What do you want to eat?

Deciding what to eat was probably the hardest decision that I had to make while on holiday. Of course, being in a somewhat isolated resort, away from the tourist areas of Patong Beach, we had few options but it was nice to ponder it for a few brief moments, before replying, “How about Thai food,” to which the DH would respond, “that sounds good to me.” If only all decisions between couples were so simple and easy.

One of our daily meals always included fresh fish: fish steamed in banana leaves, fried fish with Thai chili sauce, fried fish with pepper and garlic, fish with ginger, garlic and pineapples. I’m sure my body was in shock from the rush of Omega 3’s all of a sudden, but it was a welcome change from the grilled meat and soju that have become my Seoul staple. Admittedly I love anything fried, because it just tastes so darn good, but mixed with the various Thai sauces and accompaniments, it was pure heaven.

In addition to the daily fish, we also enjoyed a variety of vegetables: Spicy papaya salads, mango salads and even the ubiquitous Kangkong (morning glory). I love Kangkong and eat it whenever it’s offered on the menu. In Phuket, instead of paying $10 or so for this dish, as we have in other countries, we paid about 50 Thai baht (a little over one US dollar). I could eat Kangkong everyday if I lived in Thailand! One day for lunch, we ordered four main dishes, three drinks, including a gigantic fresh coconut, and paid less than $10 for the entire meal for two. It’s easy to understand why so many people retire from developed countries and then move to Thailand, buy property and live out the rest of their lives on next to nothing; it’s appealing, isn’t it?

Each morning, after another hard decision of whether to get up or stay longer in bed, we jump started the day with an elaborate breakfast bonanza of delicious European-style breads; eggs, any style; bacon; various sausages; Chinese Congee with full condiments; an assortment of fresh cheeses; yogurts; fried rice and noodles; freshly made pancakes and waffles; fresh salads, etc…My mouth is watering just thinking about the cornucopia of breakfast options offered to us.

You know your life is good when it revolves around food and what to eat for the next meal. As we sat on the beach, looking out at the kite surfers, listening to the waves crashing on the surf, we imagined how wonderful it would be to leave the worries of civilized life behind, move to an island, build a simple shack and spend the rest of our lives living as beach bums. But then reality quickly set in and we realized that it’s preciously because we work in the developed world, make decent money that we can afford to take such luxurious vacations to tropical islands, where we dream about a simple life and then eat to our heart’s content.

Indigo Pearl in the Kingdom of Thailand…

Something about the way that the Thai Airways flight attendant announced, “Welcome to the Kingdom of Thailand,” made me feel as if I would soon be landing in a magical place. As I looked down upon the aquamarine sea, punctuated throughout with islands of various sizes and shapes, my mind filled with images of sandy beaches, lush fauna and flora, endless waterfalls and, of course, cocktails by the poolside.

When I arrived at the Indigo Pearl, a resort that DH found on a boutique hotel website, the stress of the previous weeks started to loosen its grip and I felt my body eager to relax into submission.

DH had arrived the night before in order to spend a day scuba diving. After I registered my passport, the attendant packed my bags into a golf cart and drove me to the room; she said it was too far for me to walk from the lobby. As she expertly maneuvered the cart around tall Rhododendrons, quirky fish-tail ferns and a jungle of other tropical plants, which I could not name, I felt like I had landed in a scene from Jurassic Park, without the dinosaurs, of course. It wasn’t just the lushness of the jungle-like resort, but the fact that the layout was discretely private without making one feel too lost and forgotten.

The room that DH had booked for us included all the amenities a couple would want for their honeymoon: backyard with private pool, outdoor bathtub for two, lounge bed and cushions and even matching lounge chairs, in case we wanted to bath in the nude. The decor of the room smartly married exposed concrete, hardwood, stone tiles, galvanized steel, recycled plastic and rubber to create a luxurious and comfortable space, a home away from home. The satiny-soft cotton sheets, wrapped around a king-sized bed, was invitingly alluring, unlike the sheets of the previous hotel that I had stayed in only a few weeks before (love motel my ass!). I particularly loved the gigantic teak sliding door that separated the bedroom area from the bathroom and the unique toilet paper dispenser.

