Jeongseon Autumn

Uncertainty is not my friend. So often, I find myself stressed by things that are out of my control. Most of the time I can trace those uncertainties back to decisions I, myself, have made. Other times, I deliberately bring about my own uncertainty and stress as if trying to prove something to myself. Prove that I can handle it, that it won't be as aggravating as it ends up being, all the while knowing in the back of my head that uncertainty breeds adventure.

Mihai's optimism is the force that confounds my cautionary nature. Her “it will all work out” message plays in the background as I worry over questions. How do we get there? Where will we stay? What do we do when we're there? Is it worth the time and cost?

Ultimately, with only a few small variables controlled, we left the house on our 5:00 am bus to Seoul. “It's like getting on a roller-coaster.” Once you get on, you can't get off. You'll get scared, you'll be unsure what to do at times, how to react, but you take the hills and turns as they come and you end up enjoying it.

In east Seoul we boarded another three and a half hour bus to Jeongseon following a photo that I received in my email inbox a couple of weeks before. The photo depicted sloped fields of reeds at the top of a hill. That field is located in the Taebaek mountains, a mountain range running north to south down the entire Korean peninsula. I kept that photo and that email in my inbox, saving it for what was supposed to be the peak of fall colors in that part of the country. That's what we were after, a nice, city-less fall experience. Fresh air, colorful forests, and some kind of an adventure.

As the bus closed in on Jeongseon, the mountains around us showed their color. Yellows, reds, and greens made a pleasant mix as the bus cruised up valleys and snaked down slopes. In the final hour of the ride, the lack of high-rise apartment buildings made evident that we had successfully escaped the Korean cities.

After a couple of hours of being seemingly surrounded by steep hills, the landscape opened up and the bus quickly turned right into the parking lot behind Jeongseon’s quaint bus station. Jeongseon is a very small city where two rivers converge. The station reminded me of smaller train stations in Romania, with its high ceilings in a dark grey open lobby, few wooden benches, short attendant behind glass, and the token shop in the corner to stock up before your trip. The attendant was helpful in providing us with a bus schedule back to Seoul that would come in handy the following day.

The bus station was a five minute walk from the main part of town. Before entering the town’s center we crossed a bridge high above a wide, shallow river. Periodically a car or local bus passed, someone would walk into a cafe, we spotted potential places to eat. Though these sound like normal occurrences, they were special in a place like Jeongseon, with its slow uncrowded pace. Until that moment, Korea had only been a city to me. Sure, I had made periodic trips to mountains or beaches here or there, but usually I was with groups or on short trips. I had never just looked around to take in the small town.

In the center of the center of Jeongseon, one finds an old open-air market stretched out over just a couple of narrow alleys. This market is famous in Korea as the 5-day market. A modern tourist information center is built close-by with all the maps, timetables, attractions, and brochures necessary for a few days in the region. Though all in Korean, the man behind the counter was happy to help us find out about buses to the mountain we would venture to the following day. My worries continue to slowly wane.

We strolled through the 5-day market, stopping at a small performance area where two men and one woman were performing Arrirang. Arrirang is a kind of folk song in Korea and Jeongseon is somewhat famous for its unique Arrirang. As the lady sang, dressed in her elegant beige hanbok, she spotted the only two foreigners in the crown and grabbed Mihai to join in the dance. It is not uncommon for Mihai to be singled out and forced into participating in a Korean cultural experience. Though it’s forced and she is always a bit hesitant, I think she enjoys it in the end.

The walk continued over a rock bridge spanning another part of the river. Along the opposite bank sat a small folk museum. Its shaded grounds offered various types of houses and crafts that one would find in a Korean village before the country hit its economic boom in the sixties.

My biggest worry was whether or not we would find a place to stay. I don’t think I have ever just walked into a city or town, planning to stay, but not having already reserved a room. The fact that the town was not crowded with tourist really put my mind at ease. It seems like everywhere I go in Korea, it is crowded, so I was surprised to see so few people in Jeongseon. The first hotel we found had a nice room at a very reasonable price. Transportation- check, lodging-check, finally I could fully relax.

Evening took us to the top of a nearby hill where we would look out over a river and watch other, adrenaline-seeking tourists, ride a long zip-line to the valley floor. The view had potential but, like all other places in Korea, air clarity is hit or miss. On that particular evening, haze slightly obstructed our view. Despite the haze, we found an intimate deck at one of the nearby peaks where we braved the cold to catch the sunset. Rather than take the bus back down to Jeongseon, we decided to walk the 30 minute dark road sipping our whiskey and cola to keep warm.

Remember the photo that we’re seeking? That is Mindoongsan Mountain. You can almost see the breeze in the picture as the grasses atop its peak lean to one side. Sunday morning a regional bus picked us up at that small Jeongseon bus station for an hour ride to the mountain. The road passed by village houses, rivers, and streams clothed in autumn colors. From behind the bus window we caught elderly locals digging, harvesting something, pulling grasses up onto the small roads cutting through their fields. The peace of the country abruptly halted as we rolled to our stop at the foot of Mindoongsan. 

There, at the foot of the small mountain, the obvious fact that the serenity of Jeongseon had masked for us had become clear. We were not the only ones who saw that picture. Droves of fluorescent-clad Korean hikers were crossing the road in their tour groups. Just moments earlier they piled off their buses that provided them non-stop service from Seoul, Busan, or Daejeon. Complete with goretex hats, cool-dry shirts, sporty sunglasses, and extendable walking sticks they crowded onto the trail. There were so many, that two locals were employed to control the traffic at the trail head, stopping cars to let groups of 20 hikers by at a time.

To add to our discomfort, we headed up the trail with little in our stomachs, no food in our bags, and merely one liter of water between the two of us. Leaving Jeongseon earlier that day we erroneously assumed that we’d find at least a 7-11 somewhere near the trail head. 

It was a slow hike. Trails in Korea are usually quite crowded but the hike to the peak of Mindoongsan was a traffic jam, stopping and starting nearly the whole way up. About 20 minutes down from the peak we ran into a very welcomed food station. We stopped to get some extra water, some candy bars, and a couple savory pancakes unique to the region. With full stomachs and some extra space between hikers we made our final push to the top.

Mindoongsan’s peak was as advertised. Free of growth exceeding chest high, the 360 degree view was obstructed only by crowds of hikers posing at the peak’s out of place stone elevation marker. Looking out from the edge of the trail and watching the grasses bend to the breeze was a relaxing exercise given the commotion at my back. Far below, hikers passed along a trail through an opening in the forest. Even further was the city at the mountain’s base, sporting a small festival, and a train station.

Our trip back to Jeongseon was a bit tricky. It took us at least a half hour to find a credible bus stop from where we could catch the bus back to Jeongseon. We asked several locals who told us one thing that didn’t seem to make too much sense, and eventually was wrong. Finally, an older lady walked us to a stop, asked the attendant at a store about a bus, he checked his phone and told us there wouldn’t be a bus until the following day. This was also wrong information. Eventually we caught, what we believed to be the last bus, from a station we spotted nearby. After a small dinner back in Jeongseon we boarded another bus back to Seoul, and then another back to Incheon.

Unfortunately, Jeongseon was one of only a few ventures to the Korean countryside without a tour group. It is a stressful way to go, but it is far more rewarding. Despite the traffic at our final destination, Mindoongsan, we were able to catch some peace in the small mountain town of Jeongseon.