Let's go to Jeju (that's "Jay-Jew" to white people)

America’s got this place called Hawaii, perhaps you’ve heard of it? A paradise disconnected from mainland America where people can go to savour beaches, volcanoes, mountains, etc. Well mainland Korea has there own Hawaiian haven and it’s called Jeju. It’s a cozy, edenic island south of the rest of Korea, and on a long weekend in June it’s more difficult to get to than it was backstage at a 1991 Guns N Roses concert.


I had shown some interest in travelling here about 6 weeks prior to the June 6th weekend, only to be denied faster than I would be at a bar when accosting a fair beauty. At this point, I became a little disheartened and accepted that I wouldn’t be able to visit Jeju during my one-year tenure in Korea. This all changed when one of my good and dear Korean friends came over and noticed I had bought a bicycle to help with my ankle rehabilitation. The once dull and banal life he averred I was living while crippled soon became a thing of the past and he jumped at the chance to cycle around this coveted island.


I told him that I would love to ride the 275 km loop, but that getting there would be impossible. Little did I know that Ron, my Korean businessman amigo, has a good connection; and I don’t mean to the Internet. He knows a guy who knows a guy, who knows a ... (actually that’s it, he knows a guy who knows a guy) and this second guy just happens to be the head of the public ferry company that sails to Jeju. So we headed out on Thursday night at 11:57, transferred to another bus at 3:45 am, waited for the 10:00 am boat and got to Jeju around 1:00.


Before boarding the ferry Ron suggested we have a hearty breakfast to fuel us for our upcoming expedition. I agreed and conjured up this lovely image of bacon, eggs, toast and maybe even some flapjacks. Heck, I would have settled for some peameal and an artichoke souffle. Instead, as I would experience all weekend long, I got the true Korea experience: seared fish, sticky rice, spicy kelp, pickled turnip, softshell crab and a cold vinegared cucumber soup to name a few. Keep in mind it was 7:00 am in the morning. I dare you to find fiery, brined algae at sunrise in North America.


Our 21 dish breakfast

This was somewhat of a demanding bike trip, as we were a little pressed for time, and we both wanted to enjoy some of the sights, sounds and smells of the island, so I was basically coerced into using the proper equipment. Chuck let me borrow his $3000 road bike that he brought from back home, and Ron lent me a pair of bicycle shorts. For those of you who have never worn a pair of bicycle shorts, I’ll try and convey the experience. It’s like wearing a pair of spandex shorts with a built in maxi-pad. Sadly, I am not talking about these modern, ultra-thin sanitary napkins with wings, dry-weave, side-impact beams and optional keyless remote entry. It’s much more akin to a 1960s industrial menstrual towel. Also, these shorts don’t leave much to the imagination for anyone looking in the crotchular region, so I always felt a little awkward when walking around(especially in an Asian country). In retrospect I probably spent 87% of my time thoroughly enjoying everything I saw; the other 13% of my time was occupied adjusting myself.


These polyester pants were the bane of my cycling experience...and your visual experience.


Ron was an incredible host, great company and a thorough tour guide. I was treated to some of the finest seafood and the most secret nooks the island has to offer. Most of our day was spent riding along a wandering coastal road. Occasionally we rode through a densely touristy part of town, did some sightseeing (only we did it like tourists on crack) and then retreated to the congenial seaside path again. Snacks and breaks were usually accompanied by a bottle of beer and a plate of raw marine products, such as abalone, cockles and urchins. All of which were served with a heaping plate of seaweed. If you’re curious as to what any of this stuff tastes like, I suggest you go to the nearest ocean, wait for the tide to ebb, find some of that green guck that is caked onto the rocks and lap that sunsoaked algae like a dog drinking water on a hot day. I assume the flavour must be similar, although with enough hot sauce anything is edible.



Ron’s great friendship, connections and astute Koreaness, all made for an incredibly wonderful long weekend filled with many valuable and memorable Korean experiences.


Accostingly,

Yubbo

Cast Off and thus Blast Off

Guitar players get callouses on their fingers, golfers along the tops of their palms, adult film stars on their knees (or so I would assume) and, regrettable, those who use crutches for nine weeks develop hardened skin in their armpits. Seven weeks ago I went to the doctor’s thinking I would be removing my cast and running marathons, when much to my chagrin, I discovered that my ankle was actually fractured.


I recently had my cast off and have begun physiotherapy; as a corollary, I have been doing my best to find things to do that are practical for a one-footed gimp and close to home. Many of the weeks have consisted of watching baseball games, playing one-foot screen golf and perhaps enough drinking to make Ulyssess S Grant look sober (according to wikipedia he was quite the alcoholic). But recently, I have been doing my best to break away from these somewhat perfunctory endeavours.


One of the noteworthy highlights during the last two months included witnessing the Olympic Torch as it made its trek across Seoul. At the time (5 weeks ago), following and tracking the torch was so in vogue, so I didn’t want to miss out on the kitschy spectacle. At this point I was still on crutches and although there was a voice inside my head saying, “crippled people would probably have a hard time escaping a riot,” there was also a voice inside my head thinking, “if anything happens to me – the innocent, lame and trampled foreigner – it would definitely make the 6:00 news and maybe even a line on the BBC website,” and as someone who’s always secretly yearning for their 15 minutes of fame that was enough of a reason to venture over to Olympic Park.


Before actually arriving at the site / sight, I was unaware of just how political this oversized candle was going to be, so I thought it would be an appropriate gesture to sport a t-shirt with a Korean flag on it. Once I arrived and saw the sea of Chinese flags and people I realized that my sign of international solidarity probably connoted that I was pro-Korean, ergo I was against China. This was not exactly the image I wanted to project among the 20,000 proud Chinese youth who call Korea home. (Many are here attending university in the city). Luckily, as a solo, vapid onlooker, I didn’t appear to be a threat as I observed from the periphery. It was a pretty peaceful day, mainly because the pro-China crowd was so vast that the Chinese would have quelled and overpowered any political groups that might have thought to protest or become bellicose. There was one, dreadlock, poncho wearing, youth there to make his case for freedom, but his flaccid, “Free Tibet” poster wasn’t much of a political statement. On this particular day, it was China and the Chinese who came out to show their love and support.



Some strangers appreciated my t-shirt.

There was one brief moment when I thought I was close to having a BM in my pants. I had decided to avoid the epicentre of activity, on account of being temporarily maimed, and had thus picked out a peaceful spot where I thought I might have been able to catch a glimpse of the torch as it began its journey away from Olympic Park. At first this seemed to be a wise move, but as the torch started moving from its starting location and down the street, a hoard of Chinese began to chase after the coveted beacon. There I was staring and standing as 20,000 Chinese people ran directly towards me. At that moment I was thinking that a soiled set of pants would really spoil those 15 minutes. “And in another news today, a young Canadian, suffered minor injuries physically and major injuries emotionally after shitting himself, as the Olympic Torch passed through the capital of South Korea.”


All in all, it was quite memorable to be there and see a vastness of red. It was exciting to hear the roars and chants of the crowd, see helicopters overhead and be a small part of something global.


At the end of the day, a peaceful calm falls upon Olympic Park.

To all those loyal readers, out there I apologize for the long delay. It was a combination of a lackadaisical couple of months and the fact that many weekends passed where I couldn’t recall much of what happened come Sunday evening. And if you’re really curious as what happened during the hiatus, it would be fair to say that a good 75 per cent of that time was spent learning about the condition and state of Chuck’s colon. Trust me, much like the past two months, you have to have been here to really enjoy it.

Smittenly,

Moose