All posts by Claire

About Claire

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

Learning to fly

Adventures, , ,

Ever since I was a child, I’ve dreamt of flying. Not in the sense of someone determined to be an astronaut or a pilot but in the childlike sense of imagining how amazing it would be to be able to spread my arms and take to the skies. I vaguely considered sky-diving when I was at Varsity but somehow I never got around to it. Yesterday, I realised a dream.

It was also the first time in my life that I’ve done anything adventure/extreme-sports-ish, so I think quite a bit of the stiffness and exhaustion, now, is related to nerves and tension rather than the actual paragliding itself.

A lot of people plan this sort of adventure for weeks in advance. In this case, it was rather spontaneous. A couple of friends were supposed to be going to the Philippines for Chusoek (a major national holiday – harvest festival – when all Koreans return to their ancestral homes, which is accompanied by a long weekend). Unfortunately, a typhoon hit the Philippines, leaving over 200 people dead and causing major flooding. They cancelled their trip and decided to replace it with activities right here that would be fun and exciting. One of these – for which I joined them – was the paragliding. So instead of weeks to prepare, this all happened in the last 5 days.

We met at Dongdaegu station at 08:30 on Thursday morning. I struggled to get to sleep the night before with last-minute waves of concern that I may have spontaneously agreed to something completely crazy. My mother’s reaction when I told her (completely justifiably) was, “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” I was also excited – especially after chatting to one of the people I was going with who had also never done this before. I still woke up in plenty of time, had a shower and some breakfast and headed off. I could have taken the bus but I hadn’t done much planning (to figure out which bus to take) and I wasn’t even sure how often the buses would be running on the Chusoek weekend, so I settled on the more expensive option of a cab.

I arrived early and wandered around the station looking at things and waiting for my fellow travellers. It’s the first time I’ve been to the train station in Daegu and the first time I’ve taken a train (apart from the subway) in Korea. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve left Daegu since I arrived, which made it all doubly exciting. Dongdaegu the station is modern and well-equipped and feels a little like an airport – which probably makes sense given that regular, high-quality train travel is the most effective to get around in Korea because the country is too small to make regular flights viable. We bought three tickets from the automatic ticketing machine (which it turns out functions in English as well as Korean) and, after grabbing something to wake us up, headed to the platform to await our train. None of us was entirely sure whether we were in the right place and on the right platform. To be honest, I’ve very glad I was there with the other two, who have travelled before; I’m sure I would have missed the train otherwise. When it did arrive (on time at 09:06), we rushed to get on (we were almost in the right place) and found our comfortable, padded, spacious seats. We were on the slow train (Mugunghwa) – the slowest and least luxurious of the three main Korean train-types. It was still pretty luxurious and we settled in to watch the scenery and doze for the short 1hour 40 minute ride to Changwon.

Because it’s the first time I’ve left Daegu, I was glued to the window, in spite of my tiredness. We passed towns and small settlements (which would be huge compared to what I know as small towns) and agricultural lands stretching across the valleys to the foot of the mountains in every direction. Sometimes we’d pass a temple complex on a mountainside, with ornately-decorated buildings in traditional style. I wondered how they could be peaceful with the railway line running so close. There were many tunnels, short and long, passing right through the hearts of the mountains. Our ears all got blocked every time we entered a major tunnels as if the pressure had changed as it does when you’re flying or driving and you suddenly change altitude. Most of all though, I was struck by the way that the countryside, at least of the area we were passing through, could be easily characterised by the three picturesque dominant features – mountains, rivers and bridges.

Looking at this world from the window of a train was a joy. I took some pictures but I’d like to go back and stop in the small towns and spend time walking around and exploring the rivers and mountains and bridges. On the front wall of the our railway carriage were some pictures which appeared mostly to be adverts for the KTX (the super-high-speed Korean trains). One of them, for some reason, seemed to show the KTX following the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Sitting on a train, looking at the amazing view and thinking about the Trans-Siberian Railroad was a wonderful reminder of the Trans-Siberian adventure I have planned for sometime in the future.

