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 (2 of 5)

a tale of 5 SKCs*

So, yes: after all, we made it! We felt happy and proud crossing the Empire from West to East, then ferrying South to Korea. Yeah! But while the whole journey to and through Russia had been planned and prepared quite thoroughly (bookings, dates, tickets, visas, places and such), the rest was a blank page in front of us. Walking out of the ferry terminal in Donghae, we had a vague idea of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see. But we had no clue about how to, how long, how much or, just, how? It was the beginning of a series of exciting South Korean Challenges:

the Korean, analog Craigslist: you write it, you post it and you wait for an answer!

SKC#1: make South Korea smaller, one bus at a time!

From Donghae, our first mission was to get to Gangneung, about one hour North. And to do it by bus. It was supposed to be a bigger town with more services, nicer beaches AND "a great wonderful and free campground right by the beach!" This promise of "a great, wonderful and free campground" has been the most recurrent tale - or myth, or lie, or simply plain bullsh--, depending on how you want to look at it - during our whole time in South Korea**. The bus stop was just in front of the ferry terminal and we had been told that "all basses go citibass telminal". So we waved at every single bus that passed along until the fifth one eventually stopped and let us on. First mystery, first unanswered question: why this one and not the others? No clue. Be watel, my fliend.

one of many "citybass telminals"; note the slight overpopulation of  extinguishers.

In South Korea, you get on the bus at the back and down at the front. You pay when you leave, according to the duration of your ride. Logical. For this you need coins: many many many coins, to feed a machine located just by the driver. He has to look carefully so as to count all the coins you insert in the plexiglas box (just like a ballot box), before allowing you to go down (once you've thrown enough coins in). In case you fail to do that right away, he just stares at you awkwardly. But doesn't get involved, ever. Unless maybe by sighing loudly and making you feel miserable when you either don't have enough coins or don't insert them fast enough. public shaming is an efficient leverage to increase one's performance and the South Koreans do have it assumed. First similarity with the Japanese society: shame as a tool for social control, check!

SKC#2: read (or at least decipher) the Hangul alphabet!
Don't expect anybody to speak English (rare exceptions to be found here and there) out of the main cities (Seoul and Busan). Some stuff might be written in English here and there, but not out of the main cities (Seoul and Busan). So, if you want to survive in the country, you'll have to learn the Hangul alphabet. Good news is: it was created long ago by a wise king who wanted to get rid of the Chinese ideograms so as to raise the rates of alphabetization and the proportion of educated people. He had a smart guy working on a brand new syllabic system. And the smart guy came up with a brilliant one. One you can learn how to read and write with in about twenty minutes. True thing. One sign, one sound. Sounds are usually grouped by two (consonant+vowel), sometimes three (consonant+vowel+another consonant), in a way that allows you to easily and quickly recognize a whole syllable. Let's have a look. Got it already? Good!

Hangul alphabet 101: a consonant + a vowel = a sign = a sound. easy, isn't it?

Richer of this new and exciting skill, we deciphered (well, actually, Wallis did) the word "Gangneung" written on the big big analog board in the middle of the citibass telminal, understood the timetable and platform, then successfully bought our first intercity ticket. SKC#2: R.

We felt so happy that we ran into a café and bought two iced coffees with milk to celebrate. We then missed two buses headed to Gangneung - on purpose - before getting on the third one. At that point, we need to say the intercity bus network is very impressive. Stunning! At first, it seems you can go from any city/town to any other city/town with either one direct bus or a maximum of two transfers. At most intercity bus terminals, you'll find a vending machine with the cheapest coffee with milk (hot or ice and generally really decent), some average free wifi (almost always working and reasonably fast) and a waiting-room with aircond (in case you want to get a sore throat to spice things up a bit). What else could you possibly ask for? Just a few days from now, we'll learn that not any place is easily reachable by intercity bus and some Natural Parks are so remote it's all an SKC to get there. But hey! Let's live in the present and on that sweet illusion for a while, we've only just arrived. Summary of our pleasant bus ride: spent an hour day-dreaming through the window, looking at some green hills covered with forests and paddy fields with rice. There was, actually, a river running through it, but there was no fly-fishing Brad Pitt in rubbers to be seen. Maybe there's no such thing as Korean trout? Suddenly, we were in Gangneung, surrounded by buildings and concrete again. SKC#1: R.

a bunch of cool college students taking their inflatable-Dolphin break from class.

It was, indeed, a nice and busy city, full of students and high-schoolers enjoying the summertime. Mostly smiling at us, staring at us, laughing (at us?) and texting all the time on their smartphones. We won't reinforce the cliché that it's a similarity with the Japanese, because it's pretty much the same anywhere in the western world too. #it'snotthesame! So, okay, fair enough: the smartphone addiction, real world vs. virtual world, blablaba and such. Gangneung was also quite bigger than we thought and it took us another hour on another local bus (all the way to its terminus) to get to the beach area, quite difficult to miss:

To get to the beach? Oh, of course! It's fairly easy: follow the weirdos in swimsuits with a floating killer whale and a green doughnut!

