Learning to Breathe on Jeju, Part II

January 8-11, 2013
Mulme Healing Farm, Jeju 

Jeju winter ranges from cool sunny days to biting wind and sleet. 

It wasn't a warm night, sleeping on the floor in the big meditation room. But with the promise of climbing Hallasan, Korea's tallest mountain, on Thursday, we woke up bright and early Tuesday morning. Halla mountain greeted us As with all the following mornings, we began with exercise, kumdo and meditation before breakfast. With the kumdo sword, we never got past the steady basic strokes. But I was instructed to do them a few hundred times, adding one hundred each day. It was a great warm-up exercise for energy, meditation and focus. The meditation came easy for me too. Sitting in half-lotus on the floor is almost a natural position for balance.

Learning to Breathe on Jeju, Part I

January 5-7, 2013 
Seoul - Jeju

I'm lying on a tattoo artist's couch in Seoul. Next to me, the only female artist in the studio is tattooing a huge and painful-looking flower pattern on another Western woman's ribcage. She is wincing and nearly crying. Me, I'm just getting my long-awaited sailboat with "you come in on your own and you leave on your own" in a circle around it. A new marking, new memory for a new year.

At the Silim jimjilbang, I can't go into the baths because of the new ink. But I'm able to give instructions to some Singapore tourists. Never thought that would happen. At the lockers, I meet two Western female university students - it takes me too long to realize they are Moonies. Strange encounters. I sleep soundly. The KTX train to Mokpo the next morning doesn't seem too long. There is still snow on the ground all over Korea.

I enjoy the time with my friends and suddenly realize I'm travelling again. I'm ready to go to Jeju for the second time, 5 months down the road. I board the ferry from Mokpo and begin to conjure up the same feelings of adventure I had going last time. I spend as much time as I can to handle the stares and wind on the roof of the boat. Some college kids from Jeonju ask for their photos taken, but otherwise, it's a noneventful 4.5 hours. Grey. Windy. Chilly. Peaceful. Bikeless.

Sunrise From Mokpo - Jeju Ferry

Goodbye For Now Mokpo

Pink Dolphin Jeju Ferry Fins

Hello Jeju City

As Jeju City comes into sight again through the distant fog, I'm wondering about what magic this nearly 4 weeks will bring. Four weeks - that's a long time. The taxi driver from the ferry is friendly and tells me all about the biggest cities in the world, Jeju being one of the smaller ones. The people of this island are some of the best I've ever met.  I'm loaded down with luggage and it takes me a while to catch the right bus from Jeju City Hall to Susan-ri, where I'll be spending the next 2 weeks as a WWOOFer at Mulme Healing Farm.

The city seems endless, but finally I realize the bus is nearly empty save for a few farmer ladies. The Jeju countryside appears out of nowhere. The bus comes to a final stop and Susan-ri it is. I walk west up the hill, passing a field of lovely greens. I stop to look, to listen, to feel. The world is full of noise, but less so in the country. Birds and near silence. Another bend in the road and finally there are the totem poles. They surround a quiet guesthouse, which says WWOOF but it's actually the big orange house next door. A gray calmness in the late afternoon. I have arrived.

Greg, the American farm manager and friend of Yang Heejern the farmer, tells me I missed the big crowd. A Korean from Busan had brought students from her nature school to learn primitive bamboo firemaking, gathered in the forest near Mulme. My timing is never quite right, but I believe that things happen as they happen. I will meet them sometime in the future.

I didn't expect to see a second WWOOFer, but I'm somehow also not surprised to see Ben, an American traveller I met at Hansol Farm's December Hankyoreh newspaper report day. Heejern the farmer and meditation master makes a brief appearance, but takes off back to his house in the city. This would be the trend for the remainder of my time at Mulme. No matter, his presence is somehow felt even in its absence.

It's a Monday evening, the sun is beginning to set, we have no work until the morning. So what is there to do? Run from the guesthouse to the tangerine farm, of course. I'm not a runner and I don't enjoy the temporal experience very much - the actual experience of having a body. But I know that our bodies are meant to be used and not for sitting on chairs and desks all day long. As the colors spread out across the sky, I'm feeling the rush of the mild Jeju winter's country air.

Jeju Field of Greens

Glowing Tangerines

I had just finished reading Derrick Jensen's "The Culture of Make Believe" and as we ran, the conversation naturally drifted to the destructiveness of civilization. Greg and I agreed on a lot of things, but Ben provided more balance. By the time we got to the farm, the locked gate wouldn't open and we slowly headed back to the house, with the promise of fresh tangering picking looming in the morning.

