Finding Serenity in Korea- Yellow Sea Island Biking

Our initial plan was to take a weekend biking tour of Seonyudo and the surrounding islands off the coast of Gunsan in the Yellow Sea with a large tour group. However, once we finally got around to registering online, all of the seats had been reserved.

We decided to try it on our own, and couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome. This was easily my favorite weekend spent in Korea so far, not only because of the unique location and picturesque scenery, but because, for the first time, we were able to shake the endless noise of bumpy crowds and find peace in our adopted country.

To reach our island getaway, we rose at 5:00 a.m. and caught the bus to Express Bus Terminal in Seoul where we bought a ticket for Gunsan. We met two of our friends in Guri (where we live) and two more at Express Bus Terminal. Three of our friends are teachers around the same area we live in, and the other is a Korean pharmacist. All four are female, laid back, easy to get along with and as happy as we were to be escaping the city.

The ride from Seoul to Gunsan took about 4 hours. Halfway down, we stopped at one of the famous, bustling rest stops, and I became drawn to a miniature military doll that danced and played music on top of a food cart.

In Gunsan, we took the taxi to a ferry to the islands. The ferry left at 12:30, and we got to the islands somewhere between 1:30 and 2:00. We should have been tipped off to the fact that we were pretty much going to have the islands to ourselves. The ferry was nearly empty. (That is our friend Jessica behind me in the picture below)

The ride from our ferry to the pension (motel) was kind of interesting. The owners had arranged for us to be picked up, and by picked up I mean thrown in the back of a van to sit on our luggage. I cowered down on the floor and hid myself, pretending to be an illegal crossing the Rio Grande.

Our pension (pictured below) cost 70,000 wan, or roughly $10 USD each. We rented bikes for the same price (for 24 hours use) and rode off to first explore Seonyudo Island- the island we would be staying on.

Bicycling was a liberating experience. One of the things I miss most about home is being able to get in a car and drive anywhere. Not having a vehicle has been a pretty easy transition, but I can't wait to get behind the wheel again.

It didn't hurt that the weather was spectacular as well. This winter Korea received more snow than any other year in the past 100. It snowed 8 inches one night in March, just a few weeks before this trip. The cold Siberian winds had been relentless since November so the mild 50-60 degree weather on this trip felt downright balmy.

I have never been a huge biker. I think I was 9 or 10 when I first learned how to ride, which is pretty embarrassing. I remember falling and getting a rock stuck in my hand.

Despite my status as a relatively novice cyclist, I managed quite well. I fiercely tackled steep inclines and pedaled circles around the all-girl crew. One of our friends from New York City rode around very shakily at first. She had learned to ride as an adult, and was lacking a little confidence. I had fun barreling toward her at top speed and abruptly slamming home the breaks inches from colliding.

After exploring Seonyudo, we pedaled uphill and over a magnificent bridge to Jangja-Do Island.

At the top of one of the cliffs, I found a nice grassy spot to take a nap. Before I dozed off, I took a final gaze out at the seaweed farms and marveled at just how far away I was from Oregon. Then, dreamytime.

At sundown we retreated to our pension where the girls (minus Sami) cooked up a delicious hodgepodge of foods foreign to Korea- A seven bean soup and a pesto pasta with vegetables and tomato sauce. We even had tuna salad with mayonaisse. Mayonaisse I tell you!

Someone had recently been to Costco and scored a big box of cookies- the kind with 3 varieties: chocolate chip, oatmeal, and white chocolate macadamia nut. As the official cookie judge, I inhaled one of each and instantly declared oatmeal raisin the winner. 

If my 9 year old self could have peered into the future, he would have been mortified and probably start to question whether it was worth it to carry on with life. What kid in their right mind would ever choose oatmeal raisin over chocolate chip? Well, I must tell you little Joey, that your taste buds will develop someday and you will begin to know the joy of butter and cinnamon. You will know happiness when you squish the greasy oatmeal goo around in your mouth along with the sweet and sour burst of raisin, and it will be good.

The next morning I rose early, back and hip bones sore from tossing around on the hard, heated floor, and searched the island for an outdoor restroom. I had no intention of stinking up the bathroom that five girls were soon to alternately occupy. 

Even with our crappy camera, I was pleased with a couple of pictures I took of the island in the early morning as I searched for a port-a-pooper.

 

After an oatmeal cookie breakfast, we rode out to explore Munyeo and Sinshi Do Island. We visited with a group of oyster shuckers, and later with a Korean couple clamming in the wet sand. We cheered them on as they performed their choreographed ritual. The husbnd would rake back the wet sand with a garden spade to reveal small holes the clams use to breathe. Then, he would pour salt into the hole. After a few seconds, a skinny, brownish, razor-like clam would emerge like Carrie's hand from the grave. The wife would swiftly pluck the clam out of the ground and toss it a bag with the others.

