In which our heroine goes wild... sort of...

With our schedule tight for the rest of my stay and no more koalas in plain sight, Lisa and I decided to head to Australia Zoo down near Maroochydore on Tuesday. We caught the free shuttle bus from a park just across the river from Lisa's house and immediately regretted our eco-friendly decision not to take the car. This about turn was brought on by the tiny feet jammed into the back of my seat, the owner of which was meanwhile competing with her sister to see who could cry for mummy loudest. They were joined by several more en-route. Oh what fun we all had! Luckily the hour-long journey passed quickly, as it tends to do when you're having a good time, and we were soon turning onto Steve Irwin Way. I'm sure most will remember the grief following his death in 2006; the hero-worship continues today in Australia. Steve Irwin Way begins at a monument showing Steve wrestling a crocodile; the monument's obscured slightly by a digger waiting to start work on widening the 2-lane highway to accommodate all the cars and tour buses.

The zoo is absolutely enormous - 70 acres in total. It's only the third I've been to in my life - the vaguely distressing Joburg Zoo in my preteens, and London Zoo on a blue-skied summer's day, my first in London, being the other two.

Pictures of the Irwins are everywhere. Statues abound. Even the mannequins in the designer clothing store are modelled on the kids, Bindi and Robert. Enormous billboards announce Bindi's summer concerts and her cutesy, heart-embellished signature adorns everything from pillars to pony rides. No wonder she's such a confident young girl, this kid is a walking brandname. Occasionally it feels like the whole Zoo is just there to promote her.

Now, we all know that Australians are... well, they're a bit different. They talk funny for a start. And the whole sports thing, the way their teams lazily win every game they try their hand at, even if it's not normally played in Aus. They're always 5 shades darker than us because they spend all their time on perfect sandy beaches under perfect blue skies. They're a bit smug, really. And did I mention they talk funny? Anyway. Aussies are different. And Nature didn't stop there, with the humans. No, she did it to the animals too. Australia, even Noosa, with its lovely, neat streets and expensive yachts, has a bit of a prehistoric vibe going on. Everything's bigger here, a bit more primal. The light is brighter, the sounds are more raucous. It doesn't even follow the rules the rest of us stick to - here, mammals can lay eggs. Some nurture foetuses outside the body. And come on, seriously - the echidna? Who thought that one up? Sometimes I feel like all the Australians are snickering at us behind their hands. Some of these animals can't possibly be more than a prank. Take dingos for instance. Really, they're just yellow dogs from the shelter they stick in an enclosure then spread malicious baby-stealing rumours about so we'll come spend our $55 to see them!

My favourite place was the kangaroo enclosure where red and grey kangaroos and little wallabies roam about among the trees and green lawns. We bought "roo food" from a vending machine, and had whiskery noses snuffling at our palms in no time at all.


















It was very chilled, sitting amongst the munching animals under the gumtrees! We even saw a few joeys in pouches. In fact it seemed to be baby season - several koalas were also cuddling sweet mini-koalas.


The cassowary was also amazing - its feathers are long and soft, and the bony protruding headpiece makes it look, well... prehistoric...


I'm not sure how, but Lisa and I completely forgot to check our schedules and therefore missed Bindi and her Big Summer Tour in the Crocoseum! Ahem... But missing Bindi's perfectly choreographed display had its upside: Lisa and I were able to wander through the kangaroo enclosures in almost total isolation while everyone else clapped and cheered in the auditorium. It was great. I couldn't resist conforming to one Great Australian Cliche though. Lisa and I queued up for ages with all the other tourists to hold a sleepy-eyed koala. He was very cute! When I finally took my place in front of the potted palm, the keeper showed me how to cup my hands at my waist, then she deposited this adorable, cuddly marsupial in them, at which point he hooked his long claws over my shoulder and into the bare skin. Luckily the keeper interpreted my grimace fairly quickly and rearranged him into a position to suit us both. He was very sleepy, laying his head on my arm and sinking his bulk onto my body like a supportive branch. So sweet!



Koalas held: 1
Prehistoric birds: 5
Monuments to the Irwin family: 18

In which our heroine goes shopping

On Saturday, with Lisa back at work, I spent the whole day lounging on the verandah in my pyjamas with several cups of tea, watching the visitors to the bird bath. There were a lot of them I couldn't identify. Some I could guess, like a shy dove, although he differed from African doves with his black mohawk and speckled shoulders. Wader-like loners popped in, princesses on their long limbs, taking flight at the least provocation, unlike the others, to whom I might as well have been a statue for all the attention they gave me.

