Friday, October 29, 2010
holes
Korea is putting holes in all of my socks. All those colorful holidays mom gave me are slowly being eaten away by a crappy washing machine.
Friday, October 15, 2010
distance sucks
As much as I love to travel and live abroad, occasionally I get reminders of how much a life like this can also suck. Separation. Distance. Heavy heavy things...
As much as new technology kids us into feeling connected, it also just reaffirms how far away we are. How disconnected we become. We're mammals. Face it, without contact, without presence, what are we to each other?
Today I found out my grandma died through facebook. Thank you technology, for keeping me so well informed. I actually missed the first clue of a status update from my aunt, announcing the news. I actually sent her a wonderfully supportive condolence message, thinking I was referring to her mother-in-law. I actually still didn't make the connection that it was, indeed, her mother, my grandmother, she was talking about even after the "call me asap" urgent email from my mother. All this distance has made me dense. Well, international dialing failure and poor cross-hemisphere timing resulted in me getting the news through a facebook chat with my little brother. Having this news broken in blunt text in a little box under pictures of the last makeoli night is a bit surreal. Nice poetic juxtaposition with the abandoned revelry we're having over here. Indulgence vs. loss...god did I feel like an asshole. Okay, not yet. I felt a bit shocked. Then quite heartbroken. Then blubbery. Then like an asshole for being clear across the world wanting nothing more than to give my dad a hug.
After a bit of confusion with my boss who apparently saw my tears, and thought my request to go home was to return to America, I finally made it home for a skype with my parents. Suddenly I am no longer in the future. Suddenly I am the one listening for the news. Skype with tears and broken silence. Strange. And still, no touch. No way to reach out. Strange how these losses can even bring us together in the digital age, but still keep us so so so far apart. Man.
I'm not the first of my friends over here to experience this. But wow, did not expect it. And when will it sink in fully? When I return home and there's no Grammie Lou. No house in Horton to visit? No more sugar cookies and buckeyes at Christmas? Usually it's her tears at the family get togethers, but now those will be transferred to everyone else's cheeks.
I'm pretty ok with death. In fact, me and Grammie, we're cool. We connected through the sunshine this afternoon, through warm feelings and wind and memory. Her face is still sharp and lovely in my mind (I don't care how cheesy you think that sounds). The heaviest part of all of this is being separate from everyone else. I immediately think of my dad. Of both my parents with all their kids now far away...man. And my aunts and uncles and the holidays coming. And how my generation, all of us cousins, really aren't as connected. This too shall pass. What glue is going to be there when we're the adults, scattered all over, communicating way less frequently despite the modern ease of it. This kind of change is a heavy thing.
I'm crap at keeping up contact over distance. I wrote her another letter a few weeks ago and I am lucky it arrived just in time. Lucky me, she got to hear how much I missed her food. How touching. I last saw her on my way to the casino with Jason, to play in my first poker tournament (which I did quite well in, considering...). That visit was a completely last minute event, and how wonderful those moments in the kitchen were. And then I came to Korea.
But really, it's times like these that just reinforce the importance of connecting, making the most of every moment we're together. The people I love are with me every day, and even if they only hear from me in the occasional letter, I just have to trust that they know how much I carry them with me. Over distances like these, instead of feeling disconnected, I have to believe that we are strong forces in each others' lives--not just as memories, but as a constant presence, so we are never really alone, connected despite being worlds away.
As much as new technology kids us into feeling connected, it also just reaffirms how far away we are. How disconnected we become. We're mammals. Face it, without contact, without presence, what are we to each other?
Today I found out my grandma died through facebook. Thank you technology, for keeping me so well informed. I actually missed the first clue of a status update from my aunt, announcing the news. I actually sent her a wonderfully supportive condolence message, thinking I was referring to her mother-in-law. I actually still didn't make the connection that it was, indeed, her mother, my grandmother, she was talking about even after the "call me asap" urgent email from my mother. All this distance has made me dense. Well, international dialing failure and poor cross-hemisphere timing resulted in me getting the news through a facebook chat with my little brother. Having this news broken in blunt text in a little box under pictures of the last makeoli night is a bit surreal. Nice poetic juxtaposition with the abandoned revelry we're having over here. Indulgence vs. loss...god did I feel like an asshole. Okay, not yet. I felt a bit shocked. Then quite heartbroken. Then blubbery. Then like an asshole for being clear across the world wanting nothing more than to give my dad a hug.
After a bit of confusion with my boss who apparently saw my tears, and thought my request to go home was to return to America, I finally made it home for a skype with my parents. Suddenly I am no longer in the future. Suddenly I am the one listening for the news. Skype with tears and broken silence. Strange. And still, no touch. No way to reach out. Strange how these losses can even bring us together in the digital age, but still keep us so so so far apart. Man.
I'm not the first of my friends over here to experience this. But wow, did not expect it. And when will it sink in fully? When I return home and there's no Grammie Lou. No house in Horton to visit? No more sugar cookies and buckeyes at Christmas? Usually it's her tears at the family get togethers, but now those will be transferred to everyone else's cheeks.
I'm pretty ok with death. In fact, me and Grammie, we're cool. We connected through the sunshine this afternoon, through warm feelings and wind and memory. Her face is still sharp and lovely in my mind (I don't care how cheesy you think that sounds). The heaviest part of all of this is being separate from everyone else. I immediately think of my dad. Of both my parents with all their kids now far away...man. And my aunts and uncles and the holidays coming. And how my generation, all of us cousins, really aren't as connected. This too shall pass. What glue is going to be there when we're the adults, scattered all over, communicating way less frequently despite the modern ease of it. This kind of change is a heavy thing.
