I Go, You Go, We All Go to Jeju-Do!

Getting There

Daegu Train Station.

Divide and conquer. Sang Jae was in charge of snacks, I was in charge of tickets. Trains leave DongDaegu Station approximately every 15 minutes bound for Pusan. Yet, on Saturday, every single seat was taken. For the entire day. Good news, ticket price was cheeee-eap! Bad news, we had to stand the hour and a half ride to Pusan. As we entered the car, looking for a nice, roomy spot to stand in the 24 inch wide aisle, 3 little boys, maybe 8 or 9 years old, stared, wide eyed, at me. They poked each other in the ribs, then whispered to each other, “Mi-guk! Mi-guk!” You would think that after 8 months of this, I would be used to it. I’m not. It still makes me incredibly self-conscious. After the initial “Annyong ha-sayo” I do everything I can to avoid eye contact. I make sure I’m not slouching. I really, really, try not to let the stares and snickers get to me. They do.

Pusan Ferry Terminal.

Sang Jae, tell me again, what exactly does a 3rd class ticket entitle us to on this ferry? He laughed. I’m serious. Let me know what to expect. “Not a problem.” That’s his favorite phrase. I sighed. That’s all the information I was getting.

Cozy Island Ferry.

We walked into our assigned section. It appeared to be a big rec room, the floor covered with no nonsense, red, indoor-outdoor nubby carpet. Okay, this isn’t so bad, I thought. We found a space against the wall and sat down on the floor; he pulled out his language tapes, I pulled out my crossword puzzle. People kept coming. And coming. And coming. Hmm. After we departed, we decided to nap. I carefully stretched out, very aware of the many bodies near me. The group of college students, all with backpacks. The family, playing cards, rather animatedly, to our left. The honeymooning couple to our right. I pride myself on my ability to sleep. Anywhere. Anytime. I didn’t get a wink that night. The noise level was magnified ridiculously. The bright, industrial fluorescent lights shone until 1 am. The various groups of people chattered, sang, and argued in an incomprehensible garble. And as the night wore on, more and more bodies stretched out. Less and less floor space was visible. Forget about personal space. Arms touching legs. Feet rubbing heads. Legs against backs. And virtually all strangers. About 4 am, I decided it was pointless to continue lying on a hard surface. I got up, put my windbreaker on, and headed out to the deck.

Cozy Island Ferry Deck.

This is the part I love the most about boat rides. The wind. The chilly, at times freezing, wind, blowing ferociously against my being. My hair whipping away from my face, then slapping my checks as I turn. Squinting my eyes to contain the tears that form from the icy force. In the far distance I saw lights. Dozens and dozens of intensely bright lights. I looked at my watch. 4:30 am. We were still another 2 hours from shore. What could the lights be? At this point Sang Jae joined me. What are those? “The animal.” What animal? “You know. The one you said.” I thought back to all of our recent conversations. Then began the process of disregarding any that did not revolve around sea creatures. I wish my memory had a “find” feature. Octopus? “No. But like.” Squid? “Yes. The squid. Boats to catch the squid.” We came closer. It was unbearable to look at the ships, the lights were intense as those at ball parks. The kind of bright that leaves you temporarily unable to see anything but whiteness after glancing at them. We sat on deck for a bit longer, then noticed it was getting lighter. The sun was rising behind us.

We walked to the other end of the deck. The sun was barely peeping up over the horizon. We saw people on the deck above us. I want to go there. We found the stairs, blocked by a rope and a sign that I imagined said, “Keep Out!” I pulled Sang Jae’s arm. We can’t go there. “Not a problem,” as he climbed over the rope. I sighed, looked around, then followed. The view was magnificent. The sun, bright red at first, then orange, then a true golden as it gradually rose over the horizon. I snapped picture after picture. This is the only sunrise I’ve experienced in Korea. I was relishing the beauty of the scene when I heard someone yelling harshly at me. I spun around. There, in his droll blue uniform was a crew member, who obviously thought it *was* a problem that we were on his deck. He continued coming closer to me (the only non-Korean in sight), yelling the entire time. I finally turned to Sang Jae. What is he saying? He laughed, said, “Not a problem,” and gently led me away. The crew member continued walking behind us, rounding up all the people who were on his deck illegally, herding us to the lower deck.

The Island. Day 1.

Jeju City.

