Yeosu or Bust

I awoke at 6.30 a.m. hoping that it would have stopped raining but a quick peek out the window at blew those fantasies sky high. While it had definitely backed off in the precipitation department, and was nowhere near as poor as yesterday, it was still on heavy side of “light drizzle” and didn’t look like clearing anytime soon.

Crawling back into bed, I started channel surfing and found an interesting little movie on OCN called “Choke” (2001). Starring Dennis Hopper and Michael Madsen, this proved to be a fascinating little flick containing some excellent dialogue between the two leads as they discuss their childhoods. Thoroughly entertaining, I recommend this movie to anyone who enjoys watching masters of unconventional acting such as Hopper and Madsen at work.

That’s the truly great thing about Dennis Hopper, and yes, I know I’ve waxed lyrical about his talents before, but he’s such a damn fine thespian. The kind of actor who could deliver a simple line such as “the sky is blue” and make it sound as if he was going to take a hit out on you, Hopper’s all about the implied and understatement but don’t take my word for it, check out his performance in George A. Romero’s “Land of the Dead” (2005) -- classic stuff.

After knocking this impromptu early morning movie session on the head, it’s time to saddle up and head back out on the road. After yesterday’s disastrous effort, I vowed to make Yeosu, a reputedly pretty little coastal city (pop. 340,000) midway along Korea’s southern coastline, by nightfall.

Yeosu was the headquarters of the Korean Navy for 400 years during the Joseon Dynasty (1392 – 1910), and has long been of strategic military importance in the defence of Korea against Japan. It was also used as training base for Buddhist monk soldiers during the Japanese invasion of 1592.

Modern day Yeosu City was founded in 1949, with today’s version created in 1998 following a merger between itself and neighbouring Yeochon City. With 317 islands (49 inhabited 268 uninhabited) lying off Yeosu peninsula, I suspect that this area is one of Korea’s hidden gems in terms of environmental beauty.

But all of this lies ahead for me to discover. Fortunately, the cycling gods are smiling and the rain has eased off to a light mist, the wind down to a tolerable level, the sun is breaking through the cloud cover and I’m able to use three gears with full downward force.

The road from Boesong to Yeosu is in good condition but very busy as a lot of heavy vehicles make their way to the port cities of Masan and Busan via this route. Unable to take my eyes off the tarmac for too long, it’s really a crying shame as the scenery in these parts deserves far greater attention than I am able to give it. Still, I’m able to sneak the odd peak or three at all the usual suspect mountains, rice paddies, clumps of pristine native forest and more streams and creeks than you can poke a stick at.

Lunch consists of bread, canned tuna and orange juice and is taken under a massive pine tree just south of Suncheon. After an hour-long detour where I thought I’d found a traffic-free alternative to highway 17 only to wind up at the edge of Suncheon Bay, I’m back on track for Yeosu but this time on an old highway heading down the west coast of the Yeosu peninsula.

Much to my surprise, the road is not only in brilliant shape, but car free and is taking me through some of the most scenic countryside that I’ve enjoyed during this trip.

Rice paddies and mountains fringe the sides of the road, with the emerald coloured sea never far from sight. There is hardly any commercial development in this part of Korea and even the yogwans have been designed to compliment the beauty of their surrounds as opposed to the Japanese-style eyesores and abominations that you see elsewhere.

Single or double story with wood or brick walls and slate roofing seems to be the norm for motels, restaurants and coffee shops in these parts. And while the style is probably more suitable for Switzerland than Asia, it at least appears welcoming and comfortable, with most establishments even employing tasteful signage and boasting gardens filled with native fauna.

Is this oasis of symbiotic tourism an expression of the locals’ love and respect nature or a sign of good things to come for the Korean tourism industry?

I hope that it’s a case of both as Korea’s tourist industry is currently in the clutches of shameless carnies hell bent on wringing every filthy won out of the business that they can. By my estimations, it’s cheaper to visit New York than to see this country’s top tourist attractions during peak season; a disgraceful situation that desperately needs to be rectified by the government if they genuinely want to fashion a vibrant tourism sector which appeals to local and international visitors.

Rolling along the empty roads through this beautiful countryside, my thoughts turn to what life in this area must be like for the families that have inhabited this region since long ago. Coming from a country with a relatively recent history of European civilisation, it’s difficult to get my head around the fact that the majority of inhabitants Korea’s rural and coastal areas have been working the land, or sea, in the same region for hundreds and hundreds of years.

The afternoon is definitely on the wane as I reach the end of the peninsula and begin heading east for Yeosu along a coastal road which has developed a nasty habit of breaking inland for ridiculously steep mountain climbs. But as tough as the riding is, it really is an absolute pleasure to be out and about in these parts. The sun is shining, the air is fresh and trees as green as you could see anywhere. Does it matter if some of the ascents take nearly 30 minutes to work through?

With the last of the mountains behind me, Yeosu City suddenly appears on the plain before me and while no different to any other Korean metropolis in terms of architecture, it does have wider streets and seems to have a feeling of brightness about it which doesn't involve neon lights.

Stopping at the local fire brigade station to ask for directions, I get into a conversation with the fire chief in pidgin Korean about Australia and his forthcoming trip to visit fire stations in New South Wales. A few cans of orange juice later and I’m on my way to a point the chief gestured to somewhere over the horizon where ferries are rumoured to depart from for islands and coastal ports around Korea.

Moving through the relatively light afternoon traffic without any car doors suddenly being thrown open, or buses forcing me into parked cars, all is good with the world – even though there is a complete absence of signs indicating where the ferry terminal might be hiding. I decide to keep heading northeast until I reach the area where I hope my destination lies.

After nearly an hour of cycling, I’m beginning to worry that I might have missed the terminal and started up the western side of the peninsula. With 128 kilometres on the odometer, I’ve had enough for today and am looking forward to a long shower and a feast to end all feasts. Suddenly, the buildings begin to look shabbier, the road starts narrowing and the stench of drying fish fills the air. A right turn and yes! I’ve made it – welcome to Yesou’s International Ferry Terminal.

A rusting run-down building the size of an aircraft hanger, the facility could definitely do with a fresh coat of paint and bit of TLC. Wheeling my bike inside, the terminal is deserted as it's now late afternoon and only one of the ferry kiosks is open for service. Again using my finest pidgin Korean, I manage to ascertain that this is only one of three terminals in the area and not the one that I want.

