Insha’Allah

Arabic – “as God wills it”

I was still feeling a bit bummed out about the events of the weekend today. I don’t teach on Mondays, so I decided to explore. I have seen many signs for Apsan Park, but have never been there. Lonely Planet describes it as such, “at 17 sq km is Daegu’s largest (park). The most notable attraction here is the cable car running 800 metres to the summit of Apsan, but you can walk up by following a 4 km trail. Bus nos 424, 750, and 910 head out to the park from the center of town.”

So I walked to the local N/S bus stop. No 424, 750, or 910 listed. Hmm. Let me try the E/W bus stop. Not listed. But, I can catch the 402 to downtown, then look for a sign that has 424, 750, or 910. How hard can that be, right? I carefully studied the transportation signs at each stop we made approaching downtown. No 424, 750, or 910. This may be more difficult than I thought. I decided just to get off the bus and wander. And lo and behold, there was a stop for the 424. I read the stops and Apsan was listed. I got on the bus and settled in, looking forward to a day of hiking. The bus circled around and started back towards my area of town. Hmmm. . . After a good 30 minutes it pulled into a terminal and the driver told me “bye. get off.” But, but, but, Apsan Park. He pointed to another bus. He was going on break. I got on the other bus amid stares from high school boys. The route circled in and around town, the warm sun beaming through the window, before I knew it, jerk! my head snapped up. I had fallen asleep. I quickly looked around. I had no idea where I was. The bus pulled to a stop and I thought I read “Apsan” in a blur so I hopped off. But I was on a major highway. Where was the park? I looked at my watch. I had been on buses for almost 2 hours. Ugh.

I stopped an elderly man. Apsan? Yaayyyyy. Odi? He pointed. So all I had to do was cross this major 6 lane highway, go up a hill, and I would be at the park. Okay.

I started up the trail and immediately felt better. Something about being on a mountain. Even if it’s a mountain beside a major city. The air seems fresher. The people seem nicer. Worries have a way of being, well, not so worrisome. The trail may have only been 4 km, but it was 4 vertical km. Straight up. I consider myself to be in good shape and I was panting. And noticed that I was, by at least 30 years, the youngest person on the trail. Everyone else was grandmother/grandfather age. Really. How are they doing this? I want to be doing this in 30 years. What’s their secret?

Two hajima were sitting on rocks by the path. As I approached I smiled and said, “Annyong ha-shimnikka.” The older of the two grunted and motioned me towards her. She held out a rice treat in her hand and placed it in mine. But it wasn’t just any rice treat. It was the Korean version of Rice Krispy treats, but instead of Rice Krispies, there were Sugar Smacks and instead of marshmallows, there was pure syrup. Jackpot, baby! I grinned, “Kamsa hamnida!” [insert very fast Korean phrase] “Miguk.” (I guessed she had asked me where I was from) [insert another very fast Korean phrase] “San Francisco.” She looked perplexed. “English teacher. Hogwan.” She nodded and smiled. [insert another very fast Korean phrase] “Lori-ga” She smiled again. “Kamsa hamnida. Annyong hi kay shipsayo!” and I was off.

Up, up, up. Pant, pant. Stop. Why didn’t I bring water? My legs were already burning. I hoisted myself up onto a level area. Oohhh. The view of the city. How amazing. How big. I had no idea Daegu had so many buildings and was so spread out. I stood there for several minutes, admiring the view, trying to locate landmarks.

I turned around to continue upwards. And there, sitting peacefully, was a man. I had not seen him before. “Annyong…” I started. “Hello,” he said. His English was quite good. He asked me how long I had been in Korea, why I was here, how did I get to the park, etc. Then, “Let’s continue.” We we walked on the trail together, continuing to talk. We live in the same area of town, but he works near Apsan. Import/export business. “Is your family in the US?” “Yes, mostly in North Carolina, but a sister and her family in Atlanta.” “But, your family. Your husband. Your children.” “Oh, I am not married.” “You are single? How can this be?”

I’ve never figured out how to address this. Is it just the family oriented Korean culture that makes people ask in disbelief how I’m still single? Or are they somehow implying there is something wrong with being single?

“Well, I was married. But now I’m divorced.” “Oh, I see. I thought so. I did not think you were not ever married. I think this is very common in America. Divorce.” “Well, yes. There are many divorced people. And in Korea?” “Oh, no. Not common. But becoming. As we get more westernized.” He pointed to a pile of stones. No, not a pile of stones, but a sculpture of stones. “Do you see that?” “Yes.” “One by one, hikers place a stone and say a prayer. And look how it has grown. Let us say a prayer.” So we each picked up a stone, placed it carefully on the stack, and said a prayer. Then continued up.

