From Gwangju, I took a bus up to the west coast town of Gunsan, a port from which I could visit the island of Seonyu-do. Due to terrible wind and rain, the ferry didn’t run, so instead, I spent two days just mooching about in this non-descript town. I was quite amazed at my reception, especially when I was wearing my “Be The Reds” T-shirt, it was like some celebrity had just strode into town. Everybody, from school kids, to old women in the market, was talking to me - don't think they see many foreigners! The best place was the “Jackson Five” bar in town, I went there both evenings, and each time everybody wanted me to join them for a drink and have their picture taken with me!

Early Tuesday morning, it was back to reality, I took the three-hour bus ride to Seoul where I met up with the boys in green (they may be a real pain in the arse with their anti-English rhetoric, but it’s cheap sleeping on their hotel room floor!). We also met up with a couple of Korean business associates. They had this grand plan to take us into some dens of iniquity, but we weren’t up for it (even “on tour”), and so settled for a Korean barbecue (where the waitress cuts up your meat with scissors).

The Seoul stadium was really impressive, designed for football only. Parwez touted his extra ticket and we went inside to watch the semi-final. We got to our seats and found that we each had a red or white card to hold up, we just did it in time with those who knew what they were doing. In the previous game the cards had spelled out “Pride of Asia” - no idea what it said this time, you can’t read it when you’re underneath it! A Japanese guy sitting a couple of seats from me had a fully programmable electronic hat he’d made at home, which displayed a scrolling message on all four sides: nerd class one, but a nice enough bloke. The atmosphere was even better than Gwangju, the stadium being more enclosed, and considerably bigger. As encouragement to make more noise, there was an audio level meter on either side of the big screen. It rarely went below the red zone, even when they were booing the Germans (which was every time they had the ball!).

After Germany scored their catastrophic goal, the crowd became a tad tamer, the dream was ending. The Korean people had gotten so carried away with their success, they couldn’t believe they weren’t actually going to win the World Cup. Not wishing to tempt fate, but being pragmatic, I wrote a small sign saying “I WILL BUY YOUR YOKOHAMA FINAL TICKET”, I’d come prepared with a stash in my pocket. Holding it aloft after the game (the sign, not the cash), I got a couple of enquiries, one from a greedy American asking for 5,000 dollars, another from a Korean asking how much I wanted for my ticket!

The Koreans weren’t in much of a party mood after the game, but the pub full of Irishmen (plastic and other assorted materials) did their best to make up for it. It was either that or celebrate with the Germans, not much of a choice.

Next day, having picked up some fake watches, and waved goodbye to the cross-dressers, I did a bit of sightseeing around Seoul. In the evening, now pretty worn out, I went for a quiet beer to watch the inevitable Brazilian victory.

I’m now back in Tokyo, awaiting the arrival of the ticket fairy.