Saddling back up, it takes another 20 minutes of wrong turns and dead ends to locate the "port" where my ferry will leave for Namhae from tomorrow. Nothing more than a concrete pier with a few fisherman casting lines into the bay, I’m not 100 percent convinced that I’m in the right spot but what the hell? I’m now up to 138 kilometres on the clock and it’s time to find a place to stay.

Peddling around the narrow side streets of this dodgy port neighbourhood, I’m looking for a motel that doesn’t scream, “We will steal your bike if we get half a chance.” Now I’m the first to admit that I’ve become more than a bit paranoid after what went down in Gochang, but perhaps this is a good thing – I was getting far too complacent when it came to securing my personal possessions anyway. Fortunately, after only 10 minutes of searching, I stumble across Motel Hollywood which not only looks good from the outside, but is even better on the inside.

Clean and new with a king-sized bed, massive bathroom, wooden floors, free Internet, DVD player and big-screen TV – this is the crème de la crème of motels in Korea. And the price? An inexpensive 30,000 won.
Throw in an incredible view of Yeosu Harbour from the roof where the washing machine and laundry line lives and you have undoubtedly, the best value for money motel in the land … perhaps even the world.

After a long hot shower and a dinner of bibimbap, chamshi kimbabp, goggi mandu and vanilla ice cream, I surf the Internet for a while – catching up on the latest news from the Guardian – before knocking over 10 pages or so of Black Lamb and Grey Falcon.

I fall asleep watching John Hurt, a very young Tim Roth, a masterful Terrence Stamp and Australia’s very own Bill Hunter (“Muriel’s Wedding”) in “The Hit” (1984) on a cable channel that we don't get in Seoul.

Tomorrow: Goje: The Island of Dreams

Hell in a Very Beautiful Place

Ever have one of those mornings when you just can’t seem to wake from dreaming? Well, this morning is one of those mornings and while my dream isn't overly pleasant or all that interesting, it still holds enough appeal to keep me watching and ignore a very loud howling sound coming somewhere from reality.

In my dream, I'm ringside at a three-way bout between “A-Train,” probably better known to non-wrestling aficionados as having the hairiest back in the world, Scott “Holler if ya hear me!” Steiner and the yogwan (motel) manager in Gochang who stole my bike.

The beating these boys are dishing out is truly horrific, and to make matters worse, Ric “Wooo!” Flair, keeps charging the ring and smashing the yogwan manager across the back with a steel chair every time he tries to get up.

Now some would say that this dream is simply my subconscious venting built up anger over the theft, but I beg to differ. I feel no malice towards the manager or citizens of Gochang, genuinely believing that my loss occurred for a reason, perhaps even saving me from serious misfortune somewhere down the track. Unbelievable? Maybe so, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it for now anyway.

Finally losing interest in this performance of ballet for the masses, I crawl out of bed and take a peek outside to try and discover the source of that howling noise. The view from my window is of a mountain, and as the trees on it are just about being uprooted, it doesn't take too much nous to realise that there is very strong wind blowing outside. But still, I must be delusional because for some inexplicable reason I think that cycling in these conditions will be utopia.

What a fool I am. After setting off at a fantastic pace courtesy of a gale force tailwind, "cycling utopia" turns into a living hell as the direction of the road swings head first into what is now a typhoon-strength gale.

After an hour or so of suffering through this misery, I look down at my cycle computer to see that I’d barely made 10km! Unwilling to accept that these hellish conditions can possibly last for very much longer, it's time to kill a little time and stop in at a roadside restaurant for a marvellous breakfast of kimchi jigaye (spicy fermented cabbage stew), rice and about a million or so side dishes.

I’ve never been big on Korean style breakfasts but when you’re burning calories courtesy of open road cycling, it always seems as if you need to eat and the bigger the meal the better.

Back in the saddle again, conditions have worsened and now it seems as if rain is threatening. Things are looking pretty grim and if it wasn’t for the stunning scenery, I probably would have found a yogwan (motel) and given up for the day. Struggling along at a top speed of 8km per hour, not much faster going downhill either, I have plenty of time to take in my surrounds and contemplate this Chinese puzzle that for me, is Korea.

It’s really quite funny, when I first arrived in Seoul, I thought that this country was dirty and uncivilised; populated with rude and very unfriendly people. But the longer I’ve stayed, the more this attitude has softened and since hitting the road, I’ve had a complete rethink and now have a new theory. These days, I believe that Korea is made up of two countries: Seoul and the rest.

While Seoulites have their faults, at least I can now understand what makes them tick and accept that some of the perception problems rest with me. But Koreans outside of the megalopolis, well, they’re a completely different kettle of fish.

On a whole, I’ve found them to be very decent people who are friendly and honest in their dealings. Always up for a chat irrespective of the language barrier, they are relaxed and seem to genuinely enjoy their lives as opposed to their city brethren.

What factors are responsible for these differences? A good question which perhaps lies in the postcard-perfect background for today’s ride.

Towering mountains covered with dark green forests, shrouded in swirling mist. Turquoise blue streams and rivers snaking their way through vibrant green rice paddies and grape orchards. Traditional Korean houses nestled between the rice paddies and the mountains, their stone walls and upwardly curving roofs with dragon head tiles mounted on the hip ends making them look as if they, along with the mountains, have always been here.

If cycling through a landscape like this in the middle of a typhoon is calming, imagine what living here would be like.

But beautiful scenery or not, outrageous winds, coupled with a failing rear derailleur (a cable problem that I cannot repair), force me to abandon plans to make Yeosu by nightfall, instead seeing me head south-west to Yulpo Beach.

The theory behind this decision is that I will pick up a tail wind and make better time, but the reality, well, that’s a different story. I'm now battling even more severe winds, being drenched by monsoonal rains and have climb my way out of an impossibly mountainous tea-growing region near Boseong.

But before the hill climb commences, lunch (the highlight of my day) calls, and today it consists of fresh water eel, killed at my table and still wriggling as it's grilled by the restaurant adjumma (older woman), a large bowl of rice and all the usual suspect side dishes. A few adjoshis (older men) dining across the room bellow that the adjumma should give me some nokcha soju (alcoholic green tea) to help with my riding. And after lunch, one of the lads offers me his umbrella to use while cycling -- I politely decline explaining that I need two hands to operate my bike.

Conditions still haven't improved and yet I elect to keep going. Even with a selection of only three gears, I manage to plug away, hoping to escape this nightmare and make Boseong before my spirit and or the bike give out. For the first time during this trip, I actually begin getting cold and start shivering.

With the situation now getting serious: Five hours of hellish riding for a return of just over 50km – my stress levels are beginning to climb and as there isn't much around in the way of civilisation, this could be a very unpleasant walk if the derailleur decides to pack it in for good.

