Opening up a bank account in South Korea

Let me tell you why I'm drinking beer out of a measuring cup at 5:30 PM so you don't judge me if you see misspelled status updates later.

Firstly, I'm out of clean glasses.

Secondly, I have had the worst luck with opening a bank account in South Korea.

I assume that not everyone has had this type of experience because the entire peninsula would have been burned to the ground if even fifty percent of the population is as frustrated as I feel right now. For the first time in a long time, I have money to pay off credit card and student debt. Getting those moneys into my USA bank account is proving difficult.

Did you see Star Trek, when Kirk and Spock were seperated by a pane of glass? So close, so raw and open, but ultimately unable to bridge that final distance, reach out and touch?

Those are my bank accounts. I'm not sure which one is Kirk and which one is Spock. I'll let you, the reader, decide.

Let's break down the basics.

HOW TO BANK IN KOREA

(I'm with Citibank at the moment, so your mileage may vary. Also? I do not recommend it.)

1. If at all possible, get a Korean to go with you. If that's not possible, get their phone number so the confused bank attendant can call and harass them for sending you by yourself. If you lack the phone number, for god's sake, have them pin a hand-written note to your mittens saying that you want to open an account and any other possible thing you could need.

2. Banks are only open on weekdays 9am-4pm as a general rule. What if you work 8-6? Your boss will have to let you have an hour or two off. 'But,' you say, 'that's kind of crazy!' Yeah? Well you're preaching to the choir. And this is coming from an American who was used to bitching about banks closing at 6PM on the weekdays and only being open for four hours on Saturday. You know what I'm going to do as soon as I get back to America? Go to every damned bank I can on a Saturday and roll around on the floor like a cat on a new sweater.

3. Items you need to take with you to open a bank account; your address (use your school's), your foreigner card, your passport, cash money as an initial deposit (I paid 10k won/$10, take 50k to be safe), a good luck charm, and a phone number. 'But, Kris,' you say to me with your big doe-eyes. 'I don't have a cell phone yet because I don't have a bank account to use to sign up for a phone contract!' Yeah? That right? Tough. Use your school's phone number or a Korean friend's. And don't forget it, because you're going to need to change it later once you get your own phone.*

4. So you go to the bank, fill out a stupid amount of paperwork, write down your passport and ARC numbers several times, enter your new pin number into a key pad and get your debit card. Sweet! All set! Unless if you want internet banking, you better sit your butt back down in that chair. If you want internet banking, you have to ask for it at the bank branch. 'But,' you wimper, a single tear rolling down your cheek, 'in America I just sign up for it on the internet whenever I want and don't have to--' ablahblahblah, can it. We're in Korea now.

Back in the olden days (1990s) someone somewhere in Korea saw online commerce taking off and, with the best of intentions, decreed that shoppers should feel as safe buying fabrige eggs online as they do in the Fabrige Egg and Sad Sweaters Emporium down the street. That means that, these days, doing banking and commerce online in Korea--while totally safe--is, for us Americans who are used to throwing around credit card numbers willy nilly, an utter pain in the ass. Don't get me wrong, my Korean checking account is locked down better than Fort Knox. Unfortunately it's just locked down from me, too. And while I'm not the most savory of characters, I do deserve to get my grubby little hands on my own cash.

5. Once you ask for your internet banking, you are given a set number of days to actually create the account. After this window closes, you'll have to go into the branch again. Easy, right? Are you out of your fucking mind? You need to have a computer running IE or install a special security program to use Chrome and maybe some other browsers that I've forgotten after my third measuring cup of beer. You're also given, at the branch, a little card that looks like a decoder ring with sets of numbers. Don't you ever. EVER. EV. ER. Lose this thing. You'll need it as an extra security measure and will be asked to enter random numbers from it when making transactions, setting up your account, and probably using the bathroom at certain locations. Someone? Is going to break into your apartment at night, shake you awake, tie you to a chair, slap you, and ask for those numbers. Additionally, you have to install a security certificate onto your computer to use it as the one and only computer that can access your account after you go through the aforementioned blood ritual. Or, put it on a USB and tote it around with you to use on whatever computer you please. I think.