SKC#3: find the "amazing free campground by the beach"!
With many facilities and services, the beach looked nice and clean. It was crowded, but not too much. We quickly located a couple of convenient stores for rice balls, instant noodles and more coffee with milk. But we also quickly realized the narrow strip of pine trees between the first row of shops and night bars and the sandy beach was this "great wonderful and free campground right by the beach". No kidding! There was absolutely no way we'd pitch a tent on this ten meter wide garden patch where small groups of people were spending the afternoon in the shade... Maybe in winter, or with a typhoon, one might be able to stay there overnight without being noticed, chased or fined. But at the end of August, it was impossible: with our super big and heavy backpacks, just walking around already made it clear we were looking for a place to crash and camp. The feeling was (did I say it already?) clearly a "no way" feeling...

the infamous "Petate con patas" (two-legged rucksack)... levitating without legs!

We decided to stop, relax, change clothes, take turns to go swimming and to go hunting some food at the convenies. Even though it was only around 5:00pm, the question of "where the H--- are we gonna camp tonight?" was slowly becoming a trending (and urgent) topic. So yes, the water was delicious, the rice balls (let's start calling them onigiris if you don't mind and although it's a Japanese word) and coffee with milk too, and it was really nice to be chilling in the shade of some pine trees by the beach at the end of August... But the trending topic was progressively becoming a source of argument.  SKC#3: £ it's a fail!

We packed and decided to go and explore the park around the lake, just a mile away from here, or so. There was supposedly an "auto-campground" somewhere. As we soon discovered, "auto-campground" does not only mean that you get there with your car and pitch your tent by your car. It also means that you're not allowed to get in and camp unless you have a car. We thought of trying the "indeed we do have a car, ma'am! Only that we've left it home today. But we own one, true thing!" We then reckoned this kind of humor wouldn't get us very far in South Korea. Well, it never got us anywhere in any country. But we'll keep trying and we'll let you know about the results!

SKC#4: invent a B plan, set camp and cook dinner before it's dark!
Now let's talk about a REAL challenge... walk our way across this beach suburb of Gangneung between the sea and the lake, eventually running into a supermarket, then finding a neat, flat, hidden, remote-but-not-too-much place to spend the night. At some point, we were there: some woods (well, at least some trees) could be seen not too far away. There was a supermarket round the corner. It was dusk already but not night yet. In a few words: we were doing great!

between the sea and the lake: civilization everywhere and getting darker...

Back to the shore of the lake, we found a bushy area by a temple but the trail we were on was a dead end and there was a strange lady on a weird bike, talking on the phone. She kept looking at us, then finally came and spoke to us. Apparently, she understood we were looking for a place to spend the night (sick clever, the lady!). She allegedly had cycled thousands of miles around the world with her German husband and was blessed with so much generosity and hospitality in every possible country back then, that she wanted to "pay it back to the universe"... and we happened to be her cosmic coins. So she wanted us to stay at her place, to enjoy a warm shower, a Korean dinner and a comfy bed. Wow, taking un(t)raveling one step further, here! So she called her husband to ask him to come pick us with the car, while she'd ride her weird bike home. She talked to her husband on the phone for quite a while. Her body language was some kind of a torture. It looked like he was not that eager to pay back all this generosity to the universe. Well, at least not tonight, Josephine. He apparently had a bridge night with clients or some beers with friends. Or something. She was a bit uncomfortable but instead of hospitaliy, she gave us the URL of their website. Call it an acte manqué, we lost it and are unable to share it here. She smiled too much and left us in our dead end trail. After her weird bike had disappeared, we came back to the temple, found a lovely spot with a rain shelter where we cooked and put the mattresses and sleeping bags. We slept a first short bivy night sharing the place with mosquitoes, then with early joggers: at 6am we packed and hiked back to the beach for breakfast. SKC#4: R.

After arguing a little bit about a plan, we decided NOT to walk another 6 km to another beach with another amazing free campground by the beach. We're fast learners, I know! (Thank you, Wallis) Instead, we'd go straight to Sokcho, farther North, to go hike the famous Seoraksan Natural Park, the first and most famous of the country. Here came the:

SKC#5: get back to the citibass telminal without a won and with the ATMs refusing our VISA!
This is another fun fact about South Korea and another similarity with Japan: they have a "different" micro-chip standard for credit cards and therefore do not accept most of the international ones. Ha ha! What a fun fact! Hilarious. Especially when you discover that at 12 km out of the city center and away from the bass telminal and don't have a won left after a luxurious breakfast at a 7/11.

mystery ferry: is it a boat on the hill alla Fitzcaraldo, or are we below sea level?