Today’s adventure, however, was drawing ever nearer. When we reached roughly the time we were supposed to arrive, we gathered our belongings and waited for a station to appear. It soon did and we hopped off and headed across the pedestrian covered bridge to Changwon station and a day good day to fly. We were a bit early so we found a seat to wait the short while until our instructor  arrived. The guy we were going paragliding with is an experienced instructor who, along with many paragliding-specific achievements, has apparently climbed Mount Everest twice. He is also the instructor that other friends of ours went with a few weeks back, so we knew a little of what to expect and had the reassurance of knowing that they’d made it back in one piece. We left the station and he took us to his ‘office’ (a long room full of paragliding equipment and awards) and offered us coffee and tea – which we gratefully accepted. We wondered if we were there to get to know him a little and perhaps watch a safety video (there was a VCR and TV) but it turned out we were waiting for the other instructor, who may or may not have been his brother. I should perhaps mention at this point that what we were doing wasn’t ‘real’ (solo) paragliding. That takes a whole series of lessons, a licence and far more money. What we were there for was a tandem jump with an instructor – who would do all the work while we simply enjoyed the experience.

As soon as we finished our coffee, we (by which I mean they) loaded up the mini-bus and we headed out of town. The site we were heading to for the jump was about 30 minutes out of the town in a rural-ish area. We drove to the bottom in the mini-bus, at which point the instructor got out,  planted a wind-sock in the ground and suggested we leave our bags behind. We were a little reluctant to do so (and not sure we understood), so we took them along and all climbed into the cab of a truck to go up the mountain on one of the most winding, hair-pin-bending, half-tar, half-dirt roads I’ve seen in a while. At some point I really thought the driver was going to go off the edge, but by now the anticipation was really building and we were pretty much exclusively focussed on the fact that we were about to jump off a mountain. Not focussed in the sense of sitting quietly and preparing for the event, partly because we didn’t know what to expect. We chatted all the way up and laughed quite a lot but it was all about the experience that we were about to encounter together. Exploring alone has it’s advantages but you forget the joy of anticipation and excitement mediated and amplified through sharing and conversation. I’m glad I had people to share this rather spectacular experience with.

By the time we reached the top, everyone was pretty psyched to jump/run off a mountain. The instructor informed us that only two people could jump at a time (I assume because they only had two tandem canopies), so I waited while Stephanie and Christina got ready to jump first. Actually, the way it turned out to work is that you run as fast as you can straight down a very steep slope towards the trees below you and at some point before you reach them, if all goes according to plan, you take off. The preparation involves standing there feeling a little useless while the instructor straps on knee-pads and elbow-pads and helmet and then puts on the harness and straps you in firmly – or at least supposedly firmly, one of our number had a particular flight that could have ended a little less pleasantly because the instructor didn’t tighten the straps enough. Once your harness is attached and you’re all padded up, you move into position and the instructor attaches himself to you and the canopy to both harnesses.

Then it’s time to run. Christina went first and, at the signal from the instructor, which almost seemed to take her by surprise, rushed down the mountain and looked like she was going to hit a trees or fall down the hill, when, all of a sudden, she and the instructor miraculously took off and floated through the air. We watched them until they drifted out of sight around the mountain. No time to contemplate as the team hustled Stephanie into position and the other instructor hooked her up. For each take-off, a group of several other men, none of whom were introduced but who all seemed to be paragliders or at least to know an awful lot about it, helped to get everything ready, untangling lines, checking straps and then lifting the canopy into the air as the jumping pair started to run.  Stephanie and her instructor started running down the hill but the canopy must not have inflated evenly (we surmised) because the team stopped them and they went back for a second try. On the second run, they got it right and headed off into the air. I felt a thrill as I watched them fly away.

And then I had nothing to do but wait for them all to return so that I could take my turn at flying. In the meantime, I wandered around taking some pictures and watched a few solo paragliders take to the air, with far less fuss and difficulty than our group had experienced, and head off into the distance. It was amazing to watch them lift off and fly away. Watching the experienced paragliders, I could see how carefully they steered their canopies and used the air currents to choose a direction and to go up and down and it made me just how much control they have and that their flying is not at all random. I also walked around a bit and stood looking down the hill you have to run down in order to take off. In retrospect, this might have been a mistake.

