Tongyeong & the Restless

I rose early after a good night’s sleep in Tongyeong. Out on the streets, an elderly gentleman guided me to a set of staircases leading up to Dongpirang Wall Painting Village,  a decaying neighbourhood that was revitalized thanks to painters who had decorated the walls of the houses in the alleys with charming murals. However cold and unfriendly the people of Seoul may be, it is always balanced out by the kindness and warmth of the Koreans whom I encounter in the rest of the nation.

The artsy neighbourhood was situated on a hill. I made my way down using an alternate path and kept walking until I arrived at the Nammangsan Sculpture Park. Every point of interest in Tongyeong conveniently fell within a 15-20 minute walk of each other in the town of 100,000. The sculptures stared out into the distance where the dark clouds seemed to be clearing up, indicating that it was time for me to catch a boat to one of the outlying islands.

I sauntered to the ferry terminal. I asked a ticket seller what the best island to visit was and bought a ticket there. I sat on the open air deck as the boat made its way out to sea, the waters choppy and the sky again downcast. With the youth of Korea busy staring at their smartphones and getting their faces carved by the medicine man, I was surrounded by the same colourfully dressed members of the 40+ club who I run into when hiking Korea’s mountains. They generously offered me several cups of the national rice wine soju and some baby tomatoes.

After I had imbibed adequately I headed inside to the covered section of the ship, which was just a floating model of a traditional Korean home. There were no seats or tables. Shoes had to be removed at the entrance, and passengers were either sitting or lying on the floor. Many were fast asleep. As the sea churned, the boat swayed from side to side. I used my backpack as a makeshift pillow and indulged in a light nap, occasionally sliding a few inches in either direction as the currents dictated.

As we passed several small islands and ventured further out into open waters, the weather began to clear up. The sun reared its head among the clouds, emerging victorious just as we reached our destination - Somaemuldo. A small town had formed on the hillside beside the pier. On each side were jagged rocks and ancient trees. I climbed a cliff to get a quality view of the return passengers boarding the vessel I had just disembarked.

I had about four hours to explore the island before the last ferry of the day would set sail back to the mainland. After completing a small looping trail on one side of the island and stopping for a quick lunch, I decided to hike to the top of Somaemuldo to get a glimpse of the lighthouse constructed by Japanese colonialists on the adjacent island of Haegeumdo. A small land bridge is available to reach the tiny island from Somaemuldo when the tide runs low. At the top of a mountainous ridge, I reclined on the bare rock and took in the view. The fog cooperated occasionally to give me brief glimpses of Haegeumdo before covering it up again.

According to my rough calculations, I had about 45-60 minutes to spare before the last ferry departed for Tongyeong when I arrived back at the township by the docks. I entered a coffee shop perched on the hillside, ordered a cup of coffee from a rare natural Korean beauty manning the counter, picked a seat with a direct view of the port, and plugged in my phone charger. Just as I was getting settled, the coffee girl approached me with a panic stricken look on her face.

Our communication to this point had been silent and continued thusly. She pointed at the boat and urgently ushered me to go aboard. I pointed at the time and indicated that I still had a good half an hour before the final boat departed. She shook her head, unplugged my phone, handed me my coffee, and made a running motion. I could not ignore her heartfelt concern for my well-being so I waved her a long goodbye (which was reciprocated) and hurried to the ferry, which in fact was the final one of the day and soon set sail back towards Tongyeong.

Tunnelling to Tongyeong

It took several bus rides to voyage cross country from the tea fields of Boseong to reach the picturesque coastal town of Tongyeong. I was to transfer buses at Masan, but at the bus terminal I could not find any onward transport to the port town. There was another bus terminal in town and the lady at the ticket counter explained this to me using only her fingers as a mode of communication. Luckily I am as adept at adapting to unforeseen situations as local surgeons are at adding double eyelids to K-girls, so I was soon on my way to Tongyeong.

After I reached the terminal at Tongyeong, I took a local bus to an area that seemed somewhat near to were I wanted to be - Asia's first submarine tunnel. Opened to the public in 1932 after 16 months of construction, the Tongyeong Undersea Tunnel is for pedestrians only. A sign at the entrance proclaims it to be the "Dragon Gate Connecting the Mainland to the Island". I strolled through the tunnel nonchalantly. A group of old women saw me wandering about. I asked how to get to a certain temple after I got out, and one of the grannies who was heading that way dragged me along and deposited me in front of it.

I wandered around the harbour area for a while soaking up the atmosphere and scenery before taking a taxi to Hallyeohaesang National Park, known to have the best views of the town and its outlying islands to catch the sunset. The panoramic view was noteworthy, but there were too many couples about. A noticeboard warned "Garbage gets his back" and "Let's make national parks do not smoke". Bus service was infrequent so I was trapped atop the mountain park for about 2 hours before a bus showed up to deposit me back in the city proper. By now darkness had set in and I needed both dinner and a place to sleep.

I walked a bit till I came upon a fish market that was still abuzz with activity despite the late hour. I found the busiest restaurant and settled myself on the floor after taking my shoes off at the entrance, as is customary in traditional Korean restaurants. I placed my order and enjoyed some delicious saengseon hoe (aka Korean fish sashimi), served to me by a Tongyeong belle. The older staff members nudged her towards me but she was all business, the mischievous twinkle in her eye only visible as I bid farewell after finishing my meal.

