The Big Four; Mountains

Planning a trip or an adventure is incredibly intoxicating. I love the process of pricing flights and accommodation, always trying to get the cheapest option at the best times; I love looking at the map of the city and figuring out where to go, what to see; I love researching a city or an adventure by searching online for tips and ideas of how to make the most out my time there. The process before the actual trip is different for everyone, and it changes sporadically and continuously before it even takes full shape. But I don't love the process for the outcome. No, I've never successfully planned out an itinerary and actually pulled through with it.

Planning a trip - or anything really, even methodically and obsessively, does not always turn out the way we expect it to be. In fact, I've learned that the more I try to lay out a plan step by step, the more likely that plan is to fail. And that's totally cool. That's part of the adventure isn't it?

But when traveling, there are a couple of things that we do look for and try our hardest to make happen. One of the biggest factors in deciding our way back to West from South Korea were mountains. Which mountains could we potentially get to? Which ones could we get to see or to hike?
After deciding on the countries that we would pass through on the exit trip from Korea, we dove into researching what mountains would be accessible for us.

1. Pik Lyubvi (Love Peak) - Arsha, Buryat Republic, Russia
Elevation: 6889 ft (1242m elevation gain)

Originally, we were hoping to get to the Altai Mountains on the Russian side when we were first researching Russian mountains. The Altai region was incredibly fascinating and alluring, but also challenging to get to within our time frame. I had taken the time to reach out in forums and spoke to tour guides who assured me that there was very little chance to see the Altai Mountains in the beginning of April because of snow and road accessibility, unless we were willing to spend a hefty price for it. Which we weren't.

So we decided to leave the Altai for a future trip, and we focused on the Sayan Moutnains on the west of Lake Baikal, bordering southern Siberia and northern Mongolia.

The village of Arshan is small and known for it's mineral waters spas. The marshutka ride from the station in Irkutsk to the village was one of the most picturesque rides I have taken; the mountain range slowly coming to view, and steadily spreading dramatically as we approached the village. We were back on high mountain terrain.

The Love Peak was said to be an easy enough hike, despite the steepness of the elevation gain. Supposedly, people have been able to do in in sandals and without water. It is also said that couples who make it to the peak are destined to be together for the rest of their lives, or to break up very shortly after the accomplishment. Well, as we set off the next day for our hike, we learned that either a) All our research was horribly misjudged or b) We weren't really that competent of hikers as we thought we were. Or a bit of both. Or just damn bad luck.

After walking through the terrain of what seemed to be abandoned Soviet sanatoriums, we found what we thought to be the trail. It really was like hitting a wall and we found ourselves up one of the steepest hikes we have ever done to date; we kept pulling ourselves up by the trees and making sure that our boots were well dug into the ground with each step. Not to mention the small rocks slipping beneath us, making every step a bit unsteady. To think that people would actually be able to do this in sandals was beyond me, and it really made me feel small and weak. By the time we found the actual trail, and as it evened out, we had a clear view of our love peak. Well, we had a clear view of it being covered in heavy clouds of rain and snow. Soon after, at a distance, we heard something that resembled much an avalanche.

We stood for a couple of minutes hoping that the cloud would move away; after all, this was the first mountain in our trip, and we really wanted to summit. There was a sense of pride and stubbornness at being so damn close to it, and yet realizing that we were not prepared for a snowy hike, and that it was something that we really had limited to zero experience before. After we heard the second avalanche come down in the distance, we decided to turn back and make our way back to the ground. We must have been a little bit less than 400m short from the peak when we turned - maybe even less. On the way down we could see clear blue skies over in Mongolia, as the storm clouds behind us settled. We passed a grave with a name and a reminder to always respect the mountain.

And that was our first failed mountain of the trip.