We never thought getting cash from ATMs would be tricky (or just plain impossible!) and changed just about 20 euros at the ferry terminal the day before. Our VISA Premier (chosen for the travel insurance and for the allegedly premium services) proved useless in the three or four ATMs we found, including the one at the local post office. There though, a nice and English-speaking lady explained to us we needed an intelnashonal ATM and the only one was at one specific bank downtown. She told us to just take any bass headed to citibass telminal and to jump down when we'd see the bank". We answered that we didn't have enough money to take the bus, that was the reason why we needed an ATM so badly... So she stopped a taxi and said something to him. He took us onboard, drove us to that specific bank and waited there until we withdrew the cash and paid for the ride. He was nice, but left with our umbrella. It was sunny, so we thought "not a big deal". And we'd soon discover it was, indeed, quite the big deal. We got back on a bass headed to the citibass telminal (or so we thought) but after getting off Gangneung and passing along the airport, southbound, we realized something was wrong. Then we saw THIS and thought something was even wronger... Even though we couldn't see the sea, we knew we couldn't be lower than sea level. As a fake Chinese saying says (just made it up): "you need to flood the rice at some point, but high tide is not the answer". Getting lost was not a problem anymore since the bus was taking us straight to the boat on the hill and it was a purely, 100%, un(t)raveled situation. A bizarre place we reached by chance or based on a series of odd mistakes, not especially touristic, not famous at all and not even scenic: just plain weird.

the one and only love (boat) hotel on the hill, with Sergent Pepper's lonely hearts club band (watch your ears, ok?)

Second mystery, second unanswered question: how did IT get there? The big flood? Was it the one and only Korean Noah's arch? Was it pushed here by a tsunami? Taken up by an eccentric, visionary, opera-loving Klaus Kinski? Or built up this very hill on purpose? The answer is most probably the last option, as it happened to be a... love (boat) hotel! A fancy hotel for freak lovers and lover freaks alike. And another one we didn't stay at : at that point, the Siberian rain hadn't drained our intentions to sleep in the outdoors and the local one hadn't introduced itself yet. Soon, though...

Anyway, the love boat hotel was at the end of the line. The driver looked at us with surprise as we stayed sitted and smiled to him. He seemed to want us down his bus but we explained - with a lot of drama in our voices - that we were lost and needed to go to citibass telminal. He didn't dare to ask us to leave, not even to pay for the whole ride and opted for a very Japanese alternative: he ignored us from that moment on. As if we weren't here at all. We enjoyed the ride back into town and gave the driver our warmest thanks upon arrival at the citibass telminal. SKC#5 and last: R.

losing our dignity with a grotesque souvenir picture: the un(t)ravelers as Korean bears!

At that point, feeling guilty or embarrassed is innecessary, he already did for the three of us! It was already early afternoon, so we looked for the next bus headed North, to Sokcho and the fantabulous Seoraksan Natural Park. Sokcho happened to be another big "mid-sized" town by the sea, where we didn't stay long enough to really get a precise idea of what there was to see and what could be skipped. We skipped everything, from the lighthouse to the marine museum, to the XXth century catholic church, to the fish market. After another two hours to decipher the local bus chart, hop on the right one and ride it until the end of the line, we were at the entry of South Korea's most beautiful place, losing our dignity forever with a grotesque souvenir picture. Voilà! The rain extended its warmest and wettest welcome at us as soon as we stepped down the bus, the campground we walked to (about a kilometer under the pouring rain without the umbrella the taxi driver kept the same morning - he was probably a fan of Georges Brassens) happened to be full and, well, sometimes even the most beautiful place and mountain paradise suck when you've spent half the day trying to get there and all of a sudden it's the big flood again, your stuff is all soaked, it's getting dark and you don't really know where to start in order to make things just a little less terrible...

"But hey, we chose all this, right? We came a pretty long way and it took us a month, and it took us thirty something years and it took life billions of years, just so we had a chance to live this very moment... Right here and now, you know? So complaining is not an option. Say thank you to the universe and to the lady on the weird bike because she really wanted to pay it back... Oh, come on! F--k your cheap, positive, quantic, the-power-of-now soup, will you? Heavy rain when you're camping beyond the end of the world is NOT cool, regardless of the perspective you intend to adopt!"

It went on like that, with thousand of celestial voices speaking in our heads as the storm got bigger, roaring like crazy above them... no hell below us, above us only rain... But, you know: it's getting better all the ti-i-ime, a little better, all the time. I want to hold your hand. Is there anybody going to listen to our story, etc. In short: more of the same, soon!

_____________________________

* you'll have understood by now that the SKCs are South Korean Challenges!
** according to the myth, South Korea is full of amazing free campgrounds, everywhere in the mountains, in the countryside, on the beach, close to the towns... We couldn't find ONE single free campground and actually only wild-camped a couple of nights. Everything else were expensive campgrounds designed for whole families to enjoy car-camping with huge tents and tons of gear. See *** below for more about the "tons of gear".
*** Laetitia (our dear A's younger sister) had warned us long before we set foot in the country: "you'll see hiking is the national sport in Korea ; people LOVE hiking, they go over-equipped and they'll probably look at you as if you were going absolutely unprepared." Ha ha ha! How true she was. Oh, these awkward moments along the trails! We can only agree with her, except for one thing (that we shall repeat again and again): they apparently make a huge confusion between being equipped and being prepared, and between hiking and hanging around in hiking clothes!