Heart-Shaped

Whyyyy can't I be a sun goddess? In Korea, it's desirable to be glowing white. Though I enthusiastically welcome the chance to put on shorts without feeling condemnation for the translucency of my skin tone, I've discovered that Korean cultural standards are more considerate than the Korean summer sun. To put it clearly: I'm so burned my ankles are swollen.

If I'd taken the hint from the scores of ajummas* who tread the streets wearing nothing less than massive visors, sunglasses, gauze face masks, head-to-toe lightweight clothing, and umbrellas, I might have been spared from my current agony.  Instead, I chose to frolic freely from sunup to sundown on a private heart-shaped beach with my friends, wearing only a swim suit and three layers of 30 SPF. It was totally insufficient, and I'm left with the glistening memories of Bigeumdo Island and some mustard colored sunburn gel from the pharmacist to comfort me.

I grew up in western Pennsylvania, where a day at the man-made lake owned by Moraine State Park most closely satisfies the definition of A Beach. Floating in a 30ft by 20ft roped off section of murky waist-deep water beat swishing around in a plastic backyard pool, but I appreciate Pennsylvania for reasons other than the summer swimming options. The people are nice and I'm related to most of them. Additionally, we have nice farmland.

But with no community pools near my home in Bongseondong and a culture that rejects tanned skin because of its association with the working class, my expectations for discovering any calming place to swim this summer hovered near zero. Just as I'd resigned myself to dreams of future tropical excursions in southeast Asia, I learned of Bigeumdo Beach. Located around an hour by ferry from a nearby town called Mokpo, the location fit for an uncomplicated weekend trip. Facebook messages were sent, and The Family made arrangements to spend the weekend beach-side.

-

We board a ferry early on Saturday morning and arrive on Bigeumdo before 9am. Taxi drivers escort our twelve person group in a caravan of minivans along a narrow road past salt farms and rice patties, up and up and up and around a bend where our eyes greet the distinct shape of a heart far below. The beach looks exquisite, and it's entirely ours. We spend the day gasping at the novelty of it: in our 24 hour stay, fewer than ten other people wander across the beach. It's miles from any supermarkets, convenience stores, or traffic of any kind, and it feels glorious.

After pitching our tents in the sand, we pass the time by napping, swimming, napping, repeating expressions of incredulity at our great luck, and climbing the rocky forms that provide a majestic look-out point to the ocean beyond our little inlet. It is, almost certainly, the most beautiful place I've ever visited. With my head spinning from happiness (and likely dehydration from the quickly developing sunburn), I take a third nap and then lead a brief yoga session for the group just before the sun sets.

Hours after our campfire dinner settles, we return to the water for a night swim. We're stunned. The water GLOWS, and not a little: with every splash, dense, glittering particles of light gather among the drops and fade out quickly as they return to the water's surface. For any skeptics, I assure you that our perception was clear (no, um, substances were smoked, inhaled, or otherwise ingested). I also can't prove it with a photo. The best I can offer is a link I found after returning home in an attempt to understand the dazzling vision. (Check out: http://aquaviews.net/explore-the-blue/bioluminescent-plankton-what-makes-it-glow/# ) The photos in the article fail to capture anything close to what we saw, but the statement: "WE ARE IN A MAGICAL DREAM WORLD" most honestly captures our sentiments.

It still doesn't feel real, and I'm intensely glad that it was.

I'm off for now... I have a Korean final exam to fail tomorrow. Just kidding, hopefully. I intend to make up for three months of focusing my attention on other things with a sweeping review of how to give directions, tell time, list the days of the week, and many other items I definitely don't know at the present moment.

Today is 수요일. Pronounced: soo-yo-il. I sue people on Wednesdays.
토요일 means Saturday. Pronounced: toe-yo-il. I paint my toenails on Saturday.

I'm so ready for this.

Love,
Bethany


*In case you didn't see the link I attached to the last post, "ajumma" is the Korean word for grandmother. Contrasting the western expectation (or maybe every place outside of Korea?) that age brings softness and fragility, the ajummas storm through the cities with a fiery boldness that demolishes anyone in their path. They also dress the same, which looks really cute... until they jam an elbow into your side to board the bus first or tear down the sidewalk as though no one else exists. If you'll recall the 'tiny linebacker' massage therapists from my jimjilbang experience: ajummas. They're lovely.