I didn’t have all that long to wait before the jumpers returned. They said their flight had been good but we didn’t have much time to chat before the instructor bundled me off to strap on masses of gear. I handed my camera to the other two and did as I was told as I was strapped into harnesses and padding and canopies. My mind by this stage was in a whirl – I was about to jump off a mountain. I was given simple instructions but I’m not sure how much I really took in: “When I say run you run really fast”, “we’re just waiting for the wind to be right”, “when I say ‘sit’ you push down hard on this strap”, “are you ready? No wait!”. My mind was racing and I was trying to breathe deeply. And then we were running down the hill in an unsuccessful attempt to take flight. I think I may actually have mis-stepped as I tried to run-but-not-fall down the very steep mountain slope. We tried again but I still wasn’t running fast enough. I think my brain was reluctant to let me rush down a hillside in what seemed like an inevitable rush into some bushes or possibly down a mountain. On the third try we rushed down and then suddenly someone was pulling me from the front and we were hurtling to the left and into some trees and then suddenly we were above them and my whole body seemed to be a mess of nerves and sensations as I realised I was flying.

The instructor said “sit” and I pushed on the straps and found myself sitting in the air high up above the tall pine forests as we rushed and floated around the mountain. I was taking deep slow breaths and there was a solid knot in my stomach. It’s hard to describe the sensation – I was aware of everything and nothing and it was so much sensation, almost sensory overload. The physical memory is so strong that just describing it I feel like I’m reliving every second. I could see into the distance to what felt like forever, right into the next valley and the next, to the mountains so blue in the distance. At the same time, I fought the thought, looking down, of what would happen if we fell into that forest. At one point we turned a little sharply and I had a momentary passing thought of mortality. We soared around for what felt like ages and just a moment. I was aware of changing scenery below me. We turned back towards the mountain and I could see how far away we were from the take-off point. At some point the instructor held out a camera and took a picture of us in the air. Below me were rows and rows of fruit trees. I felt dizzy as we turned around a few times and vaguely wondered about motion sickness. We turned again and flew out over farmlands. The sensations are like a multi-dimensional sensory recording – like the whole-body sensation version of a movie, the images like frozen stills. The strongest is the picture of a moment when our shadow passed over an old Korean man in a hat tending his vegetable garden far below. We got closer to the ground and I became aware of the power-lines and flowers.

We seemed to be up there for quite a long time. It must have been about 10-15 minutes but it’s hard to sense time when your brain is simultaneously dealing with all senses being magnificently alive,  the views of forever, meta-thoughts about flying, thinking about mortality and trying to avoid thinking about the possibility of dying (which is hard to do at the same time), noticing every moment passing and just relaxing into the experience. After what seemed like forever and not nearly long enough, the instructor simply “we land, you run” and I found we were heading to the open spot where we would finally be landing. It’s strange to think you’re travelling so far and so fast but the wind is quiet enough to talk up there. I had no fear as the ground got closer but I found myself focussing less on the scenery and practising running in the air – perhaps to remind my legs what  that meant. We came down and I think ran one or two steps and then came to a stop sliding and sitting. Somehow in the landing I grazed my knuckles, possibly as we slid and finally stopped. I must have stood up – I don’t remember it – and the instructor untangled the strings of the canopy which had landed in front of us and took a photo of me holding them. He unstrapped me and set about folding it all up and moving us away with efficiency.

I didn’t know whether to scream or to sing or to cry or to sit down and contemplate. Christina and Stephanie were still at the top and there were no other English speakers, so while we waited for other people to land and everyone to organise themselves and pack up their equipment, and while other people arrived and things happened, I stood around and, mostly, looked out at a nearby dam and tried to re-engage my brain and figure out the feelings. I think perhaps the experience left us all a little in shock. I know that the time I spent at the landing area I wasn’t really all there and I didn’t really manage to think anything. At some point I picked up a piece of straw and broke into into equal-sized pieces.

And then I was climbing back into the truck for the trip back up the mountain, surrounded by what seemed like a lot of Koreans chatting loudly and masses of equipment. By this stage bits of my brain were again working sufficiently for me to be a concerned that the truck was overloaded. I was in the cab. It was a double cab. I was very aware of the hair-pin bends and the rather precarious road. I spent most of that nerve-wracking ride back up the mountain wishing for a Nissan Hardbody or a Colt Double-cab or any proper bakkie to replace the somewhat flimsy Korean double-cab-truck substitute. I have no doubt that I wouldn’t have been the least concerned about taking that road in a proper double-cab, even with all the luggage and the people, but Korean vehicles always seem to me a little like tin-cans-on-wheels and this truck was no exception.

