Trekking Up and Tracking Down the North Gate

At 5:30 AM when my alarm clock went off, reminding me of my standing appointment with Busan's early-morning Jagalchi Fish Market, I rolled over and played dead. I can't remember the last time my body was actually up and at it at 5:30 AM and today just didn't seem the day to set any new precedents. It took about 0.2 seconds for me to fall back into a delicious sleep, and I somehow was so deeply unconscious that I never even heard Marina get ready or leave the apartment for her day at work.

My short visit last night to Gwangali beach had been so entertaining that I figured it was worth a second look. From my observations, the sand had less of a rough sandpaper quality than Haeundae, and I was keeping my fingers crossed, at least, that it being a Monday, a lot of the beachgoing population would fall off. It didn't matter that the sky was thick with a milky haze, so much so that not a sliver of sun was leaking through. Just to sit on a beach, undisturbed, and listen to the sound of the waves break against the shore sounded as close to perfect as a beach could get in Korea. Besides, my skin had turned distastefully pale since coming to Seosan 7 weeks before, and the though the skies above were clouded over, I was still convinced that I wasn't beyond reach of a little UV.

It turns out my plan was a wise one.  Within 20 minutes of parking myself on the sand, the clouds lifted and hot, hot sun filtered down through deep blue sky. It was amazing the immediate difference the sun made in the temperature and heaviness of the air surrounding me. And though (thanks to Fido) I wouldn't be cooling off from the sun in the salty water just a few meters away, I at least had the luxury of a makeshift "bathhouse" just a stone's throw away, where I could rinse away stray sand with a cool stream of shower water at the push of a button. It was perfect. And with no threatening ajummas or parades of parasols or interrupting intercoms, Gwanali -- at least for today -- seemed comparatively fabulous.

After a leisurely sunbath, I was ready to stretch my legs a bit, and managed to find a Tourist Information desk quite nearby where I hoped to get some information about hiking around Busan's old fortress walls. From Geumjang Park, in northern Busan, it is possible to hike to Beomeosa temple, along trails that lead towards ancient gates and crumbling walls. And with the disappointment of finding myself without camera batteries on my visit to Beomeosa two days ago, it seemed fitting to return. 

The young girl behind the counter met my English "Hello!" with one of her own, and I was relieved that she seemed a bit eager to speak to me in a language that I actually understood. I asked her my questions, and she started in with a reply in a beautiful British accent that seemed so oddly out of place coming out of a Korean mouth. Of course, she had either been taught by British teachers, or had spent some time studing the language in England itself. It was refreshing, and amusing, and she was so downright nice (although as it turned out, not very knowledgeable) that I couldn't help but leave with a smile.

An hour and a half later, I was again walking the quiet temple grounds at Beomeosa, amusing myself with the vertigo-inducing upward views into the bamboo forests and lush, verdant downward views overlooking the temple and the green hilly mountains beyond. With a little luck, I managed to find the entrance to what turned out to be an astonishingly steep hike up a forest of gargantuan boulders and rocks. Either side of the trail was tied off with bungee cables, marking clearly for would-be hikers the path leading out of Beomeosa. Despite the thick, humid heat, I kept charging ahead, hoisting myself up the trail while perspiration saturated my skin and clothing and my lungs burned a bit from my breathlessness.

Finally, I reached the North Gate where I took the stone steps leading to its lookout post and caught the view of a low-lying stone wall running up and over the green hills to the east and the west. These were fortress walls built centuries upon centuries ago, now nestled among shrubs and flowering trees, holding the attention of curious hikers for a few minutes or more before being left to stand in their stoic isolation.  After exploring the area, I continued on straight ahead down the trail, not realizing until too late that the trail itself must have turned along the fortress walls. I kept walking for some time, passing quaint mountain huts and a family of charcoal-black goats who eyed me with apprehension.

A few minutes later, I heard a gentle honk and turned to see some slightly famililar faces smiling out at me from the backseat of a shiny black car. A few Koreans I had crossed paths with at the gate were on their way out of the mountain, and were offering to give me a lift. Sticky with sweat, I folded at the thought of sitting in a cushy air-conditioned car, and hopped into the front seat. We drove for 15 minutes before reaching the exit of the park, and with each minute that ticked by, I was increasily grateful to these strangers for saving me from what would have been a very long, and not remotely scenic, hike.

When they finally dropped me off, I managed to find my bearings enough to realize that I was close to Geumgang Park, which was my original plan anyway. From here, I could take a cable car up the mountain for impressive views of bustling Busan, and that was precisely what I set out to do. Little did I know that within the hour, I would be making friends with a lively if somewhat odd mix of Koreans would would invite me into their circle, and that I would end up on a crazy escapade lasting until the wee hours of morning... But that's another story...

