I hit Korea pretty hard. The trip began with me riding my bicycle in the dark with no sleep with all my worldly goods in a shopping bag to catch the ferry. 12 hours later I was wandering through the university area of Busan on a street food crawl realizing I don’t speak Korean. Unfortunate.
12 hours after that I am standing naked in front of 200 Korean women wondering how this whole communal bathing thing works. Luckly a young woman and her mom and her grandma showed me the ropes. Its really a shame this will never catch on in America. I can only dream about the possibilities if Vegas got involved.
24 hours after that I am training in the Zen martial arts at an ancient Buddhist temple in the mountains. The Zen master there died while meditating, aka he killed himself with his mind. Hardcore to the max.
20 hours after that I am wandering back to my hostel at 7am in Seoul with a Japanese artist troupe.
10 hours later I am lost in the back alleys of the antique dealers being creeped on by a sweaty nervous serial killer.
24 hours later I am bargaining for a red leather biker jacket (for my future scooter gang) from a Korean man who is telling me I should get rid of my pimple. I agree.
12 hours after that I am walking home from dancing till 6am and invited to Korean BBQ with some new friends who are taking shots and giving me all of their clothes.
20 hours after that I am dancing to my ipod running against 70mph winds on the deck of a cruise liner watching the lights of Busan fade away. Before I was alone, one traveler was playing the guitar, one lone wolf was practicing the flute, and two drunk old men joined us to skip around in the wind.
And now I am just back in my living room.
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