6. 'How about mobile banking,' you ask me, chin trembling like a newborn rabbit. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? After all that crap you just went through, you want to try and do it AGAIN on a smaller object that is deliciously aerodynamic and manages to find any diamond-hard surface within 100 yards? Fine man, fucking do it, I don't even care. It's not just downloading the app and putting in your web login ID. I don't think. And they can't do it at the branch. I was told. Honestly? I have no clue.

7. Once you get your shit together, you can use ATMs to transfer money directly to bank accounts. (And as soon as you get your debit card, you can transfer money to Korean accounts to pay bills. People don't really write checks here.) It's nice. They have an 'English' button. If you got through the mobile and internet banking steps, the ATM is going to be childsplay.

8. Just a note... Americans, the SWIFT number is NOT the same as the routing numbers we know and love and use. You'll have to contact your US bank to find that shit if you want to transfer money internationally.

9. Lastly, Citibank has global transfers. You, in theory, can transfer your money for free between two international Citibank accounts. Unless your Korean branch insists that your American account doesn't exist. Even after you log into your American account, and call the service rep in Dallas. This? This is why I'm... six cups of beer deep before 7PM. If you have an American Citibank account, the only thing I can suggest is to transfer a dollar to your Korean account and hope they can look up the info and help you out via reverse money osmosis because I am frankly out of ideas beyond drinking.

In any case, once you get it all set up, the Korean banking system is efficient and nice. English-speaking hotlines are available and will be given to you and enthusiastically highlighted by the banker who does not want to deal with your waygook ass again. And if you are someone who doesn't have student and credit card loans to pay back home and can just keep your money in the Korean account... you'll probably have a lot less stress in your life when you arrive here.


*The bank will send SMS confirmation numbers to you to send money overseas. This is why you need to change that phone number. And they hide parts of the old number from you, so you better recall all the digits. Also, your name on your bank account better match the one on your phone contract. 'But, Kris,' you sigh, rolling your eyes, 'why would my name change? I'm not a scam artist or Cher.' First off? Shut your mouth. Second? In America, some of us have middle names. In America, middle names are like second cousins. You know you have them, but you only remember them once in a while. My middle name is on my passport but not my credit card. My middle initial is on my diploma. Guess what--this is really fucking confusing to people in some other countries, namely South Korea. (And franky it should be because it's my name like why would I possibly be so durrrrrrrrr about it unless I was from a country where middle initials and names were slapped onto presidential candidates to make them sound classy is where I'm guessing we got these from, etc.) So you decide the moment you get off the plane that you are going to ALWAYS follow whatever it says on your passport and I don't even care if your middle name is 'Sunbeam' just go with it and save yourself the trouble.



Frankly, when it's all said and done, Korea's way of banking is probably safer and, in the long term, better. You know what else is? Exercise. And that sucks at first too. Also, watching curling. Then you get really into it.

I'm done. 

Yes, Mom, I'm updating my blog

I know, from personal experience and a strange article I read during a visit to the dentist's office, that time speeds up the older you get. Or at least your perception of time changes because something chemical or physical or magical happens in your brain and--poof! Suddenly a two hour-long car ride doesn't seem like the eternity it did when you were a child. ("Two hours to Philadelphia? Oh my god we are NEVER going to be there EVER and the zoo is going to be CLOSED and we are going to be DEAD by the time we get there!" *Actual thoughts every time I took an elementary school field trip.*)

I've been in South Korea for a month and some change. It feels like I just got here yesterday. Someone asked me what I've been doing with my time not spent at work, and I'm pretty sure my expression was blank, then mildly confused, then horrified because for the first time in my life I thought, 'Where did the time go?' And not in the way you think, 'Oh where did the time go!' when you're supposed to be studying for a final exam in college and you rent out a meeting room in the computer lab and three hours later all you and your 'study partners' (read: enablers) have managed to do is somehow hook up the massive projector so you can play Robot Unicorn Attack with surround sound. I mean that 'Where did the time go?' that your mom says when you're stepping on the bus to kindergarten or high school and you're like, "MmmmmmoooOOMMMM," and you roll your eyes but believe me there's a day when it hits you. And it's probably not as big as the one your parents get when you get your drivers license or first mug shot (hey man, stuff happens) but you get it, you get that and you're just like, "Shit. Where did the time go?"

