"You going to South Korea?" the American shouted across the platform at Shimonoseki. I acknowledged the western voice. No-one else spoke English, but we were given a map to show us the way to the ferry terminal. The distance looked small on a map of north-east Asia, but the ferry to Pusan would take all night. Second class tickets entitled passengers to a blanket and a space on the carpeted floor. The Japanese lorry-drivers in the bar encouraged us to join them for a few drinks at their expense. They sang Japanese and Korean folk-songs and entertained each other with full mimicry. The boat dropped anchor at about 1.30am, and waited until 7am for the tide to turn and workers to man the port.
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