Busan-Osaka: bilan, ferry/croisière et... mal de mer!

vue panoramique du port de Busan avec, à gauche, le "ferry/croisière" (sic.) ringard et rouillé, qui doit nous conduire à bon port... 

Après deux jours d'errances, de nuits en jimjilbang et de pluies torrentielles sur Busan, nous avons finalement embarqué à bord du "ferry/croisière" (c'est le qualificatif donné par PanStar Cruise et vous comprendrez bientôt pourquoi il était amplement mérité...) à destination d'Osaka, Japon. Décision un peu précipitée peut-être, mais dans un élan de désespoir et comme une ultime tentative pour échapper à notre tristement célèbre malédiction de la pluie*. Si ça ne marchait pas, il nous resterait à tenter un grigri ou un démaraboutage en règle ; ou bien décider de nous consacrer professionnellement à apporter la pluie partout où elle ferait cruellement défaut, ce qui pourrait rapidement faire de nous des gens riches et philanthropes à la Bill & Melinda!

après "E.T. téléphone maison", voici "Wallis cherche cabine"...

Enfin... Une fois abandonnés nos sacs dans notre cabine (une boîte en tôle de 5 mètres carrés sur le pont inférieur: sans fenêtre, surchauffée et vibrant tout entière de la proximité des machines), nous sommes retournés sur le pont du "ferry/croisière" et avons fait un bilan silencieux des deux dernières semaines, depuis qu'un autre ferry -tout aussi romantique- nous avait arrachés au déluge de Vladivostok et déposés sous la cloche moite et orageuse de l'été sud-coréen... Du coup et puisque le sujet vient sur le tapis, s'il nous fallait résumer notre expérience sud-coréenne (trop courte et très limitée, il est vrai) en un paragraphe, on pourrait dire que (voici le fameux bilan) :

1- c'est un pays qu'on a trouvé très beau, très vert et très agréable: la nature y est omniprésente dès que l'on sort des villes (belle tautologie) et des sentiers battus. Malheureusement, ça n'est pas si facile, surtout sans véhicule et/ou si on est chargé. Échapper aux formules aseptisées du camping 3* avec bungalow et du boulevard-pavé-qui-va-du-guichet-du-parc-naturel-au-centre-d'interprétation-de-la-faune tourne vite au cauchemar. Donc, nature: oui, randonnée: oui, mais n'attendez pas un trek sauvage façon GR pyrénéen ; ce serait plutôt Las Ramblas à 19h30 en juillet - sans paella surgelée. Il y a aussi un "autre" vrai problème pour les touristes étrangers: la casi-totalité des (nombreux) refuges de montagne n'est accessible que par téléphone ou internet mais pas à l'arrivée sur place. Et pour ça, il faut non seulement parler la langue, mais surtout être résident du pays, car sans un numéro de sécurité sociale (ou quelque chose d'équivalent), il est impossible de réserver... Avis aux amateurs, la frustration vous guette et le bivouac sauvage dans les parcs naturels est interdit! Comme en plus il faut s'inscrire et payer à la journée à l'entrée desdits parcs et que les tickets sont datés et contrôlés à la sortie, il est délicat de justifier de nuits clandestines into the wild...La bohê-ê-ême! Bin non, pas trop.

la Corée sans véhicule peut vite se résumer à ça: l'attente dans un bas telminal.

2- c'est un pays dont la culture est très riche, la nourriture absolument délicieuse et la population a priori aimable et bienveillante, même si la barrière de la langue limite vraiment l'accès à tout ça. Ne comptez pas sur l'anglais pour vous tirer d'affaire, en tout cas hors des centres touristiques et des deux villes principales. Du coup, le petit côté lost in translation (charmant quand c'est Bill et Scarlet, ou accessoire pour une full moon party en compagnie de digital nomads anglophones) devient vite frustrant si l'on veut comprendre et communiquer un peu plus ou un peu mieux. De là aussi que le backpacking, l'auto-stop ou le camping sauvage virent vite à la parano: on se regarde méfiants, on ne se comprend pas, on ne sait pas si ça veut dire "oui", "non" ou "j'appelle la police". Bref, c'est pas non plus une autre planète, mais la communication n'est pas facile et l'expérience d'immersion s'en ressent un peu. N'espérez pas non plus vous fondre dans le décor ou passer inaperçu avec un sac à dos de 25 kilos, des cheveux longs ou de la barbe. Le véritable défi pour nous a été de comprendre les "codes" pour nous déplacer et faire notre vie sans créer d'émeute ni attirer l'attention: comment sortir de la ville et choisir un coin pour poser la tente pour la nuit, comment nous déplacer en transports en commun et arriver loin de tout, comment bouger en hors-piste tout en dépendant des infrastructures existantes. Autant de petits défis faciles en Europe et dans des pays envahis de touristes occidentaux, mais plus compliqués ici.

une métaphore de la perplexité du touriste lambda perdu en Corée du Sud?

3- c'était imprévisible et complètement indépendant de notre volonté, mais si on ajoute que chaque fois qu'on s'est retrouvés dans la nature on a pris la pluie sur le coin du museau (alors qu'août est "habituellement" beau, chaud et ensoleillé), les conditions climatiques n'ont pas aidé. Elles nous ont en tout cas aidés à traverser le pays un peu plus vite que prévu et à nous retrouver sur un ferry pour le Japon après 2 semaines environ, quand on pensait passer au moins un mois en Corée du sud. Les options de repli n'ont pas vraiment donné de résultat: 0 Couchsurfing, 0 Helpx, 0 Wwoof et la ligne de budget "hôtels, pensions et campings" qui a dépassé en 15 jours les prévisions pour le mois. Ouch! Les jimjilbangs nous ont permis de dormir, nous laver et nous détendre pour le prix d'une séance de ciné, quelque chose de surréaliste quand la moindre nuit en camping coûtait 30 euros environ, douche et électricité à part. Mais s'il faut y ajouter le prix des consignes de gare pour les gros sacs et des allées et venues en métro/bus pour les déposer et les récupérer, ça n'était pas hyper économique ni hyper pratique. Et tout ça sous la pluie, c'est un bon exercice de détachement dans la plus pure tradition du zen de Printemps, Été, Automne, Hiver... et printemps. Voilà enfin une vraie référence culturelle vraiment sud-coréenne, il était temps! Et Kim Ki-Duk est un réalisateur tout à fait recommandable, en plus. Ça, c'est fait! Donc en conclusion: oui, on a beaucoup aimé la South Korea, mais: oui, on est partis un peu plus vite que prévu, poussés dehors par le mauvais temps.

