Chuncheon Weekend (2nd half)

I forgot to mention a couple details in Tuesday's description of our Chuncheon weekend. I actually jotted these details down so as not to forget them -- a good thing!

First, when we ate the takgalbi (chicken BBQ), we wore pink aprons to protect our clothes from possible splatterings of grease. The aprons were pink, with white embroidered flowers. They also had a recipe for cream cheese cake on the front. I think it was a real recipe, too.

Second, on Sunday when we walked over to the river, we passed an honest-to-god blacksmith's shop. (For some reason I thought "ferrier" was the name for someone who works with iron -- ferrous, ferrier -- but a ferrier is a ferryman, according to dictionary.com. So much for my attempt to be all Latin-y.) Iron implements on the table in front of the window, hammer on the ground, oven, pincers -- the whole deal.

We also passed a small side street where, when I glanced that way, I saw an old woman sweeping the ground with the ubiquitous green plastic straw broom that is sold everywhere in Korea. Two children were playing around her, dressed in pinks, reds, and yellows.

As we continued down the street, we walked past old women sitting in chairs by big bags of red peppers, a pile of Napa cabbages, and two men shoving more cabbages around the back of a truck.

Just stuff I never saw in America.

So, I left you all at the river, marveling at the beauty of the scene. Maiko and I walked down the bike path, talking about work and other sundries. I started noticing the enormous webs and the scary black and yellow spiders that seemed to occupy every tree, bush and wire we passed. I'm talking webs between items that were four feet apart. And spiders that looked bigger than my palm. After the seventh or eighth time I said, "Hey, look at that huge thing!" Maiko told me that in Japan seeing a spider in the morning was good luck. I told her that we'd have oodles of luck, as we'd seen about 100 that morning.

As we continued down the path, we saw fishermen, each with about four or five poles, sitting with their backs to us, some under brightly colored umbrellas. White herons (or perhaps egrets?) flew over the water, their long spindly legs trailing behind them.

When we came to the end of the path, we saw a cafe called "Ethiopia," and damned if it didn't offer Ethiopian food and coffee. A few minutes later, on a map at the rest stop, I noted, with some amusement, that we were close to a "Monument for Ethicpian [sic] Roops [sic] Rerticipation [sic] in the Korea War." From Maiko's and my trip to the War Memorial several weeks ago, I recalled that Ethiopia had sent a few thousand troops to fight in the Korean War, a fact that startled me then also.

We found another tourist center across the street from the rest stop, and stopped in to enquire about a book Maiko wanted. The woman there didn't have it, but she did urge us to visit the Soyang Dam that day, as the authorities had opened it to let some of the recent rainfall out. She said the last time they had done so was several years ago, and that it was only to be open until 5, so to be sure to go.

We hadn't planned on going to the dam, even though it and the lake it created in 1973 are big attractions in Chuncheon, because it seemed too far, and we wanted to see an island on the other side of town. But the woman's enthusiasm was catching, and we decided to go. The only hitch was that we had written a note to the hotel ajuma saying that we'd be back at 11 for checkout. We relayed this to the tourist center employee, and she told us not to worry, that hotels like ours didn't have a regular checkout time, and that we'd be fine.

Really? we asked. We won't have to pay again?

Really, she said. Don't worry about it.

Since we'd left my phone number on the note to the hotel ajuma, we decided to go for it, and, after a breakfast of makgooksu (buckwheat noodles) nearby, caught a bus to the dam. As bumpy as the ride was, Maiko amazingly fell asleep, and I had to rouse her when we drove past a fine view of the water gushing out of the dam, falling hundreds of feet down and creating a hazy plume at the bottom. Soyang Dam, when it was built in 1973, was the biggest rock-filled dam in Asia. It's still the biggest in Korea, and Soyang Lake is a popular water recreation area. Boat tours around the "inland sea" are popular, and we ended up taking a short one to see Cheongpyeongsa Temple, dating back about a thousand years.

