Chuseok
September 2012
Chuseok is a time for Koreans to remember their ancestors and show them respect through bowing and an elegant feast. It is most comparable to the American Thanksgiving, although it is a great deal more intricate. At our school we basically take a day off to celebrate with the kids. We wear Hanbok, make Songpyeong, and play several customary games.
Hanbok is traditional Korean dress. Every teacher gets fitted and the outfits are rented for them. Even the children wear Hanbok, though this is provided by the parents not the school. All the women braid their hair, but since mine was too short my co-teacher put it up in several mini-ponytails. Whenever someone saw me first they would laugh heartily and then proceed to tell me how adorable I looked. The day was long and messy but it was nice getting to hang out with my kids, instead of reprimanding them for not paying attention in class.
For the long weekend, I took the opportunity to explore one of Korea’s National Parks, Seoraksan. The plan was three days of backpacking and camping with six other people. However, plans seldom go according to “plan.”
Each of us had at least 30 pounds on our backs as we walked from the apartment building to the subway. I had bumped my left elbow earlier, hitting a spot made tender by my car accident two years before. My whole arm went numb and stayed thus due to the monster strapped to my back. Nausea swept through me and I prayed beyond hope I wouldn’t feel like that the entire trip.
People giggled and pointed as we passed. Despite the lack of seats on the subway I managed to find a bar to lean against for balance. Standing idly with the pack was a million times worse than walking with it. Although the feeling had begun to creep back into my fingers, the place where my spine was fractured began to tingle.
Twenty-five minutes later we arrived at the Incheon Bus Terminal and thankfully boarded almost immediately. The journey was supposed to take three hours and forty minutes, but holiday traffic had other intentions.
Almost six hours later we arrived in the coastal city of Sokcho. Since it was pretty late we decided to get a motel for the night and head to the park in the morning. We found a “love motel” that gave us a good deal on two rooms. Neither had a bed, which was common for Korea motels.
The city was clean and peaceful. The fresh air purged our lungs of the Incheon smog we had been sucking in for the past month. We spent the evening relaxing on the beach, listening to the waves, and watching the moon rise. People were setting off fireworks and cherry bombs purchased from a local Seven Eleven.
After a quick bite, we purchased some fireworks of our own, which turned out to be unimpressive. After watching some of the other shows we headed off to bed.
Coffee was the talk of the morning so made it a point to find some before we set off. There appeared to be a cafe across the street from our motel; as the nearest crosswalk was inconveniently located, someone suggested we make a run for it.
The half of me that desired coffee pulled me toward the street, the other half hesitated wondering if the cars were really as far away as they seemed. Coffee side won out; I stepped off the curve and my ankle rolling into an unnatural ninety degree angle. A loud crunching noise reverberated through my body as I fell forward. First my knee hit, then my scarred elbow, and finally my backpack. I could feel my pulse quicken and images of a car coming up and plowing through me raced through my mind.
Before anyone could even think to offer me a hand I had scrambled to the curb and out of the road. Relief washed over me as I realized the cars couldn’t get me anymore. It was short lived.
One look at my ankle told me I was definitely not okay. Swelling was already setting in. Someone ran to get ice. I tried to move my foot but nothing happened. Ignoring the thumping of my heart I focused on the task at hand. After what seemed like forever, I managed to wiggle my toes, and then my foot.
The pain was intense. We hadn’t even made it to the mountain yet. I was not going to let this ruin my trip. I needed to know that I could walk on it. I stood and made it two feet before the blood drain from my face and my ears began ringing.
Rather than risk falling again I sat down and waited for the ice to come. It felt like a soft bed after a hard day’s work. The cold reached deep under my skin and attempted to quell the raging battle of angry nerves and bruised tendons. We waited about five minutes and then I couldn’t stand to delay any longer. I stood, lifted my pack and limped down the street to the crosswalk.
The bus was overcrowded, but somehow we managed to squeeze in. This was probably the worst part of the trip. I HATED just standing with my pack, and now I had to do it with a very sore ankle on an unsteady bus.
When we finally made it to the entrance of the park we decided to stop, use the bathroom, get some coffee, and ice my ankle. Once we had satisfied all of our needs we entered the park and checked at the Information center about camping.
