Gaji Mountain

It took nine months for me to finally scale my first mountain here, and it really served to remind me of just how out of shape I really am.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been as bad if I had brought along the right shoes. Unfortunately, I left my walking shoes at work on Friday, and so I was stuck wearing these things. As you can see, they don't exactly offer much support. It was going to be a long day.

Lex, Honey, and I arrived at the entrance to Seoknamsa Temple, which lies at the foot of Gajisan and serves as an entrance to the hiking trail, at just past noon. We probably could've afforded to start out a bit earlier in the morning, but the urge to sleep in was just too strong. (And yet, I still somehow managed to find no time for breakfast and wound up eating an ice cream cone for breakfast. No shoes, no breakfast--it's like I forgot I was hiking or something.)

We found the tiny sign that read "Trail to the peak of Gaji Mountain this way," which was practically covered by bushes, and started our ascent. Six and a half kilometres to victory.

Things started so nicely--we walked along a nice wide shaded path; it was like we were leaving the Shire. Lex even joked that we could probably ride his scooter all the way to the top of the mountain.

The path soon came to an end, though, and things became progressively more inclined. We were very liberal with our breaks, as we knew we were just starting out, and this hike was going to take us a good four hours.

On the plus side, according to a sign we came across, we had inexplicably already traveled 2 kilometres in five minutes, as there were only 4.5 kilometres left now.

Less than half an hour in, I realized that it was already almost 1 and I had yet to eat solid food, so we stopped to eat. I pulled out a sandwich that I had picked up from the convenience store that morning, but I could only stomach to eat half of it, as one half was an egg sandwich and the other was a gross tuna sandwich monstrosity. Lex graciously offered half of his Subway sandwich, and I immediately felt better.

While we ate, a fellow foreigner walked past us listening to music on her ear buds; we all waved and smiled, as if to say, "Those ajimmas ain't got shit on us foreigners."

As the "trail" got progressively more difficult, I could tell based on the looks on the faces of my compatriots that they were questioning whether we were going to make it or not. Especially since we crossed a little pole with the number 126 on it, meaning there were 125 poles left to go. I was also dreading what the descent would be like in my shoes. In case you forgot what they look like, they're basically sandals with a cover.

The distance on the next sign we saw had mysteriously gone back up, so either somebody needs to fix those signs, or somebody was messing with us. (Or maybe we had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque?)

After just over an hour, we suddenly (and thankfully) found ourselves on flat terrain yet again. There was even a road! We also spotted our foreigner friend resting on a rock.

We looked at a map trying to figure out how far we'd come and where the hell we were, but without a "You are here" sign and with little in way of details on the map, it was difficult to tell.

The girl sitting on the rock, who I will now arbitrarily dub Jen so I can stop calling her foreign girl, helped us out and explained that we were about a fifth of the way up the mountain, and from where we were, we had two options: We could either try our hand at scaling the mountain's rugged face along the "path" just off to the left, or we could take the road to the right, as both paths ended up converging later on. Obviously, we opted for the road.

The road didn't last long, though, and we soon found ourselves scaling a Gladiators course, climbing a steeply inclined and seemingly never-ending concrete path, and of course, taking in some beautiful views. (Although Lex pointed out that, despite being so far away from civilization, somehow, we could still hear the sound of cars. And there was always fucking garbage at every fucking lookout. People suck sometimes.)

When we reached checkpoint 104, we were pretty happy with our  progress; that is, until we got to the next checkpoint and it said 105. Suddenly the numbers were going up...

At one point we came across a group of foreigners and Koreans heading in the opposite direction. We greeted each other as we passed, and inside, I gave a quick chuckle thinking about the scene in Shaun of the Dead when Shaun's group crosses paths with his friend's path, and both groups are mirror copies of one another.

After a couple hours, we came to particularly nice rocky lookout and took a well-needed rest. Lex saw a sign in English and quickly got up to go read it, proclaiming, "Look, American!"

The laugh that comment drew from me rejuvenated me yet again, and I went over to the small store just off to the side to purchase a chilled bottle of water before carrying on.

The sight of a sign that read "Gajisan: 0.9 kilometres" about 15 minutes later filled us with great joy. We could taste victory.

Eventually, we came to a flight of stairs. As we climbed them, something inside me told me this was it; victory lay at the top of this flight of stairs. I could feel it. Sure enough, halfway up, I saw a flagpole. We made it!