Bref, on a regardé s'approcher la tempête qui devait nous accompagner toute la traversée et qui n'avait d'ailleurs pas l'intention de nous lâcher de sitôt (délit d'initiés: à l'heure où on écrit ces lignes, on connait déjà le futur proche: dingue, non?). On avait appris au terminal que plusieurs speedboats pour Fukuoka avaient été annulés à la dernière minute à cause du risque de typhon. Et on comptait bien sur notre bon vieux "ferry/croisière" lourd, lent et peu sensible à la houle pour nous mener à bon port sans encombres.

un peu ferry, très croisière: palmier de bienvenue en ballons, pianiste mellow, chemises hawaïennes, moquettes chatoyantes et jeux de miroirs.

Hop! Sans transition maintenant: le "ferry/croisière" s'amuse! Voilà que tout d'un coup, entre tant de moquettes chatoyantes et une cinquième reprise un peu neurasthénique d'Autumn leaves, on a appareillé. C'est un "on" collectif et nous ne saurions tirer à nous la couverture (en acrylique): il n'y a eu aucun mérite individuel ici, nous avons docilement attendu que sonnent les trompes et que lèvent les ancres. Mais soudain, "on" a quitté le port et l'appel du large nous a immédiatement pris dans ses filets. La mer a montré les muscles, le typhon fait le dos rond - ou le contraire peut-être? - et on a commencé à gîter, rouler et tanguer sans plus de cérémonial. La foule des retraités enthousiastes a vite déchanté, les coupes de champagne du pot de bienvenue ont commencé à tinter, trinquer et se vider sans autre aide extérieure que celle des roulis du tas de rouille laquée et moquetée qui nous servait de bateau: emportés par la houuuuule... Heureusement qu'il y avait des freins sur les roulettes en caoutchouc du piano à queue, sans quoi il serait passé par-dessus le bastingage avant la fin du pont (celui des feuilles mortes** bien sûr, pas le pont supérieur), emportant avec lui la pianiste ukrainienne et l'eau du bain. On n'a guère eu le temps de penser à Novecento, pianiste, mais la référence eut été bienvenue quand même.

un urinoir équipé de l'appli Pee Fighter, si si!

Aux lecteurs fidèles de ce blog (y'en a-t-il seulement?) qui endurent sans protester jeux de mots et calembours tous plus douteux les uns que les autres, une fois n'est pas coutume, voici pour changer une variation du cru sur une blague classique: "mauvais goût criard, kitsch ringard et luxe défraîchi sont dans un bateau. Un typhon arrive, qui secoue le navire dès sa sortie du port: que reste-t-il?" Ah ah ah ah ah! À partir de ce moment, les choses ont changé très vite: les toilettes sont devenues le point névralgique, le lieu à la mode, le centre du monde. Un peu à l'instar du vote d'extrême droite depuis 2002, vomir s'est subitement converti en une activité non seulement socialement acceptable, mais même carrément cool et fun, à partager en famille, entre amis, à commenter en riant et surtout à assumer au grand jour! Dingue: ça s'est mis à vomir dans tous les coins, dans toutes les positions et à tout bout de champ! Si le grand salon n'avait pas pris des creux et fait des bonds de plusieurs mètres en-deçà et au-delà de l'horizontale, on aurait volontiers pensé qu'un Staphylocoque doré déguisé en pirate s'était emparé du ferry. Bref, comme deux vieux matous de mer dans la tourmente, inexplicablement immuns à la crise collective et incoercible de vomissements, on a assisté au drame tout en se promenant de la proue à la poupe et de la supérette au restaurant panoramique. C'est d'ailleurs là qu'un nord-américain fort sympathique nous a invités à partager le trop grand pichet de bière qu'il avait commandé, ne demandant en retour qu'un peu de conversation et des oreilles curieuses d'écouter ses aventures et tripulations autour du monde. Il y avait même quelques chips pour accompagner la bière: la grande classe (américaine)! Ce n'est qu'un peu plus tard qu'on a fait la véritable grande découverte de cette grande traversée: la présente à bord d'un petit onsen à disposition des passagers. Résolus à en découdre et plutôt agréablement surpris de ne souffrir ni des inclémences marines, ni des gastriques caprices pourtant fort en vogue, ni même de l'angoisse propre à l'imminence d'un naufrage, nous nous sommes séparés à la porte de notre spa respectif: chacun sa serviette, chacun son savon et Neptune pour tous! Sans grande surprise, l'endroit était: plus que tranquille, absolument désert! Les tabourets et petites bassines en plastique valsaient d'un côté à l'autre sur le carrelage trempé, les lames qui nous balayaient de côté venaient s'écraser contre la vitre panoramique et l'eau du bain chaud se déversait en déferlantes régulières jusqu'à la porte du sauna, qui battait quant à elle au rythme de l'océan déchaîné. Un spectacle apocalyptico-rigolo, un rêve de gosse entre Chihiro et Mimi Cracra, tout un parc d'attraction en aqua-color rien que pour nous!

la vidéo est en cours d'édition, on vous l'incruste ici à la première occasion! 

On y a passé une bonne heure, chacun pour soi et chacun le sien, malgré la tentation (mutuelle et télépathique) de se retrouver d'un côté ou de l'autre. Après tout, le risque de devoir partager l'espace avec des inconnus à cheval sur le règlement en pleine tempête était plutôt limité ; les priorités de nos compassagers semblaient converger vers une autre famille d'installations sanitaires et on nous foutait, passez-moi l'expression, une paix royale! En définitive, le monde appartient à ceux qui ont le pied marin, fussent-ils plus montagnards que matelots... À la sortie, en revanche, la croisière s'amusait toujours: ça vomissait à tire-larigot, le dîner de gala n'avait pas vraiment le succès escompté, la pianiste était retournée dans sa cabine. Même la mayonnaise avait tourné, qui risquait fort d'ajouter encore au tangage le bon vieux péril gastrique du buffet empoisonné ou du second de cuisine avec un panaris: "staff un jour, staph' toujours". En résumé, c'était pas la joie. On a reconnu, prostré au fond des toilettes du pont supérieur, un jeune qui nous avait abordés dans le terminal avant l'embarquement. Il avait changé de couleur et aussi de t-shirt, allez savoir pourquoi. On a eu envie de lui dire quelque chose d'encourageant, mais il avait l'air beaucoup moins enclin à la conversation que quand il nous poursuivait de ses questions: "where you from?", "how old you?", "which number you cabin?", "is you husband wife?", "where stay you in Osaka?", etc. Et puis on n'a pas voulu déranger les petits monticules de bile avec lesquels il avait consciencieusement marqué son territoire. On l'a donc laissé à ses méditations et autres reflux œsophagiens pour pouvoir nous concentrer sur un sujet autrement plus important: aller manger un morceau!

un cliché dérobé de notre nouvel ami à la chevelure blonde comme... la bile?