Backpacking Begins: The Bullet Train to Busan

Despite nearly cancelling my travel plans due to complications from my nasty Fido attack, I decided Thursday afternoon that I was well enough to still make the most of my one-week vacation (which began Saturday morning). It was cutting things close by Thursday when I made the final call, close enough that all hostels in Busan were booked, and I had to reserve my second-choice bullet train from Cheonan, as all seats on Saturday morning's first train to Busan had all been reserved.

The next few days were a bit stressful as I sent off multiple CouchSurfing requests in hopes of finding someone who would be willing to host me. I hadn't realized until far too late that the weekend of my intended arrival was also the beginning of a huge month-long beach festival in Busan proper. And everybody, it seemed, was planning to attend.

I managed the good fortune of getting in contact with a sweet girl named Marina, originally from the Ukraine, and on teaching contract for a year in Busan. Although she wouldn't be back from the Rock Concert until Sunday afternoon, she offered to leave me her keys so that I could help myself in to her flat and crash at her place for the night. This is the spirit of CouchSurfing, which is something that, try as I might, I simply can't seem to successfully explain to friends and acquaintances curious about this worldwide travelers-helping-travelers community.

Yes, Marina and I were complete strangers. Yes, she was leaving me the key to her place. Yes, I have done the same. And yes, people really can be that trusting.

Saturday was a long one -- I was up Friday night until far too late (2 AM!) catching up with a few close friends, tying up loose ends, and packing up for a week of backpacking. It had been a while since I was last in "backpacking mode," and I have to admit that my efficiency was terrible. But finally, a few slim hours before my bus would pull out of Seosan's terminal and route me to Cheonan (where I'd catch the high-speed train to Busan), I managed to fall into bed and passed out without a moment's hesitation. Finishing up all the odds and ends (watering my lily, taking out the trash, etc. etc.) took me longer than I had planned and, after running to the nearest taxi stand, flagging down an empty cab, and flying down the quiet Saturday morning streets of Seosan, I made it on the bus with just a minute to spare before my one chance of making my connections slipped out of my reach.

Several hours later, I was in Busan, standing in a mob of people waiting to purchase subway tickets in one of Busan's busiest metro stations. Marina had called me while I was en route on the train, and I had quickly scrawled onto a corner of my guidebook page her detailed directions on how to reach her apartment somewhere in the middle of Korea's second-largest city. After managing to get my metro ticket and board the right metrorail train, I settled in for what turned out to be another 45-minute commute uptown to the Oncheonjang stop. As it turned out, Marina's directions were flawless; within the space of another 20 minutes, I had unearthed the key from a potted plant one flight up from her apartment entrance, and was sopping the perspiration off of my face with the hem of my blouse. I had forgotten how oppressive high-summer humidity can be, especially with a 20-pound backpack strapped to my back.

After settling in, repacking the bare essentials into my daybag, rehydrating myself with some cold water, and giving my guidebook a quick once-over, I decided that my best plan of attack would be to head to Beomeosa, a Buddhist temple set in the mountains of Busan, and one of the city's finest attractions. Navigating a foreign country with little to no language skills always proves to be an interesting undertaking -- depending on the amount of patience involved, it can be either humorous or irritating. Fortunately, even with sideshow of a toothless man dressed in camouflage and combat boots who insisted on blowing me kisses for the entire bus ride up in the mountains, I was able to keep everything in a pleasant perspective. That is, until I walked onto the temple grounds, drew out my SLR to take my first photo... and discovered that I had failed to install the battery...

That discovery put an immense damper on my explorations, but soon I was reveling in the silent peacefulness of the temple grounds, craning my neck upwards to the tops of the bamboo shoots springing up alongside a temple wall, eavesdropping respectfully on the chanting and song of monks and worshippers kneeling barefoot in the inner chambers of many of the prayerhouses. A monk dressed in simple brown clothing stepped out from behind a closed gate and began sweeping the stone steps leading up to the entranceway, and a gaggle of school children, dressed in matching yellow tee-shirts, pattered through open courtyard, both bringing a unique energy to the scenery and stillness surrounding me.

After soaking up the whole experience, I managed to make it back to Oncheonjang and rounding up a few days' worth of fruits and vegetables before my body all but caved in from exhaustion. I had Marina's flat to myself and, despite the charms of Busan beckoning from just beyond her windowpane, I knew that what I needed more than anything was some quality sleep. So I curled up on the hard wood floor with the novel I had borrowed from Tahira just before leaving, and let the written words lull me to sleep. And despite my best intentions to venture out again later that evening, I managed to sleep almost straight through til morning on that hard wood floor. My vacation had officially begun.