On the way to the track this morning, I had something of a unique experience on the media shuttle.

I was the only journalist on the bus, and my sole companion was a Korean circuit worker with the fabulous name of Oosong Bang. (I hope I've spelled that correctly!)

It turns out that when he's not working at the race track, Mr Bang is a Christian missionary. When he learned that I only go to church for weddings and funerals, he made it his mission to save my soul on the way to the circuit.

Now, normally I don't have much time for god-botherers. I have no problem with people believing whatever they want to believe (Flying Spaghetti Monster FTW!), but I think that religion is a private matter, and one people should let be a matter of individual consideration.

But Mr Bang was so sweet in his efforts to save my soul that I couldn't help but hear him out.

What struck me about his approach to Christianity was the way in which he credited the love of Jesus with the economic success of modern Korea.

Now, I don't have the facts. I'm merely repeating what Mr Bang told me. But according to the 68-year-old preacher, the Korea he was born into was the poorest country of the 145 in the world at the time. Now, he says, South Korea is the richest country in the world (in per capita terms).

While I would credit that to a strong work ethic, technology investment, and comparatively low local wages leading to a boost from capital flight, Mr Bang said that it was a sign that the love of Jesus had propelled the country into an age of prosperity.

Whatever the truth of the matter, the love of Jesus certainly shone through my companion.

Sweeter still was the way in which he used religion to discuss his national pride without crossing the line into vanity.

I've had limited contact with Koreans over the past few days, as F1 life tends to be a bubble of circuit-hotel-circuit-airport,  but the sense of humble national pride is one that's not failed to escape my notice.

If everything Mr Bang told me about the increase in national prosperity is right, South Korea has a lot to be proud of. They're a serious player on the electronic and tech market, they're a member of the G20 group of major world economies, and they're a shining example to their neighbours in the north.

But this is not a country that blunders about in arrogance. Instead, they are quietly proud of all they have achieved, and speak highly of their blessings.

It's a lovely - and rare - attitude.

Image via Wikipedia.
 
 
Oh, for the magical mystery of Japanese toilets. Oh, to be in Japan again, where everything just works.

I know that North Korea is the communist one, but South Korea still feels very Soviet to me. The apartment blocks are identical to the gated foreigners' compound I grew up in in Moscow (no, not Sad Sam), and the way in which everything is hyper-organised but still fails to work is more familiar still.

FP1 started without any feed to the media centre or FIA office. When, after about fifteen minutes, pictures finally did appear, they were all in black and white. Yay.

FP2 was slightly improved, in that we could see what was going on, but all ISDN connectivity died.

But that was nothing compared with the fun of actually getting to the circuit and picking up my press pass this morning.

You'd think that the media accreditation centre would be somewhere near (ideally at) the circuit. At least, that's what I'd naively assumed before starting this job. But it's not the case at all. I often spend my Thursdays running around unfamiliar cities trying to track down that week's hotel/convention centre/tent next to a roundabout.

It should have been so easy in Korea, though. The buses from Mokpo were scheduled to stop at the Hyundai Hotel (home of the accreditation centre) on their way to the track. I double-checked with the bus driver, who confirmed the stop by saying 'Hyundai! Hyundai!' while nodding and smiling a lot. At least, I thought that was confirmation. More fool me.

Imagine my surprise when the bus turned into the circuit and dropped me off right next to the paddock beepy gates I couldn't get through without my pass. Apparently I could take a separate bus to the hotel.

I say apparently. I ended up spending 45 minutes waiting in the rain with a group of guys from Sky Sports sent to check out the lay of the land before taking over British F1 coverage next year. We grabbed the first taxi we could find and headed over, finally picking up our passes more than two hours after leaving our hotels.

Even the pass collection was rubbish. Whereas you usually have one queue apiece for local media, international media, and TV/radio, this time we had three queues but only one man running them.

When I had the audacity to go up to the lady sitting behind the sign for international press and try to start the pass collection process, I was told off and sent to the back of the queue for TV and radio passes. Despite representing neither TV or radio.

Eventually made it back to the paddock with my pass 2.5 hours after leaving my hotel.

The upside? There's nothing wrong with a little bit of childhood nostalgia reminding you where you came from. It's just not normally Soviet Russia...
 
 
Korea is hilarious. I don't think I've stopped laughing since I got here.

Sure, there are issues. Like the fact that my 'world' plug converter doesn't fit Korean plugs. (As Tony Ng pointed out, that must mean that Korea is out of this world.) But a quick trip to the local Lotte megamart - which puts Walmart to shame - fixed the power problems.

But the general sense of adventure that comes from being somewhere so other, so different to the Western world I know, means that a lot of things that would be infuriating if they happened in (say) Germany or Belgium just lead to extra giggles here.

We arrived in Mokpo earlier this afternoon by train, following a few screw-ups along the way. DT had hired a car, but no one had told him that he needed an international drivers' licence to collect it. So we had to make our way across South Korea by public transport.

Arriving at the train station, we hopped in the first available taxi and asked for the media hotels we'd been booked into. But the driver hadn't heard of any of them. So we showed him the locations on a map, but he didn't recognise his own town. Joy.

But Joe fixed it by using the crappy map to navigate the taxi driver around Mokpo, and eventually we all wound up in the right places.

My hotel room is one of the infamous knocking shops. I can tell because the bedside table is home to the largest bottle of lube I think I've ever seen. No mirrored ceilings, though.

Last Tango in Mokpo, anyone?