Damyang

I have conducted an inadvertent experiment, and I have discovered that the number of days that I can disappear from Blogger, email, and Skype before my Mom calls Kris to ask if I've died is... 2. Sorry for making you worry, Mom, but I had a good excuse. You see, I've been in Damyang! Where they apparently have no internet! What? I didn't tell you guys that I was going to Damyang and please not to worry if I didn't update?

...Oops.

Well, I'm back. And since I didn't have internet, I wrote out journal entries in Word so I could post them later. Unfortunately for those of you who actually have things to do, writing in Word somehow makes me very verbose. These entries are not so much the picture-and-caption format of my normal posts, but more like long-narrative-with-pictures-added-in-later. You have been warned.


*****

Monday. I write this as I lie on a strange bed in a strange town, alone and exhilarated. Yes, today I screwed up my courage and went to Damyang. There’s no internet where I’m staying, so I’m writing this in the hope of finding a wifi hotspot tomorrow. If I don’t find one, I’ll probably be back in Seoul before this hits the interwebs.

I woke up relatively early and contemplated my options. I could go to Damyang today, wait and go tomorrow, or sleep in all week long and worry about traveling after I came back from China. While I thought, I surfed the web. There is distressingly little practical information about Damyang – I couldn’t find the numbers of the buses I would need to take to get there, or any contact information for local motels (the few that I found were out of date and disconnected).

Well, you obviously know what I chose to do. I decided that if I put it off, I would just chicken out. I started packing. I was going to try to cram as much stuff into my backpack as possible before I remembered that I always overpack. Instead I tried to make this an experiment in minimalist packing. That’s how I ended up buying a train ticket for Gwangju with only a toiletries bag, some spare underwear and socks, a nightshirt, a swimming suit, my wallet, an embarrassing amount of electronics, and the clothes on my back. I’m not kidding about the electronics – I think they take up most of the space in my bag. I have three different chargers (two of which are bulkier than I think they really need to be), two USB hookups, headphones, a phone, a camera, an iPhone (which is now a glorified mp3 player since I’m overseas), and my laptop.

I couldn’t sit still while I waited for the train. Was this a terrible idea? Would I get lost in the Korean countryside and never be heard from again? What was I thinking? But I had already paid thirty-five dollars for the ticket and lugged my backpack all the way over to the station, so I wasn’t backing out. I got on the train and spent an uneventful three hours watching rice paddies go by.

When we finally reached Gwangju station, I hopped out of the train full of excitement… and suddenly realized that I had reached the limit of my knowledge of how to get where I was going. Luckily, I was able to ask a woman at the ticket counter which bus to take, and she pointed me in the direction of the bus stop with my bus number written on a slip of paper.

By that time it was 7:30PM, and starting to get dark. I started out at the bus stop waiting with a few other people, but soon they all boarded their buses and I was left alone in the fading light. Where was my bus? Had it stopped running for the day? Had the lady given me the wrong number? Gwangju was a big city; if I got stranded there I didn’t want to wander off in search of a motel and get lost. I imagined myself sleeping under a bridge with my backpack as a pillow…

But that’s just me always thinking of the worst-case scenario. Of course the bus came, and it got me to Damyang just fine (except for an embarrassing scene where I dumped all my coins on the floor while I was trying to count out the fare).

When we pulled into Damyang terminal, it was 8:00PM and fully dark. I stepped out into a little town filled with restaurants, street shops, and tacky stores overflowing onto the narrow sidewalks. I had been expecting something a bit more tourist-y, but there wasn’t a foreigner in sight. There also wasn’t a motel in sight, and for the second time today I realized that I didn’t know where I was going. I had been hoping to find a map when I arrived, but the terminal was just a row of buses. There were no information packets or help desks. A bit nervous, but willing to wander the streets until I found a bed, I ducked into a bakery to buy a donut.

Here’s where I got lucky. The lady running the bakery has two kids who are going to university in New Jersey. She’s been to the US, so she speaks a little bit of English (not enough for us to converse, but enough to exchange basic information). When I asked her which way I should start walking to find a cheap place to stay, she herded me into a chair and told me to wait. Then she went behind the counter and called someone. When she reemerged, she informed me that she had found me a motel that was only about two blocks away, bullied them into giving me a discount on a room, and made them send someone to the bakery to walk me back there. Sure enough, a few minutes later a man appeared at the door and she hustled me off with him while I thanked her profusely.

Yes, yes, it occurred to me that it might be a Hostel-style con and that I might be dragged into a back alley and sold to a millionaire sadist, but you can’t be paranoid all the time.

