When it rains...
Well, third time's the charm. My hike got rained out yet again... I was ready for a bit of the wet stuff, but then it started to pour down like Noah himself was ready to set sail on the morning of my departure from the park's nearby town. The town is called Gurye, and what I'm writing here now about it will probably contain more detail than any other (English) source you can find online. I ended up staying in Gurye for three days on account of my cancelled trip, and it was a pleasant time; the town had a few stories to tell, which added a silver lining to the disappointment of not being able to hike.
When I first arrived early Friday afternoon, the weather was wonderful, and I hoped dearly that it would stick.
The view from the motel window, facing Jirisan National Park
But, it did not. It turned on Saturday, so I postponed the hike until Sunday morning. Come sunday it was even worse, so I stayed in town snapping photos and trying to have a good time amid the on-and-off rainstorms. My first mission on Friday night was to find something fun to do. Over the course oof several hours, I managed to give myself a tour of almost the entire town, and in spite of about 25 bars (known as Hofs in Korea), I couldn't for the life of me find any people, especially people my own age. Following a trend in every small town, Gurye's population consists almost completely of people under 18, and over 30. Everybody else has moved along to take a crack at a better life in the world of big-city diversified labour.
Finally, as I was about to retire bored back to the Motel, I saw someone through a third-floor bar window waving me in. Someone with blond hair of all things! I had stumbled across two of Gurye's four (count 'em) western residents. At first I was relieved and excited, because maybe a fun weekend was in store just yet, but after a few minutes it because clear that these two were a nerdy, unfun lot. A guy and a girl, both on contract with the public schools and living with Korean families on a homestay program; all they could do was talk about work, work, and work. Aside from them regailing me with small-town ESL teaching horror stories, it was a boring night.
The best story they told was of a guy they knew who came to another farming village nearby on a govt. ESL program, and was made to live on the floor of an unfurnished, abandoned shack. The facilities consisted of a hose, a hole, and a hot plate... for bathing, shitting, and cooking respectively. This gave me some perspective, to compare Seoul's ESL teacher apartment "horror" stories to.
Anyway, Friday was the last I saw of the other westerners. I spent saturday trotting around town and the countryside all around it, just observing daily life, admiring the Buddhist temples (which were outnumbered greatly by neon-lit Christian churches) and taking in the clean air. Korea's highly seasonal climate produces that wonderful intoxicating smell of decaying leaves in November; it reminded me much of childhood hikes around Goldstream in the late fall.
From the town's overlooking hilltop 
When I first arrived early Friday afternoon, the weather was wonderful, and I hoped dearly that it would stick.
But, it did not. It turned on Saturday, so I postponed the hike until Sunday morning. Come sunday it was even worse, so I stayed in town snapping photos and trying to have a good time amid the on-and-off rainstorms. My first mission on Friday night was to find something fun to do. Over the course oof several hours, I managed to give myself a tour of almost the entire town, and in spite of about 25 bars (known as Hofs in Korea), I couldn't for the life of me find any people, especially people my own age. Following a trend in every small town, Gurye's population consists almost completely of people under 18, and over 30. Everybody else has moved along to take a crack at a better life in the world of big-city diversified labour.
Finally, as I was about to retire bored back to the Motel, I saw someone through a third-floor bar window waving me in. Someone with blond hair of all things! I had stumbled across two of Gurye's four (count 'em) western residents. At first I was relieved and excited, because maybe a fun weekend was in store just yet, but after a few minutes it because clear that these two were a nerdy, unfun lot. A guy and a girl, both on contract with the public schools and living with Korean families on a homestay program; all they could do was talk about work, work, and work. Aside from them regailing me with small-town ESL teaching horror stories, it was a boring night.
The best story they told was of a guy they knew who came to another farming village nearby on a govt. ESL program, and was made to live on the floor of an unfurnished, abandoned shack. The facilities consisted of a hose, a hole, and a hot plate... for bathing, shitting, and cooking respectively. This gave me some perspective, to compare Seoul's ESL teacher apartment "horror" stories to.
Anyway, Friday was the last I saw of the other westerners. I spent saturday trotting around town and the countryside all around it, just observing daily life, admiring the Buddhist temples (which were outnumbered greatly by neon-lit Christian churches) and taking in the clean air. Korea's highly seasonal climate produces that wonderful intoxicating smell of decaying leaves in November; it reminded me much of childhood hikes around Goldstream in the late fall.
Saturday night was something else altogether. Around midnight while I was in my room enjoying a movie and a bottle of soju (again, my room was as much of a party as any bar in town), the nearly-empty motel filled up with Korean businessmen, followed quickly by the clacking of high heeled shoes up and down the hallways. It was a notorious "love motel" after all. I swear there were people fucking like rabbits to the left, the right, and across the hall from my room. The women were faking it. Sleep was difficult.
Sunday saw intermittent bouts of heavy rain. Storms in Korea are strong, but inconsistent and fleeting, as though they're simply passing over, merely on their way to their destination. Rain falls as clouds race across the sky, breaking to sunlight and back to rain with only a moment's notice. I hiked up to the hilltop over the city, and found some other interesting sights including a very traditional street market (open only on Sundays), selling mostly food, and all of it was as fresh as food gets (alive in some cases). I was discouraged from taking pictures for some reason, but I saw saw whole and half-pigs for sale hung up on hooks, live fish in barrels, and all manner of fruit and vegetables. The town's population looked thin and overworked, but healthy.
Sunday market
Traditional Korean graveyard
Sunday saw intermittent bouts of heavy rain. Storms in Korea are strong, but inconsistent and fleeting, as though they're simply passing over, merely on their way to their destination. Rain falls as clouds race across the sky, breaking to sunlight and back to rain with only a moment's notice. I hiked up to the hilltop over the city, and found some other interesting sights including a very traditional street market (open only on Sundays), selling mostly food, and all of it was as fresh as food gets (alive in some cases). I was discouraged from taking pictures for some reason, but I saw saw whole and half-pigs for sale hung up on hooks, live fish in barrels, and all manner of fruit and vegetables. The town's population looked thin and overworked, but healthy.
Burial plots are always of families, and there is always a bulbous lump on the ground where the body lies. This graveyard was on the back side of the city's overlooking hill.
The fall colours in Korea are absolutely beautiful. And I even found, amid the sea of green, orange, red, and yellow, a lone plant on the hillside who was following the beat of some other seasonal drum, in full November bloom.
Comments