Meanwhile, Back on the Farm

"I'm absolutely, 100% certain that we're going the right way," I announced.  "90%, at least."

The afternoon sun beat down hard on our sun-browned skin.  The day had grown quite lovely as the road grew less hospitable: we had had to abandon the nice riverside bike path when the river had stubbornly refused to go right to our destination, leaving us no choice but to get on the road with the monster trucks, tanks, taun tauns, etc.  My head was still reeling from having to switch my glasses-mounted mirror to the other side, but we pressed onward, hoping to make it to our WWOOF host before sundown.  Google still threw up its hands and suggested taking a bus when we asked it for directions, so we had to go to Navigation Plan B: we actually cracked open the atlas we bought in Busan.  Discovering that its maps were far too zoomed out to be of much use (and also that the farm appeared to be located in an geologically unique zone located in the crease between pages), we went to Plan C: Google Maps again.

The expressway turned to a rural byway, which turned into a country road as it wound its way into a valley in a mountain range we had been studiously avoiding for several kilometers.  Now, when the road shrank still further to the width of a single car or one of our bikes (but not both), Jenn was losing faith in my (Google's) navigational skills.  The addresses climbed slowly as we pedaled further into the valley, the mountains looming closer ahead of us.  Do-ri 34, 36, 38...

"What's the address, again?"

"...1006," I said.  The sun grew even hotter, our shirts sizzling as sweat sublimated right out of our pores.  We pedaled harder, praying that some trick of advanced mathematics would put 1006 right after 40.

At last, somewhere around 88, our already threadbare confidence in Google Maps gave up entirely.  I turned back to ask a trio of ajima for directions as Jenn pushed on a bit farther.  By the time I caught up to Jenn (having learned from each lady that Dori Village was in front of us, behind us, and did not exist at all), she had bumped into our host who happened to be passing by in a truck.  He directed us to the farm, which turned out to be still further into the valley, to the veritable cranny (or possibly nook) of the mountains.  Jenn relayed to me as we grunted our bikes back into motion that we were told to bring our bags inside and introduce ourselves to our host's parents.  And me without my tie...

We were greeted warmly by a charming old couple, and after establishing that we spoke no Korean at all, they ushered us upstairs to rest.  The house, one of several on the grounds, was vast, with numerous living rooms, lounges, rec rooms, and countless bedrooms.  We hauled all of our panniers, sleeping bags, and musical instruments to the second floor of the house and dropped them in an empty bedroom.  I immediately tramped back downstairs to see how we could go about earning our keep, only to be told, "Rest, rest."  Somewhat at a loss, I returned to the bedroom, where Jenn and I proceeded to sit around for a few hours.  Every so often, one of us would go downstairs to try to volunteer once again, only to be told to "rest."  Figuring it was possible that our body odor posed a danger to their houseplants, we showered.  By the time we had finished, we were being called downstairs to dinner by our hostess.

Seated at the long table were the couple who had welcomed us, another older lady, a 30ish athletic-looking man, and a skinny, glasses-wearing teenager.  Our host, Yongjae, was nowhere to be seen.  Set on the table was a feast: brown rice, fried potatoes, spicy chicken stew, salty-sweet fried seaweed, and, yes, homemade kimchi.  Somewhat sheepishly, we sat at two empty places and were welcomed warmly by everyone at the table.  After a moment, they all bowed their head and began praying together in Korean.  "What sort of place have we come to?" Jenn and I asked each other with a glance.

As we helped wash the dishes (finally being given something to do), a freshly showered, mild-mannered young man walked in and introduced himself as Yongjae, our host.  He explained that we would have plenty of work to do the next day, but for the rest of the evening, we should just recover from our long ride.  We turned in late for us, about 9:00, and wondered what this "Dori Village" with its large, vaguely-defined family, would have in store for us.  At least, we wondered that for the 15 seconds it took us to fall asleep.

Later...