I paid 25,000 wan for a room and went upstairs. This room is delightfully tacky. It’s tiny, it has two different kinds of wallpaper, and the lightbulb in the bathroom is pink. Not that I’m complaining – it’s a way better deal than even the hostels in Europe. There, for the same price I would have had to share a room with twelve other people.

I thought about going out for dinner, but I’m not very hungry and I want to go to bed early so I can get up tomorrow and make the most of my day. I went down the street to the corner mart and got a riceball and a bottle of corn tea (I know, it sounds weird, but Eunmi introduced me to it and now I’m hooked). Now that I’ve got my thoughts down and ready to post at the first sign of wireless internet, I’m going to sleep.

*****

Tuesday. I set an alarm for 7:00AM, and I actually got up for once. After all the work getting here, I didn’t want to waste a morning sleeping in. I showered and put my contacts in under pink light, hid my valuables under the bed (you never know), and went downstairs. I gave the man at the front desk another twenty-five dollars for tonight, and though we had a little trouble communicating I think he understood me. Anyway, I hoped he did, or I might have come back to find all my stuff cleaned out or something.

I did remember how to say some things. “Ji-do isseoyo?” He smiled as something came out of my mouth that he could actually understand, and he gave me a map.

It was still early, and the town was a bit dim and chilly. There were hardly any people around save for a steady stream of uniformed kids going to school, and they all stared at me as they passed. I wandered around the town, feeling a bit confused. This had been touted as one of the great tourist towns of Korea, but to me it seemed like an ordinary small, dingy, boring city. The shops were all the kind with the products stacked floor-to-ceiling, the restaurants were all the kind with the kitchen in front so they looked really forbidding, and the biggest buildings I saw were the high school and the bus terminal.

When I opened my map I saw my problem. I was in Damyang, the town. Damyang, the resort was some ways away. That must be where all the bamboo nature walks, spas, fancy hotels, and review-worthy restaurants are. I figured I would go later in the day to check it out, but it’s almost 5:00PM now, and I don’t think I’m going to make it there. That’s fine with me; I managed to have a fun day without the help of a sauna and a tour guide. Still, I had hoped that there would be a few more foreigners slumming it in the city with me. I’ve only seen two foreigners today, and they were both in Gwangju.

Around 8:00AM, I went back to the bus terminal. Shops were opening, and the city was generally waking up by that time. Some bus drivers were milling around the terminal, so I stopped one and asked him as best I could how to get to Soswaewon. Soswaewon is a natural park built in harmony with the landscape. The man who designed it lived there after the death of his mentor, and when he died he bequeathed it to his descendants on the condition that they never sell it. It has been in the family ever since.

The man put me on a bus to Gwangju with a piece of paper saying, “Soswaewon, Bus number 225,” in Korean. He didn’t speak a word of English, but I thought I knew what he was saying. He meant me to transfer to the 225 bus when I got to Gwangju. Well, the bus driver (not the one I talked to at first, the one actually driving my bus) dropped me off in Gwangju at a stop I’d never seen before. When I showed him my paper and tried to ask where to catch the 225 bus, he pointed vaguely across the street. I was holding up the bus, so I got off even though I wasn’t quite sure what he had been telling me. Then I found myself in a strange part of a strange town with that familiar feeling of, “What now?”

I wandered in the direction he had pointed and soon found myself down a side street with no bus stops in sight. I ducked into a store to ask the woman behind the counter where I should go. She didn’t understand me at all, but after a glance at my paper she pointed me back the way I had come. I felt like a puppy with a note around its neck: “Please send me to…”

I got back to the main road and finally found the right bus stop… just in time to see the 225 bus pulling away. I had to wait another hour for the next one. Finally the bus came, I fumbled with my change some more, and thirty minutes later I was being dropped off on a country road in the middle of nowhere. I hadn’t realized that Soswaewon was so far out in the sticks. The only sign I could see was a little arrow pointing into the trees, so I ventured inwards and was rewarded by the sight of an admissions booth. I had made it.

Soswaewon had featured so prominently in the travel literature that I was expecting something impressive. Well, it was pretty for sure, but it turned out to be rather small and underwhelming. It was just a set of paths and two pavilions surrounding a rocky creek. The bamboo was nice, but it was never thick enough to make you forget that there was a road just over there, and a chicken coop just over there, and someone’s washing hanging out to dry just that way… I explored the whole thing in under ten minutes. Hardly worth the long and confusing bus trips. I kept wandering off into the trees, trying to find out if the park extended any farther. It didn’t, but I ended up in someone’s corn field and in someone else’s back yard. Whoops.

