I think maybe part of what got him into trouble was that he did too much thinking. Sometimes he tried too hard to make sense of the world, to figure out why people were bad to each other so often. A couple of times I tried to tell him it was a mistake to get too deep into that kind of stuff, but Alex got stuck on things. He always had to know the absolute right answer before he could go on to the next thing.

Jon Krakauer, “Into the Wild”

Updated list of the people from the hostel:

• Owner – owner of the hostel, 41yo guy. Originally from Cananda, he seemed (and acted) way younger. Fond of drinking and talking about being horny.
• C.H. – one of the staff members, 28yo guy. Bespectacled, served in the navy, intensely shy.
• Nacho – Korean-American female staff member in her early thirties, originally from L.A., in charge of the volunteers. Bespectacled, hilarious, and plump, with a BTS haircut and a crazy sleep routine.
• Chica – Spanish volunteer / actress from Madrid, 34yo girl. Short, perky, petite, with long, straight hair and freckles.
• Painter – Brazilian volunteer, guy in his late thirties. Been here for around five months. Half of the time, he painted the hostel instead of cleaning.
• Horizon – Israeli volunteer, 22yo girl. Half Turkish, half Indian, sensitive yet tough.
• Ryu – German volunteer, 22yo girl. Platinum-dyed hair, straight, black eyebrows. Fluent in Japanese, having spent senior year of high school in Osaka. Also, intermediate in Korean.
• Q – Spanish volunteer from Barcelona, 20yo girl. Thin glasses, curly hair like a poodle’s (her own description).
• Cosima – Romanian volunteer now living in the island of Sardinia, 27yo girl. With glasses, a bob cut, and a sharp nose, she possessed deep knowledge of Korea (and delicious ability of cooking Korean food). I picked Cosima, the feminine version of Cosmo, due to her cosmopolitan nature.
• Angel – 27yo French girl with long curly hair, black glasses, and an olive skin, staying at the hostel for a month, studying Korean in Busan. Her long term residency and bubbly personality made her an instant addition to the volunteer group.
• Twenty – Brazilian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties (no correlation with her alias). Round glasses, long, delicate hair, quite bookish, with a thick Portuguese accent, and good knowledge of Korean.
• Kaela – Argentinian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties. Extremely petite, extremely pleasant, with dark hair, sharp features, and thin glasses, she’d moved to Copenhagen during the pandemic.
• D’arc – French volunteer, girl in mid-twenties, Blonde, blue eyed, petite, with fair features and a fair voice, she’d been spending three months in Korea again and again for a few years now.
• Ray – French-German volunteer, 26yo girl. Yellow-black dyed BTS hair and old-school frames. An almost British accent, and insightful artistry that wasn’t apparent to me at first.
• Boy Scout – German guest, 18yo guy. Blond, pink-skinned, with braces, acne, and a bone structure that hasn’t emerged yet. Former boy scout.
• B.V. and G.V. – French volunteer couple in their early thirties, both volunteered in in Busan in the past, and in Hiroshima for a year. The girl: dark-haired, tough, and plump, the type of French woman who’d seen some things in her life. The guy: long, curly hair, usually under a fedora. Both with a thick accent and a recent attempt to get into Japanese tourism.

20 June 2023

• 13:10-14:35 sheets
• 15:30-15:50 Beomnaegol station to Busan Museum stop bus number 68
• Busan Museum (45m)
• Peace Park
• 17:05-17:25 UN park Busan Cultural Center stop to Beomnaegol station stop bus number 68

After my bad mood last night, I dedicated this morning to journalling about it. Writing had always helped me process things.

Then I helped the Welsh guest make changes to his itinerary for Japan. He’d added Matsuyama to his list. Just yesterday, my new friend from there had sent me a bunch of pictures, encouraging me to come visit.

Busan Museum

After my shift, I wanted to visit Gamcheon Cultural Village, but it was about to rain. Angel I resolved to go there this weekend. So I took the bus to Busan Museum instead.

It was empty.

Like Gyeongju National Museum, the collection traced human evolution in Korea from its emergence in the Paleolithic age, to the opening of Busan Port in 1876, and the North Korean invasion of 1950. There was also a temporary exhibition about interpreters as diplomats in their Joseon era, with zero explanations in English.