Once at the top, we all flashed some pictures, and then sat behind some big rocks to shelter ourselves from the wind and enjoyed some victory shots of soju. Soju tastes damn good when you're 1, 1240 metres up.

We saw Jen up there as well; she was doing some crazy yoga. Clearly, her priorities are all backwards.

Sadly, our victory was short-lived. Lex and I shouted in unison that the mountain was now our bitch, but oh, how wrong we were. We started to make our way down and quickly found ourselves in the bushes, unsure if we were on any sort of path. It was like being back in 'Nam; I just knew Charlies were hiding in the shadows.

Once back on a path, I faced what I had been dreading all day: rocks; endless jagged little rocks that were just dying to trip me up, slip out from under me, stab me, or twist my ankle. When I had climbed down Maderas Volcano in Nicaragua several years ago, my muddy shoes had slipped out from under me a couple times. Those falls hadn't been terrible, but these rocks looked far less forgiving--especially with my glamorized sandals.

Every step was a game of trying to find the flattest surface to step on. Sometimes I won, but most times I lost miserably--a  stab here, a slide there. Every curse word uttered was like a tiny hit of morphine.

Lex, on the other hand, scaled down the mountain with complete ease. It was like he was going for a casual stroll through the park.

Thankfully, we eventually came to a flight of stairs, and my life suddenly became a million times more bearable. At the bottom of the stairs, though, we found an ominous looking map that showed that we were still nowhere near the bottom of the mountain. A small voice inside of me started to wonder if we'd be able to get down before it started to get dark.

We continued on our way with increased purpose in our pace, often walking in silence, with the rocks beneath our feet the only sound to keep us company.

Then we came to a crossroad, but none of the arrows pointed towards Seoknamsa Temple. We had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque! It was 5:00 at this point, so we couldn't afford to get lost. We took the path to our left because 1) it was going down and 2) it read Seoknam Tunnel (or at least, we think it did) and that sounded close enough.

I shared my concern that we hadn't seen anybody else coming down the mountain in ages, and sure enough, the next time we took a break, this man entered our lives.

We had just finished delicately navigating a particularly difficult rocky section, but this guy was practically galloping his way down the hill! It was like watching Tarzan swinging through the jungle.

He let out a laugh when he spotted us. He tried to explain in his broken Konglish that we had taken the wrong path to Seoknamsa, and he offered to lead us home. With a wave of the hand, he got us back on our feet, and we were on our way. "Where there's a will, there's a way--that's my motto," he said.

He was very talkative--asking us questions and telling us about himself--and he ended every sentence with a laugh. Every response from us would also elicit a laugh, as he was impressed and amused that we understood him. When Honey answered that they were from California, I was too busy concentrating on where to place my foot next to bother adding that I was from Canada.

Although he was making us walk at a faster pace than I would have liked, I actually really enjoyed the guy's company. (I wish I could remember his name, but again, I was too busy focusing on not impaling myself on a rock to pay attention to details like names.) He was just so freakin' happy, and it was bloody contagious. I felt like I was being led through the woods by a creature from Narnia or something. At one point, he even had us running!

We eventually found our way back to the correct path--we had taken the long way down--and within ten minutes, we were back in civilization, completely exhausted. We owed our lives to this man, so we thanked him by giving him our spare bottle of soju. Gaji Mountain certainly wasn't my bitch, but it definitely was his.

윶놀이 (Yuchnori...?)

Last term, the staff got together one afternoon for an elimination volleyball tournament; the teams were organized based on grades, and there was a pretty sweet snack area set aside for everybody. It was one of the rare opportunities I get to interact with homeroom teachers who surprisingly do a good of hiding the fact that they actually can speak a bit of English.

My team was eliminated in the first round, but whatever, at least I got a sweet toothbrush as a consolation prize. (The teachers also seem to think I'm impoverished or malnourished, because I was handed with a bag of leftovers afterwards. Either that, or they think I'm a giant food receptacle because I'm from North America--either way, I appreciated the gesture. And I sort of am a food receptacle, anyway, so it's all good.)

Then earlier this term, we had yet another staff sport day, except this time it was the Korean variation of volleyball involving your feet (if you're a man) and a lowered net. Once again, our team was eliminated in the first round; I'm starting to notice a pattern: My team sucks; I need to ask for a trade, already!

