South Korea Day 5: The Simplicity Descending Life Line.

Turns out trains work the same anywhere, even if the ticketing can be quite confusing. Pointing at a map worked wonders for communication and we ended up on the right train at the right time, which was a relief.

On this crowded train Mr Sniffles had to come sit right behind us to cough and sneeze for the entire 2 hour trip.

We followed one river or another away from the coast, with the occasional tunnel to mix things up. Rural(ish) Korea spooled past outside.

Bridge.

The blossoms had largely gone, the hills dressed now in bright Spring foliage.

Green houses.

More blossoms, this time on trees tended for fruit not flowers.

Farming village tucked into the space between arable flat land and mountainside.

In Daegu we discovered that our hotel lay in an urban desert, out in a technology park squashed between two huge stadiums. 

Baseball is big in South Korea. The Daegu Lions are apparently South Korea's 'most prolific' team. I'm not sure what that means.

Vibrant street life was conspicuous by its absence as was, on a Saturday afternoon, the to-and-fro of local Koreans going about their business. We had to get thrilled about little things instead which is a good time to introduce you to Korea's Simplicity Descending Lifeline to be used should you get stuck in your hotel room for any reason (earthquake, anyone? Or a fire I suppose) and wish to escape.

It's a rope.

Not just an ordinary rope. It comes in its own container with instructions for use.

And for attachment, there's a bolt in the window frame.

Two bolts, so you can jump out the window together and knock heads on the way down.

And the window, whether you're two or twenty stories up, opens wide to allow the escapee to jump out, hopefully after first reading the instructions and correctly affixing the rope to both the bolt and their person.

Roger was fascinated. 

Fear of heights notwithstanding, he opened the window and looked out. He read the instructions in detail. He thought about getting the rope out and measuring to make sure it was of adequate length, but was restrained by concerns about getting it back into the container.

"So," he said. "In the rubble of a building so damaged that I can't use the stairs, or consumed by flames, or both, the expectation is that I, a fat middleaged man with a bad back and no previous abseiling experience, will leap out of the window and rappel with aplomb to the ground?"  He pulled a face and put the Simple Escape System away. "I don't think so."

We made a note of where the emergency torch was, so that in the event of calamity we could at least have light while we didn't escape.

By then it was raining. We walked through the empty streets to a quiet convenience store, bereft of customers, where we woke the cashier from deep slumber at his post to buy two minute noodles for dinner. We ate them in our room, sharing a pair of chopsticks and a plastic spoon, and went to bed.

From the window.

Home for a cold and rainy couple of nights.

It's all part of the adventure.