2. Stepantsminda, Kazbegi, Georgia 
500 Elevation gain from the village to Gergetis church

Georgia will always have a very special place in my heart. The memory of my year in Georgia is one of the most treasured experiences I hold - all the people, the places, the food, and the chaos. One of my favorite and most memorable weekends from that year in Georgia is the time me and a dear friend of mine went up to Kazbegi in the fall. By then we had learned to prepare for the unexpected and even the worst in Georgia - a potentially deadly marshutka drive, or overly intrusive Georgian men, or having a woman stare at you while you are squatting in the toilet and try to make conversation. Anything could (and usually does) go in Georgia. However, for that weekend in Kazbegi - everything seemed to fall right into place.

Going back I had an expectation of what the hike would be like, what to prepare for and what to be careful of during the hike. We were hoping to hike to the Gergeti glacier, which is roughly a 8 - 11 hour hike depending on pace and weather. The day we arrived to Kazbegi was absolutely beautiful and the weather, although crisp and bordering on uncomfortably chilly, gave us the reassurance that the hike would be absolutely possible. We were well prepared, extremely excited and ready for the hike. Locals even said that if the weather kept like it had been, there should be no problem for us to make it to glacier, even with some snow on some of the higher grounds of the trail.

We woke up to Mt. Kazbegi covered in clouds, and the Gergeti church invisible among mist and fog
and snow clouds. It was almost like a cruel joke and bad weather kept waiting until our hiking days to make an appearance.

We hiked up to the church regardless. And the mountains all around were covered in fog and there was really no view to be enjoyed. The air was still incredibly crisp and there weren't that many people in the mountains. We decided to walk around the church grounds for a bit, and chatted up with the monk while we debated whether to call it a day or make an attempt for the glacier regardless.

 

As it turns out, those 10 minutes were enough for the clouds to disperse and for the mountains to come into view. Maybe we could do this hike after all ...

Spoiler alert - we didn't make it. Snow was too high, and although the clouds had dispersed out in east, they were still quite heavy in the west - where the glacier is. We got off the mountain, followed by a snowstorm that left the village of Stepantsminda without power for the remainder of the night. Still, Kazbegi turned out to be one of the most beautiful hikes of the year so far. I learned what rime snow is, and as it turns out it is one of my favorite things in the world. I caught glimpses of Mt. Kazbek behind heavy clouds, looking all majestic and sublime. I learned with all assurance that Kazbegi is one of my favorite places ever. And I can't wait to go back a third time.

Somewhere in the Borzhava Mountain Range, Carpathian Mountains, Volovets, Ukraine

The village of Volovets has been, by far, the most elusive and complicated village we have ever attempted to get to. Everything until that point had been pretty straight forward - you know the difference between feeling like "Okay, I can roll with this" and "Where the hell are we and how did we get here?". There were train transfers which we couldn't really make sure would get us to the place we wanted to get; once we got to said place, we realizes that we were still incredibly far from the actual village and there were no taxis or buses in sight. We finally got ourselves a marshutka, which didn't actually make us feel any more secured about our final destination. But luckily, we were able to call the hostel we were staying at, and through broken and desperate English and Russian and a lot of confusion, we made it! 

After talking to some of the other guests at the hostel, we learned that the trail was not a difficult one and that the peak was easily accessible - BUT - they were expecting a rainy and foggy weekend. 

So, if you're reading this then you should probably get the idea of what the theme of these hikes was.
The closer we got to the peak, the thicker the mist grew and the less we were able to see. I was the first one who suggested turning back around. We had gone off the trail earlier on in the hike, and we really didn't know how safe we'd be the higher we went. 

However, the rain and the mist actually turned this to be one of the most eerie and moody hikes we have ever had. It really felt like walking into a fairy tale setting: the fog grew so thick that it became really difficult to see past a couple of feet. The rain darkened the wood which just made the green of the grass and the trees pop even more dramatically than they would have on a clear day. 

So this turned to be the third mountain we failed to summit during our trip. It was a very strange feeling, turning back around - despite the fact that it had been a beautiful hike up; that we were in the Ukrainian Carpathians and that I was with my best friend, not peaking felt defeating. And on the way back down was when I learned to let that go - I mean, what did it matter? It's not about bagging peaks - it can't be about bagging peaks. It's about going outside, getting lost and letting go. 