This week, things took an interesting turn as we were once again gathered in the gym for yet another traditional Korean game. This one, however, did not require any athletic prowess (although that didn't stop one overly-enthusiastic teacher from changing into his gym clothes). It was essentially the board game Sorry on a larger scale and with more strategy involved.

I was told of the event a mere hour before things got started, which is about the norm around here, and my poor co tried to explain the game to the best of her ability despite the fact that 1) her English isn't the greatest and 2) she's not very familiar with the game.

Despite that, though, as we approached the gym, I thought I had a decent grasp of the game. My co even said that she was impressed with how quickly I'd picked up the gist of the game just based on her description. I was ready; I mean, I love board games and card games, so I was pumped!

We stepped into the gym and there were two large circles of chairs around two separate floor mats with the board game taped to each one. There were to be two separate games going on at once, with three grades playing on one board and three grades on the other.

Yet again, there were huge tables of strawberries, chicken, various munchies, and drinks for all to enjoy. Everyone dug in before jumping into the game.

Once things got started, I realized how lost I really was. I didn't understand a single bloody thing of what was happening. It wasn't until our third game that I finally put the pieces together.

Here's the board:

Here are the rules:

1) Each team has three pieces wooden tiles that must complete one lap around the board and make it back to the starting square in order to win. You can focus on only getting one piece across at a time, or you can balance your moves between two or all three pieces; it's up to you.
2) In order to move your piece, you have to toss four sticks in the air. These sticks have one flat surface and one rounded surface. The rounded surfaces have markings on them, while the flat surfaces are blank. The number of sticks that land with the flat surfaces pointing up is the number of spots you can move.
3) One of the sticks has a star on its flat surface; if that is the only flat surface to land facing up, you move one spot backwards.
4) If all four sticks land in the same position, you move five spots. I think this is called "Mo." (Perhaps it translates to "Yahtzee!) You also get to go again. (And on Wednesday, you were also awarded with ramen. Score!)
5) If you land on another team's piece on your last move, you not only get to bump them back to the start (without saying "Sorry"), but you get to go again (without the ramen).
6) If you land on one of your own pieces, you can stack them and move them together. However, if you get bumped, both pieces go back to the start.
7) If you land on one of the corner spots on your way around the board, you can take a shortcut diagonally across. You can potentially make a small triangle rather than trekking around the entire board if you land on the central circle on your way across the diagonal.
8) Remember the rule about having to take one step backwards if you land with just the star-marked flat surface pointing up? Well if you're on the first spot from the start and you roll that, you can take a step back and basically fall ass backwards at the finish without having to do a lap. That one caught me by surprise!
9) If one of your sticks rolls off the mat, you lose your turn.

I think that's pretty much all the rules. Here are some highlights:

1) On my first role, I rolled not one, but two Mo's! I was on fiyah!
2) On my next roll, I set our double stacked piece perfectly up to get bumped by the next team. The fiyah was doused. I'm pretty sure we lost because of me.
3) On my third role, I bumped two people, one after another! Back on fiyah!
4) On my fourth role, I almost perfectly set up another one of our pieces to be captured by moving us one step backwards; thankfully the other team rolled 2 instead of 3 on their next turn. We were close to the end, too, so that would have really sucked!
5) Once things got started, I realized why that one dude changed into his gym clothes; he spent the entire game jumping and screaming at the board. It was hilarious! Although I'd hate to see that guy at a casino.
6) Seriously, people lost their shit during the game. They were cheering and shouting like they were watching a playoff football game or a boxing match they had money on. This one tiny old lady looked like she was about to clock somebody when somebody tried to keep a stick from rolling off the mat with their foot. I don't know what the hell she said, but it looked like it was a solid tongue lashing. She looked like a cartoon character who had just caught a kid beating up another kid, her arms flailing and her mouth moving at breakneck speed.
7) Another lady looked like a coach arguing a bad call with an umpire after one of her sticks landed on another stick and her roll was ruled a 1 rather than a 2.
8) The whole "Take one step back and bypass the entire board" thing happened twice in what turned out to be a nail biter of a final game, but unfortunately for the other team, before you can officially remove your piece from the board, you have to wait until your next roll in order to actually make it walk off the board, and the second time it happened, we bumped them before their next turn. This is one of those games that can destroy families; I love it.
9) In the final game, we were two spots away from victory, but one of the other teams was two spots behind us and we rolled a one. If they rolled a three, they could bump us when we were on victory's doorstep; they rolled a two. O'Doyle rules!
10) My co saw how much I enjoyed the game, so the next day she walked in with a mini version for me. Perry, I'm looking at you.

