Chuseok is a harvest festival in
Korea that is similar to our Thanksgiving.
Since it is an important family holiday, Wonderland gave us a week
off. Many of the teachers who had been in
Korea for several months and who had saved up some money were taking vacations
to cool and interesting places such as Indonesia, Thailand or the Philippians.
Since the vacation time came before I had collected a full month of pay, I
could not afford anything as extravagant as an international trip. But I didn’t exactly want to stay home either
while everyone else was off having an adventure, so I settled on a trip to
Jeju-do, a Korean Island south of the peninsula. I suspect it may have initially been Steve’s
idea to go, but I don’t remember clearly enough to say for certain. However, Lindsey, Lauren and Jake also made
plans to go. At some point before the
trip, Jake thought it would be fun to go camping while we were on the Island so
I accompanied him on a shopping trip in search of a tent big enough to sleep at
least four of us. Finding a tent was not
easy and while we were in the store Jake spent much of his time grumbling about
the poor quality of all the tents and their outrageous prices. When he finally settled on one, he quickly
proclaimed that he would be surprised if the tent survived the week we were
gone. As it turned out, he was correct
and as a result the tent did not make the return journey.
Anyway, by the time our vacation day
rolled around it was late September and Steve and I were already spending
virtually no time together anymore.
While I worked at Wonderland in Kangdong, my social circle was a few
miles away at Olympic Wonderland, which is where Jake and Lauren worked. Five of us – Steve, Jake, Lindsey, Lauren and
me – flew to the island together, but Steve had other friends flying in the
following day so he made it clear he would only spend the first day with
us. I felt very conspicuous being the
only one of us traveling with an oversized duffle bag instead of backpack. Boy was I young, naïve and a great stranger
to the ways of travel. Now, I wouldn’t
even consider going anywhere with anything other than a backpack but the “I”
writing this is much older and far more experienced than the young woman back
then who was so willing to follow her friends because she hadn’t the faintest
clue on how to survive alone in a foreign place.
The flight was short, only about an
hour which left no time to get bored. It
seemed we barely reached our cruising altitude before the pilot began his
descent back to the ground. Once we
arrived, disembarked from the plane and collected our luggage we pulled out a
map and gathered around it in an attempt to determine where we should go. Yep, lesson number one when it comes to
backpacking – know how to read a map. I
admit, it wasn’t a skill I had bothered to develop in my early years but over
time it would become one I knew very well.
We hadn’t made reservations anywhere to stay. If fact, we hadn’t exactly planned much
besides our flight. Our time on Jeju-do
was completely open to possibilities and opportunities which could be
frightening and unsettling at times but it could also be completely
exhilarating and exciting. When you
leave yourself open to the possibility that anything can happen, odds are
something will happen. Even though Steve
had made it clear that he would be leaving us the next morning, he immediately
took charge of where we would go and what we would do that day. While Steve was studying the map, so intently
that we thought it might actually begin speaking to him, the rest of us met a
couple of Canadians who lived on the Island working as English Teachers. They were kind enough to direct us to the
closest town – the name of which I have long since forgotten – where we found an
inexpensive place to stay. Steve and
Jake shared one room and we girls crammed into another.
After dropping off our things, we
were all hungry and decided an early dinner would be a good idea. Someone suggest galbi and not knowing what it
was I didn’t object until it was in front of me, but by then it was too
late. Galbi means ribs and in this case
it was marinated beef. The cool thing
about the meal is that the waitress lit a fire right in front of us on the
table so we could watch the food cooking.
While the meat was sizzling, the waitress brought lettuce leaves, garlic
and bean paste to accompany the beef. I
have never liked beef, but I quickly found that if I bathe meat in enough bean
paste and add a clove of garlic – all of which gets wrapped in a lettuce leaf –
I can at least tolerate it and get it down into my stomach.
Following dinner, someone
suggested that we go to a noraebang – a signing room – which is essentially
karaoke in your own private room which you can rent by the hour. I cannot sing and I am more than just a
little self conscious of my inability to hold a tune so I even though I went
along with everyone else I had no desire to participate. Steve, claiming to be able to read the Korean
letters, once again took the lead and we blindly followed him up the stairs of
one building with a bright neon sign, a sign Steve swore said “noraebang.” However, when he opened the door and walked
into a very somber room with both men and women in tears, we realized that instead
of stumbling into a noraebong, we were rudely interrupting someone’s
funeral. Startled annoyed faces turned
towards us, and very sheepishly, embarrassed and ashamed we offered our
apologies and backed out of the room.
