Buses in Korea

I’ve seen and done a lot here in Korea, and although I may never get around to covering it all here, I was particularly inspired to write by a recent weekend trip.  However, I wasn’t inspired by the location, although Tongyeong is a beautiful place where mountains and ocean have met in battle leaving a grand bay strewn with green peaks gasping for breath against surf and relentless tides, like weathered gravestones thick with moss stretching and disappearing into the morning mist.  Nor was I inspired by the history, even though it was the site of the incredible Hansando naval battle, in which Admiral Lee Soon Shin crippled the Japanese Navy, and in turn their military campaign in Korea, by destroying 47 ships, capturing 12 and allowing only 14 to limp off the battlefield.  The battle is also considered the third largest naval battle in history, but even that didn’t inspire me to write. 

 Somaemooldo Island one of the many islands that are part of the Hallyeohaesang National Park that stretches out to sea south of Tongyeong.

 Dress up in Admiral Lee Soon Shin's uniform and ready to row the Turtle Ship into battle.

A small fleet of Turtle Ships in Tongyeongs popular Gangguan Harbor.

Instead, it was my bus driver on my return trip from Tongyeong.  Although, he also shares the spotlight with many other bus drivers who have shuttled me across this county.  As some of my readers know, I have had quite a few interesting experiences riding buses around the world, from Peru, to China.  However, if bus racing ever became an international sport like Formula One, I believe Korea would produce some of the finest racers in the world.  I have had some pretty impressive drivers around the world in my travels, but I’d contend that the Korean drivers would even beat out the Indian drivers. 

Indian drivers are probably the most daring, and willing to take chances with their lives and the lives of all the passengers in their care - even the passengers clinging for dear life on the roof of the bus.  However, Korean drivers have a few advantages over their Indian counterparts.  Most notably, they have a first-rate national highway system with multiple lanes committed to traffic flow in one direction, which allows them to drive at much greater speeds, and really test the limits of their chariots, and their own skills in traffic.  Indian highways are more like country roads, with oncoming traffic in the second lane - if there is a second lane – and sometimes they aren’t even paved. 

The second key to bus drivers developing their racing skills in Korea is the loose traffic rules, or at least loose enforcement of those rules.  I have never seen a driver pulled over by the police in Korea, but I have seen and been party to all sorts of driving infractions.  For instance, stop lights appear to be optional, or possibly they are just ‘slow down’ lights here.  Another example is motorcycles, which appear to be allowed to transition between behaving like a pedestrian using sidewalks and crosswalks, and behaving like a vehicle by using the streets.  At crowded intersections motorcycles will hop up on the sidewalk, weave through the pedestrians in order to speed past the traffic and use the crosswalk to slip through the intersection, before hopping back onto the road to speed away. 

And the third advantage is the strange application of law in the case of an accident.  In that event, both parties share the blame, even if a driver is rear ended, the accident is still partially his fault, and he will have to pay part of the total damages.  This becomes even more important when one party is driving an expensive bus, and the other party is driving a cheap car.  I think this leads all drivers to drive a bit more defensively and especially around bus drivers, who take it as license to drive like they are kings of the road. 

Every bus driver I have had in Korea seems to be trying for their personal best time on the bus route.  I’ve had bus drivers pull into rest stops like they are pulling into pit row.  Tearing off the highway and not retreating from the accelerator until the final seconds before a curbside stop where I half expect to be met by a pit crew rapidly replacing the tires and speed fueling the bus, as groggy passengers stumble by headed for the restrooms. 

Others have even entered the bus terminals in this fashion, despite the hard 90 degree turns and pedestrian filled sidewalks they have to negotiate to do so.  On one memorable trip, there was a second driver in uniform seated in the first seat behind the driver.  I wasn’t sure if he was evaluating the driver or just catching a ride home, but our driver took the last few turns, and pulled into the bus station as if the only evaluation criteria was time. 

My return trip from Tongyeong was no different.  The clock was ticking from the moment we started up the on ramp to the highway, where our driver was hugging the bumper of the car in front of us as if he was trying to draft off the compact car.  As we reached the end of the on ramp, he crossed two lanes of traffic in order to slingshot past the car.  I began to write some notes for the blog but occasionally I would have to stop typing in order to hold on to my luggage so it didn’t fly into the aisle. 

