The Korean Ferry SInking

In the BBC’s report of the ongoing Korean ferry sinking, this line stood out (in the analysis, off to the side):

The speed with which it flipped over and sank is a major concern.

This is a well-known problem with car ferries.  In order to make them economical you need to have fairly open car decks without any watertight bulkheads dividing the decks into compartments as you would on any other type of vessel.  You want all your cars to be able to drive unhindered into what is effectively a large floating car park and then drive off the other end when the ferry reaches its destination.  The problem with this is that water sloshing about on an open deck makes a vessel extremely unstable.

Back in the late ’90s I found myself stuck at home in Pembroke with a computer but no internet (it wasn’t widespread in homes back then) and an assignment to write for my engineering degree on engineering risks.  I had very little material to base an essay on, but there was a stack of old New Scientist magazines of my sister’s lying about, and one of them (dated August 1990) had this article in (subscription required), which is introduced as follows:

The risks of ferry travel: Many car ferries are built with a fatal design flaw. If the vehicle decks flood, the ferries are likely to capsize rapidly.

The article said that an inch of water covering a car deck was enough to cause a ferry to capsize, due to the enormous momentum of the sloshing action.  An inch isn’t much when you have the sea pouring in.

This is why ferries tend to sink so quickly, with both the Herald of Free Enterprise (March 1987) and Estonia (September 1994) disasters being the two that I remember happening; the first because it involved a lot of Brits in what seemed to be a spate of home-grown disasters (the Kings Cross Fire in November 1987, Piper Alpha in July 1988, and the Marchioness in August 1989) and the second because of the harrowing accounts of the ship listing severely before disappearing into the freezing Baltic Sea.  I’ve since been on a ferry from Finland to Tallinn, and ending up in the water doesn’t bear thinking about.

The New Scientist article has stuck in my mind since, probably because I had to write an essay on it in the absence of any other source material.  I got a good mark by the way, mainly because I actually wrote a good essay, but the lecturer did remark that my basis was somewhat limited!  The other aspect of ferries mentioned in the article which contributed to their poor safety record – on some measures, ferry travel is the most dangerous in the world – was that the operators tend to get complacent.  You can imagine, doing the same, normally short, route day after day would breed complacency among the crew in terms of safety equipment inspections, evacuation drills, etc.  Also, a lot of ferries, especially in the developing world, are operating on a shoestring budget whose owners aren’t much interested in spending money on things like maintenance and inspections.  Add in poor training and experience of crew and you have, well, a recipe for disaster.

For all of these reasons, underpinned by the fatal design flaw described in New Scientist, I fear ferry disasters – like air crashes – will always be with us.

A Day of Surprises

That went well.  Getting my visa took a mere 30 minutes, 20 minutes of which was queueing and the rest waiting for it to be processed.  Everything is possible in Russia provided you pay, in this case the charge being $160.  But it’s better than hanging around for several days.

I was surprised in another sense too.  Just when you have gotten used to Russian officials grunting at you from behind desks and security glass, scowling at you as you pass them your documents, and behaving as though they are carved from cold, wet, granite, the young chap in the embassy today brightly asked what football team I supported and proudly told me he’d recently seen an English film about football hooligans.  And with lots of goodbyes and good lucks, he waved me off from the counter.

That said, the above episode was only the second biggest surprise I got today, the first being the discovery of tuna porridge on the breakfast menu this morning.  It looked to be nothing more than a pot of porridge with lumps of tuna thrown in.  Needless to say, I avoided it and helped myself to the more traditional breakfast items, which were excellent.

Back in Seoul

I’m writing this from a hotel room in Seoul, where I’ve found myself for a couple of days for a visa run.

I flew out of Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk this morning on that well-known international airline, SAT Airways.  Our aircraft was a Boeing, albeit one from the seventies, and a tiny one at that, which got thrown all over the skies whenever it hit turbulence, and the seatbelt signs came on to warn passengers that they might at any moment be used to strap a wing back on.  But thankfully it got me here in one piece.

