How The City Became the Illusion and Nature Became the Reality

I never lived in the "country." My family is from Moscow. Some Russians have a dacha, a vacation country house. I'm not sure of the number and I don't think it's only wealthy people. I've always heard about it and have extremely vague memories, or at least photos, of myself bathing outside at a family dacha as a baby and toddler.

But that's just a "vacation." The full time "real" life is Moscow, where in the past the amount of cars on the road today was unimaginable. People lived by the metro and with their feet. Once the Soviet machine started grinding down, "Western" life seeped in and nowadays materialism has the city firmly within its grasp. As so often happens after a stint with the devastation of war, food shortages and state economic repression. In Korea, as well.

When my family first left the motherland, we moved West to the Rockies. Surrounded by mountains, I took them for granted. Then, because of lovely oil, we spent my middle and high school years in the Texas suburbs, a mushrooming landscape of cookie-cutter houses and lawns and strip malls that slowly but surely kills the rural community that used to be there. In high school, each drive across 3 massive highways to the heart of the museum district and downtown was like a pilgrimage to the light outside of the tunnel. The city was everything I ever wanted. I applied to Columbia because it was in New York, the fabled center of everything. I ended up living in Boston and then Lille, wonderful lively places that I would go back to again in a heartbeat. Over time, I began to eat fresh food and visit the places where it was produced. And made a movie about one of those places. And so began the re-awakening.

And now I've reached a point where something deep inside of me wants nothing to do with the city. Despite the art shows, basement shows, social centers, collective houses, bike rides, farmer's markets and bridges over water, in the city I feel less than human. I am missing an invisible layer of skin. The separation from nature makes me a monster, someone who cannot even relate to and communicate well with other people. I care about sexual and gender politics and worker's rights and collective living and dumpster diving but even more, I have come to care about working outside with the soil and letting nature teach me things that "society" has never done.

I've only begun. Last year, in Greece, I began answering the call of the night dream I had in Lille that told me to find my home in nature. In Houston, I sought out the community gardens where the din of the busy streets was outside these havens. And now, in Korea, I am beginning to dig really deep.

Jeungsan area, on the way to Hambaek, Gangwondo summer bike ride near Sabuk

I know next to nothing. The more I try to grow small vegetables, volunteer in big fields, read on farming, primitivism, eating well and its relationship to radical politics, the more big and complicated everything seems. It's complicated because for 20 + years my brain has been filled with only the things I've learned in confined classrooms, sitting at confined desks. Even at the university level, my classes and film internships were based on facts and figures and computer screens and enclosed walls. The process of unlearning and learning annew is more entrenched, requires far more engagement and openness than formal "education." So does the process of creating vibrant natural, rural communities when so much of the young, energetic excitement is clustered within the urban walls. But it's happening and will continue to happen.

I say this as someone from privilege beyond most people's wildest imagination. I am a white upper middle class American from an immigrant family that has, by and large, achieved the "dream." I've had access to the best education money can buy. I have never wanted for anything or even had to work that hard. (Oh, also I am cis and hetero). They gave me and others so much privilege for the price of our real freedom. While we still have nature on Earth, still have people clamoring for an end to madness, I intend to take the privilege to be here, now, doing what I can for as long as I can. There will be failures. And I will probably still return to the city again and again. But I'd rather fail on the road to reality than stumbling to chase a bygone illusion.

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WWOOF Korea photo. My dirty grape gloves.

WWOOF Korea photo. Us in the sun.

October was a month close(r) to home, including two trips to Handemy Village - a Korean ecovillage! - in the mountains of beautiful Danyang, not far from Guinsa. I got over my Guinsa mishaps quick as 13 of us finished off grape picking season for our October group WWOOF.

I really enjoyed this place, even for just two days. So much that I went back 2 weeks later to volunteer for the first English camp. Best of all, it was a Halloween theme camp, complete with carved pumpkins, a treasure hunt and painted faces. These elementary and middle school kids are great - full of energy, though still often tired from so much activity.

The story of Handemy is that several years ago, the founder revived the school that was to be shut down in the area and renovated this traditional village. There are still regular Korean families living on the grounds, but now it's also a place where children learn in the classroom and out in the fields and WWOOFers come from all over the world.

The next time I go there - hopefully for the next English camp! - I'll be sure to snap more shots. For now, suffice it to say that I was really inspired by the project and it made me feel - again - that Korea has so many amazing things going on right under our noses but not quite broadcast far and wide. Teaching kids language through farming - sounds like a great idea and it plays out well. There is a young Korean woman working there, who studied in the US and speaks English and Korean perfectly. She comes as a real asset to the kids and community in many ways. Living in the dorms with the loud, rambunctious Korean children can't be easy, but it seems that the unstructured and outdoors-focused life is very rewarding. For me, it would be a perfect gig. Just visiting, volunteering and enjoying the atmosphere is enough of a lovely experience for now, though.

 

Seoraksan Scenes. Photos by Hannah.

In between the Handemy trips was a second and triumphant trip up the northeastern Gangwon coast. We started with a low-key EPIK teacher/coteacher YangYang conference and ended with a beautiful weekend traipse through Sokcho and up Ulsanbawi peak at Seoraksan. This second Seoraksan visit,  during a weekend festival was absolutely mobbed with people. The fall colors were only just starting to turn and the daytime weather was absolutely gorgeous. Fall is prime hiking season in Korea, though I've noticed over time that its not quite as popular with younger people. A shame, too, because I love hiking. The seaside northernmost city of Sokcho proved to have many delights as well, from watching the fishermen at dusk, surrounded by all kinds of beautiful dead starfish, to the lively established North Korean refugee enclave.

The last weekend of October was one of the hundreds of local traditional festivals - Yang Yang Salmon Fest. I got there too late to catch a fish with my bare hands, but we all enjoyed eating it surrounded by Korean families immensely impressed with our American friend's salmon seasoning. We got massively lost trying to find a Halloween party in the woods so we ended up at a super expensive noraebang in Gangneung and a nice motel. The next day, we enjoyed the last of what can properly be called warm weather, around Gangneung and Jeongseon.

Yes, this was the last of single layer clothes. It was a good ride before winter.