Sokcho (속초): Hiking and Beaches

For only a moment, I planned on a weekend outing to Sokcho solo, and then I remembered people that move across the world are adventurous people....

How to get there from Seoul:  There is another station on the 2 line, but the Express Bus Terminal on the 7,3, and 9 lines is the most accessible to everyone, and it's easy to find the terminal from any exit, (although closest to the 3 line).  From there all you need is to purchase a ticket to the Sokcho Express Bus Terminal (17,000 won one way, about 3 hours).  Buying online requires you know Korean, so either go a day early and buy tickets for a large party, or show up early enough to get a ticket in-person (or learn Korean).  Also good to know: the bus terminal in Sokcho has literally everything you need.  You can walk to the beach from there in five minutes, and there's the 7 or 7-1 bus to the mountains from the terminal. 

 When I moved to Korea, the most amazing things to me were the busy city skylines against ranges of mountains.  The summer was particularly brutal, and simply moving from one room to another was a slow, heavy process, so it wasn't until mid-August that hiking was even a possibility.  Since then, I have been headed out to the mountains as much as possible, taking in the scents and sights of flowers and fresh green leaves before Fall sets in with it's fiery hues.  It became top priority to get to the beach one last time, and the lure of Ulsanbawi just made it more tempting. 

I had mentioned it to a friend that I was thinking of going, and she was in suddenly.  Then my other friends wanted to go, and suddenly I had to limit the invitation to 10 people, plus me.  Thanks to my Korean friend, I was able to find an open pension right on the beach last minute, and another buddy offered to get our bus tickets early so with the basics set, we were ready to go. 

When we arrived and piled out of the bus, the man whose pension we were staying at was leaning against a car that could hold six people, smoking impatiently.  He crammed eight of us in, then drove us to the pension and went back for the other three.  It took a long time of broken Korean and pantomiming, but I finally expressed the desire we had to get to Soraksan Mountain.  He finally just marched me up to the roof of the building and pointing to a sloping hill on the beach.  "There.  San.  Kayo," he said.  There.  Mountain.  Go.

Despite or lack of communication, we eventually changed into hiking shoes, got on the right bus, and headed up the mountain.  One new teacher, Laura, was with us and all she wanted to find was the giant Buddha statue, which was easy enough. 

I wanted to find the cave that had a temple carved in it, which we also found.  Three of the girls went too fast for my taste, who seemed to have some sort of appoinment to get to on the mountain and they raced ahead. Four were too slow and I worried about sunset, so we all eventually spread out to our own pace. 

We finally got above the forest, and looked up at the bright red stairs intertwining in and out of the rock.  The stairs were shaky, and steep, and were actually very, very dangerous. 

Ulsanbawi (울산바위) actually has a legend.  One day, a creator of all things decided gather all the great mountains in order to make a mountain that was the most magnificent in the world, which would be named Geumgangsan Mountain (now in North Korea). 

Ulsan came along, but it was so big and heavy it was too late "to be incorportated", like the creator finally liked how everything lined up and just said "Oh.  Right.  Ulsan....sorry we don't need you any more.  This is awkward." According the Korean sign on the mountain, Ulsan was headed home feeling rejected when it fell in love with the beautiful Seoraksan Mountain, and decided to stay.  Or, you can believe what my history major friend Belva told me, which was, "the rock was big and fat, so it got tired and decided to stay here."

We got to the top, 873 meters high, and I opened up my kimchi snack and enjoyed the view while my friends fought with the two men who had set up shop there, charging for pictures and/or making you hold a sign that advertised themselves.  We had arrived in Sokcho at 1pm, so it was nearly 5pm when we finally decided we should start making our way down the mountain.  That was even scarier, but well worth the patience it requires.  We just got back to the hostel when our pension owner offered to drive us to get some galbi.  He came to me and held up his phone.  It said 13,000 won each.  Then he typed something in and held it up again.  It said "indefinitely".  We had unlimited panchon and delicious meat, which we of course paired with beer and lots of water.  We ended the night lighting fireworks and running through waves on the beach, proud of our accomplishment of the day and excited to do nothing but lay on the sand all Sunday, having made an average weekend something else entirely.



Also, this happened.



Japan: Tokyo: Day 1

The night before I was leaving for Japan, a co-worker had a going away party.  I was planning to have a drink then go straight to bed, but before I knew it is was 1 a.m.  I had an early flight for which I had to be up at 5 a.m. for, so I did the responsible thing and decided to recruit people to stay up through the night with me.