When people move from the artificial city clock time to country time, our bodies often seem to adapt to the rhythm of the sun. Early to bed, early to rise. Greg made us dinner, and I knew I would be eating more meat during this stay than I hoped. When working hard, food is food I guess. The guesthouse was heated by copious amounts of chopped wood in the stove and this made for a smoky hot shower. And yet a not-so-warm night.

I am ready to start breathing.

Jeju Winter Sunset

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.

***

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.

The Korean Island of Peace and Another Summer's Passing By

Gangjeong village tagging on the naval base outer wall

 August 3 - 17

Jeju. Eight days. Not enough, but still full of magic. It's difficult to put into words, especially since it went by so fast. Maybe I should try to live there. Maybe not.

It was a solo trip. The original plan was to cycle from the ferry port in Jeju city to a (former) WWOOF host in Seogwipo, near Gangjeong village, and spend time at both. Surprisingly, this plan totally held out. Before leaving, I had some of the usual pessimism - I'm alone, how will I do it? What if my bike breaks down in the middle of nowhere? What if it rains? What if I can't find a place to sleep? None of it happened. I had a really nice, though rather hot, day and a half of cycling and reached all my destinations. I only wish I had spent more time along the way. Next time, Jeju. Wait for me!

The Jeju journey started at 6 a.m. on a Sunday at the Gohan-Sabuk bus terminal. It ended on a rainy Thursday morning back at school in Sabuk. Two days before travelling, I had caught a massive cold and had to teach the summer English camp. That was really unfortunate, as I just couldn't help how sick I was. By the next morning, though, I felt a lot better after kimchi, spicy bibimbap and sleep. It was the annual Sabuk Coal Festival and I was just tired of hearing about the casino and its fireworks - Gangwon Land this, Gangwon Land that. It was time to go.

From the beginning, things seemed to be going my way. It was a day of firsts. The bus ride to Gwangju lasted under 6 hours, less than I thought, and I hopped the first bus to Mokpo with my bike in tact. Mokpo was sweltering hot, but relaxing. I stayed the night with a couple from the Boston days and they were cat sitting for an adorable kitten. I miss interacting with animals very much, so that was enjoyable.

Bright and early the next day, with my bike all fixed up and my big gray Quechua backpack from Lille on my shoulders, I rode down the hill and through the streets to board the 9 a.m. big, slow ship at the Mokpo International Ferry Terminal. Jeju is about 80 km south of the Korean mainland, but somehow it takes 4.5 hours with the Sea Cruise from Mokpo.

The ferry ride was sunny and calm but mostly uneventful. My "seat" was basically just a somewhat crowded room with many Korean couples, families and older people. A young woman travelling alone is definitely not normal here - it reminded me of last year's Sofia roundtrip when I was the only non-Bulgarian, though this was still more comfortable than a bus seat. The young Korean guy who fixed up my bike in Mokpo was on the ferry with his buddy, but definitely not excited to see me. There were no drinking partners to be had, just quite a lot of family noise inside and wind outside. But a boat is still vastly better than a plane.

Once we were approaching the Jeju port, though, I started feeling excited/nervous/anxious. It was almost time to get off and start this real ride. Armed with only a colorful Korean map, two wheels, two bags, a cap, water, a camera and sunscreen - how was this actually going to happen? But it did.

Upon arrival, I successfully strapped the Quechua bag on my bike's back rack, checked the map and just started going straight from the ferry. It was mid-afternoon and definitely pretty hot, but I had plenty of water and energy that day. One of the beautiful things about Korean travel is the seriously impressive signage, nearly always in Hangeul and English. And even more beautiful, I found out that Jeju's bike paths and lanes are indeed stellar, at least the ones I rode all along the coast.

In Jeju City, along the seawall, I breathed a sigh of relief and happiness - I made the first step! I quickly made my way out of the city center and onwards south, ever south. There was a not-so-interesting beach along the way, so the only real stop I made for a while was the bike-themed cafe because it was just calling to me. Otherwise, I had about 4 good hours of daylight before I needed to find a place to crash so I took my time. A few cyclist groups passed me on the way, with their long sleeves and face scarves. I was the only one soaking up the sun.

