GI Korea Comment:  Here is a guest travelog by Chip about his trip to the remote Korean island of Saengil-do.  It looks like he had a great time despite what happened to him at the end of his trip, but he definitely he has the right attitude in regards to getting the most out of his time in Korea.  I hope everyone enjoys the read.  By the way if you have a travelog or article you would like to contribute to the ROK Drop you can either e-mail it to me or post it over at the ROK Drop Forums.

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Ever since I’ve been young I’ve often admired professional adventures like Alby Mangels who would ride dirt bikes across war torn Africa; Bear Grills, who is the star of “Man vs Wild, whose trademark is to be dropped off in the wilderness by a “Helli” with a canteen and flint. Part of it has to do with the fact that they go places that most of us will never do or see. Yet, the fact we can watch  these places on TV offers us a glimpse into these remote yet inviting places. Places that promise us a break from strip centers, crime, and urban sprawl that is so predictable. They are also places best not to drink the water, where there will be no medical care in case of emergency, or why would I go there when I can go to Vegas. Well I’m hear to testify that one of these places is Saengil-Do. A small island off the Southern part of the Republic of Korea (ROK). I would visit Saengil-Do in an effort to define what this little known island was and who its people were.

Saengil-Do translates to Birthday Island and its name sounds inviting. I came to know about Saengil-Do by reading a trip review on the blogger website. The trip review focused on Wando Island and casually mentioned that you could take a ferry to surrounding islands. However, it provided a link to the Wando-Eup website which had a small review of the surrounding islands. One of which was newly developed and lightly traveled due to the new road. This was a Call to Action for me, because I knew that this may be the hidden gym of Asia that I had been longing for.      

            After consulting and inviting my regional cultural expert, a KATUSA ( Korean Support to U.S. Army), it was advised that it was probably best that I not go to Saengil-Do. Concerns were expressed such as, “They do not speak English there,” “What if you’re mugged,” and “What in the world is Saengil-Do and why would you want to go there?” But I would not be deterred by nay-sayers or people that recommended alternatively good tourist spots. However, I assured the expert that I would maintain cell contact as much as possible and call him if I needed translation support.  Because I know it is one thing to go to the back country solo, but it is an entirely different to go when no one knows your whereabouts.

            So after work on Labor Day  holiday Friday,  I headed out to the Seoul Express Bus Terminal to catch a 5:40hr bus to Wando. I would arrive at night and catch the morning ferry to Saengil Do. After the bus pulled into Wando I set out to find a place to sleep. I was told there would be few westerners in Wando but after walking no more then a hundred yards I found three Western girls eating pizza. I stopped to talk to them and scrounge what I could. They said that they were Canadian English teachers and that a few hundred were gathering for a party in Wando this week. Only one of them was from the town and told me she had heard of the surrounding islands but had yet to visit any. She had already lived there for a year so I assessed that these weren’t regularly visited by Westerners.

            Finding a cheap hotel on the beach I set out to walk around the waterfront. By now it was going on midnight and the fishing boats were being loaded by cranes with bait and gear.  This was a rough and tumble working marine economy and not the “black tie event” Seoul I was used to.

            After awakening and dropping my key off at the hotel counter (honor system) I headed over to the ferry terminal. My remote guide had already secured the ferry times for me and predictably they didn’t speak a lick of English. However, a young Korean Coast Guard troop came over and told me it was time to catch the ferry. I had to fill out a piece of paper with my Passport information and name. I don’t carry a passport per the Status of Forces Agreement with the R.O.K. and wondered what they would do if I pulled out a military ID and said I have no passport. Luckily, I didn’t have that conversation and made way to my ferry while receiving some concentrated looks along the way as I passed the Coast Guard personnel.  I though about the scenes from Travel Channel’s “Locked Up Abroad”, where they grab the ‘would be drug smugglers’ seconds before boarding a plane because it was the same looks they had received in a foreign country.  The ferry offered two seating arrangements. You could opt for the pristine shoe-less wooden floors with bamboo brick pillows which I found unexpectedly or the upper deck and benches covered by a tarp. I chose the upper deck with the fresh air and settled along with a female Buddhist monk. She attempted to enlighten me and I offered an occasional “Nayyy” (yes) to satisfy her. She was refreshingly chatty, albeit in another language, and expressed to me in my Pointee-Talkee book that she was going to a Buddhist Temple. Unlike me with my high dollar pack, medications, and clothing she carried a Grey cloth purse with a wooden spoon instrument. Something can be learned by someone who travels so light.

The ferry arrived roughly 45 min later at Saengil-Do. The drop down door went down and a bongo truck went to offload while I walked behind.  The departure/approach angle from the ferry ramp immediately trapped the bongo truck and the skipper floored the ferry while the bongo truck scrambled unsuccessfully to reverse. I jumped on a pallet behind a bulkhead to get clear because it seemed like a safety video gone wrong.

