Busan-Osaka: bilan, ferry/croisière et... mal de mer!

vue panoramique du port de Busan avec, à gauche, le "ferry/croisière" (sic.) ringard et rouillé, qui doit nous conduire à bon port... 

Après deux jours d'errances, de nuits en jimjilbang et de pluies torrentielles sur Busan, nous avons finalement embarqué à bord du "ferry/croisière" (c'est le qualificatif donné par PanStar Cruise et vous comprendrez bientôt pourquoi il était amplement mérité...) à destination d'Osaka, Japon. Décision un peu précipitée peut-être, mais dans un élan de désespoir et comme une ultime tentative pour échapper à notre tristement célèbre malédiction de la pluie*. Si ça ne marchait pas, il nous resterait à tenter un grigri ou un démaraboutage en règle ; ou bien décider de nous consacrer professionnellement à apporter la pluie partout où elle ferait cruellement défaut, ce qui pourrait rapidement faire de nous des gens riches et philanthropes à la Bill & Melinda!

après "E.T. téléphone maison", voici "Wallis cherche cabine"...

Enfin... Une fois abandonnés nos sacs dans notre cabine (une boîte en tôle de 5 mètres carrés sur le pont inférieur: sans fenêtre, surchauffée et vibrant tout entière de la proximité des machines), nous sommes retournés sur le pont du "ferry/croisière" et avons fait un bilan silencieux des deux dernières semaines, depuis qu'un autre ferry -tout aussi romantique- nous avait arrachés au déluge de Vladivostok et déposés sous la cloche moite et orageuse de l'été sud-coréen... Du coup et puisque le sujet vient sur le tapis, s'il nous fallait résumer notre expérience sud-coréenne (trop courte et très limitée, il est vrai) en un paragraphe, on pourrait dire que (voici le fameux bilan) :

1- c'est un pays qu'on a trouvé très beau, très vert et très agréable: la nature y est omniprésente dès que l'on sort des villes (belle tautologie) et des sentiers battus. Malheureusement, ça n'est pas si facile, surtout sans véhicule et/ou si on est chargé. Échapper aux formules aseptisées du camping 3* avec bungalow et du boulevard-pavé-qui-va-du-guichet-du-parc-naturel-au-centre-d'interprétation-de-la-faune tourne vite au cauchemar. Donc, nature: oui, randonnée: oui, mais n'attendez pas un trek sauvage façon GR pyrénéen ; ce serait plutôt Las Ramblas à 19h30 en juillet - sans paella surgelée. Il y a aussi un "autre" vrai problème pour les touristes étrangers: la casi-totalité des (nombreux) refuges de montagne n'est accessible que par téléphone ou internet mais pas à l'arrivée sur place. Et pour ça, il faut non seulement parler la langue, mais surtout être résident du pays, car sans un numéro de sécurité sociale (ou quelque chose d'équivalent), il est impossible de réserver... Avis aux amateurs, la frustration vous guette et le bivouac sauvage dans les parcs naturels est interdit! Comme en plus il faut s'inscrire et payer à la journée à l'entrée desdits parcs et que les tickets sont datés et contrôlés à la sortie, il est délicat de justifier de nuits clandestines into the wild...La bohê-ê-ême! Bin non, pas trop.

la Corée sans véhicule peut vite se résumer à ça: l'attente dans un bas telminal.

2- c'est un pays dont la culture est très riche, la nourriture absolument délicieuse et la population a priori aimable et bienveillante, même si la barrière de la langue limite vraiment l'accès à tout ça. Ne comptez pas sur l'anglais pour vous tirer d'affaire, en tout cas hors des centres touristiques et des deux villes principales. Du coup, le petit côté lost in translation (charmant quand c'est Bill et Scarlet, ou accessoire pour une full moon party en compagnie de digital nomads anglophones) devient vite frustrant si l'on veut comprendre et communiquer un peu plus ou un peu mieux. De là aussi que le backpacking, l'auto-stop ou le camping sauvage virent vite à la parano: on se regarde méfiants, on ne se comprend pas, on ne sait pas si ça veut dire "oui", "non" ou "j'appelle la police". Bref, c'est pas non plus une autre planète, mais la communication n'est pas facile et l'expérience d'immersion s'en ressent un peu. N'espérez pas non plus vous fondre dans le décor ou passer inaperçu avec un sac à dos de 25 kilos, des cheveux longs ou de la barbe. Le véritable défi pour nous a été de comprendre les "codes" pour nous déplacer et faire notre vie sans créer d'émeute ni attirer l'attention: comment sortir de la ville et choisir un coin pour poser la tente pour la nuit, comment nous déplacer en transports en commun et arriver loin de tout, comment bouger en hors-piste tout en dépendant des infrastructures existantes. Autant de petits défis faciles en Europe et dans des pays envahis de touristes occidentaux, mais plus compliqués ici.

une métaphore de la perplexité du touriste lambda perdu en Corée du Sud?

3- c'était imprévisible et complètement indépendant de notre volonté, mais si on ajoute que chaque fois qu'on s'est retrouvés dans la nature on a pris la pluie sur le coin du museau (alors qu'août est "habituellement" beau, chaud et ensoleillé), les conditions climatiques n'ont pas aidé. Elles nous ont en tout cas aidés à traverser le pays un peu plus vite que prévu et à nous retrouver sur un ferry pour le Japon après 2 semaines environ, quand on pensait passer au moins un mois en Corée du sud. Les options de repli n'ont pas vraiment donné de résultat: 0 Couchsurfing, 0 Helpx, 0 Wwoof et la ligne de budget "hôtels, pensions et campings" qui a dépassé en 15 jours les prévisions pour le mois. Ouch! Les jimjilbangs nous ont permis de dormir, nous laver et nous détendre pour le prix d'une séance de ciné, quelque chose de surréaliste quand la moindre nuit en camping coûtait 30 euros environ, douche et électricité à part. Mais s'il faut y ajouter le prix des consignes de gare pour les gros sacs et des allées et venues en métro/bus pour les déposer et les récupérer, ça n'était pas hyper économique ni hyper pratique. Et tout ça sous la pluie, c'est un bon exercice de détachement dans la plus pure tradition du zen de Printemps, Été, Automne, Hiver... et printemps. Voilà enfin une vraie référence culturelle vraiment sud-coréenne, il était temps! Et Kim Ki-Duk est un réalisateur tout à fait recommandable, en plus. Ça, c'est fait! Donc en conclusion: oui, on a beaucoup aimé la South Korea, mais: oui, on est partis un peu plus vite que prévu, poussés dehors par le mauvais temps.