Pretty soon, the sun was going down. As I stopped for a quick dinner at a random place a bit off the coastal road, I had the wherewithal to just call up a hostel a bit less than halfway between Jeju City and Seogwipo. Sure enough, there were rooms available and it was close to a beach. So after dinner, I was booking it further south to go a few more kilometers that evening and get an even better headstart for the following day. Unfortunately, going off the coastal road eventually got me lost in Hallim-eup, though it was a nice ride through town. It was dark by now, but still warm out. I was anxious to just get to the guesthouse and call it a night. Finally, I figured out how far east I was from the water and without any further problems, I made it to beautiful Hallim Beach where I was solicited for staying at a halmoni (grandmother's) minbak and given further instructions on to Geumneung. Twelve hours after leaving Mokpo that morning, I had found my first resting place on Jeju. The H3 Hostel is owned by a couple in their 30s with lovely little sons. I enjoyed staying up with a bit of makkeoli to chat with the lady and a guest from Hong Kong. The pillow I slept on was called "Ratasha," reminding me of another good Boston friend.

I wish I had spent more time at H3 and said a proper farewell but I was just crashing and needed to move on. The next morning, I said a hasty goodbye and started back on the road, as it was 9 a.m. and already heavy heat. I relaxed on Geumneung Beach for a bit, nearly empty and lovely. Then I continued on. I had been wanting to go to Gangjeong since I came to Korea. I wasn't sure if I would actually make it there on bike, but since I'd gotten such a good headstart on Monday, I decided I'd contact them and do my best to get there by sundown.

Morning on Geumneung Beach

And I succeeded. A full day of solitary riding along the windy but beautiful coastline, with a few twists and turns. I encountered a few more hills making my way down to Seogwipo, but nothing too unmanageable. I sat at a bench outside of a Catholic Church and snacked on fruits and nuts with a quiet halmoni for company. I rode back closer to the coast that would carry me a good chunk of the way and I saw volcanic remains and neolithic remains, around Gosan. After heavy wind and crazy crashing waves, I stopped for a raw fish, veggie and rice lunch at the small port town Moseulpo. Afterwards, I carried on until I finally reached Seogwipo. This is where things got tricky but ended up working out perfectly. To get to the road I needed, I ended up going through the fancy Jungmun resort area and asking around the big hotels. I was getting a bit frustrated because my contact person in the village was too busy to take my call and I wasn't sure I was on the right path. A detour to be sure, but it turns out it gave me just the stalling I needed.

I couldn't imagine where Gangjeong might be, so close to all these resorts, but sure enough the road finally appeared. As I rode through the center of the town, I started seeing people who could be none other than activists. They were all on their way somewhere and I stopped to ask directions and follow one of them who was also on a bike. It turned out that a dinner and evening celebration were being held at the public park not far from the naval base entrance and main protest site. So I arrived just in time to catch the post peace march reveling. And without even asking, I was told that I could have a bed for the night at the community center reserved for activists. Such good luck and timing. Although at one point it got a bit awkward as I was a new and unknown visitor, it was a fun and lively evening.

As often happens for me in activist spaces, I show up alone and uninvited with usually a bit of struggle to engage. And despite this being a very Korean, very traditional village atmosphere, it was an activist space nonetheless. I definitely had a few moments of "what am I doing here? I'm useless" thoughts. As the night went on though, I got to know another American woman who was staying there and working with the international outreach campaign. We drank with some village men, we talked about our experiences, we hung out around town. It was enriching and exactly what needed to happen.

The next day happened to be the one where Father Mun was knocked down by the hired police during the daily 11 a.m. Catholic mass. The situation quickly turned violent, as at least one person climbed onto a police van to demand an apology. Two people were arrested and police encircled them, beating back their comrades trying to break through. So I was able to see a slice of the oppression and frustration that Gangjeong activists face every day. It was amazing to see the strength of many young women, grandmothers, fishermen, the mayor and vice mayor of the village, children, three other Americans and many others. These people - especially the grandmothers! - are fearless in the face of these hired thugs, as they call them. They block the entrance for cement trucks, they climb onto caissons, they endure beatings, arrests, jail time, all for the sake of protecting what is theirs and what is a true treasure of Korea and the world.

Gangjeong village across from naval base entrance

I still had to meet my WWOOF host late that afternoon, though, so unfortunately I had to take off early. Riding out of town, heading a bit further east in Seogwipo, I was struck again by the contrast between Gangjeong and everything around it. It's really an enclave of sorts, almost like a microcosm of all the beauty and ills in Korean society. Something like that could maybe also be said about Sabuk.

It had been a gray day, so I hadn't bothered to put on sunscreen, but it turns out the one day I wasn't riding extensively was the day I looked like a tomato by the end. The sun came out around the golden hour and I was suddenly descending down a steep hill to the Seogwipo harbor. In this beautiful yet highly touristy developed place, I stopped for a bottle of makkeoli and directions to the hotel. I found it soon afterwards. Throwing my bike into the back of his big white truck, Mr. Kim and I were on the way back to his family's house at EM Jeju Farm, the place I would stay for the remainder of my Jeju journey.