On a fait sensation quand on s'est mis en devoir de préparer notre soupe de nouilles instantanées au milieu du lounge. Quelle idée incongrue aussi, d'arpenter les couloirs moquettés avec des bols en polystyrène remplis à raz-bord d'eau bouillante quand le sol, toujours changeant sous les pieds, faisait plus penser à une salle de cinéma du Futuroscope qu'à un wagon restaurant! Pour nous, ça ressemblait à quelque chose comme intervilles ou un best-of de wipe-out hivernal et c'était très drôle. Hooooooo! Ooooooooh! Du coup, nos derniers ramen sud-coréens avant d'arriver au Japon, vous pensez bien qu'on les a savourés. Après avoir fait shluuuurp! bruyamment, on a regagné l'intimité de notre cabine et on a pris un peu de repos bien mérité après toutes ces émotions. On se serait crus dans la météo marine de M.-P. Planchon: mer démontée sur Cromarty, Forth, Tyne et Dogger. Heureusement, dans la nuit ça s'est un peu calmé: vent 5 à 6, mollissant 3 à 4. Et le lendemain matin, quand on s'est aventurés sur la promenade, c'était mer calme, pluie fine et plafond bas sur la mer intérieure. On a glissé en silence le long des berges mornes, entre Okayama et Takamatsu. On avait l'impression de descendre des fleuves impassibles. D'ailleurs à un moment, on s'est fait la remarque qu'on ne se sentait plus tirés par les hâleurs. Mais ça ne nous a pas inquiétés plus que ça... Après le gros grain de la veille, on en avait vu d'autres et il en fallait plus pour nous impressionner. On a bientôt aperçu le pont d'Akashi-Kaikyo droit devant, et après être passés dessous en faisant coucou comme des neuneus, on est entrés dans la vaste baie d'Osaka: le truc touchait à sa fin. On est donc retournés à notre cabine pour y récupérer nos sacs, rejoindre le pont principal et la meute paisible de nos compassagers. Silencieusement, on a commencé à se préparer pour ce qui viendrait ensuite... mais RIEN de rien (non, on ne regrette rien, d'ailleurs) n'aurait pu nous préparer à ce qui nous attendait dans le grand salon/lounge/lobby du ferry/croisière/s'amuse!

la mer intérieure a "retrouvé son calme" (au sens propre comme au figuré) ; Pixar vous présente... ; le golden Akashi-Kaikyo gate bridge!

On y a découvert émerveillés (un ciel superbe? non!) TOUT le monde rassemblé et docilement attablé, casquettes aux fronts, sacs-bananes aux hanches, passeports aux mains et bagages aux pieds. Et deux cents paires d'yeux et d'oreilles tournées vers l'accolyte de la pianiste ukrainienne: une violoniste ukrainienne occupée à interpréter les quatre saisons de Jean-Luc Ponty (du baroque électrique façon marque blanche un peu cheap: les quatre saisons by vive Aldi: la meilleure qualité au meilleur prix! Attention, les vannes volent bas aujourd'hui). On a bien senti que son registre habituel était plutôt Titanic, mais après la traversée qu'on venait de se taper, on a pensé qu'elle n'avait pas dû oser. Ne comptez pas sur nous pour être désobligeants...  Pas cette fois.

tout le cachet du ferry/croisière en une image, suspensions incluses!

On a sincèrement apprécié les efforts de tenue (un outfit de bal de promo et une permanente impeccable), le violon électrique laqué bleu, le son cristallin sur-compressé pour un jeu tout en nuances et la reverb de tank à lait en inox martelé. On a essayé d'imaginer la vie des musicien(ne)s professionnel(le)s à bord de chaque ferry/croisière d'ici et d'ailleurs. La traversée aller, la traversée retour et les cinq ou six heures à terre pendant les escales: vingt-sept jours par mois, onze mois par an. Faites le calcul vous-mêmes: ça en fait des grilles d'Autumn leaves ou des allegri printaniers. Enrôlez-vous qu'ils disaient! L'enthousiasme touchant de nos compassagers m'a rappelé une conversation un peu subréaliste avec un de mes touristes nord-américains, il y a quelques années, à propos de "musique"***. Il avait réussi à me prendre de cours en me disant "ah, vous aussi, vous aimez le jazz ET la guitare? Vous devez adorer Marc Antoine! J'ai eu la chance de le voir en concert plusieurs fois..." Et devant mon air interloqué, il en avait remis une couche "Quoi? Marc Antoine? Vous ne le connaissez pas? Mais c'est le meilleur guitariste de jazz du monde!". Troublé, j'avais attendu avec impatience la fin de la journée pour enfin arriver chez moi, allumer l'ordi avant même d'aller faire pipi, et faire ma petite enquête sur youtube... Bon, je résiste difficilement à l'envie de coller un lien: les curieux et les "amateurs de jazz" feront leurs devoirs. Je ne veux pas avoir sur la conscience de lui avoir donné des clics et des visites - dont il n'a pas besoin, d'ailleurs. Après tout c'est le plus grand guitariste de jazz... des croisières Royal Caribbean! Et mon touriste un retraité du Nevada amateur du smooth jazz des ascenseurs et autres salles d'attentes de chirurgiens esthétiques de Vegas...