Bref, on a regardé s'approcher la tempête qui devait nous accompagner toute la traversée et qui n'avait d'ailleurs pas l'intention de nous lâcher de sitôt (délit d'initiés: à l'heure où on écrit ces lignes, on connait déjà le futur proche: dingue, non?). On avait appris au terminal que plusieurs speedboats pour Fukuoka avaient été annulés à la dernière minute à cause du risque de typhon. Et on comptait bien sur notre bon vieux "ferry/croisière" lourd, lent et peu sensible à la houle pour nous mener à bon port sans encombres.

un peu ferry, très croisière: palmier de bienvenue en ballons, pianiste mellow, chemises hawaïennes, moquettes chatoyantes et jeux de miroirs.

Hop! Sans transition maintenant: le "ferry/croisière" s'amuse! Voilà que tout d'un coup, entre tant de moquettes chatoyantes et une cinquième reprise un peu neurasthénique d'Autumn leaves, on a appareillé. C'est un "on" collectif et nous ne saurions tirer à nous la couverture (en acrylique): il n'y a eu aucun mérite individuel ici, nous avons docilement attendu que sonnent les trompes et que lèvent les ancres. Mais soudain, "on" a quitté le port et l'appel du large nous a immédiatement pris dans ses filets. La mer a montré les muscles, le typhon fait le dos rond - ou le contraire peut-être? - et on a commencé à gîter, rouler et tanguer sans plus de cérémonial. La foule des retraités enthousiastes a vite déchanté, les coupes de champagne du pot de bienvenue ont commencé à tinter, trinquer et se vider sans autre aide extérieure que celle des roulis du tas de rouille laquée et moquetée qui nous servait de bateau: emportés par la houuuuule... Heureusement qu'il y avait des freins sur les roulettes en caoutchouc du piano à queue, sans quoi il serait passé par-dessus le bastingage avant la fin du pont (celui des feuilles mortes** bien sûr, pas le pont supérieur), emportant avec lui la pianiste ukrainienne et l'eau du bain. On n'a guère eu le temps de penser à Novecento, pianiste, mais la référence eut été bienvenue quand même.

un urinoir équipé de l'appli Pee Fighter, si si!

Aux lecteurs fidèles de ce blog (y'en a-t-il seulement?) qui endurent sans protester jeux de mots et calembours tous plus douteux les uns que les autres, une fois n'est pas coutume, voici pour changer une variation du cru sur une blague classique: "mauvais goût criard, kitsch ringard et luxe défraîchi sont dans un bateau. Un typhon arrive, qui secoue le navire dès sa sortie du port: que reste-t-il?" Ah ah ah ah ah! À partir de ce moment, les choses ont changé très vite: les toilettes sont devenues le point névralgique, le lieu à la mode, le centre du monde. Un peu à l'instar du vote d'extrême droite depuis 2002, vomir s'est subitement converti en une activité non seulement socialement acceptable, mais même carrément cool et fun, à partager en famille, entre amis, à commenter en riant et surtout à assumer au grand jour! Dingue: ça s'est mis à vomir dans tous les coins, dans toutes les positions et à tout bout de champ! Si le grand salon n'avait pas pris des creux et fait des bonds de plusieurs mètres en-deçà et au-delà de l'horizontale, on aurait volontiers pensé qu'un Staphylocoque doré déguisé en pirate s'était emparé du ferry. Bref, comme deux vieux matous de mer dans la tourmente, inexplicablement immuns à la crise collective et incoercible de vomissements, on a assisté au drame tout en se promenant de la proue à la poupe et de la supérette au restaurant panoramique. C'est d'ailleurs là qu'un nord-américain fort sympathique nous a invités à partager le trop grand pichet de bière qu'il avait commandé, ne demandant en retour qu'un peu de conversation et des oreilles curieuses d'écouter ses aventures et tripulations autour du monde. Il y avait même quelques chips pour accompagner la bière: la grande classe (américaine)! Ce n'est qu'un peu plus tard qu'on a fait la véritable grande découverte de cette grande traversée: la présente à bord d'un petit onsen à disposition des passagers. Résolus à en découdre et plutôt agréablement surpris de ne souffrir ni des inclémences marines, ni des gastriques caprices pourtant fort en vogue, ni même de l'angoisse propre à l'imminence d'un naufrage, nous nous sommes séparés à la porte de notre spa respectif: chacun sa serviette, chacun son savon et Neptune pour tous! Sans grande surprise, l'endroit était: plus que tranquille, absolument désert! Les tabourets et petites bassines en plastique valsaient d'un côté à l'autre sur le carrelage trempé, les lames qui nous balayaient de côté venaient s'écraser contre la vitre panoramique et l'eau du bain chaud se déversait en déferlantes régulières jusqu'à la porte du sauna, qui battait quant à elle au rythme de l'océan déchaîné. Un spectacle apocalyptico-rigolo, un rêve de gosse entre Chihiro et Mimi Cracra, tout un parc d'attraction en aqua-color rien que pour nous!

la vidéo est en cours d'édition, on vous l'incruste ici à la première occasion! 

On y a passé une bonne heure, chacun pour soi et chacun le sien, malgré la tentation (mutuelle et télépathique) de se retrouver d'un côté ou de l'autre. Après tout, le risque de devoir partager l'espace avec des inconnus à cheval sur le règlement en pleine tempête était plutôt limité ; les priorités de nos compassagers semblaient converger vers une autre famille d'installations sanitaires et on nous foutait, passez-moi l'expression, une paix royale! En définitive, le monde appartient à ceux qui ont le pied marin, fussent-ils plus montagnards que matelots... À la sortie, en revanche, la croisière s'amusait toujours: ça vomissait à tire-larigot, le dîner de gala n'avait pas vraiment le succès escompté, la pianiste était retournée dans sa cabine. Même la mayonnaise avait tourné, qui risquait fort d'ajouter encore au tangage le bon vieux péril gastrique du buffet empoisonné ou du second de cuisine avec un panaris: "staff un jour, staph' toujours". En résumé, c'était pas la joie. On a reconnu, prostré au fond des toilettes du pont supérieur, un jeune qui nous avait abordés dans le terminal avant l'embarquement. Il avait changé de couleur et aussi de t-shirt, allez savoir pourquoi. On a eu envie de lui dire quelque chose d'encourageant, mais il avait l'air beaucoup moins enclin à la conversation que quand il nous poursuivait de ses questions: "where you from?", "how old you?", "which number you cabin?", "is you husband wife?", "where stay you in Osaka?", etc. Et puis on n'a pas voulu déranger les petits monticules de bile avec lesquels il avait consciencieusement marqué son territoire. On l'a donc laissé à ses méditations et autres reflux œsophagiens pour pouvoir nous concentrer sur un sujet autrement plus important: aller manger un morceau!

un cliché dérobé de notre nouvel ami à la chevelure blonde comme... la bile?

