All the while I was laughing to myself - if you were having a dinner party, and five people dressed in four hundred year old clothes came in and started banging on pans and drums, it would seem to be socially awkward - odd at least. Except it's labelled traditional drumming, and it has some kind of historic connotation. What if these people were just wearing ordinary street clothes? And they were banging up a tremendous racket? Would people still sit politely and listen to it? We tolerate tradition the way we tolerate children - they can be much more noisy than modern citizens.

Shortly after they wrapped up their formal performance, members of the audience were invited up to dance around and play the drums along with the band. I was excited to join in - participation is the best kind of tradition.

Enjoy a short video clip of the band:

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It was efficient but comfortable for someone staying longer than a short trip. My chief complaint? The shower had been crafted such that it was impossible to bathe without leaving a giant puddle outside of the stall. The fault? Poor measurement or slapdash fabrication. Not fitting an otherwise thoughtfully put-together place!

I moved my computer on to the small round table so I could compute facing the TV and the door, instead of the mirror and the wall. That's an error common to many hotels. I tend to spend most of my waking hours in a hotel room sitting at the desk, using the computer. Rather than looking up from my laptop at a nearby wall, or at a mirror revealing my reddened eyes and drooping cheeks, I like to face the window, for example. Or at least the TV. So I rearrange things to make it so.

"Welcome Iraqi High-Ranking Officials: IT Development Policy Program"

I didn't visit, drink or wear liederhosen in Korea, and that's another regret. Though it's a lesser regret than not meeting the "visiting Iraqi High-Ranking Officials."

This advertisement for the Techno Mart, in the subway station beneath it, depicts a US-style squared-off plug as a man and a Korean-style round-peg plug as a female, in traditional Korean costume. They are working out the relationship of international electricity standards in the dance of gender and tradition. I can only assume the idea behind the characters is, we can handle all your power prongs. The poster is advertising the whole mall; regretfully I only captured this couple and not the whole poster so I can't ask Hongol-reading friends for confirmation of the electric appliance miscegenation here.

Here's Brian, eating his first meal in Asia. Hot stone bi bim bap - rich and kim chi, vegetables and fixin's that cook in the hot dish. This is so good, I tell you, I think I miss it more than the incredible Korean meat. This was the first night Brian had Soju, the Korean liquor; he made sure we had it each night after.

Perhaps to increase his sense of travel and adventure, he elected to eat his first sushi in Seoul. It was late at night by the time we finally got our plan together; friend Grace lead us to a conveyor-belt sushi place. Not super-high quality, not entirely cheap sushi. I figured it would be a decent place to start, since he could see what went by and pick sushi on the looks of things. We ended up ordering from a picture menu instead.

Here Brian restrains his enthusiasm for the experience, holding a spicy tuna hand-roll.

The menu came in three languages; Abbie could read them all. She ordered us a loving boatload of food. I added simply a request for the live wriggling octopus. Abbie and Brian watched in horror as I worked to detach the fervent tentacles from my plate, into the hot sauce, into a leaf of lettuce, and into my mouth. Hard to do that with slimy shimmying worms. Slightly sad to explicitly end life with my teeth, but I believed it was just nerve-endings. I shot a short video of this eating moment; notice the green shoots placed atop the octopus, certainly for effect: as the creatures undulate, the send these pieces of green up and down like tiny flags signaling their departure from this mortal plane. Enjoy a short video clip of the tentacles:

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We didn't have just any private room, we had a private room at a "Luxury" noribang. Tasteful, clean furnishings, multiple wireless mics, a large flat-screen TV at the front, attendant service on call.

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I was starting to remember the time and wonder if I shouldn't retreat, to forestall an eager oncoming bout of travelling wipeout and flu. Jay coached me - singing with other people gives you energy, he explained. It's good for your health to raise your voice in song. I regarded him dubiously; my entire trip to Korea I'd been told everything from "kimchi prevents SARS" to "ginseng is a cure for cancer." In between were loads of garlic-bean pastes, chicken dishes and mushrooms, all of which were reputed to have hearty body healing properties. I'm the type of person who usually claims this kind of stuff with my friends, but to have so many people claim the hidden health values of their people's cuisine, it was slightly dubious-making. I mean, if Kim Chi prevents SARS, why don't we all have a daily dose? I guess that's what many Koreans are wondering.

Either way, just as I was wondering if singing loud and hard wouldn't tear up my throat too much, I did feel an growing pleasant sensation. Procol Harum's "A Whiter Shade of Pale" came on the machine, and Jay and I sang it together.