à nouveau, et avec toute notre affection, une petite douceur en souvenir du bon vieux temps:

Finalement avec tout ça, on avait accosté et le salon était déjà pratiquement vide. Pour un peu, on serait repartis dans l'autre sens. On aurait pu aller demander un autographe ou un ultime bis rien que pour nous à la violoniste, dont le contrat prévoyait apparemment qu'elle joue jusqu'au départ du dernier passager. Mais non, notre bout du monde à nous attendait en bas de l'escalier glissant et on est descendus à terre sous la pluie. On a posé le pied dans notre première flaque japonaise, solennels. Le préposé à l'immigration nous a reçus à bras ouverts, cordial. On est sortis du terminal sous la pluie, euphoriques. Et on s'est mis en devoir de trouver un ATM pour pouvoir acheter nos premiers tickets de métro, émus. Il était septembre 2016, on était à Osaka et l'aventure n'en finissait pas de continuer!

_______________________________



* presque aussi ancienne qu'un(t)raveling, la malédiction de la pluie hante ces colonnes et notre mémoire, du TRANSITion au 2c15, de helpx en wwoofs, de l'Ariège à la Belgie et évidemment de Berlin jusqu'au bout du monde, en passant par Irkutsk, le lac Baïkal et la verte Corée. Ouvrez un post au hasard, passé ou présent, et cherchez en la flaque, la gouttière ou la trace encore humide sur un sac à dos ou un duvet...

** pour le pont des feuilles mortes: en Do et pour faire simple, ça devrait ressembler à quelque chose comme ça:
A-7(b5) / D7 / G-7 / G-7 
C-7 / F7 / BbM7 / BbM7

*** que les mélomanes ne s'offusquent pas, si chacun voit midi à son clocher, chacun peut bien voir musique à son archer et on est tous le Christian Morin de quelqu'un...

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20 francs le kilo

Notre section spéciale (hashtag 20 francs le kilo) pour tous les fans de comptes, les stressés du budget (serré) y ceux qui seraient piqués par la curiosité - ou par le virus - du voyage sans avion(s)... Ils trouveront donc ici et dans cet ordre: la vérité, toute la vérité et rien que la vérité (arrondie, sans virgules et avec parfois quelques oublis mineurs et fortuits, il est vrai). Mais dans les grande lignes, voilà ce que ça donne :

 - Busan-Osaka en ferry/croisière (cabine double de troisième, billets achetés au comptoir de la compagnie Panstar Cruise): le trajet dure une vingtaine d'heures et environ 600 km, pour 265 euros (qsp 2 personnes), taxe de port incluse. C'est loin d'être aussi bon marché que le transsibérien et les low cost locales proposent des vols moins chers, mais l'idée était de ne pas voler, donc... Vu le prix des prestations extra (pension complète, soirée "de gala" et petit déjeuner en buffet), on a apporté notre nourriture (nouilles instantanées, fruits, biscuits) et fini notre monnaie en wons à la supérette de bord ou à la machine à café: moins de 5 euros en tout.

Au total, ce sont environ 140 euros par personne pour une traversée romantique, agitée et inoubliable ; all inclusive, même les émotions fortes! Ramené à la distance, ça nous fait approximativement du 0,23 euros (23 cents) du km par personne!

Beyond the end of the world (4 of 5)

of Gyeongju, giant moles and the theory of chaos

map of South Korea provided by G--gl-, showing our wanderings and bus-hoppings,
from arrival (Vladivostok, Russia) to departure (Osaka, Japan).

This post and the previous one intend to give you a fair idea of what we had a chance to see, experience and enjoy (or not so much) while busing (or buzzing?) through South Korea. Among other things, we faced some daily challenges, ate gorgeous food, slept in exotic settings and tasted a mouthful of the local rain. Needless to say our stay was short (about two weeks in total) and our experience, partial. We used public transportation, tried to live outdoors as much as possible and carried two insanely huge backpacks, one daypack AND a little groceries trolley. It was actually in Chiaksan National Park that we randomly bumped into a backpackers' scale by the rangers' cabin and finally weighed our backpacks. Due to our work schedule back then, we packed at the very last minute, the day before giving our house's keys back and getting on a bus headed to Berlin... We noticed they were (freakin') heavy and assumed they weighed something close to 15 or 17 kg. The scale may have been crooked, but it was sure enough closer to reality than we were: 18 kg for Wallis' backpack and 23 for Futuna's. Ouch! Diz explains dat. It was in Riga when Wallis started to talk about "making a list of non-indispensable items, putting them in a cardboard box and sending them back home so as to ease our shoulders and make the whole thing a bit easier". And there we were, after half the world and over a month on public transportation! But knowing the actual figures of the torture we were self-inflicting somehow made a difference. From that moment, there was no turning back: we started to look at stuff like the solar shower and the 496 pages of the SDL Trados Studio 2015 User Manual*, to name only these, with a mixture of anger and bitterness. Sad but true. But sad. But still true.

this is what we wished we'd look like while backpacking in South Korea and...

So by the time we got to Gyeongju, we were (again!) sweaty, tired, slow-moving and not really integrated in the local atmosphere. You probably know this awkward feeling when you suddenly realize your perception is just an illusion and reality - regardless of what might be hiding behind this delusive concept - is at a comfortable distance. By the time we left the bus station on our way downtown, our Dharma bum attitude was challenged by a couple of traveling monks whose outfit and bundle made us jealous. Fortunately, there were some fat, big, cheap coin lockers at the train station; before thinking twice, we dropped almost everything there in order to be able to explore the city and find a place to camp/stay for the night. The weather forecast kept promising a typhoon, suggesting traveling south and fast would be our only escape. That's when we remembered our dear A. and his sister L.'s advice not to leave South Korea without spending a night at a jimjilbang. "- a what? - a jim-jil-bang! Now, this is such an amazing thing it is hugely popular among both locals and the many tourists/expats from everywhere around the world. It's almost disturbing to think we spent over a week before giving it a try! In case you need a proof, check this blog and do a little g--gl- research: Italian is only one of the many languages to use and document this magic word!

...this is what we actually looked like while backpacking in South Korea (sigh!).

