The Mist

There is something in the mist. There should better be, otherwise the plane will fall into the sea soon. Torrential rain has set in a while ago, its only sign of having descended below the clouds. Suddenly a thump, the wheels have touched the ground at Jeju island international airport. Outside the window is still just bright gray, but looking down one can recognize the tar of the landing strip.

This is the main holiday destination for Koreans, but during the monsoon its virtually empty. Jenny and I take a bus to the far east, which takes three times as long as the flight. K-Pop with thumping bass blares from the speakers, but at least the driver seems to like it. He scrolls his head to the rhythm like Michael Jackson.

Finally we reach Seongsan-ri, the small town at the bottom of the 'Fortress Hill' Ilchulbong, an extinct volcano rising from the sea. We are the only guests in the small guesthouse on top of the cliffs at the waterfront. Rain drums against the window and the sheets are so damp one is tempted to wring them--but it is quiet at last.

I am restless, waiting for an email of German magazine GEO, whether they will support me in China next month. So I decide to go to an internet cafe. There is none here, the clerk at Buy the Way (my favourite convenience store chain) declares. I am flabbergasted, usually there is one of the gaming grottos at every corner. Thus we go to the police station to ask for help. Jenny asks in Korean and a long discussions follows. Nothing happens, but we are shown a place to sit. Five minutes later, the head policeman grabs his car key and asks us to follow. He is a big fan of the German soccer team he declares and drives us to the PC shop in the next town in a police car. I am thankful they made it to the quarter-finals, otherwise I would most probably be walking now.

Just before dawn the monsoon takes a break, and for a short while even the fog is blown away by a sudden breeze. We take the opportunity to climb to the top of the spectacular Volcano. Halfway up the fog returns, swallowing the sound of the crushing waves below and reducing the sunlight to a faint gleam. Reality is reduced to a circle only about twenty metres wide. Fortunately there is a path and we reach the top soon later.

When we return, daylight has almost gone. The mist has returned and firmly engulfs the town like a giant macrophage. Fishing boats light up the night with powerful headlights. They look like fen fires lost on the horizon, unable to find the safety of the land. Moanful singing emerges through the mist, becoming clearer as we walk on. On a bench overlooking the rocky bay an old woman is singing Korean folk music. A nice change from the nightly Karaoke dose in Gwangju.

Jeju Island