On a fait sensation quand on s'est mis en devoir de préparer notre soupe de nouilles instantanées au milieu du lounge. Quelle idée incongrue aussi, d'arpenter les couloirs moquettés avec des bols en polystyrène remplis à raz-bord d'eau bouillante quand le sol, toujours changeant sous les pieds, faisait plus penser à une salle de cinéma du Futuroscope qu'à un wagon restaurant! Pour nous, ça ressemblait à quelque chose comme intervilles ou un best-of de wipe-out hivernal et c'était très drôle. Hooooooo! Ooooooooh! Du coup, nos derniers ramen sud-coréens avant d'arriver au Japon, vous pensez bien qu'on les a savourés. Après avoir fait shluuuurp! bruyamment, on a regagné l'intimité de notre cabine et on a pris un peu de repos bien mérité après toutes ces émotions. On se serait crus dans la météo marine de M.-P. Planchon: mer démontée sur Cromarty, Forth, Tyne et Dogger. Heureusement, dans la nuit ça s'est un peu calmé: vent 5 à 6, mollissant 3 à 4. Et le lendemain matin, quand on s'est aventurés sur la promenade, c'était mer calme, pluie fine et plafond bas sur la mer intérieure. On a glissé en silence le long des berges mornes, entre Okayama et Takamatsu. On avait l'impression de descendre des fleuves impassibles. D'ailleurs à un moment, on s'est fait la remarque qu'on ne se sentait plus tirés par les hâleurs. Mais ça ne nous a pas inquiétés plus que ça... Après le gros grain de la veille, on en avait vu d'autres et il en fallait plus pour nous impressionner. On a bientôt aperçu le pont d'Akashi-Kaikyo droit devant, et après être passés dessous en faisant coucou comme des neuneus, on est entrés dans la vaste baie d'Osaka: le truc touchait à sa fin. On est donc retournés à notre cabine pour y récupérer nos sacs, rejoindre le pont principal et la meute paisible de nos compassagers. Silencieusement, on a commencé à se préparer pour ce qui viendrait ensuite... mais RIEN de rien (non, on ne regrette rien, d'ailleurs) n'aurait pu nous préparer à ce qui nous attendait dans le grand salon/lounge/lobby du ferry/croisière/s'amuse!

la mer intérieure a "retrouvé son calme" (au sens propre comme au figuré) ; Pixar vous présente... ; le golden Akashi-Kaikyo gate bridge!

On y a découvert émerveillés (un ciel superbe? non!) TOUT le monde rassemblé et docilement attablé, casquettes aux fronts, sacs-bananes aux hanches, passeports aux mains et bagages aux pieds. Et deux cents paires d'yeux et d'oreilles tournées vers l'accolyte de la pianiste ukrainienne: une violoniste ukrainienne occupée à interpréter les quatre saisons de Jean-Luc Ponty (du baroque électrique façon marque blanche un peu cheap: les quatre saisons by vive Aldi: la meilleure qualité au meilleur prix! Attention, les vannes volent bas aujourd'hui). On a bien senti que son registre habituel était plutôt Titanic, mais après la traversée qu'on venait de se taper, on a pensé qu'elle n'avait pas dû oser. Ne comptez pas sur nous pour être désobligeants...  Pas cette fois.

tout le cachet du ferry/croisière en une image, suspensions incluses!

On a sincèrement apprécié les efforts de tenue (un outfit de bal de promo et une permanente impeccable), le violon électrique laqué bleu, le son cristallin sur-compressé pour un jeu tout en nuances et la reverb de tank à lait en inox martelé. On a essayé d'imaginer la vie des musicien(ne)s professionnel(le)s à bord de chaque ferry/croisière d'ici et d'ailleurs. La traversée aller, la traversée retour et les cinq ou six heures à terre pendant les escales: vingt-sept jours par mois, onze mois par an. Faites le calcul vous-mêmes: ça en fait des grilles d'Autumn leaves ou des allegri printaniers. Enrôlez-vous qu'ils disaient! L'enthousiasme touchant de nos compassagers m'a rappelé une conversation un peu subréaliste avec un de mes touristes nord-américains, il y a quelques années, à propos de "musique"***. Il avait réussi à me prendre de cours en me disant "ah, vous aussi, vous aimez le jazz ET la guitare? Vous devez adorer Marc Antoine! J'ai eu la chance de le voir en concert plusieurs fois..." Et devant mon air interloqué, il en avait remis une couche "Quoi? Marc Antoine? Vous ne le connaissez pas? Mais c'est le meilleur guitariste de jazz du monde!". Troublé, j'avais attendu avec impatience la fin de la journée pour enfin arriver chez moi, allumer l'ordi avant même d'aller faire pipi, et faire ma petite enquête sur youtube... Bon, je résiste difficilement à l'envie de coller un lien: les curieux et les "amateurs de jazz" feront leurs devoirs. Je ne veux pas avoir sur la conscience de lui avoir donné des clics et des visites - dont il n'a pas besoin, d'ailleurs. Après tout c'est le plus grand guitariste de jazz... des croisières Royal Caribbean! Et mon touriste un retraité du Nevada amateur du smooth jazz des ascenseurs et autres salles d'attentes de chirurgiens esthétiques de Vegas...

