Gwangdeoksan

What we have here... is failure to communicate. Although my current Korean circumstances are far different from that of Cool Hand Luke's, misunderstandings and dissonant perspectives abound in both worlds.

The other day I was sitting atop a rock and pondering over all the changes I've gladly undertaken. I sit on this particular rock and think often. It's sort of my chilling pad in Cheonan. As I sat there, gazing and thinking over my surroundings, a businessman came up behind me and started speaking to me in Korean. I turned around and gave him a face like a blank sheet of paper. I shrugged my shoulders, saying "I don't understand, sorry." He stared at me a moment and I could practically see the cogs grinding in his head as he thought of how to communicate in another language, English. In his hand he grasped an invisible spoon and started pretending to eat with it. He paused a moment, our eyes locked, and he said
"Dahg. Dawhg."
Sometimes simple words and movements can convey so much. I knew then that eating dog was pretty common in Korea, but I had no idea which restaurants served our canine friends as food. Fortunately for this hungry Hanguksaram, another man strolled past and offered directions.

More recently, I had a communication breakdown with my friend Jino. His English speech and vocabulary is excellent. I rarely have any trouble understanding him and he me. Somehow, though, I heard that the mountain we were to climb was 6000 meters. On the way up to the trail, I asked Jino again the elevation of this mountain, Gwangdeoksan.
"Oh, 700 meters or so."
"What? I thought you said it was 6000?"
He laughed at my foolishness. "No way. Mount Everest is a little over 8000 meters. The highest mountain in Korea, Hallasan on Jeju Island, is about 2000 meters.
So I didn't ascend some sky scraping crag, but Gwangdeoksan was still steep ( at 2300 feet ), beautiful, and, at times, challenging.

Jino picked me up that morning very early. In a sleepy haze, I hurried to his car and forgot my camera. This troubled me at first, but I was reassured when Jino told me that he'd take some pictures. I hadn't even seen the mountain yet, but I knew I'd be back to hike it again since it's so close. The next time I wouldn't forget my camera.

We picked up one of Jino's friends and made our way to the mountain. I sat in the backseat. Jino's friend ( I never did catch his name ) reached behind him and handed me a clear plastic bag with a large lump of something inside. Not knowing what I was being handed, I took it with two hands ( Korean custom of respect and gratitude ) and said "konsamneeda." I peered into the bag a little cautiously. What I held looked like a big bundle of wax slugs stuck together to form a ball the size of a large grapefruit. I had no idea what I was looking at and holding. I thought I was supposed to eat it, so I tried to peel one of the wax slugs free. I couldn't get one loose because each strip was adhered to the whole so strongly. Not really knowing what to do and not wanting to seem ungrateful, I just slowly placed it beside me while trying not to crinkle the cellophane too loudly.

We arrived and began our climb. At the base of the mountain was this breathtaking Buddhist gate, brimming with vibrancy and ornate design. It must have stood at around fifty feet. I walked underneath it, my head fixed heavenward, peering over all the intricate patterns. My initial thought of revisiting Gwangdeoksan came flooding back to mind. There was no doubt then that I'd return to the mountain alone. I soon realized that I was glad to have forgotten my camera because I knew that I would want to pause and take dozens of pictures like some sight-seeing tourist. I figured that my company wanted to hike and enjoy the trails without any touristy delay.

I soon found that Jino's friend was a mountain goat. Although he was probably in his late 40's, he had great stamina and strength, climbing up the steep terrain with such grace and ease. It was a slight challenge for me to keep up with him, but I did fine. Jino, in fact, I noticed lagging behind me and the mountain goat a number of times. Not being an experienced climber, I didn't really know what to expect of a mountain with an elevation of 700 meters.
"Do you have medical insurance?" Jino translated for his friend.
Gulp. "I think so. I think I'm covered through the Korean government." Just how severe is this climb going to be? I started feeling a little worried. The mountain goat said something that I, of course, didn't understand. Jino pointed to the side of his stomach. "What do they call it when you have surgery here?"
"Oh, that's when you get your appendix removed. Appendicitis, I think"
"Yeah, you should probably have that taken out while you're here. It'll be much cheaper."
No doubt. As we hiked, we spoke of foreign policy and laughed and grumbled at America's health coverage.

The mountain felt fresh and lush, with dense wooding all about us. We walked by a few streams, slowly trickling into small pools of smooth stones submerged. We crossed one bubbling little brook, and I noticed that everyone stepped on different stones, although there were only a few to choose from. I began to pant and sweat as the path steadily increased its slope. I had to grab hold of tree trunks occasionally to steady myself. A few times I felt the need to look back and see what ground I had put behind me. Sometimes I was shocked to see just how steep the trek had been. Once I even felt gravity pull me back. I didn't lose my balance, thankfully, leaning forward and pushing myself to continue the climb.

It took us about an hour or two to reach the summit. There was a clearing spanning 30 yards or so. The view was incredible. Far, far down below we could make out buildings shrouded with the haze of distance. Encircling the summit were several other mountain ranges and many other peaks far off on the horizon. Fortunately, Jino's friend had a very professional looking camera. He snapped a few shots of Jino and me with other mountains in the background, towering above the land, making sharp peaks, and rolling up and down to form other ranges.

