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.