After another two hours of hateful cycling, I finally clear the mountains, the rain abates and the road to Boseong materialises from the gloom. I’m not too far out of the tea capital of Korea but at this point, I couldn’t care less where I was, I need to get out of the rain, into a warm shower and bed.

Boseong is a small town that doesn’t look very appealing in the rain and nor does the yogwan I’ve chosen. It’s your typical faux-brick and wood monstrosity that resembles a small office block in the west -- completely out of sorts with the environment and character of the traditional style houses that still exist in surprising numbers -- made worse by the fact that it appears to be rotting both inside and out, with the "wanted" mug shots of Korean criminals taped up around reception not helping to win any awards in the ambience stakes.

The owner turns out be quite a decent chap and happily lets me take my bike into the room. Shabby, small and not all that clean, the room isn't good for the spirit but the water is piping hot and the bed reasonably comfortable.

As neither the rain or wind has stopped, I'm beginning to worry that these conditions are looking set in for the next few days. If so, there is no way that I will head out again. My bike is basically crippled and the thought of packing up the plantation and hopping on a train for Seoul is looking better by the minute. But the shame of quitting would be too much to bear ... I’ve spent so much money and suffered through too much stress to be beaten this close to my destination (Busan). Well, it’s not really that close but still 79km closer than yesterday and that makes it a delicious prospect unable to be ignored.

Dinner consists of ham and cheese sandwiches, canned peaches, sultanas (raisins for my North American readers), Belgian waffle cookies and a two-litre orange juice. Sleep can't come quickly enough.

Tomorrow: Yeosu or Bust!

On the Road Again

Woke up this morning feeling completely refreshed and rearing to go. The only problem is that Gwanmae Island's sole ferry to the mainland (Mokpo via Jindo) doesn't leave until 1.50 p.m. On the upside, this gave me some more time to explore my surrounds, but in all honesty, I was itching to get back on my bike and keep going.

That's the bizarre thing about long distance cycling: the more kilometres you get through, the more you want to rack up the next day. It's almost if you don't exceed or at least match the previous days total, the whole outing has been a failure and a complete waste of time. I wonder if this is a symptom of an addictive personality?

As I wrote yesterday, Gwanmae Island is not overly large as far as Korean islands go and can be travelled around in about 40 minutes by bike. It's relatively mountainous with about 60 per cent of the roads being sealed. Most of its attractions are off the beaten path and can only be accessed on foot through light pine forest.

Still full from last night, I slipped out of the mimbak's compund sans breakfast and headed off for Namkum (penis rock). With Mi-hyang in tow, we made good time to the beginning of the hiking track and after a brisk 15 minute ascent, reached a viewing point where "penis rock could be seen in all its glory. Namkum is situated on Panga Islet and is fabled as a place where the local women would go if they were experiencing difficulties in falling pregant. Apparently, this 10m high penis-shaped rock possesses fertility powers that are not to be taken lightly. As you probably guessed, I kept my hands of Mi-hyang and didn't hang around too long for fear that I might fall pregnant as well. Shades of Scwarzenegger's "Junior" perhaps?

A quick jog back down to the road and we were on our way towards Haneuldari (Haneul means sky), which is basically two mountains jutting out of the sea with a deep valley between them. At one point, there was a bridge between the two but it's been removed for fear that tourists staring into the depths of the abyss will lose their balance and never be seen again. Staring into the blackness, I was reminded of a line from Oliver Stone's "Wall Street" delivered by Lou Mannheim (the great Hal Holbrook) to Budd Fox (Charlie Sheen): "Man looks in the abyss, there's nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the abyss."

By the time we hiked back down to the beach it was time for lunch and after a quick swim, I was ready for another of the adjuma's culinary delights. And as Yoda would say: "Disappointed, I was not." Lunch consisted of the usual hundred sidedishes and a steaming bowl of spicy chamshi (tuna) kimchi jigae (stew). Twenty minutes and two servings of rice later I was back in my room preparing myself and my bike for the ferry.

By now I've got the whole packing, hooking and strapping thing down to a fine art. From taking a ponderously slow 20 minutes at the start of my trip to stuff my panniers and attach them to my bike, I'm now down to under 10, which if you've ever dealt with panniers before is a defintiely something to be proud of.

The ferry to Jindo is larger than the one I came over on, capable of carrying at least 10 cars and umpteen passengers and their luggage. Buddha must have been smiling as the sun was out, the sea was calm and all was good in the world -- managing to sneak an hour long nap on top of several sacks of rice which had been piled up near the front drop-ramp was also an unexpected bonus.

Interestingly enough, a lot of people during this ferry ride were outwardly inquisitive about my bike, panniers and travels. Although they spoke no English, I could understand a few word of Korean here and there and had a fairly good idea as to what was going down. Basically, they were amazed that I had cycled to this part of Korea for a visit and were even more surprisd to learn of where I was heading.

The ferry touched land at Baengmok on Jindo Island's southern shores after 3 hours. After disembarking, Isaddled up and hit the road. It was nearly 5.00 p.m. by the time I got going, and at this point, I was still entertaining delusional ideas of clocking up 120km before nightfall. After about 50km of fairly hilly riding with a mild headwind, I realised that I'd be lucky to make even 100km. In the end, I settled for a swift 79km.

Cycling through Jindo is a wonderful experience. The countryside sparkles like an emerald as the area has received quite a lot of rain in recent months. I couldn't get over how green the land was, set off in a marked contrast by the bluish lustre of the mountains. After several hours, Jindo's twin bridges loomed on the horizon -- the manmade landmark feature of this region and its official symbol.

Resmebling McDonald's infamous golden arches, the bridges are an imposing sight and are quite the architectural accomplishment. Crossing by bike reminded me of peddling over Vancouver's Lions Gate Bridge but without its dizzying height and unsettling habit of swaying in high winds. Guarded at one end by an army checkpoint and flanked at both ends by statues of white Jindo dogs, the whole scene is oddly reminiscent of Farncis Ford Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" during the Do Lung Bridge scene; except it's daytime, I wasn't drunk, the locals weren't wasted on psychedelic drugs no one was shooting at me.

After crossing the bridge, I buckled down and decided to head for Haenam. With the light rapidly failing and I was getting worried that I'd find myself cycling through the Korean countryside in compete darkness as I had no idea how far away the next town with a yogwan was.