At what I thought was the top we rested. The best part of a hike. The summit. Sitting and reflecting on where you’ve just come from. How you’re feeling. Anticipating the trip back down. We talked a bit, then sat in silence. Then, we brushed ourselves off, stood up, and began walking. “Where are we going?” “Oh, there is the summit,” as he pointed to a rocky crag several hundred feet in the distance. “What? This isn’t the top?” “No, come on. We will go up over the top then back down the other side. It is better.” Okay. Only, once we got to the rocky crag the trail disappeared. Vanished. Nowhere to be seen. He started climbing the rocks, I followed. And I use the term climbing the rocks in the literal sense. Looking for a crevice to place your foot. Grasping for a hold for your hand. At one point I was flush against the rock, feeling, stretching, inching my fingers above me. There had to be another hold for me to pull myself up with. I glanced down. Okay. If I slip and fall, what is the worst that will happen? The fall won’t be so tremendous that I will die. I don’t think. I give myself a 98% chance of surviving a fall. But, I think I will have bruises. Yes, I definitely will have bruises. The chance of breaking a bone is very likely. Okay, where is that hold? As I pulled myself up and over the rock, he smiled and said, “You are very strong.” Yes, so are you. I wanted to ask him how old he was, but I’m not sure if that’s considered rude here. He has three grown children, so he must be at least mid-fifties? Early sixties? And he’s scaling rocks like a little mountain goat. At one point he offered his hand as I was approaching the final assent of a rock formation. “Thank you,” I said. “Oh, by the way, my name is Kim, Ki Hwan.” “I’m Lori.” “Ro-ri?” I smiled. Yes. Isn’t it odd that we had been hiking and talking for over an hour, and didn’t even know each other’s names?

We reached the real summit. So incredibly beautiful. Mountains in every direction. Ranges upon ranges upon ranges of mountains in the distance. Fading from blackish gray, to bluish gray, to silvery gray, to whitish gray, as the ranges got farther and farther away.

We started the descent. As we came down, down, down a mucky, slippery, leaf strewn path and rounded a corner, I heard laughter. They saw me before I saw them. Three shamans. In a cave. “Helllllll-lo!” I gasped. “Annyong…” and a woman ran out of the cave with a handful of candy. I received it with both hands and thanked her over and over. The two others came out to look at me. I smiled. Mr. Kim was further ahead on the path. I peeked inside the cave. To one side was a table where they were preparing food. To the other side were altars. Candles burning, dripping, flickering. Hundreds of candles. Tall, medium, short, nubs. Neatly in rows. The man gave me a last look, then went back inside the cave and started praying. The two women followed shortly thereafter.

I joined Mr. Kim. He explained, “They are shaman religion. They live in the cave. They pray to see the future.” Wow. There was a big sign outside the cave. “Oh, does this tell about them?” He let out a hearty laugh. “No. This cave is very famous. One of the very first leaders of Korea, many, many years ago, fled the Seoul area and hid here. His enemies never found him.” Cool. I offered him a piece of candy the shaman had given me.

We continued down, down, down. Close to the end of the trail we saw a temple. “Would you like to go in?” “Yes, I would. Thank you.” We crossed a small stream and approached the temple. Shoes off, we quietly entered the main hall. “Do you know how to pray in a temple?” “No, I don’t.” “I will teach you.” He showed me the proper order, hands folded together, drop to your knees, left palm down, right palm down, elbows to the floor, head bowed, palms facing upward. “You must do it at least three times. Everything three times.” As we were leaving the temple, he said, “You have prayed for many things today. Maybe something will come true.” “Maybe…” I began. “No, not maybe” and at that moment we both said, “Insha’Allah.” Our heads whipped towards each other. “Did you just say Insha’Allah?” I asked him. “Yes. Did you?” “Yes. But that is Arabic.” “Yes. Maybe your former husband was Arabic.” “No. I lived in Kuwait and Cairo.” Then he bust out with some serious Arabic phrases. Oh, oh, oh, schwaiya, schwaiya. I only remember a little. Back and forth, Arabic phrase upon phrase.

“How do you know Arabic?” I asked. It turns out before the Gulf War he had a very lucrative trading business not only with Kuwait, but with Iraq as well. He still does some business there, but not as much. He knew the neighborhood where I lived in Kuwait. We talked of hotels, of landmarks. We counted in Arabic.

When we reached the end of the path, he ventured one way, I another. “I want to feed you next week.” Sometimes translations come across in the strangest manner. “I want to feed you raw fish.” Okay. Next Monday. See you then.

I waited beside the road, trying to hail a cab. I popped another piece of candy in my mouth. It suddenly dawned on me. I was not following anything my momma taught me. Don’t take candy from people you don’t know. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t climb the side of a mountain without someone spotting you. Okay. I added the last one. But it’s a good piece of advice. I pondered over this until I arrived home a mere 15 minutes later. It turns out Apsan is almost directly beside my neighborhood. But so much is in the journey…