While we’re on the subject of Russian airlines, let me just kill one myth dead here and now: that which says that the service on Russian airlines is appallingly bad.  Truth is, it isn’t.  Having flown Aeroflot, Transaero, and now SAT Airways, I have found the service and quality of food on Russian airlines to be no worse than it usually is on Emirates, KLM, or Continental, and infinitely better than on Lufthansa, which I have vowed never to fly again.  Okay, the Germans’ planes are less likely to make an unscheduled descent into the Sea of Japan, but at least when you’re hurtling to your death you’ll find a Russian steward doling out bottles of vodka for the occasion, as opposed to some sour-faced, union-protected, harpy sneering down her nose at the passengers because after paying a long-haul price for a short-haul flight they – God forbid – expect some level of service.  Having made several trips to Germany over the last 15 years, I have noted before that their previously high standards of, well, everything have slipped considerably in recent years.  When Germans find themselves outclassed by Russians in a field of service provision, you know something has gone badly wrong.  Ground-based Russian service is, however, still appallingly bad.

Anyway, I arrived in Incheon airport and after some humming and hawing about whether to take the high-speed railway which turned out not to exist, I jumped in a taxi to take me to my hotel in the centre of Seoul.  My taxi driver, as all airport taxi drivers are wont to do, would not stop rabbitting away in poor English for the whole of the hour-long drive.  He was making a valiant effort at learning English using CDs, he told me, but most of his English was a running commentary on what his phone-based SatNav system was saying to him in Korean.  First time I went to Korea I was impressed with their phones, specifically their ability to sit on the metro and watch TV.  Now they seem to have come up with a system of typing in a phone number, of a hotel for example, and the phone turns into a SatNav which guides you there.  It seemed impressive, until the little lady doing the talking satellite navigated us right into the middle of the biggest traffic jam I’d seen since I was last in Moscow, and then its impressiveness diminished.  Soon it was taking us through narrow streets where we narrowly avoided a head-on collision with a car which had the cheek to be driving down his own side of the street, before it spat us out on a main road right where we needed to be.  Both the driver and I were impressed once more.  I’d have been more impressed if he’d bought a large-screen version so he didn’t need to keep peering at it with a Sherlock Holmes-style magnifying glass and ignoring road conditions such as walls and large bridges over the Han River.

When I booked the hotel, I couldn’t see whether it had internet connections in the rooms or not.  It mentioned kettles, ironing boards, and hairdryers, but no internet connection.  So I called them up, and I was told they had one in every room.  I seem to remember when I last stayed in Seoul they didn’t advertise the internet connections in the rooms, and this place seems to be no different.  Clearly internet connections in Korean hotel rooms are as standard as doors, windows, and beds.  Sure enough, this place, like my last hotel, has a 100Mbps connection which costs absolutely nothing and works as soon as you hook the cable up to your computer.  No ringing the front desk for usernames, no messing about with passwords, simply plug in and off you go.  Hotels in Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk which provide internet services for $10 per hour, please take note.

Tomorrow I must go to the Russian embassy and apply for whatever visa allows me to apply for a work permit once I’ve rentered Russia.  Apparently I can go there first thing in the morning and pick up my passport in the afternoon, although I am a little nervous.  The words “Russian embassy” and “same day” belong together about as well as “Russian customs” and “same day”.

Anyway, we’ll see how I get on.  I’ve got a camera with me, so maybe I’ll take some pictures.

Goodbye to Seoul

Well, my time in Seoul is almost at an end, and I should be on the half-past midnight flight back to Dubai this evening.

It has been hard work, long hours, and damned cold. It has snowed twice this week, and temperatures were down to minus 12 at one point. I haven’t spent enough time here to comment on Koreans as a people, but I will say that with the exception of a few individuals, the ones I had to work with were very hospitable, courteous, hard working, and friendly. Seoul is not a place I would recommend for a holiday, but as a place to come for a month’s work it is not at all bad. I can imagine in summer it would be quite pleasant.

My enduring memory of the trip will be the occasion when someone in the Korean engineering company had the bright idea to take their devout Muslim clients to a musical in the Sheraton hotel which featured two dozen topless women. Never have I seen a group of Kuwaitis evacuate a theatre so quickly. By comparison, this Brit, the Koreans, and the Venezuelan stayed drinking wine and chomping pork until the show had finished, and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

Images of Seoul

Seoul
Old and New

Meat
Don’t ask.

Who knows?
Who knows what lies within?

Insadong
Insadong street gets lively on a weekend.

Starbucks
Starbucks are everywhere in Seoul. This one is unusual in that the signage is in the local language.

Signs

River

The Korean War Memorial

It was very cold on Saturday night, and when I got up the next morning everything was covered in several inches of thick white snow.

