A philosophical quandary for you to ponder: what would you do for a long soak in hot water?


Dear Family and Friends,

A few Fridays ago, I packed a change of clothes, climbed aboard the subway to our Dongdaegu station, bought a train ticket for $7 and less than two hours later, my train was sliding through yards of metal port containers and I had arrived at the world's fourth largest sea port and Korea 's second largest city, Busan.

This was the first time I had departed from Daegu to explore Korea on my own and my objectives were simple: to explore Busan, to take a bath, and to see the sea. Finite time and pleasant autumnal weather were most pressing and to my amusement, I found my more detailed agenda dominated by an odd compulsion to visit hilltops.

V. odd.

Upon disembarking at the Busan train station, I walked to the city subway and followed Lonely Planet instructions as best as I could figure, exiting the subway to narrow streets, tasting a salt breeze while ducking the occasional car and peering around for comprehensible signs. Finally, I was corralled by an old man with a flapping flannel shirt and gold-filled teeth who hurried me through the door of a building, up two sets of darkened stairs and into a room that appeared sparse but clean. As I’m determined to train myself to stay in places below my preferences (more travel, less $), I impulsively decided to stay; however, it wasn’t long before I discovered long, black hairs on the pillowcase and a questionable stain on the bed. I wasn’t pleased but had to be resigned. Sadly, so far, I find cleanliness the one travel amenity that I cannot seem to do without. That night I slept with a towel that was once white covering my pillow and on the far side of the bed.

Anyway, after dropping my backpack at my guesthouse and obtaining a key hooked to a 10 inch wood block, I popped back on the subway, disembarking at the film district of Busan. My first visit to Busan coincided with the famous Pusan (Busan) International Film Festival (“PIFF”) and with a little trouble, I located festival tickets sales. I went to the window, placed the PIFF guide flat against the glass and said "English" through the microphone. I didn't care what film I saw (all a part of the adventure, I assured myself), which was fortunate as I found myself in a 1000 person theatre, watching a French film with English lining the bottom of the screen and Korean subtitles scrolling down the right side. Titled "Flanders," the film could be a sure-fire winner at Cannes, with loads of ugliness and fallible characters. Afterwards, as we jostling on our way out, a guy asked what I thought of the film. I couldn’t escape my western diplomacy as I replied that "I found it typically French" and in turn, he told me that he found it "disgusting." I couldn't disagree. The experience was notable but the film was not (in my opinion).

After my artsy-fartsy International film travails, I found myself in a crowded, brightly lit shopping square, unwilling to return to my not-clean guesthouse and not really in the mood for a bar. So I checked with LP, realized that a notable tourist attraction was close by and open for another hour. With one eye on Busan’s tower and one eye on my path, I walked ‘til I came to 200 steps, climbed those, past a gorgeous Korean wooden temple thingy complete with a bronze bell, through a park, over to a ticket booth, paid 3,000 W and took an elevator ride to the top of the tower. Busan is lovely at night with a myriad of lights and wavy reflections off its bay. I enjoyed the view, returned down, and was just about to embark down the steps when a fireworks display began in the distance. Bemused, I stood, craning my neck while trying not interrupt the couples that cuddled and “ooh”ed at the fireworks. It is only human to admit spasms of loneliness during those moments.


Upon opening the front door to my guesthouse, I was startled by the sight of my elderly proprietor changing his pants in a brightly lit room underneath the stairs. He was quite unstartled by my presence and kindly interrupted his changing to dig out a bottle of water for me. And his wife sat up from her nest under the covers to give me a friendly goodnight smile.

I wondered if they had slept under stairs their entire lives.

As I brushed my teeth the next morning, water gushed directly from the sink to a hole in the floor. I did not even peer into the shower. I walked myself a mile or so to Starbucks, ordered a mocha, an unhealthy cinnamon thingy, and an International Herald Tribune. I curled myself into a velvet chair and wallowed for breakfast. Eventually I returned to my guesthouse, bade farewell to my proprietor, placed my backpack in a subway station locker and climbed aboard a bus to go - where else? - uphill to visit a Democracy Monument was a reputedly amazing view. After approximately 30 minutes of anxious bus meandering, I realized that I must be going the wrong direction so I got off, crossed the street, and an hour later was relieved to pay tribute to democracy by freely peering over monument walls. Busan is fourth largest port in the world and there appeared to be hundreds of ships anchored in a mist-covered harbor.

After I had looked my fill, I went downhill, on bus, retrieved my backpack and commenced a search for a mid-priced hotel with clean bedding and showers. I stowed my backpack at one Angel Hotel and embarked took off yet again on the subway. Next destination: another big hill. Duh. But this hill had the added attractions of a big public bath at its base as well as a cable car and hiking.

