Dear Family and Friends,
For weeks now, I’ve been craving water. I’ve craved fresh breezes. I’ve craved the sea.
My mind’s eye keeps replaying a favorite film moment in which a woman and a man converse, with brevity, on a chilly beach under gray skies, under the sound of waves, and she says…
And she does. Albeit in a repressed, British sort-of way.
Anyway, although I could make you an entire list of items that I crave at this point in my Asian journey, for me, the sight of water, breathing the air, listening to the waves, twirling and calling into the wind has been a fundamental, rather inexplicable need. I confided this need to my Korean friend one evening, who commented that she planned to visit friends in the Eastern coastal city of Pohang (pronounced Po - ang) over the Chuseok holiday and if possible, I could go along too.
So, the day after my Daegu day tour, I met my friend at the train station, where we walked up the counter, walked to the platform and boarded an east-bound train.
Korean city train stations are deceptive. They are important, centrally located, busy, efficient, and the trains go everywhere. The train stations resemble my idea of an airport and Dongdaegu Station, the Daegu train station, is as big or bigger than the Daegu International Airport. I swear it. Because the train stations resemble airports, I cannot help but expect a modicum of difficulty in utilizing them. But there is none. You tell the ticket agent the city, you specify how fast you want to go (which determines the train), you are sold a ticket, you walk to the gate, put the ticket through a machine that resembles any subway ticket-taker, walk to the platform, the train arrives on time, you board and it leaves without much ado. Wonderful.
I greatly enjoyed my window seat view as the city landscape of Daegu dispersed into fields of rice, sets of blue-tile-roofed houses, rugged tree-covered hills, rivers, and obvious farming towns – with the occasional high raise apartment building incongruous in the agricultural landscape. As the train slid toward the coast (no clicks and clatters, sticky plastic seats or open windows on this train), I began wondering where the wilderness was and realized that Korea, one of the most densely populated countries in the world (more so than India or Japan) is rather like Europe in that people have been living on and cultivating the landscape for so long that there isn’t much wilderness (as we Americans know it) left.
Upon our arrival in Pohang, my Korean friend and I and other passengers were greeted by bows from Korean Rail staff lined on both sides of the station path. I was surprised by this friendly gesture, which turned out to be related to the up-coming Chuseok. Outside the train station we were greeted by two friends of my Korean friend and we were swept away in a car borrowed especially for the occasion of our visit. Our first stop was lunch: we ate at a tofu place. It was my first meal sitting traditional Korean style – on the floor, legs crossed. My legs fell asleep. But the tofu was fantastic. In the center of the table, we boiled soup with veggies on a burner that was surrounded by numerous side dishes such as roasted fish, potatoes in pumpkin dressing (better than it sounds), various tofus, sea vegetables, not to mention rice and kimchi, of course. We ate ‘til we were full and then enjoyed little cups of sweet coffee dispensed by a machine that first dropped the cup then squirts of coffee. Right before our departure, I stepped into the lady’s room and met my first Korean bidet.
I walked into a stall and sighed with relief to encountered a sit-down toilet, although this particular toilet had odd, various colored buttons and looked a mite complicated. Not to mention that there was no obvious lever to flush with. But I did my thing, utilized my personal supply of tp (I never leave home without it!), and then turned to bend over the toilet to reason through the strange buttons in order to flush. I made my guess, pressed a button, and was surprised by a strong, warm arch of water that hit me square in the stomach. I jumped away but not before I ended up with a large wet patch on my front. Away from the water’s path, I watched as the stream hit the top portion of the door and flowed downwards to create a good-sized puddle on the floor. And I began to giggle. A lot. In fact, I never did figure out how to flush that toilet. Perhaps the gales of giggles that prevented me!
I giggled so much that I had to explain to my Korean friends why I was giggling. My Korean friend was quite amused, her friends, less so.
As the wet patch on my shirt dried, we drove away from town, down twisty roads and I learned a new word: “pada.” Sea. My friend and her kind friends were driving us to a beach and I was going to get my fondest wish: I would get to see, touch, and smell the sea.
