Autumn Adventures in the South of Seonunsan

And so the eight hour bus ride began loaded down once again with rope and draws and camping gear in all its splendour. Oh the self sufficient sacrifices we make to pursue our passion! To the Southern end of the country I ventured for a two day taste of limestone pockets and overhanging jug fests. At the Jecheon terminal, the train’s arrival was precise. Being stared at was the least of my worries as I boarded and squished between the sliding door and rows of cushioned fabric seats uniformly facing forward. A little bit of Mr. Carlos Castaneda nourished my open eyes as I waited for a friend, equally as addicted to climbing, to jump on the train half way along point A to B. When Wes, the Colorado/New Mexican vagabond sat next to me, my book closed and chat commenced. Sooner than later we arrived in Daejeon where we were to meet up with another rock enthusiast who had never actually rock climbed before but was so sure he would love it he bought all his own gear prematurely. Sure enough over the subsequent days, he caught the bug as expected.

Busting out the playing cards and vending machine beer we passed the time playing mindless yet strategic slap down intensity. We hadn’t finished our game when we arrived at out final destination. Only a taxi ride was between us and the campsite calling our names. As my grasp on the Korean language grows and my ability to read Hangeul improves, hiring a taxi wouldn’t be a problem. And it wasn’t. We agreed on a price and so started the last leg of the trip. Half an hour on a dark country road, the driver pulled into a small village lit by candy coloured fluorescent signs. I had only been to Seonunsan Provincial Park once, but as my impeccable visual memory rarely deceives me, I didn’t recognize our surroundings. I asked the cab driver in one word preciseness, “Seonunsan?” He looked at me with a quizzical and disgusted expression. “Aniyo,” he replied. Aniyo means “NO” in Korean. “No?” What could he possibly mean by “no”? Had I been overconfident with my Korean speaking skills and assumed he heard me correctly? YES. There had been a miscommunication. NO. We weren’t in Seonunsan Provincial Park. We had in fact driven half an hour in the opposite direction and we all know that dirt bag climbers don’t have limitless amounts of expendable taxi fare. He wanted $55 to take us back to the place we originally wanted to go. Well, my friends were livid. I tried to keep the peace and negotiate respectfully, but they refused to pay and began to walk into the swallowing forest and camp for the night in attempt to let the buzz of the beer fade and decipher our next plan of action. I persisted to try and come to an agreement with the taxi driver as he ignored me and rambled on his phone. I wasn’t going to travel for 8 hours across the country, sleep who-knows-where and try to find our way to the crag in the morning only to waste half a days’ climbing on incessant pin-the-tail on the provincial park. I thought maybe the driver was trying to explain our situation to a fellow taxi man, but aniyo, he was not.

Soon after he flipped his phone shut I saw flashing red and blue lights turn the corner and approach me. Oh no. The Police. The last thing I needed was to be thrown in a backwoods Korean holding cell in attempts to explain our misunderstanding to deaf ears. My friends returned to support me and luckily the policemen spoke enough English to understand what had happened. In fact, they were upset at the driver for taking us to the wrong place. Now, at 2:00 in the morning, and low on cash, the police decided to do their civil duty and drive us themselves to the Seonunsan. Wow! How courteous. The 40 minute ride to the correct park would have cost us a pretty penny. The police laughed and shared with us their family stories. Mr. Lee and Mr. Kim both had brothers and sisters! When my visual memory had assured me we had indeed arrived at the place of intent, we offered the police a bottle of red wine which they candidly tucked into the cop car console as payment for the out-of-the-way detour.

Our new rock enthusiast, Laine, didn’t have a tent so with a little creativity he busted out an army surplus hammock and a large piece of plastic. Through trial and error, he made himself a quaint little see-through home that we hoped would shield him from the near freezing night air. Wes and I set up our tents and finished our card game with relaxed nerves recounting the baffling scenario that had just passed.

After a 4 hour sleep we were super stoked to hit the rock. I was climbing my hardest in a long time attempting to tip the grade scales! So maybe I couldn’t quite redpoint the overhanging invitations, although in next attempts, I’ll get them. Go hard or go home right. Well, by no means was I ready to make the 8 hour trip back home, so hard was the only option.

On Sunday, “A Beautiful Woman’s Secret” enticed me to grunt and groan. The upside down 11c was sure to be my friend and my nemesis on this particular day. After clipping the 5th bolt, the next move was a right handed dyno to a sharp but solid pocket.

