Let Me Tell You About Going from South America to Korea
Preparations for the visit to Korea moved faster than I'd expected. Sophia, the Senior Secretary for Foreign Affairs, coordinated with the Korean government and compiled the agenda for our talks, while Isabella built an emergency contact network so that nothing would go wrong in her absence. They prepared with typical, exhaustive thoroughness.
Ten days later, Isabella and I boarded a charter jet leased from Koreana Airlines and set off for Korea.
The engines roared as we lifted into the sky.
"Your Excellency, are you all right? Your face has gone quite red."
"Ah, it's nothing. Just a little... excited, I suppose. It's been a long time since I've been home."
"How many years has it been, Your Excellency?"
"Twelve, if you count by the calendar."
After graduating university I'd crossed over to the United States — two years for my MBA, five at Silicon Valley Bank, three as a minister in San Marcos, and two more filling out my term as acting president. Every year accounted for, none of them wasted.
"Time really does fly."
"Now that you've become the head of a sovereign nation, I imagine returning home feels rather different."
"I am a little glad, yes."
"Was there a reason you never returned in all that time?"
"Well... after my parents passed, I suppose I just never felt the urge."
"The reason to go back had disappeared, then."
"Hmm. You're right. That's probably it."
"Perhaps Your Excellency was destined from the very beginning to become the sky over San Marcos."
"...I'm sorry, how on earth did you arrive at that conclusion from this conversation?"
We talked, ate the in-flight meal, and I even managed a nap. Before I knew it, a city was taking shape beneath a layer of soft, billowing clouds.
Finally. Korea.
My heart was pounding, and I couldn't quite say why. It wasn't nostalgia. I knew exactly how much was riding on what came next.
The purpose of this visit is clear enough.
On the surface, it was about promoting friendship and economic cooperation between our two countries. My real objective was something else: extracting more investment from the Korean government and Korean corporations. A fair amount of capital was already flowing in, but only a great deal more of it would let San Marcos develop at the speed I needed.
And then there was another objective, every bit as important.
First order of business: demolish a bowl of sundae-gukbap.
Eating as much Korean food as humanly possible, in as many varieties as I could find. Korean groceries might be imported into San Marcos, but packaged food never stood a chance against the real thing from an actual restaurant. From yangnyeom chicken to vegetable gopchang, sundae-gukbap, ox-head suyuk, samgyeopsal — the list of things I was going to eat while I was here stretched to the horizon.
I sat up a little straighter, fortified by this solemn resolution, and Isabella asked:
"Would you like to review the agenda once more, Your Excellency?"
"Isabella."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"You don't need to be so tense."
"I am concerned that I might make a mistake and diminish Your Excellency's standing. Korea is an economic power, after all. For San Marcos, this is an enormous opportunity."
"Everything is already going well. Results would be nice, but even without them, I will have San Marcos on its feet within ten years. That's a promise."
"......"
That's the only way I'll ever get to retire and rest.
At any rate, the tension seemed to ease. Isabella nodded, her face faintly flushed.
"Yes...!"
After a flight of more than ten hours, the plane finally came to a halt on the runway. At the flight attendant's cue, I straightened my tie and stood.
"Shall we?"
The cabin door opened, and the airstairs locked into place. I stepped outside, drawing in that familiar Korean air — exhaust fumes and all — for the first time in years. And then I froze.
I couldn't help it. The scene waiting for me made it impossible to do anything else.
Hundreds of camera flashes exploded at once, bleaching the world white. A cannon salute thundered, and then the trumpets rang out in unison. A red carpet unrolled endlessly from the foot of the stairs, honor guards in dress uniform lining both sides.
They're rolling out this much of a welcome?
It was the kind of reception you'd expect for an American president. I descended the stairs in a daze, and the Korean Prime Minister came forward to meet me.
"A sincere welcome to the Republic of Korea."
"Thank you for the warm reception, Prime Minister."
"The President has been waiting most eagerly. We'll escort you to the Blue House at once."
"By all means."
Isabella and I followed the Prime Minister into the waiting motorcade. The moment we settled into the back seat, Isabella leaned in, her face flushed with excitement, and whispered:
"They appear to be welcoming Your Excellency with considerable enthusiasm."
"They really are. I'm surprised myself. I didn't expect anything on this scale..."
Honestly, for all our progress, San Marcos's economy was still only about half the size of Myanmar's. Our population was a fifth of theirs, too — not much of a market.
"It would seem Your Excellency's reputation has reached even the far edge of Asia."
"......"
The police-escorted limousine shot across the Incheon Bridge. Isabella couldn't close her mouth at the Korean landscape rolling past the window.
"Buildings that tall, forming a forest... is that Seoul?"
"That's Songdo, in Incheon. They filled in the sea to build it."
"They reclaimed land of that scale from the ocean?"
"The airport we just landed at was built the same way."
"Good heavens...!"
We left Incheon behind and merged onto Seoul's riverside expressway, and Isabella's eyes went wide.
