Out of all of the unique experiences I have encountered while in South Korea, none comes close to today’s escapade – I was kidnapped by a lovely Korean lady, taught how to make doenjang-jiggae, was invited to take part in a poetry reading, and then attended a birthday party complete with cake, singing and tea.

I have to admit, it wasn’t quite how I intended for my day to go and didn’t necessarily have the energy levels for it to start with; but when life offers you these chances, I am learning to firmly grab hold of them and just go with it.

How did this all occur? Well, it started like this…

That’s right. Do you remember last time me exuding excitement over my hanok find? Well, here it is and don’t I just look in love?

This has cemented further still my now absolute lifelong dream to own and live in a hanok.

As to where I am, well, it’s a little odd.

I am in a hanok village / business retreat. The complex is filled with old hanoks which I guess where once a village maybe, but there are now also a couple large buildings too which form an industrial size kitchen and laundry, and a business centre workspace.

When I arrived, there was no-one here. Not a soul in the whole complex. Just me.

My check-in instructions had already been sent to me which consisted of a map showing which hanok was mine and a code for a padlock on the door. That was it.

Needless to say, I slept the sleep of the dead because there was no sound at all. Also, the bed was THE most comfortable I had slept in all of my trip.

I woke the next morning with the plan to quietly sit on my porch and blog all day, drinking as many cups of tea as I could manage. And that was indeed what I did…

Well, for about 45 minutes anyway. For that is when Mi appeared.

Amidst my keyboard tapping, I heard the scuffling of someone wandering up the roadway and looked up to see that a middle aged Korean lady had appeared, stopped, and was staring at me sitting on my porch. She called over and greeted me in English and I waved a friendly hello back.

And before I knew it, she was sitting on my porch and telling me about her son who owned the complex, where he lived in Seoul, that her children had all studied abroad and spoke English, and that she was here with some friends for the weekend at a poetry retreat. Which all was nice and interesting…and then she insisted I come and meet them, which was a little out of left field but I wanted to be pleasant so packed away my computer and wondered over to the kitchen building where she indicated they were.

And indeed, here I found two more people (one feeding an indoor wood burner) and a table ready for mid-morning tea at which Mi promptly sat down and started continuously peeling fruit (Korean pear, persimmons, and tangerines) and insisting I eat them. I won’t say no to tea and fruit, and I will also tell you Korean pears are both huge AND delicious.

Mi was the only English speaker in the group and so acted as translator, allowing me to explain what I was doing in Korea a little more fully that my basic sentences of saying I was travelling around the country for three months.

After a while there came talk of dinner and a poetry reading, and the insistence that I attend and take part and that I should come and cook and Mi would teach me how to cook doenjang-jiggae.

Truth be told, I had a slight feeling of apprehension at this moment. On a different day, this would have been an incredibly exciting new adventure that I would have been gung-ho for. It just so happened that today, I was feeling slightly exhausted. Not only had I been hiking and climbing mountains pretty continuously for about a month, but today marked two months of me being in Korea, and with the exception of the few days I had been ill in Jeju, I had literally not stopped moving since my feet hit the ground in September, every day had been jam packed with one activity or another. And I was plain worn out and had been especially looking forward to relaxing and hanging about in my hanok alone.

The offer on the table however was one I really couldn’t pass up. After all, one of my desperate wishes when coming to this country was to interact with the people here, and someone had literally walked up and kindly offered me the chance to do just that. Tiredness be damned.

Mi and I agreed to meet at lunchtime and begin our cooking adventure, giving me another hour or so to finish my blogging and at least another two cups of tea; so internally I considered this a good compromise.

I presented myself for duties at the kitchen, which is when the adventure really took off in an unexpected way. With no explanation provided, Mi handed me some empty water barrels (to my mind anyway), and led me off to her car. I hadn’t factored in a road trip, but OK then.

We drove maybe 5 minutes down the road and pulled into a house, obviously belonging to someone Mi was acquainted with, or at least I hope so, because we then proceeded to relieve this person of a whole massive onggi (kimchi earthenware pot) of doenjang.

At this point my tiredness started to abate and I was back in kdramaland and having internal fireworks, having seen these pots plenty of times on TV. Mi removed one of the lids and immediately the air began to smell of fermented paste (for that is what doenjang is, fermented soy beans).

She showed me how she had to crack the surface which was hard and dry and covered with salt, and dig all the way into the jar, mixing as she went, to get to the thick wet paste below. The colour throughout the jar changed the deeper she dug, with the dark paste being close to the surface and the light caramel-coloured paste close to the centre and bottom – nearer the original source of the doenjang. 