The most regular were completely unrecognisable to my untrained eye; wearing way too much blue eyeshadow, the honeyeaters arrived in small flocks, trilling to each other as they played in the water.


Other unfamiliar birds were easier to name: bright white cockatoos with a spray of yellow feathers on their heads, hanging upside down from palm fronds, screeching merrily at each other and me. Another parrot - the Rainbow Lorikeet - also made frequent, gaudy appearances - green, yellow, red - as though they were pictures in a very neat child's paint-by-numbers book. They always rocked up in pairs, the better to enforce their clear status as the undisputed mafia thugs of the birdbath, viciously attacking meeker supplicants with maximum noise and a great deal of wing action.

At dusk the songs of all the birds, thugs and princesses alike, combined in the park before Lisa's verandah to make a sweet bedtime lullaby, flocks whirling overhead until they'd found a suitable site for the night. It was a very peaceful end to the day.

On the Sunday we drove to a mall to do some clothes shopping. Every single pair of jeans I own has recently sprouted unsightly tears and holes and I needed some replacements. It was a bit of a surreal experience really. Just imagine: nobody stared. Nobody shouted "Big size here!" at me. I didn't get ushered out a single shop by an anorexic salesgirl, anxious that I shouldn't sully her store's good name. And oh! Oh! The pleasure in being allowed, nay, invited to try things on before purchasing... I left with my ego intact and my wallet light!

Plus, on the way back, Lisa stopped alongside a golf course, and I got to see my first kangaroos, lazily lolling on the grass as golfers whacked balls over their heads...

That evening I cooked a roast chicken. What pleasure to be able to eat free range again, and to know that the veggies came from down the road instead of across the seas. We ate outside on the verandah by candlelight, birds cooing in the trees, mozzies gnawing on our toes... heaven...
















Koalas: 0
Kangaroos: 6
Lifers: 10. 11. No, wait... 12...

In which our heroine finds a Koala...

Who knew? Aussies really do say "g'day mate" and "no worries!" in real life! It took me 18 hours to get from English Village to Brisbane International Airport, via a garlic-flavoured taxi (and when I say garlic-flavoured, I mean I may actually have been put off the stuff for life...), a luxurious bus to the airport and a cramped night on a Korean Air flight - the first long-haul plane I've been on in at least 5 years that doesn't have individual TV screens. With a one-hour delay in Seoul, I'd already missed the airport shuttle in Brisbane, and it didn't get any better when I saw the queue for customs, which doubled back on itself four times before even reaching the official zigzag queue area. Every single person had their luggage opened and checked, and sniffed by a sniffer dog... An hour and a half after landing I finally got out into the tiny Arrivals hall. Another hour and a half later the shuttle driver arrived - the coastal highway had been blocked into Brisbane by a major accident. I shared the minibus up north with a family of four, the son an obnoxious 10-year-old with a mouth dirtier than mine, who started asking "How much further Dad?" as we left the airport gate.

But when the driver pointed out Lisa's house and I saw my sister jumping and waving in a frenzy... well, the journey here wasn't so bad!

Lisa had to go back to work for the afternoon but when she got home at 5, we went out to do some shopping. We took the scenic route around town with Lisa pointing out all the lovely things that surround her new home. Noosa's really pretty with an estuary breaking up the town into a collection of suburban islands.


We drove into the national park's carpark to make a U-turn, but when we saw a car leaving, Lisa got so excited about a space being available we just had to stop and take a walk.

That part of the park ran alongside the coast with a wooden deck path curving through the teatrees. We left the path once to clamber down the rocks to a curve of white sand, the grains so fine they squeaked underfoot. Just then Lisa spotted some people further down the path pointing up into the trees. I laughed, remembering my statement earlier that day that I expected koalas, kangaroos and wallabies in abundance, please, if she would be so kind. When we reached the group and looked up into the trees, I couldn't hide my surprise at my unusual luck. This is someone who spent 3 days in a tiger sanctuary in India without spotting a single stripy cat. And now there, far above me, nibbling on eucalyptus leaves, was not just a koala, but a mummy koala, with a baby clinging to her furry front. As she cautiously stepped along the branch, clutching twigs and stuffing her mouth with leaves, we could see the little round ears and flat nose of the baby as he, three paws firmly buried in his mum's fur, reached out for the leaves she pulled closer to him. It was so sweet to watch!






















A fellow spectator told us there was another one a few trees away so we went to look, but he was less interesting, being fast asleep and wedged into the crook of a tree, and we quickly returned to ooh and aah at the mother and baby.

