Sleepless in South Korea

We arrived in Mokp’o, my new 'home' at around midnight. They had told me it was a village. A village? In Wales a 'village' consists of about 50 people who shear sheep together on Saturdays. But here apparently 250,000 was small. A drop in the mere ocean of the vastness of South Korea. Cool beans.

My monosyllabic colleague dumped me unceremoniously into my shoe box literal, fridge-for-a-headboard apartment and made a sharp exit. Muttering something about tomorrow and a Meeting? I think, though don’t ask me to bet my life on it. By this point, I was practically delirious.

I sat on the bed. Felt the vibrations from the headboard. Opened the headboard. Closed the headboard. Sat back down on the bed. Looked out of the window. Roof Tops. I opened my case. Shut my case. Checked out the bathroom. Opened the shower door. Shut the shower door. Sat back down on the bed.

That was it. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to go out and explore.

Drifting out into the dark side street, I should have known better. And I knew it, even in the moment my foot hit the tarmac. But I ignored my inner "catastrophi-meter," pasted on my stiff upper lip, and did it anyway.

Like a moth, I headed towards the light.

At the bottom of my street, I was met with a towering, luminous blue, 'Paris Baguette.' Great. A landmark. I mean, how many baguettes can possibly be sold in the land of rice and noodles? A suitable anchor point. I felt free to wander.

Turning the corner onto the main drag, I was met with a sudden awakening. I was illuminated, and so was everything else in the vicinity. It was like stepping into Piccadilly Circus with the lights actually on — and fireworks to boot! Neon signs of red, green, yellow, blue threw lasers of light in every direction. It was challenging to determine where one sign ended and another began. In fact, it was hard to discern anything at all.

As my eyes adjusted, I could finally appreciate this illusory place that, until now, I had only imagined. It was all there: tangible, concrete, right before my eyes. I was here. I truly was.

That morning, quite accidentally, I stumbled on the night market. The intoxication was immediate. Fragrant burnt rice and fresh watermelon spiked with the heady scent of ‘gochujang’ being freshly prepared. Everywhere I turned, people chattered loudly in a language I could not understand. The women, animated and vibrant, gestured wildly to make their points, while the men, in contrast, whispered conspiratorially. Food stalls were crowded, with patrons vying for the freshest catch. Victors emerged, sauntering off with bags of fish slung over their shoulders, like a triumphant Dick Whittington who'd finally found his gold.

It was confusing, peculiar, enchanting, disconcerting, and captivating all at once. This was life. Wonderful, pulsating life. And I stood in the centre of it all.

I left the market invigorated but exhausted. I don't know if it was the excitement or the jet lag that got to me but I felt completely drained.

I needed to return to the shoe box.

As the night lights dimmed and the sun began to rise, casting a surreal red glow over the cobbled stones, I was greeted politely with curious smiles from the night 'staggerers', largely drunk on Soju but still sober enough to cast a cursory glance over the strange little foreigner wandering the streets at such an insane hour.

I found my landmark. My beacon. My road map home.

And then another. And another. How many ‘Paris Baguette’ could there be? Five apparently. FIVE. But which one was mine?

It was 4 am and I was utterly, lost. No address, no mobile; and by 6 am, I was exhausted with no hope and on the verge of tears.

Miraculously, I managed to find my street. To this day, I have no idea how. I felt almost drunk as I slotted the key into my new front door. I have never been so relieved to see a bed, propped up by a fridge, neither before nor since.