The world spins madly on while you have a dumb expression on your face, trying to remember what you did last weekend.

Everyone has a different reaction to moving to new country to live for an extended period of time. Some people are excited, some people are nervous, others are catatonic with a dose of what did I just do. The best cure for that, I've found, is indulging in looking up plane ticket prices back home, and then clicking on the next internet tab showing your empty bank account. The feeling, for me, passed in two weeks and I'm now looking between tickets to new places and my-still--woefully inadequate bank account. I truly have no idea how long I want to stay in Korea past my year-long contract, but I do know that I can only take it one day at a time.

I came to South Korea, like many others, because I didn't know what else to do. I did, however, know that 1) I wanted to travel again in Asia, as there's still a lot left to explore. 2) I'm pretty good at teaching, and actually enjoy it--but I'm not certified to teach in the USA. 3) My broke ass has no money, and it is time to start saving again.

Typically, a first-time teacher in South Korea gets a free round-trip plane ticket, free housing, half of their medical insurance paid for, and a monthly salary of about $1,900. (And if the school offers you anything less, I implore you not to sign the contract.) Depending on where you stay and where you've come from, the cost of living is cheaper for most things. For postgrads with few job prospects at home, backpackers who need to fill up their bank accounts before taking off again, and a slew of other lovable misfits, South Korea is a cash-grab and a steppingstone. For others it's a place to settle down and build a life, which is something I often forget until I encounter an expat who has been in Korea since 1995 and smiles when my jaw hits the floor. All in all it's a comfortable existence, and many people who come here intending to stay one year will stay several more than they had expected.

That said, there are hurdles, make no mistake of it.

For the first month, you are a ghost participating in a careful dance of getting your new life together. Playing 'The SIMS' will have prepared you for this. 

Ultimately, your first goal is to get a bank account. Without this, you cannot sign up for internet, transfer money back home, or purchase a cell phone. In order to get a bank account, you need your Alien Registration Card (ARC). In order to get this, you have to apply at immigration. In order to do this, you have to get a health check at the local hospital. All in all the process, in theory, should take three weeks. But, like I said, there are hurdles, and they are many. Banks are not open on weekends, and during the weekdays they operate from 9ish-4PM, depending on the bank. Rather inconvenient for people who work 9:30-5:30.  At the hospital, immigration office, bank, and cell phone store, you're gambling with 50/50 odds that someone will speak English. (Luckily there's a 99% chance that whomever is at the desk will try with all their might to assist you courteously and professionally.) Some schools will hold your hand during this process, others give you guidelines and a pat on the back for good luck. My end goal of getting a cell phone took 35 days with a moderate amount of support from my school and, I'm happy to report, I lost no appendages in the process.

Once you have a cell phone, you are a functioning member of Korean society. Life becomes easier. You can have things delivered, sign up for internet banking, and get chicken and beer delivered to your apartment. There are multitudes of apps to give you the bus schedules and subway maps for Korea's amazing public transportation system. There is a tourist phone number to call to ask for help in English, and, I believe, Japanese and Chinese as well. In fact, Seoul is one of the most tourist-friendly cities I've ever been to. Girls in red outfits are poised at many subways and attractions to assist you, complete with aprons full of brochures and maps in your native language. There is a special branch of the police force reserved for tourists. Many signs and announcements are made in Korean, followed by English and Mandarin and Japanese. Most employees in major tourist areas speak basic English, even if they're a little shy about striking up a conversation.

