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Flag of South Korea.

     Seoul, South Korea:

     Singapore Airlines had recently begun serving Vancouver, Canada, and tied it in with their service of Taipei and Seoul.  When first accepting one of these trips - 15^th December 1988 – it proved to be a most unusual expedition; if not stunningly enlightening.

     From Singapore it took the 747 four hours and six minutes to reach Taipei’s Chiang Kai Shek International, at Taiwan.     

     After a quick turnaround, we were airborne again and landed at Seoul’s Kimpo International, South Korea, two hours and twelve minutes later.

     It was like reliving an old reoccurring nightmare, for I had previously made this same approach on various occasions, when flying with SAUDIA, and found it just as nerve-wracking.

     Kimpo was located nine miles west of Seoul’s Central District, and its two parallel runways ran along the south side of the Han River.

     When landing there - whether with SAUDIA or SIA - the Koreans consistently gave me Runway One Four Left (140°/320° magnetic, SE/NW) at 11,811 feet in length.

     Immediately across the river lay two, circular Prohibited Areas – one inside the other.  A cautionary note on our Jepp Charts informed us that if we should drift - penetrating the first outer ring - “Warning Tracers” would be fired at us!  And if we should continue, drifting inside the inner ring, we would be “Shot Down!”  

     I’m guessing that our operating so close to the North Korean Border, made the South Koreans feel these restrictions were necessary.

Night shot from space:  North Korea is the “Black Hole” of Asia.

     Bottom line: once I intercepted the Localizer leading to Runway One Four Left – it was imperative not to drift left and cross the Han River – or else me and my 747 would end up in deep kimchi!  Not to mention my several hundred passengers.

     The next problem on this approach, which ratcheted-up the stress factor, was the damnable GPWS (Ground Proximity Warning System).  I was exposed to this system for 22 years on these transports: Sabreliner, DC-9, B-707, B-727, B-737 and B-747.  And not once in all that time did it give me a factual warning.  Instead, it persistently gave me an erroneous warning - programing me to disbelieve it – and constantly distracting hell out of me on approach.

     To the right of the Outer Marker, on the ILS approach to Runway One Four Left at Kimpo, there is this lonely, single hill, in the shape of a Hershey’s chocolate kiss, which abruptly rises to a point at 493 feet AGL.  At this juncture I’m on the glideslope with an altitude of 1,225 feet AGL; meaning I’m 732 feet above, and well to the left of, this hill.  I can even see this hill out my front and side window.  There’s no danger whatsoever!

     Despite this, Mr. GPWS doesn’t appreciate this abrupt change in the terrain ahead, so he has to start yelling at me in his computerized, annoying voice:

     “TERRAIN! TERRAIN!”

     “WHOOP – WHOOP!  WHOOP – WHOOP!”

     “PULL UP!  PULL UP!”

     Because of the computer’s voice distortion, “PULL UP!” sounds very much like “OH FUCK!”

     I’m not on autopilot - I’m flying this instrument approach by hand – and I really don’t need all this useless, distracting-racket at present!

     This erroneous warning was prompted by the Radar Altimeter - shooting radio waves to the surface directly below the 747’s belly - detecting the chocolate drop hill off to our right side; thereby activating the GPWS.

     If you get the chance, dear reader, view a copy of Tom Hanks’ film “Sully.” 

     It’s depicting the “Miracle on the Hudson,” when Captain Sullenberger was forced to land his Airbus A320 on the Hudson River, after losing both engines to a massive bird strike.  In the movie, as “Capt. Sully” is skimming above the river – about to touch down – you’ll hear Mr. GPWS pipe up repeatedly all the way down to the water:  

     “WHOOP – WHOOP!  WHOOP – WHOOP!”

     “OH FUCK!  OH FUCK!”

     I’m certain Capt. Sully will never admit this, since he’s such a gentleman, only I’ll bet my left testicle – due to the GPWS yelling at him – his last thought before hitting the water was probably this:

     “OH FUCK! INDEED!”

     Seoul is a city filled with lots of little hills; at the top of one sits the five-star Grand Hyatt Seoul, where SIA put us up.  I determined it to be as luxurious as The Shilla, where SAUDIA previously billeted me.

My Room.

View from my room.

     The Hyatt ran a shuttle for the short ride to the bottom of the hill; dropping us off on Itaewon Street; a shopper’s paradise for lacquer ware, clothing, shoes, quality leather goods and black market copy items.  

Itaewon Street.

     I once picked up a dozen, knock-off, gold rimmed Porsche Carrera sunglasses for nothing.  Handing them out to pals in the States - who felt they were real – and receiving an endless supply of free drinks and meals, in expensive L.A. restaurants, for my efforts. 

     I’m such a transparent fake, dear reader.

     Plus the usual high end bars and restaurants ran up and down Itaewon Street, at Seoul; drawing westerners in droves.

Itaewon at night.

Koreans tend to build their houses and apartments on top of one another.

The heart of Seoul.

     Conversely though, it was the narrow, walking lane, south of this street, running parallel to it, which held a special fascination for me.  The locals called it “Hooker Hill.”

Hooker Hill.

     No, dear reader, get your mind out of the gutter; that wasn’t its fascination.

     This lane ran up a small hill, and was lined with local eateries, bars and brothels.  At the top of the hill was “Sam’s Place,” a saloon with a dance band and loads of Korean working girls, where soldiers of the U.S. Army hung out.

     In fact on one of my SAUDIA layovers, my Flight Engineer from West Virginia, a retired military lifer, took me down to the U.S. Army Garrison Yongsan, for breakfast.  He flashed a military I.D. at the M.P.s on the front gate, got me inside the mess, and introduced me to that old Army staple: “Shit on a Shingle” (creamed chipped beef on toast).  Yum-de-fuck-yum!

I found the Army base (in green) to be quite large.

Where I was met by some very serious guards on the gate.

U.S. Army bill of fare: “Shit on a Shingle.”

Was this a U.S. Army Guard Dog?

     He also pointed out several of the dark-colored brick buildings that were leftovers from the Imperial Japanese Army Garrison, built during WWII.  Surprisingly, even the U.S. Eighth Army is headquartered in one of these Japanese war-surplus buildings.

     Hey, dear reader, don’t get upset.  The Japanese build good stuff.  Shouldn’t our troops be entitled to the best?  Even if we did take it away from them after the war.

     In the winter of 1984, a bit after midnight, I stepped out of Sam’s, at the top of Hooker Hill, and got smacked in the kisser by a Currier and Ives Christmas Card!

    Everything was covered in a heavy blanket of snow, with giant snowflakes tumbling all round my body.  The Christmas lights were up, reflecting in all manner of warm colors off the snow, as steam from the local eateries down the hill rose to greet the falling snow.  While dark figures moved in and out of the colorful clouds of steam with tumbling snowflakes...and disappeared.

     Transfixed by the simple beauty of this scene...I came to the sudden realization that Asia had fully injected herself in my blood.  From her pristine islands, to her steaming jungles and ice capped mountains, her beautiful, surprisingly-exotic qualities had completely captured my soul.

     At that precise moment, I knew in my heart I would never leave her, dear reader.  With my last fighting breath, I’d always return.

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