Seoul

Seoul

As planned, I went to the Korean War Memorial on Sunday, which is actually a huge museum. I was impressed to see on the corridors as you walk in the name of every South Korean serviceman killed in action, and likewise the name of every member of the UN force – the bulk of whom were either from the USA (33,642) or Great Britain (1,086). There was a facility by which you could search for a name on a nearby computer and it would direct you to the exact spot on the walls. This was necessary, there were a lot of names.

The museum was excellent and the most impressive thing of all was the wording above the thousands of names of the fallen:

Our Nation Honours Her Sons And Daughters Who Answered The Call To Defend A Country They Never Knew And A People They Never Met

And this sets the tone for the entire museum. The incredibly refreshing central message of the museum is that the South Koreans are extremely grateful – even to this day, 52 years later – to the United States, Great Britain, and other UN countries who saved them from communism and the death and misery that comes with it. In stark contrast to the leaders of France and Germany to name but two, whose politicians see fit to regularly and publicly denounce the USA who lost thousands and risked thousands more defending “A Country They Never Knew And A People They Never Met” from the evil of totalitarianism, the South Koreans make it quite clear – if their museum is representative, anyway – that the USA and its allies did the right and noble thing in throwing the forces of communism out of their country. Whether this will still be the case once the threat from the North is gone remains to be seen; but for now it is, as I said, rather refreshing.

The museum itself is full of interesting exhibits, recreations, and film footage covering not just the Korean War but the Vietnam War (in which Koreans fought with considerable success), the Gulf War, and various UN humanitarian missions in the years since. One cannot help but feel a flush of pride when you see the British flag and the listing of the units which contributed to the effort to keep South Korea free. After all, this was a war to defend a people who having been finally freed from the Japanese were struggling to find their feet from a muderous puppet of Joseph Stalin and an equally murderous Mao Zedong who were interested only in pushing a ruthless communist agenda at whatever the cost, human or otherwise. It was a war which ought to make the backers of the Soviet Union, cheerleaders of the policies of Mao, apologists of communism, and those who vilify the USA at every opportunity hang their heads in shame.

Which is probably why, amongst such people (and unfortunately many others), it is generally known as The Forgotten War. Not so in South Korea.

More on Seoul

Apologies for the lack of posts about Seoul. Truth is, for the first time in my life I’ve actually had to do some work. I’ve been in engineering meetings every day from 8:00am until 7:00pm every day, and it gets dark here at around 5:00pm. By the time I get home and have fed myself, I just want to collapse into bed. It is also below freezing here, which doesn’t make roaming the streets at night particularly tempting.

However, for the benefit of my readers I went up onto the roof of the hotel one morning just as the sun was rising to take these pictures of the city.

Seoul

Seoul

Seoul

Seoul

Seoul

Tomorrow I have a day off, and I intend to use it to go to either one of the palaces or the war museum, which is supposed to be excellent.

Last night Juan and I were taken to a Korean barbecue by three of our Korean clients, and much soju was consumed. Soju is a Korean version of vodka, and it comes in little bottles which are emptied with astonishing pace. It is drunk by the shot, although without the ritual of grand speeches that accompanies drinking in Russia. Sometimes the shot is sipped, sometimes downed in one go – but the pace is high, and your glass is rarely empty. One of the little customs of drinking in Korea is that you should never fill your own glass, so if you want a refill you must first hand the bottle to one of your friends. The soju itself was not bad and far better than how I have heard it described, although I am sure there are nastier versions of it aboout. But having spent considerable amounts of time drinking varying qualities of vodka with Russians over the past year or so, drinking this stuff was child’s play, especially as I knew to keep eating after each glass – advice my Venezuelan friend was glad of. The biggest problem was that there was no soft drink chaser, and the only thing to drink was soju. As Korean food is spicy, you had to drink more of it than you should otherwise do without some sort of mixer – which was the primary reason why I woke up this morning with more of a headache than I’d have liked.

First Impressions of Seoul

I am now in Seoul, capital of the Republic of South Korea, and by some measures the world’s most populous city, bigger even than New York, London, and Moscow with over 10 million people living here. The first thing that would surprise a visitor who has knowledge of this statistic is how quiet the city seems, or at least the centre part beside the Gyeongbukgung Palace. At nightime, albeit Sunday night, there seemed to be few people around and the walk to the office this morning for 9:00am took place in almost empty streets. So where these 10 million people are I don’t know; maybe they’re hidden behind the mountain which I can see from my room.