Yet Busan Museum felt like the smaller, lamer version of Gyeongju, which I’d found comprehensive and engrossing. I left after 45 minutes of solitude and boredom.

So I walked to the adjacent Peace Park for a stroll. A few elderly locals were playing board games and working out at the outdoor gym. There was a UN memorial cemetery. That was it.

Tour Guiding at the Hostel

When I got off the bus near the hostel, I ran into a guest who had checked out today from the hostel.

“Hey,” he said, “I was just going to the hostel, hoping I’d find you there.”

He was 30, British, an amateur diver from northwest London. Tall, tanned, blond; blue eyes, chiseled; the looks of a swimsuit model. Not the kind of guy I would’ve befriended a few years ago. Since his arrival on June 17, however, every time we’d stumbled upon each other in the hostel, we’d talked.

Before he’d checked out this morning, I’d given him travel advice that had spared him some grave, trip-ruining errors. Both about South Korea and his upcoming last-minute trip to Japan.

I’d been doing this sort of thing even more than usual, now that I’d been staying at an enormous hostel for a month. Meeting multiple guests on a daily basis, people had come to approach me when seeking travel advice.

“I feel like you’re the guide and I’m the tourist,” I recalled my first host from Seoul saying to me during my first days in Korea, after I’d recounted to her all the things I’d been doing.

Every piece of information I possessed about Japan and Korea was not only etched into my mind – it was also written down. So I could tell guests exactly what to do and how. And I’d been enjoying it so much, that it hadn’t felt like going out of my way for a mere stranger. Making money off of it might be the natural next step for me.

So now, this British guy wanted to ask for information about Gyeong-ju, where he was headed tonight, after I’d mentioned to him my visit there.

We sat at the lobby for quite some time, during which I bombarded him with information, not unlike my experiences at tourist information centers. He was struggling to soak it all in, since it involved both Korea and Japan.

With nothing on his part planned whatsoever, I explained to him the most important things to book in advance, what considerations to take, and what to do.

“So from there I’ll go to Jeju,” he said at some point, “and hike Hallasan –”

“Did you make a reservation?”

He grew silent for a moment.

“What would I do without you?”

This went on and on, with more information making him repeat that sentiment, until I realised I might have indeed made it to a position where I’d accumulated enough travel information in my arsenal to benefit from it.

“Oh, you’ll be in Japan in July!” I exclaimed. “You have to go to Gion festival. It’s the biggest one.”

He was starting to drown under the flood of information, when I opted to just text him the most important bits.

“I should hire you as my tour guide,” he said.

Meeting clients at cultural sites and showing them around was definitely not on my radar. But making itineraries for them – this was something I’d been doing for friends and family since high school. Everyone back home had known me for my Excel spreadsheets.

After the British guy left for Gyeong-ju, I cooked dinner. Boy Scout showed up with the same groceries as yesterday. I watched over him as he cooked, and took over him every now and then. We had dinner together, after which the Welsh guy came back and asked for some JR Pass guidance.

With Angel’s encouragement, I decided to throw a drinking game this Friday in the hostel, and invited KN1. He did not reply.

Today’s highlights: giving travel advice about Japan and Korea; dinner with Boy Scout.

Stray observations:

• Entrance to shops and museums in Korea not only includes umbrella stands like in Japan, for also the same thing for cups. Koreans love takeaway coffee.
• Just like in Japan, I see plenty of Asian girl / white boy couples, but never the opposite. (The latter pairing does not reach the relationship stage…)

21 June 2023

• 13:15-14:00 sheets
• 15:45-15:55 Beomnaegol station to Nampo station metro
• Jagalchi market, Gukje market, Bosu book alley (~1-1.5h)
• 18:05-18:15 Jungang station to Beomnaegol station metro

Today was rainy, but I didn’t need sunlight to explore a market.

After the easiest shift ever – barely any beds to change – I noticed a text message.

“Ok,” KN1 replied.