We got to the top and I hurried off to find the others but it was somehow not possible to have a real conversation about the experience. I suppose it was all too new. They did say I seemed to have been gone for ages, which was confirmed when the instructor came up and said that I’d been in the air far longer than either of them. There was just enough time left for two people to go again and he suggested, because I’d had a much longer flight, that the other two should have a second go. I could definitely have gone again but I think the longer first flight was part of the reason my experience was so amazing, so I’m not at all unhappy that they got to go again. I wouldn’t have exchanged that for anything.

This time Stephanie took off first time and headed off for her second flying opportunity. Christina had a slightly more bumpy start; while they were running down the hill all around her people were shouting “go, go, go”, but given that they had previously been shouting “no, no, no” when they thought it was a bad attempt, everything was a little confusing. We heard when we all reached the bottom (me in one of the vehicles) that her whole flight was a little terrifying and the landing resulted in the instructor falling on her. But Stephanie’s second flight was better than her first so I suppose perhaps things balanced.

After that, we waited around for what seemed like ages, while the instructors and all the many other paragliding people chatted and packed up and made plans and waited for other people. By this stage all three of us were tired, thirsty and hungry and not really in the mood for waiting. I was glad that I’m so very used to African time and waiting around for people; I think it bothered me less than the other two. We were also aware of the time, though. My jumping-off-the-mountain companions were supposed to get back for a dinner so we needed to get an early enough train and it was by now 15:30, with the town was a good half-hour away.

When we eventually did leave the mountain of paragliding, that still had to wait, but the stop was a good thing that made us all feel better. About 5 minutes away from the place where we’d been, we stopped at a Chinese Restaurant for a late lunch. Of course the language barrier became a problem in ordering and the three of us ended up getting fried rice with vegetables in a garbled attempt at understanding. This started with spicy soup and then a large stack of rice topped with egg and mushrooms. It was fairly yummy, although partly because it was ‘seasoned with hunger’. We were sorry, however, after he let us taste some, that we hadn’t ordered the sweet-and-sour chicken one of the other guys had – it was really amazingly delicious.

After lunch we headed back to town, stopping briefly at the office to pay our money and returned to Changwon station. By the time we got tickets, we had just 20 minutes to wait. We were also, by happy coincidence, on the medium speed train (Saemaul), leaving at 17:06, so we would arrive back in Daegu by 18:30. The train was rather full but we found our seats and watched Korea pass by as we sped on to Dongdaegu station, where we caught cabs and headed home.

The two friends I’d gone with went out last night but I was too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, even to consider doing anything. I’m eternally grateful to them, though, for the amazing opportunity. I don’t think I would ever have considered, never mind actually done, something like this on my own. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever have thought that it might be something which was a) possible and b) not prohibitively expensive. Many of the other vague ideas I’ve had about flying have been dismissed because the cost was exorbitant. This was very reasonable at 70 000 won. In fact, the whole trip was relatively inexpensive: 70 000 won for paragliding, 15 000 won for train tickets (6000 won there, 9000 won back) and 5 000 won for lunch. A total of 90 000 won, which converts to less than R 600. There are some things that weren’t perfect. I would have preferred a little more information about safety procedures before we took off, and perhaps to have had a better idea of exactly what to expect. It might also have been easier if the instructors had had a little more English. And the second instructor was definitely not nearly as competent or friendly as the first and flying with him not as good an experience. Other than that, however, the experience was good, none of us was injured in any way, the equipment was obviously well-maintained and, apart from the trip up the mountain in the tin-can truck, I didn’t feel in any way unsafe. Changwon is just an hour or two from Daegu so it’s also relatively close. So, all in all, the cost was minimal, the inconvenience limited and the disadvantages manageable. And the experience of flying, realising a dream, soaring through the air so incredibly alive? Well, quite simply, priceless.

Mount Apsan

Daegu, , , , ,

This weekend I went up a mountain. I’ve never really understood the fascination the human race has with being on top of mountains, but I’m as fascinated as anyone. This mountain is particularly popular with hikers and has a 790m cable-car and some exceptional views of the city.

