Tracing My Roots - Inspired By Korea

In just one short year in an ever-modernizing South Korea, I have seen commonplace things that are remarkable to my American eyes. Boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives are often together but hardly touch. Instead, girl friends hold hands and link arms. Boy friends sit on each other's laps with their arms around the other's waist. Young mothers to old grandmothers strap babies to their backs, holding them securely as they stroll through the neighborhood. In public, fathers cuddle their little sons and daughters as they sleep. Mothers, sisters, daughters, girl friends shower, bathe and steam naked together, scrubbing each other and chatting away about their everyday lives. (Probably similar on the male side). Families and groups of friends and coworkers dig into communal plates for their meals, no matter whose chopsticks or spoon or lips have touched the food. If it is a restaurant, there is no question that the older or senior person will pay for the meal. So normal. So natural.

Why is this is so striking to me? I was born in Russia, but I was raised in the United States. I have spent most of my short life in a culture that at its best is open, friendly, and fiercely independent. At its worst, American culture - especially in The City - is isolating, alienating, devoid of communal feeling or solidarity with those around us. Families live divided and far apart, friends have time to text and instant message but are too busy to meet for a drink, aging sickly parents and grandparents are put away in retirement homes, out of sight and out of mind. We barely exchange words with the next-door neighbor with whom we share a wall. Touching people of the same sex means you're gay or creepy. Family members overly touching children, especially naked children, raises eyebrows. Everybody needs their own personal space. We are afraid of making a commitment.

So what do we do? If we are alternative-minded, we try our best to recreate the communal structure that we so yearn for but have grown up without. Those who identify as women organize special circles to discuss our struggles, our hopes, our dreams, our triumphs. We choose our friends to be our family in collective houses. We cook, eat and do chores together. We try to support each other in our individual pursuits while also working for common causes. We work to be honest and transparent in our romantic and sexual partnerships.

People who value freedom may say that having no rules is a virtue. Relationships are naturally rife with uncertainty and complications. But after spending time in a culture with an unwritten social order, where everyone knows their place - I have come to see this flip side as a kind of liberation and a blessing. As opposed to the West, where laws seem to govern just about every part of our lives and we are encouraged to police one other, Koreans are brought up with certain implicit behavior codes. This is the only place I have lived where people routinely leave their personal belongings in a public place - train, bus, cafe, restaurant, movie theather - and don't worry about it getting stolen. People look out for each other and help each other because it's the right thing to do.

***

In the fall, I wrote this in an email to a friend back home:

Being in Korea, a land where people have roots going back thousands of years, who are descended from the flesh and blood of early nomads, villagers, farmers. Most of us in Amerika don't know this meaning of identity, of truly belonging to a piece of land instead of owning it. Amerika committed a great crime by systematically erasing people whose identity was bound up with the forests, mountains, rivers, valleys of this land.

But as you say, we have paid the price for our freedom. We have paid with our psyches, with the violence, seen, heard, felt, that we inflict on ourselves, on each other, on our surroundings in a desperate attempt to own and to control that which is just outside of our grasp - belonging.

After a year here, I have become determined to see if going back to Russia and tracing my family history will help me become a whole person. My family comes from the city and they were blue and white collar workers, whatever that means in Soviet times. But what secrets may lie within these intertwining stories? What kinds of things are hidden in the past that may help me understand who I am today and where I may be going? From Moscow, to Moldova, Ukraine, Belarussia, Siberia, all scattered across the great Eurasian continent, what kinds of men and women were my ancestors? What paths led them to create an evolving family tree? What were their passions, their skills, their hopes and dreams?

I know longer want to be a rootless creature with no attachment to the land. I want to know the place from where my life has its roots. So, in 2014, after my second year in Korea finishes, I plan to take the Transsiberian railroad from China and Mongolia to my true motherland. I want to visit villages, farms and forests. I want to see and ache for the disparity between the crumbling countryside and the gleaming cities.

