Norae-blogging

The cosy little street that I live on in the suburbs of the big smoke is home to a supermarket, a hair shop, several restaurants, a handful of bars, a couple of fast food outlets, and 3 noraebangs. I'd say this is a pretty standard set up for the side streets of Seoul. All of the above establishments have their own welcome signs, be they in bunting, logo-ed up vans, or the favourite: neon lights. There's always a man with a megaphone selling today's produce, and everyone is zigzagging up and down the street making their way from the mandu shop to the kimbap lady.

Lauren was due to leave Seoul on Thursday morning to set sail for our Japanese neighbours. After a never-ending course farewell meal at a traditional Korean restaurant with our co-workers she had two options: take a fleeting sleep and get up in 7 hours time, or spend a final night with her university friends (a.k.a. her fellow English teacher and boyfriend) on the beer and soju. I say she chose wisely.

Now I always thought Seoul life was 24 hours. A life of convenience if you will. I was put right when I left the PC Bang (in the days before home internet) at 1am to find no convenience store to sell me strawberry milk; another time when I wandered out at 8am in search of breakfast at the bakery but to no avail. Inconvenient. Heading out in the torrential rain at 2am on Wednesday night we were faced with a dark street. Quite the opposite to the usual buzzing daytime scene. Our options were Noraebang 1, Noraebang 2, or Noraebang 3.

Apparently it's illegal to sell alcohol in these singing rooms, but little seedy places like the ones listed above waver this rule. A couple of hours in a private room with a couple of dodgy mics, a list of dated songs to blast out and a bit of illegal beer, and Lauren was right set to board her 4.30am bus to Seoul station. I got a text at 10am to say she was on the boat. A good night had by all.