Seogwipo Harbor

I was drained from the experience of the past few days and especially my head and heart were racing from Gangjeong. Nevertheless I did my best to keep up the energy. Mr. Kim's wife Oh Song Mi greeted us and we snapped a shot of my arrival on bike. The evening consisted of dinner, family introductions, my personal presentation and an explanation that it was too hot for working in the fruit greenhouses so we would be mostly painting the guesthouse instead. Fine by me.

EM Jeju days start early, especially in the hot summer. 6 or 7 a.m. is the norm and I was definitely still tired the next day but ready to take it on. We went to pick up some dragonfruit from Song Mi's old uncle, who was no doubt taken aback to see a white foreigner. The rest of the afternoon was spent at the EM Jeju storefront where my clumsy and fatigued self didn't contribute much help, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. After an overly spicy seafood lunch - kind of a thing on Jeju - we went to the Seogwipo open market - the biggest one I've seen in Korea so far. It was seriously enormous. I loved it. Back at the guesthouse, I had the rest of the afternoon to myself so I rode down around the harbor and coast - a route that I would quickly get to know over the course of a few days. It would be another early morning the next day for painting, so we tucked in early.

Seogwipo Market

I really enjoyed painting Friday morning, although I wasn't really very good at getting all the details on the wall. The music, the sun, beautiful Hallasan - the tallest mountain in Korea - to our left. What a lovely time. The artist student is a very talented person who draws many comics and it was a pleasure to work alongside her and the family. As so often happens on Jeju during this time, the rain poured down in the afternoon. After a nice lunch and a rest, we were back to painting but I took a break to visit two English teacher friends who happened to be staying not far from the village near the harbor. So back along the harbor road I went and we enjoyed a sunny evening. Riding back, I unfortunately missed a turn in the dark and was a bit late for dinner. Ugh. The start of my jerkdom.

Seogwipo Harbor performance

On Saturday, I had the day off to come back in the evening for the arrival of a young travelling musician and a community meeting where I would do a bit of English with the kids. I wanted to go to the river and/or walk an Olle course, but I was feeling groggy and after a nice ride down to Odelgae - the big penis rock in the middle of the water - I knew that I was back on my way to Gangjeong. Along the road, I bumped into another cycling tourist - a Belgian living with his family in Arizona, in Korea on a business trip. We had a coffee and snack break, talked about our different experiences and killed a bit of time. He was heading back towards Jungmun so we were heading down the same road. I had taken a different route when I left before, a longer one as it turned out. Everything was calm and quiet, when sure enough, seemingly out of nowhere, the wall of cops came into view. The Belgian and I parted ways and I spent a few hours of a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon back at Gangjeong.

The person I hung out with before was still there on the front lines. Almost immediately, she proposed a swim in the river and in we went. It was crazy to see the large family gathering with tubes and a picnic under the bridge with the police marching back and forth above us. What a stark, stark contrast. Back on dry land, I was able to speak with Father Mun, who surprised me with his good English. Everything was calm and positive energy, especially with the arrival of a band of musicians. Just before my departure, though, I filmed in the middle of another standoff with the arrival of several cement trucks. I couldn't believe the fearlessness of the grandmothers going after the younger male policemen. I couldn't believe how the police encircled us for our nonviolent protest. It was really another crazy experience, one that I won't forget anytime soon.

View from the roof of the Gangjeong community center

Security "caught off guard," and just relaxing like there's no problem

Back at EM Jeju, the travelling musician - calling himself the Jeju 거지 (goji) or "beggar/bum" - and his friend arrived. We enjoyed the rest of the evening - eating another lovely homecooked dinner, keeping the boys entertained and a ukulele performance by the goji himself. I went to bed as the two friends stayed up to study English together. Does Korea ever sleep?

Next day was another morning of painting, with worse music but extra good company. The two friends left after lunch in town and though I would have loved to join them in the river, I ended up magically seeing Geumneung Beach again in the late afternoon - packed with people dodging the sun and hardly swimming, but enjoying the water and beautiful view. A Korean family Sunday trip to the beach - I should have taken it as more of a privilege, especially since Song Mi and I went into the public shower afterwards. For some reason, probably due to fatigue and personal experience overload, I was in a grumpy mood that afternoon. I wanted to hang out with younger people, I still had Gangjeong on the brain and I was getting worn down with my inability to handle so much spicy seafood and cultural differences. But the beach was really nice after all.