A jimjilbang is basically a spa, the equivalent of a Japanese onsen, with all the basic - and not so basic - facilities to shower, bathe, chill and rest in a hot and humid atmosphere with cold, warm and insanely hot tubs, steam rooms and saunas. As an illustration of the "insanely hot" thing, please find attached a picture of the main sauna at Gyeongju's most iconic jimjilbang: not many of you might be able to read through it, it should nonetheless give you an idea of how "insanely hot" it actually gets! But temperature is not even the main feature: upon entering and paying a small fee (about 10 euros, sometimes less, sometimes more), men and women go two different ways. Customers are given a gown and several towels - blue for men, pink for women - before accessing a locker area where all clothes and belongings are left. Most of your time is then spent naked, all sitting together on wooden stools in a open bathroom hall. The objective there is to get a thorough shower, using loads of soap and small buckets of steaming, natural hot water. Men also shave, spit and clip their finger nails. Women may do the same, but apparently also chat a lot - while the men's quarters are solemnly silent. Once your skin is homogeneously red and wrinckled, you're allowed to walk to the tubs and saunas. You may get a massage, relax on a massage chair (the cheap version) or head to the mixed area to meet your pink (or blue) fellow.

pictures are strictly forbidden inside, so here's the insanely hot spa: from outside ; from a technical point of view ; and from the lobby/sleeping area.

 There you'll find a bar, hot water, instant noodles and different TV screens scattered on the walls of a vast hall where people chill and take a nap. Jimjilbangs are open 24 hours, 7 days a week and access is not limited in time. As long as you pay the entry fee, you can stay as long as you wish. Yes, that means overnight. And yes, that means the next few days too, if you want to and have enough spare coins to feed on noodle soup cups... So basically: for about three or four times less than the cheapest hotel/guesthouse in town, you get to spend whole days in a bathroom amusement park, eating junk food, sleeping on a wooden floor amidst fifty or sixty other people and getting as many hot showers and sauna sessions as your body can handle! Why would you ever get out to a UNESCO world heritage area? Why would you want to go outside and visit a beautiful, rich and vibrant historical city? We did it, though, the next morning.

a rice field straight out of Gyeongju, free of giant moles...

And did well, since Gyeongju is a true gem, full of art, culture, history and food. A gem, first (and not least!), thanks to its central market, where we had breakfast the next morning: the closest-to-divine food we ate in the whole country (if not in our entire lives - bold statement, sure enough exaggerated but does it really matter?). Not only did the fish and groceries look gorgeous, the place was a labyrinth of narrow alleys where fabrics, goods, crafts, sweets and pickled stuff would have taken days to check and taste, be it with the eyes only... At the place we picked to sit and have breakfast, the rules were clear and strict: "Shut up and eat!" The sequence of solid, liquid, hot and cold things being served suffered no intervention. A firm hand is worth one thousand words: "eat this, now drink that, now put some of these in this plate and mix that in this bowl of soup. More! Drink it! Chew that! Here's the egg! More of this, now! Okay, enough! (She was an older, exotic version of Rachel, this catalonian guide/hostess at the most gigantic Cava cellars in the world** who often traumatized "my" US clients when serving them a glass at the end of the tour: if "¿Le gusta? Beba, beba!" is fine in Spanish, her own English translation "You like? You drrrink, you drrrink!" sounded a bit too imperative to the peaceful retired Northern Americans I'd bring there after visiting Montserrat on a bus tour... Rachel was indeed an extremely nice and knowledgeable tour guide and she often gave me a bottle of Cordon negro I then could pass on to the bus driver, which made our professional relationship much smoother. Those were good times...). But let's be fair: tyranny never tasted that nice. And topped up with kimchi straight from the jar, it only got better! Let's be even fairer: that morning, I had the (breakfast) time of my life. Before leaving, we bought some extra meat balls, rice balls, kimchi and some surprise dough stuffed with surprise stuff, all neatly wrapped in furashiki-style. We went out to explore the town and its "historical park", castle, museum, temples and "old" district. We even randomly found -while looking for an internet café to hide from the rain- a big hangar built over an ancient bridge (and consequently over a river), in order to give the workers shelter during the several years of its restoration. Cool, impressive... and very convenient!

the most amazing breakfast ever, only at Gyeongju central market ; last (and bonus) pic: walkers and scooters - morning traffic in the alleys.

The local legend says everybody was used to seeing some giant mole mounds scattered around town, or the area. Everybody was so used to them nobody ever wondered what kind of moles would have dug them. And when. Apparently, the mounds had been there for centuries, and the giant mole had probably entered the local pantheon of extinct animals, next to the saber-toothed tiger and the mammoth. Until some guy some day, back in the twentieth century, decided to shovel one mound out - allegedly to raise some veggie beds someplace else in his backyard. The local legend also says it was a shock when he exhumed the lapida of a king's mausoleum. Only then did the ancients remember the ancient graves from the Three Kingdom era and the magnificent heritage of the city. Well, honestly you never know something until you learn or realize it. And what's right in front of your eyes is sometimes the most challenging to actually see... I know that. Don't get me wrong. But just, you know: you believe in extinct giant moles and there's no evidence of giant hedgehogs? Seriously? Who'd believe that? Uh? Anyway... The weather was progressively changing but we didn't care anymore: our backpacks were safe in a rain-proof locker and a night of infinite hot tubs in heaven was expecting us at the end of one single line of one single local bus. Luxury is so a state of mind!

mole mounds everywhere ; oldest astronomic observatory (looks like oldest brick pagoda, right?) ; hangar over bridge over troubled water.

"let me take you down cause I'm going to Lotus-sy fields forever; nothing is real and nothing to get hung about, lotus-sy fields forever"

this is what we wished we'd look like while walking through the botanical gardens and this is what we actually looked like... deal with it!

We got a shiver in the dark, it was raining in the park but meantime... Saw several mole king mounds, more lotus flowers than anywhere else, the oldest astronomic observatory on earth (sic.), a green tunnel with hanging squash and the couple of errand monks from the bus station (or were they others, but looking the same?), still looking cool and still traveling light. In my next life, I want to be able to live off a 20 liter bundle! Actually, if the world goes on the way it goes, a 20 liter bundle might well be a hell of a lot of material possessions by the time I get into my next life... We went to the national history museum, which happened to be free and to host the oldest and biggest holy bell in the whole country. For those who might be wondering: yes, it was big and old. The mother of all big old bells, indeed! The museum was great: full of archaeological treasures, fascinating facts and figures about the three kingdoms, about the arts, culture, crafts, trade and religions of Korea throughout history. Tools and weapons, jewelry, clothes, toys and even antique stones that were carved to play Go a thousand years aGo... A natural crossroad between China and Japan, Korea received, adapted and refined techniques and skills from both neighbours, exchanged and traded goods with them during centuries, while simultaneously making war(s) and resisting (or not, it depends) influences and invasions, too. Not that Europeans nations haven't been doing the same for ages, though. The Erasmus student exchange program provided beautiful opportunities to understand each other and enrich mutually, but our own cultural melting-pot was not always that peaceful. And its future may not be as easy and friendly, if others follow the Brexit example...

a neat collection of stone axes ; a bunch of pocket deities ; a set of Go stones with an actual "the board is a reproduction" sign! really?

