The tall tales that city dwellers (at least in Korea) often evade the trials of strenuous activity, especially in matters concerning the outdoors, has been put to rest (we're sorry to say) as a bold face lie. Though most cosmopolitan areas and metropolises boast more concrete activity than outdoor activity, one has only to venture to the outskirts of Bukhansan National Park to assure themselves that everyone and their grandmother, literally, is out hiking.
Had the trail we been on been listed in a guidebook, it most certainly would have had a difficulty rating of "strenuous," which as any Montanan knows translates to "really f*&#in hard." The upside to being on any difficult trail is the esteemed sense of false pride and flattery we give ourselves as being somewhat of a badass, ultimately magnified by the aspect that there are few to usually zero people to be seen. Thus you are assured that only someone as strong and bold as yourself could attempt such a venture. Not so much the case in Korea. Though the trail we started on was basically a natural stair case that ascended for what felt like 2 to 3 miles, we had only to feel like complete wimps when at our summit bid we were passed by legions of geriatrics, children, and what looked like a quarter of the population of Korea. Luckily for us, teaching kindergarten had inflamed our imaginations, making it easy to pretend we were embarking on a kind of pilgrimage rather than attempting to finally find a piece of natural tranquility...which we sure as hell weren't going to get. So rather than curse the plentitude of people engulfing us, we embraced it.
Catching as much breath as we did strange looks upon reaching the summit, we continued along the ridge line looking as strange albeit as the entire experience felt. Some people gave us warm welcomes and staggered a bit of Korean our way that probably translated something like, "Good for you little white couple," while others looked at us like we were hiking naked. The one thing we couldn't help noticing was not the diversity of people on the mountain (they were obviously all Korean), but the diversity of personalities. Though we would like to admit we never judge a book by its cover, one can usually tell in America who hits the trails and who hits the malls. Not so in Korea. The prom queen, the bad ass, the fat kid, the square, the grump, the jock, the frat boy, the drunk, and the girly girl all hike, making a parade of stereotypes that render the definition of "stereotype" itself arbitrary.
Feeling remniscent to the scene in Dumbo when all the elephants grabbed hold of the others tails and follwed suit in one endless procession, we trudged slowly in single file fashion to the top, collapsing against a fortress wall over a thousand years old to finally have what snacks we could prepare. There are no granola bars or anything that remotely resembles energy or cliff bars in Korea. Instead, there are packets of easy to make food that incorporate, obviously enough, a infinite number of ways to diversify rice for your eating pleasure. Its a bit like Bubba lionized shrimp in Forrest Gump. In little egg yoke triangles with a pocket in the middle, we ate gluttonized rice with little bits of carrots, celery, and what looks like either pork or chicken...we'll never really be sure. We haven't yet perfected the science of picknicking here as the locals have. Atop the ridge, you could see whole spreads of three to five course meals, not to mention an arsenal of soju (potato made liquor) and beer. This helped explain why we saw so many groups coming in 10 to 15 people strong, becuase there was no way a handful of people could have packed up that food, less of course they happened to be Sherpas.
Seemingly, we mark trails in our memory in regards to how intensely and intimately the end justified the means; if the miles led to a pristine mountain lake or sublime vista where nothing but the wind and our own echoes kept us company. Our sense of discovery when going to such places is usually inward, though every time we blaze trail in the Bob, or touch granite on the face of El-Cap, we can't help but realize that we are amongst history. Upon seeing this thousand year old wall atop the ridge at Bhukansan, we realized how much history we were blind to on all those excursions; how John Muir undoubtedly regarded Yosemite valley with such awe as perhaps we did upon seeing the sun greet Half dome in the very first reaches of morning, or how Bob Marshall must have regarded Sun Burst lake as a jewel bequeathed to those who put forth the effort to get there as we did upon finally reaching it.
No trail would ever come close to being as saturated with hikers as the one we were on. Even writing about it seems a stretch of the imagination, but this has become normal for us. We had only to laugh atop the ridge as to how normal life has become in this place that is so detached from our concept of what we still call home. Though we didn't discover anything new or as pristine as we would have liked, we did discover something very important...that it's not too bad here if you know how to look at it right.
