Seoulscapade

My co-worker and I were fortunate enough to be allowed on a 3 day bus trip. That’s us above enjoying the experience. It was a special event organized especially for foreign students. But someone at our institute thought to ask us along, as foreign employees. The whole weekend trip would cost around $25. What kind of idiot would say no?

We were given information and application sheets that were all in Korean. So neither of us had any idea of where we were going. All we know was that it was south, which we could have guessed because if you head north of Seoul you hit North Korea. However, we did find out that there would be a steel works, a mountain, a temple, and a massacre grave site.

That’s all we had to go on. I was bothered to much, not for the price, and in any case, I was beginning to get used to receiving little information from Koreans. It didn’t get much better. When the organizers were contacted on our behalf and asked what we should take, the response was “nothing much.” The funny thing was that these guys weren’t trying to be funny.

I was at fault too, in all of this, because I didn’t think to take a map. I didn’t think I’d need it. That’s perhaps the thing I missed most, something to work out where the hell we were. Only after I got back was I able work that out.

This was our first stop, Namwon city, Jeollabuk-do province. This is the location of a famous legend that involves a pretty young girl–as usual, a betrothed and a bad guy. The girl’s love leaves town to do a government exam, and Chunyang stays behind where she is pressured to loose her virtue. Basically stays loyal to her man despite much pressure, like a good girl should, and eventually he returns, just in the nick of time to rescue her and live happily ever after. For her love and chastity, Chunyang is the model of a traditional Korean woman.

After a walk around, we all had lunch, and then headed further south.

The place above was our first stop, a folk village where people actually lived and worked. I didn’t have a clue where it was. After the trip I consulted a map and concluded that it must have been Cheonghakdong Folk Village, beside the Jiri Mountain ranges. It was interesting and picturesque. From the ramparts, you could watch farmers spray fields, themselves and their families with huge clouds of green colored power, which looked distinctly like pesticide of some kind. That was also picturesque. There was also a drunk passed out on the ramparts. It wouldn’t be Korea, if there wasn’t!

After here we headed to our hotel near the Jiri Mountains. We sorted out our shared rooms, had dinner, and were treated to a show of traditional music. I’m not one for these kind of shows, but when the women were soloing on the stringed instruments, and coming up with sounds that reminded me of Jimi Hendrix, I found a new enthusiasm for the performance.

Later, my work colleague and I headed into the town—whose name I will perhaps never know—to seek out a Jim Jil Bang, or oven room place, to sweat out the grime and generally relax. We found a small one, with rooms that were not nearly hot enough, but it was good enough.

Next morning we headed to this famous Buddhist temple in the Jiri mountains called Hwa-eomsa. It was Autumn, as you can tell, the time of year when hoards of people take to the mountains all over Korea to try and enjoy the scenery. This day, thankfully, not many people were there, at least not at the temple.

From here we headed further south, according to my guestimation, to Gwang-yang, which is where we visited some kind of Posco Steel presentation center, before heading on to the massive Posco steel works on the coast. We had lunch here after a tour of a section of the plant, where we were not allowed to take pictures. As you see below, we took pictures.

This was pretty amazing. A massive lump of steel goes in one end and comes out the other as a huge roll of sheet metal. From memory, a roll is churned out every 5 minutes or so, and each roll is worth around $70,000. And it’s all automated. There were just no people around, except us, on a walkway high above it all, taking pictures we weren’t allow to take.

From here it was further south to a small island called Odongdo, whose significance eluded me then, and eludes me now, but it was nice and, once again, picturesque. The island had a full scale model of one of those turtle battle ships that help Korea defeat the Japanese in an ancient war or two. Completing the scene, some cute kids were out on an outing there as well.

From there, we headed even further south, to one of the southern-most parts of the peninsula, called Hyang-iram. It’s the site of a famous Buddhist temple high on a mount, and is frequented by revellers on occasions like the first day of the new year to greet the first rays of sunlight to hit the peninsula. On this day there was quite a few sight seers as well as us. The place is also where you can get the freshest of seafoods, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Our tour buses are way below, on that little peninsula. The famous temple was quite a climb to get to, which we didn’t realize, an exhausting trek of endless steps and narrow passages between rocks. But if you visit the area, it’s the done thing. I just looked on it as good exercise. After getting back down, it was a relief to slump back into a bus seat and drive through the night back to the hotel.

We headed home the next day, and on the way took in the Naejangsan National Park, north of where we were and towards the east coast. By this time, the weather was turning foul, not that that bothered me in the least. It made for some quite surreal sights, with all the color and people walking around in colored raincoats. This place was packed with visitors. Much more like the usual for the season. We were given a couple of hours to walk around and enjoy the sites.

We headed home after this stop. The only thing to note on this leg was a Chinese gentleman, I believe, who was sitting on the bus a seat of two behind us, my co-worker and I and some girls we had befriended. This Chinese guy took his shoes off, which released the pungent aroma of foot odor, and on top of that, he would clear his throat expressively so that you could hear the phlegm tumbling and rasping with each hawk. I was attempting to read a book on Korean poetry so it was not a pleasant experience. We snickered with each hawk, but after a while it wasn’t funny anymore, and we just had to put up with it. Upon our arrival, I think several of us were traumatized by the experience and could not bear to hear that retching sound again.