Mount Apsan (which apparently means ‘Front Mountain’) is one of the higher peaks in Daegu. It’s surrounded by Apsan Park, a 17000 m² park which includes various sporting facilities, such as (although I didn’t see them) horse-riding and archery. There are also several temple complexes and a war memorial.
So, on Saturday I decided to take my new boots and find one of Daegu’s most popular tourist attractions. The first stumbling block was that the websites I usually use to find directions listed bus 910 as the bus to take. When I looked for a bus route, I discovered that Daegu doesn’t seem to have a bus 910. Luckily, after looking a bit further, I discovered that bus 410 goes to Apsan Park. In order to catch bus 410, I had to get another bus (401) to Suseong Lake and then wait for the 410 to arrive. When the bus arrived, it was empty. The driver looked a bit wary to let me on but I think my boots and day-pack gave away the fact that I did actually want to go to Apsan Park so he let me get on and we headed off. Buses in Daegu have a flat rate anywhere in the city that is charged any time you get onto a bus, so this trip to Apsan Park involved two bus fares, bit it was still far less than I’d have paid for a taxi (a lot less) so I wasn’t complaining. I was very glad that I use a travel-card so that I didn’t need to find change each time.
After travelling up and through Daegu, we arrived at the entrance to the Park. I love driving into a forested area. It feels like escaping the city. Apsan Park is entirely forested – except for the sports areas and temples and little pockets of grassy space. The bus stopped at a depot point near the edge of the park and I got off. I was in a parking lot with some cars and lots of buses – both city buses and tour buses. I walked past the cars and the little shop and headed up the hill. The park was paved and ran under the road I’d just come in on. On my left was a stream but there hadn’t been much rain so it was mostly rocks in a little water. After a while, I found a clearing with a map of the different paths but as all the writing was in Korean and there was no indication of where I was on the map it wasn’t hugely helpful. I looked around a bit and then headed back to the path and carried on uphill. All the time I was walking in the park, there were other people hiking and walking around me. It was a busy Saturday afternoon and the Koreans were out enjoying the Autumn weather.
A little further up the hill, I came upon a war memorial and small museum. The Nakdong River Battle Memorial is dedicated to those who died in the battle and more generally in the Korean war. This includes both Koreans and forces from other countries. Outside the memorial hall (where the museum is), there is a row of flags, including the ROK (South Korean) and UN flags, as well as the flags of every nation whose soldiers fought in the conflict. I was a little surprised to see the South African flag there (although it was lovely to see our beautiful flag flying in the breeze again). I discovered later that the South African Airforce 2 Squadron, known as “The Flying Cheetahs”, were fairly heavily involved in the action in Korea and won a total of 797 medals. I didn’t go into the museum, partly because I wanted to keep walking and partly because I was a little put off by the sign saying that the hall was intended to educate the people of the province in “anti-communism and patriotism”. The memorial area includes various planes and tanks, and a statue commemorating the involvement of (school) students in the defence of South Korea.
I am not an avid follower of war history and don’t know very much about the Korean war. I don’t know how I feel about commemorations like this.  I’ll probably go back at some point specifically to see the war memorial. For the moment, however, I was heading further up the mountain. From the war memorial, I had caught a glimpse of the mountain-top cable-station. I decided to try and find the base-station and take the cable-car up the mountain. By this stage, I’d been walking for a while and I was feeling just how unfit I am. Also, of course, the new boots had begun to give me blisters. I passed a temple on the right. I thought about stopping there but decided to have a look on my way back down. As it turned out, I didn’t get back there that day, but I’m sure I’ll be back at the park, so I can go and see it next time.
The path I was on slowly wound uphill and eventually arrived (fortuitously) at the cable-car base station. I love cable-cars. There is little more exciting than stepping into a little box with windows, attached to an overhead wire, and sliding up to the top of a hill. I suppose it reminds me a little of the take-off of a plane, which always makes my heart soar. Also, I have vague memories of another cable-car, a long time ago and half-a-world away. I bought a round-trip ticket for W 5500 (about R35) and went up to the waiting area. There were a few other families there, also waiting. One was a mixed Korean-American family with a little girl whose excited voice followed me during the  mountain-top adventure.
After a bit, a bell rang and we all crowded into the cable-car. It’s wasn’t particularly crowded, actually. With a smooth motion, we headed up and up, heading towards the mountain top. The views from the cable car were spectacular. As we rose higher and higher, we had a perfect view of the valley where the cable car base station and war memorial were. A little higher up, we looked out over the city, seeing further and further across the see of cream and white buildings to the blue mountains in the distance. At the top station, we got out of the cable-car and I headed up another path. The top of Mount Apsan, at least the area around the cable station, has several lookout points at various heights, including an observation deck (a covered building with windows all around) at the highest point. I climbed stairs cut into the rocks and walked up paths lined with barriers and occasionally there were a few information boards and one with a panoramic view of Daegu from the top, indicating what different areas you can see in the various directions.
The view was spectacular. Looking out from the top of a wooded mountain, I could see for miles and miles. I begin to think I might have underestimated the size of this city. From up there it looked huge. I could see, far away, the Daegu World Cup Stadium in one direction and what I think was the Bollo-dong Tomb Park in the other. Far below, I found myself looking down onto a temple complex that looked like a little toy building. The hills and peaks are all covered with forest, mostly pine, so not all that much autumn foliage, but still the occasional flash of orange or yellow or red. I kept walking further up, taking pictures, looking at the amazing views. At the very top, I spent some time just sitting in the observation building looking out of the huge, open windows, taking in the distance, breathing the fresh air and enjoying the feel of the cool, mountain-top wind on my face. It was good to get away from the city and the noise for a while and to be somewhere where there is so much space that it’s possible to see to the horizon.
On the way back to the parking area, I got lost. Not lost in the sense of wandering around the forest not having any idea how to get out, but in the sense that I found a wide, well-kept path that looked like a more interesting way to reach my destination and took it and it wasn’t until I noticed the temple I had walked past on the way up behind me that I realised I’d taken a wrong turn. I considered turning around and going back but I was half way down the path (with growing blisters), so I decided to go on instead. A few months back I’m sure I would have turned around and retraced my steps. Being here has increased my adventurousness. I figured that if the path kept heading downwards it would eventually reach a road, where I was sure to be able to find a bus stop. As it turns out, that is exactly what happened. I reached the end of the path, which opened onto a parking lot at the side of a busy road and waited for the bus.
It’s amazing what a difference a day out of the bustle and noise, in a place with plenty of space can make. A place where it’s possible to see the horizon, to see something other than cars and roads and apartment blocks. It was a good day, followed by lovely evening with friends at a little place downtown called Italy-Italy, where you create your own pasta – choose a pasta type, a sauce and ingredients, and a couple of Martinis at a great little cocktail bar.