The boat dropped us off and we hiked up about 40 minutes to the temple. Originally built during the Goryeo Dynasty, it had been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times, but the Korean War really demolished most of it. It is currently under reconstruction, and we saw workmen carefully painting the bright designs on the eaves while a family bowed before the statue of Buddha inside.

There were two smaller structures behind the main hall, and when I went up to inspect them, I saw that plants were growing on the main structure's roof. Caught by the sight of that greenery, I looked above the roof. The dense green of the mountains in the background contrasted beautifully with the graceful line of the gray roof tiles. It was pretty amazing.

But what was more amazing still was the woman I spotted on the temple grounds. She had long, straight black hair down to her waist. She wore a pair of short jean shorts. And she sported a pair of gold three-inch mules. Remember that we had to hike 40 minutes up the mountain to see the temple.

After admiring the temple, we were subjected to a short history lesson about it and a lecture on the value of historical objects in Korea by an overzealous tourist information guide who didn't realize we weren't Korean until she made us sign her guestbook.

Heading back into town from the dam, I had the fortune of sitting in a seat in front of which three small boys were busily screaming, swinging from the bus safety handholds, hitting each other, getting yelled at by their mother, and lurching into me whenever the bus moved abruptly. It was then that I realized hell is right here on earth. And I cursed the spiders that morning for not living up to the promise of good luck. (Although I guess they were Korean spiders, not Japanese, so maybe they didn't know.)

Back at the hotel, the (slightly) bad luck held, as the hotel ajuma told us, "Checkout was at 12. You'll have to pay me another 10,000 won." We objected that we didn't know, and she started to raise her voice: "It says right here on the sheet posted next to my seat! Look, I'll come out and read it to you. 'Checkout is at 12.'" At this point, I might have just given up and handed over the money, but Maiko said in her gentle voice, "But we asked a tourist information center, and the woman there said that it didn't matter what time we checked out."

At this comment, the ajuma started going off. "I've been to Australia and Canada, and you can't tell me that in foreign countries the hotels don't have checkout times! In Japan and in America, it's the same thing! You'd have to pay there, so why do you think Korea is any different? You young people -- it's not the money, it's that you young people need to realize that this is the way the world works!"

At which I started getting annoyed, and argued back, "But we didn't know! This is the first time we've stayed in a hotel in Korea! And besides, we asked someone at a tourist information center, and she told us that it didn't matter!"

The ajuma changed her tactic: "If you had told me in the morning, you could have left your bags with me and you wouldn't have to pay! But you left your bags in your room, and if I'd moved them, you'd have complained! What if you'd come back later than this? The cleaning crew might not be here anymore and we couldn't use that room tonight!"

Maiko and I both burst in, "But you weren't there when we left! And you didn't tell us the checkout time when we arrived here yesterday!" I continued: "That's why we left my phone number!"

She scoffed with the Korean equivalent of "Whatever!" and continued, "You wrote in your note that you'd be checking out at 11! You didn't get here until now!"

I repeated, indignantly, "Look, we told you that we asked someone in the tourist industry, and she said it didn't matter! You weren't here when we left, otherwise we would have asked you! And we left the phone number!"

After several more minutes of this (basically repeating ourselves), she finally said, "You young people -- ! Just get your stuff, then! Get your stuff!"

I stormed up the stairs, Maiko behind me. The cleaning woman followed us, and when we collected our things, I apologized to her, "If our stuff made your cleaning job difficult, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine, just go ahead now," she said, and descend we did, to receive another earful about young people, universal checkout times, and notes promising checkout at 11. For some reason, Maiko put one of her bags on the counter, and was listening to this, while I burned with renewed annoyance and started repeating our arguments again. At last, I huffed, "Next time, we'll know, okay? Good bye," grabbed Maiko's bag, and stomped out of the hotel.

Outside, my temper almost immediately vanished, and I wasn't sure even to myself if I'd been showing more bite than I felt, just to annoy the ajuma. When Maiko joined me a few seconds later, we looked at each other and laughed. We'd won. We'd avoided the fee and we'd won an argument against a Korean ajuma. Amazing!

