All posts by Claire

About Claire

Wandering (and wondering) development professional and aspiring aid worker. Contact me on anticipationofwonder[at]gmail[dot]com

Jump on a high-speed train

Adventures, Seoul, trains and train stations, , , ,

This weekend, for the first time, I experienced the phenomenon of the high-speed train. In the past 6 or 7 years, I’ve spent plenty of time in South African airports and on planes but other distance public transport systems in SA are not very well-developed and there are certainly no high-speed trains. I’ve caught a train here in Korea once before, when we went to hang-gliding in Changwon but then I was with people who had already figured out the train system. This time I was alone, nervous and determined – I really needed to get out of town and a weekend with an old friend was calling. So, on Saturday morning, I got up early and headed off on a new adventure.

Early is a relative terms when one works hours as odd mine (3pm to 11pm). It was after 8:30am by the time I left home. Daegu was waking up on a crisp, overcast autumn morning. I was quite glad of my coat. The morning was also little misty and as I walked down to the main road to catch a taxi I passed children on their way to school and people starting to move through the hazy misty morning . I caught the first taxi I could find and headed to Dongdaegu station.

At the station, I headed straight for the automatic ticket issuing machine. The train stations in Korea also have the option of buying tickets from actual people at ticket counters but the machines have English and it’s easier to use a machine with English than to battle through the inevitability of miscommunication with a ticket salesperson, particularly when one is impatient to get going. After one or two tries, I managed to work the machine (which isn’t complicated – I just entered the wrong information or pressed the wrong things once or twice) and reached the confirmation screen where they showed the ticket they could offer me. There were no tickets in economy facing in the ‘forward’ direction. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but they did have one available facing in the ‘opposite’ direction. I decided to buy it. The ticket cost 38 600 won. I fed in my four 10 000 won notes and got my change and ticket.

I had about 10 minutes to find the track and get on the train. For those who have travelled with me before, the idea of me cutting it this fine will seem improbable. I am one of those people who tends to arrive at the airport at least an hour before the flight ‘just in case’. This time I recklessly took a chance. I’m quite familiar with the subway stations in Korea which all have English signs (along with the Korean and pictures) directing travellers to the platforms (‘tracks’ the signs say). The train stations do too. I went through the doors to the area where the platforms are, crossing the sign painted on the floor indicating that I was entering the ‘paid area’ and followed signs that informed me that the 9:05 KTX train to Seoul was leaving from platform 9.

I got to the platform with two minutes to spare, just as the loudspeaker crackled into action and announced that the train I was taking would be 3 minutes late. They really do measure time in minutes here – imagine a world where you know when the train will arrive to the last minute? I studied my ticket. All the writing on the ticket is in Korean. Although I can read some of this now – or at least figure out what the word sounds like – it didn’t help me figure out which carriage and seat I was looking for. I knew from the last time that the tickets usually show the coach and seat numbers, just as airline boarding passes do. I found something that looked like a ticket number (1D) but the only other number I could find was 9, which I assumed was the platform number. In the absence of any other information, I decided that this must actually be the carriage number, too, and the platform number wasn’t shown.

Just then the train arrived. I rushed to carriage 9 and got on. I always feel a little out of my depth when travelling on a new kind of public transport or a new kind of train or plane, especially when everyone around me knows exactly where they’re going and I’m just getting in the way trying to figure it all out. This time I was lucky: my seat was just in front of the door where I entered. I had a window seat tucked in the corner, which was perfect for me. I quickly stowed my backpack, coat and scarf and settled down.

As I watched Daegu station slide away, I was filled with excitement. I love travelling and trains make me particularly happy. My seat was facing in the ‘opposite’ direction, which, it turned out, meant that my seat faced the back of the train. I was a little worried that this might be a bad thing given that I am prone to motion-sickness, but it was fine. The person in the seat next to me was an American – I suspected when I saw him and then he got a phone-call and I heard his accent – but thankfully not someone who felt the need to engage in conversation. So I was able to enjoy the trip in uninterrupted wonder as I watched the scenery pass by and to be peaceful for a bit. I think that is really the joy of travel for me – the quiet moments of uninterrupted peace while watching the world pass by.

