I was overambitious in my planning this weekend. After some consideration and consultation with the good old Moon handbook, I decided to conquer the Yeongnam Alps, a belt of 1000m mountains ranging between Busan and Daegu, in two days of tough hiking—just what I needed, I thought, to bring clarity and purpose back into my life. I feel as though I’ve been drifting, dreamlike, in the time I’ve been back, never able to focus or really be a vibrant force anywhere. Two months of travel has disintegrated my sense of self and I am just now realizing how adrift I am. I need time to think, to theorize, and this I do best striding up a mountainside. But this time, they eluded me, and now another week of work stands between me and peace of mind.
I spent Friday afternoon journeying to Unmunsa Temple in the northernmost regions of the Yeongnam Alps, from which I planned to work my way south. However, the next morning I was informed that hiking in that area was not possible—from what I gleaned from the signs, the trails were closed, probably for maintenance, until the end of the year.
I was still hopeful I could salvage a half-day hike, but this was not to be. I was advised to reroute to Miryang and from there to another temple, a journey which would require four different buses. I missed the first one by four minutes and had to shiver through another hour waiting for another, then I had to wait there for another hour for the next bus, then I missed the stop, then I had to wait in another town for two hours for the next bus back…by 1 pm, I decided to cut my losses and get out of there. It would be far easier and more productive to return to Miryang another weekend, when I’d have two days for hiking instead of just one.
Back in Daegu, I indulged myself in Korean city life—first, with a trip to the bookstore, which left me 30,000 won poorer; then, with an hour and a half in my favorite tea shop, sipping bori cha and reading The Prince of Tides; and finally, with some twilight street snacking of mandu, pizza, corn, and sweet potatoes. Disappointment makes me ravenous. I’ve never really spent much time in a Korean city by myself before and I was surprised at how many people approached me to chat. I was interviewed twice in the bookstore and ambushed once by an older man asking for explanations of idioms in the book he was reading, Why Men Marry Bitches. He was carrying the other book in the Bitches set, too…must be a fan. So I had the pleasure of explaining to him why “My clock is ticking” would be listed as something men don’t want to hear. Only in Korea.
Back at my favorite Daegu yeogwan, I watched Seven Years in Tibet, the only remotely interesting program on TV. I have a vague memory of attempting to watch it many years ago and finding it terribly boring, so I was hesitant at first, but this time I found it riveting. It’s funny how taste can change. I suppose, too, that the material is much more pertinent to my life and interests now. I missed the first part, unfortunately, but I’m glad I was able to watch it, especially as I’m contemplating journeying to Tibetan China next summer.
Yesterday, I did get to hike a little bit through Apsan Park south of Daegu. I figure I got about six or seven miles in, though the terrain wasn’t that challenging. It certainly wasn’t the body-numbing, mind-clearing hike I envisioned, but at least the weekend wasn’t a complete waste in that respect. I did get to use my crampons on the hike down, where the trail had transformed into a sheet of ice, and skipping down it with my clattery spikes made me deliriously happy.
Hopefully these little joys will tide me over. I am afraid of becoming a culture-shock cocktail—of the fiery, destructive variety.