Not surprisingly, the last hour of my journey was in total darkness, in the Korean countryside, on a major road which the only trucks and cars driving on it felt necessary to use as a F-1 race track. With my arse killing me as a result of my saddle being incorrectly set (the front was slightly elevated), the last 20km was murderous and the bright lights of Haenam could not come fast enough.

When the exit for Haenam finally did appear, I stopped at the first yogwan I saw, asked the owner -- a genuinely kind old gentleman -- to order me the largest pizza possible and retired to the comfort of my room and a warm bath for the evening. Sleep and melted cheese was all that mattered.

Tomorrow: Hell in a Very Beautiful Place.

One Night in Gwanmae

Started out for for Gwanmae Island, a tiny archipelago situated about 6 hours by ferry south east of Mokpo, at 8.30 a.m. on one of the smallest ferries I've ever had the pleasure of boarding; ocean going that is. The ship was more of a pumped up tug boat than a ferry and boasted no seats, just a polished wooden floor below deck for sleeping.

My companions on this 17,000 won journey (advertised at 23,000 won but I received a "discount") was the crusty looking crew and a yellow Jindo pup imprisoned in a peach box with its head sticking out the corner. Jindo dogs are fine looking animals, fabled in Korean folk lore as extremely intelligent and loyal. If you're thinking about buying a new dog and fancy something a little different, then go the Jindo.

The weather was overcast with a slight breeze but nothing to unpleasant. Being the fearless travelling man that I am, I assumed prime position -- sans sunscreen -- on the bow in front of the forecabin and stretched out, ready to enjoy the unfolding island scenery of Korea's great south-west.

And I was not disappointed. We passed mountainous island after island, some vegetated with pine forests, others with what appeared to be jungles and some with just light scrub. This region is an undiscovered gem and is definitely worth a visit if you're in the area. The best way would be to buy or rent a boat and slowly make your own way around. The ocean seems to be quite deep, is fairly calm and relatively easy to navigate. A Maersk container ship (couldn't make out its name) was anchored near one of the islands awaiting its run into Busan. I suspect it must have been empty as she was riding extremely high (Dan Gooch would have been in heaven at this sighting).

By the time we began our approach to Gwanmae Island, I was itching to get back on land. Six hours under a cloudy sky had resulted in my transformation from Johnny Tan Man into Johnny Beet Face. I needed a shower, or at the very least, a swim. Actually, just getting under cover would suffice. Upon making land, I dragged my bike and packs along a narrow gangplank before setting cycle for the tiny hamlet of Gwanmae.

Gwanmae is is a smallish island as far as Korean islands go and is clean and relatively undeveloped. There are two hamlets with about 20 residents in each and a rural community located in a lush green valley on the seaward side. Interestingly enough, the pebble beach on that side of the island has been turned into a toxic waste dump, --well maybe not toxic but it was pretty damn disgusting -- by the local farmers despite the fact that the island is part of a Korean National Park.

The water is clear, with the sand an amazing silver colour. The beach is long and wide, overlooked by mountains and with pine trees growing at its edges. For those of you fortunate enough to have visited Vancouver Island, Canada, the beach on Gwanmae Island is very similar to Long Beach but without the density of its forest.

The island is looked after by one Korean National Park Ranger, Park Mi-hyang, a 29-year-old free spirit who was amazed that I had journeyed as far I as I had to see "her island." She proved to be an enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide, despite not speaking much English and took great delight in showing me a 900-year-old tree, which the locals still worship to this day (no churches on this island, everyone's a Shamanist or Buddhist), and Namkum (penis rock) -- a rocky outcrop that resembles a circumcised penis.

Accommodation on Gwanmae Island comes in the form of a mimbak (room with shared facilities), or beach front camping. There are two mimbak's on the island and at first, both owners turned me away because they didn't want foreigners on the premises. Turned out that about a year-and-a-half ago, an American couple visited the island and spent their entire stay complaining about the food and absence of any fast food outlets. Not surprisingly, the owners blew up and vowed never to let foreigners lodge again.

To brutally honest, I have no idea what those Americans were thinking. Most Westerners that you meet in this part of the world are absolutely braindead and couldn't survive if they had to walk 20km to the nearest town --they give the rest of us bad names and make life extremely difficult.

Actually, one of my most trying experiences involving Westerners took place in 2002 when two American lasses visiting Korea tried to recreate a U.S. style coffee shop breakfast experience near a fish market in Busan. My companion at the time, Andrew Wiseman (also an American but a good 'un), and I, kept sneaking outside to feast at the roadside toasted sandwich vendor who was serving up these awesome creations of ham, egg and melted cheese for 1,000 won. We left the girls inside nibbling on bagels (5,000 won a pop), washed down with lousy coffee (2,500 won), pleading that we were too sick from the night before to eat. The moral of the story is when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Eat at the roadside vendors and always eat what's lumped on your plate, irrespective of how unappetising it may seem.

Back to Gwanmae Island.

Koreans are fiercely proud of their cuisine and to turn your nose up and whatever is served is a surefire recipe for disaster. Fortunately, the adjuma (older woman) who ran one of the mimbaks took pity on me after watching my efforts to open a can of tuna with a rock, allowing me to stay but not without an earful of curses.

She reluctantly showed me to a Spartan room with the basic floor bedding. At that point, all I cared about was a cold shower and a functional fan: What more could you ask for?

Later that afternoon, the adjuma barged into my room and told me in her gruffest voice that dinner was to be served in an hour and would consist of "a bowl of rice and nothing more." Feeling ever so welcome, I headed down the beach for a quick swim with zero expectations of the evening's fare. While swimming, this crazy island lad sporting the latest flesh coloured Speedos from 1972 hiked up around his chest paddled up and started trying to splash me. As the water was freezing and I hadn't got under yet, it took all my powers to resist murdering him on the spot, but as we were the only souls on the beach braving the surprisingly chilly waters, I forgave this atrocious behaviour and simply dived under and swam away. Upon resurfacing, I saw that he'd lost interest and was off chasing a crab or some other poor unfortunate marine creature -- half its luck.

I returned to the dining hall clutching a can of tuna to mix with my rice and was absolutely floored to find a massive spread consisting of a spicy fish and tofu soup (pronounced "dobu" in Korean), about a hundred side dishes and bowl of rice awaiting. I have never seen food that looked so good in all my time in Korea. The adjuma was watching my face like a hawk for the slightest sign of displeasure and did an admirable job of nearly concealing her surprise as I sat down and attacked the feast with gusto. Several times during the meal I caught her stealing a peek or three to make sure that my pleasure was genuine.