I want to unlock the doors. More to come...

[Jan. 2, 2026 Note] For some reason, this journey did not happen in 2014 but in the summer of 2017, and it was very different from how it was described here. Here are the photos: https://www.flickr.com/photos/26711227@N06/albums/72157686008021722/

How the City Became the Illusion and Nature Became the Reality, Part 2

December 2010

A cold winter night in the 5-story Lille house. I'm trying to sleep. In the morning, I'm taking the train to Paris. From there, I fly to Athens. Greece, the land of riots and possibly the end of civilization. All I know is, it must be less cold than the air in here.

I'm trying to sleep. It must be 3 a.m. But above me, there is clanging. There is stomping on the old creaky floor. My housemate is packing to go stay with a woman he doesn't know but thinks he loves, in some snowy remote corner of Western France. I can't stand it. I want to get up and shout, to bang on his door and tell him to stop being an asshole.

But I stay put in my bed, quietly seething. I'm trying to sleep. From somewhere in the distance, I hear music. Cocteau Twins? Elisabeth Fraser, 'the voice of God?' Do I have my music on? I get up and follow the sound. It gets closer. Light slowly filters through the room. I walk through my door into the light.

I seem to pass through the door directly onto the tree in the garden. The big, beautiful live-giving tree. The one in the eastern corner of the impossibly high garden wall. The wall that keeps out everything but birds and cats. How did I get so high up in this tree, sitting with my legs swinging down from this huge branch? It must be summertime. I'm wearing my red dress.

Something compels me to turn my head slowly to the west. It seems that my room has been transplanted outside to the garden. There is my bed, right in the same corner that it should be. Only it's not a bed. It seems that my bed has fallen through a hole of its same size and shape in the ground, leaving what looks like a grave.

I never climb down from the tree, and I can't feel the ground but I am approaching the bed. I'm so close. Almost there. It's right before me, ready for me to lay down to sleep again. Suddenly, an intense, split-second spasm of dread goes through my body, up to my brain. And then my body is no longer my own. After dread and fear comes total liberation. In my red dress, I can almost see myself as I am stretched out and lifted from the grass. Suspended in the air, hovering next to the bed in the ground, I feel for the first time what it must mean to be free.

From answering the call of the music, to floating in the garden, the whole thing lasts no more than 15 seconds.

And then I wake up.

What happened? Where did I go? I go back to sleep and in the morning, I am still the same.

Or am I?

Summer 2011

Greece had struck such a chord from the first visit, even though most of what I saw was the sprawling Athens metropolis. I sat on four hilltops and from way up high, I saw a city sprouting like a concrete forest. When the ancient Greeks looked down from these hilltops, what did they see?

There is more to Greece than this. I knew I wanted to go there for my first WWOOF stay, three weeks of Greek mountain magic.

Seeds. Oak trees. The Rhodope Mountains. An old woman on the porch. A dog following me on my bike ride through the woods. A tiny monastery. Coffee shop conversations. An ancient Christian ceremony of dancing barefoot on coals. A bike group riding from London to Palestine.

This was my first extended stay in a small town and natural place. Sandwiched between two short stops in the northern, second-largest city Thessaloniki. Bursting with revolution, people camping out at the harbor, a several story squat on the main street near the train station, an anarchist free school.

Going from the endless mountain expanse to the city feels like being trapped back under a snow globe. Someone is shaking us to make us move. We are not in control, it moves whether we want to or not.

But during a Saturday morning service at the monastery, the dream came back. Only I wasn't sleeping. The flash light as I stood with the sun streaming through the windows told me that the East, Korea was where I had to go next. There would be something awaiting me there, if I only answered the call.

And so I did.

Houston, August 2011 - February 2012

Worn out from travel and needing a space and a job before Korea, I put myself squarely back under the snow globe. The longer I stayed there, the less certain I became of the future. Would I stay here and engage with the radical community, living collectively, gardening, cycling, never being cold?