I'm crap at keeping up contact over distance. I wrote her another letter a few weeks ago and I am lucky it arrived just in time. Lucky me, she got to hear how much I missed her food. How touching. I last saw her on my way to the casino with Jason, to play in my first poker tournament (which I did quite well in, considering...). That visit was a completely last minute event, and how wonderful those moments in the kitchen were. And then I came to Korea.
But really, it's times like these that just reinforce the importance of connecting, making the most of every moment we're together. The people I love are with me every day, and even if they only hear from me in the occasional letter, I just have to trust that they know how much I carry them with me. Over distances like these, instead of feeling disconnected, I have to believe that we are strong forces in each others' lives--not just as memories, but as a constant presence, so we are never really alone, connected despite being worlds away.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
gathering for dancing!!!
SoKo has delivered me some great shows. Headin to Seoul today for Global Gathering. It's gonna be sick.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
bliss in juice and steam
Last night I climbed a thorny tree outside my apartment, stealth style, armed with a soju buzz, and liberated four fat pomegranates. Red juicy little kernels, each tiny bite an explosion of flavor and excitement at dodging the landlord.
Tonight I returned to the sauna with Portia for the first time in months. Soaking, salting, scrubbing. Steam and chat, soggy and relaxed.
Just a few of Korea's love letters.
Tonight I returned to the sauna with Portia for the first time in months. Soaking, salting, scrubbing. Steam and chat, soggy and relaxed.
Just a few of Korea's love letters.
Monday, October 4, 2010
a coast full of wishes and a sky full of dreams: jeju three
After my camera tragically died, I slowly made my way down the crater, skin so cold my goosebumps felt like they were popping with little electric charges. It's cold and windy on a coastal cliff at dawn. Noted. The next morning I would be sure to dress as accordingly as possible consider I only packed for beach weather (where was my girl scout readiness then?) Down the crater, along the coast, I met sun and sea for the morning, cold hugs hello. Happy Saturday!
The Haenyeo, women divers, are famous on Jeju. They can hold their breath for minutes, diving low to harvest the abalone. I never saw them, even though I really tried. We saw statues, posters, and posts. That Saturday morning, I walked down a tiny little walkway down to the rocks below the crater to a small concrete platform licked by the waves of the little cove. I started doing my sun salutations until I realized I was in view of one of the observation cliffs on the crater above me. I don't know how much the view of my ass sticking up in downward-facing dog stretch really added to the scenic vista for all the hikers. And after I realized this, I looked to the left and realized that just below the path I walked down, nestled into a little cave, was a little home with big porches lined with the gourds and lines I'd seen in all the Haenyeo posters. And there was an adjuma standing on the porch watching me. So I'd found the Haenyeo...by invading her diving platform with my awkward stretches. I didn't get to see her in action, but at least I got a glimpse, mimicking her dives with my own as I reached for my toes. Happy Saturday indeed.
That morning, we three ladies got up early and took a 15minute ferry ride to Udo, a small island that supposedly gets its name because it looks like a cow lying down. I have no idea how they come up with these things; I didn't see any cow except the ones grazing in the pastures on the island. The sea was too choppy for us to take our scooters over, but we found more to rent for cheap on the island. I felt more like I was in the Mediterranean than in Asia as we made our way over. Udo was like Jeju's Greatest Hits. The island is only 17km in circumference and can easily be driven around. Somehow, even with the Pensions and Cafes scattered here and there, with all the tourists that came on the ferry with us, even with the cars and occasional bus load of folks we ran into, the quaintness, rural pristine gleam of the island made it a gem. We cruised along the coast, waves crashing and sprinkling us with the lightness of the sea, dug our toes into a powdery white coral beach, saw the black sand sparkle and watched the gold and green dance across the mountain cliffs and through the patchwork fields on the inner island--all the way, moving through black rock borders, built by hands or by volcanoes long ago. Oh oh Udo. Happy animals were all over the place (which the three of us, animals ourselves, really got excited about). Puppies ran free and chased each other all over the rocks. Horses and cows grazed and glistened in the sun, their shine putting any pantene hair model to shame. But the strangest thing was that all these parts seemed so connected--not divided or classified--they were all just Udo, all just part of the fabric of the island, wrapping us up in a perfect cozy comforter of light and color.
One of the best encounters on the island was next to a small light house and stone lookout platform, when we found a bus-cum-shop with a cardboard painted menu and tiny tables outside with people eating and books on display. A vibrant and free-spirited author, selling paintings and poetry and the "best pajeon in the world" (I was so disappointed that i wasn't hungry...). Her energy, the words and colors swirling on the pages, melted and meshed so well with the feeling of the island. This is the kind of life that draws me. These women, living a bit off the grid, zigzaggin through their future, inspire me.
Kate and I left Candice to hunt for lava tubes. We hopped on our scooters and cruised farther up the East coast. The land-sky-sea-scapes we had become familiar with were rendered striking and alien by the towering wind turbines clustered in the fields by the coast. Seeing the giant white blades cutting lazily through the island skies, so white and sleek against the shifting scenery they were a part of...wow. Whenever I see turbines I am struck by a stupid, humble, simpleton sort of awe.
Past the wind, through the trees, inland through a small forest, Kate and I zoomed up to the lava tubes...only to discover her bag was missing. Haha, oh the mishaps that make for the stories, that make for the laughs. We got back on our scooters and back-tracked to a stop we'd made on the highway, found her bag and circled back. Through the whole detour, Kate's apologies were completely unnecessary: that little sidestep proved one of my favorite drives of the whole trip. The humor of the situation, driving through the tiny twisty road of the trees and back along the turbine-lined coast, I found myself belting out impromptu show tunes and moving between giggle fits and ooohs and aaahs...I had so much fun.
