Workings of a Holiday - Daegu/Busan

"The 16th most desirable place to live in the world." Not 17th not 15th, but 16th. Interesting I thought when I was checking up on my holiday destination, Fukuoka, in Daegu, a large city in central Korea where my friend Sebastian works. What criteria must be in the ranking process for such specific numbers to be issued out to places in the world; life-span, education system, refuse collection, whether officials doff their caps for you, how few drunks there are per square meter, how ridiculous you can dress, how expensive it is for an apple, beer, noodles, or whatever takes your fancy. The place is Fukuoka, and it's in Japan. I finally made it there, a desire I have had for the greater part of my life, I think. The land of the rising sun and Godzilla, and all that. But first before we get to the final destination we must build up in classic literary fashion what happened before, and how I found myself in Japan.

It was wednesday when I got the KTX train to Daegu to see my friend for an end of week/weekend holiday. I will not describe the train now, for you will see at a later point why I have chosen to leave it for a later time. I had the classic misfortune of waiting in the queue to realise that my card would not work, and I'd have to take out some cash and queue all over again, but embarking on a break from Seoul I decided to weather such inconvenciences with an unnatural smile on my face. The night in Daegu consisted of visiting the local ex-pat hang-outs, rock bars where you could choose your music, pool bars where every wall is covered with a Pink Floyd album cover, and the Korean girl who keeps looking at me who has "fucked nearly every westerner in town." Best steer clear I thought to myself. The final club we attended had an open mic night going on, refreshingly different at the end when a Hip-Hop act did some Roots covers. The rapper, a man so fat that you applaud when you see him perform the most basic of functions, like walking or drinking. "How does he do it?" I think to myself. More circle than man basically. It was exciting as Sebastian and I were talking about what plans we should make for the weekend, a real sense that we were sailors in a grimy bar, making plans for the revelry ahead whilst on shore leave. Maybe I've read too many nautical novels. I sat, necking more beer, when he went off to follow a friend. He sat back down again with a smile on his face.
"Do you want to go to Japan on Friday?"
Such statements must surely be met with the word "yes", and I was not going to differ. It turned out that the friend he followed was on a visa run, and knew of a good deal for two nights in a hotel and hovercraft there and back.

But before Japan, there is always another step, that stepping stone, a gradual immersion into a hedonism that softly prepares you for what is to come, or what ones expectations of what is to come. How can I explain my expectations of Japan? It has always been of fascination and exoticism, but not one influenced by the abundance of bizarre popular culture and rich history (although these are undeniably points of great attraction) but more an idea that despite all this, it is also just another place, another place to live in at the end of the day, much like my fascination of the north of England, Manchester and Leeds in particular. The idea of what you imagine a place to be like, the fantasies, and the idea of it being an actual currently existing place where people work and live, are two ideas usually kept separate. Ones wonder and awe does not wish to be pragmatised with notions of infrastructure, working hours, and the behind the scenes functionings of a city. On the other hand, ones basic day-in day-out living does not wish to be distracted by the beauty you may find yourself living in. This is how people manage to walk past The National Gallery without looking up. However it is this marriage between the two that I find most fascinating, for it is here that you can transgress any preconceived notion of "place". You can feel on holiday when you are at work, something I felt a lot when working in the shop in the West End, and when you are on holiday you can also feel strangely at home, that this here place is as much your home, a place to live in, as the natives. Its quite a liberating feeling.

Liberation can also come in much simpler forms, like stepping outside of a train station when you arrive at a coastal town for a holiday, and Korea's second biggest city, Busan, lying on the south east coast, is a massive holiday destination. First things first though, we must book the tickets for Japan, so away from the sunny square with a drunk man lying on the floor with his bum literally hanging out, and the children standing over fountain jets, waiting for water to spray them. All very fun looking, but we had to get the tickets. It took a while and with each passing second as we were being told by the travel agent man in broken English what our beds would be like, I got more and more impatient to go to the beach and into the water.
"If room change on second night bed not 120 but 105, OK?" He looked up at me imploringly and kind. I was not quite sure what he meant, and when he took out a measuring tape I realised he was informing me of the width of my bed. THE WIDTH OF MY BED! Like I could give a fuck how wide my bed was, whether it was a grand king size bed, fit for what can only be used for Roman orgies, or a slim bench like bed fit for skinny unfussy people like myself. Now I could not exactly say this to the guy, so I just dismissively waved my hand, saying "its OK."

The beach was short lived, as we got there near the end of the day. I managed to get in a few dips before the lifeguard told me "no more swimming", then when he looked the other way I quickly ran in again. I think he soon cottoned on to what I was up to when I was always dripping wet when he walked past. What was most fun was that night and meeting the guy, Shawn, who planned to go to Japan in the first night, and the laddish exploits we got up to. Lots of beer drunk, we walked up and down the main boardwalk. Now this boardwalk is a catwalk for horny men and sexy girls, it's a marketplace in the true sense of the word, no matter how vulagr it sounds. The girls dress up to the max and walk up and down the boardwalk showing off their legs to the hungry men on the lookout. They walk with their friends maintaining reserve, pretending to enjoy the scenery, but all the while keeping a sly eye open to see if they are being watched, waiting to be approached. Very 1950's ish, impeccably made up, waiting for a man to chat them up, with all the power seemingly at their hands.
"Its like a sushi conveyer belt." said Sebastian, as my head was turned in another direction. That happened a lot on the boardwalk; conversation between the three of us, but eyes always averted to someone else, usually a girl who gave us a smile in return.

The night ended with fireworks, gin and fried chicken. We fell asleep in a Korean box room; just a floor with mattresses and pillows, a TV and sink also. Worthit though as it is very cheap and is the perfect kind of budget room for people like us. Very little sleep. Hard floor. Plenty of water. Even more snoring. Japan tomorrow.