After exiting, the ferry it immediately departed and silence filled the air. Then I noticed that only my Buddhist Monk friend and myself had exited the ferry with the bongo truck now gone. We set out down a harbor road with some Ojimahs tending nets. The Monk stopped, smiled, bowled, and pulled out her wooden spoon and went right to work with the CLOP, CLOP, CLOP sound I had heard at Buddhist temples. I by now had taken in the scenes and noticed that none of the buildings had writing or signs of any kind. I thought, “Was this why the lady offered me a two way ticket which I refused?”. So now I was concerned with finding a ticket office or signs of life. When my Buddhist Monk friend seemed satisfied with the conversation we went on to the next building which she systematically cleared and found empty and we went on to the next. By now I realized she was literally “drumming up business” and she needed not be bothered by my poor planning.

 So I struck it out on my own knowing that I had a water bottle and bag of almonds that would keep me mobile for a day or two. Walking for a few hundred yards I encountered my second Ojimah with a wide smile. By now the anxiety had cleared and I pulled out my Pointee-Talkee book with the words Ticket Office in Korean and English. I was sure this would be a smash hit discussion. After she gladly looked at the book she waved me off with an obvious ‘sorry I can’t help’ look. The small fishing village died off and I realized that the road went straight over a mountain (probably only 500ft). But I came to a row of old Korean houses with an Odishi  tending his fishing nets. I pulled out the Pointee-Talkee and again marketed my sales pitch of “May-Pee-Ohsoo”(ticket office); he looked at the book and also did the exact same wave off of  hands waving over each shoulder. It then dawned on me that some were illiterate on this small Korean fishing village. I didn’t expect to find illiterates in the developed nation of Korea where the language is phonetic, easy to learn, and literacy rates are 98%.  With that discussion I resigned to my Trail of Tears which went up and over a mountain road I had no idea where or how far it went. My only encounter was an Ojima walking with a small “Sling Blade” which was not in the mood to talk.

An hour later I came down the other side of the mountain and had made several turns. I came to a larger village with some government style buildings. One appeared to be a school with a courtyard and the other had a large ROK flag flying on it. I opted for the ROK flag and walked in. It reminded me of what North Korea must be like because there were buildings, but no cars driving, people walking, or overloaded bongo truck activity.

Inside the lights were off and the windows open to allow the fresh breeze in. The two Odishi’s greeted me and I explained to them I was looking for the ticket office to the ferry. They asked if I was staying in an “MinBak” (Korean houses that rent rooms to travelers), which I excitedly said, “Yes!” and told them the name, which was Paradise Minbak. They shook their heads and pulled out cell phones before I could say anymore. Then they offered me the finest leather seat in the office and told me to sit down and take my pack off. I was immediately brought out a hot coffee as their honored guest. I wanted to tell them I would have preferred some ice water or sports drink after just hiking for two hours over a mountain but politely settled on the coffee. During our discussion it was brought up that one of them was the “Saengil-Do Captain” and I was to see his office. So he took me up stairs and opened a big wooded door.

Inside was a predictably spotless office with a huge desk and a marble name plate which I was told was “Saengil Do Captain.” A dog was sleeping in one of the chairs, which he seemed embarrassed by, and promptly kicked out. It was explained that it was his dog, “Meenee.” The wall had a huge map of the island with every road, ferry dock, and point of interest on it. The Captain explained to me our whereabouts in broken English and showed me the ferry stopped. I assured him that it stops on the other side of the island as well and did the fingers walking motion across the map to make sure my point was made not wanting the next tourist to be mislead. He laughed with the only an idiot would get off there look. Before we could get into great discussion of the map, a Mexican “Lacoocoo Racha” type horn sounded several times and I was hurriedly led down stairs. It was as if they didn’t want to waste anytime during my extraction. But by now I was enjoying my guest of honor treatment and reluctantly got in the mini-van to be driven to my Minbak. After several miles we came to a hill that overlooked the beautiful Guemkok beach which I recognized from the pictures.

Arriving at my Minbak I was taken to my quarters which consisted of a clean floor, bathroom, bucket shower, some bedding, and an old TV , for which the proprietor seemed concerned because he couldn’t find the remote. I signed that I didn’t plan on watching much Korean TV while enjoying the beach and we agreed on 6 fingers (+/-50 USD) as the price for two nights, cash only. After getting situated I wanted to see the illustrious Geumkok Beach. So I put on my suit and headed down a small trail through some rain forest type growth. The beach represented the fruit of all my labors and I was rewarded by its emerald Green water and sand. It was a warm Saturday and the beach was completely empty. I walked up and down it in disbelief only to find some Beach Goats at the end of it. Satisfied, I thought to myself how I completely duped my friends and Naysayers with my brilliance.  Now I could take pictures as proof and boast how I ate citrus and enjoyed my paradise in the sun. After enjoying the beach I headed back to my room and laid on the floor, in my bed. I quickly drifted to sleep to the sound of the surf and island breeze blowing in.

