"Oh boy", I told a friend before my departure, "another 24 hours and the escalators will start talking to me again!" And lest you question my sanity, she understood exactly what I meant -- Korea and Japan share the distinction of being the only countries in the world where it is considered par for course for these devices to dispatch useful information like "Please hold onto the handrail" and "Warning: end of escalator, watch your step".
I've always had miserable weather in Seoul (rain, sleet or both) and the weather forecast didn't look too promising, but an unbroken layer of cloud started to break as we approached ICN and flew over
Yeongjong-do, my planned destination of Muui-do glinting in the dawn light. After a smooth touchdown and entry into ICN's space-age terminal, I queued up at the OZ transfer desk, got my boarding pass and headed up to the ICN lounge to munch on cornflakes and sip at bizarre Korean drinks (what on earth is
nokcha?) while waiting for my turn for the shower.
Ablutions performed, I set out in search of luggage storage and a bus to Muuido, only to find out at the Asiana transfer desk that, as my layover was >6 hours, I was entitled to my choice of a transit tour or transit hotel. I opted for the hotel, figuring it'd be as good a place as any to store my stuff, and was duly transshipped to Airport Town Square's "Hotel Airpark", where a surprisingly large and decent room awaited me, containing a huge personal vending machine retailing, among other things, grilled squid and glow-in-the-dark condoms.
By now it was an absolutely gorgeous day outside, little fluffy clouds floating in the clear blue sky and a gentle breeze making sure that it was nice and warm in the sun, nice and cool in the shade. I asked at the front desk about getting a bus or taxi to Muuido, but after much collective head-scratching and sucking air through teeth they (for at least 4 hotel staff were summoned to deal with the problem) concluded that it would take me a minimum of 60,000W to the trip, using arithmetic which never made it past the language barrier. (The taxi there would've been 15K one-way, but what was the bit about needing to pay 30K for entrance fees and the ferry when my guidebook tells me it should be 2K?) I suggested plan B, the Haesupia Spa, and with relieved smiles was told that they'd be glad to shuttle me there for free.
Haesupia is a squat block of a building just off the road to the airport. I paid my 6000W (~US$6), stripped down to the altogether and traipsed off downstairs in search of hot water, which was indeed available in copious quantities. The trick here is that they use heated deep sea salt water, probably a wise move given the amount of bilge in badly polluted Incheon Bay, but salty or not, a soak in piping hot water does wonders after a long flight. My Nordic heart was warmed by the spread of no less than 5 saunas, ranging from the almost traditional charcoal sauna to the mysterious "Jewel" (
yok) sauna, tiled in raw jade with sacks of herbs by the stove, producing an effect like being stuck inside a microwaved menthol inhaler. The outside section had panoramic views of a concrete wall painted with a cheesy seaside mural, and with recorded birdchirps in the background I suntanned myself in the morning breeze and thought that hey, this is a pretty nice way to start your day. (Wanna see me naked? Find the spa on Google Maps/Earth (37.28'17.43" N, 126.31'10.29" E), zoom to maximum and switch to satellite mode. The courtyard is up top, and I'm the very relaxed-looking pixel on the top left side.)
After a few hours of this, interspersed with occasional masochistic bouts of standing under a waterfall of unheated (=4 deg C) seawater, I was as limp as an overcooked noodle and ready to head back and sleep. Before I could, though, the front desk called me up and ordered me in no uncertain terms to "Have lunch now". Airpark's a fine hotel, but steer clear of the restaurant -- I made the mistake of trying the proverbial free lunch, and it was easily the worst meal I've had in Korea. My curry rice contained apples and boiled dill pickles, and the Vietnamese-American guy next to me glumly hacked away at the inch-thick coating of his cutlet and wondered at the mysterious meat inside. I suffered through it, detonated a few tastebuds with the kimchi, headed to my room and crashed for 3 hours.