Picture: my 'prize' hiking boot and azalea blossom sparkling with rain droplets. Can spring be far behind?
The five of us met at Shincheon, boarded the bus to Kangwha-do, and after an hour an half of snoring/reading/devouring kimbap we made it to the island. The weather was miserable: misty, rainy, cold, wet. The 'famous' view of the ocean failed to show up yet again. Not all of us were prepared for the rain. I had a fleece that eventually got soaked and had to buy my 10th umbrella of the year.
We hiked, sort of, sticking to the wide ridge of the low foothills surrounding the temple whose name evades me. I don't know how long we hiked. In any case, it wasn't long enough to get tired, but it was more than long enough to have our hands frozen and the rest of us shivering in our boots. We had our lunch on the back porch of one of the buildings within the temple compound, soaked and huddled like piegeons. Not moving made us even more chilled, so we decided not to hike any more but to go to the tea shop nearby.
What a marvelous idea it was.The place was warm and charming. It featured a huge stove, beautifully painted paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, hand-made pottery vases with yellow spring flowers artfully arranged in them, and lots of little open cupboards and shelves with simple and rustic tea cups displayed for sale. We ordered our tea and spent the next two hours thawing and chatting, trying to have the final word on such important, heated and disputed issues as whether Catholics are Christian, or not.
After the resuscitation at the tea shop, ready for dinner and dong-dong, we moved to that 'insam ddju' establishment frequented by the SHC whenever in this knack of the woods. You know, the one with an ajoshi and his thumb wrapped in a permanent band-aid and inevitably dipped in the bowl of ddju headed for his customers' tables. He didn't disappoint this time either. The band-aid was there, and CD asked him if it was the same one from ltwo years ago. When we walked in, the owner and his whole family were having dinner: he (the father), mother, grandma and two cute kids,a boy and a girl. They presented an image of a nice country family about to go to a studio for a family portrait, all featuring fresh hair-cuts, perms and hair-colour. The quite young and atrractive mother was dressed like a pop-star, lots of bright-green eye shadow and redder-than-red lipstick; also, her hair, spilling out from under a stylish white hat, was the reddest. The rest of them got the dye leftovers, - I suppose - featuring highlights of varying intensity and thickness. The little boy was the cutest with his streaked permed mullet, irresistible smile and a yellow V-neck sweater. He provided a lot of entertainment with his genuine attempts to establish communication.
Just before we were about to leave, half a class of elementary school children and a few of their teachers walked in. Spotting weiguk sarams, Shannon and me, they start speaking in whatever English they could master; we are impressed as they sound very good. As we are putting our shoes on, chatting and joking with the kids, one of the teachers, a youngish cocky country bumpkin, totally uncalled for, says in Korean: "Napeun Miguk Saram, " (bad Americans). I ain't no American, but Shannon is. Since she's such a big-eyed young thang, my motherly instincts kick in and I retort in whatever Korean I could master: "Ani-yeo, choeun Miguk saram; napeun sonsaengnim," (no, good Americans, bad teacher." He immediately surrenders his superior stance to the look of total shock and embarassment. For a moment the kinder bit of me feels sorry and thinks I should really learn to keep my mouth shut as dumbos will be dumbos, no matter what. However, the other half of me gloats and thinks the 1,000,000 won invested on Korean lessons in January was not in vain. Halleluyah! It serves him right . I hope he'll never again talk about other people who stand right in front of him as if they were furniture, regardless in what language. The kids laugh at first, but then show allegiance to the teacher, one of them saying," She's old and ugly." I guess, he means me. Ouch! It must have been the rain and cold, I usually don't look all that bad. I wonder, as I am trying not to take his mean remark to heart: what kind of youngsters are being raised in this country that supposedly respect elders? Or, is it that in some Koreans' view foreigners are not to be respected, old or young.
Other than this little incident and the hellishly hot bus on the way home in which we sweated and roasted (a just punishment for defending bad Americans, perhaps?), there were no other misadventures. It was another good Saturday spent in the mountains (and a tea-shop).