Once again, the food receptacle was given half a dozen unwanted packages of ramen, along with the leftover chicken. Nomnomnomnomnom.

Camping on Geoje Island

It felt just like being back at home: battling brutal traffic en route to a long weekend out of the city. Saturday - Tuesday was a four-day weekend on account of Children's Day on Monday and Buddha's Birthday on Tuesday. Lex, Honey, and I boarded the bus headed to Geoje Island just off of Busan, where we were going to meet the rest of the gang: Nate, Kirsten, Scott, and Hye Young.

I could not wait to laze on the beach, chow down on some hot dogs and burgers, play some soccer or volleyball, and go for a swim. It would be two glorious days of fun in the sun.

We got there earlier than the rest of them because we left earlier in hopes of avoiding the peak traffic hours. I'm glad we did, too, because we were able to scope out a beautiful corner for ourselves away from the central area of the beach, where the larger crowds would gather later. That way, we could be as loud and obnoxious as we wanted when the sun went down.

With some extra time on our hands, Lex, Honey, and I went to find some grub and stock up on booze and snacks. When we got back to our site, we spread our stuff out as wide as possible so as to take up as much space as we could until the rest of the group arrived. We were totally bogarting some prime real estate, but we didn't care.

When Kirsten and co. arrived, we got to work setting up shop: setting up tents, collecting fire wood, etc. Once that was out of the way, we just basked in the sun's glory and enjoyed the view. Kirsten provided the soundtrack with her McGyver styled speakers--she put her phone in a small bowl that amplified the music.

We pretty much didn't move from this position for the remainder of the weekend, though it wasn't for lack of trying. On Sunday we made our way to the ferry in hopes of buying tickets to Oedo, a gorgeous island that is apparently a must-see while in Korea. Unfortunately, they were all booked for the weekend. Alas, there was nothing we could do but go back to the site and drink some more. Oh well...

The second night proved to be significantly colder than the first night; the wind just would not let up! We all cursed its name countless times in between shivering moans and groans. It was so bad it almost blew Scott and Hye's tent away! And of course, I didn't even bother to pack a jacket, since I assumed we'd be in the water for half the weekend. (Nate and Lex were the only crazy sombitches to actually immerse their heads in the water all weekend; the rest of us just soaked our legs, and even that was painful.) When we finally had enough, we moved the party to our tent, where Honey hung a flashlight like our very own chandelier dangling just over our heads, and we proceeded to drink the night away.

It's always a treat to camp with a beautiful tender soul beside you to keep you warm under a tapestry of stars, but being the only one flying solo and sharing a tent with Lex and Honey, whom I love dearly, just not in that way, I warmed myself up in the embrace of Lady Soju. Thankfully, the mesh screen on our tent was enough to hold off the fierce winds throughout the night, but by the time the morning rolled around, I was absolutely frozen. (And thankfully, the rain that threatened to fall never quite got around to it.)

Monday proved to be much warmer; the sun was out in full force that day. There were initially talks about heading back early, but after getting some beer in us to wake us up and an impromptu soccer game, suddenly we didn't want to go home just yet and we extended our stay for a few more hours--long enough to consume what remained of our booze, snacks, and fire wood.

The sun kicked our collective asses this weekend, but it felt damn good. Thank you to Nate, Kirsten, Scott, Hye, Lex, Honey, and of course, Scott's car for a fantastic and well-needed long weekend.

This friendly little guy joined the party for a little bit.

Sewol

By now, we've all heard about the tragic sinking of the ferry that took hundreds of lives with it, as well as all of the shameful screw ups before and after the incident--the lie that everybody was rescued, the delayed response by the captain, the captain abandoning ship, wrong bodies being sent to families, and the Vice Principal's suicide. It's been one terrible revelation after another.

This past week, some of my students expressed frustration that their Sports Day was cancelled due to the fact that the country is in mourning. They asked why they're being punished for the mistakes of the ship's captain. I can understand their frustration; cancelling the festivities won't bring back the dead; and Sports Day has nothing to do with the accident. Above all else, though, they're just kids, and kids want to have fun. They're sad about the lives lost, but they know there's nothing they can do about it.

