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19 July 2023

• 8:35-9:20 Nowon station to Express Bus Terminal station metro, 9:45-13:00 intercity bus to Sokcho express bus terminal (NOT intercity bus terminal), 13:20-13:30 Express bus stop to tourist Fish market stop bus number 9-1 (I think all lines go there)
• Abai village

I woke nauseous again. Could barely eat a hard-boiled egg for breakfast. What was wrong with me?

Five months of self-starvation might have changed the inner workings of my stomach. Lately, I’d been eating less and less. After years of eating no meat or fish and mostly legumes, tofu, vegetables, fruit, and dairy on a daily basis (plenty of fiber…), I went to starving on this trip, eating rice, bread, and fish.

Now, an infrequent meal consisting of vegetables had a greater effect on my digestion. I still didn’t get stomachaches, and my metabolism hadn’t seemed to have slowed down (on the contrary, I’d lost several kilograms), but my body seemed to have lost its capacity for vegetables.

With my lack of appetite and constant nausea, not to mention increasing fatigue, a long bus ride to the east coast, followed by a foodie town (Sokcho) and two strenuous days of hiking, might not be the best idea. My host had joked that she’d have to carry my corpse to the Israeli embassy upon my return.

As the bus from Seoul progressed east, and traffic extended the ride by another whole hour, I wondered if she had a point.

After spending this endless 3-hour ride listening to music with my eyes closed (decided it was finally time to give Taylor Swift’s Midnight a shot), I half dozed off, and alighted in Sokcho hungry and nausea-free.

Sokcho

First stop: the tourist information center. They told me the two advanced trails I’d aspired to do in one day were an impossible feat. Bummer.

Yet the weather had cleared up. It was sunny.

Sokcho was a coastal town famous for its beaches and local specialties. So many of the latter, that one could easily spend three days here simply trying out different dishes.

• Hwareohoe: sliced raw fish (a la sashimi).
• Abai sundae: pig’s intestine stuffed with pig blood curd, dried cabbage, and glutinous rice.
• Ojingeo sundae: squid stuffed with steamed rice and vegetables.
• Sundubu: a variant of soft bean curd that used seawater as a coagulant.
• Hamheung naengmyeon: a variant of cold buckwheat noodles with spicy raw Pollack.
• Makguksu: spicy buckwheat noodles.
• Mulhoe: raw fish in cold broth.
• Saengseon gui: assorted fish grilled on charcoal.
• Gomchiguk: spicy fish soup, a hangover cure.
• Saengseon jorim: fresh fish stewed on the table.
• Hongge: red snow crab.
• Dak gangjeong: chicken fried twice or thrice, then coated in a sweet sauce.
• Danpung bread, Yeonkkul bread for dessert.

Wow.

Other than that, there was little in terms of attractions. Unless you came during a festival – June for the Refugee Culture Festival, for example, or August for an incredible-looking music festival at the beach; October for the Seorak Culture Festival, and Story Concert of Sokcho.

Interesting to note that Sokcho offered an amazing deal for foreigner tourists. A three-hour taxi to any location for 20,000 won. The city paid the taxi an extra 40,000. If taken by more than one person, it could make for an extraordinarily affordable and productive day. The handful of attractions were too far apart for one to walk between them.

Abai Village

I took the famous gaet-bae boat to Abai village, the focal point of Sokcho, where refugees had settled from North Korea. There, I ate one of the local specialties: fried, stuffed squid.

But there wasn’t much to in the tiny village, except to come for the food. The restaurant where I ate was the only one that was busy. A fantastic meal – yet even the small size portion was too much for me, in my current state. I could barely finish it.

I browsed at the adjacent market, but eventually decided to just check in and rest for the rest of the day, in preparation for tomorrow.

It sucked that I could only find a private room for tonight in Sokcho. Booking accommodation for this trip was a challenge, to say the least. Hostels were rare in the countryside, and cost twice as much as in Seoul.

