On November 7th, I came to Busan on a train departing at 7:50 in the morning. When traveling for work, if the drive takes more than three hours one way, I usually choose the high-speed train. The train spares me the effort of traveling to my destination, and my employer pays for that effort. For most people, taking the high-speed train on a business trip would therefore seem more convenient. But in my case, the story is a little different. I enjoy much more leaving home with my small Peugeot at a time I choose and following my preferred route—or even discovering new roads—and remembering the entire journey.

In fact, Korea’s high-speed trains are somewhat uncomfortable for people like me. It’s nice that one can read a book, take a nap, or think about things during the trip, but every time I board the train I feel disappointed by how worn out and poorly maintained many parts seem. First of all, no matter the region or the size, the exterior of high-speed railway stations all look very similar. Stations are filled with bakeries selling trendy products under different names, cafés offering overly sweet drinks and bad coffee. I dislike stopping in such places, paying meaningless money, and wasting time. Even if it takes a little longer, or even if I get lost, I would much rather wander around looking for places that no one else has discovered. Of course, even when I travel this way, I never arrive late for my appointments.

After arriving in Busan, I stayed overnight in a Japanese-style business hotel for the first time in nearly ten years. As the years passed and my life experiences grew, the building looked somewhat worn and humble, yet I was surprised by the elevator that looked as if it were brand new, the expanded restaurant, and the meticulous cleanliness maintained even in the smallest details of the guest rooms. Compared to the high-speed trains that have grown old during a similar passage of time, the contrast was striking.

There are times when I envy Japan. In fact, there are many such times. The Shinkansen, which has a much longer history than Korea’s high-speed trains, always maintains excellent condition. Railway stations across the country each have their own character. They look different, they sell different things, and each place has its own clear reason and identity for attracting visitors.

In Korea, Seoul has a fireworks festival and Busan also has a fireworks festival. What is the difference? None. The result simply has to be the same. If something happens somewhere else, it must also happen here in exactly the same way. It is a strange mindset. Everyone becomes obsessed with gathering crowds of hundreds of thousands, and the next day the headlines inevitably read: “A million people cheer—great success.”

Hoengseong holds a Korean beef festival, and Jeongeup holds one as well. In fact, there are countless regions in Korea claiming to be the home of Korean beef. Is Korean beef really such an extraordinary ingredient? Wherever you go, the price is almost the same, and no one seems to have thought beyond grilling it over charcoal or a gas burner and cutting it with scissors. At some point, the meals I pay for stopped including carefully cultivated local ingredients. Instead, what I feel I am paying for are the investment costs of restaurants with extremely high ceilings that boast of television appearances, along with the wages of numerous foreign workers.

Anyone familiar with driving on Korean highways will understand. Endless livestock farms stretch along the roads, to the point where even when the provincial boundary changes, one hesitates to open the car window. At times like this, I even wish navigation systems would include a warning: “Livestock farms nearby—ventilation advised.”

A similar example: if a bread with a coin-shaped piece of cheese inside becomes popular in Myeongdong today, it will appear tomorrow in Tokyo’s Korean town. It is simply the easy choice of following others.

Once again, I took a train I dislike, traveled to meet people I had never met before, completed my persuasion, endured a hotel that was barely comfortable within the limited budget provided, and returned home. Because my income depends on my own effort, doing this several times a month has long become routine—more than ten years now. Although travel and business trips share the common elements of transportation and accommodation, their purposes are different, and therefore their priorities must differ. I want my real personal time—true travel—to be abundant, so during business trips I simply focus on earning income despite the inconveniences. Limited travel budgets, uncomfortable transportation—especially today—and other such matters do not concern me. Have you ever carefully examined how much the government is involved in sustaining the salary that supports your own life?

People in Korea simply use the system because they have no real alternative. Passengers endure expensive fares, stations where it is hard to even find a place to sit, and the inconvenience of shaky tables. Yet when have these passengers ever organized collective action against the government or Korail?