I worked a crappy job. I struggled with family relationships. I strugged with other interpersonal relationships. I developed new friendships. I read books. I had long bike rides. I danced to live music. I learned to appreciate Houston.

Korea, February 2012 - Present

I came to Korea because I wanted to explore Eastern culture and find inner peace. WWOOF Korea, living in the mountains, Jeju Island, meditation and most importantly, the people I've met every step of the way have put me back on a path that is no longer so easily reversible.

Suspended in the air, hovering next to the bed in the ground, I feel for the first time what it must mean to be free.

Keeping Warm and Bright in Korean Winter

As the days got colder and darker and as my students became increasingly more focused on their tests and absolutely nothing else, the weekends were still interesting. While the anti naval base peace march finally reached Seoul the first weekend of November, the friend I had made in the high school invited me on a very interesting trip. The remains of the Baekje dynasty, which ruled Korea before the Silla dynasty are headquartered in Chungcheonnamdo province. The towns of Gongju, Buyeo and Nonsan comprise the Baekje legacy and we spent one night and two days exploring. It was such a privilege to be a part of this group, my friend, her brother and his wife and their friends from university days in Chuncheon. It's not every day you get to experience a truly Korean tour like this and to be the odd foreigner, but in a good way. These are progressive teachers, mostly, so political discussions abounded and it's too bad my Korean is still not enough to keep up. Someday.

Persimmon season is a beautiful part of the fall in Korea, the orange fruit hanging from so many trees. Eating is actually less exciting than just seeing it everywhere. And the lush leafy colors, no less than New England. We saw the Baekje king's tomb and slept in a pension that used to be the army general's headquarters. The Gongju fortress is like a mini Great Wall of China.

I felt a lot of positive energy that weekend, like I was connecting with interesting adults and being treated with a lot of genuine curiosity and respect, as I think I stayed on my best behavior. I observed a lot of closeness among Korean couples and a group of friends - really beautiful and harmonious relationships, at least from the outside. No one asked me about my relationship status, which usually always happens, but I wonder if it isn't because my friend is an older single woman. Overall, it was lovely to actually learn more about Korean history in this kind of atmosphere.

Despite everything, I want to say that I straight up hate November. Some people may have a different view. It is always the most difficult month for me wherever I am. The sun sets so early, it's so cold I don't want to be outside and the atmosphere is just dark and dreary. The answer? More farming! I believe it was a record four weekends in a row of WWOOF Korea trips to break the monotony of endless deskwarming and early winter blues.

Temple in Buyeo

Nonsan pension party

Colorful Buyeo

Looking into Baekjae king's tomb

Ganghwado - this island off the coast of Incheon (where the airport is) is really cool and someday I want to explore more. We were (still) dressed in light shirts for a lively romp through the fields at Refuge Weekend Farm. Naturally farmed soybeans and cabbage the size of small children were slung in the afternoon sun. So many interesting islands in Korea, each with its own village community and culture, away from the big city. I love it. Back in Seoul, we mused on how best to expand WWOOF Korea without commercializing and I was once again filled with positive energy for the future.

The next two weeks, I was really feeling melancholy so experimenting with planting omija and grapes at the old Hansol Farm in Namyangju was a great detractor. Students came to interview us - more interest for WWOOF Korea and discussions on how to get more young Koreans involved. I also love the peaceful atmosphere in Namyangju, despite the dam and somewhat corny tourism surrounding the organic farming tourism. I look forward to the 2013 Slow Food Korea Conference, which will include guests from Oceania countries. Wonderful people involved in all these projects.

I enjoyed the first weekend of December the most, when a journalist from Hankyoreh - Korea's first progressive newspaper founded in the 1980s - came to work with and interview us at Hansol. It was a bright and shiny day, lots of new faces and new future ideas on the farm that day. And stoked to be in the news story (only in Korean). Farming with a journalist and talking about why I do this and why I like being physically active outside instead of sitting at a desk - that's the best of my life right now.

