Discovering Gyeongju

(continued from previous post)

And so it was that I discovered Gyeongju...

... discovered the camel-like humps in Tumuli Park that served as ancient burial tombs.


... discovered fields of orange-gold wildflowers stretching out towards the mountains.


... discovered Gyerim Forest, shaded and shadowed with towering trees arching against the sun.


... discovered side streets and back roads, ancient pagodas and modern playing fields flecked with uniformed youngsters running after soccer balls.

I wandered through Wolseong Park, where families and cuddly couples rode along the flat, paved road in foot-powered buggy cars, listening to the cicadas pulsing their song through the heavy August air. And I meandered through the lily gardens near Anapji Pond, taking in the delicious smell of freshly blooming flowers against of backdrop of verdant green.

And after all of this, plus a bike ride taking me several miles out of town to Bomun Lake, my back tire gave out, slowly leaking out air until it was dead flat. Miles from the bike shop, I tried riding my way back towards town, but the going was tough, and very inefficient. Eventually, I
hopped off the bike and began my long walk back.

I was perhaps within a mile of the shop when an old, half-hunched little ajumma, stopped at a red light with me, noticed my flat tire and my predicament. She gestured and pointed and rattled on for the entire 3-minute wait to cross the road. The old woman kept pointing at my tire
and pointing down a street in quite the opposite direction I was intending to walk. I assumed she wanted to show me to a shop where I could fix my tire. But that wasn't my plan -- I'd just walk the bike back to the shop, I figured, and do my own gesturing and pointing to let them know the tire had gone flat. It was only a rental, after all, and I was sure that they were used to the occasional flat tire brought in with a returning customer.

But the ajumma wouldn't have any of it. She flagged down a young girl walking towards us to help her relay her important message, and finally, not knowing how else to communicate that her help was appreciated but not needed, I gave in and followed her down the road. We walked and walked and walked, probably close to a kilometer, before stopping outside a shop spilling over with bicycles. The ajumma exchanged a few words with the shop owner, pointed at me, then waved goodbye and scurried on further down the sidewalk.

I had no intention of paying for a new tire or even a repair, and wasn't quite sure how to get out of the obligation of either. So I was greatly relieved to find that the man could speak a little English, enough at least that he could understand I had rented the bicycle. When I pointed out the shop's phone number stickered on the bicycle, he grabbed his cell phone and called the rental shop for me. And then he motioned me to a chair where, he explained, I could wait until the rental shop came with a van to pick up me and the bike.

An hour and a half later, I was back at the hostel. The wait had been long and tedious, but I had managed to stick it out. Tired, sticky with sweat, and hungry, I managed to cook up a plate of vegetables and settle into a cushioned chair on the hostel's rooftop, where a small party of backpackers was forming.

The rest of the night was spent in good company -- Desmond and Patrick, two solo travelers making large circuits through Asia, and who happened to both be from Ireland; Jean Luc, a middle-aged man from France, whose wife and young son were sleeping just downstairs; Katie and Kevin, two college friends from California backpacking around Japan and Korea before continuing on to Beijing to watch a friend of theirs compete on the U.S. water polo team. There were others, as well -- Noemi, an actress from Belgium, traveling solo in Korea and Japan; and a twenty-something French guy (whose name I could never pronounce), with beautiful features and an even more beautiful accent.

By 1:00 AM, the impromptu party had begun to disband. I shuffled back down to my "closet" and quickly resigned myself to a night of sweltering sleep. But what could I complain about? I had seen an eclectic mix of Gyeongju -- ancient relics, urban sprawl, helpful old ladies, and even the inside of a couple of bicycle shops. Gyeongju was quickly making its way up the "My Favorite Places in Korea" list.