I found it a bit odd for him to send such a long message a day after inviting him to the drinking game he’d wanted to partake in.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I told Angel, who, by now, was certain beyond doubt that KN1 was cooking something.

She had an inkling of what sort of dish. We filled Horizon in on everything that had been brewing with him. Horizon agreed with Angel about the dish.

I did not believe for a second that I would find it on the menu. The girls were just eager for some not-so-Kinsey-1 drama.

So I headed south to the market area. Time to sightsee Busan.

Market-Hopping in Nampo

After accidentally taking the metro north and changing for Nampo station, I walked to Jagalchi market, famous for seafood. It wasn’t as gross as previous markets in Korea. No water tanks. Most of the seafood was fried fish, rather than live squids, eels, and octopuses. But I wasn’t hungry.

From there, I walked to Gukje, a huge market with clothes, souvenirs, electronics, and a street food section I could not find. The clothes were unappealing. Neither quality nor design stood out. I scoured the stands for cute socks (wearing the same ones for a few months now had worn them out), but alas.

Gukje was also strangely quiet, for such a famous attraction, with minimal visitors around. All in all, it felt like an underwhelming way to spend time in this city. The digital art museum, Busan Museum, and now this: three disappointing days in a row.

Right in front of the western entrance to Gukje, I found a watch section. I changed the battery of my watch, which had stopped working (in addition to the seconds mark coming off), and then stumbled upon a beautiful, no-brand watch, modeled after the Tommy Hilfiger aesthetic: white base surrounded by a thin circle of gold, so not too flashy, and a red-white-blue fabric strap.

I was extremely tempted to buy it. But it cost the same as my blue monk-hanbok, and buying another one in a different color upon my return to Seoul mattered to me more.

Sullen from my unsuccessful itinerary and restrictive budget, I returned to the nearby night market in search of a consolation ssiat hottoek. It was too early for any stalls to be in operation.

I crossed Bosu Book Alley. I wasn’t even in the mood to browse. And it wasn’t like that alluring street in Tokyo, with one secondhand shop after the other. So I took the metro back to the hostel.

Except I rode the wrong train again, just like on the way to Nampo. I’d been making this mistake over and over again in Korea. The ticket machine charged me for four train rides today, instead of the two I was supposed to take.

But no matter. Today I was supposed to go with everyone to my early farewell dinner at the traditional Korean restaurant with the endless side dishes. I hadn’t found the time to return there every week, like I’d resolved on my first. Since my next few days were full of plans, before my departure on Sunday – today, Wednesday, had to be it.

With the restaurant being half an hour away and closing at 21:00, I scheduled with the volunteers to leave the hostel at 19:00.

One by one, they dropped out.

Some couldn’t make it; most needed to save money. After the market, I understood them.

But I was still disappointed. I’d thought everyone would go out again together before I left, the way we’d eaten Korean BBQ on Saturday for Horizon’s birthday.

I could’ve gone with only two volunteers and an Irish guy I’d just met. In the end, I decided to extend my stay in Busan by another day, to make time for the restaurant on Sunday.

Then I heard three old ladies try to tell something to Owner in Japanese.

There was a blockage on the girl’s bathroom. The Japanese grandmas were staying in this hostel. I translated to Owner in English.

Then I had dinner with them and Boy Scout. They were visiting from Fukuoka. Sadly, even on my next trip to Japan, I would not see it.

After the grandmas left, Boy Scout confided in me the emotional difficulties he’d been experiencing on this trip, away for the first time from his girlfriend, as well as the love triangle between him, her, and his drug addict, former best friend.

His current relationship with his girlfriend sounded healthy, though.

“I can be weak in front of her,” he confessed. No toxic masculinity there.

I learned the he was a former boy scout, and asked for his help in pitching a tent.

Drama at the Hostel’s Camp

On Sunday morning, after returning at 5:30 to the hostel with Ryu from Horizon’s birthday, Ryu prompted to drunkenly pitch the hostel’s tent on the roof and sleep there. Apparently, she was fond of camping.

Since then, the two of us had tried to find an afternoon when we could go camp somewhere in Busan. Yet she spent the week sick with a worsening cold.

