We finished work Friday evening and eagerly boarded the subway for the one-hour journey to Seoul Station. Seoul Station is where we would begin the six-hour train ride southeast. After a few cans of OB Lager and some conversation, we all nodded off and would later wake up in Gyeongju.

It was about five in the morning when we arrived. We sluggishly walked out of Gyeongju Station and found ourselves in the heart of a small city. Although we agreed that more sleep was necessary, we were unwilling to pay for a hotel room. We only needed a few more hours sleep so we opted to crash in a sauna. For five dollars, we could sleep in the sauna's nap room for a few hours and have a nice shower when we woke up.

Crawling back onto the streets of Gyeongju at nine o'clock, we wandered to the information booth at the train station. After arming ourselves with maps and brochures of the area, someone suggested we rent bicycles for the day. Ten dollars later, I found myself and my friends cruising through the streets of Gyeongju on third-rate mountain bikes.

Once we finished breakfast we targeted a few historic sites on our map and off we went. First, was a large park in the middle of the city that was home to numerous burial mounds belonging to ancient Korean royalty. It was a spectacular day weather-wise and the lush grass and towering trees made for a remarkable setting. We ambled through the park for an hour before deciding to mount our bikes and make our way to a small mountain on the other side of the city.

Weaving through the crooked streets, we reached the outskirts of town. We realized that the highway would take us to mountain and adjacent park, but it would be a lot more fun to drive straight through a series of rice paddies. Racing along the dykes that criss-crossed the paddies, we began to push our third-rate bikes past their capacity. After a few good jolts, my chain started to pop off and my gears failed to work. Hoa, Aaron and Harmen grew smaller in the distance as I constantly stopped to put my chain back on, cursing the entire time.

Eventually, I was clear of the rice paddies and in the middle of a tiny village that seemed like something from a bygone era. I finally found Hoa and Harmen and they told me that Aaron had gone back to look for me, knowing my history of dazzling bicycle accidents. Within minutes, Aaron rejoined us and we were off to the mountain.

We quickly scurried up a series of well-beaten trails. The views from the top of the mountain were spectacular and it seemed that we had the entire place to ourselves. Sweat-soaked and tired, we made our way back down and went to the site of an ancient palace. Very little remained and everything was poorly marked. We were disappointed and agreed that the one-dollar admission was one-dollar too much.

Taking the highway back, we returned to Gyeongju and I happily parted with my cursed bike. We decided to spend the night on the coast at a small village that apparently had an offshore tomb belonging to an ancient king. After an hour of head scratching, miscommunication and general confusion, we boarded a bus that we believed would take us southeast to the village of Haseo.

The bus ride to the coast was one of the most harrowing and stomach turning experiences I have ever had. The driver pushed the bus to its limits. We weaved and snaked along narrow mountain roads so fast that I thought that at any moment we would break the sound barrier. The four of us traded looks of genuine concern and fear. Keeping my eyes closed was the only way I could get my way through the one-hour journey.

Finally, we arrived in a small fishing village. Stumbling off the bus, appetites no longer existent, we wandered towards a pier and watched the fishermen unload their catches. Massive tubs were filled with everything from squid to cuttle-fish. After about fifteen minutes of exploring and staring at our maps, we realized that we were in the wrong town. We had mistakenly traveled northeast to Gampo. We went back to the shack-like bus station and after more confusion boarded another bus.

It was already dark when the bus dropped us off at the side of the road. Something was wrong though; we were stranded in the middle of nowhere. We headed towards the few lights we saw in the distance. We were hungry and tired and needed to find a yogwon, the Korean equivalent of a motel.

We slowly walked the length of a beach enjoying the peaceful evening, a nice change of pace from the city life we had become accustomed to. Leaving the beach, we were surprised by the fact that we found a room very easily. Our next mission was to put some food in our bellies.

The streets of Haseo were empty. It was as if the entire town went to sleep at nine o'clock. Settling on one of the few restaurants that were open, we had fish for dinner while the waitress took it upon herself to join us, eating our food and happily drinking our beer.

It was time to bed down. Unfortunately, with the combination of a sudden allergy attack and six drunken Koreans in the next room, I had a lousy and sleepless night.

We awoke early the following morning and were greeted by six hung over Koreans and a torrential downpour. Realizing that the village had no taxis and we had no idea where to find the bus to Gyeongju, the yogwon owner graciously drove us to the bus station. We thanked him and bought our tickets at another shack-like station.

Ninety minutes later, we were on a train and heading back to Seoul. Our weekend certainly did not go as planned, but as we sat on the train we had a great laugh recalling some of our recent follies. We found ourselves lost and tired for most of the two days we spent in Gyeongju, but it was a wonderful trip. We wanted something different than our usual stale weekends in Ilsan. There was no argument that we achieved our goal.

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