I stocked up at GS (including a flashlight for hiking at dawn) and checked the time for the first bus tomorrow. 6:30. A bit disappointing. I wanted to start even earlier that than.

The day ended with a few drops of melatonin and a 21:00 bedtime. I’d recuperated just in time for tomorrow.

Today’s highlights: the gaet-bae boat; stuffed squid.

20 July 2023

• 6:40-7:10 Suboktop stop to the last stop bus number 7-1 (7 also goes to Seoraksan)
• Mount Seoraksan’s Daecheongbong peak, Cheonbuldonggyegok course – going up (6 hours, including ~1.5-2 hours of breaks)
• Sleeping at Jungcheong shelter

Climbing to Daecheongbong

Waking at 5:30 today was a heavy chore.

“The mountain is going to be worth it,” I thought, as I forced myself to leave bed.

Sokcho was surprisingly busy at dawn. Cars and people on the streets. Uncles sitting on chairs and simply watching the road, the way aunties did in neighborhoods.

After a surprisingly short bus ride, I found out that Seoraksan’s information center was closed.

No matter. This was one of Korea’s top five mountains. There were signs in English all over.

At 7:30, I reached a forking path. Right to Ulsanbawi rock – a notoriously difficult climb up 800 stairs to a spectacular view – and left to Biseondae rock, leading all the way to the peak, called Daecheongbong.

My aspiration was to do both in one day. 10 hours should be enough for that, if I walked fast nonstop.

I was so tired, that I decided not to.

My bag was brimming with food and clothes for five days. An emergency first aid kit, a towel, and plenty of wipes for my shelter stay. My back crumbled underneath this weight, and I’d only started to walk.

So I took the tourist information center’s advice, and chose not to over-exert myself. I’d enjoy breathtaking views from Daecheongbong.

I advanced to Biseondae rock and crossed a forest alone. This early in the morning, the only hikers were two white couples and four Koreans. I exchanged a few sentences with an Australian couple.

A stone path ran parallel to a stream. Sweat already dripping down my cheeks. Glasses sliding down my nose. I slowed down my usual pace to a snail’s.

At 8:05, I reached Biseondae, where a wide rock between rugged precipices had formed a pond. It featured a beautifully eroded cliff, almost as if a car had driven up and down it. The water looked so clear, that it shone aquamarine.

At the next intersection, I chose the advanced, purple Cheonbuldonggyegok course (~6 hours) over the expert, black Gongnyongneungseon course (~9 hours).

At 9:00, I took my first break. Not because I was starving. My bag was too heavy for my shoulders. My shirt was so damp, that I looked like I’d gone swimming.

I saw squirrels and mushrooms. A snake eerily camouflaged like a branch. My left elbow started to bleed after I’d slipped on rocks. But it didn’t hurt.

I was cradling my brick of a bag at this point, instead of carrying it on my shoulders. I wobbled on the rock in tiredness, instead of walking a straight line. (Was “tired” my most used word on this blog?)

The mountain was quiet and empty. I saw more squirrels that people. At some point, I passed many gushing waterfalls.

I progressed so slowly, that, upon climbing a nefarious, steep stony path to Muneomigogae pass, I did five stones per minute. How had I hiked Kumano Kodo for four full days in a row with a laptop on my back to cap it all? How was that my first ever hiking experience? I must’ve grown weary since March. Seoraksan felt impossible to conquer.

This was my reason for choosing to stay in a shelter. The French guy from my last days in Seoul, back in May, had hiked it in one day, round trip, 12 hours long. He’d warned me Seoraksan would be acutely challenging, even though it was shorter than Hallasan. It felt apt to use this opportunity to try a mountain shelter for the first time, and watch the sunrise from the top.

Out of the three shelters on the mountain, Jungcheong was the best one. Only twenty minutes from the peak, it was the most in-demand shelter for those wishing to watch the sunrise.

Booking it during peak season was as difficult as reaching it, but by a stroke of luck, I’d managed to secure a spot in it.

At 12:00, I reached Muneomigogae pass. It was labeled a purple “advanced”. From now on, the path would become a black “expert”.