 

Further on down the road, we came across a school playground. There was a basketball hoop a few inches higher than 7 feet, so I found an abandoned ball and flushed it down hard with two hands like I was Dwight Howard. I did that a few times and experimented with different celebratory dances. I banged two balled fists on my skull like I was Darius Miles. I mean mugged Sami as if I were K.G. I eventually settled on placing my hand on top of my head with fingers extended in the air, calling it "the shark."

 

After a few more dunks and a spin on the merry-go-round it was time to soak up the scenery on the way back to the pension. Good-bye peace and calm, hello pushy subway riders and neon lights. I will consciously neglect the details from our return to the city. Lets just say it was about seven hours too long. 

It is better to focus only on what a great experience we had at Seonyudo Island. I would like to hope that someday we can go back to shuck oysters, dig for clams and bike around eating oatmeal cookies from Costco again, but somehow I feel it just won't be the same. There might be a big tour group staying in our pension, pounding the soju and disrupting what should always be a quiet, relaxing island ride.

Conquering Durian

I will eat pretty much anything and like it. Living in Korea has only reinforced this borderline obsessive personality trait. I think nothing of happily slurping what others may find repulsive- from fermented fish to congealed ox blood. Today's lunch soup featured at least a half dozen unidentifiable tentacled sea creatures. I loved it.

Naturally, when I first learned of durian, I knew I had to have it. Native to Malaysia and the Philippines, durian is also grown in Thailand and Cambodia. It is commonly referred to as "the king of fruits" due to its immense protein content. Some people are truly obsessed with it, and consider it a delicacy, as it is comparatively expensive.

Most find the taste and smell horrendously foul. A fellow sightseer at Angkor Wat compared his durian experience to "eating rotten onions over a ripe garbage pile."

We sauntered through each of the covered markets on Bar street looking for souvenirs for co-workers and ourselves- silk scarves, Angkor Wat t-shirts, handbags, flags and cutlery. We nervously attempted to improve upon our bargaining skills, eventually learning to just ask "one dollar?" for every item, and then meet somewhere in the middle of a buck and their asking price. I kept a wishful eye out for durian during each excursion.

When I saw what appeared to be durian, both whole and neatly wedged, I bought a hunk. Surprisingly, it was only one dollar. No bargaining necessary. We took the fruit outside to an isolated grassy area and I ordered Sami to film me taking my first bite. It didn't smell bad at all. In the video I described the taste as something very similar to banana laffy-taffy. I was puzzled. What is all the fuss about? Something ain't right.

When we got back to the hotel I did some quick research. It turns out I was eating jackfruit, not durian. I promptly erased the video and all evidence of my fake and foolish conquest.

These three two pictures are of jackfruit, not durian. The picture below is of me with a bag of jackfruit.

As with most things in life, if you really want something, ask someone who knows. I abandoned all thoughts of finding "the king of fruits" on my own and had a local take us there. I paid $5...or $10, I can't remember, the point is we found it. The woman tending to the stand was even kind enough to carve the flesh out for me.

Each section of meat is about the size of a twinkie, but not nearly as heavy to pick up. I remember the color being a light key lime pie green, but I guess pictures don't lie and it is yellow. Each piece has a large, flat, woody seed.

I took my first bite in the back of a thuk-thuk, riding through the dusty streets of Siem Reap. The outside was stringy, and more solid than the very thick, warm custard of the inside. It smelled sweet, like cantaloupe or some sort of melon, but the taste was completely different. The flavor immediately brought to mind that of canned corn. I could taste garlic and onions as well. It coated my mouth like something starchy would and left me thirsty. It wasn't that bad.

I stored the leftover durian in the fridge and when we came back to it, the whole room smelled like dog poop. I could hardly bear to choke down a few more pieces before, sadly, I discarded the remains.

Khmer Massage

The Kazna is only a ten minute or so walk from Bar Street and, eventually,  we became familiar with the route. We only had one minor mishap on the second or third day where we trudged an extra five miles to get 500 feet to the hotel. I admit to being moderately challenged when it comes to directions, but I think this is the first time that I have actually unknowingly walked to the doorstep of my destination, only to circle back completely mystified.

During a less eventful walk, we decided to stop into one of the many massage parlors for an authentic Khmer massage. It is impossible return from a walk around Siem Reap without a half dozen half page fliers touting cheap massages.

We chose the place pictured at left because it was the closest to our hotel, and since it was a bit removed from the hustle and bustle, we reasoned it received fewer patrons. Why not throw them a bone?