à nouveau, et avec toute notre affection, une petite douceur en souvenir du bon vieux temps:

Finalement avec tout ça, on avait accosté et le salon était déjà pratiquement vide. Pour un peu, on serait repartis dans l'autre sens. On aurait pu aller demander un autographe ou un ultime bis rien que pour nous à la violoniste, dont le contrat prévoyait apparemment qu'elle joue jusqu'au départ du dernier passager. Mais non, notre bout du monde à nous attendait en bas de l'escalier glissant et on est descendus à terre sous la pluie. On a posé le pied dans notre première flaque japonaise, solennels. Le préposé à l'immigration nous a reçus à bras ouverts, cordial. On est sortis du terminal sous la pluie, euphoriques. Et on s'est mis en devoir de trouver un ATM pour pouvoir acheter nos premiers tickets de métro, émus. Il était septembre 2016, on était à Osaka et l'aventure n'en finissait pas de continuer!

_______________________________



* presque aussi ancienne qu'un(t)raveling, la malédiction de la pluie hante ces colonnes et notre mémoire, du TRANSITion au 2c15, de helpx en wwoofs, de l'Ariège à la Belgie et évidemment de Berlin jusqu'au bout du monde, en passant par Irkutsk, le lac Baïkal et la verte Corée. Ouvrez un post au hasard, passé ou présent, et cherchez en la flaque, la gouttière ou la trace encore humide sur un sac à dos ou un duvet...

** pour le pont des feuilles mortes: en Do et pour faire simple, ça devrait ressembler à quelque chose comme ça:
A-7(b5) / D7 / G-7 / G-7 
C-7 / F7 / BbM7 / BbM7

*** que les mélomanes ne s'offusquent pas, si chacun voit midi à son clocher, chacun peut bien voir musique à son archer et on est tous le Christian Morin de quelqu'un...

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20 francs le kilo

Notre section spéciale (hashtag 20 francs le kilo) pour tous les fans de comptes, les stressés du budget (serré) y ceux qui seraient piqués par la curiosité - ou par le virus - du voyage sans avion(s)... Ils trouveront donc ici et dans cet ordre: la vérité, toute la vérité et rien que la vérité (arrondie, sans virgules et avec parfois quelques oublis mineurs et fortuits, il est vrai). Mais dans les grande lignes, voilà ce que ça donne :

 - Busan-Osaka en ferry/croisière (cabine double de troisième, billets achetés au comptoir de la compagnie Panstar Cruise): le trajet dure une vingtaine d'heures et environ 600 km, pour 265 euros (qsp 2 personnes), taxe de port incluse. C'est loin d'être aussi bon marché que le transsibérien et les low cost locales proposent des vols moins chers, mais l'idée était de ne pas voler, donc... Vu le prix des prestations extra (pension complète, soirée "de gala" et petit déjeuner en buffet), on a apporté notre nourriture (nouilles instantanées, fruits, biscuits) et fini notre monnaie en wons à la supérette de bord ou à la machine à café: moins de 5 euros en tout.

Au total, ce sont environ 140 euros par personne pour une traversée romantique, agitée et inoubliable ; all inclusive, même les émotions fortes! Ramené à la distance, ça nous fait approximativement du 0,23 euros (23 cents) du km par personne!

Beyond the end of the world (5 of 5)

Busan on the beach, across the bridge,
under the rain and... from the boat!

If our South Korean experiences were mostly rural, and the few cities we stopped by were "small" (in local criteria at least), getting off the train in Busan quite changed the deal: a jungle of concrete, skycrapers, neon signs and busy people. Probably too high, too big, too much for us; but we knew it and expected it. That's why we had decided beforehand to focus on the mountainous rural east side of the country, to skip insanely big Seoul and to spend in the second largest city only the exact amount of time needed to find, book and get on a ferry boat to Japan.

map of South Korea provided by G----e, showing our wanderings and bus-hoppings,
from arrival (Vladivostok, Russia) to departure (Osaka, Japan).

If the How long? was pretty clear from the beginning, our only doubt was the When exactly? As for this, our increasing rain-o-phobia added up to the imminent threat of an incoming typhoon: they made us somehow eager to change our precarious condition of hikers/campers (a travelers's equivalent of the prehistoric hunters/gatherers), only to seek for shelter and comfort at our Japanese friends' (would that make us farmers/breeders? or maybe woofers/helpxers?). As our desperate last-minute CS requests (even though educated, host-tailored and definitely non copy-pasted) failed to receive any compassionate positive answer, we soon started to assume CS was better an option for twenty-something single city-breaker millennials than for long-haul backpacking couples in their late thirties. Or had we missed something? Futuna kept brooding over some nostalgic clichés built on statements like: "Back then in 2006, couchsurfing was different", "Before the big website crash, the community was for real" or "Trust me, it actually worked when I was younger" and other "Now those kids just wanna hang out and party". Forever. But in the end (and to be fair, from the very beginning), it didn't matter a lot since we first set foot in Busan with a solid coin-locker option and the directions to a 3-star jimjilbang*. What else could you ask for? So far, our best answer to the #1 SKC "Where and how to sleep cheap and comfy in South Korea?" is still and without a doubt: forget about the local unicorn of the amazing free-campground by the beach and surrender to the slightly less romantic but way more real option of the jimgilbang and train station coin locker! Nothing can compare to that, not even the kitsch-est and freakiest Love Hotel with Nat King Cole himself smiling at the front desk (sure enough my weirdest fantasy). And, just to make things clear: no! WKW is not Korean and Cantonese cannot be spelled in Hangul!

the next morning, straight out of "bed" after an early spa session: discovering Busan's most iconic beach and skyline with coffee and pastries.

So, just like the dusty old book says: there was a night and there was a morning (that'd be a great opportunity to introduce another non-Korean, HK movie from another great and sadly not-so-famous director, with a beautiful "genesis" opening scene, that is: Time and Tide (2000) by Tsui Hark. Unfortunately, youtube doesn't seem to have that available for now). And it was the second day (in town). We had a breakfast of coffee with milk and local pastries about 100 meters away from the jimjilbang, right on Busan's most famous beach. From there, we explored the city a little bit, making sure not to use anything but a tourist map and our natural sense of orientation... Hum. Wandering around with no particular goal - and with no particular place to go - is often the best way to enjoy a new place, as long as you don't expect to randomly walk through the must-sees, main attractions or local Hard Rock Café - but who does dat?

a typical un-fancy restaurant: right by the suburban train tracks,
with great views to the sewage channel system!