Life gets easier after the first month. 

Looking back on my year spent in China, I really didn't know that many people considering I was one in a pot of a billion. I knew maybe 15 individuals personally, which I can admit is not an impressive number. But most of them I consider family since we rode the school bus together each day, made Thanksgiving dinner together, took turns getting one another's drunken carcasses back to the dorms, and shared everything from books and lesson plans to valuable DayQuil rationed out over the year. I was given new friends on a silver platter the day I showed up to China, I being the last one to arrive in a haze of jet lag and confusion.

That said, in Korea, I'm the only foreigner at my school. My Korean co-teachers are lovely people, albeit lovely people with families and second jobs, commitments after work that make it difficult to go out and grab a beer. Luckily there are hundreds of expat clubs on FaceBook and forums. I've been to a weekly knitting club, bi-weekly writing club, monthly dinner club, and probably other excursions that I'm forgetting. It's not uncommon for expats to post that they have a day off and are going hiking--who'd like to join me? Doesn't matter if we've never met, get your boots on and let's go. It reminds me of college, in a sense, and I'm having a good time trying out new things and meeting new people in a way I never took advantage of while at university. 

There is, however, transient sort of feeling to the friendships you make. Teaching contracts begin and end at different times of the year, the military bases ship people back and forth whenever they please, and many people are just here 'on business' and are gone the next week. People are truly in your life for a finite amount of time--maybe just this once--and you send them on your way with a smile, because that'll probably be you in a few months anyway. At the center of this, individuals who have lived in Korea for a few years and have an outgoing personality become bastions of meet-ups, unofficial guides and welcome wagons. They are the big, friendly fish in the pond, and without them the expat community would likely not be as tightly knit as it is. Bless those who came before me, because they've been there, done that, and opened up bars and restaurants that serve me turkey on Thanksgiving. 

It takes more work to find friends if you're the only expat at your job, but it can be done with a little research, a pleasant smile, and a firm stare with a whisper, "We are going to be friends now, whether you like it or not."

Don't get me wrong; you still meet your share of assholes and weirdoes, but for the most part they're overshadowed by the kindness of strangers who you'll soon be going hiking with and drinking beers on the top of a mountain.

Life's pretty good, and I can see why people stick around in South Korea. When I was still in America, a friend in Korea wrote that she loved living a dynamic life. That's exactly what I feel like I'm experiencing here, but only 50% of that is the nation itself. The rest of it comes from you and what you make of it. At the very least, when I think, 'Where did the time go?' in disbelief, I'll be able to do so fodnly as well.

The Wallace Collection

There was a small museum for kids when I was growing up called 'Hands on House'. It was an old house converted into a museum, every room jam-packed with mini exhibits on how animals hibernate, the human body, owls, and--oddly enough my favorite--grocery stores. I think we were supposed to learn about math and coupons in it, but I was fascinated by the beepy gun you got to scan fake food items. Regardless, every corner of the house was stuffed with something and it was impossible to turn around and see a blank spot of wall or shelf. That little house had hours of things to look at.

The Wallace Collection is the 'Hands on House' version for adults. Situated in an old London townhouse, every room is stuffed with French paintings, miniature portraits, porcelain, armor and weapons.

The museum is open 7 days a week 10am-5pm. Admission is free and if you check the website, there are lots of free tours and lectures to attend as well. There's also a lovely restaurant situated in the heart of the museum.

If you're in the area, you truly don't have a reason to miss out on The Wallace Collection. Even if you're not the type of person to read every little plaque under each painting and vase, the rooms themselves are so gorgeous that you could do a whirlwind tour through the house in about 30 minutes. Kind of like when you go to an open house for a mansion up for sale, but this time you don't have to pretend to be interested in buying and clandestinely shove six lemon bars in your purse.

Besides, the wait to buy tickets to get into 'Downton Abbey' is ridiculous.