Knocknadobar, Cahersiveen, Co. Kerry, Ireland
620m of Elevation 

Ireland - a country well famed for rain and bad weather. I had prepared for the worst possible outlook for our hike. We had originally planned to hike the highest mountain in Ireland, Carrauntoohill, but considering our luck and the high possibility of bad weather, we changed it to a more accessible mountain and to one that we could still hike up comfortably enough if we were to get caught in rain. So, we headed into Knocknadobar through the Pilgrim Path Walking Route.

So, something interesting about Ireland and these Pilgrim Paths; there are a total of twelve Pilgrim Paths in Ireland. Some of these have existed from even before Christianity was introduced into Ireland. So before these were known as Pilgrim Paths they were simply known as sacred mountains. These were the places were harvest festivals were celebrated; where pagans would meet and dance and celebrate around a lit fire. These are the scared mountains were magic happened. 

The trail is now marked with crosses all the way up to the top. Each cross depicts a scene from the Bible's station's of the cross scene(I am so sorry, I am not sure what the correct name for it is). As you hike up to the mountain you have a crazy view of the Atlantic to the west, and green pastures to the east and north. And the further you go up, the more you see - and the iconic Skellig Islands come into view(home of the puffins and uninhabited monasteries... OH! and where they filmed the new Star Wars movie). 

Surprisingly enough, Ireland gave us our clearest day, and our most picturesque hike. We were accompanied by graffitied sheep and nothing else. We had the sun right above us and the breeze of the Atlantic. It was unheard of - not just good weather, but glorious weather... in Ireland. It was also one of the barest mountains I had ever hiked; most other hikes have always been covered and overcrowded with trees (and I love that), so I didn't expect a bare mountain to be as beautiful and as majestic as Knocknadobar is. Everything was finally falling into place, and it seemed like our last mountain of the trip was going to make up for the rest of them. 

Until we got to the top. Where a heavy cloud of rain awaited us. 

Oh well. Still pretty darn epic. 
The whole thing was epic. Rainy, foggy, unpredictable and absolutely epic.  

Auschwitz

I find beauty and power in many things about this world. 

I find beauty and power in the mountains, in the trees. I find meaning in silent connections and interactions with strangers. I find joy in learning something new. I find challenges exciting. I find the unknown intoxicating and addicting. I find the same beauty and power in an old woman's back as in a child's laughter. I find power in being curious. I find power in being open. 

I am eternally grateful for my family, and for my friends. I can say confidently, that I know now what I deem meaningful in my life because of them. But also, and drastically so, because of the opportunity to live in the places the I have lived, and to have seen the places that I have seen. I know, without a doubt, what matters to me. I also know that some of the things that I value deeply in this world and in my life are not universal. I can't assume everyone to love the mountains (although, come on, everyone should!); I can't assume to connect with people over my Asian-culture fascination; I can't blame someone for not thinking that communicating through body language only can incredibly fun. I can't expect people to show an interest in what I love, in what matters to me - in my life.

And most people don't. Most people don't ask questions, don't really seem to be able to connect or to care really. And I really don't expect them to. I really don't.

But there has been one place, a single place, that I had the opportunity the visit, that seemed to draw everyone's attention. And family members who I hadn't spoken to in over five or six years - my father, who is having trouble with his memory - my brother, with whom I usually only talk about video games and shows and mom - my friends, ALL of them, even the ones I hadn't seen since high school - everybody cared. Everyone wanted to know. 

"Work will set you free"

While planning our stop in Krakow, my boyfriend asked me if I really wanted to go to Auschwitz. He had been once before, and warned me about how it might affect me emotionally (I am incredibly emotional). I was hesitant. I called my mom and told her that I did not see the point of putting myself through something as strong and intense as Auschwitz. I had friends telling me "Why wouldn't you while you're there? Just be sure to get the tickets before hand because I hear the sell out like crazy" FACT: Visiting Auschwitz is free. And truly, I didn't want to. I simply didn't know how I would respond, and I didn't know if my response would be appropriate, or not appropriate enough, or... I don't even know.