It was a glorious afternoon. Just at the point that I began to worry about car sickness, we arrived at a white sand beach, climbed out of the car, and stood at the water’s edge for the longest time, just savoring it. Ok, I savored it. The others did too but it was obvious that this was my delight and while I didn’t whoop and shout “ahhh” (I wanted to), I immediately rolled up my pants and walked into the East Sea. (Also known as the Sea of Japan – but you don’t call it this in Korea unless you want to get hurt.) I beamed. I ahhed. I tipped my head back and felt the breeze lift my hair away from my temples. I took pictures. We took pictures. And then we took a long walk by the sea… as we strolled along, we found the beach uncrowded with people but clogged with garbage. I was surprised and snapped a picture, causing one of my Korean friends to comment how sad it was that that is what I’d be giving my friends in the US a bad picture of Korea, due to the garbage. There were large broken light bulbs (dangerous to bare souls), bottles, Styrofoam boxes, old shoes, old planters, and further down the beach there were bulldozers whose function appeared to be for burying garbage. “Burying it where?” I wondered. But I didn’t ask.
Eventually we returned to the car and then drove further down the coast, through some truly narrow lanes and down into a fishing village. We passed racks and racks of squid close-pinned to rope racks, drying in the sea breezes. We parked at the edge of the sea and stared at the horizon before ambling down a fishing pier lined with small, brightly painted fishing/squid boats, protected by enormous jack-shaped cement objects that are Korea’s version of a sea wall. We climbed onto the seawall and laughed at crabs, watched the fisherman, and enjoyed the breezes.
The companionable afternoon came to an end as the sun was disappearing into the western hills. We returned to the train station, said thank you and farewell, and the sunset turned to layers of hot pink and purple as Daegu appeared through our windows.
Happily, the desperation of my craving has slightly eased because even now, days later, I can still close my eyes and picture the sun and sand and sea.
“Pa-da… pa-dah…”
--Laura
For weeks now, I’ve been craving water. I’ve craved fresh breezes. I’ve craved the sea.
My mind’s eye keeps replaying a favorite film moment in which a woman and a man converse, with brevity, on a chilly beach under gray skies, under the sound of waves, and she says…
“I like it here. Just sea and sky and…”
“…nothing.”
“I like it. It makes me want to shout.”
“Then shout.” He says.
And she does. Albeit in a repressed, British sort-of way.
Anyway, although I could make you an entire list of items that I crave at this point in my Asian journey, for me, the sight of water, breathing the air, listening to the waves, twirling and calling into the wind has been a fundamental, rather inexplicable need. I confided this need to my Korean friend one evening, who commented that she planned to visit friends in the Eastern coastal city of Pohang (pronounced Po - ang) over the Chuseok holiday and if possible, I could go along too.
So, the day after my Daegu day tour, I met my friend at the train station, where we walked up the counter, walked to the platform and boarded an east-bound train.
Korean city train stations are deceptive. They are important, centrally located, busy, efficient, and the trains go everywhere. The train stations resemble my idea of an airport and Dongdaegu Station, the Daegu train station, is as big or bigger than the Daegu International Airport. I swear it. Because the train stations resemble airports, I cannot help but expect a modicum of difficulty in utilizing them. But there is none. You tell the ticket agent the city, you specify how fast you want to go (which determines the train), you are sold a ticket, you walk to the gate, put the ticket through a machine that resembles any subway ticket-taker, walk to the platform, the train arrives on time, you board and it leaves without much ado. Wonderful.
I greatly enjoyed my window seat view as the city landscape of Daegu dispersed into fields of rice, sets of blue-tile-roofed houses, rugged tree-covered hills, rivers, and obvious farming towns – with the occasional high raise apartment building incongruous in the agricultural landscape. As the train slid toward the coast (no clicks and clatters, sticky plastic seats or open windows on this train), I began wondering where the wilderness was and realized that Korea, one of the most densely populated countries in the world (more so than India or Japan) is rather like Europe in that people have been living on and cultivating the landscape for so long that there isn’t much wilderness (as we Americans know it) left.