Eventually, we did somehow manage to find a noraebang and it was that
night we all discovered that out of all of us only Lauren truly could sing, and
she sang exceptionally well.
The next morning, Steve ditched
us as promised and the rest of us set off in search of a waterfall. None of us really knew how to get there
despite the map in our possessions, and I learned that nothing is more
frustrating than trying to get directions to place by playing charades. The people we asked shook their heads in
confusion when we mimed waterfall and we walked away in frustration. Even though the falls were probably only a
mile away, it took us an hour full of many dead ends to finally find it. As far as falls go, they were nothing
spectacular but they were still pretty to look at.
Back at the room we gathered our
things and set off in search of a campsite which turned out to be much easier
than locating the falls. We hailed a cap
and got lucky enough that our cab driver spoke a little English. We told him we wanted a campsite and he drove
us directly to one that was deserted.
Apparently, Chuseok is time for visiting family, for going “back home,”
not going off on adventures. Actually, I
take that back, there was one Korean man in the campsite. One Korean man all alone during a family
holiday. One man with several tattoos
and a missing finger. A sure sign, Jake convinced us, that he either had
connections to some mob or he was a North Korean spy. Great! This solitary figure watched us
closely as we pitched our tent then after we had changed into our swim suits
with the intention of taking the bus somewhere to go swimming, he beckoned us
to follow him. And yes, we were crazy
enough to go. He led us to a small
waterfall and waterhole not far from our tent.
The pond was surrounded by rocks which of course I had to climb as did
Jake and Lindsey. We then dove into the
freezing water for a swim. It was so
cold that diving underwater I got an ice headache like the kind you get if you
drink a cold glass of lemonade too quickly.
Later that night, we decided to
build a campfire. The Korean man, who by
now seemed to have adopted us, grabbed Jake and led him into the woods. When
they returned an hour or so later they were both carrying armfuls of wood. Once the fire was roaring, the Korean man
pulled out a cell phone – now remember this was 1996, in a time when cell
phones were not common so this action alone seemed rather sketchy and
suspicious – and he made a few calls.
Before any of us had any indication as to what was going on he once
again grabbed Jake and demanded that Jake follow him. Together they disappeared into the
darkness. To hear Jake tell the story of
what occurred next is hilarious, and I’m afraid I won’t really do it justice,
but I will do my best. Afraid that the
Korean man was leading him to his death, Jake pulled out his Swiss army knife,
opened it up then slipped it back into his pocket. They ran up a dark road with only the light
of the moon to see by. When they reached
the top of a hill, the Korean man stopped and in almost no time a car emerged
out of the darkness and from the car stepped a man laden with dried squid, beef,
rice, kimchi, lettuce and soju – hard alcohol traditionally made from rice. As
soon as Jake and the Korean man returned, the Korean man set about cooking the
food while the rest of us looked on wondering exactly what was happening. The food was tolerable. At the time I did not love rice, but at least
it was something I could eat when nothing else appealed to me. While we ate, we tried to converse with the
stranger, a virtually impossible task considering he spoke no English and
between us we knew only a handful of Korean words. Lauren and Lindsey consulted their phrase
books in an attempt to communicate while Jake started up a game of charades. By
the time we were ready to go to sleep we had learned nothing about this mystery
man – aside of his name, Mr. Kim - and he had learned nothing about us. Yet,
somehow he found a way to communicate an invitation for us to join him on a
hike in the morning - an invitation that we found impossible to turn down.
We woke up at sunrise and ate
apples and peanut butter for breakfast. To get to Hallasan – the highest
mountain in South Korea – we had to take two buses and then a taxi. While we foreigners wore hiking clothes and
carried backpacks filled with water and food, Mr. Kim wore dress pants and a
dress shirt and carried not an ounce of water with him. The trail up the mountain was steep but Mr.
