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SOUTH PACIFIC •New Zealand |
EUROPE |
ASIA |
UNITED STATES |
I am engaging in a daily hill-walking exercise program and, as well as increasing my general fitness level, have lost weight as a result. (The downside of a sedentary job in middle age is an expanding girth.) It struck me yesterday exactly how acclimatized I have become to Korean ways. Things that I originally considered exceedingly bizarre are now relatively common place, and Korean forms of exercise fall fairly and squarely into this category.
To
Western eyes, there are several strange features of Korean hiking, not least
of which is the almost universal habit of female hikers swaddling their heads in
hand towels, worn in a kind of Sister Bertrille bad hat (of The Flying
Nun fame).
These towels are then usually fastened in place at the front by a clothes peg, increasing the overall visual impact. I have absolutely no idea of the origin of this practice, but when you consider that it is now exceedingly hot here, I can't see it being anything less than extremely uncomfortable.
Many women (like the wearing of towels, this practice appears limited to the fairer sex) wear full-face masks and hinged sun visors that are worn like the lowered visor of a suit of armor, completely concealing the wearer’s visage. Again, they look very uncomfortable and the facial features of many of the people I pass on the trail are completed obscured by shiny tinted plastic.
Other
features of Korean exercise are walking backwards (very popular), and
a truly bizarre workout that consists of standing about two feet away
from an upright tree trunk facing away from it, then letting yourself
fall backwards until your back strikes the tree (repeat this exercise
numerous times to increase its beneficial effects).
Today, I saw a new and intriguing variation on this—the tree copulation workout.I was on the trail when I came across an elderly Korean man vigorously thrusting his groin into the trunk of his tree of choice. The spectacle was, to say the least, comical.
He had his arms bent at the elbow with fists uppermost, in the kind of pose usually assumed by the Hulk in shirt-ripping mode. His arms were encircling the trunk of the tree, though not actually touching it. It struck me that it must actually be quite painful to compact one’s penis and, more particularly, testicles against such an unforgiving object as a tree trunk, but who am I to be skeptical?
He is probably doing his bit to halt deforestation by fathering vast areas of woodlands.
The
practice of walking backwards presents its own interesting challenges.
First, the backward walker must naturally look over their shoulder periodically
in order to reduce the chances of walking into another person or tree
(though of course, the latter could provide attendant therapeutic benefits
that far outweigh the embarrassment factor). Second,
there is the issue of negotiating people heading on the same compass
bearing. It is a very strange feeling to be walking in the same
direction as a fellow hiker, but have them facing you. I can easily
overhaul the backward-walking devotee, but the awkwardness of doing
so intensifies exponentially as I draw near.
Even
though I may be walking faster than they are, the overtaking period
seems uncomfortably long, and brings with it its own raft of dilemmas.
Naturally, if you are facing each other, but walking in the same direction, there is the issue of eye contact and conversation. What do you say in such circumstances? “Hey, nice day for a backwards stroll huh?” I have to fight back the temptation to shout “Look out!”
Conversely, if you say nothing, there is a mutually palpable unease. Naturally, the tendency is to avoid eye contact completely, though the narrow trail, combined with the backward walker’s erratic flight path, then creates a situation not entirely dissimilar to driving a car on a highway with your eyes closed.
As I do my walk every day, I have become known to the scores of Koreans I pass on the hill paths. I am genuinely impressed by their devotion. Taking to the mountains is a national pastime here, but I seem to be the only foreigner that does it in my area, so I have become something of a talking point. As I always travel at full speed, I often get nods of encouragement and favorable comments as I pass.
Yesterday,
an old guy was engaging in the back-bashing tree exercise as I passed. He
smiled broadly and, pointing to a vacant tree trunk beside him, indicated I
should stop and engage in a spot of spleen-rupture too.
My initial reaction was suspicion. Did he have shares in a chiropractic
clinic that had fallen on hard times? Was he consequently drumming
up new clientele by advocating practices that would render the unwary
in need of spinal realignment?
However, I then realized my cynical doubts were unfounded and he simply wanted to introduce me to the dubious pleasures of removing my own bark as well as the trees. Although I was unable to fully understand his entreaties, I took them (not erroneously I think) to mean “Hey, Roundeye, come over here and let's rupture our discs together!”
Walking away backwards, I indicated that spinal compaction would have to wait for another day, but that as soon as I found the ability to walk upright a burden, I would hasten back and take up his kind offer. Recognizing from my reverse walking style that here was a foreign devil who truly understood the benefits of doing odd things in the mountain environment, he smiled acceptingly and indicated that the tree would await my return.
An
equally bizarre occurrence happened to me yesterday morning.
Koreans
seem to have an unusual habit of checking themselves into hospital
for what appears to me to be the most trivial of conditions. Equally
strange (at least to me) is their habit of then roaming the streets
in their hospital pajamas, often wheeling a drip along in their wake.
Today I got in an elevator and was surprised to be outnumbered four to one by people wearing pajamas. How many times in your life can you get into a city elevator and find that everyone else is attired for bed? It was an odd feeling. Five people in a confined space and I was the only one wearing street clothes. Had I inadvertently gate crashed a Marcus Welby-themed slumber party? All the other elevator occupants wore matching hospital-issue garb, but nonetheless seemed in ruddy good health, without so much as a hint of a limp, cast, drip, horrible skin condition, weeping open sore, pasty complexion, or even the appearance of feeling a little peaky.
As I drove off in my car I noticed three of the ER escapees casually lighting up cigarettes on the sidewalk outside. I guess this is a fringe benefit of being a hospital patient. Should a new illness manifest itself, you’ve already booked a seat!
