serendipitous weekend part three

By now you've noticed this weekend required installments... now another weekend has passed and I've even more to tell. But first, the rest of the story. Saturday morning, August 11th, on the island of Big-eum-do:

Our taxi driver/personal tour guide/savior (along with the ever helpful and bilingual April) was so amazing, I don't even know where to begin. To start, he immediately smooted things over with the angry husband/cab driver (henceforth referred to as Crankypants), and then informed us that the hotel we were planning to call was not great and not on the beach and that he could take us to a pension, which is sort of like a hostelling situation, or a minbak, except that the family lives on site, yet not in the building they rent. This pension was on a beach, though he said he'd take us to a nicer beach and would drive us around the island, essentially all day, for a very reasonable sum (the equivalent of $30). His first order of business was to get us all to the pension, but along the way he decided to take us to a beautiful white sand beach. As we drove the road narrowed, finally to tall reeds, then emptied onto the beach itself. We drove along the sand and, as I happened to get into his cab with Nick and April, he relayed stories and information. This particular beach was one of the longest in all of Korea, north and south; in fact, it was one of only two and was four kilometers long. It was stunning. He pulled over to let us out to take pictures and walk around, while Crankypants took a cigarette break.

The beach stretched both directions, creating a sort of inlet, and there were islands off in the not-too-distant distance. The water was cooler than I expected, but nothing like Oregon, and the sand was covered with tiny sea snails and the hundreds or thousands of intertwining tracks they'd laid in the slow crawling across the beach. I did say stunning, didn't I? He took photos of us, for us. He smiled and laughed. We continued onto the pension. The long beach was the best road to the pension, and eventually we pulled off the beach and onto a small waterfront paved road. The beach near the pension was mud and there were children that had been playing and bathing in it, covered except for eyes and teeth in mud. They wandered up the road and to a cluster of buildings to hose themselves off. These buildings were the pension and where we'd be staying for the night. Too cool.

The pension itself was just okay. We slept on the floor and the walls had various bug carcasses smeared across the terrible floral paper, the bathroom/shower (as most showers in Korea are the entire bathroom--yuck) was less than desirable and there were many flies circulating the room, but for the price, it wasn't too bad, and we were only staying one night. We dropped our things in the room and he and Crankypants proceeded to take us to another beach. Again, the drive was amazing and he frequently pulled over to take photographs of us, or to let us snap photos, all the while telling stories of the local lore. On Green Mountain, there is a small temple, an original that was not destroyed by the Japanese and therefote very old; the two rocks jutting up from another seaside hill were dubbed the Lover's Rocks, because they stood like lovers leaning into one another; there a rock that looks like a turtle; that island in the mist is the island Nick and April had intended to vacation on but couldn't make it to; that other island right there is where Chogumbogo (butchered and incorrect spelling, I'm certain), a famous Korean pirate, used to fix his pirate ship; etc. He was driving us to Heart Beach, a beach so named because it is literally shaped like a heart. Our cab arrived to the beach a full ten minutes later than Crankypants' because of his excitement and guidance. When we finally arrived, I noticed an apright piano on the beach. When I asked (again, via April) what the story was about the piano, he simply said, "no story." It was just a piano on the beach!

Our taxi driver (I wish I knew his name) and Crankypants left, with plans to pick us back up at 7:00 and he insisted we do not pay him until we arrived back at the pension. Can you believe that? So, we played the piano, not well, as there was sand blown under the pedals and the weather had worn the keys and strings, but there was sound coming out of it and that was impressive. April, a piano player, actually managed to eek out a tune. It was great. We dropped our things on the sand and ran toward the water. The water was wonderful and the waves were big. We ran and jumped and swam and screamed (as the Koreans that were there liked to scream when the waves came; Brianne later stated it was more fun when you screamed). I should mention that by and large, Koreans do not wear swimsuits at the beach. Don't imagine this as a skin scene; it's quite the opposite. Koreans will swim in jean shorts and long sleeved button down shirts. I have no real explanation for this, except that they are quite conservative when it comes to mixed gender situations and very concerned about exposure to the sun. I would think that comfort would win out, but no. They also seem not to mind schlepping a lot of stuff to the beach (tent, tarps, blankets, tables, etc.) to avoid sitting directly on the sand or in the sun. Very different.