This weekend I went up a mountain. I’ve never really understood the fascination the human race has with being on top of mountains, but I’m as fascinated as anyone. This mountain is particularly popular with hikers and has a 790m cable-car and some exceptional views of the city.

Mount Apsan (which apparently means ‘Front Mountain’) is one of the higher peaks in Daegu. It’s surrounded by Apsan Park, a 17000 m² park which includes various sporting facilities, such as (although I didn’t see them) horse-riding and archery. There are also several temple complexes and a war memorial.

So, on Saturday I decided to take my new boots and find one of Daegu’s most popular tourist attractions. The first stumbling block was that the websites I usually use to find directions listed bus 910 as the bus to take. When I looked for a bus route, I discovered that Daegu doesn’t seem to have a bus 910. Luckily, after looking a bit further, I discovered that bus 410 goes to Apsan Park. In order to catch bus 410, I had to get another bus (401) to Suseong Lake and then wait for the 410 to arrive. When the bus arrived, it was empty. The driver looked a bit wary to let me on but I think my boots and day-pack gave away the fact that I did actually want to go to Apsan Park so he let me get on and we headed off. Buses in Daegu have a flat rate anywhere in the city that is charged any time you get onto a bus, so this trip to Apsan Park involved two bus fares, bit it was still far less than I’d have paid for a taxi (a lot less) so I wasn’t complaining. I was very glad that I use a travel-card so that I didn’t need to find change each time.

After travelling up and through Daegu, we arrived at the entrance to the Park. I love driving into a forested area. It feels like escaping the city. Apsan Park is entirely forested – except for the sports areas and temples and little pockets of grassy space. The bus stopped at a depot point near the edge of the park and I got off. I was in a parking lot with some cars and lots of buses – both city buses and tour buses. I walked past the cars and the little shop and headed up the hill. The park was paved and ran under the road I’d just come in on. On my left was a stream but there hadn’t been much rain so it was mostly rocks in a little water. After a while, I found a clearing with a map of the different paths but as all the writing was in Korean and there was no indication of where I was on the map it wasn’t hugely helpful. I looked around a bit and then headed back to the path and carried on uphill. All the time I was walking in the park, there were other people hiking and walking around me. It was a busy Saturday afternoon and the Koreans were out enjoying the Autumn weather.

