It was my first camping trip in Korea. I was curious to how this experience was going to pan out. It took us 2 taxis, one train and a very precarious bus ride up a mountain to get there. We were dropped off on the side of the road in a virtually abandoned village. It was Chusok weekend which means the Thanksgiving of Korean holidays. It was great for an empty campsite but not so much for camping provisions, and as the bus sped away I wondered if we had not just made a very bad decision. But, thankfully and almost immediately, we were picked up by some of the other foreigners who had the resources to rent a car for the weekend. The campsite was basic in a small valley surrounded by dark green lush mountains and only a minute walk to arguably the most perfect river I have ever frolicked in. We BBQ'ed over Korean grills, ate Ramen for breakfast and spent most of the day between a dead man's float and amazing rock formation discovery. The campsite was neightbor to the largest honey farm I had ever seen, yet extrordinarily, the bees left us quite alone. I met a wonderful group of Native teachers. At the campfire that night, I looked around: the New Zealander was playing guitar, the Canadians were singing, the South African was tapping her toes, the Australian was drinking (well, we all were), the Englishman was smiling, and I was feeling right at home.
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