I was sitting in the front row kitty corner to the driver, and felt like I was the in-car camera in a NASCAR race.  He’d roll up quick and close to vehicles in front of us before throwing the gear shift and laying on the throttle as he moved to make the pass.  He’d reach through the steering wheel to flip the turn signal, if he used it at all, and kept his other hand on the Brodie knob ready the crank the wheel fast if he ever needed to. 

As I jotted notes on his last amazing move, he jumped across two lanes of traffic in order to take a pigtail exit without letting up on the throttle, much like Sandra Bullock in ‘Speed.’ He roared across the rumble strips on the inside of the fork between the exit and highway, narrowly missing the reflectors and crash barrels, and leaving a trail of blazing horns in our wake from the disgruntled drivers he had just cut off. 

The exit took us onto another highway with three lanes and he weaved in and out of traffic across all three lanes like we were taking part in an action film chase scene.  He even rolled across all three lanes in the middle of a tunnel in order to us the far right lane to slip by slow traffic.

On the final stretch of highway, we flew across painted warnings indicating the recommended speed was 80km/h on this curvy stretch of highway through rolling hills and tunnels.  However, when I looked over the drivers shoulder, we were holding steady at 130 km/h as long as he could get around the Sunday drivers that were putting along at the recommended speed limit. 

He had an ‘easy pass’ in order to use the automated express lanes at highway tollgates, and it was always a close race between the rising gate and the windsheild as we raced through.  The pass also spoke to the driver each time he went through a toll.  I couldn't understand what it said, and most likely it was saying: "Thank you for using our service." But, I also think it may have been saying, “Please slow down." or "It is not legally possible for you to have arrived at this exit in such a short time." or “I’m sorry this pass is registered to a bus, not a Ferrari.”

I thought he would slow down once we were off the highway, but I was wrong, instead his speeds just felt more reckless, even if the lanes of the city grid were straighter.  And in typical fashion, stop lights were largely ignored.  However, he even pushed the limits here by using turning lanes in order to pass the traffic that had stopped at the light. 

At the first light, he flew past the stopped traffic and hit the light just as it turned green, making it a challenge to get around the traffic and merge back into traffic before we hit the curb on the other side of the intersection. 

At the second intersection, he did the same thing, clipping the shrubs along the side of the street, before he ran the red light.  Thankfully, his elevated position gave him a good view of the intersection and any approaching cars.  However, his speed did not leave him much time to react if there had been oncoming traffic.

I’m not sure if it was his personal best time, but he did manage to get us back to Busan twenty minutes ahead of schedule, on a ride that was supposed to take an hour and forty minutes.  As the passengers got off the bus they seemed much more thankful than I recall on previous journeys.  I don’t know if they were thanking him for getting us back so quickly, or for simply getting us back alive.  I know I was happy to be alive, and the neon lights of the love motels never looked so pretty. 

Buses parked in the Busan Terminal under the neon glow of the Love Motels.

My Winter Games

With the Winter Olympics on TV now, I thought I might brag a bit about my own winter games.  I’ve been snowboarding in Colorado for several years now, and this year I set a world record… in skiing!  Well actually, it wasn’t skiing per say, but actually shot skiing.  And like all humble winners, I have to say, “I couldn’t have done it alone.”  As a matter of fact, I had the help of hundreds of people.  And now, I am - along with hundreds of my now closest acquaintances – a world record holder in the longest shot ski. 

No, it is not a combination of skiing and shot put, and, as a matter of fact, requires much less coordination or skill than either of those events.  Rather it is a combination of skis and alcohol.  A shotski is a ski with shot glasses attached to it, so it’s a team sport in which all members of the imbibing team must drink the shot at the same time and speed.  I guess it’s like synchronized drinking… with training wheels/skis for the less coordinated.   

