At first it's not clear what's happening, but the lights come on and the music stops. At the front of the club, past the dance floor and the bar, two GIs are pummelling each other. Every westerner in the room is transported back in time to their high school football field or smoking section, where crowds surrounded even the slightest scrap.
Polly's Kettle is usually a peaceful place at the top of Hooker Hill, but this is Itaewon, and it's Saturday night. At times like this the Kettle is like one of those bars in a Star Wars movie, a rough and ready dive at the edge of the galaxy. It's my favourite bar in Seoul.
As the fight gains momentum it's forced out on the street, where as many people flee as egg it on. Soon it's hard to tell who is involved and who is being shoved around. One bright light in the fray finds a case of empties, and soon green and brown bottles are flying around like dodge balls. Some guy passed out in the street wakes to the commotion when a beer bottle smashes past his head.
The prime movers, two jar heads intent on making a good name for American soldiers in Korea, are still hard at it, though their focus is faltering. Finally, the one oozing the most blood makes a run for it, while the other, with comrades in tow, bolts after him down the hill, past the gawking prostitutes and into the darkness.
Back at the Kettle, the street is starting to clear, but the show's not over. The "victim's" girlfriend has been left behind, screaming and distraught, and in a scene worthy of Shakespeare, she lays down in front of a passing car and demands to be run over. Not satisfied with the driver's progress, she straddles the bumper and starts pounding her fist on the hood. "Fucking A!" laughs some drunken bystander.
But the party's over, and we grab a cab to Sinchon. If Itaewon is the devil you know, Sinchon is not. On the way we pass Hongdae, where the night before was the last Friday of the month, when almost every bar and club opens it's doors to a $15 wrist-band. On an average night cover is $10 per club.
Hongdae is a campus neighbourhood, young and fabulous, and on the "Crawl" it's like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, albeit without the history, menace or bare breasts. By day it's more like the Greenwich Village of Seoul, full of hip restaurants and stores.
But tonight it's on to Sinchon, in my mind the grubbiest and least fashionable of the three neighbourhoods where foreigner party in numbers. If Itaewon rules and Hongdae rocks steady, Sinchon is a last and dubious resort.
Stepping out of the cab, through alleys dotted with street pizza--dried spatters of vomit--we hit Le Bar, a basement dive run by a balding expat from Quebec who's spinning AC/DC behind the bar. The walls are covered with ball-penned graffiti, and the floors are sticky.
The air steams with sweat and cigarette smoke, and the line for the bathroom is a long one stretching up a rickety staircase. The bathroom itself is flooded with water and unlit, so you barely notice the fact that there's no roof overhead.
In line is a British guy who looks exactly like Skipper, a bit-part character on "Sex and the City". Jokes are exchanged by those in the know, but the joke's on us: he's with the hottest girl in the house. It's anyone's game in Sinchon.
But tonight the game's over, the sky is a blue-gray, and it's time to go home. Out on the street it's murder to hail a taxi. At any time, let alone six in the morning, Seoul cabs are harder to pick up than nuns. They slow down, open the passenger window, and appraise the destinations of prospective fares. If they don't like where you're going they speed off, even while you're trying to get in the car.
We're saved by my coworker's latest love interest, a Prairie girl who's Korean is far better than ours. We leave her friend ("Every foreigner here is a lost soul," she claims, a romantic and ridiculous thing to say. You're only lost if you don't know who you are) staring into her beer back at Le Bar.
To anyone with their wits about them it's time to go.
And the long ride back to the apartment is a reminder that you're a long way from home but loving life nonetheless.
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