Upon our arrival in Pohang, my Korean friend and I and other passengers were greeted by bows from Korean Rail staff lined on both sides of the station path. I was surprised by this friendly gesture, which turned out to be related to the up-coming Chuseok. Outside the train station we were greeted by two friends of my Korean friend and we were swept away in a car borrowed especially for the occasion of our visit. Our first stop was lunch: we ate at a tofu place. It was my first meal sitting traditional Korean style – on the floor, legs crossed. My legs fell asleep. But the tofu was fantastic. In the center of the table, we boiled soup with veggies on a burner that was surrounded by numerous side dishes such as roasted fish, potatoes in pumpkin dressing (better than it sounds), various tofus, sea vegetables, not to mention rice and kimchi, of course. We ate ‘til we were full and then enjoyed little cups of sweet coffee dispensed by a machine that first dropped the cup then squirts of coffee. Right before our departure, I stepped into the lady’s room and met my first Korean bidet.
I walked into a stall and sighed with relief to encountered a sit-down toilet, although this particular toilet had odd, various colored buttons and looked a mite complicated. Not to mention that there was no obvious lever to flush with. But I did my thing, utilized my personal supply of tp (I never leave home without it!), and then turned to bend over the toilet to reason through the strange buttons in order to flush. I made my guess, pressed a button, and was surprised by a strong, warm arch of water that hit me square in the stomach. I jumped away but not before I ended up with a large wet patch on my front. Away from the water’s path, I watched as the stream hit the top portion of the door and flowed downwards to create a good-sized puddle on the floor. And I began to giggle. A lot. In fact, I never did figure out how to flush that toilet. Perhaps the gales of giggles that prevented me!
I giggled so much that I had to explain to my Korean friends why I was giggling. My Korean friend was quite amused, her friends, less so.
As the wet patch on my shirt dried, we drove away from town, down twisty roads and I learned a new word: “pada.” Sea. My friend and her kind friends were driving us to a beach and I was going to get my fondest wish: I would get to see, touch, and smell the sea.
It was a glorious afternoon. Just at the point that I began to worry about car sickness, we arrived at a white sand beach, climbed out of the car, and stood at the water’s edge for the longest time, just savoring it. Ok, I savored it. The others did too but it was obvious that this was my delight and while I didn’t whoop and shout “ahhh” (I wanted to), I immediately rolled up my pants and walked into the East Sea. (Also known as the Sea of Japan – but you don’t call it this in Korea unless you want to get hurt.) I beamed. I ahhed. I tipped my head back and felt the breeze lift my hair away from my temples. I took pictures. We took pictures. And then we took a long walk by the sea… as we strolled along, we found the beach uncrowded with people but clogged with garbage. I was surprised and snapped a picture, causing one of my Korean friends to comment how sad it was that that is what I’d be giving my friends in the US a bad picture of Korea, due to the garbage. There were large broken light bulbs (dangerous to bare souls), bottles, Styrofoam boxes, old shoes, old planters, and further down the beach there were bulldozers whose function appeared to be for burying garbage. “Burying it where?” I wondered. But I didn’t ask.
Eventually we returned to the car and then drove further down the coast, through some truly narrow lanes and down into a fishing village. We passed racks and racks of squid close-pinned to rope racks, drying in the sea breezes. We parked at the edge of the sea and stared at the horizon before ambling down a fishing pier lined with small, brightly painted fishing/squid boats, protected by enormous jack-shaped cement objects that are Korea’s version of a sea wall. We climbed onto the seawall and laughed at crabs, watched the fisherman, and enjoyed the breezes.
The companionable afternoon came to an end as the sun was disappearing into the western hills. We returned to the train station, said thank you and farewell, and the sunset turned to layers of hot pink and purple as Daegu appeared through our windows.
Happily, the desperation of my craving has slightly eased because even now, days later, I can still close my eyes and picture the sun and sand and sea.
“Pa-da… pa-dah…”
--Laura
PS: Today's pic: me and my Korean friend's friend and the jack-shaped cement seawall and Korean fisherman and Korean fishing village, the sun and the pada...
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