...and the good times kept rolling. Ian and I were still on a high from the Mud Festival the previous weekend, when Mr. Park, Ian's Korean businessman friend invited us to go camping in Mangsang on the east coast with him and his girlfriend. Our first real Korean camping experience. How different could it be?
Worried that we didn't have our own camping gear, but assured that everything would be provided, we showed up expecting a little tent set out for us, and that's all. Mr. Park didn't think that was good enough for us, so instead, rented us our very own camper van. Needless to say, we were thrilled. That night we cooked our dinner over a fire, listened to good music, and drank Soju from shot glasses. Since Mr. Park is a big fan of "Cheers!", it is a wonder how we ever got to consume anything, since we were clinking our glasses far more than drinking. One of the first things Ian and I had learned in Korea was a Korean "Cheers", so this was my chance to impress Mr. Park with the little Korean I knew. I raised my glass, cleared my throat, and sang out the cheer, just as our friends and us had chanted so many times in so many Korean bars. Expecting a "here, here", or the Korean equivalent of, I was shocked to see Mr. Park's stunned expression. Then a slow shake of his head. "You are a bad girl", he said. What? What had I said?! Once his girlfriend caught her breath after nearly falling of the bench, laughing, she explained, more through a demonstration than words, exactly what I had just enthusiastically told everyone to do. I don't think I'll be participating in any more group cheers, Korean style.
The next day, we spent a good part of the day at the beach swimming and getting towed, or more like beaten up behind a speed boat on a giant float shaped like a banana. Not exactly the most dignified sport, but it was fun. After we got back to shore and spent a few minutes recovering, we jumped into the car and went in search of dinner. Since we were by the ocean, it would have been tragic if we hadn't visited a local fish market to sample the goods. The fish market was another world. Row after row of leather skinned ajumas (old Korean women), sitting on crates so low, their knees almost touched their ears, ankle deep in salt water and fish guts. It was amazing to watch how quickly their hands worked. Mechanically grabbing a live squid, slicing through it, popping its eye's out, and flicking their insides out in one motion, all within seconds, then onto the next. While Ian and I stood transfixed, Mr. Park strolled around and collected our dinner. We had no idea what we were in for.
Sea Urchins: Round, black and slimy, covered in spiky, moving tentacles. I sat there staring at them wondering how we were going to cook them. I realized I was wasting my time wondering, as Mr. Park took each one out of the bag, sliced it open and handed it to us....still alive...with tentacles flailing. Try to imagine eating the insides of a creature while it's crawling across the table. A scene straight out of a horror movie. Trust me, I still have nightmares..... After dinner we all went for a walk on the beach and ended up sitting outside at some beach side tables, while Mr. Park ran to buy some snacks. He came back with a can in his hand, and while I couldn't quite see the picture on it, it looked something like almonds. It wasn't almonds. He cracked open the can and instantly, a putrid scent filled the air. Oh no, here we go. Being the gentleman he is, Mr. Park thought it only polite to offer whatever it was to me first. The can was packed with about a hundred gray, shriveled, foul-smelling, pickled silkworms, resembling giant maggots. All I could do was stare at them. Mr. Park leaned forward and popped a few in his mouth, as if to show me what to do. "Delicious", he said grinning. I continued to stare.
The next day, with a bit of relief I might add, we headed home. It was a wonderful trip, but I was just a bit worried about having to face another Fear Factor moment. On our way back, Mr. Park mentioned he knew of a good area to fish. Ian LOVES fishing, so I was more than happy to stop by a river for an hour while the men cast a few lines. Even Mr. Park suggesting they catch our dinner didn't bother me. Surely we wouldn't be eating the fish while it was alive and flapping. As the car slowed down, I craned my neck to look for the lake, or at least a river. All could see was a small stream. "How were they going to fish in that?", I wondered. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't seen anything that even resembled a fishing rod in Mr. Park's car. This thought must have hit Ian at the same time, since when I glanced over at him, he had this look of deep confusion on his face, which I'm sure matched mine. Well, to make a long and agonizing story short-er, we soon learned that "fishing" in Korea, actually means throwing a mino trap into shallow water, and pulling out tons of sardine sized fish. Now that sort of seems like cheating to me. While Ian was struggling to remain enthusiastic, and not show any disappointment over this new and very unconventional way of "fishing", my anxiety was growing by the second. I could feel fear welling up in me as I watched Mr. Park snap each little fish in half with his fingers and throw them all into a pot of boiling soup, which minutes earlier, I had actually thought smelled good. "Alright, if I don't look, it won't be so bad." Bad news when my bowl was handed to me. What faced me were about ten little fish heads bobbing up and down between my noodles, with a look of shock on their faces, and mouths wide open as if they were trying to breath. Grooooan!!! I instantly felt that fear rising up in my throat from either the need to vomit, or cry, or both. Sigh.... I used to love camping.