I friend of mine (an awesome, awesome friend of mine [thank you so much for everything, Jarek]) met us in Krakow and was kind enough to drive us to Auschwitz himself. He explained how when he was in college he was part of the Erasmus exchange program and that he was used to taking people to Auschwitz on a regular basis.

"Don't you mind it? Isn't it hard to go?"
"No, I actually really like going?"
"Really? That seems like such an odd thing to say! 'I like to go to Auschwitz'!"
"Well, I think it's important to go."

And that did it. A shift happened, and I stopped thinking about how being there would affect me, personally - because really, it isn't about me.

Passing through the main camp, we passed through people taking selfies, people having a small picnic by the gate, people literally trying to snap the perfect picture of the toilets in the shacks. It really did not feel like a place where 1.1 million Jews were murdered. I did not feel like my soul was shattering as it felt when I watched Schindler's List. There was a massive sense of detachment as we first entered the main camp, and I remember realizing how through the shock of seeing so many easy going people, I was unfeeling. I didn't feel anything, entering through the gates where the trains came through - the trains with millions and millions of Jews being transported into a dead trap. I remember just thinking 'What are these people doing?'.

It took us walking through the first set of encampments where it slowly -very, very slowly - it started to settle in. Imagine, you pass through a group of Germans on a tour, facing a site where Jews were burned - heads down, hands shaking and trying to hold back tears. You see people kneeling, hands on the ground as if trying to feel something, or trying to connect to something, or to control something. You read everything there is to read, you try to understand what you read, make sense of it. You walk through the march of the dead, where men and women and children were stripped, shaved and herded into the gas chambers. You see the pictures of men and women and children who died there. You see the rooms with the shoes, with the suitcases, with the hair. You see the book, the size of an entire room, filled with names - the names of all the prisoners, all the murdered. You hear Hitler's speeches and read along the subtitles. You see pictures that the children from the camps drew about their daily life. You see Auschwitz, and you see what hate, what pure bigotry, and what pure hate does. You see what it is capable of.

How can it not shake you?

And maybe you're shaken - hard and deep into your core, and you think about the brutality of history and the brutality of men and women. You're truly, truly shaken. But what can you do? What can anyone do? It happened. It's done. And in a couple of days, life continues and the impact and the shock become a memory.

 "Auschwitz stands as a tragic reminder of the terrible potential man has for violence and inhumanity" 

I do believe that it is important to go and to be shaken. I believe that it is important to be reminded of the wonders and the horrors of our history. I believe that it is easy to forget and to think of it as something of the past - that we've come so far.

Maybe not everyone can understand my obsession with mountains or with culture. But everyone can understand humanity. Anyone can have a completely different experience and response from a place like Auschwitz - but I believe that it is plain, for anyone to see, what Auschwitz stands for, and why it is important.

Russia; meeting and exceeding

"How many whales do you think fit in Russia?"

"What?"

"Yeah, like how many blue whales do you think equate to the size of Russia?"
"I don't understand your question."
"So, I would like to picture the size of Russia in blue whales."

"Why? That makes no sense."
"Well, Russia is the biggest country in the world, right? And the blue whale is the largest animal in the world, aha? So, I'm just trying to put the two together in a logical way."

"Nothing about that is logical."
"Well, tell me how to do the math, I'll just figure it out."

Coming down from the Peak of Love in the Sayan Mountain Range; one of the many and absolute highlights of what Russia gave me. 

No, I actually wasn't able to figure out how many blue whales make up the whole of Russia. I did come up with the equation and the numbers, but gave up on the task almost as quickly as I usually do with such random ponders. But - if anyone is curious, and figures it out, let me know.

However many whales it may be, there is no question about the vastness of what Russia is. It's almost easy to kinda undermine it, isn't it? "The biggest country in the world", "the biggest animal in the world", the largest, the smallest, the best, the worst - all of it carries very little significance really. It's difficult to picture exactly what the whatever-est of the world actually is - sure, I may say "Ah yeah, sure that's what it is" and try to imagine it as best as I can. But I really don't think that I am mentally capable of truly depicting what that means. Not truly, not without actually seeing it. 