The rest of December and beginning of January was truly the coldest month ever and it was full of Gangwondo partying and end-of-year wrap-up, including a nice get together with teachers and a Korean friend in Chuncheon. Peaceful but fun and full of positive energy for the future it was, as I hope 2013 will be.

The year has started with a second trek down to Jeju Island - the topic of the next post.

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.

Summer's End and the First Chuseok

I haven't written anything in a while, either online or in my journal. So I can't really cover everything that's gone down. But I should try.

My dream of doing an in depth study of the Sabuk uprising, in video or written form, may have to be a dream deferred. I was really excited about it for a while, after I and my Korean school friend met a local artist and a member of the historical society. I was looking forward to staying another year in Sabuk, learning even more. But that was back in September, before I learned the following:

Gangwondo is cutting positions, including mine, and apparently I don't have the greatest standing at my school. I don't know why. So instead of trying to transfer somewhere in the province, I'm changing once again. There's a distinct possibility of moving to Jeollanam province - home of the green tea fields, the Yeosu Expo, bamboo, Mokpo friends, Jirisan National Park, at least two beautiful ancient temples and of course Gwangju. Besides Jeju, where I'm not quite ready to move, Jeollanam is the most beautiful and positive energy giving place I've yet seen in Korea. Of course, I haven't seen the entire mid to southwestern section so who knows what else could be waiting for me? In any case, Jeollanam could be the new frontier come April 2013 and I'm happy to set my sights there.

Winter basically began here at the end of October. The leaves are still lovely shades of red, orange, yellow in many parts, but the cold is biting in the morning and at night, after the sun sets at around 5:30 p.m. That's another reason I want to get out - sure, the ski resort is great and all, but I like to be outside just for the hell of it, no ridiculous gear, nothing fancy. It's getting harsher than 5 Boston winters in these parts nowadays.

After summer vacation on Jeju, the second semester started out strong. My conversation class is going well and I'm making a horror comedy movie with six students, which is pretty fun and rewarding. Yet, I'm tired of the incredible amounts of deskwarming - sitting by myself in my classroom after planning all my lessons. It's gotten to the point where I have trouble looking forward to the 5-day week. I quit Taekwando because I couldn't deal with the environment so there is really nothing much going on most nights, which means I take the initiative to read, go to the gym, cook and anything else associated with winter hibernation. It's good practice, except I hope my future doesn't hold me living alone for many years to come.

The constant weekend travelling is wearing me down, but I need it to make up for the relative isolation of the weekdays. Two days out of seven is just no longer enough to cover my restlessness, my thirst for adventure, working with my hands and connecting with community instead of idling away on the computer. Here are the enjoyable adventures and their aftereffects:

August 25-26 Guinsa Templestay

Buddhist templestays for tourists, expats and some Koreans are a big thing here. One of the youngest, but biggest temples in the country is Guinsa, near Danyang, headquarters of the Cheontae order of Buddhism. My Japanese WWOOF friend, who left Korea soon after, and my South African Wonju friend and her coteacher spontaneously chose this unusually hot, sticky weekend for our first experience. Guinsa really stands out because the monks and laypeople often pray from 10 p.m. - 3 a.m. I would get a taste of that one month later, but for now that was our sleep time and the rest was made up of walking, bowing, making lanterns, eating and taking tea with the proud, confident English-speaking female monk.

Japanese lady was really feeling the strain of Seoul and she seemed grateful for this retreat. After nearing the edge of self-destruction the previous weekend myself, I was also more than happy to revive myself again. We looked at the stars from the balcony way up high on the hill and we realized we felt close to the stars because we are made from them. At 3 a.m. we took a hike up to light candles in a special morning ceremony and saw the magnificent sunrise above the mountains in the valley below. After leaving Guinsa, we drove down the lovely winding road to Danyang, full of greenery. We walked and took tea in Danyang, a truly beautiful little city that I would revisit again. We said goodbye as she boarded the bus back to Seoul and I knew that we would meet again, but that life in Korea would be that much less fun with one less person to share experiences. No matter, I make my own fun nonetheless.

