I’ve had better starts to a weekend. When your boss drops on you, as you walk into your first of six back-to-back lessons on a Friday, that the teachers’ dinner has been moved forward and will be held later that evening – well the light at the end of the tunnel begins to dim and you feel a bit like a death row inmate who’s final appeal has just been thrown out. The prospect of exchanging a night of reckless drinking for the sober boredom that these dinners promise is tough to grasp at any time, but the impeccable timing of the news on this occasion meant that it was my students who bore the brunt of the frustration. There were very few games and ever fewer smiles that day.
The previous dinner had been “cut-short” at 02:45am, only because I was to run for Team Dirt first thing the next morning, so I was euphoric when word was passed around that we would be released at midnight. Several of us had fabricated stories of other commitments, hoping to sway our dictator into letting us go before sunlight the following day. When he finally did relinquish his hold over us, the smug look on his face told me that he knew the subways had all just closed and that we were now isolated from any kind of entertainment. I took a cab to The Cave, cut my losses and curled up next to a familiar body.
Saturday arrived and we were up early, for a few reasons. Just a week before, on route the Seoul zoo we had discovered a couple of flaws in the famous Korean transport system. We found ourselves exhausting every means of travel in order to arrive at the zoo (only) 2 hours late. The bus had broken down, taxi gotten lost and the subway required 3 line changes and a lot of patience. So we were determined to cover our bases this time around.
We arrived in Itaewon and took pride from the fact that we were first on the scene, and that our troops were late. This was not Damo and Sera’s usual m.o and we had expected, at the very least to find them waiting for us at the rendezvous. A disappointing phone call to the two revealed the most obvious explanation. Heidi and Grant. Immediately Damo and Sera were excused from any retribution, for this was an excuse that many of us had found ourselves using in the last few months. A strange phenomenon had been developing in recent weeks, one which was concerning us all. Heidi and Grant: Two vivid characters, each contributing to our group in their own ‘special’ way. One straight shooter with ice running through his veins, and the other, well the other is Heidi. You love her or you hate her. She’s on our team so we love her. Also, we’re terrified of her - so it’s the kind of love that German peasants had for Hitler.
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| Team Poju |
But nobody anticipated what would happen when these two individuals combined forces, and it probably would have been wise to prevent them living down the road from each other. The crisis would ultimately come in a small, green bottle. They are both heavily addicted to Soju. There should be studies done on these two, perhaps on how much poison the human body can withstand. Heidi is the self-proclaimed captain of “Team Poju”, so there’s that. Grant takes a more inhibited approach to his practice. He doesn’t talk much of a big game; in fact you could be forgiven for thinking him just one of the lads. But if you watch him, closely, you will see that the little green bottle always seems to crack open in his hand and every single time it is passed around – it is finished by the same man. He takes the kind of swig that the BFG would be proud of, and I always feel dwarfed by the look he gives me when I take my normal, human-sized gulp.
More often than not these two hit their straps hours before the rest of us could ever hope to and usually crash very early on, (not a bad thing). If you find yourself having to undergo some kind of mission with these two in toe, it’s an uphill battle from start to finish. The bumbling idiots will turn everything into a task. Getting a stick of gum will mean that Grant first has to befriend the cashier, practice his Korean on the unsuspecting chap, and then explain to us all what had just happened.
In short, they are the most dysfunctional pair you will hope (not) to meet.
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| Beer garden. nuff said! |
So despite efforts from the two children, the cabs arrived and we all settled into a few pints at the local beer garden, aptly named, “Beer Garden”. This stop had nothing to do with the day’s plans but being addicts, we were powerless against such a blatant advertisement for liquor. After a couple of beers, Mackenzie’s Bloody Mary and a game of darts that Sam (the most competitive man on Earth) forced us to partake in – it was time for a bite. We headed over to Suji’s, which had us anxiously hoping that there was some truth in their slogan: “Then next best thing to mom’s home cooking!” In the land of the red cabbage, anything resembling mom’s home cooking is a bonus.
