In all my time in Korea, I've avoided having to drop a deuce in one of these old-school misery-holes. Save once. A few years back I was sequestered on an island in the Yellow Sea (from the amount of urine my friend was pumping into it, I suspect I know where the name came from), and there were no 'civilized' commodes available. I had to do 'it', so I walked in and looked grimly at what lay at my feet. Ominous. There were little raised foot platforms on either side of the slimy maw of death, but I couldn't figure out which direction the toe parts of my feet were supposed to point, so I guessed and hoped for the best. I undid my shorts and tried to squat, balancing on my haunches, but I couldn't get it so that the 'trajectory' seemed right. My shorts were in peril of getting besoiled. I took the logical next step - I geared down to avoid crapping into my shorts, but a quick look around the shit-dungeon revealed no hooks for clothes, so I stuffed them under my arm. So there I am, squatting low, calves quivering, a shower of change, lip balm, and other assorted possessions falling from my shorts and clinking off filthy porcelain, when I made an extra-grim discovery: no shit-tickets. It was a bad, bad day.
On Saturday, a terrific yellow dust storm whipped Jeju. Yellow grime is everywhere, and I was angry all damn day because of it. But life is too short to get upset, so I made some soup, drank a Heineken, and now yellow dust can't hurt me anymore.
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