So I've been trying to convince Meg to write a post, but she's too busy. I'll step up to the plate for her. Her facial expression in this picture is tell all. Here is what she was thinking:
"I've gotten one! YES!!! That was the most miserable thing in my life, but I GOT ONE! Where's Chris, I have to show him the fish that I caught with my blue, on the verge of frost bitten hands. OH YEAH, that little pansy left during the first wave of cowards! He talks so much trash, but can't back it up. Oh my, I'm freezing, but this was so worth it."
Yes, that pretty much sums up what was going on in Meg's head. Calling me out, which, I deserve.
After the miserableness they call barehanded fishing, we headed out to our sleeping accommodation, and for the first time in my life I felt like a refugee. (insert your shower joke here, can we move on? Are you finished?) Tired, cold, and beat down from the day's festivities (I'm staring at you ice soccer) we took a bus to our cabin campground. There were about 60 foreigners spilt up in two buses. We headed for the mountains, but remember this was a frosty weekend. The roads were so icy, so the bus could not take us to our cabins.
The tour guide told us to grab our stuff, because we had to walk for "seven minutes" up the mountain to our cabin. I just woke up too, and it was pitch black and I was in the f-ing mountains. Confused, I totally thought that this was normal. What's a 7 minute walk anyway?
Well, that 7 minutes quickly turned into 25 minutes. 25 minutes of wondering where the hell am I, and where the hell am I going to lay my head tonight. All of us were just so physically drained that we looked like a pack of refugee's in the mountains. We were endlessly climbing up this steep, narrow, curvy gravel road, while holding everything we owned. It was such a alien sight, and I felt like a refugee.
Maybe even more amazing was the actual pitch black. I haven't seen actual darkness in my six months of living in Seoul. With all these damn neon signs, it's impossible. My apartment is very similar to Kramer's situation in New York, only sub Kenny Roger's Chicken with a place called Mr. Lonely. I think you know what Mr. Lonely is... (besides a place I frequent very often...)
So in the seclusion of mountains, I got the peace of actual darkness. The rest of the night was spent around a bonfire drinking, eating pulled pork, roasting marshmallows, and the normal debates like, "Yes, I agree your football should be called FOOTBALL, but that doesn't make it anymore exciting and certainly not better than my football." or "You say brilliant just like we say awesome, if we ruined the word awesome, then you have certainly ruined brilliant."
The next day brought sunshine and one hell of a hike. This hike was explained to us as moderate, but it was anything but moderate. The grade was steep as hell, and the snow was packed down so far that it was just a solid sheet of ice. The hike was so strenuous that I sweated more than john Roe even in the midst of Attic weather. And, the only way to go down the steep mountain was on your arse.
Once again the facial expression says it all.I was thinking, "Holy shit this fun, but oh my God, my tailbone was fractured from ice soccer yesterday, and SHIT!! Mommy?"
-This picture is the only photo evidence of my plunge into the frigid waters. I'm all the way on the left, no doubt hating myself for the dumb decision that I just made.
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