by John Bocskay

Alex flew in from Bangkok with a backpack crammed with dirty clothes. When it was  opened, my room was destroyed. And there is a growing phalanx of beer bottles on my  kitchen floor which is slowly eating up all my Lebensraum. 

But since she came, my diet has improved. She's washed all of her clothes but they're  still all over my floor. She shares my love of travel and has many wonderful stories  and insights. And she likes to stay up all night, just as I do, talking and drinking beer.  She is, as they say in German, "supercool."

It's her first time in Korea, and her impressions are refreshing; they help me to look at  this city and country with new eyes. We've been having a good time, talking late into  the night, drinking a hell of a lot of beer, and seeing the city. During her first week  here, I was working during the days, so she was sightseeing a lot on her own. She has  now seen more of Pusan in one week than I have seen in a year.

Last week my work schedule was freer, so we decided it would be good to get out of  town for a few days. We caught a bus to Yeosu. I went to a small island (Kaedo) off  the coast there a few months ago and had a wonderful time. Last week we hoped to  check out another such small island and, well, do something there.     

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I also knew that Yeosu has a replica of Yi Soon-shin's famous Turtle Ship. You can't  live in Korea and not hear about the Turtle Ship. I had known about it almost since my  arrival here over two years ago, but never felt the urge to go see it. But with Alex  here, that changed; once we arrived in Yeosu, we were drawn to it like laundry to my  floor.

The Turtle Ship is small as warships go, but as a turtle it whoops some serious ass. It  takes its name from its protective iron shell on top, and perhaps also from its tortoisian  top speed of six knots. There were mannequins around the deck in fighting poses, some  firing arrows and small cannons, other bleeding from stumps where feet should have  been. There were many signs around the ship in cute but intelligible English explaining  what everyone was doing. The ship was generally well-done, but it seems they skimped  a bit on the armor plating. The "20 cm thick" walls of the ship looked like I could put  my left foot through it. I'm a rightie. 

It was fun to imagine what the ship must have looked like in battle. Sulfur smoke  pouring from the mouth of the dragon on the prow, Japanese cannonballs bouncing off  the top, bullets whacking against the sides, and 130 tough bastards on the inside giving  it right back. Compared to modern naval warfare, these were slow-moving battles. The  Turtle Ship would pull up next to an enemy ship and receive the same awful pounding  it was giving out--a kind of Sitzkrieg--only the Turtle ships were better able to  withstand it than the Japanese ships were. I was impressed and think Koreans are  rightly proud of Admiral Yi. The Turtle Ship in Yeosu is a snapshot of one of Korea's  finest hours, and it is proof positive of the best Korean qualities, namely, bravery and  ingenuity. And it always feels good to savor victory over the Japanese, whether you're  talking about naval battles or under-21 women's table tennis.

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The next day we loaded our backpack with beer and set off on the ferry to Yeondo. It  turned out we didn't need to bring the beer, as there were some small markets on the  island. (The village where I had stayed on Kaedo had no markets, no beer). Better to  be safe than beerless.

We dropped our bags at a minbak (similar to a bed and breakfast), loaded our beer into  the fridge, and went out for a late afternoon walk. Alex likes hiking. So do I, though  not for very long. We picked a small hill and took it on. We reached the summit in  about 14 minutes. Perfect. 

The good thing about hiking is that it gives me a hearty appetite...okay, the views are  nice too. By the time we walked back down, we were ready for dinner. The ajumma at  our minbak had just about finished preparing dinner when we arrived. She was a good  cook, and her husband was a generous and gregarious host. I told him I do some  fishing sometimes and we hit it right off.

We talked about fishing, and about the legendary 30-centimeter Dom that can be caught  around the island. He explained that the fishing in Yeondo is considered by many to be  the best in Korea. He was naming all the local fish, some of which I recognized. Then  he suddenly asked me a tough question, something about a "Bu-shi" and a "Go-ah". I  had never heard of them. I told him I knew nothing about these fish.

He couldn't believe this. He repeated, "Bu-shi. Go-ah." Again I apologized, "Sorry, I  don't know them."

He tried again, "You know, Cu-lin-ton." Ah, he was talking about politics. He wanted  to know what I thought of the American election, which I stopped following a few  weeks ago. "Very strange," I said, "Do you know who won?"

"Bu-shi" It's weird when a fisherman on a small Korean island knows more about  American politics than I do, but so it goes when Alex is in town.