BAMB!” made the sound of slamming doors and I woke up to Koreans yelling at each other. Angry that I had been woken up, I listened as every window, shower, toilet, TV was opened, flushed, turned on, and function checked. Then my door proceeded to open, I heard more talking, and the door slammed. As quickly as the intruders came, they left but I couldn’t go back to sleep. I thought the proprietor must have gone in to do some work and had disregard for his one guest’s privacy.

After getting up and walking around I realized I was extremely hungry from having skipped lunch and hiked half an island. Keep in mind my cultural adviser had instructed me that there was one store on the island and it was not where I was.  “How will you eat?,” he questioned, to which I had no   intelligible answer. I sat outside and flagged the proprietor down. I then pulled out the Pointee-Talkee and showed him the word ‘store’ in Korean. He looked at me half frustrated and pointed over the mountain again, an expression I was now familiar with.  So I protested, “RAMEON, RAMEON”, half knowing that all Koreans possess Rameon noodles and they are easy to make. He repeated my words and ushered for me to sit down and walked inside the house.  Within 15min, Ojimah brought me out a huge bowl of steaming Rameon noodles with a cooked egg and Kimchi. Only problem was she brought me chopsticks and I told her “Fork-uh, Fork-uh”. She didn’t understand so I told her the Korean word for spoon “Sukara” and she quickly produced a spoon. By now Odishi had gathered behind me to see why in the world I needed a spoon for noodles. After he watched my failed attempt to eat a bowl of noodles with a spoon he said “fork-uh” to which I gladly shook my head. After I was in business it took me no time to devour the noodles, kimchi, and rice. It was a feast fit for a king. Thankful I had acquired the remaining component of survival, (food, water, and shelter) ;  I carried my tray to the house and gave Ojimah an enthused, “Mashisyo!”.  After the meal, I headed back to my room to belly up on my blanket and go to bed at the proper island time of 8pm. After all, the sun had gone down and I was tired.

            Thirty minutes later, I heard a convoy of cars pull up and a large number of people jaw jacking outside. Curious of the new arrivals I walked out to find the culprit who had opened my door earlier. As I had suspected, a dozen or so Koreans were sitting outside outfitted in high-tech hats, high-performance clothing, tending fishing pools, and coolers. I proceeded to pull up a chair and join the crowd. This drew some expected looks as they assessed me and the most qualified English speaker began the interrogation. “Two”, he said and pointed to my room. “One” I replied confidently and shook my head. This drew more discussion and bewildered looks. Then he asked the usual questions to size up my social status in Korean Society (age, country, marital status, and occupation). But before the conversation could go on for long, another individual parked a car and walked up to join us. All the fisherman popped to and stood up to greet and bow the guest. Not wanting to be the black sheep, I stood up which is always better in Korean culture. I also figured the guy must be of great importance for a dozen grown men to “pop to” like that. This man was older and wiser looking. He was also well dressed and had obviously not been in the sun for 12 hours. He spoke better English and after a short discussion the other lower ranking Koreans began to yell “Hampuguh, Hampuguh” as they rubbed their belly in a circular motion. I shook my head in protest and tried to explain that I had just eaten 5 lbs of Ojimahs noodles and was quite full.  He stepped closer to me and grabbed my shirt sleeve and said, “FAMILY!” He had wittingly played the ultimate trump card on me and the discussion had ended.  So with that, I followed my hosts to the dinner party.

            We walked into a full blown Korean restaurant that was also part of the Minbak. I thought how I had almost starved while Ojima had a restaurant within ten feet of me. I settled in the middle and fielded questions and gestures.  The first course was a super-Oyster like creature called  Jombok (Abalone) on the half shell. It was explained how Jombok was a highly prized food and known for its “STRONG” properties. So I gladly attempted to eat my Jombok. The only problem was it was so tough I had to use both hands and shake my head to bite through it even though the Koreans had now easily finished theirs. But they seemed content that I ate it and accepted my poor table manors. The second dish brought out was raw Jombok with the juice. This was extremely rich and I quickly washed it down with a Soda. Now came the business part of the meal with a formal toast. As a side note, Koreans and guests never pour their own drinks. The senior’s drink will be poured first, followed by the subordinates in an act of reciprocity. By now, they explained that the party’s senior was a major city’s Police Captain. Not to be left out, my shot glass of Cola was poured for me. The toast was declared and I slammed glasses indiscriminately with as many as I could see, one of which was the Police Captain’s. After the toast, I was reprimanded by my hosts and explained how I, for lack of translation, “Power Toasted” the Police Captain by slamming my glass over his. I then realized my hosts had done the math and figured a 29 year old English teacher did not out rank the Police Captain. So I was told, “PARDON” and had to issue an apology to the gentlemen. The apology quickly resolved the conflict and I played along with the “good cop/bad cop routine” to which I was all too familiar. Now that we had eaten for two hours I was told, “NORIBONG” (Karaoke bar). I wondered how I must have missed the Noribong on the way in. But by now my guests were warming to me and I didn’t want to disappoint. 