DH was not due back from his diving trip for a few more hours so, after unpacking my bags, I went in search of something refreshing to drink. I didn’t need to venture far before I stumbled upon an airy bar, overlooking one of the resort’s pools on one side and the well-manicured lawns on the other. I found a nice perch on the pool side, ordered a gin cocktail and slowly eased into vacation mode. Our holiday in the Kingdom of Thailand was off to a good start.

…and what a disappointment…

On the day after the restless night spent alone in a flea-bag love motel, a coworker approached me and suggested that I move to his motel. He had located a nicer love motel and, although he was paying a bit out of his own pocket, he said it was clean. That’s all I needed to hear, but I was concerned that the week’s advance, which I had already paid, would not be refunded to me. He offered to help me get my money back.

After work we headed over to my drug-den motel and he began the negotiations with the chain-smoking lady, who was soon joined by her chain-smoking, wife-beater-shirt-pajama-pant wearing husband. My coworker patiently explained that I had to immediately leave the country and return to the US for an emergency. From the look on her face, I could tell that she wasn’t buying it. She tried to convince him that she had had to turn potential customers away because I had reserved my room for the entire week. Given that I had not seen anyone else in the hotel, except for my other unfortunate coworkers, I found her protestations hard to believe. I was ready to lunge through the small window opening and throttle her and her yappy little dog when she finally acquiesced. My coworker told me to go upstairs and pack up my belongings while he negotiated the return of my remaining balance. Instead of handing me the keys, however, she told her husband to ‘escort’ me to my room. Was she concerned that I would steel a wire coat hanger or take off with the used and crusty tube of toothpaste?

Her husband slithered from behind the counter, with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his thin lips, and his eyes barely open, as if he had just come out from a year’s long coma. He reminded me of those guys who subsist on cartons of cigarettes washed down with gallons of malt liquor. He languidly moved toward the elevator, taking his time, puffing on his cigarette and flicking the ashes onto the dark, spotted carpet. We rode the tiny one-person elevator to the 5th floor and I held my breath so as not to inhale the cloud of smoke saturating the tiny space around us. Cough cough cough!

I felt like shoving him out the door to get him to move a bit faster and to relieve me of his presence but I didn’t because I didn’t want to touch him. He slow motioned to my door, which was just across from the elevator, unlocked the door to reveal the dark unlit room inside and entered without putting the key in the wall key slot (i.e. the lights did not turn on). I’m not sure how he could see in the dark but I waited by the door for him to turn the lights on before following him in but then I quickly realized that he had no intention of turning the lights on; instead he walked to the television and turned that on as my only source of light in the windowless room. If he had held a flashlight to my face, he would have seen my jaw disappear to the floor and witnessed the disbelief in my eyes. As it was, the room was so dark that I only smelled his cigarette getting closer to me as he slipped by me with the key and went back down to the 1st floor. I stood shell-shocked for a few moments, thinking to myself, “How the hell am I suppose to pack in the dark?” Luckily, within that sea of darkness, Fortuna offered me a beacon of light. I remembered that I had brought my headlamp, so I searched through my bags, found the lamp, turned it on, strapped it onto my head and began gathering up my things and throwing them into my bags. Don’t ask me why I packed a headlamp, especially on a business trip, but I did and this time it really came in handy.

I was so livid and worked up by then that when I returned to the ground floor with my bags, I was ready to go throttle the lady and set the place on fire. If there had been some matches in the room, I would have lit a match and tossed it on the round bed with the flammable blanket and thrown one of the two threadbare hand towels in as a starter. I’m sure I could have also gotten some torch action with the can of hairspray that was sitting on the wooden dresser. After I explained to my coworker why it took me so long, he told me to go back upstairs to see if I had forgotten anything. He returned to the little window to ask them for the key to put on the light and the lady answered, “If you want the key, you have to pay for the night.” He told me that he would watch my bags while I went back up to see if anything was inadvertently forgotten. I’m glad that I went back up because in my haste, I did overlook a few things. After I was sure that the room was free of all my belongings, I ran down the stairs and we high tailed it out of there and headed for cleaner surroundings.

First “love” motel in South Korea…

As my male coworker and I stepped into the entrance of the ‘love’ motel, we both hesitated, looked at each other with the same look of horror and thought, “Is this the right place?” We had just entered through the only opening we could find, slicing through strips of hanging rubber curtains, similar to what one encounters in a drive-through car wash: wide rubber strips that fall onto the front and top of the car and rotates back and forth to wash the dirt off the car. Only this was no car wash, but rather our hotel for the next two weeks.

