I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents.

J.W. von Goethe, “The Sorrows of Young Werther”

Updated list of the people from the hostel:

• Owner– owner of the hostel, 41yo guy. Originally from Cananda, he seemed (and acted) way younger. Fond of drinking and talking about being horny.
• C.H. – one of the staff members, 28yo guy. Bespectacled, served in the navy, intensely shy.
• Nacho – Korean-American female staff member in her early thirties, originally from L.A., in charge of the volunteers. Bespectacled, hilarious, and plump, with a BTS haircut and a crazy sleep routine.
• Chica – Spanish volunteer / actress from Madrid, 34yo girl. Short, perky, petite, with long, straight hair and freckles.
• Lil G– Mexican volunteer, 33yo guy. He’s my height, yet three times thicker than me, like a bodyguard.
• Painter – Brazilian volunteer, guy in his late thirties. Been here for around five months. Half of the time, he painted the hostel instead of cleaning.
• Horizon – Israeli volunteer, 22yo girl. Half Turkish, half Indian, sensitive yet tough.
• Ryu – German volunteer, 22yo girl. Platinum-dyed hair, straight, black eyebrows. Fluent in Japanese, having spent senior year of high school in Osaka. Also, intermediate in Korean.
• Q – Spanish volunteer from Barcelona, 20yo girl. Thin glasses, curly hair like a poodle’s (her own description).
• Mon chéri – French volunteer, 22yo (?) girl. A tall, redheaded beauty, she’s the party girl, with a  thick, sultry accent and a love of coffee.
• Cosima – Romanian volunteer now living in the island of Sardinia, 27yo girl. With glasses, a bob cut, and a sharp nose, she possessed deep knowledge of Korea (and delicious ability of cooking Korean food). I picked Cosima, the feminine version of Cosmo, due to her cosmopolitan nature.
• Angel – 27yo French girl with long curly hair, black glasses, and an olive skin, staying at the hostel for a month, studying Korean in Busan. Her long term residency and bubbly personality made her an instant addition to the volunteer group.
• Twenty – Brazilian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties (no correlation with her alias). Round glasses, long, delicate hair, quite bookish, with a thick Portuguese accent, and good knowledge of Korean.
• Kaela – Argentinian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties. Extremely petite, extremely pleasant, with dark hair, sharp features, and thin glasses, she’d moved to Copenhagen during the pandemic.

12 June 2023

• 13:10-14:30 sheets
• 17:14-17:16 Beomnaegol station to Seomyeon Station metro, 17:20-17:35 Seomyeon Station to Sasang Station (take exit 5), 17:55-19:10 Busan Seobu Intercity Bus Terminal to Tongyeong Intercity Bus Terminal bus, 19:20-19:45 Tongyeong Bus Terminal to Tongyeong Ferry Terminal bus number 501

A Premature Farewell

I finished my sister’s paper in the morning. Then the volunteers gathered around the table at 13:00. I turned to Lil G and Mon Cheri, both checking out today.

“I want to see you again someday,” I said. “So please give me your Instagram.”

They did so willingly.

“I have to say I’m a bit sad.”

We talked for a while. It was time for closing statements. Their mood seemed to match mine.

“I don’t know if it’s politically correct to say this –” Lil G began, “well, not politically correct, but – you’re a really cool guy.”

All my jokes and weirdness must’ve gotten to him.

“Who’s going to ask me if I’m vibing now?” I complained. He’d formed a habit of doing this all the time.

Angel volunteered for the task.

During the easy sheets shift, the mood grew lighter. Mon Cheri, as usual, put on music. The volunteers were dancing and singing while changing sheets and cleaning floors.

I told Mon Cheri about texts I’d been getting from someone who had ghosted me in the past. Out of nowhere, he’d begun to make conversation, and sent me pictures.

“He – is – in – love,” she said in her sultry French accent.

I didn’t take her seriously; too many mixed signals were at play. Little did I know, such an exchange would set the tone for the rest of my time in Busan.

After the shift, I ate a late lunch in the common area with Mon Cheri and Ryu. We talked about life before and after this trip; work, school, love. Dreams.