The shot ski is organized by the local distillery and takes place during Ullr Fest in Breckenridge (or “Breck” as it’s known).  Ullr (pronounced ooh-lur) is the Norse god of winter and his Fest is one of the many winter events in the ski towns of Colorado.  Breck celebrates Ullr Fest early in the ski season to thank the gods for the snow that’s come, and sacrifice their livers in hopes of more snow for the rest of the season.  It’s the only event in which parade float members have tossed me a beer, instead of candy.  During the parade, onlookers can drink openly on the streets and many of the floats have drinking/Après Ski themes.  In addition, for the past two years the parade has been kicked off with the longest shotski in the world stretching down Main Street.  

The parade has actually ‘matured’ over the years; it used to have more of a Mardi Gras feel, complete with lore of skinny-dipping hot tubs rolling down Main.  A few years ago, I even ran in the parade dressed in little more than gold briefs and an Ullr helmet, cheering for more snow. Ah, the things we’ll do for a powder day.

About a month after Ullr Fest, Breck invites snow sculptors from around the world to participate in their annual International Snow Sculpture Competition.  Each team starts with a 10x10x10 foot cube of snow, and has a few days to carve it into something to wow the crowds and formal judges.  The results have been quite impressive, and sadly they are only around for a week before man and nature returns them to the water supply. 

Another winter event is Skijoring.  Why I haven’t seen this in the winter Olympics is beyond me; maybe we need to start a petition.  But, I guess you need to know what it is before you sign the petition.  Skijoring is derived from the Norwegian word, which means ski driving, and involves a skier that is pulled by horse, dogs or snowmobile.  In Leadville, they have their annual skijoring competition at the end of February or beginning of March.  I’ve been to two events and they were both been a fun time.  However, it doesn’t have the same emphasis on drinking as the Ullr Fest, so I recommend stepping back in time at the famous, I mean Legendary Saloon, if you want to wet your whistle.  

The skijoring events take place right outside the front door of the Saloon on the historic Main Street.  Snow is plowed onto the street for the day, in order to create a course with jumps and ring posts for the skiers to navigate.   Although, the event takes place in several cities across the western US, I think Leadville is a great place to experience it because the town still maintains its historic gold rush feel with period homes and storefronts.  

This past season, I lived in Frisco where they celebrate the New Year with a grand Bonfire of the Christmas Trees.  Rather than send all the trees to the land fill, they’re collected and burned in a town event that results in a deluge of calls to the fire department from concerned tourists. 

The fire leapt above tall snowbanks just off of Main Street, and the crowd cheered as the city crew dumped loads of spent trees on the fire with a front end loader.  It was a cold and blustery night, so it was hard to get close enough to the fire to beat back the cold, although the winds could quickly change, leaving the crowd scrambling to escape the smoke and flying embers.  Fortunately, there was food and drinks for sale, and the warm embrace of the small town crowd to distract me from my freezing feet.

Eight years ago, my cousin headed to Breck to spend a season in the mountains after graduating from college.  Then she spent a summer. She hasn’t left yet.  I tried to follow her footsteps, and though the mountains draw me back season after season, I haven’t stayed for a summer because have a laundry list of adventure jobs that keep me on the move.  My first season in Breckenridge was actually in pursuit of the adventure of working at a ski resort.  I applied for several positions and romanticized the idea of being a liftie (ski lift operator) or mountain safety.  Instead, I ended up working as a photographer on the mountain - fitting I suppose with my passion for photography - but I’ve never been real excited about shooting portraits.  

The job introduced me to many interesting characters from all walks of life.  I worked with a fast-talking nomad who looked like a skater with a mop of curly black hair.  He worked real estate in California for the off season and vied for top sales in our photography shop every day of the ski season.   Several others were also seasonal nomads, but I’d say they were a bit more laid back, fitting the profile of ski bums enjoying the recent legalization of marijuana in the town of Breck.  Another co-worker had been working as an architect before he quit his job to travel the globe for a year before landing in Colorado.  He had worked on a yacht to travel the oceans, wandered the rooftop of the world in Nepal, and taken amazing photographs of the pyramids that served as the backdrop of his business cards.  

