Today is Sunday in Korea and not a
cloud in the high, blue autumn sky. So, my brother-in-law and I
decided to take our families for a hike in the mountains.
Unfortunately 20,000 other people made the same decision.
Actually my brother-in-law and I
planned this hike earlier in the week. We decided we’d get-up, pack
and get on the road early. So keeping with that plan, this morning
we both arose about the same time. I started cleaning up, while he
dressed and dashed quickly out the door mumbling something about
‘going to his office’. On Sunday his office is closed. In Korea and
most other Asian countries, unless you own a restaurant in one of
the favorite autumn tourist areas, on Sunday you are home or out
with your family. So I was a bit puzzled by my brother-in-law’s
action. I couldn’t imagine what an Acupuncturist can do at his
office, on a Sunday, without somebody to stick needles into. The
only picture I could conjure up in my mind’s eye, was him sitting
there sterilizing his pins for the next victim.
In the meantime at home, it took my
wife and I a short 3 hours to prepare a light lunch, get the kids
ready and pack. Being experienced hikers we were careful to prepare
and pack only the bare necessities - 15 or 50 large (3 inch thick)
sushi rolls, 5 lbs. of tangerines, 3 liters of water, 4 bags potato
chips, a 35 mm camera, army field binoculars, a video camera and at
my brother-in-law’s insistence, a fifth of scotch-whiskey. Later I
would regret bringing everything but the whiskey.
When my brother-in-law finally
returned around 11:00 am, I was already comfortably in the World
Series mode and could have cared less about a hike or anything else.
After some not so gentle coaxing from
my wife, I was made aware that I was the token American and to
prevent great shame on my beloved country I should forgo the 6th
game of the series and join the gang. I agreed. After all’ the hike
was my idea in the first place. So all seven of us proceeded to pile
into my brother-in-law’s five-seat car and took off for a day of fun
in the sun. Within one minute we stopped to buy a couple more
necessities - some chewing gum and a can of propane gas for a
camping stove someone had packed. I didn’t say anything at the time
because I wanted to keep the flow going and was afraid of creating
an international incident, but, I was sure there was nothing packed
for lunch that required cooking. So with my lips tightly sealed,
everyone now supplied to the gills, we happily sped off in the
direction of the park. Two minutes later we were there.
In Korea unless your a farmer, monk,
artist or an unemployed American you most likely live and work in
the city. You and your family would only go to the mountains on
Sunday. We are lucky. We already live in the mountains in the town
of Kaya. The namesake of the surrounding mountain range and national
park and with a population I’m told of 3500 registered voters. In
fact, from the roof top of our apartment complex, where I sit and
smoke cigarettes and drink coffee in the morning and beer in the
evening, I can see the mountain peek we planned to conquer
today.
Anyway, looking at the mass of buses
and cars blocking the entrance to the park, it dawned on me that we
‘mountain people’ should have gone to the city instead. As every
other Korean was either already on the mountain or ahead of us on
the road, I was certain that the seven of us could easily loot an
entire city block and be home before the ‘city slickers’ could get
out of the parking lot.
It didn’t take my brother-in-law long
to figure out that there was no way we were going to find parking or
be able to get near the trailhead by car from this direction. He
knew, as did I, that from the highway to the actual park entrance
was about 1 mile straight-up. And, he knew, as did I, that none of
the kids were going to want to conquer the mountain after making
that long of walk to the trailhead. So, he did what he always does
in such a situation. He turned the car around in the middle of the
highway in front of a traffic cop and between two massive tour
buses. It caused some mayhem but as the horns increased in number
and volume we rolled up the windows and turned up the
radio.
Soon we were out of there, headed for
the back road to the park. Now I know the back road because I hike
on it a lot. Its a very unimproved, dirt road and we were getting
ready to traverse it in a very un-4 wheel drive sedan. It turned out
to be no problem really, although in a couple of places we all had
to disembark to ensure we didn’t rupture the gas tank. A loud
explosion and fire ball out in the middle of nowhere probably
wouldn’t have been noticed. Everybody else was trapped on the road
going to the park.
Finally, to the curiosity of a couple
thousand fellow hikers huffing and puffing up the long, steep road
from the parking lot, we arrived at the park entrance. But that
wasn’t good enough for my brother-in-law. He told the park rangers
we were going to continue on and drive up to the temple. In no
uncertain terms I surmised they informed him that only the resident
monks with their new four wheel drive SUV’s were permitted to drive
to the temple. He listen, nodded patiently and after everything was
said, step on the gas and proceeded to the place no one else could
go.