Kim raced up to the top without breaking a sweat while he smoked cigarette
after cigarette. I’m not quite sure how
he managed it without hacking up a lung. A few times he grew frustrated with
me, not because I couldn’t keep up but because I wanted to pause to take
pictures and to absorb the beauty that surrounded us. The steepness of the mountain killed my knees
on the descent, and by the time we finished our hike we were all famished. Mr. Kim led us to a small restaurant where he
bought all of us some kimbab – rice and vegetables rolled in seaweed, similar
to California rolls.
That night back at the campsite,
I joined Jake and Mr. Kim on their quest to get wood. Mr. Kim must have had a black belt in
taekwondo because he showed no mercy on the trees. It was with perfectly landed kicks that he
managed to snap enough branches for us to build a fire. He beat up the trees
and let me and Jake clean up the carnage.
For dinner, which he bought on the way home from Hallasan, he made
bulgogi – fire meat – grilled marinated beef.
We washed down the food with a bit of soju and then turned in for the
night.
In the morning we slept in a
little later than we had the previous day and woke up to a breakfast already
prepared by Mr. Kim – kimbab, potato and onion soup and kimchi (which I was
beginning to realize I could eat without too much difficulty as long as it was
only one or two bites). After eating, we
changed into our swimsuits and took the local bus into town where Mr. Kim
borrowed a car from one of his friends to drive us to the beach. I was thrilled to be able to swim, but I must
admit, after growing up in New York, I am partial to the beaches on Long
Island. Still, I can’t complain about
the beach on Jeju-do because I did have a spectacular time in the water. While Lauren, Lindsey and I read on the beach
in the warm sun, Mr. Kim recruited Jake to help him gather snails from the
beach. Jake was not terribly thrilled
about the project and he grumbled about it, but he did his part filling several
buckets. When Mr. Kim was happy with
what he collected, he tried to get us to eat the snails raw. The four of us wrinkled our noses and shook
our heads but eventually Jake, unable to turn down a challenge, tried one of
the snails. The expression on his face
made it obvious that he found the slimy creature rather repulsive as it slithered
down Jake’s throat and into his stomach.
Realizing the food would certainly go to waste if it wasn’t cook, Mr.
Kim persuaded the kitchen staff in one restaurant to cook the snails for
him. Cooked, Mr. Kim had more
success. Both Lauren and Jake ate some,
but Lindsey and I still could not bring ourselves to try them. Mr. Kim, I believe, had intended for the
snails to be our dinner, but since Lindsey and I refused his thoughtfulness, we
ended up stopping for pizza. The pizza
was terrible, not even close to what you can find in New York, but at least it
was edible. For dessert, we had Baskin
and Robins ice-cream and for the first time since we landed on Jeju-do my
stomach was truly happy. That night Mr.
Kim gave us a group hug and told us he loved us. Instead of making us feel warm and fuzzy, this
made us feel rather uncomfortable. We
weren’t sure why but despite his kindness, or maybe because of it, we were
starting to get worried. That night we
decided it might be best to go elsewhere in the morning.
However, when the sun rose again,
Jake and I decided we wanted to go horseback riding before we moved. What a mistake that was. First of all the bus ride was dreadfully long
and second of all it wasn’t really horseback riding. Jake and I had expected to get on a horse and
follow a guide on a few trails. No, not even close. The man who ran the stables put Jake and I
each on a horse and then holding onto the bridals he led us around and around
in circles until I was dizzy. Pony rides
for adults - how disappointing. When we
returned to the campsite, Jake and I went for a swim in the waterhole desperate
to wash away the smell as well as the experience of the morning. After a brief swim, the four of us said our
goodbyes to a teary Mr. Kim and we took an extremely long bus ride to another
part of the island. When the bus finally
reached its destination, the sun was low in the sky. We hailed a taxi to drive us to the campsite
which turned out to be a burial ground.
I could almost feel the ghosts lurking around us and they made me even
more uncomfortable than a doting Mr. Kim, but it was late and we had nowhere
else to go so we pitched the tent. It
was only for one night. How bad could it
be? Without Mr. Kim, it took longer to
find and gather firewood but we eventually found enough to keep a fire going
for several hours while we talked. The
fire burned odd colors – green and purple – colors I had never before noticed
in a fire. I surmised that it was the
work of spirits, but prayed that they would leave us alone and they did. That was our last night on the island. The following day we took a bus to the
airport and returned to our temporary homes in Seoul.
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