Field trip to Uljin Cave

On Sunday afternoon we decided to head about 90 minutes north along the coast to visit the well-reputed cave in Uljin.  Along the way, we stopped at a convenience store for beverages (even the remote villages have convenience stores with iced coffees, yogurt drinks, Coke, Fanta, and Sprite - though diet drinks are rare as cassette tapes in a college dorm). While waiting for Nick to pay, the kids and I decoded the Korean writing on next-door apartment building: “Kahn Doe Bill.” Which may disappoint those dear readers looking for deep meaning as we realized it just means, well, "Condo Building,"  Ah, English in disguise.  Tricksters.

When meandering along the coast, we noticed an unusually large sculpture.  Needing to stretch our legs anyway, we went to check it out via the strangely-labeled "Whale and Clean Beach Road."

This striking whale sculpture inexplicably featured  a very naked, and very well-endowed (non-Korean) 
bronze lady on its snout.

Inside the whale, looking toward its mouth.
David's hiding from the naked lady AND the camera.

Adjacent to the whale sculpture were a pair of intriguing blue ships.
Which were, on closer inspection, confusingly-signed bathrooms. 

The Uljin cave (named Seongryugul for historical mountain-god-worship and Buddha statue storage reasons) is a typical Korean tourist site, at least for this side of the country. Brown highway signs in Korean, Chinese, and English (never Japanese - they're the bad guys) pointed us most of the way and then abruptly stopped once we got sort of close (we've done this enough not to be surprised anymore).  We paid our parking fee (well before reaching the site or the gravel-covered parking lot) to a dentally-challenged older guy in a ramshackle shed, behind which several friends were animatedly squatting and chatting.  We parked, wisely anticipated restroom needs given our empty beverage bottles, and brought paper from the van (we have learned the hard way that public restrooms are only guaranteed to provide some for of toilet.  Paper, sinks, soap, and lights are all optional).  Happily, we found TP hanging about 20 feet outside the bathrooms amid the informal market's displays of dried fish, tiny heaps of grains, and Korean pumpkins.  (Keep in mind this place is a national monument.  Can you imagine going to, say, Mt. Rushmore and having to step through and around an open-air grocery/gift shop?  No, you cannot. But here, it's normal.  And you'll read more about this market later.)

Hooray!  TP provided!

After a stroll through the market, we found the cave ticket booth overlooking the 
beautiful dammed river near a pair of spewing stone turtles.  

The historical marker includes a jab at the Japanese for starving 500 Koreans to death here.  Not recently, mind you: this is after Columbus' time but round about Sir Francis Drake was doing his thing for Queen Elisabeth and Roanoke Island was getting deserted (and the Taj Mahal was being built).  Wow: Koreans know how to hold a grudge.

We gave our tickets to another man stationed near racks of white hard helmets.  We couldn't read any of the Korean signs but obediently donned and adjusted the helmets, assuming these were required safely gear.  Silly Americans - we were almost the only ones in the cave who bothered.  We located the tiny cave entrance (Sioux Center residents: picture the children's door at Pizza Hut) and I was suddenly grateful for being the shortest one in our family.

Nick's bottom half entering the cave; we are warmly welcomed in bat language.

The cave held a stunning variety of limestone formations and bat-shaped labels, and I wished for a flashlight stronger than Nick's cell phone to see more than what was revealed by the stingy lights.

Besides the tourists (and a dead rat we spied, splayed high up on a craggy wall), 

there was not a sign of life, not even a spider web or bit of bat poop.  
That said, much of the cave reminded us strongly of Alien.

After our 45-minute self-guided tour along the well-marked if sometimes sideways- or crawling-only paths, we walked along the reservoir path before heading back.  As we wandered toward the van, we had to pass through the market again. The tiny shops and restaurants lined along the road/path sold drinks, traditional Korean foods, cigarettes, plastic crap (anyone want a white baby doll dress in jungle camouflage?), traditional crafts, and sometimes sidewalk-squatting sellers with fresh fruit, veggies, and fish.  Everything is cheap from a US perspective, but not much is attractive.

A wide range of kitchy and fine products for sale in the market.

Some shops also sell (and boldly display) penis-themed items.  For the sake of our PG-13 audience, I shall not offer pictures here, but suffice it to say that a larger-than-oh-my-gosh-large water fountain formation and a table of variously shaped and positioned tchotchkes elicited rather different responses from our little group's members: disdainful frowning, embarrassed horror, snickering wonder, and amused curiosity.  I shall not reveal which names accompanied which responses, but you may wish to refer to my earlier "Fertility Park" post.

We bought bottled water from one woman, who pointed to David, asked (in Korean) if he was my son, then chortled about him being so big! and handsome!  (both words in my vocab list this week).  David gave his great shy smile and turned away to lurch along the path.  As we neared the parking area, the background music became louder and we discovered several ajummas dressed in Hiking Gear (this is a fashion category here) and dancing like drunken lunatics.  We had never seen this kind of Korean behavior before so I fear we stared, and David managed to record a few seconds on his tablet.

It was a very satisfying journey, capped off with a mis-printed highway sign on the way home: "Snow Crap Mountain."  Sounds like an adventure for another weekend.