Having taken several short day hikes
during the previous weeks, I have seen many beautiful sights. The
mountains had been emblazoned in Autumnal color. The paulonia leaves
had turned a fiery red, the ginkgo a bright yellow and various other
hues and tones somewhere in between. Come to think of it, emblazoned
is such a strong word. Especially to anyone who has been to New
England in the fall. Maybe it is more accurate to describe the
colors as moderately enflamed.
As we unloaded and joined the throng
that formed a neat procession line up the trail, I realized that in
fact most of the brightly colored leaves had already died and
fallen. Which is good, because they helped cover the mounds of
rubbish the merry hikers so merrily deposit on the trail and behind
every rock and tree.
As we got into the hike I realized
that I was probably missing most of the worthwhile scenery. There is
something about the flow of multicolored backpacks, Alps style
walking sticks, knee stockings and leiderhausen streaming up and
down the mountain trail that tends to diminish a scenic experience.
Nope, peaceful is not a word that would enter my mind
today.
2 hours in, after completing one of
the more vertical sections of the hike, we decided to take a break
and eat lunch. While eating we heard a loud chorus of concerned
voices accompanied by the sound of someone falling down. By the
rapidly rising pitch of voices, that someone had possibly fallen off
the mountain. This immediately worried me. But because of the
continued procession of hikers upward and past I was quite sure that
no one had actually died or been seriously hurt. For if they had,
then the word ‘fate’ would have new meaning. It turned out that a
boulder loosened by one of the million hikers who had transcended
the path this month had finally broken loose and tumbled down the
trail barely missing 1 or 2 thousand people.
Prior to the boulder incident, while
my family was taking a trail break, I stood observing the great
number of people going down the mountain. It seemed that after
having conquered the mountain a bit of soju whiskey was traditional.
In fact it seemed that plenty of soju was being consumed somewhere
up there in the clouds. This concerned me. It concerned me that one
of the kids standing there unaware might be accidentally be bumped
by a drunk and accidentally plunge down one of the many available
steep precipices. The thought of tying ourselves together crossed my
mind, but instead I just asked everyone to stay away from the
ledges. Hearing that, my brother-in-law took a big gulp of whiskey.
As we neared the last leg of the hike
off in distance we could make out what appeared to be about 1000
iron stairs zigzagging the way up the steep granite peak. Taking one
look at that, my youngest son exclaimed that ‘he’d had enough and
could care less about conquering the mountain. Knowing Stevie, it
wasn’t going up the steep vertical incline that concerned him, it
was coming back down. I agreed, but I didn’t say so. For my part,
when I looked at those stairs I could imagine 2000 drunk Korean men
and women staggering down one side of the narrow stairway while
another couple thousand excited hikers were rapidly enroute to their
final destiny - lunch and soju. So in a tone of voice reflecting
mild disappointment, I volunteered to stay with Stevie, allowing
everyone else the opportunity to meet their destiny.
Stevie and I sat and observed our
family’s progress up the steps through our set of 7 lbs field
binoculars. What had earlier appeared to be shrubs and trees atop
the granite peak was in reality people. Without the glasses, the
view reminded me of my kids video movie ‘Ant Story’. In fact, as I
thought about it the whole hike reminded me of an army ants
relocating their colony. Every ant carrying a piece of
rice.
Then, I realized that Yahoo was
missing a great marketing promotion opportunity. For every 20
seconds or so, the 10,000 Koreans assembled on the majestic 200
square foot mountain summit would in unison - like everything done
in Asia - scream ‘Yaaaahoooooo’. But as they yelled in triumph I
could tell by looking at my boy that he was just as happy to be
sitting there and listening, while eating the remaining 3 lbs of
tangerines and 2 bags of potato chips.
When everyone was finished
Yaaaahooooinnnng, my returning older son reported that we didn’t
miss a thing. My wife then interjected that it is not about what the
scenery or view from the mountain looks like, but rather conquering
the mountain is what is important. Stevie in his own way and I in
mine could only chuckle...we conquered alright…take a look in your
backpacks.
Upon returning home and retreating to
my office on top of the apartment, cold beer in hand, I looked up at
the peak and still could see what appeared to be thousands of shrubs
and trees, but I knew better.
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