One buddy had an 11 a.m. flight to Taiwan, and promptly got us another round to buckle in for the night.  One friend wasn't going anywhere for break, and because of that, had nothing to lose and stayed up along with us.  I have wonderful friends.

After talking, and laughing, and hanging out all night I noticed the time around 5 a.m. and realized I had to actually go home, grab my suitcase, and head to the airport.  The only moment I thought maybe staying up had been a bad idea was when I saw buddy #1 from the bus as it drove away.  He was crossing the street in his sunglasses, some comfortable travel clothes, a rolling suitcase and a over-sized stuffed dinosaur that was bright blue with yellow stripes.  I texted him, advising him as a grown man to not bring a stuffed animal on an international flight and fell asleep against the cold, hard, shaky bus window. 

 

I didn't realize until I was on the flight just what I was in for--the slightly familiar Korean was being announced, followed by Japanese.  There was very little, if not any, English.  I tried to relax and fall asleep, but it's no easy feat on Asiana Airlines.  On a two hour flight you are catered to the entire time, being given drinks, a full meal, and dessert.  Just as they cleared off the last of my coffee we were ready to land in Narita Aiport.

I wish I could tell you how I got to the hostel, but the multitude of the people, the speed of the train, and my lack of sleep resulted in me somehow standing in the lobby of the Khaosan Tokyo Ninja Hotel listening to an abnormally tall Swedish man trying to figure out where to sleep for the night.  I've come to find every hostel has that person--the person who's been travelling too long.  That person who is past comfort, past planning ahead, out of money, and has on some level lost their sense of reality.

"I'm sorry," the girl behind the desk was saying, "we're fully booked for tonight."

"Shit.  Well, I saw a park around the corner.  Maybe I'll stay there."

"Don't sleep in the park.  You'll get arrested."

"Nah, it's fine."

"No really, you shouldn't sleep in the park."

"If they arrest me, hey, at least I'll have a place to sleep."

To this the girl had no response, and she went silent.  I took this opportunity to inch around the man, check-in, leave my bags in the lobby, and just explore.  By pure luck I ended up in Asakusa, which has a famous five-story pagoda, Kaminarimon (Thunder) Gate, and most notably, Senso-Ji, Tokyo's oldest temple.  It was the perfect place to get a taste of Japan.  It's where old met new in imaginative ways I couldn't have dreamed up myself.  Girls were dressed up as geishas with their designer bags hanging from their arms.  Men pulled people in carriages while the subway rumbled from below.  Shops sold generic key chains probably made in China while men demonstrated their artful fan-making skills.  The iconic gate, originally built in 942, stood glaringly wooden and defiant amidst a sea of shiny modern buildings.  I allowed myself to get lost in the crowd, gazing at intricately painted ceilings, tasting different foods I had never seen before, and cleansing myself in both the purifying water and incense smoke. 

After some time the weight of the last 24 hours got to me, so I found a fairly accessible menu and rested.  I ordered some skewered chicken, edamame, and a Sapporo.  Sitting there, enjoying the silence of this little restaurant, I realized two things.

1) This was not Korea.  This was not western.  This was the culture of Japan with technology, and I had better be ready.

2) Japan was going to be expensive.  ($1 = 0.75 yen, while 1 KRW = 0.53 yen)

I paid, and as I was wondering back out into the street I was chased down by my waiter.

"These are for you," he said, handing me three separate bouquets of flowers.  I wanted to ask why. I wanted to talk to him or at least tell him my name.  All I could muster was an "arigato" before he bowed and simply went back inside to the air conditioning.  Despite my exhaustion, I felt a lightness in my step as a went back to the main road.  I looked around, and felt a sense of uneasiness.  Something was different.  I knew where I was and where I had to go.  I saw the bridge all lit up and the people, but nothing was blatantly wrong.  Then it hit me: the people were in the street, and there were no cars.  Tokyo was truly mine.  I joined the crowd, and purposely walked right in the middle of the street, passing through intersections and major roads whimsically.  A girl I had talked to earlier at the temple called to me, and I went back to the sidewalk.

"We're selling beer," she said, less to sell me one and more as a definitive statement.

"What is going on?  Where is everyone going?"

"There's a really popular fireworks festival starting just now.  It lasts, like, two hours."

"Wow."

"Where did you get those flowers?" 