After a little while following the coastline, trying to find a straight way to the ferry peer, we eventually passed by untraveled districts and neighbourhoods, got lost in narrow back alleys and un-touristy markets. We even (!!!) ate delicious stuff at some un-lonelyplaneted food shops: grilled, stir-fried or boiled, but always with kimchi on top. By the way, if there's one thing about South Korea we didn't emphasize enough in these columns, it's the food. We mentioned the (breakfast) time of our lives at Gyeongju's central market, we evoked our luxury and intimate Love Hotel dinner, and we sure failed to mention the lunchbox packed with gorgeous homemade food** forgotten next to us on a bench at some bus station somewhere. It gave us about the exact same amount of both pleasure and guilt, even several days after we finally decided to take it with us and eat it all, assuming its owner was already far away and was very unlikely to be a Park Chan Wook-style psychopath dropping poisoned gifts around (bim! another highly recommendable Asian movie, genuinely South Korean this time - Old Boy (2003) - even though a US version was released exactly ten years after, blame it on Spike Lee)… Where was I? Oh, yes: South Korean food! They have local gyoza, local udon and ramen, local sushi and sashimi, local pork curry, local dumplings and springrolls, local yakimeshi, local miso soup and (local) so on... In a word: local you-name-it-they-have-it. And they have it yummier than than you ever could imagine! Take the offer of local miso, for instance: it was disturbingly diverse and got us dazed and confused (no, this one is too easy, go look for it yourselves!) in the middle of a supermarket, wondering which ones we should try first, second and next. We also discovered some local nori seaweeds: same same but... different from the Japanese ones: crispier, saltier, sometimes even smoked, they are eaten as snacks or broken into crumbs and used as furikake on top of food.

miso paste meets the American way of life: one for each day of the… year?

We packed a couple of family-size pouches trusting they'd make it back home. But they hardly made it passed the ferry to Japan and the last ones ended at our first Japanese guest in Tokyo, who not only knew them already, but also already knew where to buy them in his neighbourhood. Anyway, Tokyo is another story and it'll be for later! Alright. After this little food interlude, let's get back to our un-visit of Busan: big blocks, dirty channels, slow buses, high bridges, rusty train tracks and neon-lit churches. Many many many churches. Churches everywhere. Did we mention already that, when asked about their religious beliefs in a national, public survey from 2012, about 30% of South Koreans declared being buddhists, another 30% declared being atheists and the last 30% confessed a christian confession? Mental-link this with the consequent amount of pilgrims from South Korea we met (and sometimes saved***) on the Camino de Santiago while working in French basque country in winter time... Amazing, isn't it? Well, we sure saw more crosses, churches, buddhist temples and stupas around than atheist temples. But because you can't see them doesn't mean they don't exist. Or maybe it does, actually? God only knows… Ha ha. Enough fun facts and food for today, too much fun can be hazardous. Let's get back to the point.

random street findings: the original red hot chili peppers ; fresh aloe vera for lunch ; roasty-tasty un-vegan food ; crossing a very picturesque bridge!

We went to the central train station and from there to the ferry terminal so as to check our options: we could easily get to Fukuoka in about 4-5 hours, several times daily, either on speed boats or regular ferries. Unfortunately, our local contact in Fukuoka wouldn't answer our desperate calls and emails, and no CSer seemed to be willing to meet and host us, not even for a night. The weather forecast was also as bad there as it was here, so we were moderately motivated by the camping option. The other one was to get on a slow boat to Osaka: it was an overnight, every-other-day journey on an older ship and it was called by the company itself a "ferry/cruise". The / is important! Slightly more expensive than the Busan-to-Fukuoka speed boat, the experience of a "ferry/cruise" on a rusty old boat packed with retired Koreans made us dream and shiver! After looking at each other for about a second, we took a decision: we'd pay for the 3rd class cabin (on the lowest deck and without a window), we'd live life to the fullest, we'd ride the love boat reloaded, we'd never be the same again, etc. And so we did...

introducing Busan's greatest ecolo-scam: the sensorless green-scalators!

With our heads full of expectations, dreams and hopes, and with almost 24 extra hours to spend in Busan, we went back to the train station for a postcard marathon: find some postcards! now find some stamps! now find a letterbox! We engaged in the noble task of saving the world - walking some green steps over and over again. It was strange, though, to witness the escalators had no sensor and worked full-time, regardless of whether there actually were people on them or not. So, we thought: if we DON'T use them, they not only use energy and have a specific carbon footprint, but WE also DO breathe more and sweat more, consequently producing more carbon dioxide than if we were just standing still on the escalators that would be working anyway. A paradoxical way to make a (green) point, right? We then found a doppelganger of Maggie Cheung, WKW's muse, lost on another green-scalator. We mentally replayed an alternate take of the noodle soup scene: in the mood for ramen? Yes, please! Of course! Gimme all your ramen! (nothing against Led Zep' nor ZZ Top, indeed. But you'll have to look for this tune on your own too: by now Yumeji's theme is far from being over and it'd be a crime to switch it for a trio of bearded Texan freaks. Seriously? ZZ Top? You must be kidding…). Right opposite the central station was a big market, the "typical" street with high glass ceilings to give shelter to a crowd of busy customers. Very common in Japan and apparently very common here too. Don't tell anyone, but the similarities between the two neighbours, even though they live back to back, keep striking and fascinating us!

WKW style: the stairs, the heels, the dress, and the soup can.

For our last night in town and in the country, we treated ourselves with an almost-all-you-can-eat barbecue restaurant. We ordered some meat but couldn't find any side dish. It took us a while to understand that, to make it short, once you had paid for the meat, everything else was free on a buffet basis: soup, veggies, salad, sauces and... kimchi! After seeing people at the tables around refilling plates and plates and plates forever with green stuff to put on their own little barbecue, we finally dared to do the same and had a great dinner! Nomehoudai forever!

Since this story wouldn't be an actual un(t)raveling story without a little bit of rain, we got soaked - at last! - by the long-announced typhoon while walking back, late at night, to the jimjilbang. It was not a big deal that time, since we only carried our clothes and a tiny daypack with us. And since the place we were headed to was little more than a giant bathroom… Oh! The magnificent art of bathing! After a warm and quiet night, we woke up early to get some more sauna and hot baths, then started the final marathon: to the train station for our "main" backpacks and to the ferry terminal for our "ferry/cruise" - all this, needless to say, under an end-of-the-world chilly and pouring rain! We got back to the ferry terminal wet and early. We tried to get some stuff dry (let's say dryer), looked for some wi-fi, ate some nori snacks and even found the time to argue a little bit about irrelevant things (it may happen when you're soaking wet, tired, hungry or all at once). And suddenly, it was time to spend our very last wons on the port tax, to show our tickets, to get a fancy stamp on our passports and to get onboard the very much expected "ferry/cruise". Our time frame: an overnight ride ; our weather conditions: a typhoon approaching ; our destination: Osaka, Japan! This should be our next adventure (if the ferry takes us safely to the other side - and we know it will, since this post was written in and sent back from about a week in the future!) but we wanted to make sure we'd leave you with just a little appetizer of the most incredibly kitsch, rock'n'roll and stormy croisière (s'amuse) ever!

typhoon approaching with our rusty old ferry boat (the one on the left) ; indeed: a giant balloon palm tree and a welcome piano recital, unbelievable!