I crossed one of the shelters, when I saw a middle aged man hiking barefoot. His feet looked pristine.

By 14:00, I was ready to move on to the next world. The ascent was endless, getting steeper and steeper by the minute, and still, I barely saw any hikers climbing around me. The few people were all descending the mountain. I’d already made it above the clouds, and grew worried that I’d missed my shelter. What altitude had I reached? How high was I?

The mountain was eerily quiet up here. A sublime view – and no signage.

The former was a consolation for my qualms. Oddly formed peaks peeking among a blanket of clouds. The temperature was agreeable, and the flies were giant and numerous. They engulfed me as much as the clouds hugged the mountaintops.

But then the Australian couple went down. They’d already made it to the peak (disappointingly cloudy, they said; nothing was visible), and were now hurrying back to Sokcho, to complete the round trip in one day. They assured me that the shelter was up ahead.

At 14:10, I reached an intersection with a sign that confirmed their words. I was probably 30 minutes away from my shelter. So I sat down in front of the view and journaled.

By now, I’d drunk all my 2 liters of Pocari Sweat and water. Strangely enough, I hadn’t felt the urge to pee all day, ever since checking out at 6 in the morning.

Two middle aged men decided to sit right next to me and converse loudly. I ought to return to Japan.

After a while, a third man, who appeared in his late thirties, arrived.

“You look magnificent,” he said. “Spectacular.”

I assumed he’d meant the view, but he pointed at my journal and mandarin Jeju hat. Or so it seemed. I wasn’t sure. But he asked me where I was from and tried to make conversation, even though both of us struggled to speak each other’s language.  

At 15:10, after an hour of writing in front of this magnificent view, the sky had turned cloudy. A helicopter was carrying boulders somewhere. Maybe they were building a new shelter.

Making my way to the top, the visibility has gotten so misty, that I couldn’t see what lay up ahead. It was like in Shodoshima, when I’d cycled through fog. At least it was no longer hot or humid.

Jungcheong Shelter

At 15:30, I checked into the shelter.

It featured toilets and floor space for about a hundred people. No shower.

Up here, twenty minutes from Daecheongbong, the temperature was 19 degrees. A second, locked room inside the shelter was for COVID-19 quarantine.

I snacked on HBAF cherry-coated almonds outside the shelter and shivered. It was cold and foggy. Insects were abuzz, and a breeze was blowing.

Tranquility.

I did it. I went all the way up the mountain. And was among the first ones to check in.

Between five to ten Koreans were here already. There were no wall sockets in the sleeping area, but reception did include a free charging station.

At 16:45, it started to drizzle. I went inside to the sleeping area, and discovered there was free Wi-Fi. Still, I chose not to connect my phone to it. Secluding myself from the outside world felt apt.

After an hour, someone had turned the air conditioner on. I changed into my hanbok, which was slightly warmer.

Outside, the weather had cleared up. More and more Koreans were checking in and eating on the picnic tables. Some had brought cooking utensils, pillows, and sleeping bags. I had cheese crackers and no blanket.

I felt a bit weird, being the odd one out; for the above reasons, and for ethnical ones. But the scene around me was so tranquil, so natural, so picturesque, that I rejoiced in my decision to shelter here.

Inside the shelter, I found a microwave and a “cooking area” with tables, though no chairs. Zero taps or sinks in the entire establishment. The dining Koreans didn’t let anything stop them from barbecuing, though, having carried everything on their shoulders, including meat. It was the first time in years when I found the smell of beef intoxicating.

I was ravenous. All I’d eaten today was a few sweets.

As always, Korea felt like a closed club. There was a clear wedge between the dining guests and me. I lamented my inability to communicate with them. Perhaps in Japan I would find a similar shelter.

(Then again, Japanese people didn’t hike.)

Another hurdle, though by no means unexpected, was the median age. Either middle aged, or kids with their parents.

I figured my five days in the east coast would be solitary, but it still twinged a little.