I tried to take pictures, too, but it turns out it is really difficult to take good pictures through the window of a train when travelling at 300km/h, especially when facing backwards. The KTX trip to Seoul is remarkably brief. Until the KTX was built, the ‘express’ train used to take four hours. The KTX takes around 1 hour 45 minutes. I suppose that is a little like taking just under 2 hours by train from Johannesburg to Durban. Both flights (Joburg-Durban and Seoul-Daegu) take about an hour but thinking about the waiting time and the need to be there early, it’s pretty much equivalent. I’d say the KTX and flying are equivalent for comfort – the seats could be airline seats, with perhaps a little more legroom (I find the legroom on planes sufficient so don’t notice it much) and there are bathrooms and the like. The KTX also has the option of buying snacks from the snack and drink carts that come rattling down the aisles, just like (at least budget) airlines. The sense of speed and distance is similar, as is the time taken. The view makes me happy on both, although they are slightly different – on a plane, I adore watching the world pass below me but am occasionally frustrated by cloud cover and the that flying so high makes it difficult to see contours and definition; on the train, I loved the close-up views but was sometimes frustrated by tunnels and barriers next to the rails, particularly on bridges. Perhaps the greatest difference between the two is that the KTX is cheaper and there are none of the delays and irritations of the extensive security checks of modern airports. Also, perhaps because of the KTX and because Korea is a small country, flights are few and far between whereas the trains run extremely regularly.

Arriving in Seoul station, I disembarked and joined the crowds walking up just one set of stairs to the arrivals area. Seoul station is spacious and feels a lot like my favourite airports, so I felt immediately at home and went off with a smile to find my friend.

The return trip was just as easy. We got to the station at about 12:55 and found the auto-ticketing machines. I bought a ticket, this time costing 38 000 won and facing forward. My friend was a little shocked to realise that I’d bought a ticket leaving at 13:15 (it was now 13:05). I would normally have been shocked, too. In fact, in the past I’d have been in a panic. But somehow it seemed normal this time.

A quick goodbye and I headed for the platform (ridiculously easy to find) and boarded my train. This time I was seated right in the middle of the carriage. This carriage – perhaps all of them, I didn’t look before – had half the seats facing in one direction and half facing in the other, with the middle two sets of seats facing each other over a little fold-out table. I was in one of these middle seats, which was lovely and spacious. I was in the aisle seat but there was no-one in the seat next to me or the two facing me, so I felt a little as if I had four seats to myself.

On the trip up to Seoul, the day had been quite misty and overcast but Monday was crisp and clear so I could see for ages and ages and had a perfect view of farmlands and towns and wooded hills and mountains, with the usual temple complexes dotted in between. It was another opportunity to confirm that train travel is a lovely way to enjoy the view and get to know a country. I arrived back in Daegu at 15:02 (exactly on time), with just enough time to pop home and drop my luggage before heading off to work. I’ve always been a fan of train travel but I’m now particularly enamoured with the quick, comfortable and plane-like experience of the KTX and am already planning my next quick trip on a high-speed train.

Heart and Seoul

Seoul

I’ve been in Korea for four months now. In that time, I’ve enjoyed bits and not enjoyed other bits but I certainly haven’t had the experience of falling in love with the place which others sometimes talk about. This past weekend, I went to Seoul to spend time with an old friend and do some exploring in Korea’s huge, sprawling capital. I arrived on a rainy Saturday morning and the weather didn’t warm up the whole weekend, although thankfully by Sunday it has stopped pouring with rain. In spite of the cold and wet, by day two of the visit I found myself becoming aware of how different the two cities are. Seoul is beautiful and the area my friend is in is particularly lovely, made even more special by the fact that she lives on an attractive university campus. Marita van der Vyver talks in her book Where the Heart Is about how she went to Provence in October partly because she didn’t want to get swept off her feet by the picture-postcard loveliness of the place in summer, and found herself falling in love with the October beauty of it instead. I went to Seoul on a cold, wet autumn weekend and it didn’t take long for me to find myself, ever so slightly, just a very little bit, falling in love with Seoul.

The next few posts will be a series of individual tales of various parts of the weekend, exploring with a friend, enjoying wonderful dinners and new places and falling a little in love with Korea’s capital.

