and waved vigorously to me with these big, goofy smiles on their faces. After singing the ESS song (which one day I'll record for you) and giving a rather disturbingly Nazi-esque salute to Mr. Kim, Mike stood up, flowers and a speech in hand.


Suddenly my skills as a photojournalist were called into action. Mr. Kim had me get my camera and document Mike's proud march to the front of the auditorium. Much to my horror, he staged the photo, making sure all the students were clapping as Mike walked victoriously to the podium. You will notice it is out of focus. I was taken completely by surprise and the autofocus was set improperly. Billy Weeks, eat your heart out.

Mike gave his speech, the students cheered, he shook Mr. Kim's hand, and then it was my turn.



Wait a minute. My turn?

Ha-young made a frantic motion at me with her hands and whispered in my ear,

"Uh, Stephen, I'm sorry, I didn't say to you but you have to give a speech."

The whole auditorium stared at me expectantly. I swallowed hard, suddenly remembering how Carolyne told me this would happen. I also remembered how I told myself I'd be ready for it. I realized then and there that A) I forgot Carrie's warning and, B) I was not prepared. I sheepishly made my way to the front of the room and did my level best not to sound idiotic. I failed, but at the end of my speech the auditorium erupted in applause and Mr. Kim shook my hand vigorously as Mike grinned and took pictures.


Earlier in the day I received a box of birthday presents from my parents. I resisted opening it until I got home late Monday night. Following the last class the whole staff went to dinner to celebrate Mike's departure and my birthday. We ate Samgapsa and drank soju, yelling "Kumbae!" with each shot. By the time we got back to the apartment, Julie and I were exhausted.

Julie shut the door and collapsed into bed. I took my last reserves of energy and opened my birthday box. Inside were two boxes of Tastycakes, three books on teaching, real English tea, a stress ball, a whistle (just you wait 3B), a bookmark and a DVD. However, the two best gifts came out last: Framed photos of my family (including our three cats) and yes, a shower curtain!!!

Mike was gone, and there was a good chance his friend Dennis would soon follow. The two are inseparable, and Dennis wasn't enjoying his stay in Korea. He had plenty of money, his house in Lake Charles, Louisiana, had been destroyed by a hurricane and his best friend was stranding him here to go travel Southeast Asia. I gave him a month, Julie two weeks. It sucks because if he dips out on his contract, that leaves Julie and I to cover his AND Mike's classes.

I tried not to think of these dark things as I cleaned up the mess from my birthday box and got ready for bed. It had been an eventful three days, and I had seen a lot. As I turned out the lights from the kitchen, it occured to me that I had one more thing to do.

I got the plastic rings out of the birthday box and hung my new shower curtain.