Shopping that evening was a joy everyone should experience at least once in their lives. Litchies! Smoked salmon! And who knew how exciting Cheerios could be! Korean supermarkets are fine, but a tingle went down my spine at the cereals aisle...

Koalas: 3
Kangaroos: 0
Highways named "Bruce": 1

Seoul Therapy

Seoul is a fascinating city. Each part, each suburb, is devoted to a particular need. Myeongdong has designer clothes, Chungmuro is the place for analogue cameras, Itaewon is the centre for foreigners where you can find Western groceries and the Hard Rock Cafe. Each place has its own flavour, unique in the Seoul sprawl. There are few chain stores - Starbucks and the local Kimbap Heaven make appearances in most suburbs, but mostly it is as far from the dull English high street as you can get. I'd never realised how bland British towns have become until I saw Seoul.

At first it takes some getting used to. It's impossible to go to a mall and pick up everything you need from camera film to clothes to sewing needles. Your day must be carefully planned with a comprehensive shopping list and a subway map to hand. However it's started to become second nature for me - I know where I can find everything, and in each place there's an unimaginable range of whatever it is you desire - if one shop asks too high a price, you turn around and there's another for you to try.

On Saturday, I needed wool. Yes, I have indeed started to knit! My room is filled with half-finished hats and scarves and notes for future patterns to try out. Unfortunately, the huge shopping area close to Paju doesn't contain a single haberdashery or fabric store, so when I run out of wool, it means a day in Seoul. Wool is sold in the Dongdaemun area, in a squat grey building devoted to all things crafty.


The entrance area is filled with tailors' shops, the shiny grey suit material adored by Korean businessmen filling shelves from floor to ceiling. Keep going and you come to the buttons and lace. I've been here once before with a friend, but it's impossible to really know this place, and even though the last time I memorised the route to the wool section, I still inexplicably find myself suddenly staring down corridors of fur and rabbit tails. Turning a corner only takes me to the sewing section where men hunch over sewing machines in their tiny stalls, the walls made of threads and fabric. The clack clack of the machines follows me as I search for some stairs - the only thing I'm sure of is that the yarn section is in the basement, so I need to go down. I finally find some, but they lead me not to the piles of wool I'm hoping for, but some kind of upholstery section. I keep thinking I'm getting close, seeing wool down at the end of the tunnel, but it turns out to be threads or crochet supplies, and I can't find the familiar stalls I shopped at last time. Suddenly, I turn around, and there it is: the stall that sells expensive but irresistable yarns, handmade in Southern Asia. My mind mentally rearranges itself and I understand exactly where I am. Shopping can commence.

It's quite difficult to shop because, despite being fairly first-world-ish in general, Koreans like to haggle. I struggle to haggle. So shopkeepers either love me for accepting the first offer, or hate me for just walking off without even asking for a discount. At least I now know the numbers so I can ask "Olmayo?" ("how much?") and understand the response. And occasionally I drum up the courage to complain in a whiney voice "Bisayo!" - it's too much! Usually the shopkeepers are so amused at my Korean that they drop the price by a couple of thousand Won, which makes me ever so proud. Sometimes they call to their friends busily knitting in the back, presumably saying "Will you listen to this rich foreigner, thinks she can haggle! With me! The cheek!", after which they turn to me, and laugh until I apologise and skulk off down the narrow alley...


My second-favourite stall is owned by a gentleman who is eating his lunch when I arrive. He jumps up to help me match a piece of wool from an unfinished project. The last time I was here with Andrea, we were trying to use Korean numbers, but he, being Korean and therefore naturally over-helpful, decided to use Western numbers. Unfortunately, his mind was ahead of him and he started spouting Spanish at us... Interesting to meet someone here who's learned Spanish - high school language classes usually consist of English, Japanese and Chinese. This time he smiles at me and goes straight into English.


Cheerfully laden with shopping bags, I leave the building, stopping at my favourite fruit stall in the whole of Korea, where you pick your bowl of naartjies and interrupt the seller, who's always playing a checkers-like game with a friend round the side. Judging by the exhortations not to push and to "line nicely", it's also pretty popular with everybody else who passes by.


Meanwhile, Korea has been getting pretty damn cold lately, and nowhere more so than little old Paju, lying in the middle of a wind channel that apparently directs Siberian winds south. The ponds are iced over and it snows every few days, although nothing's settling yet. Unfortunately, English Village is designed for maximum discomfort, so all those drainage-free areas that in summer became dams to be crossed only in wellies, are now scary ice patches in winter. We wake up most mornings to thick fog.


