I described mine – to write novels, make films, and travel the world. Mon Cheri remarked that these were perhaps too many aspirations to hold.

They went to grab coffee before their food would be ready. I sat with Lil G instead.

“I’ve had maybe twenty sad goodbyes on this trip already,” I said, on the verge of the twenty first.

“Don’t be sad,” he said. “It’s just a goodbye. Maybe we’ll cross paths again. The world is so small now.”

I felt too somber to respond.

“Are you vibing?” he joked.

He still couldn’t wrap his head around this concept. He explained how, when it came to girls, he had some expectations in his brain. Whereas I didn’t look for anything in particular.

“Don’t look for logic in something that has no rules,” I said.

“Oh.” Realization dawned on his face. “Now I understand.”

Ryu and Mon Cheri returned with coffee. I didn’t want to leave for the trip I had planned yesterday. I wanted to stay with them.

But I couldn’t stay for the entire goodbye meal. It was already 17:00, and my hostel for tonight was three hours away.

“Okay, get up,” I ordered the two departing volunteers.

I embraced Mon Cheri long and hard. Before I noticed, she started crying. I’d been calling her by this nickname for over a week.

“You said I have a lot of dreams in life,” I said. “But I do have one more. To travel the world, not to see places, but people.”

The volunteers seconded this.

“I actually have a list of people I’ve met on this trip that I would like to see again,” I said. “You’re already on it.”

“Am I on that list?” Horizon jumped.

“Of course,” I said. She and the Thai-Israeli girl were the first Israelis on it.

It was a difficult farewell. As I’d explained to Lil G, this was my first time staying in one place for this long, and seeing the same people every day. I’d grown closer to him and Mon Cheri than the rest of the volunteers (apart from Chica and Horizon).

They were both going to spend a month and a half in Japan, in different places. I would miss them both by a fortnight.

Tongyeong

After two metro rides and two buses, I made it to Tongyeong, a tiny port town in the south of Korea known for attracting no foreigners.

At Tongyeong bus terminal, the tourist information center was closed. I grabbed a map with English and went to the bus stop. To my surprise, three Westerners were walking toward it.

“Hey, can I ask you a question? Do you know the way to the ferry terminal?”

“No, but maybe you can help us,” the elder one said (one middle aged man and a twenty-something guy and girl). “We are looking to change money, but everywhere is closed.”

They’d just arrived as well, from an adjacent port, by ship from overseas. They were Moldavians living on a shipyard, and carried only US dollars. I found an open bank on the map, and then took the bus to the port.

The port area was where all the attractions in Tongyeong were. A tiny town in which everything was walkable.

I entered the ferry terminal, which was completely empty at this late hour. None of the pamphlets about the small islands one could go as a day trip from Tongyeong contained English. Still, I recognized two from my list, and took the pamphlets.

The only staff member spoke no English. I managed to understand from her, somehow, the infrequent ferry times, weather forecast, and high/low tide times.

Then I strolled around town. It was small and charming, with a gentle harbor breeze, and dozens of eateries. You could tell which ones were loved by the locals. Half were completely empty; half were full.

The full ones seemed enticing. I could easily spend a few weeks here hopping from one to another and eating the freshest seafood. In fact, for the first time in Korea, I could picture myself living here.

Tongyeong was modest and dark at night, but not deserted and lamp-less, like the Japanese countryside. There were barely people on the street, yet still a few passersby, cars, lights. Far from a ghost town.

But I wasn’t hungry, and if I wanted to take the ferry tomorrow at 6:50, I had to go to bed early. So I walked to my guesthouse, and prepared myself for a slum.

It was empty. No staff. I checked the four or five floors.

All empty. Rusty doors and a stench of cigarettes. A haunted mansion.

I called the number of the owner. He told me, without asking for my name, my room number and passcode. Clearly, I was the only guest.

My 4-bed dormitory was empty. Rife with flies, who wasted no time charging at me. But the room was quite clean and acceptable. Far from the dirty image I’d had in mind.

The only staff member arrived shortly after. She was a young girl from Malaysia, volunteering here for a month out of her three in Korea.

“Wait.” She paused upon noticing me. “You’re not Japanese.”

“What?”