            We walked 10 feet out of and back into the house and into a full Karaoke room like I had seen in Seoul. This house is full of surprises I thought to myself. While the equipment was being checked and vocals warmed, a platter of beer and squid jerky was brought in. I sat on the chair and attempted to really enjoy the music and the squid jerky. The “Bad Cop” again yelled at me and motioned for me to stand up. This was to be mandatory fun and I started to do the two-step and hand clap. By now the fishermen were spinning and performing waltz twirls. After awhile the proprietor and his wife showed up in their best outfits. Odishi chose the slacks and a button up. Ojiman even had make up on.  They would be joining us for the festivities. As more Soju and Mekju flowed, the party ramped up even more. Eventually the five inch thick Karaoke book was brought to me pre-flipped to the English pages. Again there was no discussion about my willingness to sing so I picked Eric Clapton’s, “I Shot the Sheriff” as my idiomatic reply. I also knew the words made popular by Bob Marley’s version. Everyone gathered in expectation and all eyes were on me as the numbers counted down to my song. As soon as the opening versus kicked off and I yelled, “I SHOT THE SHERIFF” into that microphone everyone fell over with laughter and rejoice. It was as if I had said the right words at a Mason gathering. People rotated in to hug me and take photo ops while I sang. Some yelled “ENGRISH, ENGRISH” and laughed as if it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. The proprietor pointed in approval and said “Han-gook”(Korean) to his wife. It crossed my mind that maybe Karaoke was my calling and I had just been discovered. After my song had finished I was allowed a well deserved break and recovered while shots of soda were poured for me with more squid jerky bounty. As the party wore on people were beginning to pass out on chairs and against walls. I was relieved as people trickled out and thought how I out partied my hosts. Someone came in and declared, “Knock it off.”  We left the Karaoke bar trashed and in utter disarray.

            Now what I didn’t realize was that while I thought everyone had crashed from the 30 bottles of Soju and Mekju we drank, that in reality they had showered, shaved, and regrouped to BBQ fish over an open flame. Odishi grilled the fish and “Hampuguh, Hampuguh” was communicated to me once more. By now, I didn’t attempt to protest and sat down around the fire to eat the fish. The fish was fresh and I enjoyed its simple taste and familiarity. After an hour of eating fish I retired to my room for a night’s sleep. I took a sleeping aid just to make sure I would get ten hours of sleep.

            I awoke at 0800 to a screaming man standing in my room rubbing his belly and yelling, “ RACE-UH, RACE-UH , Hampuguh, Hampuguh!”  It took a split second for me to realize this wasn’t a bad dream and I swore I had locked that door. He quickly walked out after I nodded my head in understanding. I thought about what happened to my desires for a quite beach weekend and sleeping to the surf. But I was now Family and in no position to make independent choices now. Walking into the restaurant I noticed that everyone else had already eaten as the restaurant was trashed yet again. Sitting down to eat my Jombok porridge, which had a smoky flavor but was otherwise nourishing.  After that I went right back to bed but couldn’t go back to sleep.

            In an effort to recover my beach paradise, I put on my suit and walked down to the water. As I expected, the beach was perfect and I had it all too myself.  After an hour, however, my Korean family joined me for a swim and photo op. They splashed around in the water and drew a line in the sand for races. I had to announce, “On your mark, Get set, Go” and drop my hand like shooting jets from a carrier.

After an hour or so of swimming, one of them turned around and again yelled, “HAMPUGUH, HAMPUGUH!”, with the circular hand on belly motion. So we dried off and set off up the hill.

I walked into Ojimah’s diner to find a steel drum on the floor full of cooked mussels. I settled in and began to dismantle the mussels. While eating, we watched TV and made small talk as Ojima prepared the table. She brought out the main course a version of Tofu soup which I was told was an “ORIGINAL” dish that also contained Jombok.  It was indeed good and I had a light sweat from the pepper heat. We went through about three main courses which was a light meal for us.

