Boryeong Mud Festival Part 1

I stripped off my shirt and outer layer of basketball shorts. I stood bare chested, white with blue veins. White is prized in Korea where women wear sports sleeves and hold umbrellas to shield the rays. In Cambodia, we saw Korean tourists with purple and blistered sunburned feet. Sunscreen in expensive in the Land of the Morning Calm and is sold in small bottles. An afterthought.

I exited the bus barefooted, tiptoeing and turning sideways to politely avoid contact with the hoard of pasty foreigners. Dozens of them crowded on stone steps, just behind and below a frenzied and makeshift beer booth. The crowd tore through mountainous piles of military clothing- dark green, brown and black camo pants and black, long sleeve cotton shirts with "TAD" printed across the left breast.

"Hi, my name is Tad."
"Nice to meet you Tad. I'm Tad."

I hopped down the stone steps toward the mud beach, but was turned around by a guide who informed the group that bare feet were not permissible. Many shellfish shells to cut your feet. Socks were ok. I bounded back to the bus and scourged through our North Face bag with L.L. Bean zippers. I hurriedly found a pair of black dress socks and squeezed the balled clothes back in and zipped the knock-off bag shut.

I saw Tor on the way down and he offered to buy me a beer. I took him up on it, even though I knew I was running behind. I twisted off the cap and quickly gulped and burped down the warm stout and jogged down with beer sloshing to meet the group.

A tall Korean girl with muscular legs and a whistle led us over the wet mudsand and through the drizzle to a makeshift rectangle field squarely roped. We divided into two teams facing each other at midfield. Translators told us that the object of the game was to run the ball between your opponents narrowly spaced cones at the opposite end of the field. Two balls and no rules other than an established out of bounds area were in play.

At first I stood back protecting our goal. With everyone dressed the same, it was impossible to tell Tad from Tad. Someone would come charging forward with the ball and soon find themselves engulfed in a swarm of angry arms and legs. I excelled at weaseling my way into the pile and prying the ball away from an opponent. On a few occasions, I high-kneed it down the field towards the goal. I kept my feet moving on contact and ran through a few players attempting to tackle high. Unlike football, the action didn't stop when knee met mud, so I held onto the ball unrelentingly, got up and lumbered forward. After scoring, I was pushed face down into the mud, blinded and fatigued with a mouthful of cold, metallic grout. We won 12-5 and the losing team performed a penance of push ups.

The next station was a chicken fight. We were instructed to hold one leg with two hands and hop into an opponent. If you fall down you are out. Despite my recent foray into yoga, my balance remains suspect. I exited the game early. At the end we were down to one player against their three. Ours was a big burly kid with a Samson-like mane and thick ankles. The lesser men hopped towards him, but he spun away and the three fell in sequence. Once again we avoided the push ups into the mud.

The penultimate event was the first of a two-part mud wrestling showdown. The two teams were pitted against each other in a field similar to that of the roped rugby station, but smaller. All participants started inside of the square. Push your opponent outside of the square to win. I moved tiredly toward a small opponent, and was blindsided viciously by a mud covered Tad. I recognized him from rugby and knew that he was carrying a grudge born from a cheapshot or five I had administered previously. I escaped and he pursued with vigor. He grabbed me again, but fell and must have landed awkwardly because he let out a horrifying yelp. Undeterred, I scrambled for the small kid and threw him out. A glance off to the side revealed my nemesis writhing in pain and clutching his shoulder. A crowd kneeled around him. Seven members including myself remained inside the roped area when the whistle blew. Five were from my team. The other team dutifully assumed the push up position.

The second part of the mud wrestling extravaganza took place inside an inflated ring. Fling your opponent outside of the ring. Last team standing wins. I had one memorable moment- throwing a Scotsman out of the ring behind my back, but for the most part, Big Burly took care of business. We completed our shutout and headed for the showers.

I lumbered up to the communal shower scraped and bruised with a hurt hip and groin. I removed my torn shirt and newly holed socks. In the shower I labored to remove the mud from the deepest recesses of my body. I still missed a teaspoon of earmud, but opted for a return to the beer booth, ready to roll down the road to the Boryeong Mud Festival.