To the sea with Ajin and Haneul: the heavy cost of a lighthearted promise

It all started when Ajin, who turned four this spring, grabbed Haneul's front paw and looked at me with those big, pleading eyes. Mommy, I want to take Haneul to the sea, she said. It was one of those moments where her vocabulary suddenly seemed so grown up that I couldn't say no. I looked at Haneul, our tiny, anxious dog, and then at the calendar. It was April 2026, the weather was finally breaking, and the idea of a family trip to Gangwon-do felt like the perfect escape. I didn't realize then that a four-year-old's whim would lead to a weekend that tested both my patience and my bank account.

My husband, ever the practical one, didn't even look up from his tablet when I mentioned the idea. He was already opening a spreadsheet to calculate the gas prices and the toll fees for the Seoul-Yangyang Expressway. He just said let's go to the vet if Haneul acts up, and then reminded me that we'd probably spend more on the dog's entrance fees than our own lunch. I laughed it off at the time, thinking he was being overly cynical. We packed the car until there was barely enough room for Ajin to swing her legs, loaded Haneul into his carrier, and set off toward the East Sea.

The three-hour journey and the treat struggle

The drive was supposed to take two and a half hours, but with a four-year-old and a timid dog, time loses all meaning. Haneul spent the first hour shivering on my lap, his tiny heart beating like a drum against my leg. He hates the vibration of the car, and no matter how many 'calming' treats we gave him, he remained a statue of pure anxiety. Ajin, on the other hand, was a burst of chaotic energy right next to him.

At one point, Ajin decided that since Haneul wasn't eating his special organic duck jerky, she should be the one to finish it. I spent twenty minutes explaining why humans don't eat dog treats, while my husband kept a running tally of how much time we were losing at every rest stop. Every time we stopped so Haneul could sniff a patch of grass—which he usually refused to do out of fear—the 'practical' side of the trip started to weigh on me. We hadn't even reached the ocean yet, and I was already exhausted.

When the pension reservation isn't the final price

I thought I was being smart when I booked a pet-friendly pension for 200,000 KRW a night. It seemed reasonable for a weekend in Gangwon-do. However, the moment we checked in, the 'extra' fees started rolling in like the tide. First, there was the fee for Ajin. Since she's now four, she counts as a full extra person. Then came Haneul's weight-based fee. Even though he's a small dog, the pension had a strict 'under 5kg' rule, and they actually pulled out a scale.

By the time we paid for the additional bedding and the 'pet cleaning fee,' our 400,000 KRW weekend had jumped by another 150,000 KRW before we even unpacked our suitcases. I stood there holding the receipt, feeling a bit dizzy. My husband just glanced at the total and said he knew this would happen, which annoyed me more than the actual cost. He was right, of course, but hearing it didn't make the hole in my wallet feel any smaller.

The fifty-thousand won cup of coffee

The next morning, Ajin was adamant about going to a 'doggy cafe' she had seen in a brochure. We found a beautiful spot overlooking the water, but the economics of it were staggering. There was an entry fee for Haneul, an entry fee for each adult, and a mandatory drink purchase. Ajin wanted a strawberry latte, which cost as much as a meal.

We sat there for an hour. Haneul spent the entire time hiding under my chair, refusing to socialize with the other dogs. Ajin ran around the fenced area until she tripped and scraped her knee, leading to a meltdown that echoed across the quiet beach. As I sipped my lukewarm Americano, I realized we had just spent 60,000 KRW for Haneul to tremble under a chair and for Ajin to cry. It's funny how you don't notice these small leaks in your budget until you're sitting in the middle of them.

A practical emergency at the local clinic

The real stress hit when Haneul stopped eating entirely. Usually, he's a picky eater, but by the second night, he was refusing even his favorite treats. I was starting to panic, imagining all sorts of travel-induced illnesses. My husband just said let's go to the vet. He didn't want to wait and see; he wanted a professional to tell us if we needed to head back to Seoul immediately.

We found a small animal hospital in Sokcho. The vet was kind and explained that Haneul was simply overwhelmed by the change in environment and the 'new' water we were giving him. The solution? A specific brand of expensive, prescription wet food and a suggestion to use bottled water. The consultation and the cans of food added another unexpected 80,000 KRW to our trip expenses. I felt guilty for being annoyed at the price when Haneul finally licked the bowl clean, but I couldn't help but look at Ajin, who was blissfully unaware, drawing pictures of Haneul in the sand with a stick.

Home is where the heart (and the budget) recovers

Driving back to Seoul, the car was much quieter. Ajin was fast asleep, clutching a seashell she'd found, and Haneul was finally relaxed enough to doze off in his carrier. We left Pudding at home with a sitter this time, and I found myself wondering if she was the smartest one of us all, lounging in the quiet apartment without a care in the world.

When we finally walked through the front door, the house felt strangely still. My husband started unpacking and immediately went to his desk to finalize the 'trip report'—basically a list of everything we spent. He told me that if we had just brought our own water and pre-purchased the wet food, we could have saved a significant amount. I just sighed and sat on the floor with Haneul.

Ajin is already talking about the next trip. She wants to bring Haneul's favorite yellow ball next time so he won't be so scared. I'm looking at the credit card statement and then at her innocent face, and I'm not sure if I should start a separate 'Haneul Travel Fund' or just accept that our family vacations will always be a bit of a financial disaster. There's something about the way Haneul is currently snoring on his favorite rug that makes the debt feel a little lighter, but then I remember the vet bill.

I still need to check the dashcam footage from the drive back because I think I heard a strange clicking sound near the rear tire, but that's a problem for tomorrow. For now, I just need to figure out how to explain to Ajin why we can't go to the sea every single weekend.

next_post: I found something in the trunk while cleaning out the sand, and it's definitely not ours.