It was explained during dinner that my hosts would be leaving back to society at 1400.  We napped in and outside the house until then. I motioned that I wanted a picture of everyone, with “Ojimah” as well. We set the cameras up and took another photo for memories of the good times. I shook hands with everyone and said, “ Manaso Pangap-Suminida”(very nice to meet you) which was the best I could offer.  It was a sad moment as they drove off honking the “la coocoo racha” type horns. But I was thankful to meet such a hospitable group of people. So with that I suited up and headed back down to my personal beach.

Arriving on the beach I patrolled it like a dog does his side of a fence to see if it was clear of people. Noticing the goats heading up a trail and onto the peninsula I followed them to see what this was about.  It soon climbed and held onto a steep rocky semi-cliff. After a quarter-mile it made its final assent and went straight out to drop into the sea and more cliffs. The commanding view was even better then the beach and looked over the shipping lanes of the Cheju strait as well as the boats tending the nets. I pulled out a magazine and half slept and snacked on almonds in the shade. A Korean fisherman was positioned on the side of a cliff and was defying gravity. I imagined his reaction if he looked up to see a “migook” sitting on a cliff reading in a swimsuit. After hours of leisure, the sun was getting low and I headed down the goat trail. A line of goats was coming up and stopped when they noticed me. Not wanting to make ten goats walk back down 100 yards to the beach I stepped off the trail and yelled at the goats to pass. The buck made his approach and the kids in the back were getting restless at the stop. The troop leader was cautious and after he acted like he was snacking on some pine needles he gave me a final look and headed on up. In tow came a large Nanny which set up a well practiced  pick and roll play for the passing Kids. After the traffic passed I crossed over the beach and up to my humble abode.

It was now getting late and I walked into the house to see what was cooking. Ojima was sitting in her vibrating chair after serving the proprietor his dinner. She had labored hard and deserved the relaxation. I sat on the floor and motioned that I was hungry. They discussed the matter and soon a tray full of exotic marine Kimchi and bowl of mussels was brought out. I tore into the bowl of mussels and dabbled with the Kimchi that I was not accustomed to. After finishing the meal she brought out two plumbs which were refreshing.  Now that I was full I motioned that I was retiring for the night and thanked Ojimah for the meal.  Before going to bed I pulled a chair to the back of the house and watched the passing lights on the horizon. The breeze was blowing and the stars were out. It was one of those thankful to be alive moments you get when overwhelmed with nature.

Waking up at 0200 with that hot yet chilly feeling I and realized I had a problem on my hands. My trip to the bathroom only confirmed this and I was left in the fetal position on the floor. Time passed slowly and my once perfect island breeze was an arctic blast now. After hours I gave up the idea of a quick recovery and had lost a lot of body fluid.  It was now daytime in the states and I called my sister  to tell her the situation. If I was going to perish on the floor of a remote foreign island I wanted the story to be told. She offered tough love and suggested I take a picture of my sickness on the floor for the story. I agreed and we discussed the ferry ride and six hour bus ride back to Seoul. The rest of the night was sleepless and filled with bouts of agony and sitting on a plastic bucket next to the toilet. I was coherent enough to know that I needed fluid but couldn’t drink water. Knowing my pack had been well used in I discovered an expired pack of electrolyte tablets. I dropped them in the water and attempted to drink some nourishment. A blue sports drink never sounded so good in my life. I thought about my cultural advisers words against going to an island where there is one store on the other side. I also thought about my co-worker I had peer pressured for weeks to join me but who turned it down for clean sheets and a large panel TV. They were both sleeping by now while I lay here in misery like a recovering addict.

My pre-arranged meeting time with the proprietor came and he stopped tending his garden and was ready to take me to the ferry. He graciously offered food to which I pulled out my Pointee-Talkee and pointed to the words throwing up all night. He acknowledged and was very concerned and motioned for me to sit down. He then brought out four pink pills and some water. I shook my head and waved him off with a no medications without a prescription look but Odishi was undeterred.  I had produced the book and now required a remedy.  I took the pills and he insisted I sit in the front of the truck. He took it easy on me and we kept the windows down on the way to the ferry. Arriving he pointed to a bus stop looking structure and said “May Pee-Ohsoo” to which I was confused  but got out.  He met me outside the car and I shook his hand and gave him a slight bow while the locals watched in bewilderment.  Driving off I was now on my own again and headed to the nearest building. They sat me down and I was offered a steaming hot coffee while waiting on my ferry.  By now I was barely sitting up and could not stomach a coffee. It was discarded at the soonest opportunity. Then I was motioned to go to the bus stop where an Ojimah had pulled out a money bag and was distributing ferry tickets.  I paid the amount which was thankfully cheaper than my previous ticket. Climbing on the ferry I had already planned my B-Line to the pristine wooden floors with the bamboo pillows. But walking through the bulkhead only revealed an open door to a huge diesel engine and a small room with a metal bench.

