It's 1:00am and I'm sitting on a concrete wall outside an empty train station in Seoul listening to a drunk Korean man sing opera. Let me tell you how I got here.
At 7:15 I had a quarter bowl of
Yum! Almond Flakes! Good for You! with what I'm pretty sure was pigeon milk. Shortly thereafter we walked the half mile to the subway station. 1 hr on the subway, 30 minutes gesticulating frantically at Korean people trying to find Busan Train Station, which, as it turns out, was directly across the street from us. 2.5 hours on the bullet train to Seoul, 1 hr on a commuter train to Incheon Airport, 5 hours of walking - to cargo, animal quarantine, customs warehouse, customs office, back to cargo. The quarantine inspectors apparently saw three dogs where there were only two (really good inspection, guys), which then took an hour to rectify. Finally - the dogs and I are reunited - and it
does feel so good.
1 hr on the commuter train back to Seoul station and - dramatic music - all of the trains to Busan are sold out until 5:30 AM - 8 hours to waste with the dogs at a train station where we can't even order McDonalds because there are no NUMBERS and we don't speak Korean.
And so I sat, feeding the dogs bottled water and potato chips (the only food I had), watching drunks stumble down the station stairs. The passersby were terrified of Beasley in all his 15 pounds of bearded glory, probably because he outweighs most Koreans by 4 pounds. They mistook him for a great grizzly bear hungry for the flesh of Korean children.
20 hours of travel, dehydration and lack of food make Brent and I both very gassy. We are now the strange, tooting Americans walking fearsome beasts to and fro in front of Seoul Station. At midnight the lights go out and the station closes. Brent and I begin to ration water. We play hangman and MASH until we can't see straight. The baritone Korean gentleman begins to sing his inebriated lullaby. We fart madly.
I try to sleep on the concrete, which feels remarkably similar to our Korean mattress at home. Nothing goes to sleep but my arm. I wave it around like a limp noodle, further confusing and terrifying the natives.
Brent has fallen asleep and I am writing this on the cursed document that took us 6 hours to procure at the airport. I am eyeballing the remaining water and wondering if I shouldn't kill and eat either Brent or one of the dogs (probably Baxter). It is 1:15 am and there are 4 and a quarter hours left. Then 2.5 hours on the train. Then an hour on the subway. And when this odyssey reaches its conclusion.... the dogs will immediately poop on the floor and i will look at them and think, "I should have eaten you."
