Hiking adventures

Yesterday, I went on my first hike here. Joe has been exploring the mountains behind our house while I've been at work, so he knows the way mostly. I guess I ignored Joe when he told me that hiking our hills was super difficult and no joke. I guess I thought it was indeed some kind of joke. Maybe I should listen to him more often in the future. The hike was amazing, but oh so hard. We were hiking for about four hours up and down various hills and ridges, each one getting higher in elevation. The scenery was . . . I was about to say amazing, but actually the scenery is strange. There are times when you do believe you are completely secluded--when the trees enclose the path and you can hardly see the sky for all the foliage, but this seemed rare. During the hike I was very aware of the presence of the city--the high rises jutting up from the ground, the city noises that echoed all the way up to where we were, the constant sound of construction and water pumping, the freeway that runs like a thick artery through the countryside, and the huge telephone towers or whatever they were planted firmly all over the hills. And then there are the other strange things: weight benches and work out machines randomly installed at various points along the trail, a clock and a baroque-style mirror hanging on two trees in some sort of weird Alice in Wonderland reshash, men and women hiking at speeds that would defy even the most dedicated trailblazer in Arizona, complete with radios, cell phones, head to toe gear covering every inch of flesh, and sometimes wearing duck-billed masks. There was always the sense that society was not far away, that the city had given up this piece of nature only grudgingly. Which isn't to say that it wasn't beautiful or that it wasn't a much-needed escape from the city, but the presence of society was always felt. This was a bit of a bummer for me, since I'm used to hiking into the mountains in Arizona with my dad and/or Joe, and one of the main purposes of the hike is to get as far away from the ticking, moving, noisy world as possible. We consider it a good hike when we don't see anyone else on the trail. We like to feel like we're the only ones there, that any noise made comes from us . . . but of course we don't try to make any. This juxtaposition of nature and city sprawl with its attendant paraphernalia is something I will have to get used to.

I will also have to get used to the sight of mounds dotting the hillsides, which Joe tells me are graves, and of the occasional cemetary, complete with ancient looking headstones in the shape of animals and gods. These things seem to exist in this offhand sort of way, with no signage to tell you what you are looking at. In the states, there are books and trail guides dedicated to exploring ghost towns and old cemetaries. It seems that here they just exist without all that fanfare, though I'd really like to know what sort of people were buried here and why.

Back to the hiking . . . it is clear that Koreans enjoy their hiking. They are kitted out in the latest gear (and yes, the masks are part of that gear, I guess....maybe it helps keep dirt out of their faces, or bugs away...who knows), they are walking at paces that shame us (even the older people....and there are tons of them on the mountain), and they have enough breath left in their lungs to sing church songs in Korean while steadily hiking up what Joe likes to call "The Stairway to Hell." As I mentioned, this hike was no joke. It's a lot of ascending, and there is one particular section of about 300 feet where you are walking up what feels like a billion stairs. We were passed several times on this stairway. By old people, by middle-aged people, and once or twice by a little boy of about six years old who I swear was in his pajamas, and was hopping delightedly up the stairs like it was no big deal. We saw this kid along the way and at the summit too. He was so not tired that he had the time and energy to call Joe cookie monster, and then to ask in lovely English "Where are you from?" The kid was amazing.

Many people seemed surprised/delighted that Joe was hiking. We aren't sure why, but many people smiled and laughed when they saw him. One gentlemen even reached out and touched Joe's belly and then said something that sounded encouraging in Korean. Hmmm. Someone's dog kept running up to me, sniffing me, and then launching itself away from me at breakneck speed, only to return a moment later. There were old ladies and old men working out on the weights and the ab machines; swinging from trees, hanging onto ropes and swaying back and forth. The hills were full of people. And while I said that the presence of so many people will take some getting used to, I have to admit that there was something very friendly, very communal about the experience. It was like all these people were having one collective party on the hills. We said hello to everyone we passed, laughed when they laughed (even though they may have been calling Joe Mr. Fatty Pants, or saying that I was a hussy with my tank top), and encouraged each other with smiles.

Thank you, Korea, for yet another strange and wonderful experience.