I opted for the metal bench and placed my hand on my pack and laid down. By now those 1200 hp diesels were revving up and violently shaking the bench and my fragile situation. I closed my eyes and told myself it will only be an hour, like you do for dental surgery. However, 20 min later I was tapped and told to prepare for departure. Stepping out I looked at the island which appeared small and undeveloped. Not the bristling large ferry terminal at Wando.  Agitated I began to point at the land and yell “WANDO CHUSEYO” ( I want Wando) at all the bystanders which just shook their head in return. After all, I had been promised a ticket to Wando and wanted it honored.  Having no option I berated the ferry worker one last time while exiting the boat. I immediately began to summon the people on land by saying “May Pee Ohsoo” to which I was led into a store.  There I was sold a ticket to Wando for 1500 won (1 USD) which I thought was suspiciously low once again. I read the ticket’s Hangul writing and it did not say those words on there.  The time was getting close to leave and the ferries were coming and going. I stumbled out to the ferry dock and greeted a young Korean Coast Guardsman.  Showing him the ticket and pointing at the ferries he said, “Don’t go there”. Yet another blow to my exit strategy had been presented as I was led to a bus.  Sitting down I wondered how I would get to another island by this Hyundai Corp bus. The bus driver came up and I questioned him about going to Wando. He shook his head and assured me I was in the green. We drove out through the countryside over another beautiful island. This one named Yaksan, was more developed with agriculture and rows of houses. The route ended at another bus stop and I was told to get off. Unamused, I walked into what I thought was a bus stop to berate them with the words “WANDO CHUSEYO”. They soon told me I was still in the green and the bus for Wando left at 1 finger. I collapsed on a chair and lay my head on my bag.  Noticing my “Defend Dokdo” ( a disputed Japanese/Korean rock) the pharmacy worker chuckled and pointed. He then brought me out a vitamin drink and another mystery medication to which I took without an argument.  The vitamin drink was refreshing and I needed it badly.  It was an hour until 1300 and I didn’t have the energy to sit upright in the chair. So I moved outside to lean against the wall like I had seen the Ojimah’s doing earlier. I looked for a corner store which is always a stone’s throw in Seoul.  A butcher’s shop and female lingerie sold on a street stand were my only options. Another coffee was brought out to me and I was admittedly unthankful for it. However, a local drunk who had taken a liking to me was thankful for the coffee to which he in turn offered me a cigarette. Thanks but no thanks I gestured. After that he sat on the bench behind me and hovered over me as bird does her helpless hatch-lings.  One finger came and I boarded the bus with the load of produce and wares. We drove out into the country side again and picked up more Halminis and Halibujis (grandma and grandpas). One senior Halibuji boarded the bus and I repositioned so he could easily sit down, as is protocol on mass transit in South Korea.

The bus came to a ferry terminal and I prepped my bag for the walking into wrong buildings and buying more tickets. However luck had come my way and I handed 3000 won (3USD) to the bus driver who drove the bus right on board. Fifteen minutes later I found myself in downtown Wando with its bustling storefronts, peers, and diners. I hopped off the bus and flagged a taxi to the Wando bus terminal since I couldn’t walk there as I had before. Arriving at the bus terminal I found out I had a two hour wait until departure. This was disconcerting but I would replenish with blue sports drink and try to eat chips.

            Korea has by far the nicest buses I have ever ridden on. They are comparable to First Class flights with reclining seats, feet rests, and climate control. However, they pipe TV shows and loud commercials into the cabin even though the entire bus is trying to sleep. The days viewing consisted of a trip to the day care with some Korean toddlers.  The young girl waddled up to a bowl of noodles and someone squeezed red pepper paste into the Rameon and stirred it in. She smiled and slipped as many down as possible. The teacher then tried to the same but they were so hot she had to spit it out and grab some milk. Now my stomach is really churning at the site of this and I’m audibly moaning hoping they’ll turn it off. More hot chicken on the stick dishes were brought in to which none of the staff could handle either. We then took a trip to the Shijan (market) to where a live fish was handed to Odishi who then bit right into it. Again I moaned and ducked behind a chair trying not to lose it.

            Arriving in the Seoul I gathered my remaining strength to make it home. I would catch a cab which is a rarity for me solo. The traffic was thankfully low and we made it back to the base soon. Exiting and scanning my ID I walked back onto base. Here people spoke English, ate Taco Bell, and drove large SUVs. It was good to be back. But I walked no more than a block and asked a taxi to take me to the Emergency Room. My head was pounding and I could tell I needed more fluid than I could reasonably replace. The staff seemed unsurprised about being sick from my trip and I accepted it as a risk of doing business.  Two IV bags replenished me and I was sent on my way able to walk out. 

