Korean Grand Prix – Korea International Circuit (2010-2013)
Ahh, what can we say about marvellous Mokpo and its beautiful race? Well, for starters we can say that having been to Sochi most people in the paddock will never badmouth F1’s brief affair with Korea’s less than well-loved race.
On paper the Korean GP looked like an exotic slice of Gangnam style in a venue that promised all sorts, including entertainment complexes, casinos, luxurious harbour-side hotels and grade-A restaurants.
However, perhaps somewhat like a brief affair, what seemed glamorous and exotic on the surface was in reality all a bit superficial and largely defined by sojourns in slightly seedy hotels more used to renting their rooms by the hour than in five-day spells.
Yes indeed, the hugely ambitious and elaborate development plans for a street track to rival Abu Dhabi in terms of marinas and millionaires, turned out to be just that – plans – and with no five-star hotels on offer F1 personnel were instead put up in Mokpo’s seemingly limitless supply of love hotels, where the only mirrors were on the ceiling and the complimentary toiletries were industrial strength lye soap and huge tubes of lube.
However, while year one was depressing enough for some frustrated mechanic to scrawl the words ‘f**k this’ on the paddock paving as a parting gift (and for it to be plainly visible the following year after the organisers had simply locked the gates and walked away after the inaugural race) by year three we were all getting the hang of this little known corner of the top corner of east Asia.
Everyone had figured out how to work the four-hour train ride from Seoul with ease. Everyone had become comfortable with their love hotel of choice. And for some reason everybody partied like it was 1999 in the terrific bars in the Sang-Dong area where everyone stayed.
The race? Oh that wasn’t too bad. At least the first one was good, as the half-complete circuit was hit with torrential downpours, Mark Webber’s title chances pretty much ended in a collision with the wall and the whole thing ended in near darkness as the dark clouds settled in. The problem was, few people figured it was actually a metaphor for the next three years.
On a personal note it was also the only F1 venue at which I’ve watched two grown men have a shirts-off fist fight at 8.30am as two women whacked them over the head with handbags in a fair approximation of a most eastern Eastenders. That has to be worth something.