A little further up the hill, I came upon a war memorial and small museum. The Nakdong River Battle Memorial is dedicated to those who died in the battle and more generally in the Korean war. This includes both Koreans and forces from other countries. Outside the memorial hall (where the museum is), there is a row of flags, including the ROK (South Korean) and UN flags, as well as the flags of every nation whose soldiers fought in the conflict. I was a little surprised to see the South African flag there (although it was lovely to see our beautiful flag flying in the breeze again). I discovered later that the South African Air Force 2 Squadron, known as “The Flying Cheetahs”, were fairly heavily involved in the action in Korea and won a total of 797 medals. I didn’t go into the museum, partly because I wanted to keep walking and partly because I was a little put off by the sign saying that the hall was intended to educate the people of the province in “anti-communism and patriotism”. The memorial area includes various planes and tanks, and a statue commemorating the involvement of (school) students in the defence of South Korea.

I am not an avid follower of war history and don’t know very much about the Korean war. I don’t know how I feel about commemorations like this.  I’ll probably go back at some point specifically to see the war memorial. For the moment, however, I was heading further up the mountain. From the war memorial, I had caught a glimpse of the mountain-top cable-station. I decided to try and find the base-station and take the cable-car up the mountain. By this stage, I’d been walking for a while and I was feeling just how unfit I am. Also, of course, the new boots had begun to give me blisters. I passed a temple on the right. I thought about stopping there but decided to have a look on my way back down. As it turned out, I didn’t get back there that day, but I’m sure I’ll be back at the park, so I can go and see it next time.

The path I was on slowly wound uphill and eventually arrived (fortuitously) at the cable-car base station. I love cable-cars. There is little more exciting than stepping into a little box with windows, attached to an overhead wire, and sliding up to the top of a hill. I suppose it reminds me a little of the take-off of a plane, which always makes my heart soar. Also, I have vague memories of another cable-car, a long time ago and half-a-world away. I bought a round-trip ticket for W 5500 (about R35) and went up to the waiting area. There were a few other families there, also waiting. One was a mixed Korean-American family with a little girl whose excited voice followed me during the  mountain-top adventure.

After a bit, a bell rang and we all crowded into the cable-car. It’s wasn’t particularly crowded, actually. With a smooth motion, we headed up and up, heading towards the mountain top. The views from the cable car were spectacular. As we rose higher and higher, we had a perfect view of the valley where the cable car base station and war memorial were. A little higher up, we looked out over the city, seeing further and further across the see of cream and white buildings to the blue mountains in the distance. At the top station, we got out of the cable-car and I headed up another path. The top of Mount Apsan, at least the area around the cable station, has several lookout points at various heights, including an observation deck (a covered building with windows all around) at the highest point. I climbed stairs cut into the rocks and walked up paths lined with barriers and occasionally there were a few information boards and one with a panoramic view of Daegu from the top, indicating what different areas you can see in the various directions.

The view was spectacular. Looking out from the top of a wooded mountain, I could see for miles and miles. I begin to think I might have underestimated the size of this city. From up there it looked huge. I could see, far away, the Daegu World Cup Stadium in one direction and what I think was the Bollo-dong Tomb Park in the other. Far below, I found myself looking down onto a temple complex that looked like a little toy building. The hills and peaks are all covered with forest, mostly pine, so not all that much autumn foliage, but still the occasional flash of orange or yellow or red. I kept walking further up, taking pictures, looking at the amazing views. At the very top, I spent some time just sitting in the observation building looking out of the huge, open windows, taking in the distance, breathing the fresh air and enjoying the feel of the cool, mountain-top wind on my face. It was good to get away from the city and the noise for a while and to be somewhere where there is so much space that it’s possible to see to the horizon.

On the way back to the parking area, I got lost. Not lost in the sense of wandering around the forest not having any idea how to get out, but in the sense that I found a wide, well-kept path that looked like a more interesting way to reach my destination and took it and it wasn’t until I noticed the temple I had walked past on the way up behind me that I realised I’d taken a wrong turn. I considered turning around and going back but I was half way down the path (with growing blisters), so I decided to go on instead. A few months back I’m sure I would have turned around and retraced my steps. Being here has increased my adventurousness. I figured that if the path kept heading downwards it would eventually reach a road, where I was sure to be able to find a bus stop. As it turns out, that is exactly what happened. I reached the end of the path, which opened onto a parking lot at the side of a busy road and waited for the bus.

It’s amazing what a difference a day out of the bustle and noise, in a place with plenty of space can make. A place where it’s possible to see the horizon, to see something other than cars and roads and apartment blocks. It was a good day, followed by lovely evening with friends at a little place downtown called Italy-Italy, where you create your own pasta – choose a pasta type, a sauce and ingredients, and a great little cocktail bar.