I was determined to find the bath building first as nothing was going to deter me from a long soak, come hell or well, obviously I’d welcome high water. My tourist map firmly in hand, I walked windy streets searching for the bathes but I couldn’t locate them. And this was frustrating: I was searching for the largest public bath in Asia and I couldn’t locate it with a map and 40 minutes walking. Grrr. However, the cable car was easy to spot so I finally gave my bath quest a rest and followed the sight of the cable cars until I had arrived in a park dug out of a steep hill and was passing vendors hawking marinated chicken meat on sticks and smiling at children riding a teacup ride while their parents snapped pictures with their cell phones. I contemplated the teacup ride (it looked fun!) but instead bought a 5,000 W roundtrip ticket up. I climbed aboard the cable car, which had at first had plenty of breathing room but by the time the doors shut, the breathing room was gone. As the cable car began its slow ascent up the mountain, I began to shake with what I can only call mild terror. Although the view of Busan was spectacular, all I could see was an American military prowler jet slicing through cables and us screaming against the windows while plunging into the rocks below (ala Italy). I was the first off that cable car, almost bursting down the roped off path, although careful not to knock into the old man with a cane. This cable car fear is going to be a problem for a girl with a penchant for views on high.



After calming on a bench, I hiked to the East Gate of an old fortress. The forest through which I walked was hardly the wilderness that we in the US expect. Instead, equal to the number of trees was the number of picnic blankets spread with food and the hiking trails were clogged with people. As I picked my way along a path, I was surprised to be passed by several elderly men, eschewing the sounds of nature and instead listening to loud rock music (ok, valid point: there was little nature to be heard). And one of those men was playing the Beattles at full volume, I swear it. Anyway, using my fledgling Korean to navigate, I made my way to a not terribly exciting gate all the while enjoying the weather. During my return, I managed to diverge from the path and get lost amongst the picnickers and trees. While frantically using every sense I had to find my way, I decided that I’d better return via cable car but this time I ensured that I was first in the car so that I could sit on a bench while clutching at the windows on the way down. Safely at the base of the hill, I set off for my much needed bath.

It had been 3 and a half months since my last bath at the Davis in Bangkok and as I am fond of a rather good bath, I was feeling pretty desperate. And this LP entry was most intriguing:

Heosimcheong Spa – reportedly the largest hot spa in Asia - is packed with soaking tubs and saunas on the 4th floor, with a capacity for 2000 people. Massages and a scrubbing service that removes dead skin are available for an additional fee. Guests are welcome to stay as long as they like and take a break in the third floor snack bar (use one of the spa’s robes).

See? Doesn’t that sound good? And I was damn well not leaving that district of Busan until I had had a message and a long soak. It turned out to be a good thing that I was determined because my second attempt to locate this bathhouse were, at first, no more fruitful than my first. And just to add to my confusion, the logo for bathhouse and for yeogwan (guesthouses) is the same and there had to be a thousand yeogwans in the area. I spent almost an hour pulling out the map, deciding on a new strategy to locate the bathes, walking, pulling out the map, new strategy and more walking. And who says only men refuse to ask for directions?? Finally, as the sun sank behind the hills, my grubby self walked into a swanky hotel, asked for directions and discovered that the baths were attached to the very hotel that I was in, above a large wedding reception place (that I had walked by and ruled out based on it looking like a large wedding reception building). Thank the maker.

I crossed the hotel sky bridge and found myself in a swarming, wood-paneled lobby. I made my way to the counter, inquired about a massage and a helpful man slid a plastic jelly bracelet with small key attached onto my wrist and guided me to another lady who stood in the entrance to what was obviously a woman’s locker room. I was motioned to locker number 1254 and through gestures, instructed to leave my shoes (only) in the locker. Then the lady attendant smiled and bowed and I made my way deeper into the room. There was a large mirrored dressing room, a counter with two ladies dispensing bath accessories and cotton pjs, and naked women everywhere. Keeping my eyes carefully averted and trying not to look as well, foreign and alone and lost and embarrassed as I felt, I soon found a large, long locker labeled 1254 in which to strip down next to and stow my clothing in. But I was the only foreigner in sight and, naked or clothed, I knew that I was about to attract hundreds of stares and it was just more than I could handle to explore the baths while naked. I just couldn’t do it. So I compromised by stripping down to a camisole and jeans, climbed some plastic carpeted stairs, and found myself in a large room filled with pools.

The woman’s soaking room was enormous and dominated by a great glass dome above while below the dome was a large pool divided by a low granite wall and flanked by stone turtles, water streaming from their mouths. Surrounding the main pool were smaller pools, some darkened, some surrounded by rocks, some crowded, some still, some steaming hot, some ice cold; there were pools within caves, long pools, and even long cascading waterfalls to stand under. In one corner, there was a large room with both standing showers and sitting showers where women were scrubbing themselves down. After getting the lay of this utterly foreign land, I turned up a set of side stairs, passed an open air lounging area shaded by a wood screen and in the deepest corner of the next story, found a row of gleaming plastic tables where naked women were being scrubbed and hosed by other naked women. There was a helpful sign detailing serves rendered and while contemplating my options, I retraced my steps and found myself stopped by a helpful lady who was concerned about the water that was wicking through the hem of my jeans. I thanked her, rolled up my jeans and returned to the locker room.