The next day, Monday, would be my last full day on Jeju as I was taking the ferry back the next day. It was a real 9-5er, the day of making juice samples out of 300 kg of Jeju hanlabong oranges. We started at the house with washing the oranges, loaded them into the white truck and headed down to the processing center, apparently the biggest of its kind on Jeju. So instead of a day of work in the fields or the greenhouse, it was a day inside a metallic, sterile environment. It was OK, though, because I was able to talk more with Song Mi and see the whole juicing process from peeling, to peel grating, to juicing, to packaging and sterilizing the little juice packs. The whole family with the two boys pitched into work. After the day was done, I decided that I did want to cook the family a goodbye dinner, so we went to the store for ingredients. I served up Italian style pasta, salad and bread that we ate with chopsticks and a side of kimchi. It was a nice final evening though a bit stressful for me at the end. Tuesday morning, just before boarding the bus back to Jeju city, I finally saw the fruit greenhouses. The hanlabong, tangerine oranges and passion fruit were mostly green since they don't get ripe until winter. It began raining steadily as I was leaving. So I didn't have to cry - the sky could do it for me.

Goodbye smiles in the greenhouse

Quiet and reflective, I smoothly rode under the summer rain through the streets of Jeju city back to the ferry. This journey was coming to an end, but I knew there were so many others ahead of me, this was just a springboard. The ferry back to Mokpo was a police party and I wondered how many of them were the same hired thugs from Seoul and Gwangju that terrorized the people in Gangjeong. I was afraid that somehow someone would recognize me. I know they are people and just as much victims of the system, but I don't think I can ever again be comfortable around cops. The ferry ride seemed to end faster than the first one, though, and I was back to the hot night of Mokpo city, where it somehow took me two hours with a heavy pack to reach Moe's, the foreigner bar for the open mic night. During that time, I tried my best to enjoy the alternating excitement and quiet of my own thoughts and of the city at night. English teachers stayed up until almost 3, jamming in the street. I kind of missed this. The kitty was still there. The next day, Doug and I had a leisurely morning and made our way to the awesome Korean vegan buffet. I was drained and needing to sleep but I still had a full ride back to Gwangju and Gangwondo, which ended with me crashing at a jimjilbang in Wonju and taking a ridiculously expensive cab back to Sabuk on Thursday morning. The monsoons had started up again those past two days. Jeju had given me new energy, but the weather sapped it and my planning ability towards the end.

Back on the mainland, it was two days of rainy deskwarming followed by a less than impressive weekend in Seoul. Coming from the Jeju experience, I wondered why I was allowing myself to slip back into the same patterns. Never again, I told myself. And since then, it's gotten much better again. More adventures to recount in the next post.

When I was WWOOFing at Peliti, I don't remember anyone directly asking me about my dreams or goals. At least they didn't press me about it. I know that my mental health was already on the decline back then. At EM Jeju, though, I experienced a moment or two of discomfort, despite the language barrier. The farmer was seriously challenging me about what I was doing with my life. He expected me to have a presentation about myself and my dreams and I just didn't have it. It's probably a Korean father thing. Shouldn't take it personally. But it reminded me a little too much of my own father. Mr. Kim also did his presentation of his own life and work. It was great, but I'm not sure I'll ever actually match that journey of making your dreams come true.

Also, the language and culture barrier definitely got to me at times. Coming from the cycling road and Gangjeong, where my own and others' radical ideas could be normal and expected, I had a few moments of difficulty staying tolerant and not getting irritated.  In fact, it's not just about the radicalism. I often put myself in situations where, as the lone traveller, I am stared at, questioned, expected to be social, expected to respond or behave in a certain way. And as a deeply social yet deeply introverted person, I can get easily worn down by all this pressure. Being scrutinized on how and what I eat is a big stress factor. Obviously, food culture in Korea - similar to my family's Russian culture - is of utmost importance in social relations. And I felt bad making the family eat vegetarian with me, although I did my best to eat all that was offered in any case. I felt bad after many small moments - not being able to explain my dream, not wanting to do "English camp" for the kids, not wanting to finish some food, not wanting to go to the beach, not doing well with certain tasks that were given to me. I think, in the end, I did establish a positive connection with the people I met at EM Jeju. But it really hit home for me how I must learn the language and be far more relaxed. This is not my culture, I may never fully understand it, and if I'm volunteering to live in Korea and meet Koreans who speak hardly any English and have never been fully exposed to Western culture, I'm going to bump up against uncomfortable and possibly painful situations. But they will only be as uncomfortable or painful as I let them be. Making my own travel schedule with no one to help keep me balanced only adds to this strain.

