the Canadian had failed: he didn’t use a turn signal, failed to fully stop at an intersection, didn’t check the white line while parallel parking, and did not stop within two seconds when the emergency siren rang. Everyone is required to score over 80 to pass. “Please study Korean driving rules and try again.” The article failed to address the fact that they fail to warn you that the test will be conducted in Korean.
A week later, I paid another 60,000 won to take the test again. This time I brought along my pal Moon (“Moonie”) Seok-mo as a translator, and I passed. You’d think Koreans would be safe and circumspect drivers after all this rigorous testing. Yet, the moment they get onto the road, it seems many drivers, men in particular, miraculously transform into Formula One champion wannabes.
Heju and I loaded up the Scoupe’s trunk and back seat with cardboard boxes containing hundreds of clipped newspaper articles, travel brochures, maps, newspapers, and books related to Korea. Into our bags we stuffed sundries and clothes (Heju’s also seemed to contain a high percentage of skin creams, ointments, lotions, and potions, I noticed). I had with me my “Bible” — the trip’s engine, the Holy Grail, which contained a summarized chronological list of hundreds of places we would stop at along the way. It had taken me two years to populate and organize “The Bible,” and it was essential. Bryson may have driven more than nine hundred unfettered kilometres in a single day, from Daly Waters to Alice Springs in Australia’s Northern Territory. That is equivalent to driving the length of South Korea, twice. If we attempted a similar marathon drive, not only would we complete the entire trip in two days, but we’d bypass everything worth seeing.
I would motor (Heju did not drive) slowly, purposefully, and assiduously as if I were a retired gentleman navigating a Winnebago across North America. This was not only for safety reasons, but because we didn’t want to miss out on the local scenery and points of interest.
The plan was to first head northwest from Seoul, then move counterclockwise: south down the western flank of the peninsula, east along the south coast, north up the eastern shore, and finally west along the border back to Seoul. The country is not wide, so we figured we could sneak inland to visit places of interest without too much difficulty.
We had neatly packed the car to capacity. But for reasons I can’t fully explain, when it came time to depart Seoul, stuff was lying unpacked around the seats and at Heju’s ankles. We seemed to be travelling in a veritable market on wheels.
“We’re finally ready to go!” I announced triumphantly.
Heju glanced at the overstuffed Scoupe and replied cynically, “It looks like we’re homeless and living out of the car.”
Her pessimism sometimes aggravated me. We were finally ready to rock ’n’ roll though.
Chapter 3
It was April tenth. The morning was nippy, overcast and grey. Heju and I got in the Scoupe to begin the drive to our first destination, Ganghwado (do means “island”), located about seventy-five kilometres northwest of our current location, Myeongil-dong in east Seoul. Off we headed northwest along Expressway 88 — named for the year Seoul hosted the Summer Olympics. The road hugged the south shore of the Han River and traced the great span of Seoul from east to west, a drive of more than an hour, in which time we passed more than twenty bridges that cross over the river to the north shore. Then, as the infrastructure and apartment buildings began petering out in the far western reaches of Seoul, we switched onto Road 48, which took us northwest across the wide expanse of the Gimpo Plain toward the coast.
I found the drive along the No. 48 a bit disappointing. Covering the plain was a combination of flat agricultural land and pockets of low hills, and along the weaving road was a haphazard assortment of spartan dwellings and light industry. We arrived at the coast by Ganghwa Bridge at the base of a thickly wooded mountain slope. Across the kilometre-wide Yeomha Channel we could see the northeast shore of Ganghwa Island. Along the mainland and Ganghwa shorelines we could see nothing but muddy banks and woods. Except for the channel’s dangerous looking, swirling grey-brown waters, nothing moved. Despite Ganghwa being the country’s fifth largest island, we could see no cars, people, boats, or villages along its shore. It was as if time stood still.
The far shore rose slightly to a wooded knoll, desolate and tranquil. Unlike most of the inhabited islands of Korea, which have at least a small port to shelter a handful of fishing trawlers, I could see nothing in the way of a single vessel or harbour.
But perhaps the silence and tranquility were not so surprising. After all, North Korea lies just 1.6 kilometres north of the island across the narrow Han estuary, and boat traffic and commercial fishing is prohibited in these waters. Being in such close proximity to the enemy, the ROK troops stationed here are in a state of constant readiness.
We drove across Ganghwa Bridge, ripples and eddies swirling in the strong current. Twice daily, the Pacific Ocean pushes and sucks vast quantities of water in and out of the Yellow Sea basin, resulting in the world’s second-highest tides. Here, along Ganghwa Island, high tide rises nine metres above low tide. The rapid rise and descent creates powerful currents that can sweep along at seven or eight knots between the islands as the tide sweeps in from the south and recedes in the opposite direction.
* * *
Ganghwa Island has been privy to some pretty remarkable history, due to its geographical location at the entrance to the Han River and its proximity to Seoul, just seventy kilometres upstream. During the last millennium, Ganghwa had served in times of trouble as a refuge for royal families, governments, dethroned monarchs, and disgraced officials.
Mark Napier Trollope, a British chaplain stationed in Korea who went on to serve as Bishop of Korea from 1911 until his death in 1930, trekked across Ganghwa Island and wrote that during the first eight centuries after Christ, it was considered a simple prefecture. Then, in the eighth century, its stature was raised to that of a fortress. Ganghwa was “the first outpost to be attacked and the most important to be defended in case of invasion by sea.”
Over the years, the island has received the full brunt of foreign assaults. The Mongols invaded in 1231, and through 1258 attacked Korea seven different times in an attempt to dominate the Goryeo kingdom. The Goryeo king, Gojong, fled to Ganghwa in 1232 and established a government in exile and a mini fortified capital. The Mongols burned and pillaged towns and villages across the peninsula, including the ancient former capital city of Gyeongju in the southeast. In fact, Ganghwa was about the only area of the country not to be overrun, as the Mongols would not or could not cross the Yeomha Channel to land on the island. It would not be until 1270 that the royal court returned to the mainland. In the 1350s, the last of the Mongol garrisons were jettisoned from the country.
Paul Theroux wrote, in Riding the Iron Rooster, that the Mongols were then conquering on horseback half the known world, including Moscow, Poland, eastern China, Afghanistan, and Vienna.
Then, in 1636, the Manchu-dominated Chinese Qing Dynasty sent 120,000 soldiers overland to Korea. The Joseon king at the time, Injo, moved his entire court to Ganghwa, but this time the Manchus took Korean vessels to Ganghwa, and overran the island and set the fort and buildings on fire. Injo surrendered and Korea became a client state to the Manchus, whose army devastated parts of the country and plundered its cities.
In October 1866, the French Far Eastern Squadron — seeking retribution for the execution that spring of four French priests who had been proselytizing Catholicism in Korea — sailed up the Yeomha Channel and bombed Ganghwa’s coastal fortifications, landing at the coastal village of Gapgot, near today’s Ganghwa Bridge. They proceeded to burn much of nearby Ganghwa town to the ground. Five years later, the U.S. Asian Squadron anchored in the channel and pounded the island forts with shells before its soldiers moved to land and decimated the