We tugged our luggage up the two high concrete steps, covered in green astro-turf, and entered a dark and dingy hallway that reminded me of those places in the movies where drug addicts shoot up, homeless folk try to find a warm corner to escape the wind or where discerning dogs pass by on their way to find a suitable place to relieve themselves. Dogs don’t just poop anywhere, do they? The only visible light shone from behind a small glass window, where an old woman was sitting watching television, smoking a cigarette and listening to the barks of a small yapping dog. My initial instinct was to run out of there and look for another hotel. However, our work had arranged for a group of us to stay at this hotel and not knowing any better and being in a new city, I just followed my coworker as he proceeded to get registered and obtain his keys. Registration is the wrong word because the only thing the lady asked was, “25,000 won or 35,000 won?” He asked what the difference was and she replied, “35,00 won for bigger and nicer room.” Our hotel per diem only allowed up to 25,000 won but he opted for the more expensive room and I did the same. Instead of paying for the entire two weeks as we had been told to do, I paid for five nights, thinking that I would check out on Friday and spend the weekend, on my own dime, in a nicer hotel. Note to self: Never ever ever pay more than for one night’s stay at a love motel in Korea. Never!

The dark and ubiquitous carpet stains, what would have been left behind after a bloody scene from a Quentin Taratino movie, should have been a harbinger of what was hidden behind the individual rooms, but I was tired, weary and just wanted to go to bed. If I could have taken off my contact lenses before I entered the room and kept my field of vision blurred, I suppose I never would have noticed the little things that disrupted my sleep that night. Granted the room was tacky with a capital T, but I can deal with tacky, as long as it’s clean.

Round red bed in a red-lit room

First I unpacked my things so that I could hang up my clothes. That’s when I realized that a closet was missing. I checked both the living room, the bedroom and the bathroom but there was nothing resembling a closet anywhere. The only hanging apparatus was a few nails in the wall opposite the bed, from which two wire hangers were swinging askew. I quadruple loaded my shirts/pants on the two wire hangers and did my best to try and keep them from falling. As I examined my clothes hanging on the wall, I realized that the colors were all wrong. I looked up and realized that the overhead lights in the bedroom were red, muting everything and making it difficult to see much of the details in the room. I turned around from the ‘wall closet’ and looked down at the round bed. From a distance the white sheets looked clean but as I got closer and examined the sheets more closely, I discovered various stains and bits of hair, of various lengths, left over from the previous occupants. My face scrunched up into such a grimace that I could barely see the rest of the room. Yuck! I should have just quit then.

I left the red-light district of the round red bed and checked out the conditions in the living room. Aside from the television, and an old fan, which made me try to recollect the last time I had stayed in a motel room with a standing fan, one wall of the living room was lined with a long mirrored dresser. When I tried to open a drawer, I realized that it was all a facade. No drawers really existed; it was completely hollow and empty behind the fake front. If I had taken a hair brush and tapped the front of the dresser, the facade would have easily splintered apart. Luckily, before I could picked up the hair brush, which was provided in the room, I looked down and saw that the brush was filled with hair and whatever else was basking in its glory. Obviously, someone had used the brush and no one had bothered to clean it. Double yuck!!

To the right of the dresser and underneath the television, stood a refrigerator. I opened it up, expecting some dead animal to roll onto my feet but instead, the inside shelves and sides were free of dead animals but not free of stains, splotches and, again, more pieces of dark hair. Obviously, the tenant before me had a lot of hair they no longer needed and decided to leave them behind. I had brought some fruits with me and since the wall unit A/C was humming out a tune of warm, fetid air, I knew that the fruits would get bad real quick if I did not refrigerate them. I carefully lined the insides of the refrigerator with toilet paper that I found in the bathroom and after I was sure that every exposed space of the refrigerator was adequately covered with thick layers of toilet paper did I lay my carrots, celery and apples in the refrigerator to rest.