I’d been wanting to camp with someone versed in it ever since my failure in Iya Valley to do so by myself. Since my last nights in Busan were already full of plans, tonight, on the roof, was my compromise.

Boy Scout and I went upstairs. I recalled a recent incident, when a volunteer at a sister hostel had brought a stranger to have sex in his room, lied about it, and got kicked out. So I worried my bringing a guest to the staff-only roof would put me in trouble.

The tent was tricky, even for Boy Scout. I went to the girl volunteers’ dormitory to ask Ryu to come up. Coughing nonstop, she deftly pitched the tent.

Neither she nor Boy Scout were interested in camping tonight. They went down. The staff hadn’t noticed his illicit presence.

I returned to the common area to grab my things. A new guest from the US heard me informing the other volunteers about my camping. He started talking to me, and after an hour of chatting, during which he brought up Korea’s gay scene, we got to know each other.

He was 27, with a soft voice and well-groomed features. Dark hair, dark clothes, piercing, and metallic jewelry; he was both emo and feminine. Judging by his stories, my experience with Koreans, and their closed-clubness, had differed wildly from his.

It was getting late. I had to wake early, to meet Seonsaengnim tomorrow in her hometown. I’d already taken tomorrow off and scheduled a time with her. So I bid the American guy goodnight.

Two incidents ensued then.

“KN1 told me he can not meet with me on Friday because he will be tired,” Chica texted me. “He can’t be with me but with my friends yes?”

I was just as confused. Apparently, KN1 had lied to her about not being able to go out with her. Even though he’d (sort of?) agreed to come to the hostel for another drinking game.

Something was at play.

I went up the stairs from the common area to the volunteers’ dormitory on the second floor. Ryu was alone there, coughing her lungs out while watching a movie in bed.

“Where’s Horizon?” I asked. Angel wasn’t around, so I wanted to tell Horizon about this development instead.

“I think she went out with the girls,” Ryu said.

She was just as shocked by Chica’s text as Chica and me.

Then I told her about the American guy I’d just met.

“Please don’t have sex in the tent,” she immediately said. “We’re taking it to the road trip tomorrow.”

“What? No, ew, I’m not like [the volunteer who got kicked out for bringing a hook up],” I said.

Then Chica returned to the hostel after a few days in Jeju Island.

She was livid. Telenovela-style. Thick, Spanish accent spewing yells and drama. Soon enough, the other volunteers learned about my texts with KN1.

I was thoroughly entertained the entire time. Grinning just as Angel had the entire week. It wasn’t that serious – Chica assured me that she didn’t care what KN1 did, that he wasn’t hers, that she thought more about KN2 (the Adonis from Thursday Party, the one who’d got away), and simply minded KN1’s lie.

The biggest issue surrounding all this was different. Why had KN1 asked for my number, if he simply wanted to drink with everyone again? Chica would’ve invited him, he hadn’t needed me for that.

We went to the volunteers’ dormitory to talk in private (Ryu still dying in bed). I told Chica to act as dumb as KN1, and pretend she knew nothing.

I returned the common area downstairs. Nacho was there. The volunteers and I filled her in.

“You’re all delusional,” I said. “I know guys, and I’ve seen Koreans at clubs.”

“Uh, Korean?” Nacho asked, incredulous. “Straight?”

The American guy had said the same about the local guys.

“Hey, Kesem,” Nacho said. “If you want to have fun on the roof, that’s okay, as long as you don’t bother anyone.”

I froze.

“What?”

“You can have a party, as long as you’re not loud.”

“With who?” I chuckled in embarrassment. “I’m camping alone.”

“I’m just saying, if you want…”

“I’m not like [that volunteer]!” I exclaimed. “Why, did you see me with that guy?”

“Uh…” Nacho began, “what guy?”

I told her about the American guest.

“Oh. So he’s a paying guest, right?” Nacho asked. “That’s fine. Have fun!”

I wasn’t attracted to him. But if the boss told me to…

I dashed upstairs to the volunteers’ dormitory and filled Ryu in on this development.

“Should I ask him?” I wondered aloud. “I don’t know, isn’t that gross?”

“Okay, I’ll sleep in the rental car,” she coughed.

