OK – So last night’s motel was the seediest so far – this time more of a brothel scene than even a ‘regular’ sex hotel, with private brown rooms built over funky private parking lots complete with mysterious little doors that access a universal corridor that leads no doubt to the hub of whatever passes for normal activity here. And, though situated close to the university where I will be teaching, it’s only accessible by car, right off a freeway and an overpass. Any attempt to leave on foot would be extremely hazardous.
Pascal Younge [Leader of Agazuno, who will also be teaching classes at the University] and I both put our collective feet down and demand relocation to a hotel in town that is accessible to those who might like to walk somewhere after a long day teaching. I’m going to be here a week and Pascal for 2 weeks, so our relative comfort is of some concern. Neither of us are thinking of the clandestine comforts that this establishment clearly deals in. No Worries. Our gracious hosts comply readily and we are relocated to Motel Theme close to the center of Anseong, which is a city located a couple of hours south east of Seoul. The “Themes” of my room seem to be twofold:
1. An air conditioner set to blow cold air right at my head. For 2 nights I attempt to live with this inconvenience but decide I would rather bask naked in the 100 degree heat and 125% humidity than wake up with sore sinuses and a head cold.
2. An alarm call set to ring at 6am, regardless of WHATEVER instructions I might attempt to relay, through daily more and more explicit mime actions, rolling of eyes, frantic scribbling of notes with the number 6 crossed out [becoming increasingly obliterated as the days go by and the message is clearly not getting through], gnashing of teeth and, finally, foaming at the mouth and attempting to commit suicide by tearing my hair out to the little man whose job it seems is to lie 24/7 sleeping on a pad on the floor of the ‘Reception’ area of the Motel watching Korean Baseball on TV in his few waking moments.
As the days go by his half smiling obsequiousness seems to give way to the need to have a friend present at all times [in case I might try something especially dastardly] accompanied by a strong sense of relief that there is a partition that keeps me physically separate from him. The last 2 days of this difficulty, after a particularly trying sequence of alarms – 6am, 7:30am AND 8am - I come up with the amazing solution of unplugging my phone completely, knowing that anybody who does call for me will not be able to make themselves enough understood to the sleeping concierge to be able to make a connection to me and my room anyway [A case in point - one day I am woken by Pascal’s wife Zelma, calling from Virginia, who has been given my room number by mistake].
On the penultimate day of my stay, perhaps sensing the end is nigh the concierge allows me to believe that the problem will go away if I move rooms. Since I am already moving rooms on my way to exit Korea the next day there seems little point by this time and my refusal to play ball probably confirms his by now highly developed suspicion that I am indeed completely insane.
No worries – again. This is all part and parcel of the wonderful and glamorous life of a touring musician.
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