By now it had started raining heavily, so I wanted to secure accommodation  before I was drenched further. I walked into the centre of the town, near the harbour where a model of Korea’s famed turtle ship used to thwart Japanese invaders was docked. In the back alleys I found a motel with vacancy after a few failed attempts. The old woman at the front desk threw me a key and told me to go upstairs, while she finished watching her TV show. She showed up several minutes later, knocking on the door and asking for the night's rent as if she were the landlord and I an unreliable tenant. After she left, I unrolled the mattress onto the heated floor and fell into a deep slumber.

2 of 3

Two of my friends in Vancouver were planning a get together.

Friend #1: You bring the food. I'll bring the drinks. Arnab brings the girls.

Friend #2: Excellent... so we will have plenty to eat and drink.

A Day by Manila Bay

After a particularly interesting cab ride, I made my way up to my hostel. There were two Israeli girls in my room who had also recently arrived. They had just wrapped up their mandatory tour of duty with the Israeli defence service and were beginning a 3 month journey across Southeast Asia before heading to university. Israel, like South Korea, is surrounded by enemies on all sides and utilizes conscript soldiers.

Israeli youth over 18 are required to serve in the military. Guys have to serve for at least 3 years, while gals have a minimum 2 year term. The former soldiers invited me to join them on their exploration of Manila. I was spending a few days in the capital city before jetting off to the island of Palawan to catch up with my Dutch friends, so I headed out with them to get my first taste of a new city and a new country.

There are two modes of mass rail transportation in Manila. We took the MRT to Taft Avenue, and then transferred to the LRT all the way to United Nations station. As we went down the station stairs an elderly Filipino gentleman approached us and cautioned the girls to wear their backpacks in the front, so that no one would have a chance to unzip the bag from behind and empty it of its valuable contents. We would find out how much weight his warnings carried later on as we walked towards nearby Rizal Park. A child appeared to be tying his shoelaces in front of us. Suddenly he leapt up and buzzed past us. One of the girls let out a yelp. Her necklace was gone! Our eyes followed a blur zigzagging through the heavy traffic to the other side of the street and disappearing, never to be seen by us again.

“I thought having a guy around would have kept us safe, but apparently I was mistaken” groused the girl whose neckless had been pilfered. I maintained my silence, but not my dignity. Our spirits soon lifted as we headed into the park, packed with Filipino families celebrating the first day of 2014. We tried a variety of the snacks and drinks being sold at the stalls peppered throughout the length of the park. My favourite was the buko shake, a coconut smoothie designed to beat the heat.

The eponymous Dr. José Protacio Rizal Mercado y Alonso Realonda, or José Rizal in short, was a national hero, scholar, poet, and revolutionary who knew 22 languages and dialects (or about 21 more than the average number known by a Korean). His execution by firing squad on the grounds of the park later named after him ignited the Philippine Revolution against Spain. Kilometre Zero, the point in Manila from where distances are traditionally measured in the Philippines, is also located within the park. The flag of the Philippines proudly waved from atop a massive flagstaff at one end of the park. From there a short walk led us to Manila Bay and a lovely sunset.

*****

It is a useless life that is not consecrated to a great ideal. It is like a stone wasted on the field without becoming a part of any edifice. ~ Jose Rizal

Conversations with Cabbies: Gastronomy

On the first day of 2014 I made my way to the Philippines from South Korea. As I exited the Manila's Ninoy Aquino International Airport I was met with a long snaking lineup at the taxi counter. Not many taxis were around as it was a public holiday. I eventually made my way to the front of the line and caught a cab. The driver immediately engaged me in conversation, a form of verbal interchange I had become unfamiliar with after living in Korea.

Upon inquiry, I told him that I was going to meet up with some friends in the Philippines and travel around. “Did you come here to meet a lady friend. Lots of foreign man come to Philippines because they like our ladies”. I replied in the negative, as my travel buddies were two Dutch men. He let out a loud juicy fart and apologized “Sorry! Gastronomy”.

We also discussed my travel plans, our educational background, career paths, job prospects, and the notorious behaviour of Korean men in the nation. Kopinos (코피노) are the byproduct of illicit liaisons between Korean guys and the Filipinas who these men have either paid or misguided. There are now over ten thousand of these fatherless children scattered across the Philippines. A coalition of mothers has even made their way to Korea to demand child support money from the fathers, who either do not know or do not want to know about their spawn.

The taxi driver also told me he had an ex-Canadian girlfriend who he had met when she had accompanied his sister (who works as a nurse in Canada) on a trip back to the Philippines. They had a long distance relationship for a few months until she dumped him unilaterally. “Why are Canadian girls so mean?” he asked me. I struggled to give an adequate answer, mumbling “I don't know. Are they mean?” and “I’m not sure it’s a trait particular to Canadian girls”. "They are moody like a smoothie!" he exclaimed as we passed a 7-11 convenience store.

The name of my hostel in Manila was Our Awesome Hostel, located in a poor neighbourhood outside the gates of modernity. The cabbie parked outside the entrance, took one look, and immediately declared "This is definitely not awesome".