The owner had told her a Japanese guy had checked in. Even though I’d spoken to him in a little Korean and English.

“I met two guys who’d volunteered here,” I said.

“Oh, you also know them?”

“That’s how I heard about this place,” I said. “They told me about it.”

She viewed me askance.

“Okay, they told me NOT to come here.”

She smiled in understanding.

“But it was the cheapest place I could find, and the location is perfect,” I said. “Also, it’s not that bad. I’m the only guest staying here, right?”

“There’s only one other person, a long-term guest.”

“Must be boring to volunteer here. I might come here, if I return to Korea.”

“Actually, the owner is trying to sell it.”

Small wonder.

We continued to talk for a while, until I asked her for recommendations in the area. She confessed she’d barely sight seen Tongyeong in her three weeks here. I, on the other hand, had come with a list of attractions.

She answered my questions regarding the things she’d done (apparently, Tongyeong was even tinier than I’d thought. Everything was walkable). In a few minutes, I had a full itinerary for the next two days.

“You’re gonna see more of Tongyeong in two days than I have in three weeks,” she said.

I invited her to join me. Since we’d chatted for a while, and she felt lonely in Tongyeong doing virtually nothing, and kept smiling during our conversation – I assumed (and hoped) she’d take a day or two off.

“Depends on what time I wake up in the morning,” she said.

We bid each other good night. Even if my next two days would be solitary, I’d still appreciate the small-town vibe of Tongyeong enough to enjoy them.

Today’s highlights: final day with Lil G and Mon Cheri; the atmosphere in Tongyeong port.

13 June 2023

• Seopirang 99 stairs (30m)
• Jungang market (30m)
• Dongpirang mural village (30m)
• Nammangsan sculpture park (30m)
• Lunch: chungmu gimbap at a random restaurant (123 something was the name)
• Tongyeong undersea tunnel
• Hiking up Mount Mireuk-san (~45m)
• Going down the mountain (~20m)
• Walking south to Dara Park (~2h)
• Sunset at Dara Park
• Ride back to the port (25m)

I thought my first private room in recent memory would grant me a good night’s sleep. Instead, I understood why the former volunteers of this hostel had urged me to avoid it.

An army of mosquitos had attacked me throughout the night, constantly buzzing in my ear. I kept scratching myself and warding them off. Blood on my palms and sheets. No part of my body was left unbitten.

I woke at 7:00 after less than six hours of sleep and spent two hours in bed, reading material the Israeli company had sent me for our interview. Then I went down to the kitchen.

There was no microwave for my black sticky rice pudding leftovers. I heated it on a dirty pan and ate while standing (no seating area, either). A bucket was collecting water falling from the leaking ceiling.

At 9:30, I headed out, having left a note for the Malaysian volunteer with my number.

Exploring Tongyeong

It took me less than half a day to explore the port area. The 99 stairs were colorful and cheeky. Jungang market (the larger of the two in the port area) was empty.

Every market in Korea was basically one giant aquarium. Full of tanks with live fish.

The smell.

Per the two guys’ recommendation, I ate one of Tongyeong’s local specialties: kkulppang, honey balls. One with cream cheese, one with yuzu, one with black rice and red bean. I also got a complimentary plain one.

Then I walked to the mural village, where I found a shaded seating area to eat my honey balls.

Every single place in the village was closed. The time was 10:30.

Shame. They looked like cool, artsy shops.

Nammangsan park featured some nice outdoor sculptures, and a beautiful view of islands south of Tongyeong. A forest section included an adventure course.

At noon, I returned to the street opposite the ferry terminal, for another local specialty: chungmu gimbap. Basically, deconstructed gimbap, with calamari as the star ingredient.

Google told me of a good restaurant. I entered and asked for chungmu gimbap. They told me to go three restaurants to the right.

At the far end of the street, I found the miniscule restaurant. Three of the four tables, full with middle aged male diners. Two aunties worked in a Tokyo-sized kitchen. I used Google Translate to make sure the chungmu gimbap didn’t include meat (no reason, in this port town, but still).

Mt Mireuk-san

Half past noon, and I already finished most of the things on my list. I returned to the hostel (everything in Tongyeong was a 5-minute walk away). No sign of the Malaysian volunteer. She’d taken my note, though.

