South Korea by Daniele Somenzi

Giuseppe and I land with a Korean Air Airbus 330 at Seoul Incheon International Airport, one of the most beautiful airports in the world. It used to be located near the capital, but now it's on a peninsula about twenty km from the edge of the Chinese Sea. Recovering our luggage, Korean Air is an excellent company, the on-board service is impeccable; on long-haul flights at night, if you press the hostess button you get an immediate response; on Alitalia flights they just don't come. And to think that I once even went through the selections to be a steward in Rome, and at the interview, after filling out the quizzes, during a break one of the examiners came up to me and said quietly: you're fine, but you can only get in if you have connections. The result is that only people who aren't passionate about this work get in, the same as me, couldn't-care-less types.

Alitalia missed a chance by not hiring me. And with hindsight I must say, just as well they didn't take me. Giuseppe and I set off on a tour of the peninsula of the airport adjacent to Incheon, with, besides the Korean guide, the minibus driver and 2 Germans. We soon discover the driver's terrible driving, but what can you do. The biting cold of November isn't very welcome; every time we get off we freeze. A damp cold that gets into your bones, just like on the Po plain. The first stop is a fish market; we discover that here in Korea they keep the various kinds of fish alive in tanks, just caught, and while the husbands fish, the wives sell them — in fact they're all women, for the care of the live fish and the selling. A little way off is the sea, which has however disappeared with the low tide.

The motorways are modern and the road signs, besides in Korean, are also written in English — just as well, otherwise how would someone who rents a car manage? They take us to see a place for prayers, with these little houses with curly roofs, from the top of the hill you see the panorama, as if the buddhas from up there were protecting the population. The girl explains everything to us in English and I translate directly into the Casalmaggiore dialect for Giuseppe, without going through Italian. He says that at his age he can't learn English. Would you believe it. Shortly after we go to a beach that has nothing of a beach about it, rocks everywhere with a very low tide and the sea as dirty as that of Forte dei Marmi when it's rough in winter. I take the chance, though, to pick up a few little stones to put in my display cabinet at home.

The tour ends; it was only a few hours, taking advantage of a flight connection here in Korea. Giuseppe and I tonight have to take the flight for Auckland. bye bye