During the season, I also chatted with lifties when business was slow, and met one who was literally a rocket scientist in a previous career.  He had quit his job designing missiles for the Air Force, and loved the laidback lifestyle of a lift operator.  The people I met were definitely one of the perks of the job, and their backstories were always unique and interesting.  However, in the end the job got in the way of my ski bum lifestyle, so I had to quit.

This season I’ve met many more interesting people.  Like the ‘Single Serving Friends’ you meet on an airplane, you meet all kinds of people on the short lift ride up the mountain.  From pot-smoking, lift-chair lawyers that argue their case to smoke on the chair, because for that moment it is private property as long as all parties on the chair agree; to the barstool homeless that are stranded in town due to storms closing the roads home; and an assortment of the 800 students on their class trip from Booth, University of Chicago’s School of Business.  Then there are the southern drawls up from Alabama, zee German accents from Austria, and Chilean businessmen; all awed by the size of the Rockies.  Their enthusiasm always reminds me how lucky I was to call the mountains home for a season.

I even met a fellow snowboard bum that was making a much better show of it by traveling across the US and Canada to ski at as many resorts as he could in a single season.  He’d been laid off, and decided he wasn’t getting any younger, so he might as well pack up his life in Boston and move to California’s Silicon Valley via every mountain in between.  All I can say is, “Well done sir, well done.”

Now, to be fair, I must also talk about the darker side of ski town living: snow porn.  In the mountain towns of Summit County, they actually have a local cable channel dedicated to this filth.  During the day, you might think it is just a local information channel, but at night the neon ‘Late on 8’ sign comes on in the lower corner of the screen and the classic snow porn music starts.  Not the typical Bom-chica-bow-wow, but surfing tunes for the snowboarding and alternative rock for the skiers.  

Warren Miller is one of the most prolific purveyors powder porn, but many have followed in his footsteps.  Warren started out working and living out of the back of a van in the Sun Valley Resort parking lot, but today snow-porn is a billion dollar industry, and he has studios in Boulder, Colorado.  His films have the typical titles filled with innuendo like, Wandering Skis, Swinging Skis, Ski Fantasy, Winter Fever and White Winter Heat.    

As you might expect, the plots are typically pretty weak and filler scenes are kept short between the hot action shots in mounds of luscious virgin powder.  And, when they have you all excited and convinced that every day is going to be a powder day, with fresh lines for all; they follow up the fluffy filth with an infomercial about a timeshare to convince you that you could be the next powder-star – like Glen Plake, or Jonny Moseley - living the slope-side highlife for the low, low price of half a million.  You’ve been warned.  

I never bought into the time share, but I suspect I’ll return for future seasons and maybe another adventure job in the mountains.  However, my next adventure job is going to take me to the beaches of South Korea where I’ll be teaching English!  I haven’t been back since my trip in 2009, and I’m excited about living there, slowing down to soak it all in, and a return to random rambling from abroad.  

While I’m there, I also plan to do some more snowboarding. The next Winter Olympics will be held in South Korea, so it’ll be fun to ride on the same slopes where the next Olympic champions will compete.  With my own shot ski record under my belt, I’ll also look for more winter events and ice festivals where I might try a sake (sock-ee) Shotski, or more accurately soju, the Korean version of Rice Wine.   Cheers, or as they say in South Korea “Gunbae,” which literally translates to “empty cup” or bottoms up. 

Tourism for Taste Buds

I recently had the pleasure of eating at The Inn at Little Washington.  A friend and I arrived in the historic town of Washington, Virginia, set in the rolling foothills of the Blue Mountains, and quickly drove right past the Inn.  I think I saw the valets waving our car down as we followed the GPS orders and turned the corner before it misleadingly announced that we were ‘arriving at destination on right.’  We didn’t see a sign or parking.  Oh Betty, Betty, Betty, you’ve led me astray again… everyone names their GPS, right?  Betty assumed she had finished her work and stopped barking orders, and we continued down the street another 100 yards before spotting a dark lot full of cars to the left and assumed we had to be close.  We parked, got out of the car and stepped back in history. 