I had made a car reservation with Hertz. We stopped at the Information booth at the Ferry Terminal, I showed the man my Hertz #1 Gold card, and asked where it was located. He picked up the card, turned it over, then shook his head, telling me they didn’t have that bank here on Jejudo, but would I like some oranges? I looked at Sang Jae. He pulled me away, muttering something about the people they hire to work in Information Booths. We hailed a taxi. The taxi driver had never heard of Hertz. We called 114 (the Korean version of 411). “Op-sayo.” Not here. Sang Jae looked at me. No! Really. There is a Hertz office here in Jeju City. I swear. Take me to a PC room and I’ll get the address from the web site. Really. We stopped at a PC room, and sure enough, there was a Hertz office in the city. A very small, shack-like structure, but an office nonetheless. I gave the Hertz clerk my #1 Gold card and reservation number. He too, thought it was a bank card and tried to run it through the credit card machine. As we got into the car, Sang Jae said, “Automatic. Ooooo. You can drive?” I found this question slightly confounding, as I’ve often driven his manual transmission car. Yeah. No problem. And we were off.

The Road.

Bright sunshine, beautiful fields surrounded by walls of porous rocks. Lava rock. Almost black, somewhat hole-y, irregularly shaped, yet perfectly placed, rocks. The dirt. Deep brown cocoa powder as far as the eye could see. I wanted to taste the dirt. It looked so rich. The sea. The beautiful, transparent, incredibly blue, teeming with bodies, water. The flowers. Bright, red, row upon row of upward turned flowers.

Breakfast.

We stopped at a restaurant on the side of the road. The door was wide open, but no one was in sight. We called out, in unison, “Annyong ha-sayo!” An elderly, stooped lady with jet black hair and a silver tooth appeared. She smiled and ushered us to sit down, bringing us cold towels to wash our hands. Sang Jae ordered. Rice and seafood soup. Mmmmm. We ate, not speaking. We were both numb from lack of sleep. The spicy, steaming soup gradually brought energy, bit by bit, back to my body.

Hamdeok Beach.

Only a couple of blocks away was the beach. We changed into our suits in the car, then wandered onto the blinding white sand. Warmth. Everywhere. The sand. The air. The water. The rocks. I wandered through the seaweed into the water, dodging the bodies and stares of children on blow up rafts, men playing a version of volleyball called “kill ball,” women splashing their babies. I let my body float effortlessly in the salty water, turning and twisting, flipping and floating. I returned to the shore. I slept.

A couple of hours later we returned to the car, ready to continue our adventure. Sang Jae decided to drive. After one block, he pulled over, angrily got out, and said, “You drive.” I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Turns out he was using his right foot for the accelerator, his left for the brake. I showed him how to use his right foot for both the accelerator and brake. After that, he smiled, “So easy! What’s the problem?”

Manjanggul Cave.

The tourist literature describes this as “the longest known lava tube in the world.” We paid our 2,200 won admission and started down the rough steps. With each step the air temperature became cooler, and cooler, and cooler. By the time we reached the floor of the cave we were shivering. “Natural a/c,” said Sang Jae, laughing. I laughed, too, and we began our walk, along with hundreds of other Korean tourists. We carefully avoided the puddles that littered the uneven floor of the cave. Almost the entire way the cave was, well, cavernous. I asked Sang Jae if this was the original formation, or had the tourism authorities blasted part of it to make it more easily accessible. He pondered, looked around, then said, “Yes. They changed it. Made it better. This original structure.” I thought for a moment. His statement was the epitome of my experience here in Korea. Not only words and actions incongruent with each other, but words and words, in the same sentence, expressing opposing truths. I smiled and we continued. After about a kilometer, we reached a formation – the farthest we could go. There a professional photographer sat, ready to take pictures of tourists in front of the unidentifiable formation. Koreans love to pose for pictures. If there is a tourist attraction, there is a photographer. In the most unlikely spots (the depths of a cave, for instance). We passed on the photo opportunity and retreated back through the cave, up the dozens of slick steps, back into the heat and humidity of the island.

Black Pig.

Sang Jae wanted kalbi for lunch. We searched for the usually prevalent kalbi restaurant, but could not find one. At a convenience store we asked the boy sweeping the sidewalk where we could find kalbi. He pointed and motioned for us to go around the corner. Sure enough, there was a green sign with a huge black pig on it. We walked into an empty restaurant. “Annyong ha-sayo…” we both called out. No one appeared. We looked around. The door was open, the lights were on, but no one was home. A woman entered carrying a heavy bag of groceries, nudged us out of the way and shuffled by. Sang Jae called to her, telling her we’d like to eat at her restaurant. She called back, told us to go away, that it was too hot to work today. I looked at Sang Jae in amazement. Why was the door open, then? Why are the lights on if the restaurant is closed? “Restaurant is open. She not want to work.” We hopped back in the car and drove down the street, looking for yet another restaurant. Minutes later we found one, enjoying our fill of pig.

