I went to the beach called Jinha beach last Monday. It was horrifying. Piles of rubbish everywhere. Cigarette butts, this huge half-chunk of a brick half-submerged where the tide was sickily ebbing in. The sand was coarse and grainy, the sun was nowhere – if this was test cricket, play would’ve never even kicked off let alone been halted and there was no surf to speak of either.
While not in eyesight, there’s two gigantic petrochemical refineries just up the coast a smidge. Car luv S-Oil, my arse. I was determined to get in the water, since it’d taken the better part of two days to find the place. “Cleanest water in thw whole of Korea!”, the tourist pamplet boasted. I waded in to the hip. Chip packets floated and eddied around beside me. It was freezing. I stuck my head under a couple of times and all I can say is it’s testament to my fucking fantastic constitution that I don’t have some ecoli-induced disease today.
For some reason, no one takes their t-shirt off. It took me about twenty minutes to break out of their freaky beach behaviour and do it the way I know – i.e. Take shirt off, throw my man-sized bach towel across the sand, lie on it and try and get a tan in the post-apocalytica. There was a dead frog belly-up beside the towel.
One-eyed Jacks got raided yesterday. Luckily I managaed to avoid any serious repercussions, or so it would seem at this point, yet I’m annoyed at myself for deciding to sign up with such a dodgey operation.
I took the slow train back to eee-tchon overnight – 7 hours and about a million stops. Into the second last hour I finally worked out the most comfortable postition a 178cm person can attain in a 3foot wide / 2 person seat. That is -> on back, forehead under aisle armrest (peaked cap over eyes) and legs crossed leaning against window.