After a few beers and a brunch that my mom would have been proud of it was time for the main event. The season’s first baseball game. The Americans within our ranks were particularly keen for the game, which is one that has confused me all my life. It’s always baffled me how the nation that created take-out dinners, instant everything and the WWE wrestling spectacle can enjoy a game that takes 4 hours to watch each team bat 9 times and miss the ball on just about every occasion. But with an open mind I looked forward to the affair. I was in high spirits but these were nothing compared to the buzz coming off of Mackenzie who was still reeling from her Bloody Mary, and Grant, who admitted that he had no intention of surviving the night.
Dressed in our newly acquired supporters gear, we found a spot standing at the very back of the stadium. Of course we had planned to arrive at the game early and steal a few good seats, but nobody really expected this to happen. We vowed to be prompt next time but again, the claim was ridiculous and will never be met. It didn’t bother us though, because we had landed squarely in the path of the beer vendor who had to pass by us each time he refilled. His eyes lit up when he saw our party, and there was a kind of primitive connection between him and us, the kind you see in Dances with Wolves when the Indians first encounter the white man. But this was far more significant than that. Beer was needed by most of us, but not by all. Mackenzie was in a confused daze about why we were supporting the Doosan Bears when none of us was from Doosan, (next to Busan, right?). When I quietly reminded her that teams were named after their Sponsor and not their town, she clicked and suggestively announced, “So is LG actually named after the Lotte Giants?"
With the game over it was time to move on. In a few hours we would be arriving at the red carpet leading us into a club that was far too classy for any of us. Jake was performing and there was a small army of us attending. A quick glance at the guest list confirmed that this group would soon be corrupting the tasteful atmosphere inside the venue. Before we could get to the place though, a stop was needed to toss our supporters kit aside and suit up. This task was predictably hand braked by Grant and Heidi and the whole ordeal took us over an hour. Grant cornered me into an extensive demonstration of his Korean language skills, free of charge, although I would happily have paid a fee to avoid it.
Finally we arrived at the venue, feeling a little sheepish and horribly underdressed in our flip flops and t-shirts. Miraculously we were allowed inside and stumbled into what looked like an Usher music video. I felt a little like I was dirtying the floors of this place but approached the bar and ordered 2 drinks. Twenty dollars later I was vowing never to go near that bar again. You can buy a few conflict diamonds for that price back home, if I remember correctly. As things were beginning to take their normal shape, (Heidi pole dancing, Grant creeping girls out) I got a call from Dorian and Jono. Dorian had just arrived in the country and the two were racing this way, hoping to make the 12am guest-list cutoff - which they were optimistic about. Unfortunately they were also lost. It had been almost 3 months since I had seen the ‘tanned-lizard’, and I needed a celebratory beer. In defiance of the scandal that was $10 drinks, I headed down to the Family Mart for a classy 'shot-gun'; something that I have learnt to respect and revere.
A couple of minutes later I returned to the club to find that Dorian and Jono had been relegated to the back of the line - despite being on the guest list. It was 11.45pm and I knew where this was going. We arrived at the front to a joke of a bouncer who reveled in the chance to tell us that the guest list was no longer in use, we had missed it by 5 minutes. Entrance would now cost us $30. Dorian gave him the bird and we rebelliously told them we would take our business elsewhere. We rounded up most of our crew and headed to our home-turf - Hongdae!
We had the usual blinder that typically goes down in Hongdae on a Saturday night. In the absence of Dorian, Jono and Q it had been suggested that Seoul had lost its sting in recent months. But with 2 of the 3 back in action, we were firing on all cylinders. We started at Club FF which is rapidly becoming home turf to us, and a very dangerous turf at that. We then moved on to a place by the name of Naked which, let’s be honest is asking for trouble just calling itself by that name. Details from the early hours of Sunday morning are foggy at best, and the final few memories seem pretty concerning. The post-club routine of searching for a kebab was, of course the highlight of the night. Those damn Iranians. . . they may be a threat to world peace, but they roast a mean Shwarma!
