ONWARD

I'm nearing that point where the inevitable hand of the future reaches down and holds me up by my collar as I'm kicking and screaming.

I want to clutch everything.

The feelings don't fit into boxes. They are foreign, unpaved roads with logs and pot holes suggesting detours that can only substantiate.

I'm on my way out.

Now I'm sleeping with the windows open. It's fall, and in all the ways, this is my favorite time of year. The leaves change. I brace myself for winter.

I told my mother six months ago, nine months ago, who even knows how many months ago, that I would skip the winter this year. I would buy a ticket to Thailand, Ecuador, Costa Rica... anywhere promoting a temperature above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. And then I cracked a joke.

"You realize this means I'm going to end up in Suburbia."

She laughed. She knows my sarcastic nature.

So, I have a one way ticket to America followed by a one way ticket to Nepal. That's life. That's 50 degrees less than what I intended.

But for now it's autumn. For now I have Korea and mountains and a whole bunch of friends on the horizon. They're waiting. I'm expected. I'm lucky.

But now is... now. Hiking. Progress. Fighting. Surrendering. Adapting. Awaiting change. Balance.

I want to be here, and I can't deny how excited I am to be there. I'm in the perfect crux, a turbulent valley I can't deny inhabiting. I want to stockpile these transitions.

I know my love ones are interested.

November it's a bit of Indy and a bit of Utah.

December is a bit of Asheville, a bit of following a special human, and a lot of family.

January is unplanned with a lot of positive intention. January is Andrea VanNoy. Significantly, January is Mirabel Jane. My best friend is going to have a baby and I'm going to be an auntie. That's satisfying.

And then I have that ticket to Nepal. Nepal is Everest Base Camp. Nepal is challenge, beauty and accomplishment. Nepal will rip my heart - if not with temperature and pain, with awe.

And in April, I'll begin my thru hike across the Appalachian Trail. Terrifying. Magnificent. Thrilling.

Ladies and gentleman,

I'm less than 40 days from FUNEMPLOYMENT.

WOLCHULSAN NATIONAL PARK, SEPTEMBER 2012

(I'm running a 30 day photo/blog project that starts October 4. Follow that.)

CHRISTOPHER

I have a friend visiting from America and Korean men love him. I've had enough experience to know that the male bond is Korea is important. Korean men are affectionate toward one another and well, they think Chris is a golden penny.

They caress his tattoos on the bus. They buy him traditional Korean drinks at the mart. They cook him Korean beef at one in the morning. They gift him history books. They insist he take off his shirt on top of mountains.

Even the lady who works at my corner mart, who I swear thinks I am the devil, perks up like a child on Christmas when he walks through the door.

It's going to be rough returning to a country where you're not treated like a celebrity everywhere you go.

WOLCHULSAN, TO THE PEAK

Wolchulsan is finished.

ASSAH !!!

This is one of my favorite Korean phrases.

It translates to oh yeah. It can come out quickly, or for desired effect, you can lengthen the ahhhhh.

Try this: ASSAH! and pump your fist OR you can say assssahhhhhhhh. and smile real big. (pumping your fist is also allowed.)

 

WOLCHULSAN, TO THE BRIDGE

In August I took a trip to Yeongam to hike this mountain. It was a humid 90 degrees, but daylight and bus schedules established my decision not to finish.

I've been trying to find time to repeat this venture ever since. The extent of visible stone that makes up the summit is both peaceful yet piercing, providing a shocking view that I have not quit feeling an invitation from. It was also a special hike with special people during a special time.

Thinking about summiting Wolchulsan brought me to an interesting predicament. I don't know why, but I've always felt mountains were like books in that once you started them, they must be completed. And you know what, that's stupid. I should immediately ditch this mentality.

Actually, that is the only course of action for a person who will be entering the Everest region in five months.

Either way, I want to finish this mountain because I can't stop thinking about it. I'm hoping all those Koreans I saw on the beach last month forgot to change their calendars or I can multiply the five people I saw hiking Wolchulsan in August by about 100.