The rain outside helped us a bit to complete the visit of the whole collection. We then took advantage of an éclaircie to go back and get lost in the small streets of an old-fashioned, half forgotten district of rusty workshops and dusty houses in the early stages of gentrification. Selfie time for the record and on we went... Walked by an attractive and inviting love hotel, that would have gotten all our attention only 24 hours earlier. But after trying the jimjilbang, who'd miss a chance to repeat the adventure? A night of hot baths, instant noodles and a wooden floor shared with a crowd of strangers: who wouldn't sign up and enroll? The early bus ride back in town the next morning got longer BUT much more picturesque after we got on on the wrong side of the road and ended up at a shopping mall and convention center in the opposite direction. A good opportunity to spot birds and count raindrops on the window... The classic Lost in translation effect. Seriously: re-watch the movie and observe how beautifully Sofia Coppolla pictured the two main characters separated from their environment by transparent surfaces: at the swimming-pool, the bar, on the bus: reality is always on the other side, they can't connect to it. A beautiful movie, really. A great director. And before Scarlett J. started to do Sci-Fi/Action crap. 2017 will have its calamities, be sure Ghost in the Shell, the movie will be one of 'em!

the Romance motel: an appealing love hotel in its pinkiest, most rococo outfit!

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interlude:

a night at the jimjilbang

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On our way to the station the next day, we struggled to find back a tiny restaurant in a backstreet nearby and treated ourselves with some spicy meat buns: some sort of super yummy, local Chinese bread we had tried randomly the day before. The owners, a young and smiling couple, recognized us and were happy we chose to come back, very enthusiastic and very hungry. I could almost say they frotted their hands when they saw us in... At the station, after checking the timetable for the local trains bound to Busan, we struggled with our luggage for a little while, desperately trying to put everything back in order in the backpacks, while trying (at the same time) to please the officer who repeatedly "asked" us to move (in a language we obviously didn't know a single word of, but with great efforts to make himself understood). He pushed us away from the locker doors, out of the way, away from the ticket machines and finally out of sight. It takes more to stress us out and our legendary organization skills worked wonders... Where is the sarcasm tag? Even if you're non-Korean, non-Japanese, and consequently less sensitive to the idea of public shame, packing in the middle of a train station where somebody actively intends to make you feel uncomfortable and clumsy is a tough moment. A Netflix character would have told us: "Get your shit together. Now". He just kept pointing out how completely and hopelessly we had failed to maintain an acceptable degree of dignity and control over our lives. And that's when we met this couple of Spanish citizens in their fifties, who were eager to speak their language and to complain about "how difficult it was to travel this country" in spite of "their Asian courtesy and highly educated manners". They shared their wisest insights with us: it was sure enough "a cultural trait of their religion" , being "shy but hard-working" and more gems of those about "Asian people" - which is pretty much like saying Europeans eat cheese with garlic and drink wine while listening to Rossini's William Tell...

last selfie before leaving ; last call for passengers, with the good old "la vache qui rit" effect ; and on the train: last stop before Busan.

Anyway. With the wound of the humiliating moment still fresh in our flesh, this piece of small talk in Spanish was soothing, be it to hear vaguely racist clichés. Our new friends had just arrived and we assured them they would loooooove Gyeongju! We mentioned the museum as a must-do, which they apparently planned to visit already. And before heading to the platform, we also suggested they shouldn't miss the (breakfast) time of their lives at the central market, had they a chance to - which they seemed to consider a terrible idea and a very unlikely option. After all, why would you do that when most international hotels serve a continental breakfast buffet, even in the remote and mysterious Asia? Oh, the people you'll meet!

Can't show more than that: blue gown for him, pink gown for her. Easy!

As for our first, last and only train experience in the country: it was neat, right on time, air-cond' chilled, surgical-grade aseptic and... absolutely boring.
1- conclusion: in Korea, make buses, not trains: it's more fun, it's cheaper and it'll take you farther!
2- epilogue: it was already dark when we finally got to Busan and it all started with a little bit of stress  (again?): the train station we decided to stop at didn't have any locker, so it took half the team a one-hour round trip to the central one to go drop the two backpacks before we could finally follow a hand-drawn map to the closest jimjilbang (is it becoming an obsession?). We got lost and found, then lost again between skyscrapers, malls and broad avenues. After the National Parks and "historic cities" of Andong and Gyeongju, Busan, its 3.6 million inhabitants and nightlife looked like a futurist megalopolis to us (which it pretty much is, actually). Neon signs, heavy traffic, restaurants and clubs everywhere around. We finally spotted and recognized by chance the logo of our oasis for the night on top of a huge building a few blocks away and navigated to it (through them) as fast as we could. It was built on the 12th, 13th and 14th floors, one being for men, another one for women and the last one, for the common area. Two different men only and women only lifts could take only to the relevant floors. Let's not waste time on technical details: time to bathe! Of course, this urge to immerse in a hot tub was only to make sure this episode would end on a positive note: the absolute bliss of a late-at-night spa! And we'll keep Busan for the next (and possibly last) South Korean episode... Good night!

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* Trados Studio is one of the (if not THE) professional softwares available for assisted translation currently on the market. It's not cheap but this is nothing compared to how un-friendly, deep and complex it soon gets to the beginner user. As it apparently always happens with User Manuals, this one is very heavy and not that accessible. And using it at a "for dummies" level is like using Photoshop to crop some holidays pictures: both sad and challenging...

** About this gigantic and world famous Cava (a.k.a. Catalonian champaign) cellar and brand, their average production in this ONE (the only one) factory by the time I used to take my tourists there was about 120 million bottles A YEAR. They used to say their annual production in this ONE site was more than the whole production of champaign in France - a fact I never checked, because it seemed too plausible to even doubt it, especially coming from those who stole the technology known as "méthode champenoise" in the late 1870's and started to produce a local copy for their elites and bourgeoisie of the Belle Époque!