When Kate and I made it back to the lava tubes and followed the signs to the entrance--one of them being "No High Heels" refreshing us in the knowledge that not all places in Korea welcome ridiculously inappropriate footwear. Another sign, keeping with Korea's standard, declared it one of the Longest Lava Tubes in the World." We climbed down damp steps into a dark hole, vines hanging from the trees, reminding me quite a bit of some Temple Of Doom movie set. I had sort of envisioned the caves I've visited in America, full of elaborate formations, stalactites mites etc...bats maybe if we were lucky. This was much more low key, but still very cool. Continuing our the fluid/liquid theme of the island, the lava tube had the feeling of fluid suspended in time--which essentially is what it was. The lava had forced its way through the ground, and the ceiling, walls and floor of the cavern had been imprinted by the various stages of this movement. The ceiling had thousands of tiny little spikes jutting down towards us where the lava had dripped down, the walls were lined with smooth horizontal ridges marking the levels of the flow, and the flow was a lumpy grooved mass: we were walking on solidified ooze. It was amazing. Damp, extremely low lit, causing walking along to be a bit of a challenge. The path ended in a giant pillar of hardened lava, floor-to-ceiling, marking the end of our walk in the longest tube in the world.
Right near the lava tube was Kimnyeong Maze park. Cheesy as it sounds, Kate and I both got really excited about a hedge maze and decided to give it a go. When you enter, you get a little map that looks a lot like a McDonald's coloring placemat and are told that only 65% of people make it to ring the bell at the finish. The maze was not big and didn't seem like it would be difficult, but as we made our way into the leafy halls, we were a bit surprised. The maze, in it's tiny twisting mystery, seemed very fluid and shifting as well. We played Hansel and Gretel with candy wrappers and coke cans, but no matter how familiar the paths seemed, we kept getting turned around. Surprisingly, there were far more adults in the maze than children, and we would all pass each other and form shifting chains of explorers, latching on to other leaders and breaking off at different turns. Everyone was in a baffled and frustrated good mood, creating a cheerful little community of familiar faces trapped together in the bushes. Many of the Koreans (though they didn't seem to do much better) were armed with maps and pens, tracing out their paths. After standing on the final bridge with the bell and watching us pass below several times, a man and his family were really excited to offer Kate and I their secret of the maze, lowering down their map, which we only glanced and then returned (they didn't understand this at all...) so we could still force ourselves to find our way on our own. Eventually we did, after twisting and backtracking enough to walk the whole thing about ten times it seemed. We finally had earned our way to into the 65% bracket, earned our way to ring the bell. And we did--except a little brat of a boy decided he would ring it instead and whipped me in the face with the chord before running off, he didn't really even acknowledge Kate and I very much. Oh well. Still, what a fun mind body exercise. One of the favorite parts of the trip.
We took misdirection and wrong turns with us, though. We tried to travel back roads back to Seongsan, but since there are no regular street signs and the official tourism road map was less accurate than the cartoon maze map, we failed. But failing only succeeding in giving us a beautiful detour that spit us right back out onto the coastal highway by the wind turbines. When we were twisting through the backroads, we breezed by overgrown hedgerows lining the fields, excited birds and ducks into flight through the speckled light of the sun. It was exhilarating, even if it was more short-lived than we'd set out for.
That dinner we ate at a small, family-run Korean place right at the bottom of the crater. Ilchabong spread out across the window like a painting. Abalone gravy over rice and grilled Mackarel, along with all the delicious side dishes Korea wins my heart with: kimchi, radish, lotus root, fermented beans, bean sprouts, seaweed soup...yummm.... I will miss the spread of colorful tiny dishes, open and waiting for my greedy chopsticks. We were the only two eating and some of the extended family was gathered with two grandchildren (I assume). It was nice having their shared time as a backdrop to our meal, chatter and laughter adding to the classical music coming from the tv's nature expose. What a great meal.
That evening, the three of us sat on a mat in the room and connected and shared. With Ilchabong towering out the window and Indiana Jones muted on the tv, we reflected on our journey--outward and in--along the coasts of Jeju. This island opened so much up for us.
Our final morning, bright and early, my two companions joined me for sunrise. We hiked up the crater again (this time I wore a sweater) to join the rest of the early birds. All of us sitting around in the semi-dark, waiting for warmth and light. Well, this day, they didn't totally come. There were more clouds, more wind. Actually, the colors of the sky were much more impressive the second day, and when the sun finally peaked through, it was staring at us with two fiery looking lens, like backwards sun glasses. Pretty rocking.
After the sun rose, it started sprinkling and the wind picked up and we made our way down the mountain to prepare for our return journey. The impending doom looming in the clouds worried us a bit, and after equipping ourselves with ponchos, slightly warmer clothes, and a delicious real coffee at a little cafe Candice found (that amazingly was open at 8am), we were ready to ride.
For the better part of our drive, Jeju blessed us once again with amazing weather. It is amazing what a handkerchief and plastic garbage bag poncho can do to make cruising on a scooter more comfortable. All morning as we followed the inland highways (much smaller than the main coastal roads), we three flew along in our little gang, somehow all singing "Born to be Wild" without any coordination. We were a scooter gang, on the same page, driving wild in Jeju. Woohoo. It wasn't until we pulled over to stop and gape in wonder at the scenery of turbines and volcanic cones and trees and sky and sea--SEA! on the wrong side of us--that we realized once again the roadmap had screwed us. Some good guessing on the directions of roadsigns and help in the form of Korean charades got us back on the main road with only about 25km to go it started raining. It could have been miserable, shivering, constantly wet, the occasionally bugs and fog clogging up my goggles, trying to keep the poncho from whipping behing me and strangling me...but it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, feeling like I had mastered the scooter, mastered the island. Jeju had given us amazing weather, amazing sunshine, amazing experiences all week (despite what the forecasts had threatened); Jeju loved having us here, and here it was, crying to see us leave--at least that's how I'm going to take it.