Breaks along the train tracks somewhere in Siberia

And, please do note, that I am not one of those people who places value only on what is visible to the eye. 

But before going to Russia, I knew that I was going to go to the largest country in the world, that I was going to get on the longest railway line in the world and that I was going to visit the largest freshwater lake by volume in the world. And I thought, wow, that's pretty cool - lots of bucket list items checked off I didn't even were on the bucket list to begin with. But once there - from the moment of arrival and throughout every single step, it seemed like none of those titles made it justice. It just seems so plain and simple in wording; "the largest". 

Russia took me by surprise from day one. We began our train journey from the east side of the country in Vladivostok, and I knew very little about the city going in. Judging from what I had seen and lived in Georgia, I had an idea of what to expect from a post Soviet city. The people seemed serious and cold, the language was harsh and - to me - incredibly alluring, the streets were gray, chilly and somewhat bleak. I had to admit several times to my boyfriend that I felt a little bit intimidated by the people and by the whole trip itself early on. 

"They just seem so intense, don't they?"

We hadn't really interacted with a single Russian person by this point, mind you. 

Village of Arshan at the foothills of the Sayan mountains

On day 3 we met three Russian men, big and bulky and scary (I swear, picture it exactly as what you think the stereotype is, that's exactly what it was) at the hostel. One started helping my boyfriend with his Russian and they bonded over ships and learning language through youtube, while the other one started telling racist jokes - "Here, you can tell joke, no problem. You can not tell this joke in America" - and the other one just drank his beer while watching us all interacting. The hostel girl - gorgeous, and impossibly stunning (Again, picture Russian hot lady, and I promise that's exactly what she looked like) was very generous and set us up with another couple setting off on the train that day. On that same day, day 3, we met Olga - who reminded me so much of my mother, that I got low key emotional leaving her on day 7. Olga was our first provodnitsa (both my boyfriend and Olga made sure I got that one right, so I have not forgotten, and I will never forget), who is basically the train attendant in your car - but there will be more of the train and everything about it later. But by day 3, Russia was opening up. And I was obsessed. 

Strolling over lake Baikal

Our roomate who made sure we had bananas for the rest of the train ride

All the preconceived notions, all the cliches and everything that I though it would was very much true, but there was so much more than that.

Sure, it was cold and bleak for most of the ride on the east side. Run down houses, dirt roads, gray skies, you get it - and then there were snowy mountains and forests just a couple of miles away, followed by cities sprawling with building blocks. One day I was freezing under five layers of clothing, and the very next day I debated losing my winter coat (I did - big mistake). One day the neighboring passengers scoffed and grunted "foreigners" as we passed by. On that very same day, our cart buddy called his wife after we asked him if he knew they sold bananas at the following stop, where he was getting off; we followed him off the train and his wife was there, with an umbrella in one hand and a bag of bananas in the other. In Krasnoyarsk we visited the SV Nikolay Boat museum, where we walked out with two soviet books (in Russian) given to us by our tour guides (They really, really liked it that we tried our best to communicate with them in Russian)...
(well... I rock with body language, my boyfriend is better with the Russian)...
(He rocks too with body language) 

SV Nikolay Boat museum, now missing two pieces of their collection. But I'm sure that's okay. 

Sometimes it is incredibly worthwhile meeting up with online strangers

I guess in it's own way, it's just like any other place; at first glance and on the surface, it's harsh, intimidating and bleak. But it doesn't take much to scratch a bit off to get to the good stuff. It takes nothing at all. A man I originally met online after trying to do some research on some of the Siberian mountains, invited us over for a tour in his home city in Krasnoyarsk. We geeked out over rocks and minerals and exchanged a few. All of those that we met on the train, in Ekaterinburg, in Krasnoyarsk, in St. Petesburg, in Vladivostok, in Arshan - and even in Moscow (they're not Russian, but just as cool and welcoming and awesome). I would honestly argue that the Russians that we met gave the Georgians a run for their money in terms of hospitality. And I have a lot of opinions about the Georgian hospitality ... but that's not for today. 