Et voilà! We can't wait to share this next adventure and many others, so stay tuned and see you all soon! Now sing with us: Looooove, exciting and new... Come aboard, we're expecting youuuu! Allez, à bientôt...

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* About the 3* jimjilbang: although taking pictures inside the premises is absolutely prohibited, we discovered afterwards that some anonymous fingers randomly and inadvertedly clicked on the tactile screen of our smartphone, thus shooting a couple of times inside the main sleeping area. Fortunately, though, nobody can be identified but a sleeping Futuna...

** As for the abandoned lunchbox: we spent over an hour sitting right next to it, wondering wether to take it or not. Nobody came for it, we didn't know when it was forgotten and by who. Then just before getting on our bus: we imagined a mother had cooked it and packed it with great care and love ; we reckoned nobody would ever pick it up amidst the busy bus terminal ; we assumed it would be thrown away by the cleaning squad sooner or later ; we decided the best thing was to take it and eat it, just to honour the person who prepared it... And that's exactly what we did. Nevertheless, several days after the tupperwares were empty and licked clean, we still felt bad and guilty!

*** We need to check whether the story of the South Korean pilgrims lost in the snow and saved (technically: hitch-hiked to Pamplona) by Futuna has been told already in some of the Basque country tales and stories, or if we should put it on the to-tell list.

**** Was there actually a fourth footnote? Well, probably not...

exclusive Wallisleaks: night time after the last hot bath ; dawn time before the first hot bath ; the lunchbox that caused all the trouble.

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20 cents per kilo

Our special section (hashtag 20 francs le kilo) for the accounting fans, the (tight) budget-stressed and those who would feel curious about - or attracted by - a plane-less journey. They'll find here and in this order: the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth (rounded to the euro and with some minor memory lapses, possibly). But on the whole, this is what it costed us :

 - Our 2 days and 2 nights in Busan: 11 euros access fee for the Jimjilbang ; the noodle soups and tea bags account for a total amount of 12 euros per pax per night. To be fair, we have to add some 8 euros for the coin lockers and around 15 euros in bus and subway tickets. 35 euros

 - BBQ restaurant and breakfasts: 40 euros. Other food: 8 euros. Postcards and stamps: 12 euros.Total: 60 euros.

Overall total in Busan: about 90 euros for the two of us.

Beyond the end of the world (4 of 5)

of Gyeongju, giant moles and the theory of chaos

map of South Korea provided by G--gl-, showing our wanderings and bus-hoppings,
from arrival (Vladivostok, Russia) to departure (Osaka, Japan).

This post and the previous one intend to give you a fair idea of what we had a chance to see, experience and enjoy (or not so much) while busing (or buzzing?) through South Korea. Among other things, we faced some daily challenges, ate gorgeous food, slept in exotic settings and tasted a mouthful of the local rain. Needless to say our stay was short (about two weeks in total) and our experience, partial. We used public transportation, tried to live outdoors as much as possible and carried two insanely huge backpacks, one daypack AND a little groceries trolley. It was actually in Chiaksan National Park that we randomly bumped into a backpackers' scale by the rangers' cabin and finally weighed our backpacks. Due to our work schedule back then, we packed at the very last minute, the day before giving our house's keys back and getting on a bus headed to Berlin... We noticed they were (freakin') heavy and assumed they weighed something close to 15 or 17 kg. The scale may have been crooked, but it was sure enough closer to reality than we were: 18 kg for Wallis' backpack and 23 for Futuna's. Ouch! Diz explains dat. It was in Riga when Wallis started to talk about "making a list of non-indispensable items, putting them in a cardboard box and sending them back home so as to ease our shoulders and make the whole thing a bit easier". And there we were, after half the world and over a month on public transportation! But knowing the actual figures of the torture we were self-inflicting somehow made a difference. From that moment, there was no turning back: we started to look at stuff like the solar shower and the 496 pages of the SDL Trados Studio 2015 User Manual*, to name only these, with a mixture of anger and bitterness. Sad but true. But sad. But still true.

this is what we wished we'd look like while backpacking in South Korea and...

So by the time we got to Gyeongju, we were (again!) sweaty, tired, slow-moving and not really integrated in the local atmosphere. You probably know this awkward feeling when you suddenly realize your perception is just an illusion and reality - regardless of what might be hiding behind this delusive concept - is at a comfortable distance. By the time we left the bus station on our way downtown, our Dharma bum attitude was challenged by a couple of traveling monks whose outfit and bundle made us jealous. Fortunately, there were some fat, big, cheap coin lockers at the train station; before thinking twice, we dropped almost everything there in order to be able to explore the city and find a place to camp/stay for the night. The weather forecast kept promising a typhoon, suggesting traveling south and fast would be our only escape. That's when we remembered our dear A. and his sister L.'s advice not to leave South Korea without spending a night at a jimjilbang. "- a what? - a jim-jil-bang! Now, this is such an amazing thing it is hugely popular among both locals and the many tourists/expats from everywhere around the world. It's almost disturbing to think we spent over a week before giving it a try! In case you need a proof, check this blog and do a little g--gl- research: Italian is only one of the many languages to use and document this magic word!

...this is what we actually looked like while backpacking in South Korea (sigh!).