Just before I left for Korea, in the Bay Area, a Korean-American told me that I just needed to pass the 4-month mark for depression and then things would get better. I've come to the conclusion that I occasionally still get intensely depressed living in Korea but it generally revolves around two things: 1) living alone in a small town and 2) hanging out with a whole group of almost all English teachers. The first one is not totally fixable and indeed, acknowledging it as a difficulty is totally normal and healthy. But taking advantage of the nice weather means going out and appreciating this small town, with its important Korean history. And it means I have my own space to do pretty much whatever the hell I want, when I want, how I want. The second one is easily fixable: admitting that it's not what I want and doing other things which make me happy.

I want to stay in Korea for a while and find more happiness.

Geumneung Beach sunset

Travelling Magic, WWOOF Korea and What is Activism?

After recounting some of last year's adventures, I now have a bit of travelling magic back in my life - a couple from Lille that I met through the social center have been staying with me this week in the middle of nowhere, Korea. After I came back to France from Greece last summer, Justine told me she was adopted from Korea and they would come visit me. And after a year they've finally made it. This past Saturday, they came from a few days in Seoul to meet me in Sokcho on the North Coast and we spent the night in Seoraksan National Park, exploring as much as we could of this beautiful natural place with its peaks and temples. From Sokcho, we happened to take the same bus as the director of a hagwon, private English academy, in Seoul (who later asked if I wanted to work for her!) and she helped us find a big cheap room in a nice motel in the park.

The next day was less successful because of the endless bus rides, the 2012 Danoje Festival lacking the atmosphere we were looking for, and their heavy luggage, but we still managed to make it to Gyempo Lake and Beach in Gangneung. We made it back to Sabuk late but not-too-late and crashed.

This week, two of my WWOOF Korea buddies came to Sabuk for a night, making it four  people in my apartment, and we had a really nice group outing to a lovely restaurant in Gohan where the owner does wood carvings. Pretty intense stuff for a weeknight in this neck of the woods.

So for about a month now, the weekends have been fresh, interesting, tiring, occasionally frustrating, but overall really vibrant and eye-opening. And definitely too short. In mid-May, the weekend before Buddha's birthday, with my bike, I hopped a ridiculously early Saturday morning bus to Seoul to go to the first English tour of the War and Women's Human Rights Museum in Hongdae. It was a lovely day and the tour was sobering but hugely informative and a chance to meet great activists and new people. That was definitely the turning point in me finally beginning to appreciate the different opportunities available in Korea. 

Afterwards, I gave myself no chance to rest as usual as I wandered around Hongdae looking for a good jimjilbang to crash at - I found out much later there is one right on the main street, but this one in a hidden corner worked just fine.

And travelling magic happened that night too. I met up with Gangwon teachers for the Lotus Lantern Festival, but joining them was a Finnish girl visiting Korea for a month. After a random big dinner, the festival and nice outside drinks, which produced a lot of walking and some ho-hum stereotypical Korean-foreigner interactions, me and the traveller ended up back in Hongdae. We chanced upon the last show of a white-boy band at Strange Fruit, one of the tiny, cozy underground bars. So the night ended on a good note and I made a new friend.

The Sunday, as most Sundays in Seoul are for me, was a case of wandering and river cycling but I did manage to check out the beautifully decorated Bongeumsa Temple.

And it only gets better from there...

Food, Food Everywhere 

Which brings me back to...WWOOF Korea! While deciding on whether or not I would go to Chuncheon's Mime Festival for Buddha's birthday weekend, the decision was made for me by WWOOF Korea posting a call for a group volunteering trip.

That was the weekend that brought me one of the most frustrating but also some of the best and future-giving Korean moments. I arrived in warm, quiet Bucheon neighborhood in Seoul at midnight on a Friday and was so happy I chose to stay at the WWOOF Korea Guesthouse lived in by a Japanese staff member and his girlfriend - they've since moved out and I can't wait to see the changes to the house. I was able to reminisce on WWOOF Greece, learn about WWOOF Japan and how the Korean chapter is and always becoming much more open, welcoming and full of group volunteering opportunities.

I did a write-up about this, my first experience, and a brief description here.

To wrap up, we were in the famous Boseong green tea region of Jeollanam-do, the southwestern province and we were helping a small(er) organic tea farmer weed his fields in preparation for summer tea harvesting. Drinks, laughter, and me being completely lost for lack of Korean. And the still cheap Yeolpo green tea & sea water spa with our nakedness overlooking the beach was a fabulous last touch. If only someone hadn't made the executive decision to drive back to Seoul from Boseong Sunday evening instead of Monday. It would have saved me the headache of arriving in the city at 3 a.m. after a long day of work and a 7-hour drive ending in rain, and finding that I had nowhere to stay after all. I had the option of either waiting at the bus terminal for the 6 a.m. bus to Sabuk or choosing a jimjilbang in Seoul. Honestly, I had a really hard time in the jimjilbang, I didn't sleep at all that night and felt like the positive vibes I had experienced were somehow less real. Like I had done something wrong. 