Bijarim.

We continued our trek around the island, detouring whenever we saw a brown sign, indicator of a tourist attraction. I must admit, the Jejudo officials are quite liberal in the assignment of brown signs. Sang Jae vetoed me when I pointed at the sign that said “Bijarim” and attempted to steer the car in that direction. Why not? I asked. “Lori. Bijarim is Nutmeg forest. It’s hot. No more outside. It only trees.” When he told me the English translation, it intensified my desire to see the Nutmeg Forest. Hot or not, it sounded like the setting of a fairy tale. I’ve never seen nutmeg trees. It could be interesting. In the end, he won. We continued on the coastal road.

Sunrise Peak.

Another brown sign greeted us. “Soengsan Ilchulbong.” Sunrise Peak. We turned down the road and I saw our destination, a beautiful, craggy rock arising from the edge of the sea. In front of the restrooms in the parking area sat gnarled old ladies, towels thrown over their heads, squatting and hawking the famous Jejudo oranges, more aptly described as tangerines. We continued past them, carrying our frozen bottles of water, quickly melting in the intense heat. We gave the elderly man sitting outside the information booth our tickets. He looked at me, said, “Hello!” then motioned for me to wait. He disappeared into his booth, reappearing only seconds later. He handed me a meticulously written, in spiraling cursive, information sheet about the mountain. I smiled, thanked him, and we continued. The path was paved unevenly, soon turning into steep stairs. We stepped until our muscles burned, stopped, rested, then continued our upward climb. After about 30 minutes of constant climbing, and some sprinting, we reached the top. We stepped off the path and sat in the shadow of a jagged boulder overlooking the now inactive, full of greenery, volcano crater that sloped sharply to the bright blue waters of the ocean. We rested, watching the honeymooning couples in their matching outfits pose for the perfect photo. We rested, cherishing the light breeze that offered a bit of respite from our strenuous climb. We rested, watching the boats in the distance slice the beautiful blue waters below. We rested, just to rest. After lingering about a half an hour, we began our descent back to the base. Once there, we were greeted by my English speaking friend. “Did you like?” Oh, yes, very much. Thank you. “Have a nice day. Come back and visit again.” Sang Jae turned to me. “You are magnet for people. Everyone always talk to you.”

Folk Village.

We arrived to the Jeju Folk Village 45 minutes before closing. Sang Jae turned to me. “Not enough time. I recommend you see, but not today.” But I really have to use the bathroom. “What?” I really, really have to use the bathroom. Do you think they would let me? “Ask the guard. In Korean.” I approached the guard, smiling, and uttered, Shill-ye hamnidda. Hwa-jong-shil-li odi-imnikka? Excuse me. Where is the bathroom? He ushered me through the gates and pointed to the left. I scurried to the modern building, made to look old, amazed that he just let me in. Even more amazing is that in every single restroom I visited on Jejudo, there was toilet paper. That doesn’t sound like an incredulous thing, but it is. Here in Korea, you’ll find plenty of toilet paper on the restaurant tables (in lieu of napkins) but none in the restrooms.

Seogwipo.

Another of the World Cup cities. We found a reasonably priced yeo-gwan (we forget the tent) and settled in for the night. We were exhausted from the day’s activities, coupled with the lack of sleep the previous night.

The Island. Day 2

Hallasan.

It didn’t take us that long to get there, maybe 45 minutes over narrow, winding roads, steadily climbing to 1100 meters. As we parked the car in the makeshift parking lot, the rain began. A few scattered drops at first, then a downpour. But one that only lasted a few minutes. We began the trail. Hallasan is an inactive volcano in the center of the island of Jeju. The path begins very mildly, a flat traverse through thickets of knee high mountain bamboo. After crossing over enormous boulders in a dry riverbed, the ascent begins. Railroad ties have been lain as steps, about 2 km worth through a thick forest. Occasionally we felt drops of rain, but were basically sheltered because of the thick overhead growth. For as far as I could see, there was nothing but varying shades of greens and browns. Just as suddenly as the forest started, it ceased. We were in a wide open field, though at a considerably higher altitude than when we began. Just as we stepped into the field, the storm began. We were in the midst of clouds, rolling quickly by us. The winds whipped my (non-raincoat) windbreaker, as well as tugged my hair from my ponytail, causing random wet strands to stick to my cheeks. After 1.5 km of unrelenting rain, I turned to Sang Jae. How much farther to the top? I’m cold…. “Me, too. We can go if you want. You decide.” I looked at the strained look on his face. This entire endeavor had been my idea. Sang Jae’s idea of entertainment is playing video games; he’s not much for physical activities. I knew he was saying that for my benefit; it was quite obvious he didn’t want to be there. I looked upward. All I could see was fog and clouds. I looked downward. I hate the feeling of not finishing what I’ve started. I also hate being wet and cold. I looked at Sang Jae. Okay, let’s go back down. As we stood there, debating, a group of 5 older men passed us, coming down the mountain, heartily singing Korean folk songs. How he knew what we were discussing, I don’t know. But one of the men stopped, told us we *must* go to the top, then gave me his plastic raincoat. No, no, no, I started. “My gift. Ka-yo. Go.” I looked at Sang Jae. He nodded towards the summit. “Let’s go!”