Beyond the end of the world (3 of 5)

making South Korea smaller, one bus at a time!

average South Korea window view: neon signs, foresty hills and... a fake waterfall!

It's not a mere coincidence if this -among so many other things- was the first (and to the date, sure enough the main, even though "finding a decent place to free camp" was in the shortlist too) of the several SKCs (South Korean Challenges) we took on. South Korea is indeed a relatively small country and, if something can make it even smaller, it's its fantastic, cheap, dense, anastomotic intercity bus network. It usually connects one intacity bas talminal to another intacity bas talminal, where you'll always find a vending machine with the cheapest coffee with milk, free wi-fi and an air-cond waiting room so your body won't notice it's actually 38 ºC outside! Neat. The bus companies operate everyday from early morning til late at night, but not so often overnight. As far as we understood, the only reason why there are so few overnight coaches is the size of the country: it's so small it wouldn't make any sense at all. Voilà: touché! At first, it seemed you could go from any city/town to any other city/town with either one direct bus or a couple of transfers. And it looked cheap, considering how easy and smooth it was to get from one place to another. We said "at first", because at some point, we became over-confident, forgot all prudence and got so deep inside the rural country that coming back to civilization was suddenly a seven-hour marathon of tiny local buses with no time-tables, no maps and not a single word of information written in Latin alphabet!

map of South Korea provided by G----e, showing our wanderings and bus-hoppings,
from arrival (Vladivostok, Russia) to departure (Osaka, Japan).

Free wi-fi also appeared to be correlated with Latin alphabet and it was more than a mere trend: they always disappeared together! It was supposedly easy to get a SIM card either to give/receive calls or to just access the internet, but we were told by some informed friends the wi-fi offer was plentiful and it was unnecessary to pay for a SIM card, be it very cheap. Which was generally true. Well... The time has now arrived to ruin every little bit of surprise and suspense, showing the full monty and revealing most of our movement across the gorgeous little green peninsula: right there is a map you can look at in order to get a fair idea of where we got in, through and out of South Korea.

- Donghae and Gangneung: we talked about these two cities by the sea in our first South Korean post in B major: beach, bus and bivy.

- Seoraksan National Park: we told you as much as we could about the Asian doppelganger of Catalonian Montserrat in this other post, with pictures in colours to lure and inspire our climber fellows who may be getting there someday...

- Chiaksan National Park: we got there through a never-ending series of bus hopping under an end-of-the-world sun, cruising through Korean small towns (understand: ranging from 120 to 160 thousand inhabitants) and eventually landing in the evening on a hot dirt patch with no shade at all. The landscapes and views from the bus windows were really nice all day long: sloppy hills covered with forest, taller mountains in the background and flat valley bottoms with rice fields packed around quiet rivers; just the average "small town" surrounded by huge blocks every now and then.

the long way up: no stairway to heaven, no highway to hell, just patiently stair-ing, sweating, and swearing up to the top...

The next morning, we hiked up and down one thousand stairs to summit Birobong, the highest yet slightly frustrating (1300m asl) peak to be found around. We climbed our way up the metal staircases only to discover a power-generator buzzing, all kind of power tools blasting, grinding, cutting, sawing, drilling, sanding and welding around, all operated by a happy team of villagepeople-ish tough guys building a huge metal-and-wood platform around the giant, ancient and supposedly iconic cairn (a pile of stone, in mountain slang) which apparently was the ultimate goal and reward for Birobong’s brave conquerors. Let's face it: high season was over, the camping was almost desert and it was probably the best time of the year to build that, regardless of the handful of disappointed and sweaty hikers who made it there, namely: us. Anyway, the cairn was worth it.

the peaceful and iconic summit of Mt. Birobong, low-season-maintenance style!

We went back to our spot, had some instant noodles and a solar shower of ours, then a long nap by the river*. We got to cook some local zucchini and “shrimp sausage” (it's not as bad as it sounds, honestly!) risotto on the Trangia. Around our tiny tent and heavy backpacks were the last few families of the summer: their huge Hyundai and Kia SUVs parked right in front of their huge Coleman tents with rooms, kitchens, hammocks, fans and furniture. Sometimes, they would look at us and smile awkwardly, both because Westerners didn’t seem to make it there too often and because we looked so poorly-equipped and ill-prepared. Not only at the campground, but also on the trails: no energy belts with glucose shots, no camelbacks, no sticks, no thermal-breathable-intelligent softshells, no fancy-shiny-tiny trail boots... Unlike what many people say, the national sport here is not exactly hiking. Apparently, car-camping is. And it comes as a package with buying and wearing expensive, unnecessarily technical mountaineering gear to just walk around between a whole three-course picnic and teatime. In un(t)raveling dialect, we call'em seagulls**.

raindrops keep fallin' on our heads,
and just like two guys whose gear is too big for their tent...
to make it short: don't worry, be happy!

As you would expect, the heavy evening sun gave place to a stormy night with pouring rain. Again, we had to abandon our tiny tent and seek shelter somewhere more water-proof, like the bathroom porch. Our neighbours apparently considered it such an unbearable invasion of the collective premises that - without a word nor the slightest sense of compassion towards us (taking into account their many tents' spare square meters) - they asked the campground's guard to take us out of there. He came, very very sorry and ashamed, to check what our options were. After seeing our tent, he installed us in one of the bungalows for rent (all empty at this time of the year), only insisting on the fact that we'd have to wake up early the next morning. We did exactly that: shortly after 8am, a local bus full of school boys and girls in uniforms dropped us back at the closest citybas telminal, ready for our next destination:

- Andong (cultural heritage): after another day-dreaming ride on another local bus, we ended up in Andong downtown. We both equally and urgently needed to get some clothes clean and dry, to get a warm and thorough shower, to get some decent sleep on a dry and comfy mattress. In a word: to get to a hotel. After the camping days (you pay for a spot, regardless of the number of people in your party, of whether you have a car, of the size of your tent and such... making campgrounds substantially more expensive for us than they usually are in Europe), our travel budget allowed for little more than "not much". The (only?) one and good option was, of course, to spot and book a love hotel!***

room dining at a love hotel: some clean sheets, gorgeous street market food and
THE cheap-chic detail of the anti-stain, glittery-purple, vinyl stool...