To our great dismay we were told that camping was not permitted in the park unless it was at a shelter. Shelters had to be reserved in advance and were all booked for the weekend. I was totally down for just finding a secluded place off of the trail when night fell and chilling there. No one else was a fan of my idea so we decided we would just head back to Sokcho at the end of the day and stay at the love motel.
I had dreamed for weeks about falling asleep under the stars, stars that I hadn’t seen since I left home. Accepting that this dream was no longer possible was extremely difficult. As we headed up the path everyone seemed to be dragging their feet, mainly because we knew we were carrying tons of supplies for nothing.
Deciduous trees created a shaded tunnel for us as we headed up the gently sloped path. The tinkling crystal sounds of water were a melody for our trek. Then all of a sudden there was a restaurant. Yes, in the middle of this beautiful forest, about a mile up the path was a souvenir shop and a little café. A mile after this one was another, nestled at the base of one of the mountains. It felt like a violation of nature.
Here I was trying to escape technology and immerse myself in a pristine, untouched world and low and behold a bustling restaurant beckoning to weary hikers to come enjoy a beer.
We followed the stream deeper into a narrow valley that hugged the skirts of two cliff faces. There was no destination to the hike, which dismayed some. I, however, was content to enjoy the beauty of it all: the icy green water, the smell of trees, the calling of birds, and the occasional appearance of a plump chipmunk. Turning back was a challenge but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy being able to ice my ankle again.
The next day we took two packs and only brought the essentials. We had come to a fork in the trail the day before and planned to take the other up to a cave.
I learned quickly that going down was intensely more painful than heading up. So I was grateful for the climb, attempting to banish any thought of the return.
High up, burrowed in the cliff face was the cave. For once I didn’t mind the man-made stairs that took us up the last leg of the trail. Climbers ventured up the mountain on either side of the cave.
Upon reaching the top we were surprised to discover it was not really a “cave” at all. It was a place of worship, a shrine, adorned with paper lanterns and small statues of Buddha. The air was cool and damp. Soft music played, though I’m not really sure where it came from. Best of all was the breathtaking view.
After paying our respects, we descended the stairs and headed up an adjacent trail. Clouds crept over the lip of the mountain, bringing a chill to the air. Someone mentioned Mordor, and I promptly broke into my Smeagol impression. The climb did remind me of the path to Shelob’s lair, though a great deal less foreboding. Up we went until the trees parted and a view of the ocean opened out before us. Spots of sun escaped the clouds and freckled the landscape. Deciduous trees had relented to evergreens. Someone joked about how we could have camped there; I seriously would have.
By this point my ankle was beyond ready to quit and I still had the whole way down to go. So I began the long journey, each step taken with care, never rushed, never hasty. This allowed me to absorb more of the scenery. Some of the leaves were blushing from the kiss of the midnight frost. How quickly the seasons change for they had not been so the day before.
We watched the sun set in the belly of the valley, as we had the night before. Then we bid farewell to Seoraksan.
The next morning I woke early, grabbed my camera and headed to the beach. I underestimated the distance and had to rush. My ankle cried out in anger with every step. But I made it! The tip of the sun peaked above the waves just as my feet touched the coarse sand. I watched as it stretched higher into the sky, until it finally freed itself from the oceans grasp. Sitting alone I listened to the waves sweeping across the sand. I would miss this place, on the edge of the world, looking out towards the country I had left behind.
Once everyone was up and packed we returned to the beach for a swim. A humble island rested a short distance offshore and I was determined to swim to it. Somehow I must have forgotten the fact that I could barely move my ankle. I only had to kick once before reality hit me. I don’t know if it was that, the high speed boats that passed every few minutes, or the four foot jellyfish that made me turn back. I did however abandon my quest of the island and no sooner than I did I saw a shark swimming around near the bottom. I’m sure he was just a harmless bottom feeder, but all these things combined were enough to convince me that I should stay near the mainland.
So after a day of lounging in the sun we said farewell to Sokcho and boarded the bus to Incheon.
Despite the fact that my ankle remained swollen and sore for months afterward, I think it was worth the pain.
