For those of you keeping Asian score, this weekend marked the beginning of the Lunar New Year. Now that might not mean much to you, but in Korea, it’s a pretty big deal; actually, it’s the most important holiday of the year (or so I’ve been told by the natives). As such, we had classes cancelled from Saturday through Monday, an unprecedented amount of time off for Chungdahm standards. Adding in the fact that one of my regularly scheduled days off is Tuesday, I had a four day weekend on my hands. It’s hard for me to express what that meant to me, but suffice it to say that it’d been a while since I really felt off from work.
Over the week or so before the holiday began, people at work and some other friends in Seoul had been sending emails and facebook messages about organizing some kind of getaway. Unfortunately for us, though, we didn’t find out about our short vacation until a little while ago, and the Lunar New Year’s standing as the most celebrated holiday of the year also happens to make this weekend the busiest travel time of the year. Because the holiday is celebrated with family in people’s hometowns, I was told that the traffic out of Seoul would be absolutely terrible—think Thanksgiving on some kind of hardcore drug. Of course, this meant that all of the buses and trains out of the city on Saturday and returning on Monday were booked, so that basically ruled out local traveling for most of my friends.
But like I said, this weekend was the vacation time that I’d been waiting for, and I wasn’t about to let that slip away because other people couldn’t travel. My long weekend made traveling much more flexible for me, so on Thursday night, I said, “to hell with everyone else and their indecision- I’m getting out of this damn city!” and proceeded to book train tickets to Busan—Korea’s second largest city on the Southeast coast—for Sunday through Wednesday morning.
That still left all of Saturday to do something fun and not at all related to teaching English, so I made plans with some friends to head to Bukhansan National Park, which is actually technically still in Seoul-proper, and go hiking for the day.
I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, but hiking is an extremely popular pastime in Korea, probably the most popular recreational activity. If your ever here and ride the subway for even a short period of time, you are bound to see some older men or women decked out in full hiking gear: boots, pants, jackets and hats made by Northface or some cheap knockoff off (and there are a lot of those, including some funny ones like “Redface”), plus backpacks and always hiking poles. I’ve always found it mildly entertaining to watch these people; the first time I saw them back in August, I assumed they were some intense backpackers or something, but then the frequency of sightings made me realize that it was standard operating procedure. Koreans tend to take everything they do seriously, especially when that comes to sporting paraphernalia (the swim instructors at my pool wear full wet suits while teaching).
When we arrived at the park on Saturday morning, we were of course surrounded by hoards of Koreans of all shapes and sizes—well, mostly short and stout—completely equipped for some intense hiking. Of course, us North Americans (wow, look how politically correct I've become) were all dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, expecting the hike to be a gentle walk in the park. As we started up the trail, passing hiking gear stores and small shops selling snacks, soju, and makgeoli (Korean rice wine), we started to realize that the layer of snow which had build up the night before was making for some slippery going.
We stopped to get our bearings, and noticed that just about all the Koreans passing by us were wearing metal spikes on their shoes to give them better traction in the snow. Of course, I again chalked this up to the Korean tendency to take everything overboard where equipment is concerned, but when Andrew decided to take the plunge and bought a set of the spikes for only 5,000 won, the rest of us decided that it would probably make for a worthwhile investment to get a pair for ourselves.
And boy were we glad we did that; this was no gentle walk in the park. Apparently, Koreans don’t really believe in switchbacks, so while the trail was only about 4 kilometers from base to summit, it was basically all straight up hill. The icy, snowy weather made the trail infinitely more treacherous, but we were taking our time either way- all of us were very winded almost the entire way up. The hike up Baugundae Peak (at 836 meters, the highest point in the park), while strenuous, was well worth it; all along the way, we weaved through snow-covered forest that glistened in the afternoon sunlight- it was really a beautiful trail.
Near the top, the path got progressively steeper, more slippery, and significantly scarier. I’m not one to back away from a challenge, but for most of the last kilometer or so, we were basically hoisting ourselves up the mountain by metal cables installed along the trail, and the steepness of the mountain coupled with the weather conditions made slipping or falling an extremely undesirable outcome.
Finally, though, we made it to the summit—which was an area only about 20 square feet cordoned off by more metal cables—and enjoyed a breathtaking view of the mountains around us and the city below us. The nervousness in our guts and the burning in our calves and quads from the way up were all worth it.
In the end, I made a couple of worthwhile conclusions from the experience. First of all, I realized that I was not giving Koreans enough credit for the intensity of their hiking prowess. All along the trail behind and in front of us were little kids and older ajashis and ajumas, some of whom I really couldn’t understand how they’d made it up the mountain in one peace. I have a newfound respect for Koreans, their hiking, and their tendency to spare no expense when dressing for the occasion. We certainly wouldn’t have made it up the mountain without those metal spikes, so I have to tip my cap to them in that respect. Being outside in the fresh air out of the city (or at least what felt like it was out of the city) made me remember how much I like that sort of thing and made me promise myself I would try to do more outdoor activities while I’m in this country. Koreans love hiking for a reason- there is plenty of opportunity, even within a day trip of a mega-city like Seoul.
I still need to recount my adventures in Busan, but I will save that for my next blog entry, when I have a little more time and a little more energy to do some more writing.
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