Our Last Full Day in South Korea

A visit to the Yammy Toast Stand this morning proves that yesterday's fallout was not random. I once again suffer a protracted and violent allergic reaction that yesterday I was willing to put off to Seoul's air quality. The breathing difficulty is accompanied by dizziness, stomach cramps and a general malaise. Perhaps the sauce contains that naturopathic miracle drug Korean ginseng, to which I am highly allergic. In any event, I power through, not willing to give up one more day of touring.

I look ahead to see another fearless soul. This middle aged man is moving against the traffic on the far right side of the road. He steers with one hand and uses the other to work his cell phone. In very short order, he manages to dart through several lanes of fast moving vehicles, and then we see him turn off in another direction and fade into the distance.

We descend into the underground shopping area to visit Bandi and Luni's book store to pick up some reading material for the journey back to Canada. On my recommendation, Rob decides to read The White Tiger, and I pick up God is Not Great, by Christopher Hitchens. He's a brilliant wordsmith, and I've been looking forward to reading his dissection of organized religions and his analysis of how they've been manipulated to most unspiritual ends. I don't know if I'll agree with Hitchens' contention that religion "poisons everything," but his argument is sure to be cogent, illuminating, and well-stated.

In the afternoon, we trundle on over to The World Jewellry Museum in the art district, where we see exceptional specimens from around the world. There's a huge collection of bracelets, anklets, and necklaces. Historically, the differences in styles from one part of the world to another have been striking. For example, jewellry on display from the Congo tends to be large and clunky with smooth lines. Judging from what we see here, artisans in India and Turkey, favour extremely detailed, elaborate designs. It's also interesting to see how styles are co-opted by other cultures. Case in point: Some British designers of the early 1900s owe a great deal of their success to the Rajastanis.

There's also a terrific collection of purses. Standouts include some offbeat American lucite bags from the 1950s. They remind me of those hard Christmas candies we used to get when we were kids. They're the handbag equivalent to Jolly Ranchers. There's also a purse made from an armadillo, and another from a real leopard. Its hollowed out eyes are sewn shut, but the eyebrow hairs stick out, as if the animal is trying to defy the bag maker.

When we quit the museum, we walk through the art gallery district for a bit, and then catch the Number 11 home. Though we're on a bus in downtown Seoul, if I shut my eyes, I'm in the back of a hay truck thumping across a field in Laclu, Ontario. The bus trip costs only 50 cents each, Canadian, but one must pay twenty times this amount to get such a thrill ride at a theme park.

We pass roofers at the Gyeonbok-gun palace. One rolls clay into balls the size of those used for five pin bowling. He hands them, one-by-one, to another worker, who tosses them to a third man. The third worker uses these clay balls to cap the ends of the ceramic tiles which have been laid out, like shingles, row on row.

Our night time travels take us to a Australian based kebab restaurant where we sit, eat, and people-watch for a while. Then we amble through the bar district, Seoul's answer to Gwanju's HuMoon. This, of course, is bigger, faster, and pricier. At Olive Young Pharmacy, we gather some supplies for our journey, including soy protein bars, chocolate chip cookies, and gum. We can't stand the thought of having no options, miles above the ground, for a 14 hour stretch. Perhaps, tomorrow, we'll try to add something a little more sensible to our travel kit.

It's back home to the Chung Jin motel, which has been a great home base for us. It's so quiet that it's hard to believe it's so centrally located. It's obviously a go-to-place for tourists, especially large groups with children, and people looking for a discreet room to rent for special occasions, like that 40 something chap I saw with the leggy, attractive 30 year old renting by the hour. Just tonight, a man in his 60s, sans luggage, is openly considering his options whilst I stand typing less than a foot away. And the lady at the desk doesn't blink an eye.

The staff here have been wonderful, including the elderly women who clean. They live in rooms at the top of the stairs on each floor. Their doors are always open, revealing their spartan, undecorated, living quarters, including "beds" which are blankets spread on the floor. One little lady attending to her chores as we climb the stairs to our room tonight giggles with glee when I thank her and give her a Winnipeg pin. She thanks me repeatedly, her hoarse voice struggling to convey her gratitude. Again, coming from a society where so many people have so much, and they take it all for granted, I'm speechless.

We spend some time organizing luggage and going through receipts, and have a larf over the fact that we're left with just 3400 won, or about three dollars! Thank goodness we won't be needing any more cash. Hard as this is to believe, it's well nigh impossible to get money with a foreign credit card, even at the Korean Exchange Bank. Oh "thank heaven for 7-11" in Gwangju where we did our last withdrawl.

Now it's time to bank up some zees. It's our last final sleep in Seoul, and we have a big day ahead tomorrow.