Yes, that is the sun in the photo on the right... Apparently this is still the run-up to Real Winter - I'm grateful for my Australian Christmas, but dreading, absolutely dreading, coming back to bone-chilling weather...

Winter Wonderland

Movie stars, cute kids and a tonne of polystyrene. It's Christmas in the English Village...

A week ago, the Villagers awoke to the sounds of yet another film crew creating a set. It took all day, but by evening, Main Street had been transformed. Our tram had been pulled out on its tracks - and by pulled out, I mean it was hooked up to a car and towed on wheels. This is because it was built without brakes. Or, according to another rumour, Korean engineers built the tracks, and foreign engineers built the tram, and neither side told the other side what specifications to build to, so they don't fit together. Either way, our tram does not work. But it certainly looked awfully pretty sitting there in front of the pub, atop a beautifully white road - courtesy not of the November weather, but some cleverly placed white sheets and a dusting of polystyrene snow, artistically blown about by a clever man with a blower thing.

Lights had been draped over all the store fronts and the tram decked with holly and red ribbons and other Decemberish adornments. I had to leave to teach my evening military lesson, so I ducked down the back route, now blocked by an enormous van serving kimchi and coffee to the starved and frozen crew.

When I returned at 9pm, a crowd of teachers and students from our adult programs had taken up position behind a gauntlet of luminous lights, enormous cameras and a sound machine set to repeat, playing the Xmas jingle of a major electronics megastore. The stars of the Korean hit movie Kwasok Scandle (or Speed Scandal) were obliging the director with 5 seconds of dance, again, and again, and again... The youngest cast member - only about 5 years old, extremely cute under a mop of curly hair, and currently to be seen on every single talk show, game show and advert on TV - swung his legs from his perch on the tram, while the main star smiled delightfully at every request to start from the top.

Meanwhile, from my own perch on some side steps, I could see and talk to the extras - three little families, strong father, mother in miniskirt, perfect child in designer clothes - whose job it was to walk back and forth across the road and be shouted at by a guy in a beret with a megaphone.

As for me, I got bored after half an hour and went home to bed. The lights and music continued until 4am. Mmm, this showbiz thing - it's not for everyone you know...

When Relationships Go Bad

In Korea, the done thing when dating is to publicly announce your love for each other not with rings or hand-holding or sonnets in restaurants, but by wearing the same clothes.

No, not them! Did I say similar? I said the same.

Like this:

Yes, that's right, lads - Korean women dress their men. Not so attractive now, eh?





















The alltime rock n' roll favourite at English Village was a new family - mum dad and baby - all kitted out in white from head to toe. The baby even had a cap to match the parents', although his had to be tied to his chin with a ribbon!

I was recently confirmed in my growing suspicions by Cait's discovery of, yes, a Couples Store in Seoul, where everything comes in both women's and men's sizes, and often toddler size too... My day was just made so much better...

Mountain 2 - Korean Edition

As everybody knows, once the world was not as it is today. Animals could speak, and mountains could walk. The world was still being moulded out of fire and water.

In the east, a beautiful mountain range was being built. It was called Geumgangsan, the Diamond Mountains, and it was to be the loveliest and most revered of all Korean mountains. Representatives came from all the cities in Korea to be a part of it. Ulsan, a city on the south-east coast, decided to send a rocky mountain north to Geumgangsan, but this mountain, having so far to travel, arrived too late: he discovered the range was already filled with twelve thousand peaks. Weeping with grief and shame, he turned round to make the journey home again. One night, as he was looking for a place to sleep, he found an enchanting valley. Bewitched by its beauty, he lay down to rest, and, looking about him in wonder, he fell asleep, never to awake again. His name is Ulsanbawi - Rock of Ulsan - and today he sleeps in the Seorak valley, an 873-metre granite outcrop, skirted by deciduous forest and quiet streams.

On Friday, Harry and I packed up the car and drove to Seoraksan for a weekend, picking up Brynley on the way from his home in Seoul. This time I intended to actually climb a mountain, as I missed the chance on my volunteering weekend!

Autumn leaves are a BIG deal in Korea. The place to see them is Seoraksan, and funnily enough, this weekend was the weekend, according to news reports, so we were ready for a communal climbing experience with half of Korea. We arrived around midnight and went searching for a hotel to rest our weary heads at. We found a surprising number open and their managers awake, and chose one called "The Honeymoon House". Contrary to our expectations, it was a pleasant, clean little hotel, with a fireplace in the lounge, and a fake windmill on the side - reminded me a little of a Vumba-style hotel.