"Here," I said, handing her the purple bouquet, "take them. Aren't they beautiful?"  I looked at her friends and offered them the other two, happy to pass on the happiness I felt.  These flowers were meant to be passed on for no other reason than that, it seems.

"Thank you!  Here, have a beer.  Enjoy the show!"

I spent the night wandering in and out of crowds as we all stood, or sat, or laid right in the street facing the night sky.  I watched buildings turn green, then gold, then purple.  I watched the water as it emulated the colors and shapes above.  I watched friends, and couples, and strangers all gather in the streets in silence and watch the colors move around the night sky.  It was a fitting welcome to Japan.

Cheongpyeong (정평)

Last weekend I stayed at a pension in Cheongpyeong.  It was a heavily wooded area, with rolling hills, with wonderfully refreshing resevoir and a lovely river running around town--and we got there by subway.  It continues to amaze me the vastness of the public transportation here. 

It might take a while, but it's less than three thousand won ($2.80-ish) so it's simply wonderful.  Most of the ride is above ground, so the view from the window passes the time as I continue to be blown away by life outside of Seoul, in the Korean countryside, just inherently more engulfed in nature than I ever saw back in the states.

The night before we had been "good", and we were on our way on the subway at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning.  Impressive.  Because of our early start, we were in Cheongpyeong by 11:30 a.m.  In a blur of Korean I didn't understand we found ourselves at a supermarket, stocking up for the night ahead at the pension where we would set up some BBQ. Remember when you were ten years old at the supermarket?  What would your cart look like if your mom didn't take everything out to put back on the shelf?  Now: imagine that, but with a bunch of 20-somethings.  We got some watermelon, peaches, meat for the BBQ, some mushrooms to grill, some Korean seasoning, marshmallow cookies, beer, more beer, soju, more soju, chocolate... 

We soon found ourselves at the pension, climbing out the van: five adults and their goods.  We walked into our home for the night--a large, empty room equipped with one bathroom and one kitchen.  Not wanting to sound as ignorant as I was, I didn't ask where we were going to sleep.  Into another van and we were headed to the dock.

"That was nice of the pension to drive us to the lake," I said.

"This is the water company," said Jamie.

"Then who drove us to the pension?"

"The supermarket."

"The supermarket drove us?"

"Yes, because we bought things there."

I just stopped asking questions, thankful for the free rides for seemingly no reason at all.  Could you imagine that in New York City?  "I really appreciate your business.  Let me get this cab for you."  Ha.

The dock could not have been more perfect.  We ordered some fried chicken, and enoyed the view until we were brave enough to try the "Fly Fish".  That might be, as far as feeling, be one of the highlights of my life so far.  Pulled by the boat, you end up in standing position, holding on for dear life, as you become airborne for 5-10 seconds, looking out over the wake, into the mountains, over the water as it rushes beneath you.  We went on three rides throughout the day, alternating between tanning, swimming, boating, sleeping, drinking, and in general having the time of our lives. 

Because we were meeting two more of our friends at the pension, we dragged ourselves away from the water and headed back to start preparing for our BBQ.  Someone put the meat we had just bought in the freezer, so Rachel and I were in charge of melting the block with a combination of knives and microwaves.  Poor Gretchen was a victim of not being in the city, and was last to shower and use up all the water, so she was busy bathing out of a pot of water.  Eric was doing crazy things with the grill, and Jamie--the resident Korean in the group--was making sure we were doing everything correctly.  Looking around, it was nice to have these people around, making Korea a make-shift home full of happiness and laughter.  Even though we all know eachother to different degrees, we can somehow just appreciate where we are, and the wonderful opportunity we have to enjoy the moment we're in.  We set the table with the grilled, defrosted meat, the vegetables, the soybean paste, the beer, the soju and cheered. We had a great night filled with the fresh air of the mountains on our own deck looking out over this small, quaint town.  Jamie taught me the Korean motto that you pour someone as much soju as the amount you love them.  So, so much love that night.  So much.

The next morning I saw a line-up of the offenders.

We spent the next hour getting up, moving to a bench to lay for a while, over to a deck chair for a while, and back in bed, trying to get our day started.  It wasn't until we dragged ourselves back to the lake and into the water that we woke up.  Something about dumping your entire body into cold water wipes any hangover away instantly.  One more round of the Fly Fish and tanning and we were ready to head back into the busy metropolitan of Seoul, another great weekend in Korea.