After thanking my now thawed out host for dinner, I retired to "Mr. Ham's Shower Club" on the beachfront -- a shower block with a stereo, fridge and a few tables and chairs out the front -- for a few beers (Hite) with my host Mr. Ham (a retired Korean Navy Seal) and the locals (crazy fishermen).

Now, I'm no fan of the amber ale but when in Rome, well ... you know the rest. After two beers, a couple of plates of dried squid and fish and an interesting conversation in Korean / English / body language on the merits of Guus Hiddink, Korea's former soccer coach and now Australia's, it was time for bed.

Tomorrow: On the Road Again.

Life in a Southern Town

With a day to cool my heels in Mokpo awaiting the ferry to Gwanmaedo Isalnd, I decided to saddle up and have a look around this, the most infamous of Korea's port cities.

Squeezed into a small area between the ocean and Udalsan Mountain, Mokpo is laid out helter-skelter and is a tad dirtier than other Korean cities of the same size. Still, this is all part of its charm, especially at night when the bars, clubs, restaurants and motels light up the darkness with their neon signs.

First priority of the day was to locate a bike shop and mechanic capable of tuning a Shimano XTR rear derailleur. Locating a bike shop was easy -- I found four of them. But do you think any of them could work on an XTR? No way.

Most Korean bike mechanics have an extremely limited attention span and to work on something that isn't quite what they're used to, well, that's asking far too much. After one soju-addled adjoshi (uncle) began assaulting the changer with a screwdriver and hammer, I elected to forget about this little exercise in futility and hope that I make Busan without the unit totally failing.

After a quick tour around the city, there's not too much to ground to cover, about 12km in all, I chained up my steed, climbed Udalsan and then headed back down for lunch. Paris Baguette was the venue and I was excited to find what I thought were multi-grain baguettes on sale. A can of tuna later and I was back in motel room ready to feast.

Bitter disappointment was my companion for lunch as I discovered that the baguettes were filled with some red bean paste slime, think that gunk covering the poor unfortunates in any of the "Alien" movies and you'll have a good idea of what I was looking at. After operating on the baguettes and removing the slime, I feasted and watched "The Siege" starring Bruce Willis and Denzel Washington.

While this movie is a train wreck, it was interesting for one reason: the portrayal of Muslims as terrorists having a whale of a time bombing New York City. Released in 1998, the film is oddly prophetic, especally given 9-11 and the invasion of Iraq.

A case of art immitating life or did the writers, Lawrence Wright ("Noriega" and "Sonny's Last Shot"), Menno Meyjes and Edward Zwick, know something that we didn't? Food for thought.

Lunch was followed by afternoon kippage and then another dud of a movie (thanks OCN), "Waterworld."

Panned by critics around the world, I have never seen this movie in its entireity and after making myself sit through it, believe that it really isn't all that bad. Sure the screenplay bites, and yes, the whole concept as offered up to the viewing public is highly implausible but Costner's acting is not that bad and Dennis Hopper as the "Deacon" is brilliant.

In fact monsieur Hopper seemed to be the only one genuinely having fun wth his role out of the entire cast.

Poured over maps for the rest of the day before walking into the city and visiting a surprisingly smoke-free PC room -- an absolute rarity in Korea. Dinner was bibimbap (rice, vegetables, a fried egg and hot sauce mixed together) and goggi mandu -- think meat filled Chinese dumplings.

Tomorrow: One Night in Gwanmaedo.

Finally, the Rock comes back to Jongeup

Jongeup? Why Jongeup I hear you ask. Well, the answer is simple: Jongeup was the scene of my ingnominious KTX (Korea Train Express) departure from Chungcheongnam -- the province which is home to Gochang, a small city just south of Jongeup known for its historic sites and yogwan (motel) owners who have a passion for stealing expensive moutain bikes.

But I digress.

Saturday's journey started inauspiciously, with Korea Rail officials refusing to allow my new Cannondale steed to board their precious Saemaeul train in Yongsan. After much deliberation and good ol' fashioned stubborness, the good guys triumphed and my voyage into Korea's oft-maligned southern region commenced.

The rail journey was relatively quick, just over three hours in total, made all the more pleasureable by two Korea lads, who at the urging of their mother, proceeded to offer me handfuls of dried squid ( a national passion in Korea) and any other snack food they could lay their hands on. I responded in kind by teaching them the time-honoured game of "knuckles" and took great pleasure in watching the older of the two pound his brother's hand into mince meat.

I hope those boys will cherish that game as much as my brothers, and sisters for that matter, hopefully still do.

Disembarked in Jongeup and it was pouring rain. But with lyrics from Billie Myers' "Kiss the Rain" in mind (can't explain why that obscure little song from 1999 popped into my head), I saddled up and hit the road, all the while debating whether to risk visiting Gochang or avoid the dump and any curses that might be placed on my bike by an outraged motel owner whom I will soon be facing in court.

After a moment of deliberation, I elected to head for Mokpo and 133km of pleasant riding through lush green mountainous countryside later, the port town of Mokpo -- also known as Korea's gangster paradise ("They been spending most their lives living in the gangsta's paradise. We keep spending most our lives living in the gangsta's paradise." Gotta love Coolio.) -- was reached.

I ended up spending the next hour or so searching for the passenger ferry terminal, finding not one but five of the facilities -- a fine little Chinese puzzle waiting to be solved tomorrow. My motel is the standard shady affair, costing 30,000 won as the location is "primo." Dinner / breakfast tomorrow, is nothing worth mentioning but I'll do it anyway, tuna, bread, cheese, sultanas, carrot juice, canned peaches and Belgian waffle cookies.

Thoughts for the day:

1. Mokpo is surrounded by mountains and a hell of a town to cycle into. Mountain after mountain after mountain awaits the intrepid cyclist.

2. When buying a bike, road or mountain, spend the money on getting a good frame, it's absolutey worth it.

3. How much tuna can a human being consume? And am I wanted by the tuna FBI for mass murder?

4. Yeongwang is a very pretty little town -- wonderful mountain setting. Very Twin Peaks -- without the David Lynchesque weirdness.

5. Mokpo burghers seem very tough, friendly, but tough.

Tomorrow: Life in a Southern Town.

Tough Guys Don't Cry

Although I was immensely happy to have left the hubris of Seoul behind, my sleep in Mallipo wasn’t as sound as expected. The room was just too hot and poorly ventilated, resulting in a fitful night of tossing and turning, getting up and down to adjust the fan’s speed and a seemingly endless procession of bizarre dreams.

