And so they make their way to the house, as if nothing had happened. 

Sunny shouldn't have been surprised that his captors could misplace a whole house. But then again, as he fixes his gaze on it, he wonders if there is any setting where it would not have drawn attention to itself? Perhaps inside a particularly psychedelic album cover from the 60s? Or, as an outsized exhibit at the Leeum Museum of Art? Here - plonked on an uninhabited rocky beach five minutes downwind of a jeotgal restaurant and 20 minutes from the nearest public washroom, it seems almost...apt? A funky roadside attraction for an indistinct and inhospitable seascape. 

It is well worth taking a look at this house - the journey to which nearly ended his young life! And, as he quickly realizes, there are many other reasons. The exterior of the house is like an overzealous architecture student's end-of-year showcase: rainbow-hued terracotta tiles, Victorian turrets and Melanesian clay dormers sit atop elaborate gongpo brackets that rest upon white fluted columns that run down to meet a rustic wood porch with chippendale balustrades...and, naturally, red mahogany saloon doors. But of course. 

It's an ambitious composite, and quite singular. An extraterrestrial's idea of a house, maybe. If there is any unifying idea behind it, it might be to squeeze as many clashing shapes, contours and colours into a modest two-storey as possible. Even as he finds himself making a face, Sunny finds himself wishing that Hyuntae were here to see. 

He steps gingerly onto the porch, where a wicker chair with an elaborate back depicting peacocks dangles from long silver chains. Its swinging shadow passes repeatedly over a vertical stack of weathered books, which lifts a page in languid reply every so often. A coconut-and-bamboo windchime sprinkles warm notes over the doorway, and before guests step over the turquoise threshold, they are greeted by a coir welcome mat that depicts piano keys and uplifting lyrics from Bob Marley and the Wailers. "I feel at home, can you understand?" It meditates across its upper edge. And across its lower edge, "Though the road is rocky, it sure feels good to me." 

Why do quirky houses inspire so much trust? Is it the fact that these peculiarities, this confusion, the utter rejection of any natural complementarity in colours and shapes, could only have sprung from a human mind? Or in this case, two sort-of humans who are probably not brothers? Anyway, Sunny didn't have enough time to interrogate this before he was already inside, and now there is truly no turning back. 

"Welcome," Jungmo beams, sweeping his arm over the equally discordant interior, and Sunny isn't sure whether to gasp or hold his breath. 

[There's no place like home]

If seeing the house from the outside did not already give this impression, then peering into the inside would certainly cement the idea that this building was picked up, Wizard-of-Oz style, and flung across the globe. From ceiling to floor, Sunny's field of view is filled to the brim with delightful, disorganized chaos. Though his eyes struggle to make sense of it all and his heart pulsates rapidly in anticipation of danger camouflaged within the beauty, he thinks...he kinda likes it?

It is not possible to pick one area to focus on, so he simply walks, head high, into the playground of disarray. 

The whole place is alive with eccentric hues, clashing scents and duelling motifs. Every few steps is a new territory, representing a fragment of the world's heritage. Here a pair of red clay shisas guarding a glossy Kookaburra willow bat, there a pair of white converses attached to a mysterious cloth talisman by a golden chain. At times, these elements are fused in an almost inspired way, as in a dazzling Murano chandelier strewn with overgrown vines of capiz shells.

Decorations straddle time and space, as if in open mockery. A panoramic wall border depicting dodos on the island of Mauritius stops at one corner, and is continued on the other side of the seam by Victorian botanical drawings of exotic flowers. A stylized black pine walking stick with the head of a Kintamani dog hangs precariously off of a novelty plaque depicting a cross-eyed codfish having a beer. It is a bohemian space, and the occupants are surely having a good time. 

Despite the otherworldliness of the house, it is not a sealed relic - there is both room to breathe and the warmth of day. Beams of light snake through from wide windows and patio doors, saturating each nook and creating a blaze of colour around each glass and crystal facet. Accent walls of brick and stone alternate with plaster, capturing and emitting a steady heat. Functional areas are partitioned, but breathe into each other: a delicate noren depicting a blazing sunrise separates the living room from the kitchen, and a bamboo triptych abutting the dining area reveals the way upstairs through a thousand diamond-shaped apertures. 

[All that and a tray of cookies!]

But none of this is as surprising as the way it all smells. All throughout Jungmo and Jacob's home, the air is dusted with the unmistakeable fusion of cinnamon, cloves and ginger. It's different than Sunny expected, to say the least. Here, in a Busan summer, he had somehow walked through an enchanted portal entirely constructed by scent, into a bucolic country house preparing for Christmas.

"I'll just leave this here," Jungmo glides behind him with a serving tray of cookies and hot tea, startling him. When did he have time to do that? Or rather, how long has Sunny been standing there in awe? 

The kindly host places the heavy tray atop the rattan coffee table at the centre of the room. He leaves a dish towel around the handle of the pitcher, and ties it for emphasis. "Careful of your hands, it's silver."

"Uh...huh."

"Would you like an egg?" Jungmo then says, seemingly out of nowhere, and it takes Sunny a minute to realize that he is asking Soeun, who had wandered off on her own and is now interrogating an embroidered white elephant with her nose. To Sunny's immense relief, she drops the inquisitions when she sees the savoury treat in Jungmo's hands, and proceeds to follow their host into the kitchen. 

[The unwelcome tour guide]

Sunny lingers in the remarkable living room for a few moments longer, ginger cookie in hand. His feet glide along from one attraction to the next, as if wandering in a very permissive art gallery. He has so many questions! A vertical shelf holds fragments of sculpted marble in a large glass goblet - is this Jungmo and Jacob's version of a 1,000-piece puzzle? And the single large palm frond he found floating in a Goryeo celadon vase near the window - is someone trying to grow a tree? 

"Want me to give you the full tour?" By and by, Jacob sidles up beside him. He had changed into a clean shirt - not one of Sunny's this time - a beautiful sleeveless garment made of Baule cloth with streaks of indigo, copper, and white. 

"Uh, no thanks," Sunny replies, turning his head away instinctively. The only thing worse than some raging narcissist stealing from your closet is realizing that you want to steal from theirs! "I'll wait for Jungmo to finish...thank you."

"Sure, but it's all my stuff," Jacob drawls. "The relics, the handicrafts, prints, trophies, furniture. I picked it all out, Jungmo doesn't give a shit about material possessions. Go on, ask me anything."

"Anything? Then...how about what happened last night?"