In the morning, we woke to pouring rain and a rather dismal sky. Luckily, we took a while to get ready and have breakfast, and by the time we drove to the park's entrance, the clouds had cleared and it was a lovely, sunny day, if a bit cooler than an African sunny day. Perfect for climbing. We'd agreed to hike a shorter route than Harry might have wanted. It was listed as a 1.5 hour walk from the entrance and we felt this was entirely achievable by Brynley and me. The first part of the walk, as expected, was shared with the multitudes, and we squeezed our way up a wide path cleared of debris and with stone steps and wooden bridges set in place over difficult parts. Very Korean. It was a path with diversions too, as we passed a temple - Sinheungsa - possibly the oldest Zen temple in the world - and then two well-established restaurants, full of climbers taking a break to drink and eat. Hawkers squatted on the side of the path selling sticky peanut brittle and toffee suckers. About an hour up we came to a little hermitage where a monk once lived in a sandy-floored cave. It must have been something magical in the days when a thousand tourists weren't poking about and taking photographs. The mouth of the cave overlooked a wide vista of trees and mountains and very little else, and it would have been very remote in the days when the closest settlement, apart from the temple, was at the coast. We pushed on further, up a decked path lined with rubber which took us over the older, simpler path (closed to repair erosion) and toward the top. We shared this part with the multitudes too - in fact, there was no part where a large group of elderly Koreans was not having a nice picnic on the edge of a rock... We told Harry to stride on ahead and he didn't argue much as he disappeared round a corner. Finally Brynley and I made it to the top.

Well, what we thought was the top.

See, the forest part finished and then the rocky crags started, and I, in my naivete, reckoned the forest edge would mark the end of our hike.

Unfortunately, Koreans are not people for giving up that easy, and a set of stairs had been erected straight up the mountain face.

It was so windy at this point that I needed a helping hand up the rocks to the base of, terror of terrors, 400m of steep stairs...


We did make it to the top, with just a couple of breaks, and with the egging on of a couple of hundred friendly Koreans ("keep fighting! Go on!").

The summit was a tiny crag edged by railings - an absolutely essential aspect, as the wind was so violent, I was terrified of getting blown off.


Amazingly, there was a guy with an urn and some paper cups selling coffee to climbers! Right on the top of a mountain! I don't even know how he gets those supplies up there - and oh my, that means he climbs up and down every single day! At least his office has a good view ;)

We made our way back down again, battling the wind - I mostly gripped banisters with both hands and did a kind of sideways shuffle down the most exposed bits to avoid being blown off the mountain entirely. By the time we reached the temple the sun was dipping below the mountains and we decided to make our way home.


On the way we went past the enormous Buddha again and I couldn't resist a sneaky photo of him meditating in the sunset glow.


The minute we got back to the hotel, Harry and Brynley collapsed across the bed and fell into a deep sleep, while I had an hour-long bath - a luxury unheard of since I left South Africa - and then read my book downstairs in the Vumba-style lounge. Later we went for dinner at a little restaurant nearby. This was the beginning of the night:


I unfortunately can't show you the end of the night. I was fast asleep when the pair of them drunkenly bumbled into the room, waking me up - I was too busy laughing at the sight of them to be cross :)

The next morning, I packed them into the car, drinking coffee and complaining of how early it was (it was nearly 11am...), and we drove down the coast to the highway back to Seoul. On the way, however, we spotted a Salmon Festival on the banks of a river, so we detoured for some delicious, if sacrilegious, deep-fried salmon and ginger.


Sated, we walked down to the riverbank where hundreds of tourists and Koreans were gathered, their trousers rolled up to knee height, and their shoes abandoned.


I wondered what it was all about but before the fleeting thought had time to fleet, a whistle was blown, and the hordes went screaming and splashing into the waters to commit the most wholesale massacre of innocent animals I have ever seen. Children that came up to my knees grabbed enormous salmon by the tails, flinging them onto the rocks with gleeful abandon and demanding applause from the gathered adults, while the "grown-ups" in the group stuffed two or even three writhing fish into plastic bags or specially prepared cooler boxes. I'm sure it was a lot of fun, but I prefer my fish filleted and clingwrapped, thanks very much. It very nearly made me turn completely vegetarian watching such rampant killing...

Our journey back to the west was pretty event-less, and we delivered Brynley home safe and sound, arriving back at our own home by 7pm, refreshed by the weekend and ready for another week of work.