There were just so many instances where I was so taken aback by the people; so many people that made it all so much more than visiting the largest country in the world. I couldn't get enough of it. 

But then there were also the cities. There were the mountains, and the lakes; the churches and the Lenin statues; the pirozhkis and the babooshkas selling them between the train tracks. How do you even begin talking about Russia? I am trying really hard to gather my thoughts, my words, to make them concrete and form some order out of them. But everything is just chaos. It's just overwhelming in the best way possible. 

Lenin pointing the way

Everything was just overwhelming 

I am not done with it. I'm not done with Russia. 

I'm not even done with writing about it yet. Seven months later, and sometimes I feel like I'm still processing it all. 

Purpose

It has been almost 10 months since I last took the time to write in here.
A lot has happened in the last 10 months, and although I didn't really forget about this space, I just didn't prioritize it.

See, I write. I currently have 4 active notebooks where I write constantly - there's my journal, there's my workout journal, there's my budgeting and adulting notebook, and then there's the stories notebook. I also have six extra notebooks ready to be used as soon as I finish one or as soon as I find a new use to one of them. 

I love notebooks. I take them very seriously. I find it easier to express myself wholly in them - I can doodle, I can scribble; in spite of being able to scratch things off, I can be honest. It's a safe space, and I am in complete control. Sort of. 

But I have written about my thoughts on blogging a long time ago - in this blog actually - and this isn't really supposed to be about that. 

Recently, I lost all of my backup photos, music and writings due to a damaged hard drive. I know - I should have had an extra backup, for these things happen way more often than you'd imagine (3 times in the last year for me), and every single time it is devastating. It's the photos that hit me the most. But it also dawned on me how much of the past year I had in word documents saved up in that drive. I had Russia there, I had Ireland there - I had the last couple of months in Korea, I had love letters and poems, I had wishes and dreams. I had everything I have in my notebooks except much more polished. 

I haven't lost those memories - I still have them, sure, but more than mourning for the loss, I fear it. I am afraid of forgetting. I am very afraid of being unable to recall a name or a hike, or something someone said or did, or a feeling. And it's silly, really... because there are reasons why things are left forgotten. But there are things I want to write about. There are plenty of things I've written about, and I am afraid of losing them again. 

So, this is backup. One of many. Because there should always be one of many. 

Let's give this thing another go, and try to make it work out this time. 

Meditations; to blog or not to blog

I am trying really hard to think back of what my expectations was back when I decided to start this blog. It really wasn't that long ago, it shouldn't be so complicated to form a concrete answer. And what does it matter if I don't know, honestly who cares? But it's a question that's been irritating me much lately, since I can't find myself motivated enough to keep it.

See, to whomever who has read or reads this blog, I've really no idea what it is that I could possibly provide to you. I know my mother and my close friends read this because they want to know how I'm doing, what I'm up, how things are over here and such... but to those that I, personally, know that read this - we talk, and you know exactly how I'm doing and how is life in much more detail than what you'd be able to find in a blog. To those others, I really don't know what I could offer...

See, blogging it's such a bizarre concept to me. I read blogs for information, I find blogs when googling specific information - I've found plenty of blogs when searching on how to get to the Korean mountains and to find recommendations on what to do in a specific place I'd be visiting. And to those people that do it and do it right, hats off and kudos. But those blogs have a very specific purpose.. a very specific theme, let's leave it at that. A theme, yes.

I don't really know what my theme is. I think I did want it to be something when I first committed to this blog. Maybe it was to keep an online diary... to force myself to write, to try to improve on my voice. Maybe it was vanity. Doesn't it always have a hint of vanity? Anything really that has to do with social media... look at what I'm doing? How can I edit it to make it look better, to make it look exactly like I experienced it, because a camera never captures it? How can I make my experiences seem relate able? Maybe it was because I thought it was a good idea at the time...

Truth is, I can't find myself too motivated to write. I've kept weekly to do lists and every week I note to try to write on the blog. Why? I've got nothing really important to say - and it's not like I have nothing to say. I just... it's nothing worth putting out there, you know?

