Ski Korea

In the United States, you pretty much need to sign your life away to be able to ski. Only after signing on the dotted line and waiving all your rights are you allowed to rent equipment, buy your lift pass and enjoy all the blessed snow.

There are no such formalities in the Republic of Korea. Flash some identification and it's all yours.

After skiing my tail off last season, this winter sans snow has been a hard one. With Lunar New Year and the promise of a long weekend approaching, my buddy, Amy, put her planning hat on and put together a weekend in the Korean ski resort of Muju for our group of 15 wei gooks.

After two hours of sleep, I rose at 4 a.m., dumped my meager ski gear in a backpack and headed out of the door. The three-hour bus ride to the resort turned into a five-hour trip because of holiday traffic. Nevertheless, by 11 a.m., we were in the Korean version of a winter wonderland. Half an hour later, we'd rented clothes and equipment in an alarmingly hassle-free process.

The skis were feather light and beat to hell. They don't adjust the ski bindings for weight or skiing ability. I'm still not exactly sure if the bindings would have released should I have taken a spill. All us girls ended up with nearly identical red rental ski jackets and black pants making it tough to tell one from the other.

I'll take what I can get

Muju Resort is the size of a thumb nail compared to Vail Mountain, but at this point, I'm not picky. It was simply incredible to be skiing. The whole mountain was probably the size of Lionshead, with a dozen lifts and twice as many runs -- some with the same names as those at Vail. Amy had lowered my expectations with horror stories of icy runs and endless lift lines, so I was ecstatic to find good snow and virtually nobody on the mountain, as Lunar New Year is a homey, family holiday here.

It snowed lightly the whole day with pockets of sunshine to bolster my mood. After giving never-ever snowboarder, Troy, a quick lesson, (thank you, Evan), I joined the skiers on some tougher terrain. There was nothing truly challenging, but I was happy as a clam to cruise around all day, even dragging Logan, the strongest skier of the bunch, down a couple of Muju's double black diamond runs. He and I milked every last run, even after the others quit for the day.

Almost like home ... almost

Muju doesn't have a village, like Vail or Beaver Creek, but the exteriors of the hotel/condo complexes are designed in the Western style. This, along with the snowy mountain backdrop, made me so homesick. Fifteen of us piled into a three bedroom condo, where I was lucky enough to score a bed. We spent the rest of the evening playing games and eating junk food, enjoying a fire in the hearth and the lovely, Korean heated floors.

Watching our checkbooks, only three of us decided to ski the next day. The rest of us indulged at a local spa, where I donned my first rental swimsuit and we enjoyed a variety of hot tubs and pools. A few short hours later, it was time for a quick bite and back on the bus bound for Busan.