Altogether, is was a well-organized and full tour, except that it might have been nice if we knew where we were and what we were looking at from time to time.

My first European adventure began early in December, 1985, after a brief stopover in Bombay. I stayed in Paris for 2 months during the winter, when the tourist quota was low, and which I recommend if you can take the cold. The picture above and below were taken on New Year’s Eve.

For me, the cliches about the French didn’t apply; I encountered none of the rudeness they have been noted for. But perhaps that is reserved for peak tourist season. I also felt completely safe walking around the streets of Paris late at night. The only issue I had was with the price of beer! It was made up for by how trim, taut and terrific the Parisian women were. I guessed that this was due to the wine and light meals. There was a shock awaiting in London, land of ale, lard and fish and chips, as far as women were concerned. I’d say that eighty percent of women in Paris were slim and shapely while the converse statistic was true for London.

With money running out, I flew to London to become yet another Australian in London, feeling like a walking cliche. If Paris was electric, London was dull. I mean this in terms of atmosphere or the kind of gut feeling I had. Don’t get me wrong, though, London really was an adventurous time.

I found work when I was down to my last 20 pounds, not behind a bar like many do but as a labourer, and stayed for around 3.5 months. The labouring job was hellish, mostly in bitter cold and often outdoors. It was so cold that there were times I had to use a blow torch to thaw and prise bricks apart from stacks. The nights made up for the days. A couple of guys I met—one of them the bosses step son (the boss lived across the road)—would come over and we would sit around the pot belly drinking and smoking. Meeting these guys and their friends made it all worth while.

Where I stayed, in a disused basement, was a complete dive, and I mean derelict. Some furniture was scrounged for me, like a lounge suite, and I ended up slowly taking it apart and burning it for warmth until there was nothing left. Eventually I took to collecting other items and what wood I could find to feed the potbelly. I threw butts on a floor I rarely swept; covered with wood chips and dirt, it just didn’t matter. I cooked elaborate meals in a single frying pan on a camping gas cooker. I slept in a sleeping bag. Of a night, I had to go over the road for a shower, and if I had to go to the toilet, I needed to go outside and upstairs into my buildings communal toilet. I learned one night, after noting soundless ablutions, that people should never leave toilet windows open during London winters.

Another tip for unwary travellers . . . There we were, me and the guys, trudging up the peaks of the Cumbrian Lake District; I was traipsing about wearing some old gloves, Levis, a beanie, various pullovers, an armless jacket, and a pair of running shoes—plus, I had a Marlboro hanging out of my mouth. We passed seasoned hikers heading down the slopes, decked out in survivalist gear. I thought they were over doing it, but they glanced at us perhaps wondering if we would live. They knew what I only discovered later: how quickly the weather changed at these heights.

I got separated from the others in a white haze at one stage and found myself alone, unable to see in front of me. I followed a narrow path for a while and eventually came upon the other guys resting by some rocks. Eventually, the haze cleared, and I looked back down the trail I’d followed. It was then I saw that no more than a few feet from the little track I just taken was a cliff face and a sheer drop from a great height. Had I strayed left a few feet in the fog, I would have been dead.

With the arrival of summer, I set off from London for mainland Europe. I travelled very light and didn’t even have a proper backpack (it was more like a canvas school kid’s backpack) or the funds to make things reasonably comfortable. I travelled for a few more months, taking in more of France—the Cote d’Azur and Mt. Blanc, Spain, including a visit to Pamplona, and Italy, doing the standard Venice, Florence, Rome run.

My first stop was to see summer in Paris before heading off to Barcelona, where I stayed at a backpackers full of wastrels, with a view overlooking a small square and its prostitutes and drug dealers. In Barcelona, I heard word of the running of the bulls and so I caught an overnight train to Pamplona, getting there at 6 in the morning, which from the drunks, crowds and noise, seemed more like 11 in the evening. That little adventure lasted 3 days.

It was extremely uncomfortable in Pamplona, and I saw very little of running bulls due to the crowds. I did, however, see someone dying in the street, fights in the streets, plenty of punks, drug heads and thieves, all of which made things interesting but difficult to tolerate over an extended period. It was as if all of Europe’s riff-raff had descended on the town to party. Nor was there any so-called romance about the place, which you might think existed after reading Hemingway. Put it this way, I didn’t detect it, and if you ever plan to go there, make sure you book a hotel room well in advance.

From here I went to San Sebastian then toured the Cote d’Azur before heading up to Mt Blanc. This stage, the south of France, was probably the most enjoyable part of the journey, and I met some great people along the way at youth hostels. After this I went to Italy and, as mentioned, visited Venice, Florence, and Rome. I was running out of money at this stage. Rome was not allot of fun because of this and because it was too hot. I was down to one meal of bread and cheese a day and spent my last night out on the street. I flew home without a cent to my name.

But once I did get home, it took some time to adjust to the humdrum routines of life off the road and to get the travel bug out of my system. One thing is for sure, I’ll never travel again without sufficient funds to do it properly.