Winter Wonderland

This morning I awoke to snow. Falling steadily from the sky. Not just flakes, clumps of snow. Covering everything in white. The rooftops, the sidewalks, the trees. I squealed as I jumped out of bed. Snow always invokes feelings of playfulness. What could I do? At that moment Chanta called. “Let’s go grab something to eat then walk in the snow.” Yeah!

By the time I got downstairs (layers – very key – long underwear, wool sweater, ski jacket, jeans, scarf, gloves) Chanta was tired of waiting, so she had made pancakes. Ummmmmmm. . . . pancakes with syrup. Tasting amazingly like pancakes from home. Only difference, eaten with chopsticks.

We met Tom and started walking. Everyone else who is out is bundled up, shielding themselves with umbrellas from the manna from heaven. Not us. We skipped arm and arm, relishing the playfulness, our heads back, tongues out, trying to capture some of the magic. We wound through the narrow streets. Over the playground. Across the major street. Up the hill. To the park. Then we started the ascent. Of Young-Gi mountain. The path was covered with snow, but we could see the footprints of the few who had gone before us. The first part of the trail was just that, a trail, a path. Not too steep. We quickly entered the forest, though. Hundreds and hundreds of trees. Bare branches looking like gnarled witches’ fingers rising out of the ground. With several inches of soft snow weighing them down.

We stopped several times to take pictures. At one point Chanta turned to me and said, “You look just like a modern day Snow White.” I must have given her a quizzical look because she continued, “Your skin is as white as the snow, your hair as dark as night, your lips as red as blood, and your cheeks as rosy as can be.” Add the North Face ski jacket and Banana Republic jeans – where’s my prince charming?

After about half an hour, as the path grew steeper and rockier, Chanta (in her platform boots) and Tom were ready to return back to town. I bade them farewell; I was determined to reach the top of the mountain. After each sharp ascent, there was a plateau. At one there was an abandoned badminton court, at another benches, at another a playground. I could just imagine the activity and sounds of laughter that must fill the park during warm weather.

I met very few people on the path. I was alone in my thoughts, the silence of the falling snow surrounding me. The path grew steeper and steeper. A couple of times my footing slipped, but I always managed to catch myself before busting full out. At one point I was on a flat ridge area. I imagined that under normal situations I would be able to see the entire city, but looking around today all I could see was whiteness. Clouds enveloped everything. I suddenly heard a noise behind me. I spun around. There was another hiker approaching. I smiled, then turned around and continued. As he passed, he said, “Pleased to meet you.” Then continued on at a much quicker pace.

A few moments I rounded a curve in the path. The hiker who had passed me was sitting on a rock adjusting his ice clamps on his shoes. He asked, “Have you climbed the mountain before?” No. “This is your first time?” Yes. “Are you alone?” Hmmmmm . . . Yes. Brief thoughts of Chanta’s warning before we separated passed through my mind, “Be careful, Lori. The path isn’t that well marked. Be sure you come back down well before it gets dark.” The man continued to talk. “You don’t have ice clamps?” No. “Be very careful.” Okay. “Are you American?” Yes. “Alone?” Yes. “The high point is very near to here.” Oh, good. Then I continued on my way. He passed me shortly thereafter. And we really were almost at the summit. As I was climbing to the summit, I slipped a couple of times. He waited for me, offering to help. No, thanks, I’m okay. We reached the top. What a feeling of success. Someone had built a couple of snowmen holding arms. I walked around, breathing in the icy air. The stranger came over to me, continuing to make small talk. “On a clear day, over there, is such and such mountain. And there, that is the city. And there . . .” All of this was mute today, because all we could see was whiteness. We started down the path. I was going extra slow. Slip, slip, slip. Oh, this was going to be a challenge. He turned around and said, “Here. I only need one of my ice clamps. You take one. It will be better.” No, really, I’m okay. “No, you will need this to get down safely. Really, it’s okay. Here. I will put it on for you.” He put the ice clamp on my hiking boot. What a difference. But this meant I had to keep up with his pace the whole way down.

We chatted. His name was Nam, Sang-Gun. Mr. Nam. He owns a Math Academy. The Math equivalent of the type of English school I’m teaching at. He has a wife and a 8/6 (Korean age/American age) old daughter. His family takes English lessons together. Where was I from? How long had I been in Korea? Where did I work? Did I like to hike? Oh, here, let’s take a short cut. We cut straight into the woods. If there was a path there, it was invisible to me. I quickly assessed the situation. In the woods, no one around, getting dark quickly. But, he had given me his ice clamps, so if he had wanted to harm me, wouldn’t he have just pushed me off the side of one of the slippery ridges? And I was a good 30 pounds heavier than him. So I continued to follow. And after about 20 minutes, we reached the edge of the woods. There was a sign there. He asked if I could read it. I sounded out the words in broken Korean. Sssss . . . aa. . . n. San. Pppppp . . . u. . .l. San Pul. Ch. . . ch . . . oooo. . . .ssssss. . .im. San pul choshim. He looked amazed. “You can read Korean!” Well, sort of, but I don’t know what I just said. “San – Mountain. Pul – Fire. Choshim – Be careful.” Be careful about starting forest fires on the mountain.

We walked to his car. He offered to give me a ride back downtown. Okay. As we got into his car, he asked me if we could exchange phone numbers. Sure. We drove the few minutes to downtown. As he prepared to drop me off, he asked me if I had any appointments for tomorrow. No. “Please have dinner with my family.” Okay. “I will call you tomorrow. Yes?” Sure. Sounds good. As I got out of the car, I marveled at how things happen. I had contined on the walk solo so that I could seek solace in the beauty of the snow, and ended up gaining an invitation to dinner for the next evening.