fear and loathing in Korea
I’m sitting atop the roof deck of The Banyan Tree Club at Seoul’s über-posh Tower Hotel. The sun is shining intensely as the DJ’s speakers pepper the spring afternoon with saccharine beats and the superfluously good-looking attendees sip overpriced cocktails.
Gazing south from my perch on the hilltop terrace, I can see the city sprawling across the Han while the breeze carries the fumes of my forgotten Marlboro around the table and then to the practically cloudless infinity above.
Wearing sharp threads, Ray-Bans, and inebriated smiles, the partygoers crowd the bar to demand more Tanqueray or Grey Goose. I can’t help but gawk through my wayfarers at the girls traipsing about in stilettos, clutching designer bags and mojitos - they appear to have come here straight from the pages of an Intimissimi catalog.
The afternoon fades into evening, but only the most sober among us seem to pay any mind to the breathtaking sunset. Without a doubt, this event is as gloriously debaucherous as anything I’ve experience in New York, Amsterdam, Prague, London, Madrid, Rome, or Paris - indeed, it was put together by a group called deviant.
Eventually, the steep price of drinks nearly empties my pockets and I prepare to leave for other locales. My companions and I descend from the rooftop and climb into a taxi. Riding into the night and reflecting on the day, I am convinced that my decision to leave my home behind and escape to the Far East was the right one.