Feeling confident and stronger than ever, I threw…and stuck it!

Then, left hand to a shitty pinch parallel to the pocket, and stuck it…

But unexpectedly as always, I slid off as sweat erupted out of the pores of my fingertips. After a little whipper therapy to get the adrenaline pumping I could go no further. It’s ok. I was still climbing strong and felt satisfied. Suddenly noticing the time, I admitted I had to begin the epic adventure back North.

We hiked down to the campsite breathing in the crisp autumn air and admiring the colour-shifting foliage all around us. The leaves of the maple trees were red like kindergarten finger-paint. The grass was turning yellow like the colour of melted crayola crayons on a car seat in the summer heat. My shoulder started to ache a little, but with this view, joy invaded my every molecule of existence. The beauty of nature never ceases to increase the perma-smile that already lingers on my lips everyday!

After we had packed up our gear and overstuffed our packs for the long haul home, the dull ache in my shoulder was harder to ignore. Luckily my strong-man friends gave me a hand with the overstuffed heavyweight. On the bus home, I couldn’t get comfortable, the dull ache turned into a more throbbing pain. No matter which position I moved into, the pain was unrelenting. During the final stretch of the 8 hour trip back, I needed a double dose of some serious drugs. In the hours that followed, I couldn’t sleep as I grinded my teeth in utter tear inducing pain. What happened? Lucky for http://www.climbinginjuries.com/, I had discovered the only logical reason for my fucked up shoulder was “especially after a particularly traumatic event, such as hitting a dyno, [that I had] strained [my] rotator cuff muscle.” NOOOOOO.

Luckily “help” is available for a minimal cost. In the last three days I have been treated by bio-stimulation lasers and given electro-magnetic energy impulses making my muscles spasm like giggles from pre-pubescent school girls as honeymoon heat lamps induced armpit sweat to pour under the infra-red 300. Quick and painless pinpricks of acupuncture needles sticking out all over me like a play piercing party calmed my nerves as potent Chinese herbal smoke saturated my hair and clothes. After the modern Western and ancient Eastern mish-mash therapy and some serious meds packaged like multi-coloured candy in no-name transparent baggies (all unbelievably cheap here in Korea, it might as well be free, less than $10 for the whole kit and caboodle), I am out for at least 3 weeks at the stretch end of the climbing season. When I heal, let the plastic pull down begin… and on the bright side, snowboarding season is approaching!

How Korea finds itself through my eyes in October

a poem in reflection of cabin fever closing in.

A Curiosity Coo

A “coo” comes out. A coo turned sigh turned exasperated yawn-awe.
Don’t shun the brick wall, climb it. Climb it for curiosity.
Curiosity, our motive to question
while living in subservient systems capitalized to provide
as needs cultivate and expand although the irreplaceable capital provided by nature remains the same.
Curiosity, intrinsically overwritten by One Big Head and Two Big Head handing out free manipulation muzzles and witch tricks.

Old trees, old rusty farm equipment even old buildings catch the omniscient eye,
the all encompassing closed circuit security cameras,
old buildings growing vines upon vines of ancient plaster cracking to register wisdom in forms anew
Glue.
Glued to advertising money mongers, witch tricks disguised. Our adult education.
Glued to the thoughts of hard belts behind. No tie, no tie down.
Grubby hands tough to please, touch to please. Touch to see that this way is that way and that way is golden.
Care for the coo. Relish the coo as it pukes gently out, sputtering out of twisted lips of Freudian slips.
Our struggle with trouble is merely liquid flow in due time; a forecast of unspoiled fire crackers; the unadorned truth composed upright.
It is neglected by the people, who in mass hysteria, keep blind eyes upturned and unwavering under ever-growing circles of vultures proud and thirsty.
Pure fantasy relinquishes reality scorned.
Better keep a move on
Better keep a move on

I bring Dionysus in; I dine him and tell him jokes. He lies with me under the red wine covers behind the rum endowed curtains and reminds me not to take things too seriously.
Dionysus laughs, this life, after-life, immortal-life laugh. His laughter enables him to climb the brick wall effortlessly. Never scampering nor scratching. Just laughter itself propels through ineffable undeniable breath.
He reminds me to live in laughter and this will in turn unglue me.
Was I glued? Am I glued?
The coo comes out again.
Not bird like but unmistaken. Not innocent but out of Eden.
A coo of thanks,
A coo for truth revealed, a truth that sets me free.
Those brick walls are clues which form the question of all time. The rainbow of all questions...
And in this question the word “curiosity” lingers with laughter.

