Sunday, August 12, 2012

Mudfest: A misadventure in Korea

Well hello, dear reader! I'm sure you've been wondering where I've been, but wonder no longer! I'm right here, staring at my computer screen, seemingly unable to write a coherent blog post.

It's not as if I haven't tried, it's just, well, complicated.

Do I bare all? The ups and downs, the glaring disparities between my dreams and reality? Or do I sugar coat my words until you see a pretty picture of a life I've lived abroad, blurred by an instagram edited shot of a buddhist temple. So vintage. So cute. So untrue.

I've been battling with myself, and have finally settled on putting the excuses aside to tell you about one of the more interesting misadventures I've had here. That way, my words are true, but the story itself is the sugar in my teacup of experiences here.

Metaphors getting you down? Let's dive in then.

This misadventure takes place at a notorious event here in Korea. It's called (as you may have gathered) Mudfest, and it's exactly what it sounds like. A festival entirely devoted to mud. Put a few pools of mud, a few thousand foreigners, a beach, cocktails in plastic bags, and a sense of sexual liberation on a scale previously incomprehensible to man, and you've pretty much got mudfest.

What's that? It sounds like Woodstock? No. No. Take away the mud, add some music, and maybe you get Woodstock. Well. Minus a few Koreans.

Anyways, I found out about this event more than six months before it happened. It's kind of a big deal. If you're a foreigner in Korea, and you don't go, people think there's something wrong with you. A few friends and I booked a trip with a local travel company, in May, amping ourselves up for what we were sure would be a life-changing (or at least drunken) weekend full of frivolity.

The train ride took an hour and a half, and it was drizzling when we got there. After making our way around the city, we passed our hotel over three times before figuring out where it was. We settled in, making our peace with the lack of beds (there were blankets and pillows, though), and changed into our mudfest gear.

Foreigners were everywhere. Military, teachers, and tourists were covered in mud, drinking cocktails from plastic bags that hung around their necks. We immediately got some ziplock cocktails as well, because it was that kind of weekend. Then we bought tickets and stood in line. Since the theme of the festival involved mud, many did not bring their phones, and we promptly lost each other.

Though my friend and I wanted to find the others, we made our way through the mud pool, as well as a mud cage, where we stood in a cage as mud squirted from all sides. Thoroughly covered in mud, we found our friends and went for the mudslides (no, not the alcoholic beverage. Actual slides with mud instead of water).

After a while, my tolerance for being dirty waned, and we cleaned up at the hotel. A few hours, a nap, and a meal later, we headed back out to dance on the beach. However, we ended up in a club. In our bathing suits.

The club itself seemed sketchy. It was two flights of stairs above a 7-11, and the line extended all the way down. A twenty dollar cover did not appeal to me, but obliging people gave us their bracelets as they left, and we snuck in without paying the fee. Win! We danced for a while to a brilliant mix of old Christina Aguilara and hip-hop, and then walked back towards where we thought our hotel was.

Instead of our hotel, we found street vendors. One stall was full of beautiful bracelets, haunting South American music, and a Peruvian man named Marco who eagerly chatted me up when I started talking in Spanish. Ray (a teacher here whose family is Mexican) and I talked to Marco for a while before Lauren (my fellow foreign teacher from work) wandered over with kiwi-flavored soju.

We went to the shore, and decided to go for a swim, even though it was past one. Korean police lazily patrolled the waters, but we snuck past them and swam for a good twenty minutes. Which was when we met Mr. Crazy.

I call him Mr. Crazy in lieu of a harsher nickname, trust me.

He didn't seem so bad at first, but with bleach blond highlights, a plastic parka (it wasn't raining), and a beer in his hands all alone on the beach, I should have known something was up.

Him: I'm so bored I'll watch your stuff.
Us: Um, thanks.
Him: I missed mudfest last year. I would have gone if I'd known there would be so many hot foreigner women.
Us: That's nice.
Him: I wanted to get a caricature of myself in Hogwarts robes with my house crest above it.
Ray and Lauren: Weird.
Me: SO COOL. What house are you in?
Him: Scientology.
Me: That's... not a house.
Him: It's the house I made up. I'm a scientologist. But I'm not a crazy one like Tom Cruise.

Lauren wanders towards Koreans with fireworks.

Ray: That's interesting.
Him: Yeah.
Me: *This is weird*

Ray turns away.

Him: *Lewd and awkward comment that involves a sexual reference and is meant to be a pick-up line*
Me: *Laughs* That's nice.

I back away.

It would actually be inappropriate for me to write what he said here, so I'll just leave you all to your imaginations. Meanwhile at the hotel, a person who shall remain nameless had lady-friends in the bathroom, and they were making their own lewd noises. While other people tried to sleep in the other room.

It was a weekend of dirtiness, both metaphorically and literally. I had fun, though, and that's what counts.

It's my birthday next week! WOO!

Listening to: All of the Mumford and Sons new songs. Especially "Ghosts That We Knew."
Eating: Healthy dieting shakes. And lots of vegetables and green tea.
Reading: Just finished The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. It was AMAZING.

Maybe I'll write about one of my many other misadventures, but we'll see.

13 weeks till home.

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