Not even the Korean knockoff of my favorite Japanese snack managed to lift my spirits. The taste of chocolate on my tongue was unwelcome, after a day of consuming mostly sweets. The other guests were throwing full meals.

In a moment of jealousy, I caved in, and bought instant rice at the shelter. Good thing I had carried a spoon with me.

The first bite of plain, instant white rice outside the shelter in the cool evening was a revelation. Never had I indulged so much in such an unseasoned, low-grade grain. Infinitely better than a snack.

Another good thing I’d brought: a plastic bag. No trash cans whatsoever.

I greeted guests every now and then. They didn’t make conversation. I had a feeling that, even without knowledge in Japanese, I would’ve been sitting at another guest’s table by now, sharing our food and exchanging minimal words, if I were sheltering in Japan. Many Koreans didn’t seem to me as hospitable.

Loneliness, Alienation, and Infatuation at My Most Romantic Sunset

By 18:40, I grew bored. Nothing to do but wait for sunset.

I could’ve connected to the Wi-Fi and chatted with family and friends. Yet loneliness and boredom seemed preferable to that. The way I saw it, such emotions were supposed to be part of tonight’s experience. I was in nature, sheltering meters away from a mountain’s peak.

My two days at a ryokan with no reception, Wi-Fi, and electricity in Japan came to mind. Forty-eight unforgettable, snowy, and, in hindsight, life-changing hours, back in February. Loneliness and boredom had plagued me there as well. But this was the point. These were feelings I needed to have.

Back inside the shelter, I lay down on my narrow, wooden floor space and listened to Taylor Swift’s Midnights. The room was bustling with Koreans. I felt different; like I didn’t belong. I recalled listening to Lady Gaga’s Gypsy on repeat, alone in my room, during my second night at the ryokan. Lonely. Bored. Lonely.

And, just like in Korean-only nightclubs, out of place.

Not a single Korean was sleeping bare on the floor like me. They’d all come prepared. Pillows, blankets, sleeping bags.

At least I’m Japan, I’d felt like I belonged.

I went out to watch the sunset. It was too cold, even with my rain jacket on. Sitting on handrails, listening to Midnights and watching the clear sky turn pink, were worth my despondency.

The freezing breeze; the rock formations, so emblematic of this country. I felt alone in the world, a mortal being in nature. It had been a while since I’d had an existential day.

I liked getting away from everything. But in this moment, I longed for a friend.

No. That wasn’t true. What I pined for was someone more than a platonic companion. Someone who would stand out from the rest.

“Oh, no,” Swift sang in the sublime Labyrinth, “I’m falling in love again.”

Tears streamed down my face. Mist kissed mountaintops. It was yet another moment on this trip I knew my mind would never forget.

I waited and waited until the sky turned dark, close to 21:00. Two helicopters flew right past the shelter and made a ruckus.

To my disappointment, I couldn’t stargaze. The sky was too polluted for that.

Cities below the mountain lit up instead. I noticed a red letterbox outside the shelter.

Then the sky turned black, and I grew scared. Just like when beholding the void that was the Sea of Japan at dark, during my overnight ferry in February, on the day I’d checked out from the ryokan. I really was a mortal being in an indifferent world.

At 21:00, I peed for the first time today since waking up at 5:30. Very little urine. Color, not so bad.

Weird. I’d drunk 2.5-3 liters today.

Then lights were out. I went to sleep on the floor, using my quick dry towel and rain jacket as a blanket, and my bag as a pillow. The room was at half capacity tonight. Thank god the heating had been turned on.

I finished listening to the deluxe, 80-minute version of Midnights, and called it a day. Right before dozing off, however, the song that was playing in my head was a different artist’s.

I didn’t expect my mind to linger on a certain someone. Today. And yesterday. And the day before that.

Today’s highlights: the beauty of Biseondae rock; resting on rocks in front of nibbling squirrels; journalling at the same altitude as the clouds; the relief of reaching the shelter; going on a digital detox; a mountaintop dinner of instant rice; sunset while listening to Midnights; sleeping on the actual floor.