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| A Woman's Directory For Travel and Life. WAVE Journey is your one stop online resource for women oriented businesses and services around the world. WAVE Journey is for every woman to enjoy. If you love to travel, cook, read or revel in outdoor activities this website is for you. If you are looking to connect with other like-minded women or if you are interested in finding businesses or services that cater to women, WAVE Journey is your number one online resource. South Korea: Journey Beyond the End of the Earth: A Sunset in Pyonsan ~ Article by Tamara |
| WAVE Journey |
| Women's Adventures, Vacations & Experiences ~ Your Journey Starts Here! |
BIO: Tamara is an elementary school teacher in Seoul with a BA in Anthropology from
Pomona College in Claremont, California. She studied in Nepal as part of the
Anthropology degree. In addition, she has an Ed.M. degree from the Harvard Graduate
School of Education, and there she worked on a learning intervention involving Chinese
characters in Korean: “Hanja via Cartoons.” She lived in Korea for nearly 4 years total,
the first year with a Korean family. Her writing appeared in the Korea Herald and was
selected in the Seoul Metro Writing Contest.
Pomona College in Claremont, California. She studied in Nepal as part of the
Anthropology degree. In addition, she has an Ed.M. degree from the Harvard Graduate
School of Education, and there she worked on a learning intervention involving Chinese
characters in Korean: “Hanja via Cartoons.” She lived in Korea for nearly 4 years total,
the first year with a Korean family. Her writing appeared in the Korea Herald and was
selected in the Seoul Metro Writing Contest.
One week after the start of summer the sun sets late in the coastal town of Pyonsan , on
South Korea ’s Southwestern coast, somewhere around 8 o’clock. It is just at sunset, the
sun a golden orb, shining through the clouds near the horizon.
The local bus arrives at the station, just a dusty mom and pop convenience store really,
where they sell bus tickets at the counter, as the sun dips down towards the sea. At first
it seems the hill in front of the bus station will mean missing the last glorious rays of the
sun for lack of a proper place to view the event, but following some of the locals through
a maze of brightly lit fish restaurants in the dim have of evening means coming out on the
dockside of a marina where a fleet of small fishing craft bump against one another in the
coming night.
The other bus passengers somehow disappeared along the way, into the fish
restaurants, down the winding streets and alleyways. Yet now on the opposite side of
the marina a boardwalk is in view under a low bluff, leading out for perhaps ½ km to the
rock breakwaters that establish the end of this man-made harbor before the sea beyond.
Reaching a place to watch this sunset means practically running the entire way, down the
boardwalk after passing the cars, passenger plane, fighter planes, large cargo ship, in
retirement, parked before the start of the wooden walkway. This is an impromptu non-
sequitor, a reminder of war and business and transportation, ironic given the pedestrian’
s sprint down this boardwalk in the primitive’s search for the commemoration of the sun
as it disappears beneath the flat and uncompromising line of the sea. Sitting on one of
the concrete blocks of this breakwater, with a handful of domestic tourists, who stand in
a sort of line by the boardwalk handrail, cell phone cameras all raised to capture the
event; indeed there is a glorious flash of gold and a sun growing larger and larger as it
approaches the unwavering line of watery night, before the ocean waters swallow it
whole, leaving behind a bright afterglow and a puff of cool breeze.
Back down the boardwalk, somewhat later, the planes, the boat are in dim light, enough
to see the numbers painted large on the boat’s side, spaced out from one end to the
other: 1,2,3, 5678. The planes, the boat, are reminders in this primitive moment of
commemorating the sun, that it was not always that man is able to see beyond the edge
of the earth, to see where the sun goes as it disappears, taking with it the gold in the
sky the heat of the day, the light of rational experience; indeed this odd assemblage of
vehicles is a reminder of the pernicious problem of wanting ever better ways to reach
that glowing disk that disappears each day with the coming of night.
A gregarious, carnival-like atmosphere prevails on this Saturday night in Pyonsan.
Families banter loudly in the minbak, the simple travelers’ lodging near the shore, which
are already booked for the night. Windows are open, interiors brightly lit, letting in the
sea air. A multi-story fish market, a blocky, rectangular building with repetitive windows,
has baskets and buckets and tanks of ocean life awaiting the visitor’s palate.
There is an amusement park featuring, most prominently, a “Viking” ride, a ship that
swings from side to side while the lights in the letters “V-I-K-I-N-G” blink on and off, near
the road, past a concession stand. The letter “K” stays on. Next to that there is the town
grocery store.
Yet further down the road there is A+Mart, a mom-and-pop shop on the beachfront,
vending the amenities of enjoyment for a visit to the sea, the odd snacks and options for
inebriation, sun hats and tee shirts, fire crackers and fishing tackle. In particular gas lamp
tops are on one shelf in red capsules that open by screwing on, one large black one
among them.
Past a few coastal pines is the sound of the surf against the shore in the rapidly
darkened landscape. The next morning reveals a small beach there with nobody
swimming, but offering breathtaking views of coastal islands, partly obscured by haze. A
trek up the knoll-like hill that threatened to block out the sunset the night before, ends at
a newly-renovated gazebo that yields a fine view of the “transit museum” in the marina
and offshore, island scenery.
The map shows the rest of the real national park to lie in the hills nearby, a few
kilometers away, Byeonsanbando. Yet, in the interest of time, the weekend trip outside
of Seoul , the need to avoid the late-Sunday traffic returning to Seoul , it will remain an
undiscovered country.