Even in an old town full of history and culture, "walk down the right back alley and you can find anything". Indeed, passed the train station one particular street was packed with car parks hidden behind purple velvet curtains, with blue neon signs advertising such unambiguous places as the dark pink "romance hotel", the Las Vegas inspired "dollar motel" or the classy/trashy "hotel Q"... At a love hotel, you seemingly get more for your money: tons of free samples of almost anything you can imagine, from shoeshine to grilled peanuts, toothpaste, toothpicks or lube. Amazing. And you probably should add: hairdryer, microwave, kettle, multiple fans, a generous offer of cable TV and pay-to-watch "adult" channels, way too many mirrors and the mandatory UV sterilizer to ensure surgical grade-safety while doing whatever your imagination urges you to... Customers usually crave for privacy and a low-profile setting, hence the many curtains, cars' plate covers, dark corridors and even a front desk with nobody but a vending machine spitting the key of your desired room as it'd spit a Twix or a can of diet Coke. Oh, the places you'll go!

in this specific order: old fossils; old school; old masks; old wood; old rusty thing; old mafia house and oldest-brick-pagoda-in-the-country!  

Before the evening was over, we went for a walk around town, to an old pagoda the oldest brick pagoda in South Korea and an old house the adjacent, gorgeous mansion of the local mafia a famous, ancient clan dating back to the three kingdom era. Wandering around along the river bank, we hit several antique boutiques, flea, thrift and vintage shops, a couple of temples and some beautiful old workshops, kept dusty and dans leur jus by some authentic, picturesque, white-bearded craftsmen. After a while, we randomly hiked uphill to a small neighbourhood whose narrow streets had been taken up by the locals' vibrant creativity: all the painted houses made it look like a giant open-air comic strip. The colours were warm in the sunset light, almost as warm as the teethless smiles some old ladies greeted us with, proudly sitting on a bench in the middle of their collective chef d'oeuvre with a petit air de "We invented street art, kids. What did YOU invent?". Below is a (non exhaustive) small collage of some of our favourites:

I'm painting my house, in the colourful way. And when my mind is wandering, there I will gooooo

After a beautiful sunset on a pond with frogs and a cheap/chic, classy/trashy night at the love hotel, we were out early the next morning, to get on a new series of buses southbound, to:

if you want to see Futuna hysterically jump and scream, the only thing you have to
do is to make sure he inadvertently (almost) steps on one of those creepin' fellows.

- Juwangsan National Park: our experience of this third national park was highly enjoyable, thanks to some new friends we made (see one caught on picture here), to the rain which gave us a two-day break and to the very features of the place: insane sun and heat, a pitch with no shade, a group of young, friendly, beer-enthusiast German hikers as neighbours and a very picturesque landscape. We slept under the stars, with nothing but un peu d'essence de Guerlain dans les cheveux (ou presque) and a mosquito net. We then woke up early and took the trail to several renowned waterfalls, which we were a bit disappointed to find waterless. Apparently, the unusually hot and dry august took them by surprise and, you know, there was not a drop of water to be seen around. We considered it to be an effect of global warming, but it could as well be just another scam for tourists: water might have been long gone and the place would still be luring crowds of camera-bearing, North Face-wearing, breathtaking view-hunting individuals. The question was: who knew? No, the question was: who cared? The rock formations around -caves, canyons, cliffs and boulders- were beautiful and the scarce water running here and there was green and mossy. Legions of signs clearly indicated bathing (not a single sane person would have considered it) wasn't allowed. Not only was the rescue gear always at see, engaging into many other nice activities was forbidden as well.

the would-be official Juwangsan postcard, if there happened to be one.

After a few dry waterfalls, caves and temples, Wallis decided to take a rest, reading her book hiding from the sun by a temple, while Futuna had his little Kilian Jornet moment, running/hiking to the summit of one of the small nearby mountains/hills.  He came back sweaty and out of breath, having witnessed the beauty of Juwangsan from above and taken way too many pictures of the whole ascent. Just before reaching the campground, we walked through what was a desert alley to the temple a few hours earlier, only to discover a busy and beautiful market of medicinal stuff, roots and herbs. Probably for tourists craving for green magic, ground shrooms and other dry phyto-healing. Well worth a couple more pictures, indeed. The weather was still sunny but the forecast kept announcing a typhoon we both expected with concern: rain? again? really? We decided to go on southbound on our way to Busan and looked for an option to keep camping dry and warm. While trying to fit in a busy and ever-changing CS host's agenda to make it to another National Park, we stumbled on the limits of intacity bases and had to change plans (Jirisan, apparently beautiful. Consider renting a car to get there...). But before we leave the area and à la demande générale, here is a photographic summary of our little Juwangsan tour:

forbidden to forbid? not in this country apparently: don't be clumsy, don't climb, don't drown and in case you do anyway, here's a good buoy! 

(hardly) shored rock ; what(er) the fall is this? ; crossing the bridge ; stone Buddha ; what(er) the fall? #2 ; piles of stones ; Wallis' holy moment.

"au marché de Brive-la-Gaillarde, à propos de bottes d'oignons, quelques dziaines de gaillardes, se crêpaient un jour le chignon..."

We fell in the trap of another allegedly amazing-free-campsite-by-the-sea and thougt it'd be good to rest on the beach and sunbathe for a couple of days. And that's how we finally met your mo got to Geyongju - probably the one most beautiful, authentic, richest and tastiest of our South Korean experiences... And that's probably more than enough for today: we'll keep this and the rest for the next chapter(s)! Sending y'all lots of love from some South Korean intercity bus terminal, take care and enjoy your weekend!

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"be river, my friend" - translate: mold onto a comfy bed of rock and rest in the shade of the trees".

* the all-times classic and BruceLee-ly famous "be water, my friend" in an alternate version.

lifting the veil on Clint Anderson's next movie: "Motel dollar, baby?"

** about mountain seagulls: we first observed them years ago in the Pyrenees and Montserrat, before witnessing they were endemic to many other places: the Dolomites and Alps in general, just to start the list. Generally speaking, you can find some anywhere there are mountains. They eventually became a topic (and keyword) on this blog, so you might find a definition in some previous entries.

*** love hotels! they're material for a whole photographic series (Lolo, there's clearly something for you here!) or PhD: apparently a whole culture of extra-conjugal life. Maybe caused by one the highest population density in the world: must be hard to get privacy at home. Who knows? Truth is, love hotels are fascinating and... very convenient! ;)