I rested in bed for an hour, then walked 15 minutes to the famous undersea tunnel. The ladies at the tourist information office, bless their hearts for trying, couldn’t really help me. They insisted my next two destinations were too much for a half-day. I resolved to walk fast.

So I crossed the undersea tunnel to continue south. At Yonghwa-sa temple, I asked for directions to the top of Mireuk-san mountain. The time was 14:30.

War flashbacks to Shodoshima. Steepest climb ever on a road in a forest where I was all alone. Zero signs. Zero people. Zero cars.

Oh, no.

“Don’t get lost,” I told myself, “you’re in the middle of nowhere, with zero English-speaking people, limited data, and no knowledge of Korean.”

18 minutes of torture later, I found a small temple on the mountain. It might as well have been abandoned.

How did I go from the second biggest city in Korea to a mountain with not one soul on it?

Two old monks emerged. One spoke English. He gave me directions to the summit. I wasn’t lost.

Yet this mountain was too silent for my liking.

After a few minutes, I reached a divergence with signs in Korean. Turned left as the monk had guided me. Translated the text just to be sure. Indeed, it pointed at the summit.

Five minutes later, I overpassed a middle-aged couple hiking barefoot. At least I wasn’t alone.

At the next intersection in the forest, I turned left again.

At 15:05, I reached the first observation point.

Major Shodoshima déjà vu. Yet again. Breathtaking view of a small town in the countryside, with green fields and colorful roofs. Birds tweeting. Misty islands far in the background. Pale blue ocean.

A short ascent led me to the actual peak. Only 460 meters in altitude, it nonetheless offered a view that made me smile. A bunch of hikers were here, and, to my amazement, several American soldiers.

My slight paranoia going up the forest was worth it. Climbing the rocky terrain without my hiking boots and damaging my sneakers was worth it. This was not a landscape one could behold elsewhere in Korea. Unspoiled nature.

Yet the time was 16:00, and I still had to get off this mountain. My goal was to the catch the famous sunset from Dara Park, 7.2 kilometers south of Mireuk-san. The tourist information centre ladies had warned me the bus was too infrequent for me to count on.

I had three hours to hike all the way to the southern tip of this island. Time to run.

I dashed down a steep hill and almost crashed. Turned left at an intersection. Then signs in Korean.

Alone again in a forest, no soul to make a sound. I wondered if there were bears in Korea. This could be my chance to finally see one.

I turned right further down the forest. Right at another intersection. Wrote down every turn I took, in case I needed to backtrack. I wouldn’t have been able to navigate without resorting to my emergency cellular data.

Why did I form a habit of seeking dangerous adventures by myself?

No sooner had I scolded myself for this, than I reached a village.

Farms, goats, a woman out on a stroll.

Civilization.

I asked the woman for directions to Dara Park.

“Two hours by walking,” I managed to understand from her Korean. So I still had time. That dreadful descent only took 15 or 20 minutes.

The fear was over. And I enjoyed every second of it. I hadn’t had lunch yet – figured I had no time to waste on the summit – and my entire shirt was drenched. I was starving. I was thirsty. It was humid.

Still, I walked for the next two hours through village after village, because they were so charming. I could’ve taken the bus and rested somewhere. But there was no sound, apart from birds.

I was alone most of my waking time today. Tongyeong was tranquil. Tongyeong was quiet. No noise from cars.

I saw a handful of people, all elderly, all working their fields. Geumpyeong village; Sanyangcheon river; Yokji Way port. The more I walked, the more developed the land became, with a school, a brewery, a police station – cars in and out of Sanyang, a bigger town…

By this point I’d grown so weak, that I nearly collapsed on a bench, and ate my last two honey balls for some energy. The time was 17:00.

From here on, I ambled along the coast. Breezy. Neither hot nor humid. Just as well, because my shirt stank.

Dara Park

Finally, at 17:50, after eating nothing but honey balls throughout the entire day and hiking for hours under the sun, Yeonhwari village led me to Dara Park.