Seoul. Small Town Girls meet the Big City.

Friday morning we whisked ourselves away to the river’s edge. The Han river, boasting scents of fish and whiffs of rotten crotch elevated our sense of smell like a fat slap in the face from some bitch from high school. Shocking and appalling, but you can do anything about it. As soon as we had accepted this reality, a crisp pine needle breeze and fresh baked baguettes would waft past our noses clearing our heads and minds. The mix of city smells never ceases to amaze me. Too bad there is no “scent recorder” to share with all of you. Renting rusty cruiser bicycles from some 1970’s garage sale with bent metal baskets allowed us to discover the action of holiday independence day in motion.

Family Picnickers tapping badminton birdies into the sky, lovers hand in hand on strolls with sun umbrellas to shelter the sear of the September sun, Koreans training for triathlons decked out in full fledged bike attire and carefree drunkards relishing in the extra day away from the office whizzed past as we traversed the grand waterway in style. My sea foam green machine was no less thrilled at the 48 km push as its back tire screamed a whopping “I Quit!”. Flat as flat can be, tube inching out of the rim as I forced my quads to push the pedals harder, my face began to distort as teeny grunts escaped my lips with every revolution. Luckily we secretly switched the antique for a newer shiny red cruiser at the last station before we had to turn around and head all the way back. Needless to say, a long day on a bike seat really pushes the pain tolerance of ones sit bones.

BASEBALL! When is the last time you saw a live hard hitting action packed Pro Baseball game? Well, Saturday night was our game. Vacuum packed like sardines or freeze dried astronaunt food, thousands of screaming, chanting dressed up fanatics squeezed into Korean largest baseball stadium. With friendly faces all around us, and full to the brim with a Hite in each hand (the local Korean lager), we cheered the players on! A lovely time spent catching up on the seasons hits and misses as our new friend Joon gave us a play by play action. Whenever people all around the world indulge in live sports, the fatty snack food accompanies. But, why on earth would you want dehydrated soft squid leg breathing out of the mouths of everyone that surrounds you? Not quite sure. I guess it is like garlic. You eat it then I eat it and when we kiss, no biggie.

Cheap as every dirt-bag is, our search for a scummy motel ended at the front doors to a basement jjimjilbang. For those of you who have never experienced a “public bath” in Korea, I exceedingly recommend such an activity. Basically spa slash sauna slash hot tub slash sleep on the floor in an attic with no blanket hostel can sum it up nicely. Here clothes are less than optional, they are not permitted. Of course, with men and women divided, there is no need to be shy. Young, old and all sized naked bodies freely roam the establishment. You pay a minimal fee and can stay as long as you like. You can also sleep as long as you like in case of needing to nourish a hangover from a little too much Hite from the night before. First you trade your shoes for a locker key, making sure there is no sneaking out.

After given an orange over sized t-shirt and matching shorts your mom might have worn in the 80’s, you head into the “locker room”. For your comfort, the heated floors invite bare feet. A small clothing store and any trial size soap, face mask or beauty remedy you could dream up are available for purchase along with a variety of drinks from the standing-up, sliding-door cooler. With your basic necessities covered, really, why would you ever leave. But, wait, I am getting to the good part. With your choice of massage table and three pools, temperatures selectively adjusted from 25 degrees (the winter shocker), 40 degrees (the social warm up) and 43 degrees (the severe sweat ball), you are golden. Not to mention the searing steam room and sultry sauna. This place was all news to us. In fact, goodies were popping up all over the place. Along with our frantic guessing and bursts of laughter, we were schooled in the jjimjilbang by Korean aficionadas. At one point, Daphne had thought she hit the jackpot! “Oh, what’s this? Free stuff? Face masks, shampoo, pumice stones and wait… a hair ball?!?!” She had excitedly found and with detail, plowed through the bathroom garbage! Sick and so freekin hilarious! This was one definite highlight of our perplexed little white girl syndrome.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jjimjilbang