This beach was also covered in tiny, practically transparent little crabs, and on the rocks there were what I can only describe as sea cockroaches. But the beach was beautiful and the break well-earned and much appreciated. Soon the amazing taxi driver and his cohort Crankypants were back to whisk us off the beach and to a restaurant. It turns out that this island, though in Korea, land of all manner of creepy sea food, actually specialized in chicken, and that this restaurant served what is called "low chicken," which is the breast, which is usually not the preferred piece, because necks and feet are special prizes here. Additionally, the chicken is served steamed, rather than fried. The meat eaters among us would have loved it, but the restaurant was closed. I should also mention that when I told April that two of the five of our group were vegetarian, she said, "Vegetarians don't eat chicken?" I can only hint at the trouble we've had. Vegetarian has taken on new meaning here, more precisely, non-beef-eater. It's rather a pain in the ass. Since the restaurant was closed, we went to a market for beer and junk food/snacks and promptly quadrupled the shopkeeps monthly gross, I'm sure. We played silly drinking games on the floor of our pension room and watched the storm roll in...

the love shack, baby

I'd really like to blog about the amazing weekend I had this past weekend on a small, remote, and incredibly beautiful island named Big-eum-do, but I'm going to have to save my stories of bunnies and ice cream and the bag of lettuce that fell from the sky; the ferries getting cancelled on account of the approaching typhoon and the private boat we had to charter to get off the island and that sort of thing. Instead, I am feeling compelled to blog about the love shack we are currently staying in...

There are vending machines on nearly every floor in which a person can procure the following: condoms, love lube, dildos, and fake vaginas (no joke! only 20,000 won-- get yours while supplies last!). Pretty sweet, yes? Also, there are two free channels of Korean porn (some of which is decidedly unsexy) that some televisions have been programmed to spontaneously turn on (no pun intended) in the middle of the night. Since there are no driers in most of Korea and laundry all is hung to air dry, it is very comforting to see the hotel bath towels (each the size of a standard bath mat or smaller) are hung on the hallway handrails to dry (consider again what's sold in the vending machines for a second). But best of all, was walking up to the seventh floor to deal with the laundry situation only to overhear a woman having sex... which would have been fine (most of us, since we aren't getting any ourselves, would be pleased that at least somebody is getting some) except that it sounded like she was having the shit beaten out of her and her screaming was punctuated with sobs. The hotel host was in the hallway too... You try miming "hey, is that normal Korean sex? is that a hooker putting on a show? seriously, should we be intervening and killing some abusive man? just curious."

So, as you might have surmised, we are in a no-tell motel type of deal. I'm not sure they rent the rooms by the hour, but I do know that I feel as if we are stuck in 1982 and I'm a little tired of it. What we overheard was certainly no husband and wife honeymooning; most likely it was a prostitute we heard screaming and I hope it was simply an act. But, given that women aren't treated as much more than chattel here anyway, you can imagine that a prostitute is probably treated like a dog here, and considering how I've seen those treated (not to mention that they are food items as well) it is easy to see why I am a bit disturbed. Also, for those of you who remember the West Hall incident not so long ago, I'm fucking tired of this sort of thing.

Anyway, my next blog post will be about the amazing, serendipitous, wonderful weekend I had. Until then, sleep well and know that I am avoiding three starches at each meal, flip flops that smell like, as Wim put it, a homeless person's sleeping bag (though he was referring to his, not mine, but all of us who went to Big-eum-do have shoes that qualify for this, um, ranking), and drying off with any hotel towels... wish me luck.