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This week's dispatch comes to you from the sidelines of a major international conference taking place here in Korea. On the eve of the opening day, the venue is preparing to welcome some 7,000 delegates ― including ministers, CEOs and heads of NGOs ― jetting in from 110 nations worldwide.
It's an impressive scene.
The venue presents a fine facade, extensive glasswork gleaming in the sun. Under tents in the forecourt, beaming maidens man registration desks awaiting incoming delegates. Beyond them, suited and booted in black, ranks of security staff are deployed to ensure that no gatecrashers, protesters or jihadis get near the front door.
Inside, purposeful minions scurry hither and yon, finalizing last-minute preparations; ajummah with brooms diligently swat any last surviving particles of dust. Blokes built like gorillas shift heavy equipment; babes built like beauty queens preen and pose.
Then there are the facilities ― and oh my, what facilities! The exhibition spaces are cavernous and perfectly lit; Internet connections zap you online like lightning; and the glittering porcelain of the toilets looks clean enough to eat your breakfast off.
Unusually for a Korean complex ― have you ever tried negotiating a multi-story shopping mall in Seoul? ― signage is abundant and comprehensible: There is little danger of getting lost or of being unable to find what you are seeking. Even more unusually, all English is perfect: Konglish has apparently been banished.
In short, everything is running like clockwork. There is just one chink in this impressive armor: There is no bar.
No bar?
Yes, you read that right. No bar. No pub. No saloon. No boozer. No pit stop. No watering hole.
This is a serious blot on an otherwise flawless picture, for a libation station is ― or should be ― a core element of a conference venue.
Delegates come to exhibit and be exhibited to; to present and to be presented to; to learn the latest trends in their sector; to build relationships and partnerships. Above all, they come to network.
In between presentations and sessions, delegates may happily network in coffee shops, but once the sun goes down, they want to loosen their ties and wet their whistles. Certainly, there are members of the global community ― Muslims, most prominently ― who do not socialize around a glass or bottle of something convivial. But that still leaves a lot of people worldwide who fancy a beer, a gin and tonic, or a snifter of vino.
One enterprising overseas member of the organizing committee was so vocal in his horror at the situation that local authorities quietly (and very sensibly) permitted the erection of a small beer stand in the forecourt. Even so, some delegates remained unhappy about the lack of a real bar. ''Terrible!" groaned a Russian.
Exacerbating the problem for foreign delegates is the fact that this venue is set in a very local neighborhood. Indeed, most Korean conference centers are a long way from city centers, meaning there are few or no convenient, cosmopolitan drinking spots nearby where English is spoken. (Seoul's COEX is an exception: Not only is it downtown, it is a mixed-use facility, so there are bars a-plenty within the complex.)
Meanwhile, venue operators lose a lucrative revenue opportunity. Margins on booze are considerable and venues hold captive audiences. I was told by an un-lubricated and unhappy local that all conference centers in Korea suffer from this problem. No doubt, official regulation prohibits conference centers from operating bars.
Does government, perhaps, fear that drunken rampages by addled delegates will ruin prestigious conferences? If so, it seems odd. "If we drink in a conference facility, we'd be perfectly behaved," my local source added, miserably.
(Incidentally, a similar situation pertains on campuses: If you have ever wondered why clutches of bars sprout outside the front gates of universities, it is because varsity bars don't exist. Deans! Install a speakeasy on your campus and the gelt will flow in so fast, you will be able to lower your tuition fees.)
Korea is promoting itself as a leading global MICE (meetings, incentives, conferences and exhibitions) destination. The will, the marketing and the hardware is there; the bars, alas, are not. I understand that Madam President herself may be visiting this conference. If so, I hope someone speaks up and requests bold, swift and meaningful deregulation.
But I won't be holding my breath. In fact, I am off ― in search of a pub.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
