The Jungle Adventure

As I’m typing this, I’m in pain. While hiking today, I slipped. Broke my fall with my right hip smashing on a sheer sheet of solid rock. I tried to stop myself from sliding further down the mountain by grasping the rock, which only proceeded to remove the skin from my entire right palm. But I’m still glad I went.

Mr. Nam picked me up at 10 am, in front of DongA. “Today, we hike to DongBong, then visit the temples on mountain. Very good.” Sounds like a plan, let’s go! As we drove up the mountain, I noticed more flowers were in bloom than last week. Rhododendron, lilies, cherry blossoms. Purples, yellows, and pinks lined the road. We began our ascent by taking the same trail we took on Frog Day, which I learned is called “Camel Ridge” because of the two “humps” you have to climb before reaching the summit. What a different experience today, though. No snow. No ice. Just clear blue skies and fresh, cool air. We had a cleansing rain over the weekend, so all the yellow sand from China is gone. I can once again breathe.

On the way up the mountain Mr. Nam asked me if I had eaten breakfast. I told him yes. He wanted to know what I had had. I told him cereal and coffee. “Oh, that not enough. Scientists say…” and I expected him to finish with “breakfast is the most important meal, blah, blah, blah.” But instead, he continued, “must eat rice first thing in morning. To make brain smart.” What? “Yes. Rice. Very good for breakfast. For all meals. Helps your brain.” I thought for a moment. I probably fix rice and kimchi for breakfast maybe two or three times a week. Do I feel more mentally stimulated on those days? Am I able to process problems more easily? I couldn’t remember for sure, but it can’t hurt… Okay. I’ll start eating rice for breakfast. Thank you.

We weren’t battling ice today, but we were battling mud. Ooey, gooey, sticky, mucky, mucky mud. Which was almost as treacherous as ice. Because if you slip in mud you get very dirty. Which isn’t so bad at the end of a day of hiking, but at the beginning, well, then you’re dirty all day. And wet. So I walked very slowly and cautiously. And thoroughly enjoyed the entire sensation of walking through bog-like mud conditions. With each step my foot would sink a little, slide a little, and as I lifted it to take a step make a sucking pop! sound. Like a mud kiss. Then on to the next step. Memories of mud filled my head. Mud baths in Calistoga. Sliding in mud while playing softball. A nursery rhyme about a hippo in a bog. Throwing a mud pie at my next door neighbor when I was only four. And getting in a lot of trouble for it.

As we were descending into the valley, we passed a couple of agashi, older men. Annyong… Annyong hashimnika… As we passed them, one of the agashi started humming. Hmmm… that sounds very familiar. What is it? I know I’ve heard it, but I can’t place it. Is it Korean? Is it English? Then the words came, “Oh, my darlin’, oh, my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementiiiiiiiine…” I turned around. He gave me a big grin. I smiled. I guess that was for my benefit…

At the summit, we found a couple of rocks and perched. Mr. Nam had brought our traditional lunch of kim bop (sushi rolls). I had brought tangerines. When I return to the States I don’t think I’ll be able to hike without taking kim bop with me. It’s what I look forward to at the summit. Enjoying the view, feeling the winds blow, eating kim bop. It’s the perfect hiking food. It’s already cut into small pieces. It doesn’t matter if your hands are dirty from hiking, because you use chopsticks. And it’s just right. Not too much food, not too little.

As we were eating, I noticed a pair of people on a rock not too far away from us. An older woman and a man. The woman turned to face the open ridges. And began singing. And singing. And singing. I asked Mr. Nam what the song was. “Traditional Korean song.” What does it mean? “Welcome of spring. Very hard song. Not many people can sing. She, maybe professional.” She sings very beautifully. Her voice is so clear, so strong. After she finished, they made their way towards us. Mr. Nam talked to them for a few minutes. The woman turned to me and smiled, “Khamsa Hamnida.” And they were off. Mr. Nam had told her what I had said. She was indeed a professional singer.

After we finished our lunch Mr. Nam explained we would take a different route down so that we could visit the temples. But, we would not take the normal path, because he thought it might be too muddy. We would take a different one. Sure. Let’s go. We started down the alternate path, just a narrow footpath, wide enough only for one person at a time. I followed behind him. A couple of times he would start down the path then we would come to a dead end. The trail just stopped. He would look around, this way and that, then say, “No good. Back. Another way.” We would retrace our steps and try another possibility. At times, we were wandering through the brush until the path magically reappeared. At one point, we reached a sharp drop. He kept going closer and closer. Mr. Nam, don’t you think we should go another way? “No. This way good. See?” All I could see was that he was nearing a precipice and I wasn’t prepared to jump. He bent down and lifted a rope. “We use this to get down. No problem.” Okay, maybe no problem for you, but I’m not sure I trust a random rope tied to a tree to support me down a 25 foot drop. But he was already gone. I reached the edge and sure enough, he was scaling the side of the rock, James Bond style. It looked easy enough. He got to the bottom and jumped. “Okay, Miss Rori. Go!” I grabbed the rope and started down. This was a total leap of faith. The only way to get down was to tug as hard as possible on the rope and trust the knot would hold. Each time I found a foothold for my foot, he clapped or yelled, “Good!” About halfway down I realized I was laughing. This was really fun. I felt like a Bond girl. When I almost reached the bottom I jumped. “Very good! You look very comfortable! I think you professional.” No, I assure you I am *not* a professional. But it was fun. “It is our jungle adventure. Just no tigers.”