I've found myself really distracted lately... distracted from the moment. I keep occupying myself with thoughts and plans on how to deal with the future that's coming, on what to write about...

And that's the thing... I've never really been this conscious of what to write. It's never been something that plagues me this much. In my notebooks I write about sunsets, I write about nature and about mountains a lot. I write about people who inspire me. About my experiences. I do tend to bitch a lot too. And I've always thought that bitching is better left outside of a public area. But see... here's where I find myself conflicted.

I try to write about my experiences, about things that happen in my life that fill me with joy, with awe, with fear and excitement and with inspiration. I want to write about the places I've been and how they've affected me. But see, I'm finding it difficult to really express these things and experiences in a public space. I mean, my experiences are not by any means unique - I don't think. Living and teaching abroad isn't something that hasn't been done before, blogging about living, traveling and teaching abroad is done extensively. Yet, each person experiences everything so differently, so uniquely that... it's hard to really comprehend and relate, isn't it? I mean, I really don't know what I mean.

Let's back up.

The best example I can think of is how... no matter how much I tell someone how shitty my job is, or how insanely amazing it is that this place is surrounded by mountains, I never quite feel like I get my message across. But I do - see, people know that my job is shitty and that I love mountains. But I am not convinced that I do it justice. I think that's it. I'm afraid of not doing my own experiences justice. 

And that's not what is important. 

 Whether you get it or not... it's ok.

I'm doing this for me.

That's it, isn't it? I've got it.

With love, from Sokcho

Sokcho is a small town on the east of South Korea. It is known for it's national park, Seoraksan National Park, home of the 7th tallest mountain in the country; it is also well know for its beaches, dipping into the Sea of Japan. The locals said, no matter the season, Sokcho is the place to go. 

I have to say that the hype is merited. After having visited for only three days in the winter time, I can confidently state that I found my favorite spot in South Korea. Of course, that might be premature, since I have not seen all of South Korea, but time is short and I believe my excursions outside of Seoul have come to a close with Sokcho as the perfect final chapter. 

It just had everything - mountains, beautiful high mountains, and the blue open sea. We were lucky enough to enjoy the town on a clear weekend. 

This winter has been harsh and cold in Seoul - and not that winter is known to be anything other than cold and harsh, but going to the coast and the mountains at the end of January seemed, for a slight moment, a terrible idea. I've always grown up in warm weather, and this has been my third year to experience a real winter. I have finally mastered the art of layering, and I have learned that the most important parts to keep warm are my feet, my hands and my cheeks - once those are taken care of, the rest is cool. However, I haven't been able to figure how to keep warm outdoors for over an hour or two at a time. So, I knew going in to Sokcho that I was going to struggle with the weather. 

However, it was a particularly warm weekend. I actually had to stop at a public restroom (one of the worst smelling restrooms I have ever encountered ever!) so that I could un-layer!

We hadn't planned for a hike, having considering the possibility of extreme weather - but once we got to the Seoraksan National Park, we just couldn't stop walking. The good thing about the park is that it offered plenty of hikes - not only the 1700+ meter peak which we hadn't planned nor prepared for at all. But we did head up on a 876m hike up to Ulsanbawi rock formation, as well as to the Biryong Waterfall. 

We learned the myth behind the Ulsanbawi rock through the nicest and most informed hostel manager I have ever met before in my life. Apparently a God, while making South Korea, he called upon all the beautiful mountains to gather up in the center of Korea so that he could make this epic place of over 1000 peaks - and so the rock of Ulsan (Ulsanbawi) started his journey to the center of the country, but then decided to sit, chill and relax in the National Park and then he was like "Ohhh this place is gorgeous!!" so he decided to stay there forever.

Another beautiful myth linked to this place - the waterfall... apparently that's where a dragon (an important dragon) came out and flew up to the sky.
The waterfall was frozen, and the whole hike up to the waterfall was covered in a perfect blanket of snow. I can not even imagine how beautiful this place looks in the summer time or fall. But winter turns it into a winter paradise. 