We were handed a menu and decided upon the $6 full body.

Full disclosure: Although I've started to come around, I have never really been into massages because I am embarrassingly ticklish, especially my feet. Also, only a few days prior to arriving in Cambodia I had finished a leg workout complete with squats, sissy squats, leg curls and lunges. My recovering leg muscles felt like they had been mauled by a bear. A little bit of research and I would have been keen to the fact that a Khmer "full body" massage is 55 minutes of the masseuse working your legs and feet like eggs and breadcrumbs into a raw meatloaf. The last 5 minutes she throws a couple of karate chops into your back.

While we were still in the waiting area, the girls brought out bowls of warm water and washed our feet. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes to keep from screaming like a girl, but still couldn't hold back a snort of a laugh accompanied by a quick, uninvited fart.

Rightfully embarrassed, we were politely guided up a set of stairs to the room where we were to receive our tickle torture. We were given a set of comfy cotton pajama pants and shirt to change into. Sami's pants had a drawstring. Mine, while big enough to fit Ron from "The Biggest Loser: Couples," did not. I improvised and tied a knot with the excess material. All I could do was cross my fingers and pray that my doodle would remain hidden during this ordeal.

The girls started out on our feet, and having relaxed after ridding myself of that pesky little gas bubble, I found that I enjoyed it. That is, until she worked her way up to inside my knee. The lightest touch to areas sore from lifting weights had the effect of a stabbing. I must have made some sort of noise as she dug in deeper because she asked:

"Does it hurt?"

"No!" I lied.

So she dug in deeper.

Hoping for relief as she moved her way northward, I was stunned when her hard forearm dropped down millimeters away from the most sensitive of areas. I could feel my femoral artery pump blood louder and louder as she continued the downward pressure. The blood was directed to the one place I prayed it wouldn't.

I turned and looked at my wife, looking serene with eyes closed. What would she say if she knew? Would she laugh? Would she be angry? Would she be as embarrassed as she was when I bumped that squeeker in the lobby?

Lukily, I was saved by Sami's masseuse who let fly a barrage of phlegmmy hacks. When she left the room, the unsexy sound of wet coughing and bubbly nose blowing brought me down.

Finally, after a couple of karate chops, we were finished. We were led downstairs and served tea barefoot. They even charged us $10 instead of $12. A few days later, my legs had recuperated and Sami came down with an horrendous cold.

Cambodia: Day 1

The Kazna Hotel has the same exquisitely bizarre feel I will forever associate with Cambodia. I was instantly smitten by the heavily polished hardwood floors and local decor of the lounge which included, among other treasures, a small taxidermic Leopard Cat forever fierce and prowling atop an old box television set.





The family that owns and operates the Kazna is warm-hearted and accommodating. In fact, if you go to their Web site, the same young man you see on their homepage became a fast friend during our stay.

The night we arrived we were jet-lagged but excitable and easily buzzed from the Angkor beer out of the mini-bar. I quickly found the hotel information guide while Sami unpacked. I learned that we could order complimentary breakfast for the next morning and did so. Ordering tomorrow's breakfast before bed became a nightly ritual. There were about five or six different options to choose from and I selected a different option each day. Sami had eggs and toast every time. For my first morning in Southeast Asia, I went with a seasoned pork sandwich with tomato and onion.

The next morning we dined upstairs in the large, stone-tiled, covered terrace overlooking Siem Reap. We chose a table next to the most out of place looking pool table I had ever seen and, in the warm, still, open air, soaked up the jungle scene of nearby shops facing dusty gravel side streets. In the distance, palm and coconut trees cut through faraway rooftops and sputtering thuk-thuks encircled paved roundabouts.



For our first foray into town, we instructed our thuk-thuk chauffeur to deliver us to Wat Thmei- a Buddhist temple and stupa memorializing victims of the Khmer Rouge. The human relics were a somber and sobering site. One of my favorite photos from this trip was one I was able take of a side view of an eternally serene Buddha statue juxtaposed by a sliver of encased human remains.













For our next stop, our driver suggested that we visit some of the temples. We had planned our temple visits for the last two days of our vacation, but because it was still early and because a three day pass is cheaper than two one day passes, we went for it.

Simply riding in the thuk-thuk and feeling the open breeze and rush of motor scooters passing was a pleasure. Gliding forward, I set our cheap camera to sport mode and tried to snap off adequately framed photos of our surroundings.











We landed at what came to be known as "that mystery temple," until Sami somehow miraculously found it online and we were able to refer to it by its proper name: Wat Atwea.