At the park’s information center, the three ladies were surprised by my presence. They told me when and where to watch the sunset, and when and where to take the return bus. I unsheathed my journal to use Dara Park’s stamp, and they asked for a look at the stamps I’d accumulated, such as from Bukhansan and Hallasan.

I told them tomorrow, I’d take the ferry to Sumaemuldo. They gave me a discount coupon for the journey.

So I had an hour and a half to kill until sunset. I rested on the observation deck, after hiking 20 kilometers in four hours. I’d earned it.

A Korean girl was gazing at the view not far from me. The only other person my age, plus the only one who’d come by themselves. I offered her some of my wasabi peanuts. She offered her caramel popcorn in return.

We talked a little. The language barrier made it hard. She’d come to Tongyeong for the same timeframe as me – Monday to Wednesday – and got up at 5:00 this morning, to take the ferry to an island and go fishing.

Lounging on the deck and eating wasabi peanuts in front of the setting sun was a glorious moment, all the more because my feet were killing me. It was the ultimate reprieve: birds tweeting, ocean sparkling. The only thing that tarnished it were two elderly women babbling loudly to no end. Japanese people would have whispered.

The Korean girl and I watched the sunset in silence. I was frustrated by my inability to communicate with locals. But also transfixed by the sun.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

After hearing about my arduous day, she gave me a ride on her rental car to the port.

We drove through the coast, the reddening sky lighting our way. I told her about my next destinations in Korea. Turned out, she was originally from Jeonju.

“Hanok, hanbok…” she said, to explain Jeonju to me.

I showed her a picture of my hanbok.

“That’s not a hanbok,” she said. “It’s temple clothes.”

“Oh.”

This entire time, I’d been wearing monk attire.

“I still like it, though,” I said.

She dropped me off at Seobu market, in front of the ferry terminal. I asked her where she’d have dinner, and whether I could come.

She didn’t exactly say yes. I wondered if she no longer sought my company, or if it was the language barrier. She’d already asked for my Instagram, so I was a bit confused. But I stepped out of the car and thanked her (she refused the gift of my wasabi almonds).

“I will remember you,” she said.

“Me too.”

I walked back to my hostel and rested in my dormitory, too tired to look for dinner. The Malaysian volunteer was still out. I texted her about the mosquitos, and invited her to take the ferry with me tomorrow. She mentioned a mosquito coil on the rooftop.

I Googled “What is a mosquito coil”, found it, and placed it on my bedside table. Mosquitoes bid me good night.

Today’s highlights: encountering more Korean cheekiness on the 99 stairs; kkulppang (particularly the yuzu-filled one); the view from Mireuk-san; crossing the Korean countryside; sunset at Dara Park.

14 June 2023

• Jungang market
• 10:50-12:20 Tongyeong Ferry Terminal to Somaemuldo port ferry
• Hiking to the lighthouse (1h)
• Lunch under the lighthouse (1h)
• 16:25-18:00 Somaemuldo port to Tongyeong Ferry terminal ferry, 18:30-18:50 some station near the ferry terminal IDK the name to Tongyeong Intercity Bus Terminal bus number 400 (several buses go there), 19:00-20:10 Tongyeong Intercity Bus Terminal to Busan Seobu Intercity Bus Terminal bus, 20:20-20:34 Sasang station to Seomyeon station metro, 20:37-20:39 Seomyeon station to Beonmnaegol station metro

Jungang Market

Another night of mosquito bites. I went to bed at midnight and woke at five.

Lately, no matter what time I fell asleep, my body got used to waking five or six hours later and calling it a night day. My nights of partying in Busan might have messed up my circadian rhythm. So I took melatonin, and slept until 9:00.

I returned to Jungang market. Couldn’t find a place with another local specialty – sashimi. The kkulppang stand from yesterday only had large takeout boxes today. I paid for one, going over budget, and they gave me yet another complimentary ball for free.

With only one hour until my 10:50 ferry, there was time to waste. Both Google and Naver pointed me at a highly rated restaurant on the other side of the ferry terminal, twenty minutes’ walk from the market. I set out at once.

The restaurant was empty, apart from the staff having their breakfast at 10:00. They were surprised to see me enter. I asked for sashimi. It was double my budget.