Rose-tinted glasses

Daegu, , , , ,

A post with this title could so easily be a meandering consideration of how everything South African seems brighter and better and more magical through the nostalgia of being stuck, and yes I often feel stuck, half-a-world away. In fact, it isn’t. It’s a post about my newest acquisition – a pair of sunglasses. I brought a pair of sunglasses with me when I first arrived and they were necessary in the first bright, sunshiny month or so. Unfortunately, R20 sunglasses tend not to last forever and this pair eventually disintegrated. I’ve been meaning to replace them for ages but I didn’t want to spend a fortune, which I assumed would be inevitable if I walked into any of the many, many spectacle-shops that dot the streets here. This, by the way, is a new experience for me. Back home there always a few optometrist’s shops around (except in small towns like the one I’ve been living in) but they aren’t particularly numerous or flashy. Here, however, an awfully high proportion of the population seems to wear glasses, so I suppose it makes sense that there would be lots of shops specialising in glasses. Perhaps as a result of the fact that they’re all very aware of eye-care and pay a lot of attention to their eye-wear, you also don’t see much of the all-too-familiar South African phenomenon of people selling sunglasses on the side of the street or at traffic lights. That and perhaps the fact that traffic-light sunglasses-vendors would not last a week in the midst of a bunch of Daegu drivers who all seem to have bought their licences at the same place as Joburg taxi drivers.

Given all of this, I was quite pleased, when I was downtown recently, to find a stall selling sunglasses. They weren’t all that cheap – definitely more than R20 – but they were less than designer prices and the glare of the slanting Autumn sun is fairly annoying at the moment, so I picked up a pair. I chose fairly quickly because I the process of trying to select something while the sales-person attempts to assist me in a language that I am a little embarrassed or at least frustrated not to speak, given that it’s the only official (and widespread) language of the country, doesn’t thrill me. I then paid and slipped them into my bag and didn’t think of them again until a few days later when I put them on and discovered that I’d bought myself a pair of rose-tinted glasses.
I’m sure there is a solid scientific explanation for how these glasses work their magic, one which I could probably fathom out simply by dredging up all things I learnt about light and colours and angles all those years ago in science class. It seems more useful simply to describe it. When I am wearing these glasses and I look at the world, all yellows, reds, oranges and pinks are highlighted, the blue sky seems deeper, all things white or cream have a rosy glow and greens are somehow dulled. In case the significance has not yet struck you, this is the most magical amplification of the already (and increasingly) spectacularly beautiful autumn colours. After just a few days of wearing them (and resisting the urge to bounce up and down a lot because of  ‘the pretty’), I can honestly say that the best way to enjoy a Daegu autumn is through rose-tinted glasses.
That is how I ended up on Sunday taking my rose-tinted glasses for a walk. I also came across a website (which I have been unable to find again) that talked about estimates from the Korean meteorological agency of when the ‘fall’ colours would be at their peak in various parts of Korea. Apparently they estimate the start of the season for viewing the fall colours as being the point where 20% of the foliage in the area has turned and the peak at 80%. I’ve been surprised at just how quickly the colours are changing just at the moment – each day there seems to be a dramatic shift. This makes sense, however, when you read the information because it appears that the real ‘season’ of fall colours is only about 10 days long. For Daegu in particular, the ‘season’ started this past weekend and peaks on Thursday, 29 October. It seemed a good time, therefore, to go back to one of the prettiest parks here and look at the pretty colours.
The last time I visited Duryu Park was a work-day morning, so I didn’t have that much time to explore. Because of the limited time (and limited information online), I also took the subway. While I was there, I noticed a bus that starts its route in my area, so this time I hopped on the number 3 bus to get there. I got off at the ‘Duryu Park Junction’ (bus stops have English names written on them even if the announcements on the bus are all in Korean). As I walked along to the pedestrian crossing, I suddenly heard a huge rushing sound as though a plane was flying right above my head. I had the urge to throw myself to the ground. Resisting that urge, I looked up and watched as a group of people screamed past on the roller-coaster almost directly above me. Woobang Towerland is across the road from Duryu Park, just next to where I was walking, so the noise was from the rides. The music and noise and sight of the amusement park drifted through the whole afternoon, actually and I am now contemplating a rare and unexpected urge to pay a visit to the amusement park too.
Duryu Park itself is rather large. The last time I was there, I really just wandered past some monuments and saw a fountain. This time I was properly attired (complete with boots) to explore a bit more of the area. I didn’t actually cover any of the ground I did last time – even entering and leaving by a completely different entry road. I did see the outdoor-stadium area again, but this time from the other side. It was also looking a little different this time. The last time I was there, the stadium was just empty dust. This time there was a baseball game (or practice?) going on and a few guys kicking around a soccer ball as well as a few people walking and jogging around. The stadium is surrounded by tall, leafy trees that are starting to turn.
The rest of the park was also full of people. Some of them were riding bikes, some wandering along in family groups and many of them striding along in walking gear. The outdoor shops here, like K2, North Face and Mont Bell clearly do very well here. The majority of middle-aged and older men and women who walk in parks like this are fully decked out in walking pants and walking hats and walking shoes and walking jackets. Many of them also wear masks. As more and more H1N1 cases are reported in the city and as the ordinary flu season gets going, an increasing number of people are wearing masks everywhere. I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes but people seem to feel that it helps them. There is also a belief here that regular exercise (apparently preferably in the form of hearty walks) will prevent illness. As a result, people walk a lot and there are many, many paths in the hills and woods, all fairly busy on a Sunday afternoon. On this particular day, I decided to join them, so I walked some of the paths through the wooded hills. It was nice to be out of the city for a while and among the trees. The path lead across little bamboo platforms over the dry stream beds once or twice. Sometimes it came out at a higher point and I could look across the valley. Once I found myself walking just above a temple complex as the bells started ringing. I had no particular direction, so I just kept following paths, turning and twisting up and down the hills.
All of a sudden, the path opened up back onto the road and I joined the crowds wandering back towards the stadium. The sun was starting to sink in the West by this point and I spent a little while just sitting watching the soccer guys kick around the ball and groups of people wander and someone doing sit-ups next to the road. As the sun set, I walked back to the bus stop in the mild autumn evening, the sky was lit up with pinks and purples, as if the whole world was as rose-tinted as my glasses.

