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...

The Beaches of Busan: Trading Peace for Parasols

I woke early this morning as sunlight streamed in the windows of Marina's flat -- what a change from the subtle rays of indirect morning light that barely seem to reach my apartment back in Seosan. It didn't matter that my body had been horizontal for nearly twelve hours; I was relishing the reality that I had a week to take at whatever pace I chose.

And for the moment, at least, a lazy Sunday morning chewing through Alex Garland's novel "The Beach" seemed the best of all possibilities. Especially when, minutes later, a shroud of gray settled over the sun and stayed put for the next few hours, bringing on a few light showers that lasted until late morning.

By 11:30 I was tired of waiting for the clouds to burn off, and eager to see a bit more of Busan. I had hoped for bright skies and beach-perfect weather, but I'd make do with whatever I had at my disposal. So I pulled a slipdress over my swimming suit and headed toward the metro station. An hour later I was stepping off the metro in Dongbaek, a 15-minute walk to the rocky headlands on a small peninsula overlooking the Sea of Japan. I wandered through the APEC building, a famous spot for national and international peace talks, and took in the view of Gwangali bridge and the gray-blue water stretching out and beyond it. Here a sailboat breeze along the water, there a fisherman cast his line in the foaming spray.

I walked along the coastline until I reached Haeundae, Busan's most popular beach bustling with more weekend activity than should be allowed on any beachfront. Parasols literally stretched from one corner of the beach to the other, a continual sea of red and white plastic, creating one enormous canopy of shade for the sun-phobic beachgoers (is that an oxymoron, or is it just me?) settling into the sand.

After some ordeal trying to communicate to the eager entrepreneurs flocking to me that I didn't want a parasol, beach chair, or anything else for that matter, I managed to miraculously find some unshaded spot to spread out my meager towel and relax under the cloud-covered sky. No sooner had I stretched out and begun to relax, then a high-pitched voice squealed from mounted loudspeakers just a few yards from where I lay, shattering any semblance of peacefulness I had begun to spin around me. It didn't take long for me to realize that the obnoxious loudspeaker announcements were more or less a permanent fixture, background noise to the caucophany of distractions swirling around me.

This was a beach, was it not? People did come here to relax, did they not? This has to amount to one of the most stress-inducing beach experiences I've had thus far...

Minutes later, I woke to see a fiesty ajumma rattling off some unpleasant-sounding words aimed at me, pointing at her beach mats and gesturing to me wildly, as if I were some kind of low-life for taking up her precious sand space without agreeing to pay for the pleasure of using one of her plastic beach mats. I hastily gathered up my things and stomped off northward, in disbelief at the impossibility of relaxation to be found on Haeundae. I must have lucked out because, after walking for several minutes, I came to what appeared to be the perimeter of a sound stage and just adjacent to it, a comparably quiet spot of sand where I promptly parked it.

I spent the next hour in relative peace, despite the continual stream of people traipsing up and down the boardwalk just behind me. At one point, the Korean family spread out in a beach tent just next to me made their way to my towel with a hunk of juicy watermelon to share. It was a simple gesture, but went a long way towards smoothing over the irritations of the day.

I rounded out my day with a late-afternoon trip to nearby Yongungsa Temple, about an hour by bus northward along the coast. This Buddhist temple is set beautifully on an outcropping of rocks along the shore. And between stone carvings, lilting monk-led melodies, and a massive gold-laquered smiling Buddha set into the hillside, it was the perfect place to ward off the heat of the day.

I sat for awhile on the rocks overlooking the grayish waves rippling below, watching the parade of Korean parents toting youngsters, older couples hobbling up and down the stone-carved steps leading to the temple complex, others stepping forward to light incense and send a prayer to the skies.

As night began to fall over Busan, I took one last subway ride to Gwanali Beach, hoping to enjoy a little bit of the night scene that comes to life here on summer evenings. Sure enough, there was no shortage of couples, families, and larger gatherings of people milling about, parked on blankets along the beachfront, walking to and from the restaurant area where flashy, multi-story buildings glowed with neon lights of enticement, and looking on at dancers on a wide stage, performing for an appreciative audience under the stars. The energy of the locale was so enjoyable that I felt a bit disappointed at the realization that I had no one to linger here longer with. But this is the trade-off for the freedom of traveling alone.

And with that, I began my hour-long walk and metro ride back to Marina's flat, where I finally got to meet the girl who saved me from bumming off a park bench the night before. As it turns out, Marina was absolutely delightful to visit with; an optimistic and warm young woman who had no doubt been dealt a challenging hand at the public school where she had been working for the past month since coming to Korea. Talking to her brought home to me a wave of gratitude for the teaching situation that I have been given in Seosan.

It's always tempting to compare and to assume that others have things better than you. Marina's apartment, for example, was much more modern and spacious than my own. She lived in the middle of a thriving metropolis with access to beautiful mountain trails and beaches, and on an excellent train line connecting her to points all over the country. On the surface, it seemed, I really had the short end of the stick. But after spending some time visiting with her, I began to see that truly, everything evens out, and that for me, teaching at EGA is the best of all possible scenarios for me at this point in time.

Day 2 of vacation week had come to a close. It had been eventful, moments of relaxation sandwiched between overpopulated beachfronts and a plethora of perspiration. But all things considered, today had been a discovery, a change of pace, and a soft adventure. And with a little rest, I'd be ready to do it all over again tomorrow.