"It's truly beautiful. To preserve nature and still build a city this developed..."
"It wasn't always like this. It took a great deal of money to get here."
"Someday I would like to make Libertad like this."
"It will happen. Sooner than you think."
The motorcade left the riverside highway, passed Gwanghwamun, and rolled through the main gate of the Blue House. We arrived in front of the main building, its roof tiled in blue, and the President of Korea was waiting for us in person.
"Welcome back to Korea."
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. President."
We shook hands in front of a wall of cameras. Inside, the summit that followed was, on the surface, all warmth and goodwill.
"Please, sit. The tea will go cold."
"Thank you."
After the usual thicket of diplomatic niceties, we got down to business.
"News of San Marcos has been reaching even the Blue House these days. They're calling it the Miracle of the Caribbean. The products from that Tortilla Bank you recently established have become remarkably popular here in Korea, in particular."
"We got lucky."
"Ha-ha, luck, you say. Offering eight percent interest and vacuuming up foreign currency like that is hardly ordinary skill. Frankly, my finance minister hasn't been sleeping. The won is already soaring, and now he's in a panic because billions of dollars are being sucked out of the country."
He delivered a remark packed with barbs as smoothly as silk. A true old fox — the kind that survived the snake pit of Yeouido politics. I took a calm sip of tea and volleyed back.
"I'd call it investment rather than outflow. That money will grow, and then it will come back to Korea."
"Hah. That's true enough as well."
The President set down his teacup and leaned forward.
"The truth is, our companies are very interested in San Marcos. But as you know, jobs are a finite resource."
He arranged his face into a look of polite difficulty.
"From the government's perspective, we're rather reluctant to see our companies investing in San Marcos. If factories start relocating one after another, there won't be any domestic jobs left."
"The reason companies are interested in San Marcos is a flexible labor market and cheap wages. Korea, unfortunately, has neither."
"......"
"And in the case of the nickel mine and the oil refinery, San Marcos covered half the project costs."
"You're not angling for management control, I hope?"
"We are not China."
It was an answer that implied a great deal. The President gave a small nod.
A real old fox, this one. Fine. I'll play along.
I arranged my own face into something like regret.
"I fully understand why you're concerned. As President, you can hardly afford not to worry about the people's livelihood."
"......"
"Which is why, for this visit, I've prepared a gift that benefits us both."
Isabella, with perfect timing, handed me a document. I showed it to him.
"We will develop an industrial park dedicated exclusively to Korean companies near the port — three million pyeong, roughly ten square kilometers. The land will be leased free of charge for fifty years, and corporate tax will be halved for the first ten."
"...That's a fine policy."
A lukewarm expression. I drove the wedge in.
"And we will place an order for nuclear power plants."
"W-wait. Nuclear plants?"
The President's eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. And no wonder — Korea's nuclear exports had only just begun. And if San Marcos were to import them? What's more:
"I've been told that if you're going to order nuclear plants, building two at once is the most economical approach."
And if that order were doubled?
That would be like giving them wings.
And this wasn't a deal that favored Korea alone. One of San Marcos's chronic diseases was a shortage of electricity. Of course, we could always burn crude from our own oil fields to run generators...
In terms of long-term cost-effectiveness, nuclear is the only real answer.
Looking ahead, nuclear power wasn't a choice. It was a necessity.
"...Are you serious?"
The President didn't even try to hide his shock.
"Yes. We've already selected a site on the southern coast. And when we place the order, we intend to hand over the entire ultra-high-voltage transmission grid project as well — the one that will carry the electricity nationwide."
"Nuclear plants don't come cheap."
He was right. The reason developing countries wanted nuclear plants and couldn't have them was money. Even Korea, famous for building reactors at the best cost-to-performance ratio in the world, would need close to ten billion dollars in construction costs alone for two units. Add the transmission grid, and you were looking at fifteen billion over the long term. Now that we were an oil-producing nation, we could afford it.
But thrift is how you live well.
Isabella and I had prepared the most advantageous terms we could.
"The truth is, before coming to Korea, I made a few calls. France's Areva was extremely eager."
"France?"
"They offered to build it with their own money so we wouldn't feel the burden, and take the operating profits for thirty years in return. Japan went even further — they offered to lend us the construction costs at a low interest rate."
A Korean was president of San Marcos, and the nuclear contract went to another country? And that country happened to be Japan? The press would chew that over until there was nothing left but juice. It would be a political disaster.
"But I've decided to choose Korea. You have the best cost-performance in the world, after all."
"......"
The President was silent for a moment. Then he let out a short laugh and shook his head.
"I hadn't the faintest idea you'd come armed with a weapon like this. It seems I've lost today's round."
"There's no winning or losing in diplomacy. We just need to find an arrangement where both sides come out ahead."
"Very well. Tell me what you want. The Blue House will do everything it can."
"Thank you."
And so we entered the summit — with me already having won.