When I pressed Yuna for more details in reference to the trip, I received spoken ambiguity that would have even made Slick Willie proud. "It's so you can understand Korea and Korean's," she said as if keeping me in the dark for yet another day was the gold medal at the Olympics.
Scott had this idea that they would take us in the woods, blindfold us, beat us on the backs with sticks and then bring us back into town. The theory is if we were beaten within centimeters of our lives, we'd be less apt to bitch about various shortcomings in reference to our jobs and living situations. For whatever reason, I took Scott's vision one giant leap further. All I could imagine was an afternoon filled with yelling and shouting at us white folk in their native Korean tongue. Just when we thought it couldn't get any more, they'd round us up, shackle us and go to work on us in a fashion that screams one-part incest and two-parts sodomy.
Though Scott knew the when and the where, he was fuzzy on the details. Essentially, Gyeongju and the surrounding areas harbor temples and tombs and other various Korean landmarks deemed important to Korean culture. It's considered to be out in the sticks. Those sticks are located about 2.5 hours by bus from Masan. What did this mean to us? A day on a bus driving around.
There is a time and a place for aggressive speed driving. If you have a car tailored for such terrain, then okay. If you are trying to qualify for Le Mans. This is also acceptable. However, driving a tour bus with 75 passengers as if you were paid by the KPH through rural Korea on a narrow winding road is just plain dangerous. Needless to say, I was fighting nausea for the remainder of the day.