October 3, 2026: If anything can go wrong, it will.
That’s actually Mike’s motto; as you know I’m the half full one!
What started as a great day went sideways fast.
We had our usual breakfast — I’ve gotten hooked on milk tea, a milder, milkier version of chai — then made a quick detour to buy a luggage lock. Mike had decided to check both bags on the Mongolia flight; his shoulder had been bothering him since lifting his carry-on bag into the overhead compartment on the flight over, despite a recent steroid shot that had it feeling almost new.
The hotel — staffed entirely by 25-year-olds who navigate entirely by device — sent us to a basement shop across the back alley. A young staffer pulled out his iPad and showed us our route in three dimensions, zooming in on the entrance so we wouldn’t miss it. We climbed down a steep staircase expecting a tiny shop and found what can only be described as a low-rent Target in a basement. Had exactly what we needed.
On the way back up those stairs, Mike let out a sharp yelp. He sort of tripped on a stair that wasn’t an even riser, grabbed the railing, his arm shot straight up — lightning bolt of pain, he said. And then a lot of it.
What followed was a medical odyssey. First stop: a slick clinic five minutes from the hotel. Young orthopedist, translator app, a few questions, some arm manipulation, shots, a PT room with devices that pounded the area. Nothing helped. Mike needed a sling — but here’s the thing: in Korea you cannot buy a sling without a prescription. The doctor had already left for the day. No sling.
Back to the hotel, where the concierge confirmed this maddening fact, made numerous calls over lunch, and determined the only solution was an emergency room. The “international hospitals” with English-speaking staff are all closed on weekends. So off we went on a 45-minute taxi ride to Gangseo K Hospital, which specializes in fractures and spinal injuries. Minimal wait. A doctor, some questions, Tylenol, and a five-day supply of pills — packaged by the pharmacist into neat little plastic sets of three, like tiny daily pill organizers. And a sling.
The long taxi ride there and back gave us an unfiltered look at working-class Seoul — no glitz, no tourists, just the city going about its business. And I finally got to try the K-Ride taxi app I’d downloaded. Worked like a dream.
Given the day’s chaos, we kept dinner simple — Korean BBQ at Doma Hongdae, right nearby. As always, delicious.
Afterward we wandered into what can only be described as a landlocked Coney Island — Hongdae’s youth district. Thousands of kids between 17 and 22, wall to wall: game arcades, caricature artists, costume photo studios, street food, soccer, shops selling everything and nothing. We were almost certainly the oldest people there by a factor of three.
Then came the hard conversation. With Mongolia tomorrow and Japan after that, we had to be clear-eyed about it — and we were. Mongolia is canceled. Japan is on the way to being canceled. We’ll stay a few more days in Seoul, keep things low-key, and fly home Wednesday. Availability looks fine; I’ll sort the airlines in the morning.
It’s disappointing, but it’s the right call. Mike needs to see his orthopedic surgeon as soon as we’re back and get surgery scheduled. What this means for our December trip to Switzerland and Algeria, we don’t know yet — one step at a time.
It’s all good.