The prettiest little boots in all the world

Daegu, Gear

Once upon a time, I used to be quite a girly girl. Not in the sense of wearing make-up every day, but definitely in that I’d rather be indoors reading a book than out playing sport or hiking or anything of the sort. I’m the kind of girl who actually quite likes wearing high-heels (stilettos are so pretty!) and really enjoys looking elegant. I’m never more in my element than when I have an excuse to put on a beautiful ball-gown and dance the night away. One of my friends once commented, after just such a night, that I never needed to find a man because clearly all I needed to leave me positively glowing was a beautiful dress and a perfect night.

When I moved to Joburg and started working, the world opened many more opportunities to look like a grown-up, which I relished. The idea that it might be all pants suits and high heels was soon shattered, however, as I started heading out into the field which, in my particular case, meant spending Fridays and Saturdays on dusty sports-fields helping to make large-scale inter-school, multi-code events happen. So I settled into a relatively happy pattern of jeans and golf-shirts on the weekends and pretty work-clothes during the week (when I wasn’t too exhausted).

Somewhere between then and now, I was bitten by a strange bug. It relates not only to what I wear for work. As a lead trainer running intensive courses for such complicated groups as 18-21 year old volunteers and school teachers, I learnt the power of dressing right for the training setting. These days I wear slacks or smart skirts, collared shirts and make-up to school. It’s the best way to make very sure that these kids (all of whom are from fairly well-off families) take me seriously. And it seems to be working.

Outside of work, however, the exploring bug has bitten. And for the first time in my life, I know exactly what equipment and clothing I need and it all seems strangely natural. I imagine the ability to be ‘outdoorsy’ was probably awakened when I started visiting one of my favourite game-parks in the whole world, Lapalala Wilderness in Limpopo. The visits were entirely work-related – the idea was to design training to be carried out in the park – but they also involved everything from sleeping under the stars around a wood-fire – by which I mean literally in sleeping bags on mattresses on the ground with nothing between you and the sky – to sunset game drives. The Game drives were particularly amazing. The park is a private reserve which, although they were moving towards it, did not at the time have big 5 or many large predators, meaning that the population of young animals was healthy and huge. Our drives in one particular season included sightings of baby antelope of all sizes (kudu, springbuck, etc.), baby giraffe, a white rhino calf and the delightful sight of a family of warthogs running across the dust road with their tails in the air like flagpoles.

The was probably the first time I’d spent significant amounts of time in the wilderness as an adult and was a particularly special time not just because of the place but also because the people involved were amazing and I could see such potential for the programme. It was also the first time I found myself buying outdoorsy clothes, much to the amusement of my housemate at the time.

Now, several years later, I find myself in a country that is made of hills and mountains spending most weekends wandering around exploring. So far I haven’t done any actual hiking but I am walking far more than usual and I can feel my ankles taking strain. Also, I am starting to quite like the idea of walking up a mountain “to see what I could see”, even if I am far from wanting to go on any really difficult hikes or a walk of more than half-a-day. So today, bank card finally functional, I went off to some of the outdoor shops to find a pair of boots.

In the first shop I walked into, I got distracted by a daypack that I think I will go back and buy. When I saw the price (as happens at all of these stores) I got a bit of a fright and went away to see what the other place cost and think about it a little. As it turned out, the other place was wholly unhelpful and in fact didn’t even seem to notice that I’d walked into the shop. Normally I prefer this approach from sales staff but I don’t know very much about hiking boots, so the North Face sales assistant’s help was welcome. After some testing and trying on and figuring out what size my feet are in Korean sizes (which means millimeters, it turns out), I found a pair of red, made in Korea, ankle-height boots. They’re pretty and comfortable and, according to the sales guy, exactly the right size to remain comfortable even when I’m walking for ages and ages.

For those in the know who may want details, they’re North Face boots (made in Korea) and made of Goretex, which apparently means that they’ll be water-resistant and let the air circulate. I was more concerned that they’d be comfortable and provide the ankle support I need but I’m going to complain about the rest. Right now, my pretty shoes are sitting in a box  next to me looking pristine and new and just waiting for the first dusty road or muddy hill to make them real shoes. And all the stories that go with that. Me and my red boots have many stories to tell. I look forward them all.