With the need to take a two-week break from work each year, and the fact that some savings had been put aside for the World Cup, the Far East tour actually fell at an ideal time for myself and Helen. A swift round of phone calls brought about a reserved place on a Cathay Pacific flight to Incheon in Korea, via Hong Kong. First, however, came the small matter of Southampton versus Newcastle at St Marys on the Saturday. After making the monumentous decision around Christmas to give up my Saints season ticket after 8 years, I was determined at least to make it to the last match I had paid for. Saints didn’t disappoint with a fine 3-1 win (and not forgetting the injury that blighted Kieron Dyer’s world cup!), although when Saints scored in the last minute to seal a 3-1 win the Wee Man, Deano and Rich were inconsolable, as Telfer’s sublime 30 yard chip cost them £300 of winnings (£2 each on 2-1 and Svensson first scorer at 50-1).

After shopping for a fortnight for many different varieties of anti-diarrhoea remedies and breathable waterproofs, the day before departure was to be spent packing and sorting stuff out. That was until I took two steps out of the front door and fell off the garden path. After crawling back inside the front door (even less dignified than it sounds) and lying in agony for 20 minutes in the hallway, I finally plucked up the courage to take off my shoe and sock to be confronted with a grotesquely swollen left ankle. Thankfully, I was not so blinded by the pain as to neglect to capture the moment for posterity, and reached for the camera (see Korea Gallery 1). Helen made the reasonable and balanced decision to deny me the medical attention my ankle clearly warranted, using the logic that I would almost certainly be deemed unfit to fly, on the basis that a support bandage and an anti-DVT sock would do it the world of good.

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The 13-hour flight to Hong Kong passed without incident, apart from the inevitable queues for the toilets. I even managed to get in and out of my seat without disturbing the guy next to me in the aisle seat, although he was a bit startled when he woke up and couldn’t figure out how I was standing in the aisle. Hong Kong airport is only a few years old, and the terminal building is almost a mile in length, so you can imagine our concern at only having one hour between flights and the whole length of the terminal (with security checks) to cover in order to catch the plane to Korea. After the ordeal of the first flight, 3-and-a-half hours seemed like a short hop.

The culture shock began to dawn on us as we picked up our baggage and tried to determine where we caught the Seoul bus – Incheon International is around 50 miles from the capital and has been open less than a year (although it’s probably the best airport I’ve ever been in). The bus we did catch dropped us just over the road from our hotel for the night, the Best Western New Seoul hotel in the Gwanghwamun area, chosen as it was handy for both Incheon and Gimpo airport connections.

Jet-lagged, suffering from chronic indigestion (a taste of things to come!) and with a very sore ankle – I took off the DVT sock after around 18 hours and my foot had gone black and yellow – we decided to do the sensible thing, and kilted up to go out for a beer. Gwanghwamun is mainly a business area, with a couple of historical gates, but we found a wee “Hof” (Korean pub). It is pretty much compulsory to eat in a Hof – the Korean drinking culture is to go somewhere and to stay there eating and drinking all night, pub crawls are a no-no. As a result, Helen ended up with chicken and I ended up with popcorn, both of which were ordered by mime, as not being in a westernised area meant the only menu was in Korean. We then wandered around for a while, stopping for a beer in Cowboy, but in the main standing in awe of all the neon signs. Everywhere we went were drunk businessmen – leading to us describing Korea as the “Poland of the East” – the best sight of the evening was on the way back to the hotel: a fully-suited businessman sat cross-legged on a zebra-crossing, pint in hand, waving at us as his pals tried to pull him to his feet.

The hotel room had no windows and lots of 70’s decor, but that mattered little as we passed out with the jet lag, with me vowing to take my gangrenous leg to the SFA doctor if the situation hadn’t improved by Thursday (matchday).

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After a tube journey out to the domestic airport (Gimpo) in the company of hungover businessmen, we were shunted on to an earlier flight to Busan – with half-hourly flights, they are more like buses. It was only when airborne it occurred to me that this rendered the flight number information I had left my worried mother irrelevant. This was hammered home by the wind-buffered approach into Busan airport, scene of a crash just two weeks previously.

Busan is a city of 5 million people, built in an amazing location between towering mountains (i.e. in the valleys, with mountains in the middle of the urban area) and the sea. We had opted to stay in downtown Busan near the station, in the spectacular Commodore Hotel – this was in preference to the beach resort of Haeundae where the team, and most of the other 26 travelling fans, were based. After checking into our harbour view room (by harbour, we mean industrial port) and having a quick nap (jet-lag), we made our way downtown into the heart of the city. After numerous sports shops (a Korean XL is not built for an extra-large Scotsman) I settled for a Korea t-shirt (a great shame in retrospect, as Korea shirts became very hot property after their performance in the Finals). We decided to eat in a Pizza Hut style restaurant, which actually had a “Vegetarian” pizza on the menu – unfortunately this was covered with prawns. When getting our jabs for travelling, the doctor warned us in no uncertain terms to be very careful about eating in Korea, never mind my sensitive vegetarian stomach, which is why I only had two meals (both pizza) during my entire 4-day stay.