After dropping off the scooters we realized how exhausted we were and cabbed it back to Jeju City through the middle of the island. We all tried to stay awake, but we definitely faded off during that drive. When we got to the city, we found the Baghdad Cafe and warmed ourselves over chai tea. A solo traveler whose path kept crossing ours did so once more, and he joined us for a meal of the best Indian food I've had since coming to Korea. Oh garlic and cumin and basil and all the spices I wish Gumi would offer me...yummm. We walked around a bit through the streets, shifting back to Korea before we even got on the plane. Jeju City is just like every other city in Korea that's just like every other city in Korea...streets and alleys with shops stacked on several stories, the same places clustered together. After coffee and a good chat, we wished our travel buddy well and made our way back to the plane, back to Gimhae, back to reality.
Kate and I hauled ass to get to the bus for Gumi that we thought was leaving in ten minutes, only to find we had two hours. So more waiting in Gimhae. When we finally got on the bus, the driver was really rude (which I never encounter with bus drivers here) and we couldn't figure out way. First he was really impatient when we were paying him, then he yelled at me not to sit in three different places even though the bus had plenty of open seats. The bus first stopped at DongDaegu, and that's when we realized the reason for his ire. The bus parked, the lights came on, everyone but Kate and I left--we started to freak out that this wasn't right, and my "Gumi?! Gumi?!?" was completely ignored by the driver as he walked off the bus and started washing the windows. It wasn't until the cleaning ladies who came on with mops and buckets assured us that the bus was bound for Gumi that we relaxed, and then laughed. The guy was pissed because he had to drive all the way to Gumi because of two of us. Like we had somehow planned to inconvenience him...Well, Kate and I had a nice empty bus back to Gumi, said our goodbyes and went home to the Sunday routine of laundry and setting alarms.
But the weekday routine hasn't set a reset from before I left. Jeju resonates.
*since my camera broke, these photos are all courtesy of Kate.
The Haenyeo, women divers, are famous on Jeju. They can hold their breath for minutes, diving low to harvest the abalone. I never saw them, even though I really tried. We saw statues, posters, and posts. That Saturday morning, I walked down a tiny little walkway down to the rocks below the crater to a small concrete platform licked by the waves of the little cove. I started doing my sun salutations until I realized I was in view of one of the observation cliffs on the crater above me. I don't know how much the view of my ass sticking up in downward-facing dog stretch really added to the scenic vista for all the hikers. And after I realized this, I looked to the left and realized that just below the path I walked down, nestled into a little cave, was a little home with big porches lined with the gourds and lines I'd seen in all the Haenyeo posters. And there was an adjuma standing on the porch watching me. So I'd found the Haenyeo...by invading her diving platform with my awkward stretches. I didn't get to see her in action, but at least I got a glimpse, mimicking her dives with my own as I reached for my toes. Happy Saturday indeed.
That morning, we three ladies got up early and took a 15minute ferry ride to Udo, a small island that supposedly gets its name because it looks like a cow lying down. I have no idea how they come up with these things; I didn't see any cow except the ones grazing in the pastures on the island. The sea was too choppy for us to take our scooters over, but we found more to rent for cheap on the island. I felt more like I was in the Mediterranean than in Asia as we made our way over. Udo was like Jeju's Greatest Hits. The island is only 17km in circumference and can easily be driven around. Somehow, even with the Pensions and Cafes scattered here and there, with all the tourists that came on the ferry with us, even with the cars and occasional bus load of folks we ran into, the quaintness, rural pristine gleam of the island made it a gem. We cruised along the coast, waves crashing and sprinkling us with the lightness of the sea, dug our toes into a powdery white coral beach, saw the black sand sparkle and watched the gold and green dance across the mountain cliffs and through the patchwork fields on the inner island--all the way, moving through black rock borders, built by hands or by volcanoes long ago. Oh oh Udo. Happy animals were all over the place (which the three of us, animals ourselves, really got excited about). Puppies ran free and chased each other all over the rocks. Horses and cows grazed and glistened in the sun, their shine putting any pantene hair model to shame. But the strangest thing was that all these parts seemed so connected--not divided or classified--they were all just Udo, all just part of the fabric of the island, wrapping us up in a perfect cozy comforter of light and color.
One of the best encounters on the island was next to a small light house and stone lookout platform, when we found a bus-cum-shop with a cardboard painted menu and tiny tables outside with people eating and books on display. A vibrant and free-spirited author, selling paintings and poetry and the "best pajeon in the world" (I was so disappointed that i wasn't hungry...). Her energy, the words and colors swirling on the pages, melted and meshed so well with the feeling of the island. This is the kind of life that draws me. These women, living a bit off the grid, zigzaggin through their future, inspire me.
Kate and I left Candice to hunt for lava tubes. We hopped on our scooters and cruised farther up the East coast. The land-sky-sea-scapes we had become familiar with were rendered striking and alien by the towering wind turbines clustered in the fields by the coast. Seeing the giant white blades cutting lazily through the island skies, so white and sleek against the shifting scenery they were a part of...wow. Whenever I see turbines I am struck by a stupid, humble, simpleton sort of awe.
Past the wind, through the trees, inland through a small forest, Kate and I zoomed up to the lava tubes...only to discover her bag was missing. Haha, oh the mishaps that make for the stories, that make for the laughs. We got back on our scooters and back-tracked to a stop we'd made on the highway, found her bag and circled back. Through the whole detour, Kate's apologies were completely unnecessary: that little sidestep proved one of my favorite drives of the whole trip. The humor of the situation, driving through the tiny twisty road of the trees and back along the turbine-lined coast, I found myself belting out impromptu show tunes and moving between giggle fits and ooohs and aaahs...I had so much fun.
