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

Tracing My Roots - Inspired by Korea, Part 2

When my friend in Texas recently told me she wanted to take the Transsiberian railroad trip starting spring 2014, it sounded like the perfect opportunity to visit the motherland. The seeds for the journey had already sprouted.

This past weekend, instead of firemaking, I called up a Korean friend that I had met by chance (magic?) and travelled to where she lives, one of the better cities, Chuncheon. It wasn't random - I was finally picking up a guitar! She was working the afternoon-evening shift both days, but first we met for spicy Mexican food. 

My friend encouraged me to visit an art gallery while she was at work. Sadly, I couldn't find it the first day and so I wandered around the increasingly cold city, which although nice, is still a city. Once I got my hands on the guitar, I was happy to just sit inside the warm apartment and listen and watch my fingers making sounds. She got back from work with three of her girl friends from high school visiting from Seoul and we all squeezed in together. Over drinks, late night snacks and endless music videos until the wee hours of the morning and the next day, we also discussed both of our future travel plans. She tells me she is endlessly surprised at foreigners' positive reactions to Korea and how many interesting people and places I've been able to find. I showed her my most recent magic Internet find, a book written by a Korean woman raising her daughters in nature by herself. For her, it is almost time to take off for Western shores again and learn farming and nature in Europe. I was happy to share Jo's blog with its wealth of information. 

When I first arrived, almost immediately, she told me about her recent visit to an art space not far from her place, called '야생 갤러리' which means 'Wild Gallery.' As she told me the story, I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. An established Korean wildlife documentary filmmaker and photographer, who teaches part time at Kangwon National University where my friend has gone to school, runs this small space in Chuncheon. But that's not even the half of it. 최기순 Choi Ki-sun has been working in the Russian wilderness for 15 years, documenting wild animal life, particularly amur leopards, bears and tigers. He also owns a property in Hongcheon, outside of Chuncheon, where Korean students and nature lovers come to stay.

Finally, on Sunday, before we parted ways she gave me his phone number. "I remember - he is not here now," she said. "He is in Seoraksan looking for a cat." Wow, said my brain and probably my face. So I finally found 야생 갤러리.

And then, after a couple of days of text messaging in which I foolishly pretended I could speak Korean, 최기순 drove to meet me in Sabuk on his way to work in Taebaksan. After a brief misunderstanding, we ended up meeting for nearly 4 hours. In broken Russian and Korean, he showed me endless photos of his work in Russia. He has followed a family of amur leopards for 10 years, a nearly extinct species. With some rangers, he has taken care of orphaned bear cubs for 2 years, nursing and sheltering them before letting them back out into the wild.

His eyes were bloodshot from fatigue, from staying in a dugout cave in the snow near Seoraksan and Inje, on the watch for wildlife. He would be working more in the next days and soon going back to Russia to shoot more footage. After years of work in broadcasting, he hopes to make a full-length film for showing in theaters. The Russian word for wildlife photography is "foto ohota" which literally means photo hunt. Though I don't want to make light of serious work, I can't help but think of this well-loved cartoon from my parents' generation.

When he is not living and trekking in the wilderness, 최기순 is teaching at the university and putting his heart into the Hongcheon center, which he named 까르 돈 'cardon' after the Russian name for the special house where the natural preserve guards live. His partner, an American musician who is also an English teacher in Korea, now helps run the center, which flourishes in the summer with students and visitors.

When he showed me his work, I felt no sense of bragging or showing off. Only 100% laser-sharp focus on his passion and sharing it with the world. The leopards, bears and tigers' eyes seem as though they are looking through at your soul in the photos and videos. Between his trips to Russia, I was so fortunate to have a chance to meet this person. When I told him I was interested in having land and building a community somewhere, maybe Korea, he immediately said 'no! buy land in Russia, there's so much wild beauty!'

So from seeing these photos, I am really hoping I can see at least a few of these places next year. Vladivostok and Kamchatka, for a start. Maybe I won't get close to the animals, but I can at least get close to the land.

The journey continues.

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.