We continued over rocks, through growth, in the rain, for another kilometer. When we reached the top, there was a log cabin there. A tiny log cabin, selling ramyen, soju, and crackers. It just seemed so wrong for it to be there. We were on a volcano. We were in nature. There shouldn’t be a ramyen shack there. But there was. We entered, waited in line for a ridiculous amount of time, then enjoyed our hot noodles.

By the time we had finished, the rain had stopped. We began down the same path we had just ascended. I began humming a tune I’ve heard everywhere lately, though I don’t know the words. Sang Jae laughed. “Korean folk song. I learn you.” Line by line, he taught me the words to the folk song about going to the beach where the shooting stars are seen. “Hae-byun urol ka-yo…” As we finished, he said, “Your turn.” What? “Now you teach me song. National anthem.” You want to learn our National Anthem? Oh, Sang Jae, it’s hard. He gave me a look as to say, So? so I began. After two lines, he interrupted me. “No. Not that. Something else. Something easy.” Easy. Easy. Hmmmm. Okay. Repeat after me. Oh, when the saints… Go marching in… And that’s how we continued down the mountain, trading folk songs for 2 hours, laughing the whole time.

Cheonjujeon Falls.

We followed the brown signs to the water falls known as Cheonjujeon. Once again, I expected a natural experience, but was met by souvenir shops, bricked paths, and photographers at every turn. At the end of the carefully planned walk was a small waterfall, with dozens of Koreans in line, waiting to have their picture snapped in front of the flowing water. I looked around. Can we at least swim here? Sang Jae burst out laughing. “No way.” We can only look? That’s it? “Of course. Is there a problem?” No. No. Just… We walked back along the bricked sidewalk. We paused on the small bridge, staring at the dozens of fish swimming below. There were pure white fish, gold fish, black fish, and a combination of all the above. Maybe carp. They were big. We pondered about how the fish got the different mottled patterns. I speculated it was pure genetics. A orange fish gets frisky with a white fish, you get a mottled orange and white baby. Sang Jae insisted it was artificial manipulation. That scientists take baby fish and inject dye into them to create the random patterns. Neither was willing to concede to the other’s theory, so we agreed to disagree and headed to the ice cream stand.

Jungmun.

Since we arrived to Jejudo, Sang Jae had been extolling the virtues of Jungmun – “so much to do, so good, so good!” We arrived there. It was a tourist trap. Resorts. Souvenir shops. Golf course. Botanical Gardens. Teddy Bear Museum. Oh. We tried to go to the overdeveloped beach, but it was closed because of the impending storm. The Botanical Gardens had just closed for the day. I could tell Sang Jae was upset because I wasn’t more excited about Jungmun. I tried to wipe the disappointment from my face. I tried to imagine how I’d feel if I had just shown him Muir Woods and the Redwoods and he said, “That’s it?” I mustered a smile and said, What’s next? What should we do? The damage was done. He gave me the silent treatment.

Daepo Haesan Jusangjeollidae.

I was on my own as far as the next destination. I took out the map and studied it. Hmmm. What could we do in the hour or so left of daylight? Not very far away was the Jusanjeolli coast, littered with hexagonal-shaped rock formations, formed when lava met the sea eons ago. I started there. And got ridiculously lost. I could ask for directions, but wouldn’t understand what I was told. I thought I could “find my way back” to a recognizable point, but ended up driving through streets which twisted and became more and more narrow the further I drove. Finally, Sang Jae looked over at me and said, “Stop the car.” We were at the coast, he got out, walked over to a fisherman in rubber galoshes, and asked directions. Back in the car he gave me curt directions.