I caught the 225 back to Gwangju and the 311 back to Damyang, feeling very satisfied with myself for getting it right. There’s something wonderful about putting yourself in just a little over your head, and then finding a way to stay afloat. I’m putting my very limited Korean to use, and generally managing not to get horribly lost. As proud as I am of myself, I’m also very thankful that I have Kris to fall back on. Before I left, she told me to call her any time if I needed her to translate for me by phone. So far I haven’t needed to call her, and I’d like to keep it that way. (Note from the future: turns out I missed a call from her. She was trying to tell me that Mom had called her to ask what had happened to me. Sorry...)

I checked back in at the motel – my stuff was where I left it. Whew. Apparently the guy had gotten the message. A sign read “Bamboo is Life. Bamboo is Future!” I giggled. Bamboo is beautiful, but it’s hard to take seriously after seeing that one episode of VeggieTales.

Seems like everywhere I go, people ask me, “Honja?” “Are you alone?” I sigh. No, my friends are coming in through the roof and my family is hiding in my purse. Of course I’m alone! This isn’t just at restaurants, where they might be asking if someone will be joining me later. The guy even asked it at the ticket booth at Soswaewon, where the path was empty in both directions for as far as the eye could see. Is it so weird that I’m traveling by myself that it needs to be commented on everywhere I go?

For lunch I wanted to try daetongbap, which is rice cooked in a bamboo stalk with various condiments. But that must be one of the specialty things at the resort, because I can’t find a single place that makes it in town. I finally decided to have the other food Damyang is known for: deokkalbi. It’s chopped-up, seasoned, barbecued beef and it looks amazing. Better yet, almost every restaurant on the main road advertises it prominently. I chose a restaurant named, irresistibly, “Deokkalbi,” where two women hustled me past the kitchen and into a deceptively large and comfortable dining room where they excitedly asked me my age and where I was from. They were very friendly.

I checked out the menu and balked at the price: deokkalbi was 23,000 won! But just beneath it on the menu was regular kalbi at only 9,000 won, and it looked delicious. So screw tradition; I went with practicality. The ladies took good care of me. I got nine kinds of banchan, a dish of gochujeon (is that how you spell it?), two kinds of soup, and a platter with hot rocks under some slabs of sizzling beef. Delicious.

On the way out, I asked if they knew the way to Juknokwon, which is a bamboo forest/park just to the north of town. I knew I was within walking distance, and I was pretty sure I knew the way, but I asked just to make sure. I expected them to point me right or left as I went out the door, but instead, and I am not making this up, one of the ladies left the restaurant, led me to her car, and drove me to the park entrance. Damyang may not look like the most inviting of towns, but the people here are so helpful!

On the way there I asked her where I could find a restaurant that served daetongbap. She made a face and waved her hand in front of her mouth. I don’t think she likes it.

Juknokwon was exactly what I had been looking for. It was a deep, thick bamboo forest that sucked you right into the unique atmosphere. On the street it had been uncomfortably hot and bright, but in the forest it was cool and there was a soft green light all around. The sun filtered through the leaves and reached the path in heatless giraffe-spot dapples. The air smelled different, and the millions of tiny leaves rustled high overhead. I walked all the trails, even backtracking a few times to extend my time there. Every once in a while I would come across a bamboo bench, or a little gazebo, or a platform ringed with flowering trees. There were also signs enumerating the forest’s claims to fame. A president had visited once, and a couple of movies had been shot there.

When I found a little gift shop, I had to get some bamboo-themed souvenirs. I got one of those kimbap-roller things, because I plan to make kimbap when I get home. I also got some bamboo tea. I have no idea what it might taste like, but I suppose I’ll find out.

It’s too bad I ran out of time to go to the resort. There are a lake and an eco-park there that look amazing according to the pictures on my map. But I’m getting a little tired of never knowing where I am and not being able to talk to anybody. Also I’m running out of cash and I can’t find an ATM anywhere. I’ll have just enough to get back to Seoul tomorrow, and then I’ll have a day off before Sam comes to visit.

*****

Tuesday evening. I’ve been making a nuisance of myself, going into the coffee shops and asking if they have wifi. They don’t. Apparently free internet is a big-city thing. Here they have PC-bangs, which I haven’t yet worked up the nerve to try. I peeked into one, and it was full of adolescent boys intently playing WoW and Counter-Strike on huge screens. There didn’t seem to be a place for people who had brought their own laptops, and I didn’t feel like wrangling one of their huge, non-English computers for an hourly fee. Looks like I’ll have to wait to get back to Seoul. I have to be honest, I’m a little worried by how much internet-withdrawal I’m experiencing after only a day and a half. Maybe I have a problem.