September 1-2 Seoul Hardcore 

The end of summer brought a huge typhoon and all of Korea got hit in one way or another. There was supposed to be a reggae festival an hour from my town, but it got rained out. The other teacher in Sabuk was going back home to San Francisco and for the first time and his last weekend in Korea, we hung out in Seoul. Not only that, but we were in a totally new part of Seoul - Mullae Arts Village, south of the Han River on the Hongdae side, with a winding alley maze of industrial and craft warehouses. And in a basement we joined Korean and foreign punks for a short but lively hardcore show. It was just like being back in an alternative scene in the city, with bikes and basements and cigarettes and beer and warm summer nights. A slice of another life, hardly ever happens nowadays.

I ended up in Mullae because a Korean girl from Couchsurfing invited me to meet her and her travelling Swedish mate. It was nice to be back among anarchists, travellers, musicians. The Swedish guy with a blonde mustache proceeded to get drunker and drunker as our night moved to the familiar outdoor Hongdae club and sitting on a wall outside. I didn't want this partying until 4 a.m. thing again, because I was hardly even partying, but it was nice anyway. I made a new friend.

Amazingly, on Sunday morning I rallied for helping out at Hansol Farm again. Tired and slightly hung over, it was still a beautiful sunny day and a nice quiet train ride out east to Namyangju. The typhoon had hit the chicken houses hard and they needed hands to build them up again. I love this place and have now been there four times. Just being there brings me hope.

Enjoying a swim in the Hansol River. Photo by Kota Fukuyama, WWOOF Korea.

September 8-9 Korea Burn

Reluctant to miss another Group WWOOF weekend, I nevertheless decided to brave a post-typhoon rain to go camp in the trees by beautiful Gijipo Beach on the western Chungcheonnamdo coast. Luckily, it didn't rain for the rest of the weekend. It was the first time I had seen a really natural beach in Korea, the water was still warm enough for swimming and it felt like summer wasn't ending yet. With little to no drugs, plenty of booze, body paint, costumes, DIY tents, mostly crappy DJ music and a not-so-successful burning of the wooden men, hundreds of almost all foreigners proceeded to fuck up the beach for a couple days. Though by the next morning, we had done a decent job of getting our surroundings back into place, I'm sure the passing Korean couples and families were pretty taken aback by the half nudity and other debauchery. I'm also sure that Korea Burning Man is mild compared to any others anywhere else in the world.

New Korean friend and Swedish travelling man were back in action, enjoying what seemed to be their last weekend before he headed off to New Zealand. We took walks, enjoyed the beautiful sunset, cooking on the camping stove, dancing, discussing. But I wasn't camping with them - I joined with lady English teachers, all of whom were nice company and it was an overall good time. I wish there were more Koreans and I wish the feeling of "being on holiday" as English lady said could last longer. As at Jisan, it was crazy to see all the different expats, this small fraction of an already small non-Korean village spread out all over the country. Some people have tattoos all up and down their body, which they have to keep covered up during the day. In Korea, I somehow have this strong sense that if you're not actively out to meet Koreans, you can hardly choose your friends. You have to find the best of what you can in the people around you because our village is not infinite. That's why I prefer to dip into the larger pool around our village, but I can't say I've been entirely successful in that.

