Dream Journey for Peach Blossom, Part II

(written in April 2010)

After a whirlwind day of sightseeing along with southwest coast of Korea, we were delivered to a secluded log cabin surrounded my dramatic mountains and lush trees.

The cabin featured homesick-inducing Western architecture on the outside and Korean efficiency inside -- meaning a couple huge rooms where everyone lays out mats on the floor and sleeps together. It was whilst unpacking that I realized I'd inadvertently signed up for a couple's retreat. Only Dominique and I were lacking significant others, but no matter. She and I decided we would be each others' dates for the duration. Problem solved.

Group leader Charles and his right-hand-man, Samcheon, called the men folk outside into the chilly evening to get dinner going while we ladies chatted and played drinking games inside. (If you just got the same thrill that I did from reading that sentence, then we are friends.)

The men gave grim reports of not being able to start the fires and cook, but less than an hour later, layered in hats and jackets, we stood close to the crackling fire pit gorging ourselves on steamed crab, grilled pork, warm tofu and, of course, kim chee.

(I once asked a 13-year-old student what he would do if he couldn't eat kim chee anymore. The look of shock and horror he gave me makes me giggle every time I think of it. He was so dumbfounded he couldn't answer. A life without fermented veggies is simply inconceivable for Koreans.)

As dinner came to a close, some wandered over to Charles and Sancheon's room to drink the night away, but I know what Charles' morning hikes are like, so in went the ear plugs and out went the lights.

A little more than cereal

Sunday dawned crisp and fair with the characteristic Korean haze over the landscape. I'm not sure what the haze it. In Busan, I chalked it up to pollution, but here in the rural Chimsujeong Valley, we were miles from any towns, let alone big cities.

Now, for me, breakfast usually consists of coffee. If I'm feeling especially hungry, I may add a granola bar, but being perpetually late, there's not time for much else. Korean breakfasts, as a general rule, run just a little hardier.

"You must eat or you will have no energy for the hike," Charles chided, gesturing at the spread of steamed rice, rice porridge, spicy chicken stew with potatoes and carrots, and, of course, Samcheon's homemade kim chee.

"If I eat all that, you'll see it splattered on the side of the trail in half and hour," I laughed.

Charles cocked his head and furrowed his brow. His English is excellent, but I have a tendency to talk too fast and use too much slang when I'm out of the classroom, and what I said had gone over his head.

"If I eat too much, I will be slow," I amended.

Charles nodded, but I could tell he still wanted us all to tuck in.

The eight peaks of hell

"Okay," Charles barked. "This is no picnic. Let's go!"

And with that motivational speech, we began the grueling ascent up the steepest set of metal stairs I'd ever seen, and this was just to get to the trail. In five minutes, I'd broken a sweat. In 10, I'd started panting, and 15 minutes into it, I shed my light jacket, swept my hair off my sweaty neck and began to panic wondering if the next few hours would continue at a 65 degree angle.

The stairs gave way to a dirt path, but the grade did not wane. The group spread out -- the fittest setting a swift pace not everyone could keep up with. Charles flitted between the head and tail of the group, simultaneously keeping us on the right path and coaching the slower members of the group.

To my enormous relief, the trail leveled off a bit, and we soon reached the first of the eight peaks on the mountain. Charles offered us a break, but we opted to push on.

We should have taken the break.

It was unlike any hike I've ever taken. Thick ropes were anchored into the base and sides of the mountain. Clinging to them, hand over fist, we hauled our bodies up the craggy surfaces. The veterans had brought gloves. I had not and quickly wore blisters into the pads of both hands. The rough rope tore the blisters open, wetting my hands, but they didn't bleed.

At one point, I swung out on a rope, and my camera launched out of my pocket and bounced down the side of the mountain. Through some amazing acrobatic feat, Dominique and Chris were able to save it before it pitched off a cliff. And it still worked! Must send a thank you note to Kodak.

The whole experience was exhilarating, terrifying and just so much fun. It was the highlight of the weekend, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for those who had turned down the opportunity to climb this beautiful mountain.