The Rest of the Story ...

So, after the horse races on Saturday, our little group ventured north into the Naked City in search of sustenance--you work up an appetite squandering a combined 120,000 W or so. We debated our choices along the way: dalk galbi, shellfish in Sillim, but just about when the train rolls in to Bongcheon, Andy goes, "How about lamb skewers?"

Well, I am not one to turn that down, firstly because I love that stuff, but also because it automatically entails a visit to the world's coolest makkuli bar just down the street. The lamb was great, as always, but the makkuli bar was our most amazing experience yet!

Here is what the place looks like from outside:


First of all, we were heralded into the inner sanctum, the shoes off, low table room that we assumed is reserved for the cognoscenti. Soon thereafter, an older couple came in, and the man started a conversation with us--partly in English, but mostly using We-yun to translate. Though, frankly, both Nick and Andy seem to acquit themselves well in the native tongue.

Anyway, we got quite friendly with the guy, who was a fellow teacher. Hell, he gave Andy a massage:


Now, soon after this is when things get hinky, and the story goes into drama mode. Some guy comes in and starts trying to chat with Nick--since he's quite visible through the window into the sanctum sactorum, due to where he's sitting. Well apparently, the guy was just trying to pick a fight, and ALL the other patrons in the place try to get him to leave us alone, and/or go away. After all, we were just enjoying some makkuli and chatting with them--no heroine was injected, no AIDS transmitted or children molested during our visit.

Things escalate, all in Korean, and the massage guy eventually goes out and pile drives the asshole guy into the pavement. A few minutes later the Police roll up in their little tiny car and behave in a completely ineffectual manner.

They leave, and the jerk comes back. This time, pretty much the whole bar spills out onto the street, but our defender takes a hit from the bad guy's cycle helmet, wielded as a weapon. Fucker. So his wife puts him in the car and takes him home.

Then the police return, and continue doing nothing; the guy starts to talk to me, and I don't really understand what he's saying. Later, I gather that he said ship-pal to me, which is particularly ugly in Korean--it's just as well I didn't catch that at first, because they deport foreigners for kicking Koreans in the balls. Owner-dude apologized to me, which I really appreciate.

About this time, it's getting to 11:30 and we decide to leave--I want to catch the subway, even though it turns out I had to take a taxi from Sindorim again. At least this time, I knew enough to choose my own taxi and pay the real fare.