(Not quite so refreshed the next day, as muscles in my legs I didn't know I had woke up to call a cheery "hello"; I spent my first week on the Adult Program hobbling around English Village, unable to take a step without fiery pain...)

Harefooted Harry & his Heroic Half-Marathon

On Friday night, our beloved pub, scene of impromptu gigs, late-night plans to sneak into the pool and Harry's (unwise?) decision to take the microphone at karaoke, closed down for good. EVers got together to give it a grand old send-off, complete with (C)ass beer, $1 soju cocktails and poker.

I was good, and managed to go to bed around midnight. Leigh and Harry, well... let's just say Leigh made the mistake of going noraebanging with edutainers. Again. Silly girl. She got home around 3am. Harry, my dear cousin, crawled into bed at 5am, and then got up again a couple of hours later for a full day of his Harvard course. I know I'm aging, but I'm fairly certain I never had that kind of stamina.

It gets worse.

On Sunday, at 7:30am, we drove 20 minutes north to Imjingak, right on the border with North Korea, where he ran a half-marathon.

Incredible.

So we set off at 7:30. There were 5 runners from EV, four of them South Africans, and most of them pretty nervous. In true Korean style-e, the Imjingak carpark was transformed into a mini-festival site. Tents had been erected all over the place, serving drinks, storing bags, and providing picnic spaces. One tent housed a masseuse; a few others had well-known sports store clothing for sale. A group of men and women, ranging in age from about 6 to around 80, banged traditional drums with enthusiasm.

After the runners had attached their numbers and dropped off their bags for safekeeping, we walked over to the starting area where students waited with banners to divide the runners into their various groups - 5km, 10km, half and full marathon - and this is where, I have to admit, I left our fit and healthy heroes to skulk round the back and smoke a cigarette.












I watched from the back as three girls came up on stage to lead the runners in a mass warm-up - quite an odd experience really! Most of the Koreans got really into it, flinging themselves about with abandon. I amused myself watching some of the more interesting characters - one man was running apparently in a plastic bag, which I am assuming is a mainstream, recognized way of running in a marathon. Two little girls (not twins, I don't think) were warming up for the 5km dressed in matching suits! Cute-uh!























I took a video; watch out for Harry. He's easy to find. He's the one in the bright yellow t-shirt, blond hair, about a foot taller than anyone else around him...

After warming up - exercise which for me, would have counted for the whole day's outing - we turned and walked up to the starting line, the marathon runners at the front, each group getting successively bigger as you moved down toward the 5km group.

A brass band saw them off, and then I turned back to the Imjingak complex for a 2-hour walkabout.


I'd actually been here before, briefly, as part of the DMZ tour I took earlier in the year. We stopped for about 5 minutes, looked over the Freedom Bridge, and then went on into the Demilitarized Zone itself. There's so much more here than the Bridge though, so I was looking forward to a bit of time to explore.

First I went to get a takeaway coffee, and I went to drink this around the side of the main building, where I could sit on a bench and look out over rice paddies and the river, albeit through some heavy-duty fencing and a deep trench.


I sat for a while by the Peace Bell, sharing a sandwich with the little sparrows that have taken up residence in the roof above.

There were a lot of tourists about, of course, but I found an oddly peaceful little spot, looking over the Imjin River. From my spot I could see a South Korean guardpost, young soldiers with glasses staring blankly out over rifles from under their helmets. On the other side a North Korean guardpost was visible in the DMZ. While I sat and read my book, an old man came by dressed in a clean, slightly ragged suit. He nodded at me and smiled at my book, and when he'd settled into his spot by the Peace Bell pavilion, he carefully unpacked his bag, setting out a sandwich and a bottle of soju...

Further down the hill, away from the guardposts, the grassy hills sprouted statues and art installations. I loved this one of a footed fish:


Finally, an hour and a half after the runners had set off, I walked back to the finish post to cheer them back over. I waited for a while before I saw two of my friends come sprinting through; when I went over to congratulate them, they told me Harry had last been seen racing past them on the other side of the road, on his way back down the loop - I'd missed him! I couldn't believe it, I was sure I'd be in time at 1:30. But no: we walked down to the stage where we'd set the meeting point, and there he was, celebrating his 1:26 run with Korean ricecakes! All our runners had done well, so we went to collect their medals and documented the moment with a photo, the sweat still dripping off some of them...


I'm still amazed that I'm related to someone who finished among the top ten runners of a half-marathon...