The return busride, along the coastal highway, is a breathtaking meditation on mountains
and sea. At on point fifty or more jangsung, the carved wooded figures, usually a
humorous, cartoon-like face with a protruding hat, carved Chinese writing in a body that
turns into a post as it touches the sand. In the old days these stool at the entrances of
small villages in the countryside. A group of these stood in a group in the dunes, looking
out over the islands and the sea, taking the best beach front for themselves, a brave
group against the open coastal plain rising to nearby mountains, past fields of mid-
summer agriculture. They speak to the tradition of Korean Shamanism that predates the
arrival of both the imported Buddhist and Christian traditions.
Then a short bus ride later, it is back through the bucolic rice paddies to the tower
apartments, row shops and crowded bus station of Jeungeup, to catch the bus back to
Seoul.
For more information about this charming destination, visit the national park website at:
www.knps.or.kr/pyonsan
South Korea ’s Southwestern coast, somewhere around 8 o’clock. It is just at sunset, the
sun a golden orb, shining through the clouds near the horizon.
The local bus arrives at the station, just a dusty mom and pop convenience store really,
where they sell bus tickets at the counter, as the sun dips down towards the sea. At first
it seems the hill in front of the bus station will mean missing the last glorious rays of the
sun for lack of a proper place to view the event, but following some of the locals through
a maze of brightly lit fish restaurants in the dim have of evening means coming out on the
dockside of a marina where a fleet of small fishing craft bump against one another in the
coming night.
The other bus passengers somehow disappeared along the way, into the fish
restaurants, down the winding streets and alleyways. Yet now on the opposite side of
the marina a boardwalk is in view under a low bluff, leading out for perhaps ½ km to the
rock breakwaters that establish the end of this man-made harbor before the sea beyond.
Reaching a place to watch this sunset means practically running the entire way, down the
boardwalk after passing the cars, passenger plane, fighter planes, large cargo ship, in
retirement, parked before the start of the wooden walkway. This is an impromptu non-
sequitor, a reminder of war and business and transportation, ironic given the pedestrian’
s sprint down this boardwalk in the primitive’s search for the commemoration of the sun
as it disappears beneath the flat and uncompromising line of the sea. Sitting on one of
the concrete blocks of this breakwater, with a handful of domestic tourists, who stand in
a sort of line by the boardwalk handrail, cell phone cameras all raised to capture the
event; indeed there is a glorious flash of gold and a sun growing larger and larger as it
approaches the unwavering line of watery night, before the ocean waters swallow it
whole, leaving behind a bright afterglow and a puff of cool breeze.
Back down the boardwalk, somewhat later, the planes, the boat are in dim light, enough
to see the numbers painted large on the boat’s side, spaced out from one end to the
other: 1,2,3, 5678. The planes, the boat, are reminders in this primitive moment of
commemorating the sun, that it was not always that man is able to see beyond the edge
of the earth, to see where the sun goes as it disappears, taking with it the gold in the
sky the heat of the day, the light of rational experience; indeed this odd assemblage of
vehicles is a reminder of the pernicious problem of wanting ever better ways to reach
that glowing disk that disappears each day with the coming of night.
A gregarious, carnival-like atmosphere prevails on this Saturday night in Pyonsan.
Families banter loudly in the minbak, the simple travelers’ lodging near the shore, which
are already booked for the night. Windows are open, interiors brightly lit, letting in the
sea air. A multi-story fish market, a blocky, rectangular building with repetitive windows,
has baskets and buckets and tanks of ocean life awaiting the visitor’s palate.
There is an amusement park featuring, most prominently, a “Viking” ride, a ship that
swings from side to side while the lights in the letters “V-I-K-I-N-G” blink on and off, near
the road, past a concession stand. The letter “K” stays on. Next to that there is the town
grocery store.
Yet further down the road there is A+Mart, a mom-and-pop shop on the beachfront,
vending the amenities of enjoyment for a visit to the sea, the odd snacks and options for
inebriation, sun hats and tee shirts, fire crackers and fishing tackle. In particular gas lamp
tops are on one shelf in red capsules that open by screwing on, one large black one
among them.
Past a few coastal pines is the sound of the surf against the shore in the rapidly
darkened landscape. The next morning reveals a small beach there with nobody
swimming, but offering breathtaking views of coastal islands, partly obscured by haze. A
trek up the knoll-like hill that threatened to block out the sunset the night before, ends at
a newly-renovated gazebo that yields a fine view of the “transit museum” in the marina
and offshore, island scenery.
The map shows the rest of the real national park to lie in the hills nearby, a few
kilometers away, Byeonsanbando. Yet, in the interest of time, the weekend trip outside
of Seoul , the need to avoid the late-Sunday traffic returning to Seoul , it will remain an
undiscovered country.
The return busride, along the coastal highway, is a breathtaking meditation on mountains
and sea. At on point fifty or more jangsung, the carved wooded figures, usually a
humorous, cartoon-like face with a protruding hat, carved Chinese writing in a body that
turns into a post as it touches the sand. In the old days these stool at the entrances of
small villages in the countryside. A group of these stood in a group in the dunes, looking
out over the islands and the sea, taking the best beach front for themselves, a brave
group against the open coastal plain rising to nearby mountains, past fields of mid-
summer agriculture. They speak to the tradition of Korean Shamanism that predates the
arrival of both the imported Buddhist and Christian traditions.
Then a short bus ride later, it is back through the bucolic rice paddies to the tower
apartments, row shops and crowded bus station of Jeungeup, to catch the bus back to
Seoul.
For more information about this charming destination, visit the national park website at:
www.knps.or.kr/pyonsan