September 15-16 Namyangju Slow Food Conference 

Slow Food Korea and WWOOF Korea are connected, both working to promote fresh local food and Korea's organic and natural farming traditions. They work to connect with people from all over Asia and around the world. I got up hellishly early on a Saturday morning to catch a bus out to Seoul and then to volunteer at the conference, but once I was there, I enjoyed it. I met a lot of Korean university students, older volunteers and I learned about the Korean Beautiful Store, which sells cheap used clothes and other goodies. A nice find. We had a beautiful dinner, stayed at a lovely house rented by elderly residents with their own gardens and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings of Namyangju, the organic farming center of Korea and maybe Asia. Of course, I had to leave far too early on Sunday because I live out in the non-farming sticks. But just before leaving, I bumped into the Hansol farmers, making it all worthwhile.

The thing about it is, as I've discussed with the WWOOF manager, Korea is very much about showing the best side of itself and that means huge museums, theme parks and fancy expos, even when it comes to something as supposedly pure and natural as working the land. Money rules everything here and nowadays people have to fight for the alternative to the money economy. As the crisis hasn't yet hit Korea - at least not on the same level as elsewhere in the world - many people aren't necessarily interested in seeking out free resources and mutual aid. As this is somewhat built into the culture itself, it definitely hasn't disappeared and in fact exists on a deeper level than in Western society. But despite all Korea's work to promote its culture on a large scale, it seems to accomplish this through sleekness and attempts to hide anything that is a bit messy, the reality of everyday life. Marching forward into the future, stamping out relics from the past, while still proudly upholding thousands of years of culture. An interesting contradiction, I think.

September 22-23 Hwaeomsa Temple, Gucheon Hermitage Tea Planting 

An absolutely gorgeous sunny late summer weekend. I slept at Siloam, a really nice jimjilbang near Seoul Station, the biggest transport hub in the city. They have separate dark sleeping bunks - always nice to find one of those. It comes to my attention that I've only tried the nicest jimjilbangs, the ones in Seoul, and so may have a positively skewed idea of what these places are like. They've definitely become a routine fixture on my travelling route though.

Back to Jeollanam, back to Group WWOOFing. Early on Saturday, four of us, including a US lady soldier at Yongsan base, took what seemed an interminable train down to Gurye, an incredibly beautiful place and home of Hwaeomsa, surely one of the oldest and most lovely temples in Korea. I unfortunately have had ridiculous phone and camera troubles, so I didn't snap any shots. But not to worry, if I live in Jeolla next year, I'll be sure to visit this place again and again! It's really amazing that they chose to be a WWOOF host because it means that people can have two experiences in one. When we finally arrived, after waiting at the train station and a car ride down a beautiful tree-lined road to the gates of the temple, we were met with an atmosphere of near complete tranquility and natural splendor. I say near tranquility because we were in for a surprise - the temple adopted a little boy, 7 or 8 years old, the most outgoing and enthusiastic child I have ever met in Korea. So he lives there, among the monks, but attends a regular school and has regular kid things like video games. But his life seems like it will be so fulfilling, despite an occasional sadness at the lack of actual parents. His makeshift family is extensive and loving.

We were also met with the other WWOOFers who had arrived the day before, wishing we could have come earlier! They had spent the day picking wild mushrooms (!) and now we were preparing for lunch and picking tea seeds for the next day's planting. We put on some pouches and like kangaroos with big straw hats went after the tea plants on the hill.  Now that I write this, I should have asked more questions about seed saving. Need to get back on that mission soon! But regardless, we had an incredible view from our perch in the tea field and our time passed quickly. That night, we drove to another incredible temple actually carved into the side of a rock and we caught a nightime view of the entire Gurye valley. We took a long, luxurious tea with the male and female monk and talked of Buddhism and our different lives. I felt uncomfortable when it got to sitting up straight and meditating and discussing our bodies and being touched, but that didn't dampen my mood.

Picking tea seeds. Photo by Shirley Lin

Sunday, we rose early and watched the sun rise fully into its golden glow as we took tea with the monks for the second time. It was planting day and armed with nothing but round green seeds and basic tools, we covered the perimeter of the gardens and up and down the steps. I don't know exactly how long it will take for the white tea plants to bloom, but I want to be there to see the change, the displacement of the artificial fences in favor of these natural ones.