24

I arrived in Korea last year five days before my 23rd birthday. I managed to make some friends and when the day arrived, I found myself at dinner reserved and even a little forgetful. I didn't want to burden the rest of my party with a feeling of requirement to celebrate, so I treated myself to an overpriced drink and thought, hell, it's my birthday and I'm happy.

Last year I had to sneak my birthday into conversation. This year I tried to squander all information about it's existence. My birthday hit after an eight week stretch of summer-fun weekends.

I wanted a small gathering. I wanted to sit in the park. I wanted pesto. I wanted a waterfall.

I wanted yoga and hot tea. I wanted SLEEP.

I tiptoed on the slippery rocks until I could position most of my body under the intensity of this fall in Gurye. I lost my breath, my body shocked and recovering from the water's chilly temperature. I've learned to love cold water - it's a sure reminder that you're alive.

So now I'm 24. Cool.

(But ask any Korean, and I'm still 25.)

HAPPY PLACE

Hey look. I'm happy and on Mudeungsan.

I'll miss this mountain, its proximity to my city and its convenience. In the warmer months it seems I spend at least two weekends a month wandering its paths.

Last weekend I took a usual hike up to the restaurant to find that typhoon Bolaven had stripped down it's power lines. That place has undoubtedly hosted some of my favorite afternoons during the last year and it's seems unlikely that the issue will be reconciled before my departure. For that I am sad.

But, oh, Mudeung. You've been good to me. Your temples. Your rock formations. Your ability for night hikes. Your exercise parks. Your hula hoops. Your pagoda. Your hosting of kimbap lunches.

BUSAN - HAEUNDAE BEACH

A childhood friend spent a good ten days with me in the middle of August and we took a Saturday trip to Busan, a port city on Korea's southeast coast. It is the third largest city in the country and home to one of Korea's most famous beaches - Haeundae.

Somewhere exists a handbook that outlines the year based on when it is proper to partake in certain outdoor activities in Korea. August is definitely beach season. On a regular weekend, I've found Korean beaches fairly barren, a presumed consequence of the stereotypical Asian distaste for suntans. As Allie and I approached sand, I was shocked. The beach was prepared for the inflow of eager people looking to enjoy this space, a completely different way than I am used to in America.

If you ever wondered what Miami might look like if it decided to switch places with Korea, it would appear something like this:

The ENTIRETY of the sand area would be lined with umbrellas. For about $4, said umbrellas can be rented and sat under. Replace bronzing babes with babes carrying parasols. And everyone has these TUBES. I've heard a rumor that Korean's as a whole don't swim well, so perhaps this enhances their enjoyment at the beach. Ninety percent of people over age 10 are swimming in their clothes. It can be bet upon that everywhere you look, someone, somewhere is applying sunblock SPF 8 million in the shade, with a hat on.

TRUTH: Korean's have excellent skin.

Allie and I got some curious stares for purposely laying our towels outside of our sun-secure umbrella, but I also saw far more Korean's in bikini's this year than last. Whether this new-found freedom is a sign of leniency or a generation's act of rebellion, for this I applaud. Be free in your body.

YANGSAN DONG

I suppose it's been a year and I haven't even mentioned where I sleep at night.

I live in the northern part of the city. It's way up there; a good 50 minutes from downtown by bus. A furnished apartment is provided as part of my job, and I got lucky. My apartment is small and nice. There's an elevator in my building. It's clean, quiet and I am more than convinced I got set up with the most comfortable bed in Korea.

I'd love to tell you I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand, a sentiment one should feel comfortable relaying after having lived in a place for a year. But I don't. Because I live so far, I'm constantly hopping on buses. I often leave on Friday nights and don't return until Sunday evenings. During the week, I walk to work and then home again.

What I know of this hood is it's people. The clerks at the mart know me. They follow me around, waiting to bag and weigh my vegetables. They ring up my coffee before I even order. They laugh at me while I stumble through in Korean. They come out of their restaurants to wave. They buy me a box of TWELVE donuts. They give me five cucumbers when I only paid for four.


YANG SAN DONG RESERVOIR, AND THE REALITY WHICH IS MY TEENSY, TINY APARTMENT.

These four story "villas" line my street. I live in one.