Flooding bathroom

I won’t go into the gory details of the bathroom but let’s just say that the common theme of displayed hair continued as did numerous stains and cracks in the bathtub and sink. The sink counter was well decorated with dried toothpaste stains that made me wonder if the last person to use the room had done so months prior and no one had thought to wipe off the counter since. The tube of opened toothpaste, provided in the room, remained unused by me, as did the opened jars of lotion, hair gel, shampoo and conditioner.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Although the blackened windows, which are typical of love motels, blocked out the street lamps and neon signs, and provided a nice dark room, I could not relax and surrender myself to sleep. Consequently, when my cellphone alarm went off at 4:55 am, I felt tired but relieved that I could get up and get out of there. Did I survive the rest of the week?

Placebo-Live in Seoul!

The night before Placebo was scheduled to appear for their second tour to Korea, I made the decision to attend. I had heard about their tour to Seoul weeks ago but for whatever reason I did not take any steps to secure tickets. Unfortunately, the advance ticket sales were closed when I called the ticket line but the helpful girl on the phone advised me to show up the next day, at 5pm at Olympic Park Hall, to see if I could still purchase tickets. It was a gamble and an inconvenience if the show was sold out because Olympic Park is across the Han River, over the train tracks and through the woods, a journey of at least 45 minutes on two different train lines. But I decided to try.

Placebo is not on my top ten list of bands to see live, but the chance to attend my first rock concert in Seoul was certainly a persuasive factor in my decision to go. Moreover, I felt a yearning for the days of my youth when I spent so much time (and money) enjoying live music on a weekly basis, while living in my beloved Portland, Oregon. I have always enjoyed music and dancing at live concerts and given the stressful weeks at work, I knew that I would benefit greatly from hearing some good music and stretching my body a bit.

By the time I reached the Olympic Park Hall, it was nearly 7:30 but I was hopeful that the show would not be sold out. I knew that Placebo wasn’t well known in Korea and I figured that there would still be seats available and I was correct. They offered standing only tickets on the center of the floor and seats around the perimeter. I chose a seat on the right side. If I were still in my 20’s or early 30’s I probably would have chosen a seat on the floor, closest to the stage. However, I’ve done that and been there and my 40-something body now prefers the luxury of having the option to seat and/or stand. What I particularly liked about the seating area was that the seats were not a row of auditorium seats, which are attached to one another; instead each seat was individually anchored to the floor, allowing for a bit more space between each. It made it easy to jump up and dance, spread out or just do the funky chicken in my own little private space. Admittedly I didn’t do the funky chicken but I could have, if I wanted.

What I observed during my first Korean rock concert is that the locals are very well mannered, almost to the point of being too tame. There was a certain level of ‘insanity’ that was missing. Is it that I was insanely crazy at concerts that I used to attend when I was younger, or have I just gotten older or are the Koreans not used to crazy rock concerts? Perhaps it’s a little of all of the above.

Although these signs were posted all over, the Koreans paid little regard to them. At first I refrained from taking pictures but when I saw that everyone else was taking pictures and shooting videos, right in front of the security guards and without any adverse reaction, I pulled out my portable camera and snapped a few shots as well.

Absolutely wonderful Indian meal

In Seoul, when I go to an Indian, Thai or Italian restaurant, oftentimes the food has been ‘koreanized’. By this, I mean that the food has been altered to the Korean taste, (i.e. pickled kimchee and an ubiquitous dousing of Korean red chili peppers). I find it very disappointing when food has been localized, especially to a negative effect.

Mixed vegetables in gravy

Over the weekend I took a brief trip to Singapore, to get out of Korea and to eat some good food. For lunch we dined at a wonderful restaurant in the heart of Little India called Sankranti. It’s on the second floor, across the street from the Mustafa Center, and the food and atmosphere magically transported me back to India. We started off with the deliciously wicked Chicken 65, which I was told is chicken that is killed after 65 days. I’m not sure what that is supposed to signify but the little bite-size pieces of chicken, mixed with green chili peppers and onions were succulent, tasty and devilishly spicy. Fortunately the garlic nan helped to appease the fire of that dish and was a great accompaniment to the dal makhani and a mixed vegetable dish. As we ate, I looked around and realized that we were the only non-Indians in the packed restaurant. The rest of the tables were full of Indian families, couples and large parties enjoying their meals, speaking Hindi and giving us the occasional curious look. One of the things that I look forward to when I fly to Singapore is a meal just like this. I have yet to find a really fabulous Indian restaurant here in Seoul.

Indian Restaurant in Little India, Singapore

Am I an addict?