There, at the summit of Gwangdeoksan, was a man wearing a wide brimmed straw hat, kinda like an Asian style sombrero, and he had set up makeshift seats for parched travelers in need of rest. Jino bought us some rice wine, which drinking atop a mountain is a common Korean custom. It came in these brass bowls and was pretty nasty. It tasted neither like rice nor wine. I was thirsty, so I gulped down about half of my bowl but couldn't manage to swallow the rest. Jino explained that many foreigners dislike the taste and that I didn't have to force myself to consume it. I asked him if there are people selling rice wine at the top of many mountains in Korea. He chuckled. "No, this guy's famous - more so than the mayor of Cheonan." He explained that selling alcohol at the peak of any mountain is illegal. Many Koreans will bring their own rice wine along with them to drink when they've arrived at the top.
"So how does this guy get away with it?"
"Oh, the police give him fines sometimes, but they cannot climb the mountain everyday."
We laughed over the notion of police having to climb Gwangdeoksan every day in hopes of busting the lone rice wine vendor.

There were many trails leading up and down the mountain. Our mountain goat friend picked one and we set off after a short rest. The path down was just as beautiful as the path up. After trekking for about 10 minutes or so, Jino's buddy led us down a path less traveled. We began to do some serious trail blazing, but I felt fine. The mountain goat seemed to know his course. He led us to this very serene spot, where a huge boulder juts out over the mountain. The view was splendid. I felt as if I could see forever, well, as far as Japan maybe. I grasped hold of a tree and stood out on the boulder, my back to the great drop. He snapped my photo. I hope to get it sometime soon.

The descent was a bit sketchy, I must say. Since we decided to be trailblazers, there wasn't a convenient path with lots of stepping stones. Going down was more like snowboarding without a board than walking. The earth beneath our feet was loose and covered with cracked leaves, so we slid down most of the way, kicking up soil and leaving clouds of dust. I fell a few times, laughing and never hurt. Not once was there any serious danger, but I definitely had to exercise more caution about what steps to take and what branches to grab. This more challenging form of hiking was a blast, with it being more mentally and physically engaging.

Upon arriving at the bottom, we decided to check out the Buddhist temple. I definitely need to go back and snap some pictures of it. There were three or four huge temples in a square complex. A small field divided them in a courtyard of sorts. Crossing the field was a stone pathway which connected all the buildings. One of the temples had the biggest bell I've ever seen. It stood as tall as I and was as wide around as a big elevator shaft. I desperately wanted to strike it like a gong, but I refrained. In one of the temples were two Buddhists chanting some song in unison. One of them kept striking a wooden block for tempo. It was unlike anything I've heard before, somehow both discordant and harmonious. I know that's an oxymoron, but I don't really know how else to describe what I heard. I felt pretty tranquil after hearing it and coming down from a long hike.

We made our way home where Jino and I parted from the mountain goat. After showering, we were ready for a meal. We headed off to Jino's uncle's restaurant to chow down on some traditional Korean grub ( beef, rice, seaweed soup, and kimchi along with 20 side dishes ). Later on, we met up with two of Jino's friends, Emmy and Jerry. I had already met Emmy before - she's a teacher in Cheonan and her English skills are solid. I hadn't met Jerry since he lives in Seoul. His English was minimal, but I took a liking to him immediately. We all packed into Jino's Hyundai Tuscani and took off for the west coast, Changgohang to be exact, for some seafood on the sea.

"Do you eat raw fish?" Jerry asked me at the table.
"Yes, I like sushi," I managed. I wondered, "how raw are we talking about here?"
They ordered the food in a flurry of Korean. The four of us sat on an open porch, right on the sea. In view was an American battleship, a destroyer I think, docked right there in the harbor. Being out of service, it acted as a museum. Our side dishes came out with little delay. Everything was seafood and raw, from salmon and clams to octopus and squid. The food was all as fresh as imaginable, some still squirming. One platter was teeming with wiggling octopus tentacles. Another plate had these tiny pink blobs on it; they looked like little lungs, breathing in and out. Emmy warned me not to try them because of how nasty they taste. She went on to say that the little lungs are commonly eaten by men who think they improve virility. "Oh," I said. I took her advice seriously about the pink blobs, but I definitely wanted to dig into some squiggling octopi tentacle action.

And so I did. It took me a moment to pick up an octopi leg with my chopstick because some of the tentacles had stuck to the bottom of the plate. Eventually, I nabbed one, dipped it into my spicy sauce and, with bravery and curiosity, popped it into my mouth. I've heard that some folks choke on this food because some tentacles will become attached to the esophagus, so I chewed heartily before swallowing. The taste...delectable! It was all very scrumptious. I ate my share. What I was eating, however, isn't actually standard octopus, but some small creature of the same family. I haven't been able to find out its exact name just yet. Later on in the meal, I did try real octopus legs. They tasted similar but were much larger and much chewier. The main course was an enormous platter of raw fish. I liked it, but felt the octopus was better. The third dish was a soup that was cooked right before us on a little portable stove. It had chunks of fish in it. The soup was spicy and warming, which was comforting while being outside in the chilly sea breeze.

I started talking with Jerry some more. Apparently, he's a businessman of sorts in Seoul. He told me that he wants to show me around the city. I asked him when he was free. "Anytime. I make my own schedule." I guess he has some power and some won to chuck around, unlike me - practically penniless and adhering to my school schedule each day. I've been so happy to make all these Korean friends. Not once have I felt the oppression of xenophobia. All my newfound friends have been so kind, generous, and helpful to me in my period of adjustment. It's very refreshing to know folks like this and so different from the hostility I've felt in the States. Jerry gave me his business card and told me to call him up anytime I can make it Seoul. I think I'll take him up on his offer pretty soon, probably within the next few weeks. I definitely have it listed on my Korean agenda to go Seoul trekking.

http://www.kormt.co.kr/chgwngdk2tx.html