Chef Patrick O’Connell established his restaurant in the historic little town in 1978, but the town has been around since George Washington laid out the street plan back in 1749.  Many of the town’s historic buildings have since been bought up by Chef O’Connell as he expanded his enterprise from a mobile catering business, to a restaurant - establish in what was once the town garage - to a multi-building Inn, shops, garden, and farm.  Rather than The Inn at Little Washington, I had mistakenly called it The Little Inn at Washington, which is far from true since the Inn has expanded over the years and now Chef O’Connell owns half of the little town. 

When we entered the Inn, we were greeted by a welcoming party of under-employed valets, receptionists, and coat attendants.  After their warm welcome, we continued into a two-story foyer warmed with a fireplace.  The room was lit by soft, low light, and felt like the den in a home from the 18^th century complete with a wall of period-portrait prints, a large marble bust above the fireplace, and comfortable parlor chairs at a small table.  We passed through the den and into the smoking parlor/bar, which was painted in a whimsical garden mural with monkeys dressed in fine period attire of barmen, waiters and the like hanging from the lattice work.  After soaking in the scene, we continued into the dining room, which continued the 18^th century décor theme.  The Inn’s website notes that the Inn has become the life work of Joyce Evans, a renowned stage and set designer from England.  The webpage also notes that she has shipped many of the furnishings from England and believes that one should, “never use one William Morris print in a room when five will do.”

I have a hard time sticking to one job for more than three to five years.  I believe that variety is the spice of life, however Chef O’Connell appears to feel that life is mastering the variety of spice.  As he states on his menu, “With every meal, a cook is given a blank canvas and another chance to create a masterpiece.”  He is a self-taught chef and has been dedicated to the art of culinary excellence for over forty years.  His Nouveau American cuisine has been winning accolades since he opened the restaurant.  

The list of accolades includes being ranked #1 restaurant in Washington D.C. by the Washingtonian Magazine and Washington Zagat Survey, where it has been awarded Zagat’s highest rating all categories for the last 14 years; Travel + Leisure ranked it #1 in the United States for Hotels for Foodies; International Herald Tribune rated it one of the top ten restaurants in the world; AAA’s highest award of five diamonds; and it has received five James Beard Awards, including Chef and Restaurant of the Year.  So, if you think you might only experience fine dining once in your life, this Inn is a pretty safe bet.  Though some reviewers have concluded that the food and experience is “worth every penny,” you must also expect that it is going to cost a lot of pennies. 

I joked that I had to sell off my brokerage account to afford it.  Though it is true that I sold off and closed my brokerage account before going to the Inn, it was not to pay for the dinner.  In fact it was because, unlike the impeccable service at the Inn, AXA has little to no service, and cost me much more than dinner.  As I stated in the Letter of Intent I sent to AXA to close my account:

I have found your service lacking or non-existant, fund performance sub-par, and investment and insurance selection self-serving.  I hope you find it difficult to find and fleece future clients, and I hope I can work toward supporting that goal.

I guess this blog helps support that goal as well, and on that note, I’d like to recommend that you do not do any business with AXA, and advise your friends and family avoid them as well.  They apparently believe that a brokerage ‘service’ should serve to make their clients broker with age.  But I digress.

Back at the Inn, we decided the best way to experience Chef O’Connell’s work was the ten-course Gastronaut’s Menu.  I assume it sounds a bit like Astronaut’s menu because the astronomic price tag is out of this world, but then again, I am not accustomed to fine dining.  After all, I did drive right by the valets, and parked my own car, setting the night’s theme for uncouth conduct in a fine dining environment.  Actually, I think I may have set the bar low even earlier in the evening while selecting my attire and failing to include a suit jacket.  My friend wore a little grey sweater – instead of a fancy coat – which the staff received with slight bafflement and gingerly took it in two fingers as if he had never held such a humble, dispirited-looking garment.  Despite our innocent disregard for fine dining protocols, the staff handled the situation with the utmost of professionalism, and care. 