"UK backpacker dies from poisoned alcohol in Indonesia"

A fairly distressing article, but as someone who has backpacked in Asia I wanted to share it. Obviously this isn't extremely likely to happen to every person who steps foot in Indonesia or any other SE Asian country, but it's good to be aware of if you're headed there on a backpacker's budget.

The long and short of it is that Indonesia has a high tax on alcohol, leading a few dodgy characters to start moonshinin' and selling it illicitly in the form of gin, vodka, etc. However the batches are actually methanol and can lead to blindness and even death. Booze and backpacking go hand-in-hand, and it's not going to change any time soon, so it's better to be aware of this than not.

The London Eye

No, it's not the name of a clandestine underground newspaper printed in secret. It's a huge Ferris wheel new to London as of 2000. To get to the eye I took the Underground to Embankment, walked across the bridge at Charring Cross station, down to the other side, through the sea of street performers posing as robots while keeping my eyes firmly ahead, and straight up to the ticket counter.

Tickets to the London Eye can be bought ahead of time or on site--they're cheaper online. You can choose a simple ride around the wheel or add a river cruise or a glass of champagne followed by immediate regret for having drank a glass of carbonated alcohol a million feet in the air. There are also fast track passes for the burgiose, which are a good idea if you're in a rush. At night expect to see a few love birds, photographers whose cameras have apertures the size of a football field and wedding parties if not the actual wedding. Twenty-five people fit into a capsule/car so the line can go fast when it's only a few rows off the ramp. Otherwise expect a wait.

If you've never been on a gigantic Ferris wheel of doom before, be warned--they don't stop to let you on and off. You take a running start and jump in like a really lame version of Evel Knievel. It takes about 30 minutes to go around once, at which point you have plenty of time to muster your courage for the jump off.

Inside are small touch screens that point out attractions and sites once you've identified Big Ben and run out of off-hand London architectural knowledge. On a clear day you are said to be able to see 25 miles, including a lot of people looking up at the sky, surprised that there is actually a clear day to be had in London.

If you're a fan of pretending people are ants from 440 feet in the air and cackling madly while commanding them to dance for your pleasure, this is the attraction for you.

Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Persistent American Who Just Wanted A Sandwich

If you're a lover of Sherlock Holmes in any of his innumerable permutations (yes I did just link to that last one), no trip to London would be complete without a stop to 221b Baker St. When Sir Arthur Doyle originally penned the stories, there was no such address. Today there is, however, and it houses the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Entry costs £8 (~$12) for adults, £5 for children, and it is open every day of the year (except Christmas) from 9.30 AM to 6PM.

Walking to the museum from the Baker St Station takes about two minutes, and while you're in the area you can check out a bunch of small shops selling British rock n' roll paraphernalia. 

Buy tickets at the gift shop to the right of 221b after you pick up your obligatory souvenir pipe and magnifying glass. One more door down is Mrs. Hudson's cafe where you can grab a bite to eat from one of the ladies dressed in Victorian garb. Also, if you know a 'presentable young man' who is at least 6' tall, the museum is hiring more Victorian policemen to pose for photographs with children and the smitten female--and male--tourist.

221b itself is three floors--when you're let in, run up to the top floor and work your way down to avoid the other people--recreated on the first two to resemble how Holmes and Watson would have lived. Avid (rabid) fans will take note of the envelopes impaled on the mantle, bullet holes in the wall, books about bee keeping, a medicine bag with the initials 'J.H.W', a worn violin, and other items. The casual observer will notice a lot of junk as the museum doesn't really explain what you're looking at. Kind of an 'indier than thou' fan's paradise, actually.

The third floor is filled with wax caricatures that I can't bring myself to think of as I only got rid of the nightmares last week.

I think 'curios' means playing cards and shot glasses.

There's also a guestbook where you can leave your undying love for Holmes. If you're not in London, though, take heart--the museum has hired someone to answer letters written to the famous address. So grab your Hello Kitty stationary and write away.

And if you're a fan of BBC's Sherlock, you can always make your own tour around places seen in the series, much to the amusement and exasperation of your British peers.