I went to his dorm on the third floor (same floor as me).

“Hey,” he said. “I thought you were camping?”

“I am,” I said, then whispered: “Wanna come?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Fine.”

My jaw nearly dropped.

He reached for his bag, when I interrupted:

“What? No. With the reaction? Goodbye. Goodnight.”

I slammed the door and ran downstairs to tell Ryu. She was, again, shocked. We both yelled some curse words. Then I ran downstairs to the common area, to inform Nacho that there would be no party (and yell some more curse words).

My chest was pounding with anger. I went to the roof and settled inside my tent.

“You’re not going to believe what just happened,” I texted Horizon, unable to believe it myself. How could a no be also a yes, and a reaction rude and hilarious?

A series of coughs heralded the arrival of Ryu, exerting herself to take her laundry.

She noticed me sitting upset inside the tent. About to vent to my journal, my heart vomited on her instead.

“It’s just another thing that went wrong,” I said. “Every story I have is like that. Something always goes wrong. There’s always a disappointment. I just need one time to go smoothly. And it never does.”

I felt rejected, irate, frustrated, and sad, all at the same time.

“It’s hard because A, I’m surrounded by hot volunteer girls who receive constant attention,” I continued.

“They are pretty much all hot,” she said.

“B, the British hunk from yesterday kept talking to me about girls, and yesterday he was like, ‘Oh it’s been so hard here in Korea, I barely get any attention,’ and he looked like an Adonis. So I told him to shut up and he was like ‘Okay, fine, I do get some attention.’ But not me.”

I didn’t even recall at that moment the attention I had been getting, because, unreciprocated, it felt like it didn’t count.

“And C, the American guest kept telling me how he’d been going out to straight bars in Korea and getting attention from the “straight” guys. And when I told Nacho about my rejection and KN1 drama, she said the same.”

I’d been getting too caught up in intimate affairs. Who liked who, who hated who. A former volunteer bringing a hook-up and getting kicked out by the staff; a current volunteer falling in love with a staff member.

Busan had struck me as city as straight as it could be. Maybe it was like that only for me.

“So those three reasons made me think about this whole deal in the last few days,” I continued, “even more than usual. Something always goes wrong when it comes to me, and I don’t know why.”

She coughed in the most empathic way she was capable of.

“Am I that repulsive?” I asked.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Do I look like I know anything about sex?”

“Uh, actually, yeah, you do.”

She chuckled. (And coughed.)

“What,” I chuckled as well. “I’m allowed to say that, right?”

“You are.”

She confided in me about her own struggles with intimacy. At 22, her age, I was going through the exact same thing.

But she didn’t go into too much detail. I sensed a wall between us. I knew she’d been sharing more with Horizon. Too agitated to dwell on that, I focused on my problems.

“I just need one time to go smoothly,” I repeated, loathing the way I was perceived.

After Ryu left, I crashed on the floor of the tent. The events of tonight kept me up.

Before long, Horizon rushed to my tent, concerned after my text. She’d cut short a date with the “new” Korean guy from her birthday.

He wasn’t new. They’d met during one of my absences, and she’d invited him to join our clubbing. No one had told me.

Ryu had known Horizon was out on a date with him tonight. Neither of them had told me.

Had we actually become friends, or was this all just temporary? I heard this information now, inside the tent. He was more than a “new” guy. Things were getting serious.

I, on the other hand, told her two very different tales.

“You’re like a magnet,” Horizon said, in response to the KN1 incident.

“Magnet? I just got rejected!”

“KN1 spent one night with you, and now he’s questioning his entire sexuality,” she insisted.

“He is not.”

I recalled what the British student from Tokyo had said about my “gravitas”. I hadn’t believed him then, and I didn’t believe him now.

I felt that no one really wanted me. I wasn’t sure I even had real friends.

A part of me wanted to agree with Horizon. With Nacho and the volunteers echoing Angel’s speculation, a part of me was even starting to.

I ended yet another turbulent night after 2:00, with more stories in my arsenal, stories of the wrong kind.

Today’s highlights: the shenanigans – and anguish – at the hostel; sleeping alone inside a tent.