Late Winter Snow on Gaya Mountain

Late in the winter, in early March, daytime temperatures were generally around 10 degrees Celcius in Busan, with nighttime temperatures slightly below zero on the coldest nights.  There was little snow to be found anywhere in Busan, or anywhere in southeastern Korea for that matter.

Wishing to explore Korea in early spring, I headed to Gaya moutain (가야산), the namesake of a provincial park located on the border of South GyeongSang province (경상남도) and North GyeongSang province (경상남도).  Gaya Mountain National Park (가야산국립공원) is accessible by bus from Daegu, Korea's fourth largest city.  The park and the mountain at its center are named in honour of the Gaya Confederacy, a small kingdom based in the territories along the NakDong river that coexisted with the Goguryeo, Baekje and Silla kingdoms during the three kingdoms period, 1500 years ago.

When I arrived at the park, it did indeed look as I expected.  It was snowless and leafless, as the snow had recently melted but the days had not warmed enough to allow leaves to sprout on the trees.  However, the landscape of the park was not completely brown, as a hardy green undergrowth had managed to survive the winter cold.  There were also a few orange coloured leaves left over from the autumn.

Orange remnants of the autumn, in 가야산 공원 in early March.

Green undergrowth under leafless trees, in 가야산 공원.

Beautiful twisted tree trunks, by the path going up 가야산.

A few lonely leaves, having managed to cling to their parent tree throughout the winter.

But as I climbed higher and higher up the mountain, there was more and more evidence that the cold of the winter had only very recently began to ebb...

A frozen stream, on 가야산.

Snow below the trees on 가야산.

Snow on the path going up 가야산.

...  until I found myself climbing into the cloud cover and entering a completely snow-covered landscape.

Entering the clouds towards the summit of 가야산, as the snow cover increases.

Looking up at the trees after entering the cloud cover of 가야산.

Hardy green undergrowth, still green in spite of the snow.

Frozen leaves, in the cloud cover of 가야산.

More and more snow, higher and higher on 가야산.

The snowscape, high on 가야산 in March.

As I neared the summit of the mountain, its slope became steeper and steeper, and the path up the mountain often passed near sharp cliffs.  But I could not see down the mountain, as the clouds were too thick.  Still, the scenery there was beautiful.

Approaching the top of the tree cover, near the summit of 가야산.

Frosty trees by the edge of a cliff, near the summit of 가야산.

Frost on the end of the branches of a tree, with only cloud in the background.

A small tree, near the edge of cliff on 가야산.

An evergreen tree, twisted by the wind and covered in frost, by the edge of a cliff on 가야산.

As I got even closer to the peak, the landscape became increasingly barren of trees.  The path going up the mountain passed between large boulders, in small passes that were filled with so much snow that to navigate them almost required snow shoes.

Snowy rocks and boulders, approaching the summit of 가야산.

A snow-filled pass, near the summit of 가야산.

The thickest snow cover I saw all winter, on 가야산 in early March.

Just as I was beginning to think that it would probably be more difficult to climb down the snowy slopes than to climb them up, I crossed the path of another hiker who was heading back down the mountain.  In broken Korean, I managed to ask him how much farther it was to the peak.  He responded, but I could not understand what he said.  Following this exchange, he looked at my shoes.  Then, pointing down to the sturdy pair of metal cleats that were fastened upon his, he said: "없음", and then uttered a "shhweet" sound while making a gesture that clearly suggested that I would slip and fall off the mountain if I carried on without proper cleats.  Heeding his advice, I decided to turn back, realizing that I should have trusted my instincts when they earlier had told me that the path was getting dangerous. 

On the way down, I walked slowly in the snowy zone of the mountain, wanting to appreciate one last moment of winter before returning to the spring.

Frosty trees and rocks, high on 가야산.

The snowy path to the summit of 가야산 in March.

Leafless shrubs and dried grass poking through the snow on 가야산.

Ice crystals cupped in a frozen leaf, on 가야산.

As I reached the bottom of the mountain, a park employee who had smiled at me as I entered the park earlier in the day asked me if I had reached the summit.  I successfully communicated to her that I could not do it, as there was too much snow on the mountain.  She wished me well, and I walked on out of the park.