After eating we wandered around looking for a bar, initially with no success, until we hit upon “Batman”. Wednesday night is obviously not a party night in Busan, so we headed back to the main station in search of refreshment closer to the hotel. The World Cup souvenir shop in the station square was still open for business at 10pm, so we popped in – the staff didn’t know anything about the game (one shop assistant suggested the game was in ULSAN, not Busan!), which obviously troubled us a wee bit. We discussed our options in the plush “Annie’s Bar” over the road, and resolved to get up early to pick up the tickets to alleviate any worries the next day. After a brief stop at the Korean bar in the basement (Annie’s was on the first floor) – by this time we ere becoming adept at the “dumb foreigner doesn’t understand that they have to eat when they drink” approach – we made our way back along “Russian Street” to the Commodore. In the 1950’s, Busan was the start of the fightback in the Korean War, and there were many Americans based there, or on r’n’r – as a result a street to “service” their needs developed near the station, nicknamed “Texas Street”. It was not only a red-light street, there are also hostess bars and cheap drinking holes. As the Americans moved out and the USSR dissolved, Russian merchant ships became more frequent in Busan, along with young Russian ladies of the night. The strangest thing about Busan was the dual-language signs everywhere in both Korean and Cyrillic script.

Up at the earliest time we could muster, which wasn’t easy given the continued impact of the jet lag, we got geared up for the match and made our way down to the station. After meeting an ex-pat Irish journalist, who assured us the game was local, and that’s why he was here, we tried to catch the tube to Haeundae, only to find they hadn’t finished building the line. A tube and cab ride later we were in the foyer of the team hotel, where we met Big Jim Gardiner, who was also there on ticket collecting duty. He had to go and rouse his travelling companions (Sid and Andy), and after a stroll along the beach and a fruitless search for a bar, we made our way to the PNU (Pusan National University) district, just a few tube stops away from the stadium. The area was jumping with students, and a stall with an amplifier was advertising the game that night. There were also enough bars to keep a fat man very happy, even if many of them were not quite open – we settled for a (beer-selling) coffee bar just to keep us going.

Our trusty Lonely Planet guide to Korea mentioned a couple of bars that sounded worthy of investigation, and we were struggling to find which was up on the map when one of the students approached us with an offer to help. He duly led us to the door of the bar, which was just opening up, and was happy to join us for a beer when asked. His name was Swan and he was going to the match, but had to go home for his ticket first, although he offered to meet us at the station in 2 hours and show us the way to the ground – this suited us fine as it gave us the chance for a few more beers. We set off in search of another recommended place, only to find it was being refurbished, although we did manage to find another 3 pubs (including another Cowboy-themed place) – I think Swan was quite bewildered that we managed so many in what he saw as a short time. We were planning to head back to the PNU area after the game, but Swan suggested that the Seomyeon area nearer the centre would be more lively on a Thursday.

It was off the tube and onto a bus to take us the 2 miles to the stadium, which looked like a huge meringue. Despite the spitting rain gradually getting heavier, the path up to the stadium was heaving, and I was being stopped on a regular basis for photographs (complete with my “Try the meatballs…” t-shirt). I had bleached my hair for the trip (something that caused consternation at every passport check), and had some blue spray-in dye – Helen’s slightly skewed attempt at hair art was captured for posterity by a Korean camera crew. Swan directed us to our turnstile and we shook hands – then it was through the World Cup standard security check and into our seats.

The SFA-allocated tickets were in one long row, although around 20 rows in front of us were around 50 ex-pats, who did their best at the start to sing (although the sight of Rangers, Celtic and even England tops amongst them was a less welcome sight). It looked like Scotland were still on the plane as a fast, organised and razor-sharp Korean attack tore them to shreds, and the first goal was not long in coming. By the time Scott Dobie rose above the defence to head-in his second-half bullet header, Scotland were three goals down, and another one was scored before the end to round off a 4-1 defeat. A dejected-looking team trudged off at the end, and for us at the time, despite the attractive Korean play, it was difficult to judge whether the result was due to playing a vastly superior team or jet lag.

After again stopping to pose for photographs, and getting lost in the maze of walkways outside the ground, we eventually found ourselves on a bus back to the tube station. Despite some frantic attempts at making arrangements to meet up in Seomyeon for a beer, it was just Helen and I yet again, as most Scots either headed back to the Haeundae area or back on their bus to the shipyards. Nevertheless we met up with a businessman called Alex Kim (this isn’t unusual – almost everyone in Korea shares the surname Kim) who took us to a rather flash bar. Korean culture is based quite rigidly on the Confucian concept of respecting your elders, with marriage being the decider in the event of a tie – this means that questions about age and marriage are very common-place, even if they seem a little odd when you’ve just met someone. After saying goodbye to Alex, we wandered around the narrow, brightly-neon-lit streets and found another couple of bars (including one Beatles-themed bar and really nice posh one with the match highlights on the telly). Yet again, it seemed that Thursday was not a particularly busy day in the bars of Busan, but we still managed a respectably late time getting back to the hotel.

