The guy from the travel agency picks us up at 6:30am and drives us to the bus station, which is located 10 minutes outside of town. We wait around for the bus to Paksan, scheduled to leave at 7:00. Nothing happens, and I first get impatient, then worried, followed by anxious, desperate, and finally resigned. At 9:00am a sorry-looking midibus comes rattling around the corner. The driver, who looks suspiciously like a Mongolian with his fair skin, red cheeks and wind-proof eyes, puts up a sign that says 'Paksan' and proceeds to load the passengers' luggage onto the roof. Almost everybody appears to take along a big sack of rice. There are not many passengers on the bus, and I rejoice a bit prematurely, as we pick up people along the way until the bus is
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