A jimjilbang is basically a spa, the equivalent of a Japanese onsen, with all the basic - and not so basic - facilities to shower, bathe, chill and rest in a hot and humid atmosphere with cold, warm and insanely hot tubs, steam rooms and saunas. As an illustration of the "insanely hot" thing, please find attached a picture of the main sauna at Gyeongju's most iconic jimjilbang: not many of you might be able to read through it, it should nonetheless give you an idea of how "insanely hot" it actually gets! But temperature is not even the main feature: upon entering and paying a small fee (about 10 euros, sometimes less, sometimes more), men and women go two different ways. Customers are given a gown and several towels - blue for men, pink for women - before accessing a locker area where all clothes and belongings are left. Most of your time is then spent naked, all sitting together on wooden stools in a open bathroom hall. The objective there is to get a thorough shower, using loads of soap and small buckets of steaming, natural hot water. Men also shave, spit and clip their finger nails. Women may do the same, but apparently also chat a lot - while the men's quarters are solemnly silent. Once your skin is homogeneously red and wrinckled, you're allowed to walk to the tubs and saunas. You may get a massage, relax on a massage chair (the cheap version) or head to the mixed area to meet your pink (or blue) fellow.

pictures are strictly forbidden inside, so here's the insanely hot spa: from outside ; from a technical point of view ; and from the lobby/sleeping area.

 There you'll find a bar, hot water, instant noodles and different TV screens scattered on the walls of a vast hall where people chill and take a nap. Jimjilbangs are open 24 hours, 7 days a week and access is not limited in time. As long as you pay the entry fee, you can stay as long as you wish. Yes, that means overnight. And yes, that means the next few days too, if you want to and have enough spare coins to feed on noodle soup cups... So basically: for about three or four times less than the cheapest hotel/guesthouse in town, you get to spend whole days in a bathroom amusement park, eating junk food, sleeping on a wooden floor amidst fifty or sixty other people and getting as many hot showers and sauna sessions as your body can handle! Why would you ever get out to a UNESCO world heritage area? Why would you want to go outside and visit a beautiful, rich and vibrant historical city? We did it, though, the next morning.

a rice field straight out of Gyeongju, free of giant moles...

And did well, since Gyeongju is a true gem, full of art, culture, history and food. A gem, first (and not least!), thanks to its central market, where we had breakfast the next morning: the closest-to-divine food we ate in the whole country (if not in our entire lives - bold statement, sure enough exaggerated but does it really matter?). Not only did the fish and groceries look gorgeous, the place was a labyrinth of narrow alleys where fabrics, goods, crafts, sweets and pickled stuff would have taken days to check and taste, be it with the eyes only... At the place we picked to sit and have breakfast, the rules were clear and strict: "Shut up and eat!" The sequence of solid, liquid, hot and cold things being served suffered no intervention. A firm hand is worth one thousand words: "eat this, now drink that, now put some of these in this plate and mix that in this bowl of soup. More! Drink it! Chew that! Here's the egg! More of this, now! Okay, enough! (She was an older, exotic version of Rachel, this catalonian guide/hostess at the most gigantic Cava cellars in the world** who often traumatized "my" US clients when serving them a glass at the end of the tour: if "¿Le gusta? Beba, beba!" is fine in Spanish, her own English translation "You like? You drrrink, you drrrink!" sounded a bit too imperative to the peaceful retired Northern Americans I'd bring there after visiting Montserrat on a bus tour... Rachel was indeed an extremely nice and knowledgeable tour guide and she often gave me a bottle of Cordon negro I then could pass on to the bus driver, which made our professional relationship much smoother. Those were good times...). But let's be fair: tyranny never tasted that nice. And topped up with kimchi straight from the jar, it only got better! Let's be even fairer: that morning, I had the (breakfast) time of my life. Before leaving, we bought some extra meat balls, rice balls, kimchi and some surprise dough stuffed with surprise stuff, all neatly wrapped in furashiki-style. We went out to explore the town and its "historical park", castle, museum, temples and "old" district. We even randomly found -while looking for an internet café to hide from the rain- a big hangar built over an ancient bridge (and consequently over a river), in order to give the workers shelter during the several years of its restoration. Cool, impressive... and very convenient!

the most amazing breakfast ever, only at Gyeongju central market ; last (and bonus) pic: walkers and scooters - morning traffic in the alleys.

The local legend says everybody was used to seeing some giant mole mounds scattered around town, or the area. Everybody was so used to them nobody ever wondered what kind of moles would have dug them. And when. Apparently, the mounds had been there for centuries, and the giant mole had probably entered the local pantheon of extinct animals, next to the saber-toothed tiger and the mammoth. Until some guy some day, back in the twentieth century, decided to shovel one mound out - allegedly to raise some veggie beds someplace else in his backyard. The local legend also says it was a shock when he exhumed the lapida of a king's mausoleum. Only then did the ancients remember the ancient graves from the Three Kingdom era and the magnificent heritage of the city. Well, honestly you never know something until you learn or realize it. And what's right in front of your eyes is sometimes the most challenging to actually see... I know that. Don't get me wrong. But just, you know: you believe in extinct giant moles and there's no evidence of giant hedgehogs? Seriously? Who'd believe that? Uh? Anyway... The weather was progressively changing but we didn't care anymore: our backpacks were safe in a rain-proof locker and a night of infinite hot tubs in heaven was expecting us at the end of one single line of one single local bus. Luxury is so a state of mind!

mole mounds everywhere ; oldest astronomic observatory (looks like oldest brick pagoda, right?) ; hangar over bridge over troubled water.

"let me take you down cause I'm going to Lotus-sy fields forever; nothing is real and nothing to get hung about, lotus-sy fields forever"

this is what we wished we'd look like while walking through the botanical gardens and this is what we actually looked like... deal with it!

We got a shiver in the dark, it was raining in the park but meantime... Saw several mole king mounds, more lotus flowers than anywhere else, the oldest astronomic observatory on earth (sic.), a green tunnel with hanging squash and the couple of errand monks from the bus station (or were they others, but looking the same?), still looking cool and still traveling light. In my next life, I want to be able to live off a 20 liter bundle! Actually, if the world goes on the way it goes, a 20 liter bundle might well be a hell of a lot of material possessions by the time I get into my next life... We went to the national history museum, which happened to be free and to host the oldest and biggest holy bell in the whole country. For those who might be wondering: yes, it was big and old. The mother of all big old bells, indeed! The museum was great: full of archaeological treasures, fascinating facts and figures about the three kingdoms, about the arts, culture, crafts, trade and religions of Korea throughout history. Tools and weapons, jewelry, clothes, toys and even antique stones that were carved to play Go a thousand years aGo... A natural crossroad between China and Japan, Korea received, adapted and refined techniques and skills from both neighbours, exchanged and traded goods with them during centuries, while simultaneously making war(s) and resisting (or not, it depends) influences and invasions, too. Not that Europeans nations haven't been doing the same for ages, though. The Erasmus student exchange program provided beautiful opportunities to understand each other and enrich mutually, but our own cultural melting-pot was not always that peaceful. And its future may not be as easy and friendly, if others follow the Brexit example...

a neat collection of stone axes ; a bunch of pocket deities ; a set of Go stones with an actual "the board is a reproduction" sign! really?

