Even during the bus ride to the town, the view of the beaches began to change. High fences began to appear where the sand ended, topped with curling twines of barbed wire--the first visible signs of barriers to keep possible North Korean interlopers out. A feeling of desolation settled over me as we arrived in town in the mid-afternoon. The gray sky above probably added to some of that, but there was no doubt that Geojin was a town with a bitter past and a bleak present. It's streets could hardly be said to buzz with life and a particular quiet seemed permanently clamped down over the whole area. Rusted barbed wire fencing covered the sides of random buildings, some of them next to the sidewalk of the main street, and a few featured new barbs that had been twisted on recently enough to still maintain their silver gray color. We wandered down this main street from where the bus had dropped us and done a u-turn at its final stop and soon veered off towards the water. A military ship sat at port in the chilly breeze and as I drew my camera to take a picture some young soldiers appeared off to our side behind chain link fencing. "This is Korean Navy ship," one said in English. "No pictures."
Showing posts with label Sokcho. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sokcho. Show all posts
Monday, February 27, 2012
Gangwon-do: Geojin (거진)
Heading north up the east coast from Sokcho, our next stop was the small town of Geojin. This was the furthest the the bus would take us, as Geojin is also the last town before civilization begins to quickly peter out on the final stretch to the DMZ, called hyujeonseon (휴전선). Beyond Geojin lies several museums (Hwajinpo Marine Museum, Hwajinpo History and Security Museum and a DMZ museum) as well as a Unification Observatory and Unification Security Park. In the end we would never make it to any of these, and while I don't know how grand any of those places were, I have to judge based on Geojin itself that they wouldn't be too large in scale.
Even during the bus ride to the town, the view of the beaches began to change. High fences began to appear where the sand ended, topped with curling twines of barbed wire--the first visible signs of barriers to keep possible North Korean interlopers out. A feeling of desolation settled over me as we arrived in town in the mid-afternoon. The gray sky above probably added to some of that, but there was no doubt that Geojin was a town with a bitter past and a bleak present. It's streets could hardly be said to buzz with life and a particular quiet seemed permanently clamped down over the whole area. Rusted barbed wire fencing covered the sides of random buildings, some of them next to the sidewalk of the main street, and a few featured new barbs that had been twisted on recently enough to still maintain their silver gray color. We wandered down this main street from where the bus had dropped us and done a u-turn at its final stop and soon veered off towards the water. A military ship sat at port in the chilly breeze and as I drew my camera to take a picture some young soldiers appeared off to our side behind chain link fencing. "This is Korean Navy ship," one said in English. "No pictures."
Even during the bus ride to the town, the view of the beaches began to change. High fences began to appear where the sand ended, topped with curling twines of barbed wire--the first visible signs of barriers to keep possible North Korean interlopers out. A feeling of desolation settled over me as we arrived in town in the mid-afternoon. The gray sky above probably added to some of that, but there was no doubt that Geojin was a town with a bitter past and a bleak present. It's streets could hardly be said to buzz with life and a particular quiet seemed permanently clamped down over the whole area. Rusted barbed wire fencing covered the sides of random buildings, some of them next to the sidewalk of the main street, and a few featured new barbs that had been twisted on recently enough to still maintain their silver gray color. We wandered down this main street from where the bus had dropped us and done a u-turn at its final stop and soon veered off towards the water. A military ship sat at port in the chilly breeze and as I drew my camera to take a picture some young soldiers appeared off to our side behind chain link fencing. "This is Korean Navy ship," one said in English. "No pictures."
Gangwon-do: Sokcho and Seoraksan (설악산)
Having enjoyed my time spent in the northern prefectures of Honshu island in Japan, I knew that taking a trip to the north-eastern province of South Korea, Gangwon-do, couldn't be a bad idea. Gangwon-do is bordered on its Eastern side by the East Sea (Sea of Japan), with its long stretches of sandy coast and crystal clear turquoise water and the DMZ (demilitarized zone) to the north.
For the trip, planned to last six days, I met up with my friend Brent in Daegu and proceeded to take an early morning six hour train ride northwards to the seaside town of Jeongdongjin (정동진). I'd been here before in the summer and it was worth another visit, particularly because we could take a fairly easy bus ride to our first main destination of Sokcho from there. In the summer I had gone swimming in the brilliant surf at Jeongdongjin beach, though of course all we could do now was look at the waves. The train station is practically located on the beach, and it's possible to be walking through sand less than a minute after disembarking.
After eating a lunch of fish and walking about the town, we grabbed a bus for the small city of Sokcho further on up the coast. We didn't arrive until after dark, and so it was only the next morning when we say the jagged, towering mass of the Taebaek ( 태백) mountain range cutting into the sky just beyond the limits of the city, our day's destination, Seoraksan, being the highest among them. I've seen and climbed plenty of mountains in Asia, some far taller than those of the Taebaek range, but the sheer stony and snow frosted ruggedness of the view from Sokcho felt new to me. Brent commented that they reminded him of the Rockies, though (perhaps ironically, as a Canadian) I've only seen the Rockies distantly from the window of the Vancouver airport.
For the trip, planned to last six days, I met up with my friend Brent in Daegu and proceeded to take an early morning six hour train ride northwards to the seaside town of Jeongdongjin (정동진). I'd been here before in the summer and it was worth another visit, particularly because we could take a fairly easy bus ride to our first main destination of Sokcho from there. In the summer I had gone swimming in the brilliant surf at Jeongdongjin beach, though of course all we could do now was look at the waves. The train station is practically located on the beach, and it's possible to be walking through sand less than a minute after disembarking.
After eating a lunch of fish and walking about the town, we grabbed a bus for the small city of Sokcho further on up the coast. We didn't arrive until after dark, and so it was only the next morning when we say the jagged, towering mass of the Taebaek ( 태백) mountain range cutting into the sky just beyond the limits of the city, our day's destination, Seoraksan, being the highest among them. I've seen and climbed plenty of mountains in Asia, some far taller than those of the Taebaek range, but the sheer stony and snow frosted ruggedness of the view from Sokcho felt new to me. Brent commented that they reminded him of the Rockies, though (perhaps ironically, as a Canadian) I've only seen the Rockies distantly from the window of the Vancouver airport.
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