Our last stop was the Gurye open-air market. Jeolla has such a different vibe from Gangwon, it's hard to put a finger on it. The people are tanner, the market is livelier, the seafood and fruit are more plentiful. The poor little boy, so happy to sing and dance Gangnam Style with us before was left behind after a trip to the bathroom. As we sauntered happily through the market, he sat lonely and crying in the parking lot. He was angry, but a lollipop seemed to cheer him up. I wish I had been more adamant about staying longer, as I ended up taking a late bus back from Seoul anyway, but lady soldier and I missed another incredible trip somewhere as we took an earlier bus back. Yeah, I can't wait to go back there...I was meaning to go during Chuseok but decided to keep my promise to return to Guinsa instead.

I had a quiet dinner by myself for my second visit at the 빙가게 "Empty House" cafe, a place that was listed in Slingshot as a radical space in Korea. It's funny how gung-ho I was in the beginning to find this or other spaces, but WWOOF and Jeju - farming and nature - have turned out to be the most subversive things I've done, if you can call them that. It's fitting. It is. 

September 29 - October 3 Chuseok - Korean Thanksgiving

For the first time off since summer that was longer than 2 days, I managed to go overboard and outdo myself with activity. Chuseok is prime family time for Koreans so of course the roads are absolutely packed, mostly with traffic in and out of Seoul.

Besides a one-night, one day farmstay back at Guinsa, I didn't have many plans so I was bursting to get in something super cool, fun, interesting, exciting rarara. On Saturday, I ended up training it all the way to Gangneung to cycle and meet the Korean friend for the third time. She turned out to come late - due to the aforementioned traffic situation - and we ended up not watching the art cinema movie we had planned. I did manage to finally find the Gangneung Cinematheque, thanks to another impromptu find, the new Fair Trade Coffee place tucked in an alleyway a block over from an open market. I practiced my paltry Korean with the store owner, a member of the cinematheque, and after getting lost I went back there and he walked me to the place, which is on the 4th floor of a building on the main street of the city, around Home Plus and all that. Finally, I met my friend as her bus arrived at the terminal and we went back to Fair Trade Coffee - yes, for a third time that day - but soon I was leaving Gangneung...on the empty evening express bus to Seoul.

WWOOF friends had planned an all-day Sunday hike to the top of Bukhansan for a birthday. Even though this invite came last minute on Friday night and even though it meant a ridiculous Saturday, I went for it anyway. Glad I did. We couldn't believe there was a huge rocky mountain range in northwest Seoul, right in the city, but there it was, and it rises up just minutes walk from the Dokbawi station, past some gardens. As we climbed higher and higher, it was nothing but rock! The view of Seoul got smaller and more expansive and we napped on a big ledge. Makkeoli and kimbap were had and eventually we found an impromptu ajeosshi who showed us places where North Koreans tried to get through to assassinate former president Park Chung-hee. The sun was setting as we made our way down. It was a tiring hike to be sure, but seriously rewarding. It's funny that you mostly see middle-aged and elderly Korean hikers on the mountains - I guess the younger generation prefers computer games. Bummer. Back on lower ground, we enjoyed a birthday dinner and drinks at the WWOOF Korea Guesthouse with a visiting Japanese friend before heading off to our respective sleeping places - me and the birthday guy, a longterm WWOOFer checked out the closest jimjilbang. Its name escapes me but it's not a far taxi ride from Anguk Station and it's relatively clean and fancy.

