Daegu to Hapcheon

At the river I see a large group of people all wearing the same jackets. Many are wearing what look like race numbers: the kind you wear for a marathon or something. I stop to see what’s happening. A lady is singing on stage and there is a blow up arc like a race start line. Ray and Lisa, a Korean couple who have been living in the US for 40 years come to talk with me. They tell me this is a gathering of over 300 Koreans who live abroad. They are taking part in a big tour of Korea together and today they will be going on a walk; I guess like a fun walk. We talk some and I give Ray my contact details so they can look me up when they visit their friends in Sydney over the Australian summer.

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun is shining, a light breeze is blowing and there are lots of people out enjoying the day. I pass a “lesports park” where a group of men are playing foot volleyball. I’ve never heard of this game before, let alone seen it in action. It looks like a lot of fun. And, of course, in true Korean style there are lots of marquees set up with families eating and drinking lots of good food.

Nearby my eye is caught by something more familiar: a group of Indian men playing cricket. It’s summer at home and I just know this same scene is being played out all over Australia on a Saturday morning. It’s funny what symbols we find of home.

Sports are being played everywhere along the river at parks and grounds. The most common that I see is soccer. It makes me think of my sister and her husband who are big fans of the game.

Many cyclists are out enjoying the path. Husbands and wives wear matching jerseys. Many cyclists play music out loud without earphones. It is amusing when matching pairs of riders are playing different music while riding together. Young solo male riders seem threatened when I overtake them with my loaded bike so sprint away competitively only to walk up the next incline while I ride past. Young couples ride along on matching bicycles. When there is a climb the girl generally gets off with a resigned look on her face while the guy pushes her bicycle up the hill and waits. I see no solo female riders along the path. Perhaps they have better things to do with their Saturdays.

I stop at a popular pagoda and learn that I have been doing pagodas all wrong here in Korea: I should have been taking my shoes off. Oh well, live and learn. People try to talk with me but I cannot understand them. Some questions are familiar, like where are you from, where have you been and where are you going. Some comments are familiar also like that looks heavy and well done. But I know I am the subject of conversation that I can’t understand because they look at me, fiddle with my bike and laugh. I love how they try to talk more slowly to help me understand but still I cannot. Sign language isn’t such a big thing here; they just talk more loudly or slowly. It makes me think of how Australians sometimes try to communicate with foreigners at home … I can attest that louder and slower does not mean more understandable if the person cannot understand the words in the first place.

The landscape here is deeply rooted in an agrarian culture. Tractors move slowly, rice is dried on the roads and couples work the fields. Nothing seems rushed. It is as though the farmers know that the seasons will keep changing, the work will always be demanding and not much is likely to change for them. There are no young people here in the fields and I still wonder what will happen to Korea’s food supply as the older people pass one. Will young people bring technological advancements to farming? Will backpackers be relied upon for manual labour in exchange for the experience of working on a farm? It’s a conundrum being played out all over the developed world and Korea appears to be no exception.

I hear music and Buddhist prayer chants echoing from a hillside. My map says the path here splits with the riverside route being challenging and steep. But still I am drawn to the chanting sound; it intrigues me and is the first Buddhist chanting I have heard in some time. The two guards at the base of the hillside path should have served as warnings for what was to come but still I pushed on.

Nearby there is a stone pagoda. The chanting sound is coming from some nearby speakers. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here but perhaps I am wrong. It’s a very small temple that is not marked on any of my maps. The location is beautiful and I learn later from a passing cyclist that you can stay there for free.Read more