When Kate and I made it back to the lava tubes and followed the signs to the entrance--one of them being "No High Heels" refreshing us in the knowledge that not all places in Korea welcome ridiculously inappropriate footwear. Another sign, keeping with Korea's standard, declared it one of the Longest Lava Tubes in the World." We climbed down damp steps into a dark hole, vines hanging from the trees, reminding me quite a bit of some Temple Of Doom movie set. I had sort of envisioned the caves I've visited in America, full of elaborate formations, stalactites mites etc...bats maybe if we were lucky. This was much more low key, but still very cool. Continuing our the fluid/liquid theme of the island, the lava tube had the feeling of fluid suspended in time--which essentially is what it was. The lava had forced its way through the ground, and the ceiling, walls and floor of the cavern had been imprinted by the various stages of this movement. The ceiling had thousands of tiny little spikes jutting down towards us where the lava had dripped down, the walls were lined with smooth horizontal ridges marking the levels of the flow, and the flow was a lumpy grooved mass: we were walking on solidified ooze. It was amazing. Damp, extremely low lit, causing walking along to be a bit of a challenge. The path ended in a giant pillar of hardened lava, floor-to-ceiling, marking the end of our walk in the longest tube in the world.
Right near the lava tube was Kimnyeong Maze park. Cheesy as it sounds, Kate and I both got really excited about a hedge maze and decided to give it a go. When you enter, you get a little map that looks a lot like a McDonald's coloring placemat and are told that only 65% of people make it to ring the bell at the finish. The maze was not big and didn't seem like it would be difficult, but as we made our way into the leafy halls, we were a bit surprised. The maze, in it's tiny twisting mystery, seemed very fluid and shifting as well. We played Hansel and Gretel with candy wrappers and coke cans, but no matter how familiar the paths seemed, we kept getting turned around. Surprisingly, there were far more adults in the maze than children, and we would all pass each other and form shifting chains of explorers, latching on to other leaders and breaking off at different turns. Everyone was in a baffled and frustrated good mood, creating a cheerful little community of familiar faces trapped together in the bushes. Many of the Koreans (though they didn't seem to do much better) were armed with maps and pens, tracing out their paths. After standing on the final bridge with the bell and watching us pass below several times, a man and his family were really excited to offer Kate and I their secret of the maze, lowering down their map, which we only glanced and then returned (they didn't understand this at all...) so we could still force ourselves to find our way on our own. Eventually we did, after twisting and backtracking enough to walk the whole thing about ten times it seemed. We finally had earned our way to into the 65% bracket, earned our way to ring the bell. And we did--except a little brat of a boy decided he would ring it instead and whipped me in the face with the chord before running off, he didn't really even acknowledge Kate and I very much. Oh well. Still, what a fun mind body exercise. One of the favorite parts of the trip.
We took misdirection and wrong turns with us, though. We tried to travel back roads back to Seongsan, but since there are no regular street signs and the official tourism road map was less accurate than the cartoon maze map, we failed. But failing only succeeding in giving us a beautiful detour that spit us right back out onto the coastal highway by the wind turbines. When we were twisting through the backroads, we breezed by overgrown hedgerows lining the fields, excited birds and ducks into flight through the speckled light of the sun. It was exhilarating, even if it was more short-lived than we'd set out for.
That dinner we ate at a small, family-run Korean place right at the bottom of the crater. Ilchabong spread out across the window like a painting. Abalone gravy over rice and grilled Mackarel, along with all the delicious side dishes Korea wins my heart with: kimchi, radish, lotus root, fermented beans, bean sprouts, seaweed soup...yummm.... I will miss the spread of colorful tiny dishes, open and waiting for my greedy chopsticks. We were the only two eating and some of the extended family was gathered with two grandchildren (I assume). It was nice having their shared time as a backdrop to our meal, chatter and laughter adding to the classical music coming from the tv's nature expose. What a great meal.
That evening, the three of us sat on a mat in the room and connected and shared. With Ilchabong towering out the window and Indiana Jones muted on the tv, we reflected on our journey--outward and in--along the coasts of Jeju. This island opened so much up for us.
Our final morning, bright and early, my two companions joined me for sunrise. We hiked up the crater again (this time I wore a sweater) to join the rest of the early birds. All of us sitting around in the semi-dark, waiting for warmth and light. Well, this day, they didn't totally come. There were more clouds, more wind. Actually, the colors of the sky were much more impressive the second day, and when the sun finally peaked through, it was staring at us with two fiery looking lens, like backwards sun glasses. Pretty rocking.
For the better part of our drive, Jeju blessed us once again with amazing weather. It is amazing what a handkerchief and plastic garbage bag poncho can do to make cruising on a scooter more comfortable. All morning as we followed the inland highways (much smaller than the main coastal roads), we three flew along in our little gang, somehow all singing "Born to be Wild" without any coordination. We were a scooter gang, on the same page, driving wild in Jeju. Woohoo. It wasn't until we pulled over to stop and gape in wonder at the scenery of turbines and volcanic cones and trees and sky and sea--SEA! on the wrong side of us--that we realized once again the roadmap had screwed us. Some good guessing on the directions of roadsigns and help in the form of Korean charades got us back on the main road with only about 25km to go it started raining. It could have been miserable, shivering, constantly wet, the occasionally bugs and fog clogging up my goggles, trying to keep the poncho from whipping behing me and strangling me...but it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, feeling like I had mastered the scooter, mastered the island. Jeju had given us amazing weather, amazing sunshine, amazing experiences all week (despite what the forecasts had threatened); Jeju loved having us here, and here it was, crying to see us leave--at least that's how I'm going to take it.