Bizarre dreams have been a feature of my sleep for nearly as long as I can remember with one friend, the London-based “Hunt” (Michael Vanderstoep), once telling me that I had interrupted his 12-hours-per-day minimum of sleep by yelling out in an Irish brogue while we were sharing a room in Vancouver, Canada.

Reminds me of the lyrics from the Indigo Girls song “Galileo.”

“And then you had to bring up reincarnation
Over a couple of beers the other night
And now I'm serving time for mistakes
Made by another in another lifetime”

When I did finally awake, I was groggy and not up for the day ahead, but a quick swim helped sort all that out and within the hour I was packed, backed on my bike and backtracking along the same road that I came in to Mallipo on for Taean.

The ride back to Taean is only short, perhaps 15km at the most, but with a brutal headwind thrown in for laughs, it became a nightmare. Add a little bike trouble into the mix -- the rear derailleur had slipped out of adjustment -- and you have a recipe for a long, slow and painful ride.

After arriving in Taean, I found this dodgy little bike shop care of the local constabulary where I stopped for directions. The owner not only fixed my bike in the blink of an eye, but also threw in a can of coffee for nix.

Lovely fella and a lovely town overall, for those thinking about coming to Korea to teach English, Taean would be a great police to spend a year. Clean, cheap, friendly and not far away from Seoul while being close to the beach and Anmyeon Island.

Sorted out breakfast at a mini-mart down the road -- tuna and rice triangles washed down with a couple of complimentary strawberry juice and blends, and then it was time to saddle up and make haste for Yeongmok, situated on the most southerly tip of Anmyeon Island.

What started out looking to be a prefect day from the comfort of my chair in front of the mini-mart, turned out in fact to be a Kafkaesque nightmare, with searing heat, high humidity and outrageous headwinds combining to create the single most miserable conditions that I have ever experienced while cycling. This was so bad that it made Vancouver’s freezing cold rain squalls seem like a walk in the park by comparison.

After about two hours of hard slog, I had travelled about 25km and at one point while freewheeling down a very steep hill; I attained the death-defying speed of 12km per hour. The only positive was that the countryside on Anmyeon Island is absolutely stunning. Everywhere you look you see mountains, hills, lush green vegetation, brightly coloured flowers, sparkling streams, lakes and of course, rice paddies.

Emerald green is the colour that stays with you as a constant while your moving through the countryside, interspersed with splashes of blue for water and the bright yellows and reds of the flowers sprinkled across the landscape as if a great handful of hundreds and thousands, (sprinkles, nonpareils or jimmies depending on which part of the world you’re from) have been scattered in the wind and fallen where they may. I’m told that this island is renown for its flower festivals during season, and after seeing what grows wild, can only imagine the results specialty growers must obtain.

The Beach Road tracking the western coastline of Anmyeon is great scenic tour and a must for those visiting the island. Its beaches are incredibly long and wide with off-white sand and on this day, a lot of surf. As it turned out, there was a typhoon in the area which may explain this phenomenon as several foreigners have mentioned to me that there is “no surf in Anmyeon.” One friend from England, Leigh from Busan, even went so far as to say that “it’s impossible for there to be surf at Anmyeon because there’s not enough space between Korea and China for the waves to build up.” Hmm ... he’s an Englishman; say no more.

By the time I conquered the last major hill climb leading up to Yeongmok, I had had enough, feeling like it was 300km I had worked through as opposed to the shamefully low 78km. Arriving at Yeongmok Harbour, I hunted around for the ferry which would take me to Dacheon on the mainland only to discover that it had been cancelled due to the typhoon and no one had any idea when the service would restart.

But just as I was about to set off and find a yogwan for the night, I noticed an over-sized speedboat taking on passengers at the far end of the dock. Quickly cycling over, I asked the captain where he was going and although his reply made absolutely no sense, I agreed to the 10,000 won fare and dragged my bike and myself onboard for parts unknown.

As it turned out it was a good decision and in 30 minutes, I was standing on the shoreline of Jango Island, an islet located off the western coast of Anmyeon in the Yellow Sea.

Covered with low-lying scrub and fringed by a rocky shoreline, Jango Island is a tiny fishing community which 350 residents call “home.” It has several beaches with coarse sand but its waters are cool with small waves and on this day, quite clear and free of the floating debris common to these parts.

I’m not sure where all the rubbish in the Yellow Sea comes from. Many would blame China, and given that country’s deplorable track record on environmental matters, I’d be inclined to agree. What a shame that such a massive country is being allowed to not only destroy its own environment but the rest of the worlds too. I wonder how long it will be before someone stands up to these global polluters, forcing them to understand that they aren’t the only humans on the face of this planet.

Actually, these thoughts brought a smile to my face as I was cycling into Jangodo’s sole village, reminding me of an alcohol-fuelled conversation that I had with Stephen Downing, an intense but extremely interesting American who has spent a lot of time in Central Asia. I was advocating a limited US nuclear strike and full-scale invasion of the Chinese mainland to bring an end to their selfish destruction of the globe’s environment (the hypocrisy is brilliant: drop a nuclear weapon and start a war to bring an end to pollution). His response was a table-thumping beauty, bellowing that the US was involved in enough “quagmires” (pronounced kwaagmires) and didn’t need to add another one to the list.

Still, it poses an interesting question doesn’t it? As the Chinese don’t give a damn about anyone else except for themselves, economic success and attaining superpower status (such an outdated goal in this day and age), it makes you wonder how long it will be before the US, or a declining Russia, is drawn into a showdown with this dangerously ambitious lot. I suspect that our only hope is that Chinese will implode in another civil war as their growing number of have-nots decides that enough is enough and take control of the country. I’d be interested to know my mum’s -- a fervent Chinaphile and full-time apologist for Chinese behaviour – thoughts on this issue.

But back to Jango Island.

After reaching the village, I stumbled across a small shop and found a sun-withered old man (I later discovered he was the island chief’s father) who eagerly set up a night’s accommodation for me. A phone call later and his son, a grinning Mr Pyun Jr., the self-described “King of Jango,” pulled into town in a bright yellow Sogang University Language Program (SLP) mini-van (oh my hell, not SLP! Derek if you’re reading this, trust me brother, the irony was immense) and we set off along a winding scrub track for his mimbak (basic room which may or may not have its own bathroom and toilet facilities).

Planted right on the edge of the shore, Mr Pyun’s mimbak compound consists of several multi-room bungalows simple in design and construction, this was a genuine no-frills Korean accommodation adventure which every foreigner should experience at some point during a visit to the land of the morning calm.

