The farthest I got to Deokjeok-Do was the ferry port at Incheon. As far as I'm aware, that's about as far as anyone got to Deokjeok-Do that day. My plan, as carefully laid out in my previous post (see "Itinerary for Deokjeok-Do"), had already gone somewhat awry when I'd failed to wake up in time to catch the subway to Incheon. To ensure that I got at least a few hours of sleep the night before, I'd taken a sleeping pill and a half and set my alarm for 04:00. I awoke only when, fortunately, a previously set alarm rang at 06:20. It appears that I had set the alarm for 04:00 but didn't turn it on. In any event, as the boat was scheduled to depart at 07:40, I was in the car and racing down the freeway by 06:30. At this point, I was still groggy from the sleeping pills, and probably the four fingers of scotch I'd downed to synergize with the drugs. In fact, almost everything that morning comes back to me in a haze, as if it had been from a dream.
No need to have hurried, as I soon discovered. I learned that the boats had been delayed because of fog. I had experienced this exact same thing on a trip to Guleop-Do, another island accessible from Incheon Port and requiring a boat transfer in Deokjeok-Do; on that trip, we were delayed from returning to the mainland for over six hours until very late in the afternoon when the fog had finally lifted. Here, the delay was until at least 09:30, when they would reevaluate the situation.
In the meantime, I would have to find
something to do.
08:00. I have a wholesome breakfast of jjajangmyun (noodles with black bean sauce) at the cafe. It's lousy, of course. I should've gone for the ramyun and kimbap combo, but I was compelled to make my choice because of this thing where I'm attempting to eat jjajangmyun at every one of the 3 million joints that offer the dish across the country.
09:00. I have my blood pressure taken at one of those automated devices (I can't recall the numbers, but it was within normal--except the heart rate was high at 98 bpm).
09:30. The delay is extended to 11:00.
10:00. With a collective sigh, a small group of us from Backcountry Camping (BC) gather to play a game to see who will buy a round of coffee. The coffee bit is my suggestion; the original proposal called for slaps on the wrist, either to keep each other awake or to channel the building frustration. I will soon regret my alternative suggestion and then be thankful for it. The game, a variation of "Odd Man Out," goes like this: Everyone holds up a hand with five fingers extended. Each person in turn calls out a characteristic, such as "All those wearing hats" or "All those with chin stubble," and all those fitting the description fold a finger. When a player has folded all five fingers, he loses. We agree that a person with three losses would buy the coffee. Obviously, it's very easy to target a particular player and just call out characteristics that he displays. For some reason, I become that target. "All those with US citizenship...did not do military service...wearing a North Face vest...is not female...." Very soon, I'm getting up to get the coffee.
10:30. I discover that I've lost my wallet. By this time, the terminal is completely packed with (would-be) passengers due to the delays. Maybe a quarter of them are foreigners, whom I'm looking forward to meeting up with on the island and spreading word about this blog. But at this moment, the swell of humanity bodes ill for my chances of recovery. Lost & Found has nothing. I go back to tell the others, who, without hesitation or instruction, spread out immediately in search for the wallet. I want to stop them from what is likely a complete waste of time, especially a few of my more determined colleagues who proceed to sift through the waste baskets in the bathroom stalls (apparently, people who find/steal wallets often go into bathroom stalls, remove the cash in private, and then dump the evidence in the garbage)--these waste baskets are particularly unsavory in Korea because some users still habitually toss their soiled toilet paper into them after wiping their ass, a decades-old habit derived from a time when faulty plumbing systems would often get clogged with foreign matter, such as toilet paper. It's a strong testament to the camaraderie among BC members that they would go through piles of shit to help me find my wallet. But I decide my time is better spent canceling my credit cards. I get through the first one, when a cry of triumph rings through the din. One of the guys found my wallet. It was on the table with the blood pressure machine. Fortunately, it would appear that either very few people are interested in preventive health checkups, or those that do are scrupulous.
11:00. Another delay until 12:30.
11:30. Flush with cash, I go out and buy a deck of playing cards, which is greeted with much enthusiasm. Someone buys a round of beers. Someone spreads out a beer box on the floor for a playing surface. Someone deals a hand of hula, a simplified and illogical form of gin rummy played here in Korea. Still playing our first hand, a port official swoops in to stop us. He explains that gambling activity is not permitted within the terminal, regardless of whether money is involved. Crap.
12:30. Delay extended to 13:30. Our group leader calls it quits. We proceed to Plan B, as I will discuss in a subsequent post.
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