A post with this title could so easily be a meandering consideration of how everything South African seems brighter and better and more magical through the nostalgia of being stuck, and yes I often feel stuck, half-a-world away. In fact, it isn’t. It’s a post about my newest acquisition – a pair of sunglasses. I brought a pair of sunglasses with me when I first arrived and they were necessary in the first bright, sunshiny month or so. Unfortunately, R20 sunglasses tend not to last forever and this pair eventually disintegrated. I’ve been meaning to replace them but I didn’t want to spend a fortune, which I assumed would be inevitable if I walked into any of the many, many spectacle-shops that dot the streets here. This, by the way, is a new experience for me. Back home there always a few optometrist’s shops around (except in small towns like the one I’ve been living in) but they aren’t particularly numerous or flashy. Here an awfully high proportion of the population seems to wear glasses, so I suppose it makes sense that there would be lots of shops specialising in glasses. Perhaps as a result of the fact that they’re all very aware of eye-care and pay a lot of attention to their eye-wear, you also don’t see much of the all-too-familiar South African phenomenon of people selling sunglasses on the side of the street or at traffic lights. That and perhaps the fact that traffic-light sunglasses-vendors would not last a week with Daegu drivers who all seem to have bought their licences at the same place as Joburg taxi drivers.

Given all of this, I was quite pleased, when I was downtown recently, to find a stall selling sunglasses. They weren’t all that cheap – definitely more than R20 – but they were less than designer prices and the glare of the slanting Autumn sun is fairly annoying at the moment, so I picked up a pair. I chose fairly quickly because trying to select something while the sales-person attempts to assist in a language that I am a little embarrassed or at least frustrated not to speak doesn’t thrill me. I paid and slipped them into my bag and didn’t think of them again until a few days later when I put them on and discovered that I’d bought myself a pair of rose-tinted glasses.