No view, a few mats, pillows, a fan, a television and a bare-bones bathroom was all that was on offer, but at 35,000 won – including two gargantuan sized meals (served in a dining room with an unbeatable view of the ocean) and a pick-up and drop-off service to the ferry – it represents good value for money.

The afternoon was spent swimming and relaxing on a Korean low-table under a shady tree reading Rebecca West’s tome, “Black Lamb and Grey Falcon.” Dinner – a simple but mouth wateringly delicious tuna and kimchi jigaye (stew) was served at around 6.00 p.m. in an oceanfront dining room with a crème de la crème view of the sunset.

Korea’s West Coast is renown for its sunsets and today was no different, illuminating Jango Island’s numerous rocky outcrops dotted along its coastline, superimposed against a fading orange sky. I finished my last mouthful as the pale blue twilight faded into darkness.

Dinner was followed by a slow stroll along 500m of beach (at low tide about a kilometre of Jango Island’s beach is exposed to the elements), stopping her and there to observe its teeming marine life, and an evening of chatting with the king and his female offsiders, all students at various non-Seoul universities around the country.

Even though our conversation took place pretty much in Korean, I understood that my host was very critical of Guus Hiddink, expressing an opinion that echoed by many of his countrymen that the Dutchman simply got lucky with the team and was no coaching genius. Mr Pyun also repeatedly expressed his amazement that I was visiting his island as hardly any foreigners have been here in the past.

We downed two bottles of soju, a plate of fresh sora (a large edible sea snail caught on the beach in front of the mimbak – chewy and bland but served with hot sauce) and slapped about a million moggies (mosquitoes) until it was time for bed.

Tomorrow: If at first you fail.

Easy Riding

Awoke refreshed and ready to hit the road at around 9.00 a.m. A quick breakfast consisting of last night’s leftovers and I was down the steps, out the door and on my bike in less than 20 minutes. The weather was fantastic; hot but with the slightest of breezes and a slightly cloudy sky – fantastic conditions for riding.

To my immense surprise, I quickly discovered that I had a slight tailwind that pushed my average speed up over 25km per hour, making the early morning struggle out of Asan, Dogo and Yesan into the neighbouring Sapgyo region an absolute joy. Which is a good thing considering that I had cycled 118km yesterday and that that was the longest amount of time that I had ever spent in the saddle.

Sapgyo is a picturesque hamlet worth mentioning because it is very old world Korea and has a genuine rustic charm about it. The roads are narrow, flanked by overhanging trees and hemmed in on both sides by rice paddies extending back to thickly forested mountains. I’m not sure of the names of these mountains or the range, but a map I was using indicated that I was in the vicinity of and would indeed ride through Deoksan National Park.

There’s not much in the way of industry or residential development in these parts, but I did see an interesting looking little jang-seung (Korean totem pole) workshop cum restaurant by the side of the road that definitely warrants a return visit at some point in time.

Korean totem poles are usually over 7-feet-tall with frightening expressions and can be seen in male-female pairs at the entrance to a village. They’re used to scare to off evil and can be sighted regularly at all points of the country. I suspect this will be the place that I place my order for a couple of custom made totem poles I plan on having shipped home before I leave Korea. There’s no particular reason why, just a gut feeling.

Lunch was enjoyed behind a small supermarket near Deoksan and a friendly local adjoshi (uncle), made sure that I washed lettuce and tomatoes before he allowed me to eat in peace. The view of the mountains and countryside were spectacular. Nearly as spectacular as the peach juice that I washed this feast down with.

After half-a-day of easy riding, I finally made it into Deoksan National Park and was confronted with my first serious hill climb of the trip. Up and up and up I went with no respite, but fortunately there was no headwind and the incline wasn’t nightmarishly steep. The descent was a true joy, allowing me to slowly wind down through the valley while taking note of the environmental vandalism being perpetrated by the Korean Department of Main Roads on the countryside.

The valley that I was descending through was very deep with a lakes and rivers running along its length. Unfortunately for the locals, the government has decided to construct a superhighway and or KTX line along the upper heights of the valley’s mountains, resulting in ugly scarring that detracts from its pristine appearance. Worse to come was a bizarre 70s-highway-overpass length that had been planted in the water on the edge of a lake so to smooth the old road’s winding course. While I could possibly understand the superhighway and or KTX line’s construction, there was no need for this monstrosity which looks as out of sorts as skyscraper in the middle of a rice paddy.

Descending from the mountains and leaving Deoksan National Park, the ride into Seosan was hot and hellish. My energy levels had bottomed out and seeing a dead dog’s bloated carcass lying in the gutter on the outskirts of town gave me a very bad feeling indeed. After another 20 minutes of cycling through the city’s extremely unappealing urban landscape, I was back in a semi-rural setting and on my way to Taean, which I had planned on staying for the evening before heading out for Mallipo on the West Coast the next day.

As luck would have it, my energy levels had begun lifting after leaving Seosan, courtesy of a bottle of Gatorade, and despite a torrential downpour that saw the debut of my rain gear and pannier covers, I powered on through some of them most beautiful countryside that I have seen in Korea. Lush green fore hills and rice paddies, jungle-vegetated mountains, salt marshes and tropical flowers were everywhere, combining to produce scenery that you would more expect to see in Vietnam than Korea. Add a strong wind rippling through the rice shoots, carrying the fresh smell of the ocean and I found myself asking: “Is this paradise?”

But paradise has its darkside and mine came when a link in my new chain (Shimano XTR) fouled and I had to stop under an apple tree and spend the next hour trying to change it over. Fortunately, the owner of the bike shop where I’ve been shopping for the past year, Mr. Lim, had convinced me to buy a chain link-changing tool, which after a lot of screwing around with, proved to be my savior.

Back on the road again, it wasn’t too much further until I reached Mallipo Beach, which truly is an authentic Korean beach town. After 108km of cycling, most of it stunning countryside, I was seeing row after row of shanty shacks selling food, schlitzy amusements better suited to a carnival with everything insanely overpriced.

For example, a 2-litre bottle of water will set you back 3,000 won, while a shellfish meal consisting of what most Australians would consider fit only for baiting your fishing hook, 30,000 won. An undersized barbecued chicken, 10,000 won and a bottle of soju, 5,000 won.

This was Hades in terms of price gouging and an example of why the Korean National Tourist Organization (KNTO) needs to step in and close these seasonal hucksters down, rescuing the country’s tourist industry from their clutches before its lost forever.