            Walking into my room and dropping my pack I thought about the weekend and everything I had  experienced.  It was really overwhelming mentally and physically. Not everything went perfectly; however, more things went right than wrong.  After consulting with my cultural adviser I was assured that “yes” Koreans too in fact get a case of Dehli Belly when they travel. This was unfathomable to me and I was able to preserve some of my dignity upon hearing that.

            I hope to one day return to Saengil Do or one of its brother islands.  My visit gave me a glimpse into the rural Korean countryside which was almost another country. The island wasn’t a fruit basket by nature and everything had been planted, netted, and reaped with years of local knowledge and practice. But that was exactly the answers I searched for. Pure unadulterated Korea, the type most Peninsula goers and the world may never see, but is there within easy grasp of our lives.

It was now getting late and I walked into the house to see what was cooking. Ojima was sitting in her vibrating chair after serving the proprietor his dinner. She had labored hard and deserved the relaxation. I sat on the floor and motioned that I was hungry. They discussed the matter and soon a tray full of exotic marine Kimchi and bowl of mussels was brought out. I tore into the bowl of mussels and dabbled with the Kimchi that I was not accustomed to. After finishing the meal she brought out two plumbs which were refreshing.  Now that I was full I motioned that I was retiring for the night and thanked Ojimah for the meal.  Before going to bed I pulled a chair to the back of the house and watched the passing lights on the horizon. The breeze was blowing and the stars were out. It was one of those thankful to be alive moments you get when overwhelmed with nature.

Waking up at 0200 with that hot yet chilly feeling I and realized I had a problem on my hands. My trip to the bathroom only confirmed this and I was left in the fetal position on the floor. Time passed slowly and my once perfect island breeze was an arctic blast now. After hours I gave up the idea of a quick recovery and had lost a lot of body fluid.  It was now daytime in the states and I called my sister  to tell her the situation. If I was going to perish on the floor of a remote foreign island I wanted the story to be told. She offered tough love and suggested I take a picture of my sickness on the floor for the story. I agreed and we discussed the ferry ride and six hour bus ride back to Seoul. The rest of the night was sleepless and filled with bouts of agony and sitting on a plastic bucket next to the toilet. I was coherent enough to know that I needed fluid but couldn’t drink water. Knowing my pack had been well used in I discovered an expired pack of electrolyte tablets. I dropped them in the water and attempted to drink some nourishment. A blue sports drink never sounded so good in my life. I thought about my cultural advisers words against going to an island where there is one store on the other side. I also thought about my co-worker I had peer pressured for weeks to join me but who turned it down for clean sheets and a large panel TV. They were both sleeping by now while I lay here in misery like a recovering addict.

My pre-arranged meeting time with the proprietor came and he stopped tending his garden and was ready to take me to the ferry. He graciously offered food to which I pulled out my Pointee-Talkee and pointed to the words throwing up all night. He acknowledged and was very concerned and motioned for me to sit down. He then brought out four pink pills and some water. I shook my head and waved him off with a no medications without a prescription look but Odishi was undeterred.  I had produced the book and now required a remedy.  I took the pills and he insisted I sit in the front of the truck. He took it easy on me and we kept the windows down on the way to the ferry. Arriving he pointed to a bus stop looking structure and said “May Pee-Ohsoo” to which I was confused  but got out.  He met me outside the car and I shook his hand and gave him a slight bow while the locals watched in bewilderment.  Driving off I was now on my own again and headed to the nearest building. They sat me down and I was offered a steaming hot coffee while waiting on my ferry.  By now I was barely sitting up and could not stomach a coffee. It was discarded at the soonest opportunity. Then I was motioned to go to the bus stop where an Ojimah had pulled out a money bag and was distributing ferry tickets.  I paid the amount which was thankfully cheaper than my previous ticket. Climbing on the ferry I had already planned my B-Line to the pristine wooden floors with the bamboo pillows. But walking through the bulkhead only revealed an open door to a huge diesel engine and a small room with a metal bench. I opted for the metal bench and placed my hand on my pack and laid down. By now those 1200 hp diesels were revving up and violently shaking the bench and my fragile situation. I closed my eyes and told myself it will only be an hour, like you do for dental surgery. However, 20 min later I was tapped and told to prepare for departure. Stepping out I looked at the island which appeared small and undeveloped. Not the bristling large ferry terminal at Wando.  Agitated I began to point at the land and yell “WANDO CHUSEYO” ( I want Wando) at all the bystanders which just shook their head in return. After all, I had been promised a ticket to Wando and wanted it honored.  Having no option I berated the ferry worker one last time while exiting the boat. I immediately began to summon the people on land by saying “May Pee Ohsoo” to which I was led into a store.  There I was sold a ticket to Wando for 1500 won (1 USD) which I thought was suspiciously low once again. I read the ticket’s Hangul writing and it did not say those words on there.  The time was getting close to leave and the ferries were coming and going. I stumbled out to the ferry dock and greeted a young Korean Coast Guardsman.  Showing him the ticket and pointing at the ferries he said, “Don’t go there”. Yet another blow to my exit strategy had been presented as I was led to a bus.  Sitting down I wondered how I would get to another island by this Hyundai Corp bus. The bus driver came up and I questioned him about going to Wando. He shook his head and assured me I was in the green. We drove out through the countryside over another beautiful island. This one named Yaksan, was more developed with agriculture and rows of houses. The route ended at another bus stop and I was told to get off. Unamused, I walked into what I thought was a bus stop to berate them with the words “WANDO CHUSEYO”. They soon told me I was still in the green and the bus for Wando left at 1 finger. I collapsed on a chair and lay my head on my bag.  Noticing my “Defend Dokdo” ( a disputed Japanese/Korean rock) the pharmacy worker chuckled and pointed. He then brought me out a vitamin drink and another mystery medication to which I took without an argument.  The vitamin drink was refreshing and I needed it badly.  It was an hour until 1300 and I didn’t have the energy to sit upright in the chair. So I moved outside to lean against the wall like I had seen the Ojimah’s doing earlier. I looked for a corner store which is always a stone’s throw in Seoul.  A butcher’s shop and female lingerie sold on a street stand were my only options. Another coffee was brought out to me and I was admittedly unthankful for it. However, a local drunk who had taken a liking to me was thankful for the coffee to which he in turn offered me a cigarette. Thanks but no thanks I gestured. After that he sat on the bench behind me and hovered over me as bird does her helpless hatch-lings.  One finger came and I boarded the bus with the load of produce and wares. We drove out into the country side again and picked up more Halminis and Halibujis (grandma and grandpas). One senior Halibuji boarded the bus and I repositioned so he could easily sit down, as is protocol on mass transit in South Korea.