I’m sure there is a solid scientific explanation for how these glasses work their magic, one which I could probably fathom simply by dredging up all things I learnt about light and colours and angles all those years ago in science class. It seems more useful simply to describe it. When I am wearing them and I look at the world, all yellows, reds and oranges are highlighted, the blue sky seems deeper, all things white or cream have a rosy glow and greens are somehow dulled. In case the significance has not yet struck you, this is the most magical amplification of the already (and increasingly) spectacularly beautiful autumn colours. After just a few days of wearing them (and resisting the urge to bounce up and down a lot because of  ‘the pretty’), I can honestly say that the best way to enjoy a Daegu autumn is through rose-tinted glasses.

That is how I ended up on Sunday taking my rose-tinted glasses for a walk. I came across a website (which I have been unable to find again) that talked about estimates from the Korean meteorological agency of when the ‘fall’ colours would be at their peak in various parts of Korea. Apparently they estimate the start of the season for viewing the fall colours as being the point where 20% of the foliage in the area has turned and the peak at 80%. I’ve been surprised at just how quickly the colours are changing just at the moment – each day there seems to be a dramatic shift. This makes sense though because it appears that the real ‘season’ of fall colours is only about 10 days long. For Daegu in particular, the ‘season’ started this past week and peaks on Thursday, 29 October. It seemed a good time, therefore, to go back to one of the prettiest parks here and look at all the colours.

The last time I visited Duryu Park was a work-day morning, so I didn’t have that much time to explore. Because of the limited time (and limited information online), I also took the subway. While I was there, I noticed a bus that starts its route in my area, so this time I hopped on the number 3 bus to get there. I got off at the ‘Duryu Park Junction’ (bus stops have English names written on them even if the announcements are all in Korean). As I walked along to the pedestrian crossing, I suddenly heard a huge rushing sound as though a plane was flying right above my head. I had the urge to throw myself to the ground. Resisting that urge, I looked up and watched as a group of people screamed past on the roller-coaster almost directly above me. Woobang Towerland is across the road from Duryu Park, just next to where I was walking. The music and noise and sight of the amusement park drifted through the whole afternoon and I am now contemplating a rare and unexpected urge to pay a visit to Woobang Towerland too.

Duryu Park itself is a rather large, mostly wooded area. The last time I was there, I really just wandered past some monuments and saw a fountain. This time I was properly attired (complete with boots) to explore a bit more. I didn’t actually cover any of the ground I did last time – even entering and leaving by a completely different entry road. I did see the outdoor-stadium area again, but this time from the other side. It was also looking a little different this time, too. The last time I was there, the stadium was just empty dust. This time there was a baseball game (or practice?) going on and a few guys kicking around a soccer ball as well as people walking and jogging. The stadium is surrounded by tall, leafy trees that are starting to turn.

The rest of the park was also full of people. Some of them were riding bikes, some wandering along in family groups and many striding along in walking gear. The outdoor shops here, like K2, North Face and Mont Bell clearly do very well here. The majority of middle-aged and older men and women who walk in the parks are fully decked out in walking pants, walking hats, walking shoes and walking jackets. Many of them also wear masks. As more and more H1N1 cases are reported in the city and as the ordinary flu season gets going, an increasing number of people are wearing masks everywhere. I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes but people seem to feel that it helps them. There is also a belief here that regular exercise (apparently preferably in the form of hearty walks) will prevent illness. By which I mean prevent illness by itself without doing anything else, like some sort of magic charm. Which isn’t entirely logical but great for the ‘outdoor gear’ industry.

As a result, people walk a lot and there are many, many paths in the hills and woods, all fairly busy on a Sunday afternoon. On this particular day, I decided to join them, so I walked some of the paths through the wooded hills. It was nice to be out of the city for a while and among the trees. The paths lead up and down and across little bamboo platforms over the dry stream beds once or twice. Sometimes it came out at a higher point and I could look across the valley. Once I found myself walking just above a temple complex as the bells started ringing. I had no particular direction, so I just kept following paths, turning and twisting up and down the hills.

All of a sudden, the path opened up back onto the road and I joined the crowds wandering back towards the stadium. The sun was starting to sink in the West by this point and I spent a little while just sitting watching the soccer guys kick around the ball and groups of people wander and someone doing sit-ups next to the road. As the sun set and I walked back to the bus stop in the mild autumn evening, the sky was lit up with pinks and purples, as if the whole world was as rose-tinted as my rose-tinted sunglasses.