The beach at Mallipo was close to first-rate and definitely better than the descriptions I’d heard prior to heading west. It had waves, was relatively clean and while the water wasn’t clear – that’s the Yellow Sea for you – there wasn’t garbage floating in it like what you’d see in Busan.

I spent several hours swimming that afternoon, as it was the first time that I’d seen surf since arriving in Korea. And I wasn’t alone -- a fortysomething foreigner was riding a Malibu, fairly well I might add, -- much to the local’s delight. Definitely a bizarre occurrence in this part of the world as there aren’t many surf beaches in Korea.

My accommodation for the evening was a beachfront mimbak with shared faciltites and as with everything else in Mallipo: overpriced. Thirty thousand won bought me a small room with a useless TV, thin matting and a rickety fan that was on its last legs. Still, I was on the beachfront and could listen to the waves crashing on the shore as I fell asleep.

A word for the wise, Mallipo Beach out of season or at the end / beginning of summer is a fantastic place to visit. During peak season, avoid like the plague as this place would be hell on earth, inundated by millions of cityslickers.

Also, if you’re thinking of visiting, it’s probably better to stay in the countryside and travel to the beach by bike or car -- the setting is far more idyllic.

Tomorrow: Tough Guys Don't Cry

Let the Ride Commence

The first day, a Sunday, started off by struggling with overloaded panniers and manhandling my bike down four flights of stairs to the road. To describe myself and hot, sweaty and highly irritated would have been an understatement. But as with most things in life, struggle pays off and before long I was out amongst the relatively light Seoul Sunday traffic and always heavy smog enroute to parts unknown.

That's the beautiful thing about cycling, or simply going anywhere in Seoul, even when you think that you've got it all down pat, one wrong or unexpected turn delivers to all whole new world where right is wrong and up is down. As Kevin Costner playing New Orleans DA Jim Garrison in Oliver Stone's epic 'JFK' said, 'we're through the looking glass here, people.'

But forget conspiracy theories and the shooters on the grassy knowl, navigating the roads around Seoul isn't that much of a conundrum, it just requires patience and the willingness to make a lot of wrong turns before eventually finding your way. Kind of like life really ... but enough with the barber shop philospophical analogies, this blog's about what happens to a cyclist on the roads of Korea.

The first leg, and possibly the most difficult, saw me cycle 118km from Seoul to Asan, and oh my hell, it was difficult. Heat, humuidity, hunger and constantly stopping to check my maps to ensure that I was on the right road condemned me to a nine hour stint in the saddle. Nine hours for 118km was a cruel result but by the time I reached the outskirts of Asan, it truly was worth it.

As saddle sore as my arse was, the beauty of the rice paddies, the mountains and the pine forests more than compensated for any physical discomfort I was experiencing. Stopping to enjoy an incredibly sweet peach at a roadside fruit stall, I realised that living in an environment such as Seoul's where you are surrounded by concrete and bitumen is a very very bad thing: It's time for a change.

But before the day's ride was over, I detoured into the mountians of Asan in search of the town's fabled hot springs. Although finding the general area was easy, more yogwans ('love motels') than you could poke a stick at, I couldn't actually see the hot springs. That's one of the biggest problems with Korean place of interest road signs -- you'll see them for miles before but once you hit the area, they disappear, leaving you high and dry.

After a 10km detour through the mountains -- beautiful riding but this wasn't taking my saddle pain away -- it was back on the highway to Asan. Fortunately, I entered the city though the 'gates of sin' and found the yogwan area immediately. Less than 10 minutes later, I was disembarked and enjoying the air conditioned comfort of my room with no view, save for the Korea soft-core porn channel, and the hardness of my circular bed.

The interesting thing about Korean soft-porn movies isn't so much the action, or some would say, there lack of, but more the selection of accompanying music. In the brief, and yes I do mean brief moment that I was watching, I noted that Roxtte's 'Dressed for Success' was playing as the male lead tore his female co-star's clothing off. Who said that Korean soft-porn directors don't have a sense of humour?

As far as love motels go, this one was a good 'un with complimentary condoms, lubricant and bedside-controlled spot lighting in an exciting shade of muted red.

I was too tired to hunt around for dinner, so it was a simple spread of tuna and bread, washed down with a bottle of juice, a can of Asahi Super Dry ("Karakuchi") and a bag of prawn crackers. Post-dinner entertainment was lame, with not even a page of Rebecca West's 20th century classic, "Black Lamb and Grey Falcon" finished.

Tomorrow: Easy Riding.

Motivations

Working in Seoul since March 2002 has left me suffering from a very serious case of big-city blues. It's time to put what I suspect is becoming a case of malsise about Korea behind me and get out and explore this country, its culture and people. What better way to renergise and develop a positive outlook than by saddling up on my alloy steed and taking to the backstreets and country roads of western / south-western Korea en route to Busan?

For most foreigners residing in the land of the morning calm, not only haven't they ventured very far out of Seoul, one of north-east Asia's greatest megalopolis, but the proposition is about as appealing as having a handful of kimchi rubbed in their eyes. You'll always hear how the city "is a horrible place" and absolutely representative of Korea. But in my humble opinion, nothing could be further from the truth.

Seoul is not Korea and Seoulites are not typical of Koreans. For me, the reality is that Seoul is a second-class city -- in international terms anyway -- trying desperately to take a step up and prove that it's all that and more.

Lacking a soul, pardon the pun, as a result of devastation during the Korean War, it's basically a sea of concrete apartment complexes illuminated by mesmerising neon lights and interspersed with snaking freeways. The occasional splash of sanity-preserving green space still survives and believe it or not, are actually growing at the behest of the Seoul Metropolitan Government's greening policies.

As with any big city suffering from the weight of population pressure, a plethora of changes are underway and the Seoul that we know today will be a much more habitable, if not completely unrecognisable place by the time 2010 rolls around.

But I digress: In a nutshell, I need to undertake this trip because it represents a massive physical challenge, a fantastic way to recharge my batteries and a means to discovering the "real Korea."

Cycling Equipment List

Bike -- Specialized Rockhopper Comp (full Shimano XT upgrade) and clipless pedals
Computer -- Cateye CC-CD300DW
Lights -- Cateye front (opti Power Cube) and rear (standard disco-flashing edition)
Rack -- Old Man Mountain Red Rock
Panniers -- Arkel XM-45 (45 litres)
Shoes -- Diadora Caymano
Shorts -- Specialized
Jersey -- MEC
Gloves -- MEC
Eyewear -- no-name Taiwan clear cheapies
Helmet -- Alpina

Tomorrow: Let the Ride Commence.