Now, I am not even going to come close to explaining how doenjang is made, because I really don’t understand, but I do know that it starts with soybeans that have been soaked in brine and left to ferment. I don’t quite understand if the doenjang pot has to be filled to start with, or if somehow the soybeans ferment and multiply to fill the pot? I have no clue. But I do know the stuff we were making off with today had been sitting here outside for a year in all weathers and that it was strong and earthy to taste, because Mi fed it to me straight from the pot. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste, but I do like doenjang.

With our haul safely stowed in the car, we continued on and ended up at a mart to go shopping for vegetables, before a stop at a local butcher where Mi felt the need to call her son and handed me the phone before disappearing into the shop. This resulted in a wonderfully awkward and incredibly short conversation assuring him that the accommodation was lovely and his mother was being very kind before hanging up. I don’t get the thing with Korean ladies handing me their phones!

Heading back to the complex everything else seemed fairly routine and therefore the only thing I would like to raise at this point is my firm and unwavering belief that Koreans do not know or understand how to correctly use a roundabout. Or at least there may be some Koreans who have an inkling how they work, but because not all Koreans seem to agree or practice this correctly, NO-ONE can be trusted when it comes to roundabouts.

This is highlighted while in the car with Mi, who enters the roundabout, drives around and then promptly stops mid-way when she sees a car approaching from the side. It seems there is a belief that people entering the roundabout have right of way instead of the people already in the roundabout (which isn’t true and the signs here clearly show that), causing those on the roundabout to halt and allow new cars to enter in front of them.

But what is odd is this seems to be a 50-50 belief. So there are some people that will stop correctly on the outside and give way, being bewildered as to why the person in the roundabout has stopped; and then there are those using the roundabout correctly, going round, who are then almost ploughed into by someone on the outside who thinks they have right of way to pull out and expect the person in the roundabout to stop but they (correctly) don’t.

It’s chaos. Sheer and utter chaos. And fricking dangerous.

One more reason to add to the list why driving in South Korea is an awful idea.

But we survive, and return back to the kitchen and ready to cook. Which looks something like this…

I am handed vegetables and told how to chop, I am taught how to correctly clean rice and use the rice cooker, I am shown that the rice water is used for the jiggae base and instructed when to add each vegetable and how to create the deonjang paste. I then get to try my hand at cooking meat (samgeopsal) which is incredibly daunting and exciting all in on go.

In some ways I am still not clear what is going on in the fact we seem to have cooked dinner not only for our little group (numbering four at the moment) but a group of six other people who have arrived and seem to know Mi, but I am not really sure I understand the connection, but they seem very happy with my cooking and compliment and thank me, so that’s all good.

Once we have eaten dinner, our small group convenes at the next table at which point, even more people arrive and I understand these to be the poetry group Mi has been expecting. At this point I am plunged into an evening of Korean, for while Mi translates smaller items specifically aimed in my direction (questions about if I had been to Paju (where the group is mostly from), if I am married, my age, and what I think of Princess Diana – that one threw me a bit), the rest she allows to flow in native Korean which gives me ample time to try and pick up the gist of certain conversations based on the simple words I have in my knowledge bank.

I felt privileged to be seated at the table. I was offered never-ending cups of tea. There was patience when I tried using my minimal Korean. I was asked questions and included. I internally exploded from excitement to be asked my age (a common question for Korean people, but this was my first time being asked, which made me feel a real part of the conversation) and to discover I was actually the youngest person (by 1 year) in the group. I was even more touched to be told by the lady next to me that this made all the other ladies my poetry unnie’s (older sisters) and the woman a year older than me (who I swear looked like Kim Tae Ri and I told her so which she really liked) called me her dongsaeng (younger sibling) and told me I was gwiyeopda (cute) when I shuffled off to get more wood for the fire. Honestly, it was all totally lovely and sweet.

Then came the poetry reading, with Mi providing a musical accompaniment. And if you’ve wondered what that might look like, well…   

Everyone took turns around the table, making a serious effort at the task in hand, and when my turn came I gave my best effort and read ‘She Was a Phantom of Delight’ by William Wordsworth, a poem that for some reason has always stuck with me and seemed to go down well with the Korean crowd.

Then came the birthday cake for the only chap in the group and a round of happy birthday (of which I do know the words handily). And then some soju and snacks, at which point I discovered I have a particularly large love for beef jerky and king crab meat.

As the evening drew to a close I gave my heartfelt thanks for allowing me to take part, and took away with me yet another unique experience on my Korean travels.

As a thank you the following morning, before I departed for the next and most anticipated part of my road trip, I presented to the group the only thing British thing I was carrying with me that could be viewed as a gift – a box of Twinnings finest Earl Grey tea. The box was promptly opened and brewed for the group as morning tea alongside a kimchi pancake, before we all set out for our respective new locations, and I was glad I was able to contribute something to my new friends (having now been initiated into the group by being added to their Kakaotalk chat room).  

I hope to perhaps see them again one day in the future, maybe in another Korean adventure…