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The next morning it was up in time for the bus to the airport, with time for the concierge to take my photo in front of the hotel. The trip to Seoul and on to our next hotel (in the Hong-Ik area, near the universities). We had decided to book a Korean-style room for the fourth night, figuring that the jet lag would no longer be such an issue, and we would be in mega-westernised Hong Kong the next night in any case. On check-in the receptionist took one look at me (and my kilt) and said “there must be some mistake – I have you for Korean room”, when I explained no, he broke into a broad smile and excitedly called over the porter. When entering the room, the cleaner came out of a room opposite in tears of laughter – they obviously don’t have many Westerners staying like this. The porter explained that shoes were not to be worn on the floor itself (the area immediately inside the door and the bathroom were okay) and slippers were provided. As the door closed behind him I looked at the space on the floor where the bed should have been and my heart sank – how could Helen and I sleep on a small mat on a padded lino floor? Helen put my mind at rest as she found the other cushions and fashioned bed for a quick afternoon nap. Besides the bed, the room was very well-appointed, with mini-bar, colour satellite TV, western-style bathroom, so no compromise on other hotel comforts.

After a doze, we hit the streets of Seoul for some (safe) pizza whirlwind sightseeing. We were too late for the Gwanghwamun Palace (although we did see the City Hall square that was later famously filmed with 1 million people celebrating). The Tongdaemun Market was pretty hectic, and the stadium interesting, and then it was down to the Seoul TV tower and a gruelling climb up to the cable car. The Tower is on a hill right in the middle of Seoul, and we reached the top at sunset, which was pretty breath-taking. We spent a while at the tower before walking down the other side to the car park, where we able to grab a taxi to the Itaewon area. Itaewon is home to over 20,000 US GI’s, and is a real eye-opener: everyone speaks English and it seems that everyone is on the make. We found the notorious“hooker hill”, which supposedly had a couple of decent bars at the top, only to discover it was hoaching with punch-drunk GI’s and machine-gun toting military police. We opted to give those places a miss, and walking back along the main drag we caught sight of an English Pub. Reasoning that this might be a place to find other Scots, we popped in for a drink and got chatting to Darrell, a sergeant in the military police and serving his second tour of Korea. Despite the amazement and friendliness of the bar staff when I asked for my beer in Korean, we decided not to hang about in Itaewon and instead headed to the Sinchon area, right next to where we were staying.

After finding the narrow warren of streets behind the tube station that plays host to all the bars, we were blown away by how many people were on the streets. First stop was the Voo Doo Bar, followed by a search for elusive dark beer in a micro-brewery. We then popped into a sixties-themed bar, all the while side-stepping the food issue, and we were just about to get up and pay when a huge 2-litre jug of Hite beer appeared on our table as a gift of some guys on an adjacent table. We ended up in bit of a pub crawl, as I mentioned I’d like to try soju (Korean rice wine), which in retrospect was a bad judgement call! We called into a downstairs soju bar, where I ate fruit (a BAD mistake) and drank bottle after bottle of soju (it comes in little green bottles the same size as the wine you get on flights, and weighs in at 22%). Then the lads mentioned an interest in dark beer, and I mentioned the micro-brewery, so off we went. Unfortunately it was now shut, but the bar over the road was open and had dark Becks, of all things. Our last port of call, of which only very vague memories remain, was a Disney themed bar where we ended up moving a large group of people just so we could get a photo, followed shortly by a drunken taxi-ride back to the hotel.

After a surprisingly restful sleep (on the floor) I awoke with a crippling hangover and a rather unstable stomach. We dragged ourselves up and out in order to go and see the new World Cup stadium, complete with brand new tube link, although we more than a little surprised to see 500 hundred or so school kids receiving a lesson on the steps (as they were to see a pasty hungover Scotsman in a kilt, no doubt!). The stadium was very impressive, but fenced off to prevent closer inspection, and in any case, it was time to head to the airport. We had two options – head to Gimpo and catch the transfer bus, or head to a crossroads in the city (on the same tube line as the stadium) to catch a city bus. A feeling of hopelessness struck as we came up the stairs from the underground station to see a 10 lane roundabout with around 8 roads leading into it, with no clue where the bus went from – then we looked across and saw an airport bus sitting in the traffic. Thankfully the driver took pity on us and let us on, and we made it to the airport in plenty of time, which was just as well, as my rice wine-impacted stomach nearly caused me to miss the plane. Hong Kong - and at least another 130 TA travellers – here we come!

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