Inappropriate BBQ

It was 4 p.m. until I had to be anywhere, and I had fallen asleep before nine the night before, so at 7 a.m. on a Friday I was left wondering what to do.  Being so delusionally tired the night before I only vaguely remembered a soccer field full of people, bright lights flashing all sorts of things I didn't understand, and loud crowds making their way around outdoor restaurants and make-shift food stands.  When I stepped out of my motel, it was as though the city were abandoned.  The only movement I could see were the many tanks filled with crabs, clams, fish, squid, octupus, and some kind of snake-things that were placed in aquariums outside of every other building. 
All I had been eating were health bars I had packed, and I was craving some real food.  Immediately I realized the problem--even if I could read the menu (which I couldn't), I wouldn't know what anything was (which I didn't).  The only recognizable thing was the fast food and the numerous amounts of french pastry shops.  Begrudgingly, I bought something from Paris Baguette, a popular chain in South Korea. Later I would have McDonald's french fries.

My first day of training went well, and the teachers all assured me yes, I would feel this overwhelmed, lost, and crazy for about a month.  Not only are there a million books for each class, they are all different, with their own set of rules, along with different homework and vocabulary protocol.  Not to mention I have a finite amount of time to memorize student names that don't stick in mind all that easily, figure out how to teach in general, send out report cards (?!), and goodness knows what else.  All I can do is give it time, but for now the children I teach are old enough and smart enough to have conversations with, and they really are very sweet.

After school ended at 9:05 p.m., all the teachers, my manager, the school director, and the head boss of everyone went out to dinner to celebrate Elena, the girl I was replacing's departure and my arrival.  We walked back in the direction of my motel (where the street had inexplicably come back to life), up a flight of stairs, took off our shoes at sat on the floor at a very long, very low table.  We were having Gogigui, Korean BBQ.  Immediately seven bottles of beer, five bottles of Soju (a mild liquor that tastses somewhat like sake) and a bottle of coke was set down at the table.  Different sides of vegtables were already surrounding the pit of hot coals inset into the table.  Tentatively I looked around, and chopsticks were already in hands and picking out different pieces of spicy food.  My director poured my glass, then politely reminded me to next time hold it with both hands.  I asked for one teacher to pass the beer, and he told me he would pour it--you're not allowed to pour your own.  Just when I was cursing myself for forgetting every single piece of cultural research I had done, the server handed me cooking utensils.  The meat was thrown onto the grill.  My seat was ideal for cooking dinner, another important aspect of Korean culture I had forgot about.  I hadn't eaten meat in three years but, well, cheers: here's to a new culture.

The man in charge of the entire school, I noticed, had asked Elena to stand up twice to make a speech.  Already not someone comfortable with the attention of an entire room on her, she was now desperately but politely trying to ward off a third appeal.  I was just thinking how lucky I was when I realized I was being told to stand myself.  He was trying to get me to make a speech but ironically, as a man who runs an English-teaching school, he knows literally no English at all.  I feigned confusion for as long as I could, but suddenly two hands were under my arms pulling me up from the floor.  I was on my feet, and my wasted boss was now massaging my arms saying a lot of words I didn't understand. 
"He says you look Korean," said one of the Korean teachers.
We laughed and I tried to gain some distance, but then he said a lot of other things in Korean, during which he never let go of me, and at one point he even moved my hair off of my shoulder.  I looked into the one person's eyes who could translate, the only one who could help me out of this situation.  Loudly and in perfect English--because she knew he wouldn't understand--she said, "He's not actually saying any words any more.  There is nothing to translate."

Finally, after he was done rambling I was allowed to sit back down.  I imagine my face was as red as the raw meat I was supposed to have been cooking.  Thank god for Soju.

Besides the fact that so many different levels of co-workers were drinking (fairly heavily) together, and despite the fact that what had happened with my new boss would not be okay in any way back home, I was more intruiged by a different aspect of the night--the respect this man had even as a wasted mess.  No one was allowed to send him home.  Everyone laughed when they thought they were supposed to laugh.  No one made a sound during his "speech", of which no one (English or Korean) understood a word.  No one ate when he was talking.  They made leaving sound like his idea, then we all pretended to go home so as not to insult him.  In Korea, the faults that are displayed are either ignored or accepted as human nature, but nothing transends the inherent societal hierarchy that has been embedded--whether it stems from gender, class, work policy, or tradition it is still too soon to tell.  I will say, though, that I noticed I did not put up much of a fight, and even laughed at his Korean jokes when it was my cue.