It was a pleasure talking to him. He spoke very slowly and clearly, and he repeated  almost everything he said--just like the character Johnny Two-times in the movie  Goodfellas, "So, when are you going back to Yosu, back to Yosu?" and, "Whaddaya  think of my wife's soup, my wife's soup?"

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The island was so quiet that it was hard to sleep at night--no shouting to lull me and  no loudspeaker trucks to sing to me in the morning. However we did have a relaxing  time, quite different from the days I spent on Kaedo a few months before. I turned up  there on somebody's birthday, so everybody choked me with pork and blinded me with  Soju. Their generosity was boundless, but I came away with the suspicion that their  idea of hospitality meant doing everything in your power to make all your guests puke.

Luckily there were no birthdays on Yeondo, actually not much of anything save fishing,  fishing, and more fishing. We went for an early-morning ride on our guesthouse  ajossi's boat and found the rocks surrounding the island swarming with anglers dressed  head to toe in day-glo fishing outfits. It seems that Koreans cannot engage in any kind  of sport without an appropriate outfit. Just to walk up a hill to have a picnic requires a  designer walking stick, sporty pants tucked into long wool socks, a sun visor, and  two-inch spiked hiking boots, never mind that most of the mountain trails around Pusan  are now paved and are served by buses or cable cars.

Maybe the clothes help to get you in the mood. And I wonder, is it something I'm  wearing that's leading me to drink beer every night? My drinking outfit: dark shirt and  pants to hide embarrassing spills and food stains, and leather boots to wade through the  occasional mucky bar toilet. And come to think of it, sometimes a walking stick might  come in handy.

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The morning we were due to catch the ferry back to the mainland, we were dying for  a cup of coffee. There was a small coffee shop (Da-shil) near the wharf which turned  out to be closed, maybe for good. Nearby I asked a local guy if there was another  Da-shil around. No luck. Then I asked him if there was anywhere we could get some  coffee. He answered without hesitation, "My house."

So we went to his house and met his family. Judging from the way his middle-aged  mother dragged me to the floor of their living room and stroked my arms, they seemed  very happy to meet us. Coffee and rice cake were soon produced, and we sat around  chatting amiably, beginning with that great ice-breaker "Where are you from?"

I told his mother I'm American and Alex is German and she found this strange. She  asked me something I didn't catch, and a moment later her son rephrased it in a way I  could understand, "She wants to know if Germany is very far from America."

I was deeply touched by the question, more so because her grown son apparently didn't  know the answer either. I explained that it's about a six or seven hour plane ride from  the east coast. Her eyebrows rose and she chewed on that for a moment. Then she  asked, "So how did you meet?"

I explained that we met while travelling in Cambodia last year. That really threw her  for a loop. She didn't ask me where Cambodia was but I could see that she knew it  was very far from both Germany and America. Her brow grew deep furrows and she  became silent, occasionally making "mmm" sounds. Soon enough came the inevitable  question, "Are you married?"

Alex and I had previously agreed to pretend we were married to avoid any potential  hassles. The guesthouse owner had asked if we were married--I answered yes and that  was the end of it. We were set to meet the ferry in a hour and would almost certainly  never see these people again, but still I answered automatically, "Yes, we are married."

I regretted it immediately. Unlike the minbak owner, they got very excited and wanted  to know all the details. "When were you married?"

I stuck with our story, "Last Saturday." They got even more excited. Why did I say  that?

"Did your parents come to the wedding?" Damn, this is getting tough. I said no and  immediately knew I'd put my foot in it again. Parents not attending their children's  wedding is awkward anywhere, but it is entirely beyond the comprehension of most  Koreans. I knew I needed an explanation, so I said, "Uh, the ticket was too expensive."

What a look of pity they gave us, and what a shit I felt like for lying to these people  who were so kind to us. To make matters worse, the son explained that he occasionally  comes to Pusan on business of some kind, and he'd love to get together with us the  next time he's in 8 town. We exchanged numbers and my mind started working on how I'd explain the  disappearance of my "wife" who would be back in Germany in a week.

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The time came to leave, too soon as always. We said goodbye to our minbak family,  who encouraged us to "come again next time, next time come again." Alex was happy  to have tasted at least a small slice of island life in Korea, and I was happy to have  tasted only a small slice and not an entire side of pork.

And tomorrow I must say goodbye to Alex too because she's going back to Germany,  which is even farther from Korea than it is from America. My room will only be half  as messy, and I expect my heart will be about twice as heavy. But already we are  talking about when we meet again next time, next time, when we meet again.