Never being a habitual smoker, I never understood why friends, coworkers and family members could not give up smoking easily. I suppose a part of me thought that they were being ‘weak’, by not controlling their addiction and just stopping the bad habit. Recently, I realized just how weak I could be.

Fried Seabass with Chili Sauce

During the tail-end of a delicious Thai meal at the Golden Mile Complex, after my husband had already put his fork and spoon down and declared, “I can’t eat anymore”, I also announced, “I’m so stuffed. I can’t eat another bite”. After my declaration, my husband rightly expected me to retire my fork and spoon as well, but instead, even as I mouthed those words of over-consumption, I reached over and spooned more Long Beans with Shrimp Paste onto my empty plate and poked the Fried Seabass with Chili Sauce to see if there was any more tender meat available. My husband laughed and looked at me incredulously, “How can you still be eating more food when you just said you’re full?” I looked up, paused and realized that he was right. I was stuffed but I was still shoveling more food into my eager mouth. I laughed and replied, “I know I’m full but I just can’t stop eating because the food is SO deliciously addictive. My eyes say no but my mouth says yes.”

Long Beans with Shrimp Paste

My husband laughed again and replied, “I think you have a problem.” That’s when I realized that I am an addict; I’m addicted to food. I have been all my entire life but I never realized it, until now.

Raw fish for breakfast?

Raw fish for breakfast

During my brief weekend trip to Singapore, I spent most of my time eating delicious food and enjoying good company. For breakfast one morning at Maxwell Food Court, I noticed that the Zhen Zhen stall had the longest queue of patrons patiently waiting for their time to order a bowl of fish or chicken porridge. This stall always has huge lines here. I decided to try the chicken porridge for breakfast but as I stood in line, I watched as the people before me all also ordered the plate of raw fish. Curiosity won me over so by the time I got to the head of the line, I also ordered a small plate of raw fish to accompany my piping hot chicken porridge. The DH couldn’t muster raw fish so early in the morning but I enjoyed the marinated flavors of onions, fried garlic and other spices that made up the bulk of the raw fish dish, and the chicken porridge wasn’t bad either.

Enroute to Singapore

Because of the late-night festivities the night before my early morning flight out of Inchon, I did not sleep a wink that evening. The all-nighter left me feeling wasted and tired the next morning as I checked in for my Singapore Airlines flight and walked like a zombie to the gate. After I settled in my seat, the flight attendant asked me what type of drink I would like after take off and I automatically replied, “Red wine, please: the Argentinian blend”, before realizing that it wasn’t yet 9:00 am. “Oh well,” I reasoned, “I’m sure it must be well past 9:00 am in some other part of the world.”

As we readied for take-off, I enjoyed a glass of tomato juice, read the newspaper and thought about how nice it would be to lean back in my seat and sleep. However, it was a fleeting wish and not to be; although I was tired and exhausted, I could not fall asleep at all. Once we were in the air and I was enjoying my early morning glass of red wine, I became hopeful that wine would indeed induce sleep, so I said yes when the flight attendant offered to pour me more wine. Unfortunately, I quickly realized that wine does not make me sleepy, quite the contrary. As I became more awake, the first course arrived and I realized just how hungry I was from the lack of sleep and the lack of breakfast.

Normally I am not a fan of airline food, but the food offered by Singapore Airlines in their business class is nothing like airline food. As I was dipping my lamb satay into the sweet but tangy peanut sauce, I was reminded, not of bad airline food, but of a nice holiday in Bali several years ago when I ate satay almost on a daily basis and loved it. When I was finishing off my smoked salmon with greens, I was pleasantly surprised at the freshness of the salad and the tenderness of the salmon. Unfortunately I did not get to try the lamb loin because they were all out of my first selection, but the chicken fried rice was tasty and satisfied my hunger just the same. For dessert I chose the surprisingly delicious black sesame ice cream, which I loved more than I expected. As I was scooping up the last bites of my ice cream, the flight attendants brought more food for offer: cheeses, chocolates and fruits. Because I still hoped that I could sleep, especially after eating all that great ice cream, I passed on the cheese and chocolates, and pointed to the Asian pear and the Korean melon (how often are fresh fruits offered on airplanes? Never!). I thought that they would cut me a few slices of each and put it on a small plate, but instead, they handed me the whole fruits, with a plate and knife for my own use. I gave them a look of surprise because both the melon and the Asian pear were the size of my head, but the flight attendants just flashed me their beautiful smile (Singapore flight attendants are gorgeous) and added, “Please enjoy!” By the time I finished the melon, I was too full to even contemplate slicing up the Asian pear.