Saturday provided us with searches for Indian spices and international food medleys in the labyrinth of the Seoul Subway. Surprisingly convenient and straightforward, we never once got lost. (I am currently teaching my students directions, the “I can’t speak Korean and I am lost” theme seems to make them chuckle – imagine it dramatized.) One of the main missions for this big city weekend was to pick up some things that small towns just don’t have. The Foreign Food Mart tickled our lust for lost diversity in the food we Canadians so innocently take for granted. Cardamom, Curry, Pickles and Corn Tortilla Chips filled my basket fast. Being a vegan in Korea forces creativity and even though I cook for myself, with little to no spices, the tastes of picked cabbage, sesame oil and red chili can bore you quickly. (I am creative and I am taking vitamins!)
After spending over the budget, our packs were stuffed like stockings after Santa on Christmas morning. No one likes to carry a big backpack around (this time, not so heavy, just big) so we decided to take advantage of the digitally secure lockers at the subway station. Now with the instructions being in Korean, we needed a little help from the ticket agent. He was so helpful as he patiently waited for us to stuff our foreign splurge inside. “Is everything in the locker” I asked as both Daphne and I double checked. “yes, yes”. After closing the locker, we thanked the agent for his help, however he looked at us surprisingly. In his broken English he pointed towards the floor, “Are you forgetting something?”. To my disbelief, laying in a crumpled ball between the three of us were my thong underwear. Dirty or clean, I can never say. Faster than peeling off a whipper unexpectedly, I snatched up my intimates and Daphne burst into gut busting laughter. Not knowing what to do, both the ticket agent and I headed off in opposite directions. Now, we were one for one. Add this to another symptom of the perplexed little white girl syndrome.

Ps. The naked baby meets balding Buddha was only one example of a gut busting sight seen on a busy street in Itaewon, Seoul.

International TreX Games. Busan 2008

Another whip whirlwind weekend adventure allowed us to travel south to Busan. This city by the sea is more like an overflowing metropolis strung along by bright lights and race car commuters. I, along with a cluster of climbers slash English teachers had the ultimately unique opportunity to participate in the 2008 International TreX games as sport climbers! The name comes from a blending of Tr from Traditional, e from e-sports and x from extreme sports (that's me!). The event is promoted as a “global community sports festival” only recently adding relatively new sports in addition to culturally traditional sports.

Along with Pro skaters, BMX junkies, inline skate fanatics, we were stuffed into BEXCO waiting to try our callused hands at the colourful plastic oh-so precisely drilled in front of our eyes.
Now, not to divulge how extraordinary we all climbed the puzzling V5 problems, our competition was stiff. Watching Popeye-armed Asian women campus up the 45 degree construction gave me hope in the double X chromosome. Not only the women, but the men as well put us westerners to shame. Regardless of the results, we sure were able to entertain ourselves (especially on the all night pub crawl that followed delivering us to the sunrise). Fun. That word seems to flood out of my mouth at every turn of a corner still.

I have been reminded of two things this weekend. First, always try to find the moments that make you smile in every situation and second, once the competition is over don’t hesitate to let your inner beast unleash. The competition was an incredible, a once in a life time opportunity.

http://english.trex2008.co.kr/

Korean Tourism at its best!

Cheosak, Seoraksan, Climbing, Camping and Busing

The days roll by and my English gets progressively s-l-o-w-e-r, due the fact that slower might help make me understood. I have yet to see the benefits of sounding stupid.

I have however taken to my habit of frantic weekend warrior bus rides with hundred pound packs in order to camp and climb surrounded by green trees and laughs from lips of new acquaintances. Sweat and stink are relished comforts and showers seem foreign after the two day pause-from-reality binge. Oh, how could I live without it?

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to grace the green space of jagged peaks like tyrannosaurus teeth in Korea's most famous and often considered most beautiful, Seoraksan National Park. Our Multi-pitch team of 3 girls (Kat, Lindsay and myself) and rope gun Jonathan the German exploited stowed energy from servings of bibimbap (mixed fungus and seaweed rice bowl) to propel us up a trad-slab-crack-chimney 7 pitch heaven. Tough. We all grunted and groaned through our sincere smiles as we pulled on aid slings and hung on hanging belay death triangles!!! (not really deadly - they just appeared that way. Come on, safety first and obviously we survived to tell the story!)

Monday was Cheosak (Thanksgiving), the biggest Korean holiday of the year, deserving no less than a three-day long weekend. On this particular holiday Monday, the punctual local bus swept Daphne, I and our hundred pound packs away as our breath was left in the dust (I have to emphasis the heaviness of our back breaking packs - we need to pack smarter) So close to the rocky beasts that engulf sky and vibe is the beach. The Sea of Japan. It hugs the coast of Sokcho, the hip and salty town in the north of Gangwon-do which gets you pretty close to the infamous border of North Korea. Mind the barbed wire.

Tomatoes?