What I'm having more difficulty accepting, however, are the sentiments of some of my fellow foreign teachers. Not only is Sports Day cancelled, but many festivals have also been postponed, and celebrations for Buddha's birthday next week have been scaled back. Many teachers are upset about these changes and feel that the country is unnecessarily overdoing it on the whole mourning thing. Some even expressed frustration with having to teach on Friday.

That latter sentiment is the one that really irks me. Whether it's said as a joke or a genuine frustration at the idea of having to teach, that is such a self-centred and hurtful thought. Parents have lost their children, boys and girls have lost their siblings, and you've lost your Friday of desk warming. My heart goes out to you. God knows we work so hard, we could really have used that afternoon of respite from the grind of lesson planning and teaching.

And if it is intended to be a tongue in cheek joke, as in, "Gawd, I can't believe I have to teach today" *exaggerated eye rolling* then that's piss poor taste humour and you should check to see if your heart is still beating.

As for the issue of whether or not Korea's mourning too much, I don't think that's the case at all. This is a country that values respect and family over everything else. It is at the core of their being. I think the extent of their mourning shows their amazing capacity to love. It also shows how much they honour and value those lives that were lost. And the fact that the captain was evacuated first because he's older and therefore has to be respected shows a flaw in their value system, which I think has shaken Koreans up. They fucked up--badly--and now they're paying for it. Their grief, guilt, and shame must be immeasurable.

(Bit of a tangent here, but)...when the Twin Towers went down, the NFL postponed the games by a week. Football and 9/11 have nothing to do with one another, and yet people needed to mourn. Things will eventually go back to normal, but hearts need to heal first.

I leave you with this heartfelt message:

http://www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20140422001304

Bamboo

I've lived almost my entire life in Toronto, yet last year was the first time I ever explored the rest of Canada (aside from trips to Montreal and Gaspe with Art). I've been doing the same thing here in Ulsan; with only 4 months left, there are still several things I've yet to see, such as the bamboo forest near Taewha River Park. Finally checked that off the to-do list thanks to Adrienne and her friend Suvasha.

Adrienne being Adrienne

I believe that there are victims of countless unsolved murders buried within the bamboo forest. If you listen closely at night, you can hear their cries. There also may or may not be snakes. 

Just off to the side of these flowers is where I destroyed Adrienne not once, but twice at a race to see who could roll down the hill first. Wasn't even close. I think I rattled a few brain cells loose though. 

Wishbone tree

 So whilst standing beneath a surprisingly clean and troll-free bridge, Adrienne spotted a dude who yanked a giant stick out of a bush. She walked over to him to hand him some leaves that had fallen, and in the process, made a new friend with her impressive Korean skills. The guy even bought the three of us coffee from a woman passing by. Soon, an old man on a bike stopped to join the conversation, and a couple people walking by stopped to stare at the old gentlemen conversing with three foreigners.

After a while of standing around and talking, he led us on an impromptu tour of the park. He explained (to Adrienne, who then translated for us) that he was responsible for maintaining the park and feeding the animals. The first place he took us was a bird feeding area. He led the way carrying a gigantic bag of popcorn. He was like the pied piper, leading his army of birds with a trail of popcorn. When he finished, he signaled for them to fly away, and they created a giant wall of flapping wings. It was like a scene out of Hitchcok's The Birds. The sound of a thousand flapping wings, their frenetic energy, their sheer numbers, and the very real possibility of being pooped on all made it a very surreal, but terrifying experience when they shot up.

Que?

Next up, he took us to a sign beside a shed, from which he pulled business cards for us. The sign featured historical information about the park, as well as a picture of a young and handsome fellow feeding the birds. Apparently he's been doing this for a while. One picture featured pigeons in a formation of the number 2002 in celebration of the year Korea was awarded the World Cup. Adorably, the guy seemed to relish telling people passing by about the American, South African, and Canadian he befriended, one of whom speaks Korean.

After a lengthy tour that lasted close to half an hour, of which I understood nothing, we had to say goodbye to our new friend.

We moseyed along the Taewha River, stopping to pet the occasional dog (including the most beautiful bulldog I've ever laid eyes on), marvel at the tiniest skateboards I've ever seen, and watch some kids play soccer with a couple adults who were not at all merciful.

Although the sky was cloudy all day, it was still a beautiful warm day that reminded me just how beautiful Ulsan really is.