Thankfully, all that went away the next day as I saw WWOOF people again. Snacks in the WWOOF garden and shared curry by the river on no sleep. And the next two weekends brought lovely Sunday visits to Hansol, the organic chicken farm in Namyangju, the rapidly growing biggest organic farming region in Asia. When I first met the farmer Mr. Kim and a bunch of other WWOOF members and supporters on a Seoul Saturday, it was "Yu-gi", June 2nd, which also means "organic" in Korean. We learned, to our great surprise and delight, that Seoul has an island with a huge public organic garden and compost toilets! If only every city, especially every city with a river, had something like this - urban living would improve so much. Here's the link to more photos. 

How hypocritical of me is it to work on a chicken farm as a vegetarian? Well, they hardly ever slaughter the chickens, except as a special feast like on my first trip there, and the eggs are fresh and delicious. And the middle-aged Korean farmer is a badass, well-travelled, good English-speaking, even radical-minded guy who has built up the place for nearly 30 years. He leads around a 1,000 families in the area in the quest to be even more organic and sustainable. And he founded Slow Food Korea , a short ride from the farm in the same area. I have yet to go there, but it's next on my list as I keep exploring. In two weeks, there will be a compost toilet painting party. I can't wait.

What is Activism? 

I ask myself this question nearly every day and nearly every day, the definition keeps changing - expanding, contracting, becoming fuzzier or clearer depending on the mood.

To be an activist, do you have to be always active? To wave signs? To shout? To smash bank windows? To chain yourself to trees? To occupy the college campus? To attend meetings? To bomb cars? To rescue animals from fur farms? To never drive? To tag public ads? To do street theater? To play in a folk punk band? To read or report for independent media? To ride a bike to work? To eat vegan? To get most of your food from dumpsters? To wash your clothes with soap and water? To wear certain kinds of clothes? To hitchhike instead of taking the bus or train? To garden in your backyard? To keep guns? To protest guns? To befriend people from many different backgrounds? To read political literature? To compost? To take cold showers? To reject religion? To volunteer at the infoshop? To organize shows at the social center? To talk a lot against all the -isms that could possibly come to mind?

Summer roses on a Seoul bike path

It can be those things and a whole lot more. Or it could be none of them. It could be just sitting quietly in nature with a good novel. It could be spending a lot of time with your family. It could be cooking dinner for your housemates. It could be being the best teacher you can be. It could be helping your neighborhood plant trees. It could be playing basketball with your students. It could be smiling at everyone you see on the street. Or only smiling when you truly feel it.

I'm thinking about this now in particular as I finally reach the point where I'm positively processing my time in Europe, all the people I met, all the things I learned. When I was first coming to Korea, my biggest apprehension was definitely how I would go about finding an activist community. I was evenly torn between that and finding quiet, natural places to spend my time. It turns out that I want both. My time with WWOOF here so far has been the most inspiring time and I can see it branching out in all kinds of amazing and more eye-opening directions. And because I feel happy when I do it, I can radiate positive energy to others. Unlike so many other things that I've taken part in, which were fun but often felt more like I should do this because if I don't I'm not living up to my values. 

Having visitors from the past, melting with the present and influencing the future is really exactly what I need at this time. 2012 is half gone, drama-free and I've lived to be a quarter of a century old now. I - and I hope everyone I know - am becoming more and more of the activist and person I want to be, day by day.

Monsoon beginning, Sabuk

Springtime Lessons

"What if it's broken?" Korean English at Family Mart

Even on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere, you still gotta work out.

After a winter revival in the first week in April, we suddenly had a lovely warm weekend and I obviously took my new two-wheeled friend out for several spins. Korean roads are pretty well kept, even in these rural parts, and long-distance trains and buses comfortably take them on board.

Samcheok

The freedom I feel on a bicycle, especially a quality one that doesn't hurt to ride, is just about unbeatable. Paved open mountain roads around my town. Coastal roads and the beach. On Sunday night, an insane solo 20 kilometer night ride from Taebaek, the smallest city in Korea. Only in motion do I feel truly alive. (But I wouldn't do the last one again. The 2.5 km tunnel near Gohan is deafening and nearly suffocating.)