I have yet to begin teaching in all its sincerity. Because I am teaching at 4 different schools (yes, 4), I have many people to meet and systems to learn. At least the powers that be are allowing me this time to soak up the whos and whats and hows.

I visited the Principal's office today. Choi Jong-Sung was ever so delighted to try and communicate with me in one word English intermittently broken through a stream of fast fire Korean. In our short but smiled faced visit, I learned and understood little. "Tomatoes" was one word that he kept repeating. I tried to decipher the relevance of "tomatoes" within our discussion, but the reason would soon be answered as he motioned me to follow him.

We walked out of his plush office filled with leather seats for each teacher, through the white sulfur scented halls and down the stairs through the back door of the school, quite a large school I might add for a village of 3000. Out the back of the school, surrounded by rich farm land were two large, well tended greenhouses. "Tomatoes?" I asked. A huge smile reached across his face from ear to ear and a short chuckle escaped his lips. "Yes, my work" he said. I was too smiling in my own right as the connection had been made. There they were, under the humid white umbrellas, vines upon vines of ripe red tomatoes. In my mind, I was quickly transported to the rural prairies of Saskatchewan with a twist. He began combing the vines for the biggest, juiciest red fruits. As he picked them with diligent care, he handed them to me. When his excitement had subsided a little, we added the tomatoes that were spilling from my arms to another box that was already full. Then he gave the box to me and said "Your house".

He had just given me a huge box full of Korean tomatoes, a box I would never eat before they would go bad. The continuous generosity of the Korean people impresses me greatly. It helps with my slap in the face culture shock that I experience daily.

I have since brainstormed on all the wonderful things I can do with these tomatoes. First, the majority, sun-dried tomatoes, just like the sun-dried chili peppers that fill the sidewalks with bursts of red on the corner of every street. Then, the ever missed fresh salsa Mexicana, pasta sauce, tomato juice, etc. If you have any ideas, let me know.

Taking it all in.

They really through you in the thick of it here in Korea. By taking the bus or any means of transportation, I am forced to rely on my childhood charade skills. Nervous laughter accompanies slow moving mouths, simple one word English (with incessant repetition) and stick man drawings to ensure I am understood. Even if they understand what I am asking, there is still the misunderstanding of why on earth I would want that!?! This is the cultural divide. Basing my other cultural reference point mostly on Mexico, even though you could never really begin to compare two insanely complex cultures as it would be next to impossible, schedules here seem to be more punctual in general. The air carries a fast paced energy and politeness is of utmost importance. People here treat their English teachers with great respect. I feel like royalty. In some small way, they believe we are the key to their country's future.

Being schooled on the many stages of culture shock, I am put in my place. Understanding the logic of the east on paper by no ens leaves me exempt from the stifling effects of the way things are. I can bravely admit that culture shock has me firmly in its clutches at present. The language barrier being at the forefront.

Today is Monday. On Saturday I courageously travelled outside my little village of 3000 to visit Daphne. She lives in Yeoungwol. Now I am headed back home. I am going to school today even though I have a week before I begin teaching. A week to plan, a week to adjust, a week to take it all in.

My first day in RURAL Gangwon-do, South Korea.

I was wearing little gold satin slippers when I heard a "rap rap rap" at the door. From behind the frosted glass window next to it came a soft voice with a thick Korean accent. "The Vice Principal wants to see you right now"
"He wants to see me now" I thought? I just woke up. I am in my pyjamas. Nonetheless, he couldn't wait until I arrived at the school and was excitedly standing at the front door of my home ready to greet me at 6:30 in the morning on the first day of school.

I arrived in South Korea 4 days ago. After our orientation for new foreign teachers in Seoul, I had felt I could really adapt to this. My long time friend and travel buddy, Daphne and I were with another four hundred other Native English speaking teachers ready to embark on another adventure of our lives. Now, I sit alone in Juncheon. I don't even know where I am and I have never heard of this place. Twelve hours ago, Daphne and I believed we would be teaching close to each other. Not teaching at the same school, but at least close enough to go for an evening stroll and discuss the intensities of being plunged into the unknown without a clue as how to communicate with the people around us. Shortly after this dream was shattered, we were ripped apart with hopeful looks of "will I ever see you again?" emanating from our confused faces as our sweet Korean Co-teachers pulled us into our respective cars and sped off. Apparently we would only be living forty minutes apart by car. By car! Neither of us had a car and in this deeply rural mountainous countryside in the province of Gangwon-do, buses would be much less than frequent.