After dropping off the scooters we realized how exhausted we were and cabbed it back to Jeju City through the middle of the island. We all tried to stay awake, but we definitely faded off during that drive. When we got to the city, we found the Baghdad Cafe and warmed ourselves over chai tea. A solo traveler whose path kept crossing ours did so once more, and he joined us for a meal of the best Indian food I've had since coming to Korea. Oh garlic and cumin and basil and all the spices I wish Gumi would offer me...yummm. We walked around a bit through the streets, shifting back to Korea before we even got on the plane. Jeju City is just like every other city in Korea that's just like every other city in Korea...streets and alleys with shops stacked on several stories, the same places clustered together. After coffee and a good chat, we wished our travel buddy well and made our way back to the plane, back to Gimhae, back to reality.
Kate and I hauled ass to get to the bus for Gumi that we thought was leaving in ten minutes, only to find we had two hours. So more waiting in Gimhae. When we finally got on the bus, the driver was really rude (which I never encounter with bus drivers here) and we couldn't figure out way. First he was really impatient when we were paying him, then he yelled at me not to sit in three different places even though the bus had plenty of open seats. The bus first stopped at DongDaegu, and that's when we realized the reason for his ire. The bus parked, the lights came on, everyone but Kate and I left--we started to freak out that this wasn't right, and my "Gumi?! Gumi?!?" was completely ignored by the driver as he walked off the bus and started washing the windows. It wasn't until the cleaning ladies who came on with mops and buckets assured us that the bus was bound for Gumi that we relaxed, and then laughed. The guy was pissed because he had to drive all the way to Gumi because of two of us. Like we had somehow planned to inconvenience him...Well, Kate and I had a nice empty bus back to Gumi, said our goodbyes and went home to the Sunday routine of laundry and setting alarms.
But the weekday routine hasn't set a reset from before I left. Jeju resonates.
*since my camera broke, these photos are all courtesy of Kate.
Friday, October 1, 2010
a coast full of wishes and a sky full of dreams: jeju two
Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, once again greeting me earlier than any alarm for teaching I've ever set. Island sunrises are too good to miss I guess. The night before left me with some horrible sleep, as Kate and I had watched some British men finding worms in the monkey's their Congo tribe was feeding them-- and that image wormed its way into my dreams, into me. My parasite anxiety continued into the next few days when I began to discover itchy bumps looking suspiciously like the bedbug marks Gi had brought back with her from Hong Kong. The bumps are still here, fading now, but the bugs did NOT make it with me off the island (i hope i hope i hope i hope) and I gave them an apocalyptic washing just in case. But even itchy things and lack of sleep could not keep me from enjoying my island. No sir. So back to the adventure...
Kate and I fried up our last bit of raisin bread and butter for breakfast (yummm...), crammed all the leftover veggies in the fridge into a sandwich and set off on our scooters earlier than even EMart would be open. We rode toward sunrise--actually the sun had already risen, casting shadows from the fat puffy whites all over the land, but we were headed for the east of the island--to Sunrise Peak. We cruised on the palm-tree-lined highway, claiming our own lane in the lazy traffic. After we made it through Seogwipo, the other major city besides Jeju City, the view became even more scenic. The resorts were gone, the buildings were gone; except for the randomly scattered towns, we were surrounded by tangled vegetation and neat little orchards divided by the lavarock. And always, just to the right, was the blue, where sea and sky to tempt my eyes away from any semblance of safe scootering. Glorious. Crisp, clear, sparkling. Even the green seemed to sparkle. And we two speeding through it, leaving a wake of wild ginger joy. I was laughing and singing a high percentage of my scooter journey, letting my giggly songs be absorbed into the harmony of wind and waves...Wow. how cheesy does that sound? But it's the truth. Word.
Thanks to some very helpful advice from our Busan friend Chris (who had returned his scooter to have it rented out to us), we were equipped with the knowledge that we could not drive straight through for hours. The need for breaks and engine cooling gave us the excuse to even more leisurely cruise along the coast and take a break whenever something looked appealing.
The first stop was at a tiny beach (incidentally the one we were headed for the night before and turned back from). It was a little after 10:00am and the sun was at that perfect angle to cut into the surf and the sand and set everything a-glitter. But the real kicker, the real sparkle, was the black sand. Wow. I'd never seen anything like it (haven't been to too many volcanic islands). Tiny little particles of black and gray, peppered with quartz or something clear and shining, made the entire beach sparkle like a disco ball. Big porous lava rocks, in all shapes and colors, were scattered along the surf's edge, catching the bubbles, adding texture to the shadow, the silhouette that came from looking across the beach into the intensity of the sun's glare. Oh and danced in it. Buried our suddenly too-white legs in warm black (and surprisingly soft) mounds of it, and I sat there and felt like I was sitting at the bottom of an hourglass and all the sand had already fallen so I didn't have to worry about time running out, I could just swim around in it at my leisure.
But we had places to go, so back on the scooters were we. We gassed up again. Gas stations in Korea are so different from back home. There is no convenience store. There are just gas pumps, an attendant, and maybe a bathroom that's clean if you're lucky. And there is no self-service. Like all things in Korea, even putting gas in your car is a chance to create a job and display their ethics of service. So we pay a couple cheon (a few bucks), annyeong-ha-say-yo it and speed away. Too easy.
