Just before noon on Saturday, October 15, 2005, 90 U.S. civilians buckled into the cramped seats of a vintage 1960s Soviet-made Ilyushin Il-62 flying out of Beijing and bound for Pyongyang, the epic, showcase capital of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

I’ve worn flip-flops in all sorts of filthy, far-flung places, from Jakarta, Indonesia, to Shenyang, China, from Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, to Vladivostok, Russia. I’ve even worn them for years here in dirty downtown Seoul and never had any major problems doing so, save for a few trampled toes on crowded subway trains (certainly, a simple “Sorry, Whitey” or “Excuse me, Mr. Big Nose” on occasion would be nice).

Normally I’m just a geeky white boy living in Seoul, but every fall I turn into a super-action hero for a badass week or two.

As soon as we landed back in Port Moresby, the first thing I needed to do was take a really big dump.