Speedy's is the new face of 221b and quite easy to get to, if not actually eat at as they close fairly early. I went there four times and managed to miss it each time, each instance muttering "I'll be back," in a California governor-esque voice.

Despite the heavy eye-rolling of the Korean exchange students who live above the cafe and 'in' Sherlock's fictional digs when they catch you snapping pictures, Speedy's itself is pretty much rolling in the publicity, going so far to have a contest for fans to design their new Sherlock sandwich. However, be warned if you are in the area during filming, you can't get close to the cafe and will be asked to move away as recently fans have been swarming the area and being all manners of distracting. Think 'The Beatles' landing in the USA. No, seriously.

Stonehenge, Windsor & Bath

A month ago I had the privilege to visit England during its coldest spring in the last 100 years. Severely underdressed, I hopped on a bus one day for an eleven hour journey from London to Windsor Castle, Stonehenge and Bath. It's a fairly common day excursion for the curious traveller and if tour busses don't sound like a special slice of Hell to you, I highly recommend it.

If Buckingham Palace is where the Queen does paperwork and makes important phone calls, Windsor Castle is where she checks Facebook for six hours and plays with corgis on the weekend. It's essentially a home away from home, though one she's said she prefers. The castle is the oldest and largest occupied castle in the world, as I learned during a failed round of Trivia at my hometown bar.

If you're not trapped on a tour bus, getting to Windsor is easy via train. Just head to the Windsor & Eton Riverside station. 

If you have a companion who is particularly petrified by dolls or a severe case of microphobia, be sure to lure them into Queen Mary's Doll House which boasts somewhere between a hundred and a bajillion tiny little itty bitty things. Feast your eyes on tiny vacuums, chairs, houses, and soulless eyes. Alas, pictures are not allowed indoors so please imagine a scenario in which someone hit your life with a shrink ray. 

There are also gorgeous portraits and furniture and weapons on display in the State Rooms, one of the largest being the room dedicated to England's victory at Waterloo against Napoleon. American tourists will immediately notice a painting of a man who has a striking resemblance to George Washington and, eyebrows knit together in confusion, will ask the closest guide Who the hell is he? Is that--? and the guide will hand over a shock blanket and tea and calmly inform that no, no it's actually someone else.

Also around 11AM you can catch the changing of the guard by St. George's Chapel. The chapel is the burial place of 10 monarchs, one of whom you literally have to step on if you want to make it through the whole thing. (He kind of deserved it, I'm thinking was their reasoning.) St. George's is deceiving from the outside. It actually goes on and on, so allow yourself more than two minutes to explore it.

For some unknown reason, ever since I was in elementary school, I really wanted to see Stonehenge. I also thought it was in Ireland when I was seven, but I digress. I have no idea why I was so bent on seeing it, out of all the places in the world. It is, literally, a collection of rocks. While their positioning is, for someone who is an avid Jenga player, impressive, again--rocks.

I'm not sure what my seven-year-old self expected.

In a few years there will be a new Stonehenge visitor's center farther away from the monument. (They're looking for a new manager, by the way, if you've got your CV handy.) Until then, your bus parks on the other side of the highway and you run through an underpass to come up on the other side. You make your way around Stonehenge--a fifteen minute walk or five minutes if it's raining and you're wearing the stupidest shoes imaginable--and then you return to the underpass, cross it off your bucket list, maybe check in on Foursquare and call it a day.

The truth behind Stonehenge has been lost to time, but I've seen some convincing arguments for a worldly connection.

Also, apparently a guy walked into an auction and bought Stonehenge in 1915 to give to his 'none too pleased' wife. Makes coming home with a new power tool or Mercedes look a little better. Or worse, actually.

When the ancient Romans entered England, they were, understandably, depressed. They had traded sunny Mediterranean weather for, well, pretty much the opposite. Somehow--either by accident or because one of the locals showed them--the Romans stumbled upon England's only natural hot spring, and the first Sandals Resort was essentially born.