Despite my good distance endurance for cycling, Taekwando and the weight training that comes with it are beginning to seriously kick my ass. Though an active person, I've never put a high priority on physical fitness and with mirrors all around, I suddenly feel more self-conscious than ever about my body. Realizing my own weaknesses only makes me push harder. A weekly regimen of stretching, yoga, Taekwando, weights and cycling comes on top of teaching, writing, cooking, reflecting. Good for mind and soul as well.

Samcheok

And What About the Language?

Really buckling down and learning Korean would definitely help to become more connected with my new home. Certainly, when I watch the Talk to me in Korean early videos now, I feel like I've gone from zero to basic understanding in a rather short amount of time. It's a well-known fact that most native English teachers, even those who stay here several years, don't go beyond the bare bones of reading Hangeul and basic phrases to greet, order at restaurants, etc. And then there's those who go above and beyond what could be expected in just a year or two. I'm trying my best to take it one step at a time and not feel guilty that my preferred method - absorbing language through listening - is not really "studying." After all, the Asian continent, cultures and language families are a whole new world to me, even as a polyglot. And speaking a language is not the same as doing well in sports or something - it's a skill only measured by how well you can communicate.

Samcheok

"You Need to Give Them Motivation To Learn English"
After I took the initiative to ask why students weren't participating much in my conversation classes, my coteachers spoke with them and found out why. Yes, I understand the motivation thing. I'm beginning to understand that Korean students are bludgeoned by tests, tests, tests, grades, grades, grades, study, study, study all the time. So they're too tired to be self-motivated for just about anything except pop music, computer games, looks. That's not fair and a huge generalization, of course, but generalizations can be somewhat true. Anyway, they are super-competitive with each other, so speaking up in class and making a mistake means getting laughed at which is a big no-no. So I shouldn't correct their mistakes, I should just let their English level stay low - as long as they can half-communicate with me, no problem. No, that's not the right attitude, I know. I'm nowhere near the first or last EFL teacher in Korean to come face-to-face with the basic problem of teaching English in a country with an insane education system that is probably failing its kids. My job is to take it seriously by not taking it seriously. Working to make class fun. Smiling and laughing with my students even when no one feels like smiling or laughing. Not caring if they talk in Korean 75% of the time, as long as they learn something.

Identity Update

If I drink less and talk less, maybe I won't get into inane political or intellectual conversations at the wrong time and the wrong place. Maybe I won't lose friendships before they even got off the ground. Every time I socialize, I try to tell myself to work harder to make up for the mistakes I made last time. As though people are keeping a running tally of the stupid things I've said, my awkwardness, my inability to show myself in the best light. Every time I am accidentally late, or don't answer my phone, or go on too long about a serious topic, I feel that I am chipping away at something. I'm no longer the fun, positive person I'd like to be all the time. I'm that weird, moody, unrelate-able person.

So, no positive updates on changing identity as of yet. Though I have had some beautiful moments over the past few weeks. The highs and the lows could be drawn as close-together steep hills. The highs are usually tied to nature or one-on-one interactions. They lows are usually tied to a night of drinking, coupled with rambling, followed by moodiness and grogginess the next morning. But if I stop drinking, I stop going out. Dilemma.

Land Musings

In Korea, especially Gangwon province, gardening is all the rage. I don't mean young cool people into sustainability and all that jazz. The soil is so rocky in these parts and fertile land so hard to come by that people will turn just about ANY piece of land into a garden. Just in the small niche comprising our apartment complex, snack shops and the middle and high school, there are random veggie beds that are just beginning to sprout. The principal's house has a rather large section and it turns out that, for me, garden patch accessibility is too good to be true. The weather was amazing and I decided to get my hands dirty in the soil. I later learned a Korean teacher has dibs on that plot and the farmer next to my apartment also doesn't have space available. I feel bad about accidentally digging up someone's precious land like that, but maybe it will lead to more communication about gardening in the future. So, I will be starting seeds on my balcony instead and looking for some land later.


And I'm still on the WWOOF mission. I'm trying to gather information about alternative farming communities in Korea and so far I've come across just a few resources, for example: here. There seems to be a Natural Farming movement/practice here, which correlates with Fukuoka, whom I learned about in Greece. Despite learning and absorbing a lot of information and some hands-on experience, I'm still a beginner gardener and feel sort of guilty about that. Why is it taking me so long to get the initiative to do something as simple as planting leafy greens on my balcony? I remember how nice it was to grow my red pepper alongside my roommates' plants in Boston summer '09, but after that, I can't say I've done too much in the way of independent gardening. I'm changing that now too. I intend to be a full-fledged grower within the next few years. Passion must become action.

So, finally, I have a whole lot of different interests that require commitment to fully take root. It's up to each person to decide which activities will take priority. And not to beat herself up about what doesn't get done. It's only one life, after all.