As I left the park, I could see no hint of the snowy landscape in which I had spent most of the day, as it was completely hidden from view by the clouds.

Low clouds on the mountains of 가야산 공원, hiding from view a wintery wonderland.

Electrical Energy in Korea Revisited

In a previous post, I reported on an electrical blackout that occurred in Korea last summer, and hypothesized that electricity usage patterns may be changing in Korea. 

In spite of the fact that the summertime demand for electrical energy is increasing in Korea, the demand for electrical energy remains highest in winter, and meeting the demand for electricity remains a major concern for the Korean government and utility companies. 

Much of Korea's electrical energy is produced using nuclear reactors.  Recently, minor incidents have occurred at two of Korea's nuclear reactors, one located just outside of Busan.  The incidents, though minor, resulted in short term generation stoppages.  In some news articles, it was reported that the service life of the Gori reactor, the one located near Busan, has already been extended beyond its projected 30-year life span.  Some residents of the area in which the reactor is located fear that it may be unsafe, and are lobbying the government to shut down the reactor.

Meanwhile, another reactor, this one further north, is nearing the end of its service life.  The company operating this reactor wants to extend its service life as well, and again some citizens are against it. 

It is projected that 8 more reactors will reach the end of their service life by 2030.  It therefore seems to me that Korea is in urgent need of investments in electrical generation capacity.  Making the matter all the more urgent is the fact that a shortage of electricity, should one occur during the winter, could prove deadly given how cold the weather can be in Korea between November and March.

Freezing in Seoul, But Enjoying the Snow

"Hot soup season".  That's how the Korean winter was described in a newspaper when Seoul experienced its first cold spells in late November of last year.  Koreans eat a lot of soup in all seasons, but in winter, eating soup to stay warm just might be a survival necessity.  Why?  Because many Korean buildings are poorly insulated, making the winter cold particularly difficult to bear.

The "poorly insulated Korean building" category includes most of the buildings at my place of work.  But in Busan, the winter is not so harsh.  Still, to stay warm on the coldest winter days, extra layers of clothing must be worn, even indoors.

In Seoul, poor building insulation is a far more serious problem.  I learned this the hard way when I visited Seoul during one of the coldest weeks of the winter, the first week of February of this year.  Actually, during the first week of February, record low temperatures were recorded in many parts of Korea.  And my hotel room was uncomfortably cold!  To stay comfortable during the night, I had to sleep with my long underwear and my tuque on.  To make matters worse, after spending the night in an under-heated hotel room, I found it difficult to warm up during the day as many other public buildings were also not particularly well heated.  Not surprisingly, spending a few days in Seoul in these conditions weakened my immune system, and I caught a cold.  And I could not help but wonder how Seoul's residents cope with such cold weather, especially if their homes are also poorly insulated and insufficiently heated.


In spite of the cold, I was happy to see Seoul in winter.  The city center looked quite different under a blanket of snow.

Seoul's snow covered rooftops, in early February.

Snow in a park, in downtown Seoul.

Looking towards BukAk mountain (북악산), on a cold February day.

Snow-covered InWang mountain (인왕산), on a cold February day.

Looking towards downtown on SeJong DaeRo (세종대로), on a cold winter day.

DeokSu palace (덕수궁), near Seoul city hall, in winter.

But most beautiful of all were the buildings and the grounds at GyeongBok palace (경복궁).

One of the gates inside 경복궁.

A pagoda on the grounds of 경복궁.

Snow-covered roofs in 경복궁.

The moon rising over a roof in 경복궁.

Some of the buildings of 경복궁, in winter.

인왕산, seen from behind a building in 경복궁.

Seoul tower in the distance, seen from 경복궁.

인왕산, seen from the grounds of 경복궁.

Another view of 인왕산, from the grounds of 경복궁.

A gazebo, a frozen pond and 북악산, seen from the grounds of 경복궁. 