We continued. About 20 minutes later we came to another drop. And another rope. Yeah! Again, he went first and coached me on the way down. This was only about a 15 foot drop, not nearly as spectacular as the first. We continued. The conditions were very different on this side of the mountain. No mud. Very, very arid. Dead leaves piled about 6 inches deep. And not another soul. For hours we hiked and didn’t see or hear anything but the birds. At one point we had to retrace our steps several times. The trail would just end; there was no way to continue. Mr. Nam kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry. This way. Not good. I did not know. I thought, maybe good.” You’ve never been this way? “No. But I thought, maybe good. But not. So sorry.” No problem. It’s all part of the adventure.

It was a very steep descent through forests and forests of mountain bamboo. Every now and then I would almost lose my step in the slippery piles of dead leaves. But catch myself. At one point Mr. Nam stopped, turned around, looked back up the mountain, and said, “Ahhhh. Look!” As I turned around to look at where we had come from, I lost my balance. There was slick rock under the piles of dead leaves. I fell, my hip breaking my fall. I felt myself sliding down and grasped at whatever I could to stop myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I ended up about 10 feet from where I fell. I could hear Mr. Nam yelling, “Oh my god – are you okay? Miss Rori!” I’m okay. I’m okay. Just need a minute. There’s a funny relationship I have with tears. If I’m sad, I can cry. If I’m happy, I can cry. If I see a sappy movie, I can cry. Doesn’t matter who’s around me. But if I’m hurt, I forbid myself to shed a tear. I grit my teeth until the pain passes, squeezing my eyes so tightly I see bright lights. So I laid there a minute until he reached the spot where I was. He helped me up, I brushed myself off, assessed that nothing was broken, and we continued. “Miss Rori – so sorry. Bad way. So sorry.” Mr. Nam, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. This is a beautiful route and we have the mountain to ourselves. This is peacefulness personified. I’m okay, really.

We reached a stream and followed it for awhile. “This lead us to temple. YoungRulAm.” As we neared the temple I noticed there was barbed wire running near the stream. Then I noticed we had to cross over the barbed wire to reach the temple grounds. Not just one barbed wire fence, but several, spaced about 10 feet apart. Mr. Nam, what does that sign say? “Oh. Keep out. Do not use path.” Ahhhh. I see. So, we probably shouldn’t have been on this side of the mountain? “Maybe. But okay.”

We approached YoungRulAm, a very small temple nestled in the side of the mountain. Built approximately 1500 years ago. Just a few buildings, not the halls and halls and halls of the more famous temples. We were the only non-monks there. Mr. Nam quietly called for me to follow him. We went up a few steps, then came to a large rock under a pine tree. Upon closer inspection, Buddha had been carved on the rock. He was probably 30 feet high, watching over the temple. We walked around; I was fascinated by the details of the main hall. The golden Buddhas inside. The intricate, though faded, paintings on the doors. The hundreds and hundreds of lotus lamps with small candles. The shrine of laughing baby Buddhas in front. Again, Mr. Nam called to me. “Hungry?” A little. “Here. I fix you food.” Wait, what are you doing? “It’s okay. Monks give food to all people.” And sure enough, there was a table of food set out. Noodles, broth, and “kim chi pizza pancake” (I don’t remember the Korean name, but that’s what it seemed to be). Mr. Nam prepared me, then him, a bowl of noodles. We sat and ate. It tasted so good. A little salty, but so good. We washed our dishes then continued on our way.

“This way. Or that way. Which?” He pointed towards the road, which led to DongHwaSa (the second temple we would visit) or a path, blocked by a huge sign and gates. What does that sign say? “Keep out. But it’s okay. Many people use it. Very nice.” I think I’d rather take the road. I’m all about making your own path, but I generally think that there’s a reason when huge “keep out” signs are posted. And I tend to obey them. I get into enough trouble as it is, I don’t need to tempt fate in any additional manner.

We walked a couple of kilometers along the “road,” really a wide dirt path that looked like it could be passable for the occasional car. We arrived to DongHwaSa. This was the main temple of the mountain. Buildings upon buildings upon buildings. The main hall, the auxiliary halls, the monks’ living quarters, the lecture hall, the tourist information center. We walked around, peeking at this, admiring that, I, clicking my camera the whole time. Oooh. Aaah. The colors. The detail. That’s what amazes me the most about the temples. The absolute attention to details. Everything is perfect. Layer upon layer. The carvings. The crispness of the patterns on the roof. The carvings on the roof tiles. The intricacies of the doors. Nothing has been overlooked.

We finished touring the temple. I thought. “No, this way. You surprise.” Huh? But I followed him. We chatted about our classes, my family, his family. And then, he led me around a corner. I gasped. There stood the largest Buddha I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know how tall it was. Huge. A plaza of sorts. In front of the Buddha was a marble area for praying. And surrounding the Buddha was a low wall with probably another 50 Buddhas carved into the stone. Woooooow. What is this? “Built for reunification of North and South Korea. We pray this happen.” Do you think it will happen? “Maybe 100, maybe 50 years. I think people want. But North Korea government no want. This Buddha built maybe 10 years ago.” We walked around. We had been on the mountain for almost 8 hours. I was exhausted, but in awe. Again, I couldn’t believe the detail. All in white stone. Beautiful, pristine, unblemished white stone.

We finally walked back to the car. “I think you very tired. You take a rest. Take a little sleep.” Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you so much, Mr. Nam. This was a wonderful day. I can’t believe everything we saw. Thank you. “Maybe I will call you to go hiking again? It’s okay?” Of course it’s okay (we’ve been hiking together for two months now). “But you hurt. I take you on very bad path today.” Mr. Nam, really, it’s okay. I had a wonderful day. I would love to go hiking again. Thank you.