This time I pulled off my clothing, took a several deep breaths, pulled in my tummy, stuck out my chin, and walked into the bath area. I attracted a fair number of stares but even in Korea staring is not polite behavior so it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I dutifully took a cleansing shower and ready for my soak, I walked into the main bath arena only to be stopped by an attendant, who kept pointing at my head until I realized that she meant that I had to wash my head too. Oh. So I returned to the showers, wet my head and freely walked to the main pool, stuck a toe in to test the temperature and then slipped in and down the entire way into the water. I crouched towards the uncrowded side of the pool and settled myself into a perfectly warmed bath. I wanted to close my eyes and just savor the soak but I was too curious about what was going on around me. There had to be more naked women in that building than I had seen in the whole of my life. Women holding babies, sleeping on lounge chairs, crossing from pool to pool, scrubbing each other in one corner, ordering drinks at a refreshment bar, and amicably chatting with each other, feet dangling in the water. Bathing in Korea is a social experience.

After I had soaked for a bit, I consciously made my way upstairs to the massage and scrubbing corner. There I pointed to my selection on the menu and was motioned to lay torso down on a table. A lady wet me, scrubbed every inch of me, oh and I mean every uncomfortable inch, with a rough mitten. I then turned over and she put very gloopy mud mask on my face, did something to my head and then scrubbed my front. When she had scrubbed as many dead skins cells off as possible (big job!), she strategically pummeled me for a few minutes before shooing me back to the baths. With renewed vigor, I explored several pools, trying out the lavender-smelling pool, the pepper-smelling pool (there were labels and yes, one pool was purple and the other was black), and the 44 degree Celsius pool. Finally, hungry, I returned to the locker room, dried myself and borrowed a pair of cotton pjs. Happily they fit, so I pulled money from my locker and went down a staircase directly from the middle of the locker room to the third floor.

The third floor was mixed sex, the men were wearing different colored cotton pjs, and had an intriguing number of conveniences including mechanized foot massage machines, a large space where men and women alike could rest on woodblock pillows, a bank of computers where one could surf the web, and very hot or very cold igloos to lounge in. Goggle-eyed, I passed nap rooms and found a cafeteria, where a few minutes later I was provided with a tray containing a bowl of bimbimbap (rice + salad + hot sauce = bibimbap - one of my favorite Korean dishes), miso soup, kimchi and perhaps one other side dish. I sat at a low table and ate my nummy dinner while attempting to unobtrusively observe the people around me. There were several families enjoying their dinners along with several couples, several single men and me. When I was done with my dinner, I wandered back upstairs, enjoyed the pools for a bit longer and finally called it a day.

Later at my hotel, I discovered Korean television, which seemed comprised of game shows punctuated by unexpected noises, soft-core porn, and CNN. My bed was clean and crisp and I nodded off with a book.

Before leaving Busan, I needed to wet my feet in the pada. So the next morning I forced myself away from the heavenly bed, utilized the very clean shower, checked out, placed my backpack into another strategic locker and took myself to the beach.

As I emerged from the subway into daylight, the breeze stirred my hair and elicited a smile from me as well as from the people around me. By following the crowd and the breeze, I found myself at Haeundae beach – a white sand beach, flanked by tall condo and hotel buildings and crowded with people. Off went my flip-flops, up rolled my jeans, out came my camera, and into the water I went. I strolled in the surf and sand for a good few hours – savoring the people-watching, so many Koreans dressed in long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweaters just sitting on the beach, and the rocks and the water and the breeze. I walked from one end of the beach to the other and then climbed past the Westin hotel, found myself paying 3,000 W for rice cakes to a vendor who took my picture (good racket she has going on there) and then weaving amongst slow walkers to a viewpoint with a fake lighthouse. I loved the sea and the waves so much that I wore new camera batteries out and it was at that point that I decided that it was time to go. So I walked past the Westin, waved to the rice cake lady, enjoyed an unexpected beach meeting with a fellow EPIK teacher, got on the Busan subway, collected my backpack from its locker, and soon I was on a train, heading home. Half way home on the Daegu subway, I was joined by one of my most congenial students and he and I had a very nice talk almost all the way home.


I cannot say that I got a feel for the people of Busan, or even for the character of Busan, but I can say that I enjoyed the view, the view and the view. And my personal answer to the philosophical question that I posed re: bathes: I would walk naked around 400 Korean women and pay $30 for the privilege. And here’s the thing, I’m likely to do it again.

Shall I go back to signing myself off as Crazzzzy Girl?

--Laura

PS: I went to work the next day and announced to my British co-worker that I had finally had a bath after 3 and half months. Despite his British ancestry, he was dutifully horrified and we are yet joking about this. Another friend told me that under my bath criteria, he hasn’t had a bath in two years. The horrors!