The rain outside helped us a bit to complete the visit of the whole collection. We then took advantage of an éclaircie to go back and get lost in the small streets of an old-fashioned, half forgotten district of rusty workshops and dusty houses in the early stages of gentrification. Selfie time for the record and on we went... Walked by an attractive and inviting love hotel, that would have gotten all our attention only 24 hours earlier. But after trying the jimjilbang, who'd miss a chance to repeat the adventure? A night of hot baths, instant noodles and a wooden floor shared with a crowd of strangers: who wouldn't sign up and enroll? The early bus ride back in town the next morning got longer BUT much more picturesque after we got on on the wrong side of the road and ended up at a shopping mall and convention center in the opposite direction. A good opportunity to spot birds and count raindrops on the window... The classic Lost in translation effect. Seriously: re-watch the movie and observe how beautifully Sofia Coppolla pictured the two main characters separated from their environment by transparent surfaces: at the swimming-pool, the bar, on the bus: reality is always on the other side, they can't connect to it. A beautiful movie, really. A great director. And before Scarlett J. started to do Sci-Fi/Action crap. 2017 will have its calamities, be sure Ghost in the Shell, the movie will be one of 'em!

the Romance motel: an appealing love hotel in its pinkiest, most rococo outfit!

___________________

interlude:

a night at the jimjilbang

___________________

On our way to the station the next day, we struggled to find back a tiny restaurant in a backstreet nearby and treated ourselves with some spicy meat buns: some sort of super yummy, local Chinese bread we had tried randomly the day before. The owners, a young and smiling couple, recognized us and were happy we chose to come back, very enthusiastic and very hungry. I could almost say they frotted their hands when they saw us in... At the station, after checking the timetable for the local trains bound to Busan, we struggled with our luggage for a little while, desperately trying to put everything back in order in the backpacks, while trying (at the same time) to please the officer who repeatedly "asked" us to move (in a language we obviously didn't know a single word of, but with great efforts to make himself understood). He pushed us away from the locker doors, out of the way, away from the ticket machines and finally out of sight. It takes more to stress us out and our legendary organization skills worked wonders... Where is the sarcasm tag? Even if you're non-Korean, non-Japanese, and consequently less sensitive to the idea of public shame, packing in the middle of a train station where somebody actively intends to make you feel uncomfortable and clumsy is a tough moment. A Netflix character would have told us: "Get your shit together. Now". He just kept pointing out how completely and hopelessly we had failed to maintain an acceptable degree of dignity and control over our lives. And that's when we met this couple of Spanish citizens in their fifties, who were eager to speak their language and to complain about "how difficult it was to travel this country" in spite of "their Asian courtesy and highly educated manners". They shared their wisest insights with us: it was sure enough "a cultural trait of their religion" , being "shy but hard-working" and more gems of those about "Asian people" - which is pretty much like saying Europeans eat cheese with garlic and drink wine while listening to Rossini's William Tell...

last selfie before leaving ; last call for passengers, with the good old "la vache qui rit" effect ; and on the train: last stop before Busan.

Anyway. With the wound of the humiliating moment still fresh in our flesh, this piece of small talk in Spanish was soothing, be it to hear vaguely racist clichés. Our new friends had just arrived and we assured them they would loooooove Gyeongju! We mentioned the museum as a must-do, which they apparently planned to visit already. And before heading to the platform, we also suggested they shouldn't miss the (breakfast) time of their lives at the central market, had they a chance to - which they seemed to consider a terrible idea and a very unlikely option. After all, why would you do that when most international hotels serve a continental breakfast buffet, even in the remote and mysterious Asia? Oh, the people you'll meet!

Can't show more than that: blue gown for him, pink gown for her. Easy!

As for our first, last and only train experience in the country: it was neat, right on time, air-cond' chilled, surgical-grade aseptic and... absolutely boring.
1- conclusion: in Korea, make buses, not trains: it's more fun, it's cheaper and it'll take you farther!
2- epilogue: it was already dark when we finally got to Busan and it all started with a little bit of stress  (again?): the train station we decided to stop at didn't have any locker, so it took half the team a one-hour round trip to the central one to go drop the two backpacks before we could finally follow a hand-drawn map to the closest jimjilbang (is it becoming an obsession?). We got lost and found, then lost again between skyscrapers, malls and broad avenues. After the National Parks and "historic cities" of Andong and Gyeongju, Busan, its 3.6 million inhabitants and nightlife looked like a futurist megalopolis to us (which it pretty much is, actually). Neon signs, heavy traffic, restaurants and clubs everywhere around. We finally spotted and recognized by chance the logo of our oasis for the night on top of a huge building a few blocks away and navigated to it (through them) as fast as we could. It was built on the 12th, 13th and 14th floors, one being for men, another one for women and the last one, for the common area. Two different men only and women only lifts could take only to the relevant floors. Let's not waste time on technical details: time to bathe! Of course, this urge to immerse in a hot tub was only to make sure this episode would end on a positive note: the absolute bliss of a late-at-night spa! And we'll keep Busan for the next (and possibly last) South Korean episode... Good night!

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* Trados Studio is one of the (if not THE) professional softwares available for assisted translation currently on the market. It's not cheap but this is nothing compared to how un-friendly, deep and complex it soon gets to the beginner user. As it apparently always happens with User Manuals, this one is very heavy and not that accessible. And using it at a "for dummies" level is like using Photoshop to crop some holidays pictures: both sad and challenging...

** About this gigantic and world famous Cava (a.k.a. Catalonian champaign) cellar and brand, their average production in this ONE (the only one) factory by the time I used to take my tourists there was about 120 million bottles A YEAR. They used to say their annual production in this ONE site was more than the whole production of champaign in France - a fact I never checked, because it seemed too plausible to even doubt it, especially coming from those who stole the technology known as "méthode champenoise" in the late 1870's and started to produce a local copy for their elites and bourgeoisie of the Belle Époque!