Bored in Daegu

I have been in Daegu for 2 weeks now and boredom is setting in. I work long days on Saturdays and Sundays, but have my weeks free. I can only do so much prep work for my classes so that leaves Monday to Friday free. Rainy season kept me inside to avoid the drenched streets, but the typhoons and grey skies have given way to the sweltering August temperatures. The humidity squeezes my lungs and creates a film of sweat on every inch of skin. I duck into my air conditioned room and the cool air of various establishments to escape the oppressive heat, but my four walls are monotonous while “eye shopping” is now nothing more than tediously painful.

I needed to somehow escape the heat, while avoiding the guts of concrete buildings. The beach is only an hour away by fast train and I considered this option. I haven’t had a pay cheque since the 15th of July, and don’t want to spend the minimal cash I have on me. I figure I will hit the beach after pay day. Then an idea hit me—an old technique I used in Indonesia. While I was staying in the dodgy hotels and wanted to avoid the beach, I would scout out nicer hotels with a pool, make my way in, chat with the bartender and with the promise of buying a few insanely cheap cocktails, the chlorine water and plastic lounge was mine.

I grabbed my Lonely Planet, flipped through the pages on Daegu and found the Top End accommodations—Inter Burgo Hotel. I still had no idea if they had a pool or not, but figured that if they didn’t, it could be a worthwhile adventure. I grabbed my beach bag stuffed with a book, a towel and some cash, hailed a cab and ten minutes later the mammoth hotel was in front of me. I walked in and talked the receptionist, who then flagged a bell hop to escort me to the pool. Sweet! This was easy. No negotiations like Indonesia, and no promise of buying drinks.

The bell hop led me through the hotel, down a corridor, past the pool and out the building. Ha. They are kicking me out? I was confused. Perhaps I had celebrated the ease too soon, however, the bell hop told me to walk around the corner to the entrance. I did and found booth with a sign; Adult 6000 won (about $7). I smiled. Korea has a bit more structure than Indonesia. Instead of buying my way in with drinks, I just needed to buy a ticket. I did and walked through the maze of lockers with Astroturf tickling under my feet. I entered and exited through the showers and then the indoor portion of the pool. And the final maze was to the glass door leading to the outdoor pool.

Korean pop music blasted through the speakers that made the occasional incomprehensible announcements while the cicadas that lived in the outlaying trees screamed to the beat. I found a spot in the “sunbathing” area to lay out my sarong to claim my stake. I flopped down and took in the scene.

The lifeguards pranced around and blew their whistles at everything they could—kids running, kids going too deep, kids without bathing caps…they whistled at everything. So much so that no one seemed to listen. I was thankful that the cicadas were louder than the whistle happy boys.

I looked around and realized that there were more inflatable balls, tubes and rings than I have ever seen. Every kid had a tube. They bobbed happily into and over each other in their sea of plastic. The music playing on the speakers faded and a ring of sorts scratched its way through followed by an announcement. The bobbers and floaters made their way out of the pool and lined up along the sides. I couldn’t figure out if it was some organized shift work for the swimmers or if there was an emergency. But people were too calm. After ten minutes, the swimmers were permitted to enter again. Maybe a kid shit in the pool. I had no idea, but I did know that I wasn’t going to enter the pool—the idea of poop and the concept of plastic didn’t appeal. I returned to my observations.

Every male was cloaked in a speedo. I am not sure if they took their cue from the lifeguards who squeezed their way into their tiny swim wear, but all the men were stuffed into these skimpy items of horrendous beach wear. I questioned if I was an uninvited guest at a bad Chip & Dale family performance minus the bowties. If I were a woman who loved this garment, I think I would have been in heaven, but I felt ill. I closed my eyes and tried to erase all images of the flat assed men parading around. Slowly I fell into a form of relaxation until the storm clouds thickened the sky. I felt droplets of rain begin to fall. I packed up my things and walked away from a tiny piece of refuge I found—a refuge from the heat, a refuge from my room, and a refuge from my own boredom.