View of Seoul from Bukhansan. Photo by Ryoko Okazaki

It was my first time to stay at a jimjilbang with someone else, but the next morning, he was already back on the road to the farm so I packed up and stepped out into the Monday post-Chuseok sunshine, myself back on the road - 3.5 hours to Guinsa. At least it was supposed to be 3.5 hours, it must have been a bit longer given the crazy traffic. It was hot and sticky on the bus and I was almost regretting my decision. But once we got up to the temple, it was late afternoon and the temperature was much cooler from a month before. I was glad to be there. In retrospect though, I wish I hadn't gone alone. I was walking around by myself before dinner and evening prayer, of course the only non-Korean in sight and people were commenting and pointing at me. It was OK but I was more self-conscious than usual and already not rested enough for the long night that lay ahead. Dinner with the monks in the smaller cafeteria was very nice and I should have been more friendly. I was feeling overwhelmed already and not wanting all the attention.

Two of the female monks had me over for coffee, followed by an hour-long chanting with the head monk in a large public hall, with men and women. It was the only time throughout the night that I managed a full hour of Kwan Seum Bosal (meaning the Buddha) chanting. I really love the more varied chants, such as this one:Kwan Seum Bosal Buddhist Chanting but from every part of the Guinsa complex, at any given time you hear the rising "Kwan Seum Bosal" repeated litany coming from inside the prayer halls. From the outside, it's actually very beautiful and haunting. Inside the women's hall, where we rested and chanted together, you can hear the cacophony of female voices, old and young, making the Kwan Seum Bosal nearly lost in the sound. For the laypeople people here, this is undoubtedly a peaceful respite from daily life, but for me as a first-timer to the intensive chanting, it was difficult to find peace. From 10 to midnight, a female monk gave a full 2 hour speech on the Chuseok holiday. Many of us dozed off during this time, only to begin the chanting again nonstop from 12-3. This was a totally unique experience for me and one that is hard to find anywhere else. I was appreciative of the women who took the time to help me and I felt welcomed.

The next morning, I had to rush to get breakfast and join female monks for the ride to the farm. Arriving at the meeting spot and on the bus, I again felt overwhelmed by the attention but also charmed by the beauty of these awesome hard-working women. As I would soon see with my own eyes, Guinsa grows all its own food - rice, soybeans, garlic, peppers, cabbage, everything. Some female monks at a lower level work in the immense public cafeteria and some work daily on the farm. It was a bright, clear Tuesday and we peeled bunches of garlic all day from 7 - 4:30, with lunch and snack breaks. Surrounded by green mountains and field, I watched and interacted with these strong, joyous, chatty women as we sat in the sun, our hands meticulously breaking apart garlic heads and carefully taking off the skin. We were also joined by additional busloads of volunteers, with a few men in the midst, making our group total 30-40 people.  If I wasn't so tired, so introverted, with so little Korean skills and a better sense of humor, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. Which is not to say that it wasn't, in fact, amazing. But I was surprised to find that even at a Buddhist temple, a supposed sanctuary from society, people still asked me why I was single? And since I didn't have a husband, maybe I was interested in becoming a monk? All I wanted was to get a glimpse of this life, not to become a part of anything. Of course, even though one person spoke English, I had no one there to translate the cultural barrier. At one point in the afternoon, I got frustrated that I couldn't get the garlic right and the smiling oldest monk called the English-speaking templestay leader to tell her I wasn't having fun. I felt embarassed - this always-smiling woman seems so truly happy and grateful to be where she is, and I'm interrupting her routine.

As with EM Jeju, I went to Guinsa by myself, hoping to get my hands dirty in the best of local food production and to learn more than I've ever had. I think I accomplished these two things, but in the process, I feel that maybe I wasn't a very good ambassador. I often forget this - I am not here just as myself, I represent my language, my nationality, my skin color, my perceived social, economic and cultural background. Using my introversion as an excuse to be closed-off and grumpy just will not cut it in Korea in the long run. It's time I shape up. And it's time that either I take friends along to places like this, or I adjust my solitary travels to keep my mental health in working order.

This is the end of part one of the post-Jeju adventures. Part two will come by the end of 2012.

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