We caught a cab to the train station, to catch the train to Namiseom Island. In the cab, I asked the driver if there was a universal checkout time in Korean hotels. "Twelve o'clock," he replied promptly. Maiko and I looked at each other and laughed again. I explained the situation, and he said, with a slight grin, "Did you get into a fight with the ajuma?" I affirmed, and he chuckled.

After half an hour, we boarded the train, and around 6 pm, we arrived at the station closest to Namiseom Island, where a significant romantic scene of a famous TV drama had been filmed. From the station, we caught another cab to the ferry, and then took the boat to the island, where I was stunned to see an ostrich walking around and munching grass. I pointed it out to Maiko, and then saw another one of the flightless birds in the distance.

We found the stretch of forest road that had been filmed, and saw a statue of a deer by the side, which I thought was cheesy -- until the statue moved. And then another. And then another. Not to mention the ducks and rabbits also calmly lounging about.

As it was getting dark, we quickly took some cheesy shots of ourselves looking wistfully into the distance (you know, to get that romantic feel), and headed back to the ferry, which we took back to the mainland only to find that there were no taxis. Yikes! I noticed two people standing where the taxis would line up, and asked if where they were going. They said the station, and then after that, back to Seoul; they'd come to Namiseom for the weekend. Goofily, we took pictures of each other, and then somehow the couple snagged a ride with a man who was waiting to take his wife and another employee back to town. So we ended up hitching a ride in the van to the bus station, where the Seoul couple went with us to check that there was a bus headed to Seoul, and then, when it was confirmed, said goodbye to us and departed for the train station (close by).

Maiko and I hadn't eaten since 11 in the morning, so we decided to have a quick dinner at the bus station. The station restaurant looked closed, but the restaurant ajuma said, "Oh, come on in, I'll make you something." We ordered soft tofu stew, and dug in with relish. The ajuma commented on our ability to eat spicy food, "My daughter-in-law is Russian, and she still can't eat spicy food." How does she live in Korea, then, I wondered out loud, and she laughed.

But the last laugh was yet to come, as we chowed down and the ajuma watched a drama on TV and the convenience store ajuma dropped by to chat. I noticed the marinated chili peppers, and remembering that I'd eaten this side dish before, I munched on a pepper enthusiastically. No problem. The second pepper, however, was a problem. At first I thought the burning would pass in a few seconds. But after I downed two glasses of water and the beads of sweat started rolling down my nose, I realized I was in pain. PAIN.

Maiko asked what was wrong, and I said I'd eaten a really hot pepper. She grabbed some tissue and recommended wiping my tongue, so I did. No avail.

I downed another glass of water. The burning continued.

I tried eating a spoon of rice. That really hurt.

Finally, I noticed a carton of milk on the ajuma's desk, and asked, "Uh, ajuma? Do you have some milk?"

She looked over and said the equivalent of "Uh, yeeahh." Like, it's only right there in your line of vision.

"Could I have a glass please?"

She shrugged and opened the carton. I downed a glass, explaining the situation. She laughed, but not in a mean way, and filled up my glass again. The convenience store ajuma said, "Oh, I never eat that, you never know which ones are the hot ones. You have to be careful."

I managed to finish my rice, swallowing it down with mouthfuls of milk (and to think I used to shudder at the thought of mixing rice and dairy!), but I couldn't finish my spicy tofu stew, and gave it to Maiko. You know, for a skinny Japanese girl, she can sure put it away. When we got up to pay, I offered to round up the 4,000 won for my meal to 5,000 won, for the milk, but the ajuma wouldn't hear of it. "No, no, you can't do that, here's your change. You'd better go wait for the bus now."

Maiko and I slept fitfully on the rattling ride home, but at least we got seats (two out of the last three seats available, actually). So you know, the spider luck may have carried us through, in the end.