We left the highway for the scenic roads in search of the Cinema Museum; we were on a hunt for some hanbok pictures my friend Portia had shown us after her Jeju visit. Well, the price and lack of stickers caused stingy-traveler-me to change my mind, but it was great fun watching Kate get Koreanized. After a quick outfit and wig change with 4 different facial expressions captured, ranging from stern to big smiled, we watched the woman work magic with photoshop. Wow. Her fingers whisked along, lifting her wrist in a graceful arc the way my piano teacher tried to teach me to end my phrases, but she did it every time she hit the shift key (quite often). With each of her quick clicks, ginger American perfectly flawed Kate disappeared, replaced by black-haired, smooth skinned thinned lifted, perfectly symmetrical Korean. Even her dress and accessories were enhanced to perfection. What stared back at us in the end was a neutral-faced Koreanized Hanbok Kate. Perfect for the Christmas photos back home. It was really fun.
The cinema museum was actually more fun than I thought it would be, despite knowing nothing about Korean celebrity culture. There were some really awesome old movie posters and my favorite room had hand and face imprints of famous stars--quite creepy. Outside was the real treat. Another beautiful ocean scenic view, little trails leading through cactus and trees to the black cliffs that cut into the waves. On our way down to said cliffs, we got in the middle of an Asian mafia gunfight, met Forrest Gump on the bus bench, dodged velociraptors and a tyrannosaurus rex to prod at Jaws where he hung suspended on the docks. The famous movie characters and sets--mostly western at this point-- are another of the many photo opportunities Korea likes to provide. Korean culture and tourism goes nuts over their movie industry, proudly marking any site of filming, and it was neat to stop at an out-of-the-way little museum devoted to such passions.
Getting on our scooters in the parking lot, we were stopped by a family of Koreans going into the museum (which was nice to see it getting more business since at first it seemed like we might have been the only ones). Their son went to middle school in Daegu and was proud enough to tell us so, which got us all talking about Gumi and English language. Outside of school, whenever we meet up with Koreans that are so excited to practice their English with us, it is so refreshing. It feels good to know that they want us here, that they are excited to see us (not in the point, say Hi and giggle at the waegooks walking by way). As always, they are humble with their English ability, and we correct them saying their English is amazing and embarrassingly better than any infantile Korean syllables we could mispronounce for them. Smiles, goodbyes. Both parties left to enjoy their vacation and feel a bit better about themselves.
We scooted along the curves of the coastal road the rest of the way to Seongsan. It was stunning. The black lavarock reaching out into the sea, constant ripples and bubbles and spray and blue and...shit I'm running out of adjectives for this island halfway through the second blog--once again the universe reminding me: words are hard. Just go visit the place and see for yourselves.
The best part of the coastal drive were the piles of wishes. Rounded lava stones in so many sizes were stacked along the coast, a whole other horizon built from the hands of people's prayers. Erosion by the people, for the people, of the people...
When the coast twisted upwards and brought Ilchulbong into our sights, I found myself again laughing out loud to keep from exploding. The crater shimmers green, spikes out of the to stand guard over the town. It isn't the biggest mountain or peak you've ever seen, it is just there in a very immense intense insistance that you appreciate all of its simple beauty. Sunrise peak. I would conquer it. Twice.
After a bit of getting lost and then getting found, we arrived at our hotel to a wonderfully airy and spacious room with three walls of windows, with views of ocean, inlet, bay and Ilchulbong. Wow. The sun had hit that pre-evening low when everything outside is gold and the wood of our room turned to honey. Honey. Simple warm sweet. That's what it felt like to be out of the wind, inside but outside, a hundred percent content.
That evening after Candice rolled in, all bedraggled in the dark, we all went caught a taxi to the "only restaurant in town" (which was bullshit, incidentally, but what the hotel deskman said). The typical Korean "western" food of dunkass (pork cutlets that resemble too closely the chicken fried steaks of school lunches covered in mysterious brown sauce) and spaghetti. It was a laughable meal, made much more laughable by Candice frolicking outside the window while our server bused the table. I think we three are a much stranger lot than he was used to. We walked back, since the taxi driver took us a whole 30 seconds ride, and made our way across the bridge past the giant locks to let the boats into the inlet. We made some late night friends with a startled crane, a friendly white dog we dubbed foxy (quite the resemblance) and some other critters running around. When we finally settled in for the night, girl talk into the wee hours, I set my alarm, armed myself with instant coffee (total last resort) and readied myself for predawn.
I left the ladies shortly after five and made my to the crater, which only took about ten minutes walking. It was still dark and the town glowed with all those orange yellow lights, the moon still fat and happy above. The walk up the crater was easy enough with small lights to guide you but not impose on the view. I booked it up to the top, panting my way up the final steps and lost every last bit of breath when I got a view of the crater. In the predawn light I could see the craggy teeth edging the crater and the shadows the dipped inside of it. Just beyond, nothing but sea. When I looked to the west I could see the bay, the town, the docks of the harbor...all glowing and waiting. I know I was projecting, but it felt like the whole island was holding its breath for what was coming.
There were stones and risers to sit on, and a small crowd formed, a little community created by our willingness to drag ourselves up a crater this early, to race the sun. We were hardcore. And as we sat there and waited, withstood the very chilly wind (which I stupidly wore shorts and a loose tee; only me, everyone else was bundled) we watched the sky shift from cool to warm, pinks cutting cracks in the navy, fire breaking through and staring us down.
When the first tiny speck of sun came behind the clouds, everyone cheered. You had to. This is the glory we wait for, and it never fails to amaze. But here, over the crater that collected liquid golden light in its bowl, and the sea spread out all around us, the town with the moon still bright behind us--here was everything. All the elements to start your day, a well balanced breakfast of fire, wind, water, air, earth. ("by your powers combined..." that's right, it was captain planet).