After choosing our menu, we then had the arduous task of choosing a wine to accompany the wide array of flavors, savors, sweets and heats we were about to experience.  For a mere $200 more, we could have made the choice simple and selected the wine pairing for our menu, but we decided to ask for the wine menu instead.  It arrived in a leather-bound three ring binder with 80 pages of wines to choose from.  I guess this is why they have also won awards from Wine Spectator and Cigar Aficionado for their extensive wine list.  We deftly narrowed our choice to a Pinot Noir or Chardonnay, and after further consultation with our ‘captain,’ - fine restaurants don’t have waiters - and the sommelier, we settled on an oaked Chardonnay from a local Virginian vineyard. 

Before the first course arrived, we were pleasantly surprised with a few extra tastes to begin our gastronomic tour de force.  The first was like a mini cannoli made with a lightly salted potato chip shell filled with American caviar and a light, creamy cheese.  It was decoratively presented on a small black stone, which our captain was quick to warn us not to eat.  The warning made me wonder what circumstances led to the requirement to include this warning, or was it prompted by our glaring inexperience in fine dining. 

Throughout the dinner, we peppered our captain with questions about the chef and menu.  We asked if the chef was in, and learned he rarely takes a night off.  With the restaurant opening in 1978, it seems like he may be due for a vacation, but then again he is doing what he loves in an office he designed with garden views from the window.   During his many days at the ‘office,’ he has also prepared meals for a laundry list of Who’s Who in global politics and cuisine.  Tucked away in the hall to the restrooms are several pictures and letters from grateful diners to include President Obama, First Lady Laura Bush, the Queen of England and Chef Julia Child who celebrated her 90^th birthday at the Inn.

We also learned that the menu varies by season, but otherwise any changes are very subtle.  Patrick was once asked what an aspiring chef should do and his advice was “Mastery. All you need to do in life is master one thing. So choose one menu: A first course, a main course, and a dessert, and make it every Sunday for nine years until it’s perfect.”  If each recipe took 9 years to perfect, his menu has nearly half a century of masterpiece selections crammed into a few pages.

Beyond the food, the Inn also prides itself on their service and strives to make subtle changes in their service to ensure every guest leaves feeling better than when they arrived.  For our visit they started by adding a personalized birthday message to the menu for my friend’s birthday.  Then they quietly noted our interest in the Chef, and arranged for us to meet him and tour the kitchen after dinner.  The kitchen was everything you’d expect it to be, since it was designed by someone referred to as the pope of American cuisine.  A cathedral to food, complete with tables beside the fire place for the devoted to dine in the presence of masters at work.  The walls are done in blue and white Portuguese tiles and the massive hood over the Vulcan Range altar – built to order in France – was designed to look like King Author’s tent.  

Patrick greeted us with a warm smile and happily posed for a picture with us before we began chatting.  He was disappointed to hear that we had arrived only a few minutes before our reservation and had not had a chance to see the town during the day in order to tour the gardens, and see the llamas among other highlights.  Our Captain had mentioned how Patrick had felt a sense of home when he moved to Washington, which led him to establish the restaurant there.  Hearing him speak about it, I could tell he was proud of the house he’d created, and wished to showcase it for his guests.  The llamas led to a discussion of my visits to Peru, and he was keen to hear about their budding gastro-tourism. This man is truly all about cuisine.

Speaking about food, I guess I should give it a mention.  The meal was a sublime, cooked-to-perfection theatric performance for the taste buds.  Like any good show, our menu started with popcorn, but being part of the performance, it was flavored with Parmesan and Australian truffle shavings.  I would not do the tastes, textures, and overall experience justice by attempting a blow by blow run down of delights, but here are a few of the menu’s standouts: the Chilled Maine Lobster with Heart of Palm, Blood Oranges and Pistachios; Nantucket Bay Scallops with Chanterelles, Curried Cauliflower, Sultans and Pine Nuts; the Antarctic Sea Bass in an Asian inspired Broth Perfumed with Ginger; Truffle-Stuffed Breast of Pheasant on Savoy Cabbage Braised in Champagne; Herb Crusted Lamb with Winter Vegetable Stew on Celery Root Puree; and for desert the Pear Sorbet with Riesling Poached Asian Pear. Mmmmm, Mmmmm, Mmmmm!

In short, if you ever sell off a large sum of investments and are looking for a place to put the money, avoid AXA Advisors, and invest in an amazing dining experience at The Inn at Little Washington.