The bus came to a ferry terminal and I prepped my bag for the walking into wrong buildings and buying more tickets. However luck had come my way and I handed 3000 won (3USD) to the bus driver who drove the bus right on board. Fifteen minutes later I found myself in downtown Wando with its bustling storefronts, peers, and diners. I hopped off the bus and flagged a taxi to the Wando bus terminal since I couldn’t walk there as I had before. Arriving at the bus terminal I found out I had a two hour wait until departure. This was disconcerting but I would replenish with blue sports drink and try to eat chips.

            Korea has by far the nicest buses I have ever ridden on. They are comparable to First Class flights with reclining seats, feet rests, and climate control. However, they pipe TV shows and loud commercials into the cabin even though the entire bus is trying to sleep. The days viewing consisted of a trip to the day care with some Korean toddlers.  The young girl waddled up to a bowl of noodles and someone squeezed red pepper paste into the Rameon and stirred it in. She smiled and slipped as many down as possible. The teacher then tried to the same but they were so hot she had to spit it out and grab some milk. Now my stomach is really churning at the site of this and I’m audibly moaning hoping they’ll turn it off. More hot chicken on the stick dishes were brought in to which none of the staff could handle either. We then took a trip to the Shijan (market) to where a live fish was handed to Odishi who then bit right into it. Again I moaned and ducked behind a chair trying not to lose it.

            Arriving in the Seoul I gathered my remaining strength to make it home. I would catch a cab which is a rarity for me solo. The traffic was thankfully low and we made it back to the base soon. Exiting and scanning my ID I walked back onto base. Here people spoke English, ate Taco Bell, and drove large SUVs. It was good to be back. But I walked no more than a block and asked a taxi to take me to the Emergency Room. My head was pounding and I could tell I needed more fluid than I could reasonably replace. The staff seemed unsurprised about being sick from my trip and I accepted it as a risk of doing business.  Two IV bags replenished me and I was sent on my way able to walk out. 

            Walking into my room and dropping my pack I thought about the weekend and everything I had  experienced.  It was really overwhelming mentally and physically. Not everything went perfectly; however, more things went right than wrong.  After consulting with my cultural adviser I was assured that “yes” Koreans too in fact get a case of Dehli Belly when they travel. This was unfathomable to me and I was able to preserve some of my dignity upon hearing that.

            I hope to one day return to Saengil Do or one of its brother islands.  My visit gave me a glimpse into the rural Korean countryside which was almost another country. The island wasn’t a fruit basket by nature and everything had been planted, netted, and reaped with years of local knowledge and practice. But that was exactly the answers I searched for. Pure unadulterated Korea, the type most Peninsula goers and the world may never see, but is there within easy grasp of our lives.