We arrived to the dirt parking lot and walked along the path to the overlook. A deck, perched precariously on a cliff, overlooked a spectacular sight. The waves, stronger and more forceful because of the impending storm, crashed mercilessly against the tall, black, hexagonal-shaped formations. The tension between us dissolved as we oohed and aahed as the ocean spray exploded. The sun sank lower and lower over the horizon, casting a blue, then gray, then indigo cast over the scene. Finally, the area around us was pitch black. We carefully made our way back up the path, back to the lone car in the dirt parking lot.

The Island. Day 3.

Typhoon.

This is what prevented us from executing our original plans of visiting the Jeju Folk Village (an outdoor museum) and the even smaller island of Udo (Cattle of Peace Unity Island). Instead, we continued eastward around the island, windshield wipers at full speed as we carefully navigated the flooded roads.

Songaksan.

The first brown sign we came to was Songaksan, another formation of sheer cliffs arising from the edge of the sea. To the left of the parking lot was a path that led down to the ocean. To the right was a beautiful temple. Sang Jae, I know you don’t like the temples, but I’d really like to visit. Do you mind if I go by myself? I won’t be long… “No problem. Over here,” and he pointed to where he would wait for me. I purchased my admission ticket then began to climb the many stairs to the temple, nestled in the side of the cliff. I was greeted by two statues. One, short and squat, of an obese laughing Buddha, four baby Buddhas clinging happily to him. The other statue, tall and elegant, a woman draped in layers of flowing fabric, dragons at her feet, serenely gazing at the sea. I walked around the temple grounds, still amazed at the intricate detail of the craftsmanship. I’ve seen dozens of temples since arriving here, and each time I visit, I still gasp at the incredible beauty of the smallest details. The vibrant colors – gold, red, green, blue. The ornate lettering. The precision with which each piece of wood notches together without the slightest evidence of looseness. The mysticism in the pictures. Snarling dragons. Women floating on clouds. I sighed, already missing the beauty of the temples. I carefully manipulated the wet steps, meeting Sang Jae at the bottom. We walked down to the beach in the rain, marvelling at the rugged coastline.

Gwakji Beach.

We drove, occasionally stopping at scenic points, listening to Korean dance re-mixes on the radio. When I knew the words, I sang along, otherwise, I just bopped to the rhythm. Sang Jae pulled into a local supermarket. “Stay here.” I always think it’s funny when people say that. I mean, where am I going to go? I’m in a land where I virtually don’t speak the language, we’re in the middle of nowhere, why would I want to go anywhere? A few minute later he arrived with a bag. What ‘cha got? “Our lunch. Meat.” That’s exactly what it was. A big bag of raw meat. I started to ask him where the rest of our lunch was, but decided against it. We drove a bit further. By this time the rain had subsided. It was sunny, warm, but incredibly windy. We pulled into the parking lot at Gwakji Beach. “Stay here.” I watched as Sang Jae searched the parking lot. He eventually came back to the car, grabbed a couple of bags, and motioned for me to follow him across the parking lot. I followed and watched as he arranged some rocks in an unusual formation, placed a disposable grill over them, and proceeded to light a couple of charcoal “tires” before throwing the meat on the grill. Sure enough, that was our lunch. Meat. I laughed inwardly at the scene. An incredibly hot and muggy day, us starting a campfire in a parking lot, and grilling meat, nothing else, picking at the roasted pieces with our wooden chopsticks as we sweated profusely from the heat of the flames.

After we doused the charcoal tires with water and sand, we changed into our swimsuits and made our way to the ocean. First we passed over tidal pools in the uneven lava rock formations. We examined the small fish, the colorful shells, and tiny crabs trapped in the shallow pools. Then we waded through a wide, lukewarm “pool” before reaching a wide sandbar and finally entering the ocean. The current was especially strong, the waves unusually high. We swam out past where the waves broke. We jumped the waves rolling to the shore. We bodysurfed. We splashed each other. We watched black clouds come closer to our location. We felt the air temperature get cooler. We laid on the sand bar and let the remnants of waves gently wash over us. We poured wet sand on each other. We laughed at the children who stopped right in front of me and stared. When our fingers and toes wrinkled like prunes, we made our way to the bathhouses. I showered as quickly as possible, to escape both the icy stream of water and the fixed stares of the other bathers. Just as we settled into the car, the storm broke. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the fat drops punctured the sand, leaving craters from the impact.

The Island. Day 4.

Going Home. *sigh*

Returning the rental car. Checking in at the airport. Waiting for our flight to board. A turbulent 45 minute ride back to the mainland. Vacation’s over.