For 50p (~$1) you can sample the mineral-laden water thought to have cured many of their aches, pains, and near-fatal wounds. It sort of tastes like tap water from a Chinese restaurant in Philly. But for 50p it is probably the cheapest beverage you will encounter in England, so bottoms up.

Bath Abbey is a gorgeous piece of architecture, particularly due to its interior fan vaulting, something I'm told is fairly unique to England.

There is a fee to enter the abby. In fact there is a fee to enter most historical churches in England yet, conversely, museums are free to the public.

An hour or two in Bath isn't nearly enough. Had I taken the bus tour again, I would have skipped the return ride to London and spent the night. Trains between Bath and London take just 90 minutes.

Hello again & AC Beer Fest 2013

Long time no update!

A lack of updates, however, has not meant a lack of excitement in my life. It has just been spread out to weekend excursions and moments that, when compared to a life in a foreign country, didn’t seem as exciting or worth writing about.

Which is a bunch of bologna because if they weren’t worth it, I would have hopped on a plane back to China months ago.

So as I prepare for life’s next adventures, I’m dusting off the photo album/Flickr app on my phone and posting once again. My writing is a bit rusty--I’ve probably deleted and re-written the above words twice by the time you get to the end of this particular sentence--and I need practice. Bear with me as I find my words again.

(For examples of my Shakespearean prose, feel free to read posts under the ‘what the hell is this’ tag as crab vending machines and Chinese school lunches best spark my muse.)

Let’s get this started with a charming event I attended the first weekend this April--The Atlantic City Beer & Music Fest.

  

This was the fest's eighth year in the Atlantic City Convention Center and, as someone who has attended probably 30 conventions (most of an incredibly nerdy nature), this was so well-organized that I could have fallen down on my knees and wept salty tears into my IPA. 

Tickets are available online--I highly recommend getting them beforehand!--and you can have them emailed to you or pick them up at will-call. We arrived to the convention center maybe 20 minutes before the fest officially started and there was no line to have your ticket picked up or processed. We got our bands (DD wrist bands are available too) and tiny mugs and waited just five minutes to be let into the beer-consumption area:

 

Once inside, you are treated to samples from 90 different breweries from PA, NJ, MD, Japan, Germany--all over the world. They even had a beer I enjoyed frequently in Thailand, so color me impressed. And I know I say 'samples' but $50 never bought you so much beer. Besides beer, your $50 ticket also gives you access to music on the live stage!

And barber shop quartets that sneak up on you and start singing for no reason!

Free mustache rides!

The silent disco!

Now, you may be asking yourself, 'What is a silent disco?'

Somewhere, someplace, someone thought to themselves--how can I make a bunch of drunk people dancing look even more ridiculous? (Why he desired this, I don't know. I can only assume he's related to the scientists in Switzerland who asked how they could possibly make a miniature sun on planet Earth.)

The answer to that question is to rig the DJ with a transmitter and give every dancing fool a pair of headphones that sync up to the same song. Observe:



I only wish I had captured the madness when Kung Fu Fighting played. Alas, I was too busy practicing my hadoken and crane pose.



Also mechanical bull riding and dunk tanks filled with local AC strippers!

(not pictured)

There are three different three hour sessions for the beer fest; Friday evening, Saturday afternoon, and Saturday evening. So far survey says that Friday evening is the best as the brewers still have plenty of swag to go around (Tote bags! Glorious tote bags!) and patience to deal with your drunken antics. The Sheraton is practically connected to the convention center, but Ceasar's palace is a short trek away. If you'd rather not sleep over in AC, there was a late Amtrak train that went from AC to Philly. And walking to the station from the convention center is ridiculously easy. Also, be sure to download the official app to keep track of what beers you've had for at least the first hour until the stout starts kicking in.

If you're a beer fan, silent disco fan, or tote bag fan, give the fest a go. I will definitely be returning another year; I'll be the first one in the Silent Disco play pen busting it out to Thriller. Come say hi.