Finding Jeju with locals
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By Ned Darlington
JEJU ISLAND ― The plane descends toward our destination, coming alarmingly close to the clear ocean; suddenly out of nowhere, land and people's houses start whizzing past the window before our wheels touch the runway. Jeju Island. A deep breath of clear air, far from Seoul.
No crowds, no bustle, no skyscrapers, just the ocean and fantastic seafood. This is true of Jeju, but isn't there more to it? That is what I've come to find out on my second trip to the island, and what I hope to share with my special guest coming all the way from her home in France: my Mum.
The last time she was in Korea was 26 years ago, when she was pregnant with me. My father ― a conductor ― chanced to work with the Seoul National Orchestra and had rehearsals nearly every day, while she had my toddling elder brother and almost-me draining her focus. The whole experience for her has remained a blur: something about a hotel, maybe a Korean palace, and a cancelled attempt at seeing the famous island to the south of the peninsula.
A quarter of a century later, her son is living in Seoul: time to set things right. She, my partner and I shall relax on the island and eat from its ocean. But more than that: we'll meet its people and experience something of their life and the unique things they have to share.
We drive to our Airbnb listing. The cherry blossom is out along the quiet roads on the west side of the island. Little dry walls of black volcanic rock guide us towards our home near Hallim: a little housing complex with a perfectly idyllic garden, fish pond, flowers and herbs indoors and out. And three well-fed cats. We head over for some fresh Meonggye, or sea squirt, and grilled mackerel, washed down with some of the island's signature Soju.
Local studio performance: an Airbnb experience
For a family of musicians, the prospect of a private performance from a local singer felt like an especially suitable way to experience some of Jeju's creative life. But it also leaves room for doubt: knowing little about the artist, will we actually enjoy the music? Won't it feel slightly awkward with just us for an audience? Doubts swiftly dispelled by our host, Hoon, a singer-songwriter and up-cycling designer who has made his home on the island.
We arrive unfashionably early and hungry ― does he know a good restaurant nearby? A true host, Hoon's answer is to invite us in and prepare extra-generous portions of “finger food.” He doesn't need to tell us to make ourselves at home, it's already happened within seconds.
My mother and I at the Osulloc Tea Museum.
As an up-cycling designer, creative recycling is one of Hoon's passions and a strong part of his philosophy, which can be felt everywhere we look. The whole house, from the walls and furniture down to the objet trouve functional ware decorating the interior, has been handcrafted by the man with care and inventiveness using almost exclusively recycled materials. Traditional paper-and-wood sliding doors guard entrances to the kitchen and courtyard, where a vintage motorbike has been propped up for repair next to a deflated-basketball-and-barbecue-legs stool. This is the home of someone who lives unpretentiously, joyfully and creatively. A standard of living he believes is linked with life in Jeju: simple and with a human-focused community willing to stand against the sovereignty of a world run by capital.
We drink tea as he prepares for the show. Hoon does solo and group shows frequently around Korea and travels regularly to Southeast Asia to host art classes and workshops for charity organizations.
I confess I had expected things to get a little awkward and smiles become a tad forced at this point. But his voice, passion and trust in his guests immediately immerse us. This is also when he really came into his own.
He sings to us of personal life stories and lessons learned. How his upbringing pushed him to build his own path and how he found on the island a reason to settle and build his home. Tales of happiness and lightheartedness, but also of anger, disappointment and failure. These things, so often kept hidden from the public eye, are a huge reason why Hoon is not just an authentic host but also a genuine and sympathetic human being, and a beautiful performer. We all join in, and I am even welcome to grab an idle Cajon nearby and follow his cues.
After an extra enjoyable encore, we finally leave with a real feeling of connection and, I sincerely believe, a new friend in Jeju.
Road East
We drive through the breathtaking Saryeoni Forest past countless of the island's native “stone grandfathers,” fields with horses and Mount Halla in the distance, before reaching our new listing in a secluded hamlet. The house's entrance is marked by a single mast taken down from the gate. On safe Jeju Island, one mast left down means, “our house is open: welcome.”
Hoon’s home: a welcoming mix of traditional, modern and hand-crafted design.
The inside feels like a real home. Not only tastefully decorated, but also arranged for maximum functionality and the little comforts of everyday life. Next to the kitchen the three hand coffee grinders, three types of coffee makers and a panoply of cups, mugs and nearly empty coffee packets speak for themselves.
It's a walk away from the beach, a particularly special restaurant famous for its grilled abalone and a little temple, Seongrim-sa. We find the little shrine's enormous iron bell and its housing structure strewn with a harvest of spinach hung nonchalantly to dry on the ropes. Here, we can tell, people pray, eat, live and sleep. There's a sound of a plastic bowl being scraped, presumably by the two feet just visible behind a door opening. “Annyeong-haseyo? Hello?” The feet walk out: an old lady tells us to go in if we like. We go bare-footed into the prayer hall which is decorated with artworks, golden Buddhas and an abundance of fruit offerings. A broad man dressed in grey Buddhist garb walks in on us, is surprised, and then lights a candle for us. Moments later we are sitting on the floor of his bedroom round back, silently and companionably drinking Mix-Coffee.
Then a volcanic beach nearby where impressive lava trails can be discerned among the black rocks, and some seaweed which would surely be delicious in soup if not for the squashed beer can attached to it.
My mother looks out across the ocean. She didn't expect ― nor did I ― to find home, all the way out here.
Ned Darlington (ned.darlington@hotmail.fr) is an English-French artist, translator and travel logger living in Seoul.