I received plates upon plates of raw white fish, octopus, oysters, abalone, shrimp, something I couldn’t identify and hoped it was tempura fish, and green leaves.

It was honestly too much. And the sashimi wasn’t as buttery as I’d hoped. Too chewy for my liking.

Maybe white fish wasn’t for me, and I needed to stick to red ones. Or maybe sashimi in Japan was just plain better. In the end, I left half of my meal untouched, angry at this expense, and, still hungry, hurried to the ferry terminal.

Somaemuldo

Once there, the staff asked for my phone number and ID. I wondered if it was because I was headed to the smallest island in the south, with only fifty inhabitants.

“Today is most beautiful,” the staff said, pointing at Yeolmoggae, the coastal walk between Somaemuldo and the picturesque and unpopulated lighthouse island that revealed itself only during the low tide. “Best island in Tongyeong.”

The two guys from Gyeongju had recommended me Bijindo island. Maybe they hadn’t heard of Somaemuldo.

Even with my coupon for yesterday, the return trip cost me. On top of already going way over budget for food today. But a ferry to a remote island was just the kick my spirit needed after that meal. No mode of transportation titillated me as much.

The ferry was ten Koreans passengers, and me. A seagull was chasing us, flying as close to the boat as possible.

Like Japanese ferries, the indoor seating area included a shoe-less floor lounging section.

We stopped at Bijindo island halfway through, until, an hour and a half later, docking at Somaemuldo.

“Ah,” I breathed in. What a clean air.

Tiny, green, charming, with colorful establishments, and no English, Somaemuldo was nonetheless easy to navigate. Just like Shimanami Kaido, a blue line ran across the walking course.

A steep climb through the island’s village – a lady selling live sea creatures in water tanks, of course, even here, this was Korea – one restaurant, one café, and what seemed like one hotel.

There was even a map of the island’s walking courses, and table with high and low tide for the next six months.

A middle-aged couple hiked Mangtaebong near me. I greeted them in Korean, and learned that she was born on a nearby island. The man, clad in a gray hanbok, was a monk.

“Did you do a temple stay?” he asked, pointing at my hanbok.

“Ne, Golgul-sa,” I answered.

He performed a running animation.

“Sunmudo,” I agreed, my muscles shivering.

The woman and I were sweating and panting while he was climbing with a mask, as calm as during a meditation.

After almost an hour of hiking, we crossed Yeolmoggae to the uninhabited island, and reached the lighthouse.

The crispest air – and I was a puddle.

Waves undulating. Seagulls laughing. Other-worldly rock formations. Black and white butterflies, and four, orange-roofed houses. I understood why this was a famous location for commercials.

Everyone (meaning, the handful of other Korean hikers) gathered on a shaded deck under the lighthouse for lunch. The monk introduced me around and gave me yoghurt, as well as a strange fruit. A couple gave me homemade gimbap – so delicious, so unlike their gigantic, greasy convenience store counterpart – and I offered everyone kkulppang in return.

“What’s your name?” I asked the monk, after he’d asked mine.

I’d forgotten the word, but it meant silence.

“Oh,” I said. “So…” I zipped my mouth.

“Yes, shut your mouth,” he laughed.

I noticed his flashy, silver watch.

The Koreans around us asked me about my trip and how long I’d been in this country.

“What is your purpose?” Silence asked.

“In life?”

“On this trip.”

I thought for a moment.

“To learn,” I said. “The culture, the food, the religion. The places,” I gestured at the spectacular view around us. “The language.”

Silence cracked a macadamia nut for me, and together with everyone, left to catch the 14:30 ferry.

I thanked the ferry ticket staff in my head, for picking the last ferry for me without even asking. This was hardly enough time on this faraway island.

After a few minutes of solitude on the deck, the three ladies who’d sat next to me on the ferry arrived. They offered me mango juice and homemade chungmo gimbap.

How I enjoyed visiting such remote places, where the sight of a fellow visitor warranted, at the very least, a interaction! It was good that I’d bought a box of ten kkulppang this morning. I received free lunch, and had dessert to share.

Finally, the four of us went down.