Kate and I fried up our last bit of raisin bread and butter for breakfast (yummm...), crammed all the leftover veggies in the fridge into a sandwich and set off on our scooters earlier than even EMart would be open. We rode toward sunrise--actually the sun had already risen, casting shadows from the fat puffy whites all over the land, but we were headed for the east of the island--to Sunrise Peak. We cruised on the palm-tree-lined highway, claiming our own lane in the lazy traffic. After we made it through Seogwipo, the other major city besides Jeju City, the view became even more scenic. The resorts were gone, the buildings were gone; except for the randomly scattered towns, we were surrounded by tangled vegetation and neat little orchards divided by the lavarock. And always, just to the right, was the blue, where sea and sky to tempt my eyes away from any semblance of safe scootering. Glorious. Crisp, clear, sparkling. Even the green seemed to sparkle. And we two speeding through it, leaving a wake of wild ginger joy. I was laughing and singing a high percentage of my scooter journey, letting my giggly songs be absorbed into the harmony of wind and waves...Wow. how cheesy does that sound? But it's the truth. Word.
Thanks to some very helpful advice from our Busan friend Chris (who had returned his scooter to have it rented out to us), we were equipped with the knowledge that we could not drive straight through for hours. The need for breaks and engine cooling gave us the excuse to even more leisurely cruise along the coast and take a break whenever something looked appealing.
The first stop was at a tiny beach (incidentally the one we were headed for the night before and turned back from). It was a little after 10:00am and the sun was at that perfect angle to cut into the surf and the sand and set everything a-glitter. But the real kicker, the real sparkle, was the black sand. Wow. I'd never seen anything like it (haven't been to too many volcanic islands). Tiny little particles of black and gray, peppered with quartz or something clear and shining, made the entire beach sparkle like a disco ball. Big porous lava rocks, in all shapes and colors, were scattered along the surf's edge, catching the bubbles, adding texture to the shadow, the silhouette that came from looking across the beach into the intensity of the sun's glare. Oh and danced in it. Buried our suddenly too-white legs in warm black (and surprisingly soft) mounds of it, and I sat there and felt like I was sitting at the bottom of an hourglass and all the sand had already fallen so I didn't have to worry about time running out, I could just swim around in it at my leisure.
We left the highway for the scenic roads in search of the Cinema Museum; we were on a hunt for some hanbok pictures my friend Portia had shown us after her Jeju visit. Well, the price and lack of stickers caused stingy-traveler-me to change my mind, but it was great fun watching Kate get Koreanized. After a quick outfit and wig change with 4 different facial expressions captured, ranging from stern to big smiled, we watched the woman work magic with photoshop. Wow. Her fingers whisked along, lifting her wrist in a graceful arc the way my piano teacher tried to teach me to end my phrases, but she did it every time she hit the shift key (quite often). With each of her quick clicks, ginger American perfectly flawed Kate disappeared, replaced by black-haired, smooth skinned thinned lifted, perfectly symmetrical Korean. Even her dress and accessories were enhanced to perfection. What stared back at us in the end was a neutral-faced Koreanized Hanbok Kate. Perfect for the Christmas photos back home. It was really fun.
The cinema museum was actually more fun than I thought it would be, despite knowing nothing about Korean celebrity culture. There were some really awesome old movie posters and my favorite room had hand and face imprints of famous stars--quite creepy. Outside was the real treat. Another beautiful ocean scenic view, little trails leading through cactus and trees to the black cliffs that cut into the waves. On our way down to said cliffs, we got in the middle of an Asian mafia gunfight, met Forrest Gump on the bus bench, dodged velociraptors and a tyrannosaurus rex to prod at Jaws where he hung suspended on the docks. The famous movie characters and sets--mostly western at this point-- are another of the many photo opportunities Korea likes to provide. Korean culture and tourism goes nuts over their movie industry, proudly marking any site of filming, and it was neat to stop at an out-of-the-way little museum devoted to such passions.
When the coast twisted upwards and brought Ilchulbong into our sights, I found myself again laughing out loud to keep from exploding. The crater shimmers green, spikes out of the to stand guard over the town. It isn't the biggest mountain or peak you've ever seen, it is just there in a very immense intense insistance that you appreciate all of its simple beauty. Sunrise peak. I would conquer it. Twice.
After a bit of getting lost and then getting found, we arrived at our hotel to a wonderfully airy and spacious room with three walls of windows, with views of ocean, inlet, bay and Ilchulbong. Wow. The sun had hit that pre-evening low when everything outside is gold and the wood of our room turned to honey. Honey. Simple warm sweet. That's what it felt like to be out of the wind, inside but outside, a hundred percent content.
I left the ladies shortly after five and made my to the crater, which only took about ten minutes walking. It was still dark and the town glowed with all those orange yellow lights, the moon still fat and happy above. The walk up the crater was easy enough with small lights to guide you but not impose on the view. I booked it up to the top, panting my way up the final steps and lost every last bit of breath when I got a view of the crater. In the predawn light I could see the craggy teeth edging the crater and the shadows the dipped inside of it. Just beyond, nothing but sea. When I looked to the west I could see the bay, the town, the docks of the harbor...all glowing and waiting. I know I was projecting, but it felt like the whole island was holding its breath for what was coming.
When the first tiny speck of sun came behind the clouds, everyone cheered. You had to. This is the glory we wait for, and it never fails to amaze. But here, over the crater that collected liquid golden light in its bowl, and the sea spread out all around us, the town with the moon still bright behind us--here was everything. All the elements to start your day, a well balanced breakfast of fire, wind, water, air, earth. ("by your powers combined..." that's right, it was captain planet).
And I went crazy trying to capture it all. Foolishly. There's no way a camera can ever snap all that up. Instead, I just killed my battery.
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