 

I fell in love. I fell in love with everything about this place. The hike up to the Ulsanbawi rock turned out the be the nicest hike with the clearest view we have ever during our time here in Korea, and it also marked our 11th summit. 

I found inspiration in this place I haven't found in a long time. A very personal and new type of inspiration, a sort of purpose of what I want and what defines me. 

It hasn't been easy - this Korean adventure - it never really is as glamorous as people tend to make it out to be. But Sokcho pulled me, drew me close, and as many other places have done so in the past, reminded me of every single reason I have chosen this life.

This is what I live for. 

This, and so much more. And I will never stop craving more. 

A trip back to childhood adventures

There used to be a time where I dreaded the concept of getting older. This whole idea of youth and time lost felt real and there is nothing no one can do to stop it; it is just the way life works. But that was sometime long ago, before I found what fills my life with meaning and what drives me to live, and I mean truly live and be. And realized that time and youth are concepts that I can define under my own terms. I am, internally speaking, exactly where I want to be, and I don't feel I've lost any time nor any youth in the journey. 

Yet, there are moments when I am forced to witness and accept that there are things I have lost. Some I don't miss, some were meant to be left behind - but some I do feel the pang of their absence, specially when I witness it so very much alive and present in the lives of others. 

Children, most children, carry so much wonder and magic in them that it is impossible to ignore. Have you ever seen how immersed they are in their own made up world? Whether it is fighting robots, or being princesses, or monsters? Or making up their own rules and their own codes, their own secret passages? They really don't play-pretend, they play for real.

I remember my own childhood adventures; I remember and old trunk being the entrance to a cave, and a secret button hidden between rocks in order to open a safe passage to the cave. I remember digging rocks, which to me were precious , and drawing up treasure maps to never forget where they were hidden. I remember poisonous flowers you couldn't touch, I remember acid water you had to rush through from the sprinklers. I was an adventurer, and my dream was to be Indiana Jones. 

With the years, I do feel like my lens of magic and wonder has contracted. I really struggle with accepting this. I do believe that magic is real, and the world has shown me time and time again that it is wondrous. But I no longer see caves in trees; I see a tree with its own kind of magic, and rocks, I have learned through Geology classes, although not really gems are insanely intricate and unique. 

But last week, that child, that little adventurer came back with such vigor that I could see it again; I could see the world she used to live in, and it was real.

Before visiting the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, I had seen the pictures and I had it in myself that it was going to be a very new sight for me. These weren't like the temples I'm used to seeing in Korea, nor like the ones back in China - these were a totally new thing for me, and for that only I had build up really high expectations of the place.

And they delivered - they truly did. They are unbelievable, they are so majestic and sublime- but I wasn't prepared for the effect that the place would have in me. 

All of those adventures I had a child, that aspirant Indiana Jones, came swirling back. And this time, I was really there. I mean, really really there. 

As one of the main attractions - actually the biggest attraction in Cambodia, it is packed with tourists from 4:00am in the morning to watch the sunrise until nightfall. Yet, the place never feels overcrowded. No matter if you go by yourself, or in a tour, the temples are set up in a way to allow you to explore them wherever your little explorers' heart desires. The temples are surrounded by wild, unkempt jungle, they are the temples of monkeys who walk alongside the roads as casually as if it were their home. 

Ta Phrom temple has trees growing on it, destroying it and crumbling it down to the ground. It is the perfect setting for your wildest adventures - and it's real. The crushed walls of the temple allow you to jump and make your way through it without keeping to the main hallways; there are parts of murals missing and there are faces hidden in the walls. 

The time I spent in Cambodia was very limited, and the time spent in the temples of Angkor way even more so. Even so, it was enough to broaden my view of the world once more, to give me the eyes of the child I once was. 

I have always liked to say that I like to go on adventures - going to explore a new park, getting to a new mountain, trying out a new recipe or a new restaurant - it's all an adventure. Life is an adventure. I will fight to keep that perspective for as long as I live. And now, I will continue to hum the Indiana Jones theme for all of my adventures. For I have lived it; the fantasy is real. And once again, the world has shown me that it is magical and full of wonders.