HaeSinDang Park - 해신당 공원

In addition to its snowy mountains, its lookout into North Korea, and its familiar-feeling small industrial towns, GangWon province is home to one of the most unique parks I have ever visited, HaeSinDang park (해신당 공원).

I visited 해신당 공원 on a lightly overcast afternoon.  In the winter sun, the almost snow free landscape of the park showed off its many tones of brown, while occasionally sporting evergreen hues.  The first section of the park was deserted, and serene...  perfect for a quiet winter afternoon walk.

해신당 공원, on a cold January day.

Another view of 해신당 공원.

Dry grass in 해신당 공원

But I soon came upon the park's main attraction, an attraction that draws to it visitors from all over Korea, and it transformed into something more light-hearted and cheeky the serene mood that I had cultivated in the park's natural landscape.  You see, 해신당 공원 is a sculpture park, and certainly one of the most unusual ones I have ever heard of.  Here are some of the first sculptures that I saw in the park: 

A sculpture in 해신당 공원.

Another sculpture in 해신당 공원.

 

Having first stumbled upon some of the more subtle of the park's sculptures, it didn't take long for me to find some of the more realistic ones.

A bench in 해신당 공원.

In case you needed a close-up of the sculpture to see what it is...  :)

That's right, 해신당 공원 is a penis park...  a theme park dedicated to sculptures of the human male's favourite reproductive organ.


By my estimate, the park is home to more than 50 penis sculptures, some of them silly...

A laughing penis and his friend, in 해신당 공원.

A penis in a robe.

... others more realistic looking...

A penis canon.

Penises by a pond, in 해신당 공원.

Seems that a woodpecker thought that this wood pecker would make a good home.  (Sorry.)  :)

해신당 공원 is on the GangWon coast, and the coastline by the park is also beautiful.

Looking down to the East Sea from a steep hill in 해신당 공원.

The GangWon coast, from 해신당 공원.

Rocks by the East Sea shore, in 해신당 공원.

Just outside of 해신당 공원, there is a little harbour with a lighthouse marking its entrance, the shape of which is in keeping with the park's theme.

A harbour lighthouse, just outside 해신당 공원.

So why is there a penis park in southern GangWon province?  Because the people living in the area near HaeSinDang park have an interesting cultural legend, known as the legend of HaeSinDang.

According to the legend, there once lived in HaeSinDang a young woman named AeRang (애랑) who was engaged to a fisherman named DeokBae (덕배).  One morning, 애랑 went out to sea with 덕배 as he went to work, and he dropped her off on a rock so she could collect some seaweed.  He was going to pick her up again on his way back home in the evening, but the weather changed suddenly and he was not able to go back to the rock to find her.  So, 애랑 drowned.

After her drowning, the fishermen of HaeSinDang started having difficulty catching enough fish.  Until the day that one of them realized that if he urinated while facing the ocean in the morning, his catch would be much better.  He concluded that the fish must be perturbed by the spirit of 애랑, as her spirit must be sexually frustrated.  He also understood that, if he showed 애랑's spirit his penis,  her frustration eased and she did not disturb the fish so much.  And so from that day on, the fishermen of HaeSinDang presented their penises to the ocean before going fishing, and this greatly improved their catch.


The woman in this legend, 애랑, is a local goddess in the region near HaeSinDang.  There is a small shrine dedicated to her in 해신당 공원.  As I passed it on my way out of the park, someone placed an offering in the shrine and prayed to 애랑.

The shrine to 애랑, in 해신당 공원.

A final note...
I learned the Korean word for penis when I visited 해신당 공원.  In Korean, a penis is a "nam geun" (남근).
I can't be sure of the etymology of the word, as the Korean language has many words borrowed from the Chinese language, many of which sound almost the same but are written using different characters.  Often, Koreans will want to know the Chinese spelling of a word in order to clearly differentiate it from a number of other similar-sounding options.
Having said this, I think that the word "nam geun" is a compound word.  The word "nam" (남) means "male".  I encounter this word quite commonly, as the Korean word for "man" is "nam ja" (남자), which literally means "male person".  Also, one meaning of the word "geun" (근) is "muscle".
So in Korean, a penis is a 남근, or a "male muscle".