Seoul

I am staying at the Somerset Palace Hotel Apartments, and for the first time in my life I enter the room to find it exactly like it is in the brochure.

Somerset Palace

The building itself is brand spanking new, but I get the suspicion that this is not the reason everything is spick and span and not a thing is out of place. The interior design is simple but very nice, and everything looks, well, in order. There are plenty of communal places to sit down with a variety of books on the shelves, none of which have ever been opened. (It amused me somewhat to find one on Israel; I must make sure I’m seen reading that at some point whilst I wait for my Arab clients to meet me in the lobby). The seats look as though they’ve never been sat on, and the paintings as if they’ve never been looked at. I feel as though I’m in a show home, yet it is surprisingly natural and pleasant.

There is a Starbucks on the ground floor, which is normally filled with Koreans ranging in age from 15-22 who are almost always studying a textbook or some notes, either alone or in groups. Some are even reading a newspaper. I noticed that Singaporians of similar age do this a lot too. Why they are not like British youth and out smashing windows, taking drugs, drinking Special Brew and sandpapering bus windows I don’t know. The room itself is superb, and the hotel provides white fluffy bathrobes – two of them – thus cementing its position among the truly great hotels of the world. A 100 Mpbs internet connection is provided free of charge. Hotels in Abu Dhabi, take note.

Last night my my Venezuelan colleague Juan and I went out to try to find some food. The first place we stumbled across sold only drinks, which we realised only after we’d sat down. Not wanting to be rude, we polished off a couple of Cass beers for a mere $4 each, or 4,000 Korean Won. For the quality of beer, it was a little pricey. The next place we came across was a brightly lit place which obviously sold food, and as is common in Asia there was a man outside whose job was to drag people into the restaurant and plonk them down at a table whether they wanted to eat or not. So we found ourselves sitting at a table in a large, clean, brightly lit restaurant decorated with wood, being served by a man who knew about three words of English and two women who were less well educated in the field of linguistics. The menu was brought out – all in Korean of course – and we were shown a pile of meat and not much else. So we held up two fingers and ordered that. We also ordered two Cass beers, not knowing any other brand they might have.

Within a minute or so we were surrounded by a dozen dishes containing stuff we did not order and could not identify. I think some of it was salad. The meat arrived, but we were alarmed to find it was raw, but shortly after a steel bucket of glowing charcoal was placed in a hole in the centre of the table, a mesh thrown on the top, and we had ourselves our own private grill. One of the ladies then started throwing the meat on, and cooking it in front of us. As a way of eating a meal, it was pretty good. But not being able to identify the surrounding dishes made it a bit strange, especially as we were prevented from eating some of them. Juan tried a couple of times with one, and each time the lady snatched it away. After the second time she went and had a whispered discussion with one of her colleagues, and when she came back she said just one word: jellyfish. So that cleared everything up. Of course, a photo was mandatory:

Korean Dinner

So that was last night. Today was our first day at the office, just a five minute walk past a huge Bhuddist temple from our hotel. Interestingly, the building we’re in – and I don’t know if this is true for all Seoul office blocks – evacuates in an emergency not outside but to the basement which, I am told, is designed as a bomb shelter. The client company employs 3,000 people all in the same building, and a good portion of these were queuing patiently at the lifts in a long straight line when I walked in through the revolving doors. They want to see my office block in Abu Dhabi, the lobby scene there in the morning resembles a collapsed rugby scrum.

Lunch time was interesting. We were taken down to the basement, where an enormous canteen feeds the entire building in an hour by way of a highly efficient and well respected production line system – the type of which could only ever work in Korea, Japan, Singapore and Germany. Any attempt to operate such a system in Venezuela would, according to Juan, result in a gunfight. The choice of food varied, in a range from chilli salad and rice with a whole grey fish to a chilli salad and rice with a grey fish soup. I chose the soup. The whole fish looked as though it had died of old age and washed up on a beach somewhere. I picked around the food, thinking the salad was like eating poisonous leaves in that they tasted like leaves from a tree and set your mouth on fire, and not particuarly enjoying the spongey fish which formed the basis of the soup. There was not a drink of water in sight, and not until you queued in an orderly fashion to place your dirty tray on a moving conveyor belt did you find a couple of flagons of tepid water and a stack of semi-clean plastic beakers with which to put out the fire in your throat.

Tomorrow we’re ringing for a pizza.