There was a locked building with a rusty tank inside. Solar panels near the orange houses. I collected rocks around Yeolmoggae. The coolest ones, bright pink or turquoise, were too big to carry.

I greeted another middle-aged couple. The man stopped me from rock-climbing.

“No no no no no,” he repeated, crossing his hands. “Very dangerous.”

I’d done worse.

“Did you do a temple stay?” he asked. “You look like a monk.”

That settled it. My entire life had been a lie. Or at least the past month. My hanbok was monks’ attire.

I returned to the port and passed an hour at a cafe, where I chugged two liters of water, and journaled for the first time in over a month. I longed to have more time (and money), so as to afford an overnight stay on this island; or even camp, like the only two other guys on the ferry here were about to do, judging by their gear.

I relished the quiet, the remoteness, the refuge this island had offered from everything. Half of the time here, I was alone, simply gazing at the ocean and listening to birdsong.

My friendly and busy time in Seoul and Busan, while memorable and enjoyable, had barred me from getting any writing done. Should I take the job I’d been interviewing for, life would only get more hectic from now on.

I ached for a week somewhere as remote as possible, like Somaemuldo, passed by writing alone. Loneliness was a feeling I detested, yet at the same time, it filled me with thoughts.

The Singaporean girl I’d met at Tokyo Pride and I had been texting on a regular basis. She’d been road-tripping Hokkaido in the last few days, and driven up to Japan’s northernmost point. I resolved to follow suit upon my return there, and go far as taking the ferry to the minuscule islands around that point.

The ferry back was just as glorious and relaxing. For an hour and a half, I stared at the small islands around me, at the clean water, at the clear sky.

A song by Rina Sawayama came to me. Yet again.

“We don’t need to be related to relate,” she sang in Chosen Family. But it was actually Paradisin’ that made me relate to her now.

Maybe I’d been messing up things. Going against what family and (former) friends had been telling me to do. Maybe I’d been misbehaving and doing things I wasn’t supposed to – legally, morally, medically. Maybe I was bad, like the Kazakh girl from Gyeongju had yelled in consternation.

Maybe I was acting like a child. But life was beautiful, in this moment, just like on the ferry back from Miyajima. I was in a slice of heaven, determined to make every day unforgettable.

I returned to a Tongyeong. The front sole of my sneakers was beginning to tear. One strap of my bag, which I’d stitched a few weeks ago, was already torn. The seconds mark of my watch had come off a few days ago. Various parts of my phone case had been breaking off for a few weeks now. My shoulders were in perpetual pain, even when not carrying the bag responsible for it.

Then I walked to the hostel, to say goodbye to the Malaysian girl.

“Wow, you have mosquito bites all over,” she remarked, pointing at my neck.

I showed her my arms. Around fifty bites on each one.

“I went to clean your room,” she said. “You didn’t light up the mosquito coil.”

“You’re supposed to light it up?”

She mentioned seeing all my belongings were gone. Evidently, I had checked out, without even seeing the owner once. She was visibly disappointed that I had not extended my stay, like I’d told her I might do on my first night.

“Hey, we could’ve spent time together in the last two days!” I said. “I invited you.”

Turned out she really had overslept by accident.

“I’ll be in Busan a week from now,” she said. “I hope to see you.”

She walked me to the bus stop. As the bus began to run, I waved at her from the inside. She returned a sad smile.

I left Tongyeong content. Now I had a favorite place in this country. A month into my trip in Korea, and this country finally felt special.

Back to the Hostel

Back at the hostel, things were suspiciously quiet, just like after my previous getaway. With Mon Cheri and Lil G gone, I felt that much of the lively atmosphere had dissipated with them.

I went to the staff kitchen for my groceries, and noticed Horizon drying her hair in the girls’ bathroom (the two rooms were adjacent). I stood by the entrance for a whole two minutes. She was completely focused on her hair. When she noticed me grinning at her, she recoiled so hard, it only pushed her to dash toward me for a killer embrace.

Chica also welcomed me with eager hugs. The rest, we chatted for a while, and had dinner together. By 23:00, I was in bed.

Today’s highlights: taking a ferry for the first time since March; the unspoiled nature and remoteness of Somaemuldo island; lunch with the Koreans.

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