Since Wat Atwea is a outside of the regular temple complex, we were the only tourists present. Luckily, a few locals were on hand to show us around. First, I met a couple of youngsters who seemed to view the temples as their own, private, 800 year old fort. It wasn't too hard to convince them to pose with me.





Later, a university student didn't mind acting as an impromptu tour guide. He showed us around the adjacent active temple and explained that many local Buddhists elect to keep their cremated remains stored inside the temple.







After we parted ways with our young guide and tipped him a buck or two, we asked our driver to take us back to the Kazna. I think that he was a little confused that we weren't going to take advantage of our temple passes, so we tried to convince him that everything was ok and that we would get more than our share of temple experiences at the end of our trip. For now we were hungry.

(FYI- cost of thuk-thuk for about 3 hours was $5).

I don't know if mutually deciding upon a restaurant gets easier the longer you are married, but for us newlyweds, it never ceases to be a point of contention. The frustration level exponentially increases as our blood-sugar level decreases. I want to choose either street food or the smallest, dirtiest place around because I feel that is the most authentic way to go. Fearing illness, Sami prefers to play it safe and choose somewhere big and clean and touristy. We eventually decided upon a Chinese restaurant and order big Tsingtaos for 75 cents apiece. The beer calms our frustration. I have a big bowl of noodles and pork for about $3. It tastes porky and garlicky and I am happy. We recognize the sound of nearby patrons speaking in Korean and it makes both of us happy.





After lunch, we ventured to Bar Street to shop in the open market and practice our bargaining skills. I began phase one of my search for durian and come up empty handed.

Later on that evening we attended a Khmer dance show and buffet that one of the big hotels puts on every day. It was fine. The food was ok and the show was exotic and entertaining, but it was very touristy. The highlight for me was a Cambodian dessert of fried bananas with black sesame seeds. So crispy and squishy and sweet and delicious. I can't believe I used to think that I knew what a banana tasted like before I visited places like Cambodia and Fiji.







After the show it was back to the Kazna to pet the stuffed Leopard Cat and order breakfast for tomorrow. I will opt for the potato and onion omelet. Sami orders eggs and toast.

Coming in Part 4: Quad adventure!

Cambodia: Arrival

The Incheon Airport is incredible. It is enormous, and despite being one of the busiest airports in the world, it never feels crowded. On this snowy day, all flights were departing on schedule leaving us ample time to sample all the airport had to offer.

As I mentioned in a previous post, we skipped Burger King and went for one of the Korean joints. I had soondooboo chigae (soft tofu stew) and Sami had bulgogi gook, which is a sweet beef soup with vermicelli noodles. She orders it every time it is on the menu.

After our salty meal, I HAD to have me some Baskin Robins. Mint chocolate chip, no doubt. I was in one of those moods where nothing was going to stop me from that cold minty goodness, so Sami didn't put up much of a fight, even though she felt our soups were a little pricey, and maybe we shouldn't be spending so much so fast. She might have been a little off her game, because somehow we ended up purchasing a $50 backpack, a $12 paperback (you know they mark the English books way up), and beers upstairs in the resting lounge. Boarding the plane was the only thing that stopped us from blowing our entire allowance.




There are many things I love about Korean Air. The flight attendant uniforms and free cocktails are two that come to mind immediately. I get so excited just following the little in-flight entertainment schedule. I know exactly when I am going to get my plastic cup of pinapple juice, and I turn downright giddy given the opportunity to choose between beef, chicken or bibimbab (bibimbap every time son). Sometime during the flight, they always show a cheesy video which demonstrates head, neck and back exercises for passengers- kind of like seated yoga. Sami hides her head in embarrassment as I stretch along with the actors on screen.

After a couple of long naps and a few quick gulps of pineapple juice, we land. We exit out of the plane down a ladder and onto the runway. It was completely quiet outside with the absence of jet engine noise and the night air was hot, but not too humid. Sweet, but not tropical. Inside, we somehow manage to navigate our way through the myriad of customs officers, get our passports stamped and wonder what happens next.

It doesn't take long until we are met by a man holding a vaguely familiar sign "Joe Hayden." Close enough. He leads us to a thuk-thuk, which is essentially a covered cart with two benches attached to a motor scooter. Riding in the open air through a dark town that seems 50 years back in time is indescribable. We pass by worn down European-style buildings and mini street markets with barefoot children playing in the dirt next to skinny chickens and even skinnier dogs. This is nothing like modern Seoul with it's high-rise apartments and neon lights.

After we checked in to our hotel, Sami commented that I hadn't stopped smiling since we arrived. As I cracked open a beer from the mini-bar I thought "I can't disagree."



Coming in Part 3: The Kazna Hotel, a mystery temple and a show