Hiking Seoul: Inwang and Bugaksan Mountains

"Hello, this is the Dasan Call Center for Tourist Information how can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm trying to get to Bugaksan Mountain, and the directions say to take the 1012 bus, which doesn't seem to exist."
"Hm, let me see.  No, I don't know where you got your information, but there is no 1012 bus."
"I got it off of Seoul's tourist website."
"Oh."

"Well, thanks anyway," I said and I hung up.  It had been a mess of a night the night before, and I was feeling a little helpless and out of control of my own life.  My solution was to wake up at a reasonable time the next morning, take a cold shower, and find Changuimun Gate somewhere in the depths of Seoul's tallest mountains.  I packed the September issue of Groove Magazine, The Tiger's Wife, and an umbrella just in case.  On the way I picked up a small bag of health crackers, a mozzarella stick, two bananas, and two bottles of water.  From Cheolson it's quite a trek, but I had finally found my way to Gyeongbokgung Station when I hung up with the Dasan Call Center, lost and directionless once again.

Annoyed, I looked up at the city skyline, past the Paris Baguette and Ebiya, before me.  There in the distance, past some more low buildings I saw a giant mountain.  I had been to Gyeongbokgung Palace the weekend before, from where you could see the very same mountain, and even then I had declared: "I'm going to go hike that."  I felt like I needed to conquer something.  Something about venturing into the unknown, where there is no subway nearby to rescue you or coffee shops to spend 5,000 won for a cup of energy to rely on, is exciting, scary, and challenging all at once.  I started walking in the general direction of the mountain, not caring which one it was.  I didn't care what was there, if there were any trails, or where it led me.  I was going to hike that mountain, dammit. 

I walked only fifteen minutes through Seoul's winding backstreets before I found it.  In perfect weather I found the base of the mountain, which happened to be Suseondong Valley, a famous place immortalized by many painters hundreds of years ago.  It's known for its beautiful streams and rock formations that haven't seemed to change one bit.  Already feeling renewed from the sound of fresh running water, I felt energized and ready to conquer whatever lay ahead of me as I jumped precariously from rock to rock.  Still being close to the bottom of the mountain, casual visitors waded in the various pools of water and watched the children climb over the rocks playing imaginative games involving kings and dragons.   One woman set up a lawn chair in the middle of the river, in a nice spot of shade, and was reading a book, using the rock beside her as a table for her cup of coffee. 

As I got higher and higher, the hikers got more serious.  Koreans with professional hiking gear passed me in their Northface outfits with obvious judgment on their faces. I for one am not a fan of their $60 manufactured walking sticks, but after a little while I did begin to consider investing in a real hiker's backpack.  Koreans hike all the time, it seems, and every weekend the subway is filled with people dressed in their hiking colors and fabrics, ready to spend their Sunday as I was now, exploring Seoul's topography. The path eventually split into two choices: I could go left on the paved and sunny road, or venture into the shaded forest and follow the sound of the river.  I couldn't bring myself to part with the river just yet so I went right, and continued hiking up for two hours.  I hiked through what used to be known as the land of tigers: famous for its attacks on both unsuspecting visitors and those banished by the king to suffer death by wild cats.  As I hiked up through paths that ranged from carved rock steps to slippery paths of pine, I noticed the view get more and more spectacular.  When I finally reached close to the top I came upon this sign:

I had found my mountain after all.  First I went right to Changuimun.  Walking along the fortress wall, first built in 1396, I felt I had regained my sense of power.  Not only was I conquering this mountain, I was conquering my Sunday, all on my own, able to control my life once again. I was in that moment exactly where I wanted to be, doing exactly what I wanted to do. 

Looking down I saw Cheong Wa Dae, the President's house, which means either "The Blue House" or "The Blue Roof".  In 1968 there was an assassination attempt on the South Korean President Park Chung-hee, led by 31 North Koreans.  It was unsuccessful, but many South Koreans died as well as 4 U.S. soldiers.  The hunt for the assassins lasted a couple of days and took place on the very mountain I had decided to hike.  There is even a tree with fifteen bullet holes in it that I hiked past.  Because it was considered such a threat, it was only until a couple of years ago that the hiking path was even open to the public by the government.  You're still not allowed to take pictures in many spots, and parts of the wall is closed off still.  Still, to see the old world fortress wall along modern 21st century security was fascinating, and a gentle reminder of just how close I live to a country that is still technically at war with this one.  It was time to turn around and head to the very top of the mountain, 338 meters high (1,109 feet).  

At the top there is a large, flat area, and I had to laugh when I saw it: in the middle of this area is a single boulder about six feet high.  On top of that boulder, which was only maybe 3 feet wide, stood a significant group of Koreans.  They had hiked to the top of the mountain, and in that spacious area had formed a gaggle on the single spot that was technically the highest point, I guess around 340 meters.  Wearing black with various Northface neon spots they held firmly to their hiking sticks, which when in a group made them look even more like birds perched upon their thin legs. When they dispersed, I found myself unable to resist and climbed up too. I had it all to myself until a man in khakis and a button up plaid shirt in dress shoes joined me. 

 

"Excuse me, where are you from?" he asked.

"New York."

"Ah, a New Yorker," he said as though it meant something, and in the silence I wondered how he had gotten up here in that outfit. He pointed to Namsam Mountain, which looked like a small hill from where we were standing.

"Namsam is 236 meters," he said, "and where we are is 338 meters.  That one over there is 320 meters."

"Do you work here?" I asked, and wondered what "here" would even mean.  Do you work for the mountain?

"No, I just like it here." 

We sat in silence for a while.  I promised myself I'd go hiking next Sunday as well, something so wonderfully accessible in such a diverse city as Seoul. 

"Well, it was nice to meet you," I said.  Before I could make my way off the boulder he took my hand and bowed so deeply I thought he was going to kiss my hand or quite possibly my shoe.  I awkwardly tried to bow back.  Sometimes I forget that I'm in Korea or in Asia at all, really.  Our bowing seemed like an appropriate reminder in that moment, a perfect way to end this day.  I made my way down the mountain, walking until I found a major road, found the subway and headed home.  Happy.