But that’s not why I’m updating. I passed by the bakery where I asked for directions that first night, and the same woman was behind the counter. I waved shyly and was about to walk off when she ran out the door and dragged me back inside to introduce me to her husband. They were both so excited to have met an American that I decided to buy some dinner and sit down to talk to them.

Their children went to university in Ohio, and their daughter is living in New Jersey. The husband has spent a few years in Vancouver BC and Idaho, so his English is pretty good. We talked about our respective travels, with him gushing about how much he misses being able to golf like he did in America and telling me about how he visited Yellowstone, and me telling the story of why I’m here and relating my plans for my remaining time in Korea. He told me that he had just inherited the bakery and a couple of adjacent buildings from his father, and he wants to remodel. He’s trying to decide between American-style, which is exotic and futuristic, and Seoul-style, which is sleek and organic. He said that Damyang needs to update its style if it wants to draw more tourists, and I can’t say I disagree. But it would be a little sad to let the big city chain restaurants take over this provincial town. Already there’s a Paris Baguette on the main street, and it looks bizarrely out of place next to the quaint shops and markets next to it.

Still not giving up my search, I asked if they had wifi in their bakery. They didn’t, but he led me behind the counter and plugged my laptop into their personal internet cable. I’m telling you, these are the nicest people! I was pretty excited until I remembered that my LAN adapter is kaput. No wifi, no internet. Oh, well.

Since the train was a little more expensive than I expected, I want to take the bus back tomorrow if I can. I went to the terminal earlier to ask about it. The lady behind the desk told me she spoke English, but I had my doubts, because all she did the entire time was shake her head and make little negative sounds when I asked about the bus to Seoul.

“Tomorrow,” I said very slowly, “Tomorrow, at 10:00AM. Damyang to Seoul.” I also tried to say it in Korean, but I’m sure that was just even more confusing due to my terrible grammar.

She crossed her arms to make an “x” and shook her head.

Getting frustrated, I pointed to a large sign on the wall next to me that said “Damyang --> Seoul: 10:00, 16:00.” “It says it right there!” I said.

“Eobseoyo,” she said. It doesn’t exist.

Later, back in the bakery, I asked my new friend about it. He confirmed that there was indeed a bus at 10:00AM, and that it went directly to Seoul. I guess I’ll go back to the terminal tomorrow morning and try to convince someone to sell me a ticket for it. I waved goodbye to my new friends and promised them I’d come by again for breakfast before I leave tomorrow.

*****

Wednesday morning. Ha! That woman at the ticket counter yesterday was full of it. I went back to the bus terminal and bought a ticket for a bus direct to Seoul with no fuss. I just saved myself ten bucks and a transfer in Gwangju! Woo!

I would have chalked yesterday’s miscommunication up to my terrible Korean, and the lady trying to tell me that there were no more buses to Seoul on that day instead of, you know, ever. Except when I bought my ticket just now she checked that I wanted today’s 10:00AM bus and not tomorrow’s. So they sell tickets in advance! What the heck?

I went and had an apple pastry with my new friends the bakery people. I feel bad that I never caught their names, but honestly I wouldn’t have remembered. I’m terrible at remembering Korean names because they sound so different from what I’m used to. I need to see them written down or else they just sound like random syllables. Anyway, the husband sat down with me and we traded stories about long road trips. To illustrate, we tried to sketch out a map of the US. We failed utterly. He has an excuse: it’s not his country. My only excuse is that I haven’t had a geography lesson since elementary school, and I was crap at it back then too.

(Note from the future: Yeah, that's supposed to be North America. The one on top is our first attempt, starting from the West coast. It failed. The other one is us starting from the East coast. It also failed. But we got our points across.)

His wife gave me some free coffee, and I left a sketch of myself with a little “thank you” note on the table when I left. I think when I remember this trip, even more than the bamboo I’ll remember how friendly people are in Damyang. Even though I didn’t get to do everything I would have liked, it was a good trip and I’m glad I did it. The bamboo was beautiful, the town was fun, and I feel a little better about my ability to navigate a strange place alone. Besides, there are so many bamboo forests around here that to do everything I wanted to do would have taken a week or more. I did pretty well for only having one full day.

*****

And now, after a surprisingly pleasant bus ride, here I am back safe in Seoul. It's so nice to come to someplace familiar after a trip. In fact, I think when I get home from Korea next month I'll probably be so happy that I'll just melt. Especially if there are waffles involved.