My friends, this is Korea.

            It was my first big girl trip outta town. I have been here over a month now- I have to say honestly (and almost embarrassingly) I have unusually dragged my feet to adventure much further than to work and back from the American oasis that exists inside my apartment. 

This sort of hermitting is not my style, but somewhere between my foreigner celebrity (that every foreigner has here), my incapability to communicate with anyone, and realization that I'm in no hurry to see a place I won't be leaving for a very long time; it has made me slow going to, well, go anywhere. I mean really, what's the rush? But alas, the sixth week came and with it an invitation that even the most timid of travelers could not pass up: The Boryeong Mud Festival. 

    Boryeong (which is known for its therapeutic and precious supply of coastal mud) is a usually sleepy town on the west coast of South Korea. Once a year it erupts into a week long mud extravaganza where foreigners and Koreans alike congregate to its little seashore to bask in the sun, swim in the waves, and (of course) roll in the mud. I decided with out much debate that this event was worthy of an inauguration. 

    My trip would entail my first Korean rail ride to Deajeon, one of the larger cities in South Korea. There I would meet up with a few friends of friends who were driving by car to the coast.

The train ride was almost poetic: an accelerated silent glide at dusk through rice pattys and reflective riversides. I was seated next to a young boy who was yet another enthusiastic beginner English student. He kept taking my picture on his camera phone and passing me handfuls of fruit. He reiterated the usual "Konglish" (the term for the Korean/English blend coined by English teachers country-wide.) repertoire of "Hi how are you. . .  so nice to meet you, what is your name ....etc" again and again.  I kept fumbling for my ticket and re-checking the printed arrival time as if it was going to magically change mid-commute. Korea time, for most things, is in the 24hour clock which is (for those of you who know me, know how I am with numbers so you can imagine how) confusing, but I arrived safely and punctually. Shortly after a cab ride to a well lit high rise large apartment complex, I was being buzzed into my weekend hosts' home. 

    My hosts were two Canadian English teachers, a married couple of nine years. They had just returned from an epic trip six month trip through South East Asia with their three year old daughter. She was an amazing creature who had seen more of the world at age three than most of us see our entire lives. She is also becoming bilingual at a pace her mom is struggling to keep up with. First thing the next morning and peering barely out of one eye, I encountered her hovering over me with wide and curious crystal blue eyes. She asked quite frankly and in close proximity, "What's your name?"

    My hosts made an amazing breakfast of omelet, bacon, and toast. Koreans don't have breakfast, well not eggs and bacon breakfast, they have rice and kimchi -fermented cabbage. (Truth be told, Koreans have rice and kimchi with everything all the time) so even in only a little more than a month, a Western style breakfast is a savory treat and perfect beginning to a strange phenomenon known as "The Mud Festival. 

   We dropped the little bilingual monster off at close family member's house for an overnight stay. She kept asking where we were going to which her parents would only reply " A place that is NOOOOO fun." Soon after we were off down the windy country road that led to the beach. 

    It was a carpool/caravan of motorbikes and car with myself, my host, and her friend inside. Her friend, who was Aboriginal Canadian, was also a ESL teacher and was refreshingly crazy, the good crazy, the crazy 'my life is so much more charismatic when you're around kinda crazy'. On our way out the door, I asked her if she had everything and she emphatically grabbed her crotched and exclaimed "Well, I got my puss!" In the twenty four hours I spent with this girl,  I witnessed her, amongst other things, chase strangers down the board walk wielding an empty 40oz plastic beer bottle threatening to spank them and meander through the community hotel room full of strangers, freshly showered and buck naked casually searching for her towel. 

    The car ride was filled with friendly questions posed by individuals who barely knew each other but were spending the weekend together like a distant family reunion. We wound are way through unmarked bends in the road and lane endings and after the last sharp turn at large water park we were at the beach! 

    We parked and unanimously decided is was beer -thirty. We stopped by the nearest mart for a cold one for all. It was one of the best tasting beer I had had in awhile. We walked and drank. The beach was hot, and air was sticky and sun was out, so we quickly emptied our beers and slid down the beach into the cool salty water. 

    For the first time since I had been to Korea I saw white people, a lot of white people. Well they were white people- covered in mud. Everyone was covered in mud! It was out some strange Julie Taymour film. The mud covered people's skin in thick layers, making it appear as if I was surrounded by moving statues. There was a huge stage with live music, umbrella-ed tables with bowls of green-grey mud and brushes, mud kiddie pools and inflatable slides, colored mud, and mud prison. There were thousands of people there getting muddy. Getting muddy, jumping in the ocean, getting clean and getting muddy again. 

    We were at the colored mud tent slowly covering ourselves in patterns and pictures in red, blue, orange, and green mud when a boisterous parade passed by us in ceremonial percussions. Koreans in traditional creature masks and white costumes marched and danced in synchronicity slowly twirling by. I was experiencing a sensory overload: the soft brushes painting my body, the cool mud on my face, the rich colors and sounds of the parade in front of me, the warm beer in my belly, the hot salty ocean air. My friends, this is Korea. 

     Later that evening I sat oceanside drinking libations amongst other expats exchanging stories of who we were and how we got here. Spontaneously, a spectacular fireworks display began over the water. Into the wee hours of the morning we sat in the sand listening to the surf and taking in the still, surreal perfection of the day. Suddenly and with out warning, the sky opened up down poured on our small camp. We scattered into the night realizing there was no where to go for shelter from the dumping rain. I learned one of many valuable lessons on this trip: tread easy and lightly in South Asia, you never know what kind of weather you will encounter. 

      A few stragglers and myself huddled sloppily under an umbrella we discovered outside of a mini-stop hoping the rain would pass which didn't. I was possibly more soaked thru than I had ever been before and I sat wringing my skirt uselessly from the tropical rain. We waited for the slightest break and made a run for it. I lept over and charged thru giant puddles impeding my path all the way back to the room. I arduously but barely dried out and lumbered to my designated blanket and pillow. (Usually, there are not beds in hotels in Korea, you sleep on the floor) It was 4 am and I believe I was snoring before my head hit the pillow. Thank you mud. Thank you rain. Thank you Korea.