Back in the swing of things: Seoraksan in Autumn

Korea's tourism slogans are often laughably bad. I'd like, in some small way, to mitigate that statement – to make it sound more diplomatic or at least less catty – but it's true. Take their latest masterpiece:

Yep, there are not 365, not 730, but 1095 days in a Korean tourism year. Naturally, as many of us are here as English teachers, it's little wonder that little gems like this take the form of memes that repeat themselves over and over again in the expat circles. Other famous examples?



By far my favorite (to mock), though, has always been this one:


Four Distinct Seasons

BUT, BUT, BUT how wrong I've been. No, really. Since my trip to Seoraksan* last weekend I've seen the light. It might actually take three years to properly see this sparkling country and its four distinct seasons. Seriously.

Now, I have no intention of testing my hypothesis – I'm out in less than two months – but the autumn colors on the slopes of Seoraksan have me questioning just about everything these days. It was simply phenomenal.

Now, as any reader of this blog knows, I've done my fair share of hiking in Korea.* All of it – and I mean all of it – pales in comparison to this hike.

Let me explain the set-up. It was a three day, 14-person trip I led in conjunction with a hiking group I'm a member of. I hadn't even intended to go in the first place but circumstances resulted in an opportunity to go for free – in exchange for leading the team – and so, eager for the experience as well as the free vacation, I went along.

Boy, am I glad I did.

We left Friday night, shortly before midnight, and (groggily) arrived at the trailhead around 7am Saturday. (Korea's small – we actually arrived at 4am but the bus idled while we slept.) From there it was up and down in a single day. Up Korea's second-tallest mountain (1709m) and then down the other side. It was easier said than done but nevertheless not too bad. Unfortunately the way to the top was four hours up, wholly on an incline and mostly covered by clouds. By the time we reached the first shelter, just past the summit, at noon, visibility was a thing of the past.


[Hiking group huddling for warmth.]

[Naturally Mohy was too manly to feel cold. That makes one of us.]



On the way down, though, the clouds parted and slope eased up. It was spectacular. Clear skies in some places all the way to the East Sea with nothing but craggy peaks and brilliant treetops in the foreground.

[Look, Mom, I'm a tree!]

The downslope also featured gorgeous waterfalls and streams – so inviting but so cold! - that were so captivating we were racing the sunset to finish before dark. In that one regard we failed, slightly, but happily so.





Having completed the hike we headed to our hotel situated mere meters from the East Sea. That night I made the team dinner – salsa con queso and Italian sausages – in our rooms and my friend Kate made us s'mores along the beach.

It was a late night for a long day but a truly amazing one at that.

BUT BUT BUT the next morning was almost better. Waking up, we went to the beach. The sky was clear, the sands were white, and the water blue. It was perfect. So, too, were the pictures.

[Apparently the East Sea is the place for pictures for me.]

Oh, and as if to complete my Korea photo trifecta, there a temple. A beautiful, exceptional temple. Both exceptionally beautiful and also just plain exceptional: where most temples in Korea are in the mountains, this one - Naksansa - was ib a beachside cliff. Thus a good temple made better by its setting. Check it:



So, yep, all in all it was a great weekend. One of the best yet in Korea. Here's to two more months in Korea!

* I stopped counting ages ago, but I'd easily topped 50 by August. I mean, what else can the functionally illiterate do with their time?