You would think that after stuffing myself with such great food, I could just lean back and fall asleep, but I couldn’t. I don’t know if it was the anticipation of Singapore or the over-indulgence of food and wine but I was wide awake and no amount of coaxing on my part would induce sleep…not until the captain got on the intercom and announced that we would soon be landing. Then, all of the sudden, as if his voice were a hypnotist’s, my eyelids grew heavy, my body felt like it was sinking into the seat and I dozed on and off as the flight attendants gingerly put my seat back upright in preparation for landing.

Like a zombie, I dragged my body off the plane, through immigration and onto a subway train for the ride into the city. Within a few stops, I had to change subway lines and as I exited the train and stepped onto the outdoor platform, I noticed something different: Trees, lush green flora, fauna and flowers everywhere.

After spending four months in the polluted chaos of Seoul, the fresh and fragrant air of Singapore was a surprising welcome. I hungrily took in mouthfuls of clean air (inhale 1, 2, 3, 4, 5) in the hopes of ridding myself of all the toxic air I had been breathing in Seoul (exhale 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10). Already I could feel my body relax…

Finally did a Korean spa…

I can’t remember the last time I intentionally stayed up this late. It’s almost 3:00am on a Wednesday night and I just got home.

Two friends of mine from Tokyo arrived in town last night for a short trip. After I got off work today, I met them at Lotte Mart, and then we headed over to Myeondong for a bit of catching up, shopping, eating and sightseeing.

I wanted them to try Red Mango’s yogurt dessert but I could not find a Red Mango in Myeongdong so we opted for a cafe called Tea-Us that just opened near Exit 5 of the subway station. The cafe is located on the second floor, above the Calvin Klein shop and has a surprisingly nice layout that includes a smoking deck, booths and even a private room off to one side. Although we originally wanted something to drink, we sampled their Gelato and ordered that instead. It was a nice way to start the evening. Afterward the Gelato, we walked around Myeongdong, trying to decide what to eat for dinner. My friends requested Korean food. We thought about the Myeongdong Kalkuksu restaurant, which a coworker of mine had told me about, but then we settled on an Andong dak jim restaurant just down from the noodle restaurant.

It’s one of those restaurants that only has one item on their menu, the dak jim. A stewed spicy chicken dish with mixed vegetables and rice noodles, dak jim is not for everyone. It’s REALLY spicy. When a waiter in Korea tells you that a dish is spicy, it means that your tongue will get numb after the first bite, then your mouth will feel like it’s on fire and your whole body will start to perspire profusely. We asked the waiter to tone down the spiciness a bit. He smiled at our wise request and then disappeared to fetch us a bottle of Shochu and a bottle of another Korean drink (forgot the name already).

When the dak jim arrived, we took pictures and then dove into the food. After the first bite, my tongue was numb, I was panting like a dog because my mouth was on fire and then the beads of sweat were forming allover. In order to cut the spiciness of the dak jim, I ate white rice after each bite, but it didn’t seem to help.

I don’t know how people can stand the normal spiciness of the dish because I was dying. Although quite tasty, I can’t eat that dish every day; I’m sure I will pay for it tomorrow.

After dinner we hopped in a taxi and headed to the Doota shopping complex in Dongdaemun. My friends visited Dongdaemun the night they arrived from Tokyo and wanted to go back and pick up a few things. We picked up more than a few things from there and then after our shopping bags could not fit anymore stuff, we hopped in another taxi and crossed the city to Dragon Hill Spa, a 24-hour Korean spa and resort.

Although we arrived well after midnight, we managed to get the last appointments for body scrubbing, so after soaking for a bit in one of the many hot baths that they offer, we each had the dry skin scrubbed off our bodies by their expert exfoliators. And all of it only set us back 20,000 won each. What a great way to cap a wonderful evening.

Although I’m tired and it’s almost 4am now, I still have to pack for my 4th of July trip, which starts in about two hours when I need to catch the Airport Limo bus to Inchon Airport. Hopefully my lack of sleep tonight can be made up during much of the 6.5 hour flight from Korea to Singapore.