"It's as simple as skiing."
- Nobody ever
Just when I thought it was safe to pack away the party favors and unrealistic expectations that surface ever New Year's Eve, Korea went and whipped out yet another New Year. Two New Years in one month seems like a lot, but 설날 (Seollal), or Lunar New Year, is what Koreans consider the actual beginning to the next set of 365 days. Seollal is a national holiday here, so my co-workers and I worked our tushies off the weekend prior to ensure a restful, relaxing four day weekend at the High1 Ski Resort in Jeongjseon, five hours north of Ulsan. Skiing, sounds fun, I thought. Bunny slopes, hot toddies, and hot tubs. HA! What did I know?
Not my photo, but it shows you what we were working with.
Our resort was beautiful, the scenery was breathtaking, and I wasn't even cranky about sharing the two bedroom/one bed condo with ten other people because THERE WAS A REAL SHOWER. Woot, woot! (That's right, one bed--most of us slept Korean style on a floor mat with a rice pillow.)Nothing could get me down. Not even realizing just moments after leaving Ulsan that I had forgotten my cellphone in my apartment. (All photos courtesy of Dez.) No, no. I was determined to have a damned good vacation, and in order to do so I had to prioritize accordingly. In order of importance:
1. Hot tubs
2. Unlimited beer
3. Skiing
Now, before I even explain the complete degradation that was skiing, let me begin by expressing my surprise at how much shit one has to physically tote around just to make it to the slope. Having survived 20+ midwestern winters, I know a thing or two about layers, but skiing requires some serious layering. Thankfully we rented all of our clothing and equipment and returned it after the trip. Although I'm sure Dez would have loved to take his ski outfit home as a souvenir...
Dez in his "Canadian tuxedo," the precise cause of asians yelling "DENIM!" whilst on the slopes. Just one of many reasons why Dez was my favorite person on this trip.
When we were appropriately suited up, we hit the snow for a very quick lesson from one-time-previous skier Tim. Purely basics were covered, like how to go forward, how to stop(ish), and how to turn a little bit. Dez also wanted to practice falling down and not being able to get up, so he took one for the team and demonstrated the best way to do so. My confidence was ignorantly high, and after twenty minutes of practice on a four percent incline I figured I was totally prepared for the beginner slope. HAHA!
Here we took our first steps into the snow.
BALLERS!
I looked the part, at least.
It seems obvious now, and why the thought never occurred to me beforehand I'm not sure, but once you start going down a slope there is absolutely no return. And there's absolutely no way to get to the bottom except on skis. You know where I'm going with this, and you're right in thinking it was about to get ugly for the newbies. Dez and I quickly discovered that Tim's ski lesson, although certainly appreciated, did not equip us with the foundational ski knowledge necessary for the beginner slope. We also discovered that in Korea, beginner slopes are hardcore. More hardcore than my frail little body and ice cold heart. After a series of falls varying in severity, my confidence completely melted away and was replaced with utter fear. Imagine driving a car down a hill with no breaks. Terrifying. And to add salt to the wound, imagine witnessing five and six-year-old children driving their cars past you, smiling and laughing and not flipping themselves through the air, losing both poles and skis.
I literally owe my life to that orange fencing.
Tim did really well skiing and, like Dez, rocked a little denim.
When I actually made it to the bottom of the slope about 45 minutes later I was thrilled. THRILLED. Over the course of the run I had actually improved quite a bit and was able to muster up the courage to get down some not-so-beginner hills. My attitude was completely rubbish by that point, mirroring that of an angst-filled teenager, but I would be damned if I didn't ride a ski lift. So Tim, bless his heart, rode the lift with me to the midpoint of another beginner slope to do it all over again. (Why? WHY?)
Rainbow sprinkles on vanilla ice cream.
Party at the bottom.
More falls, more mental anguish, more premature loss of hair pigmentation. What I imaged would be light-hearted, graceful, personal sledding turned into tackling one downhill bit at a time, managing to stop by either falling in the snow at speeds close to 500mph or ramming myself into the fence. Doesn't that sound fun? In the end, the risk wasn't worth the reward and I decided that a mid-marathon training broken leg would be much, much worse than my lessening desire to master the art of skiing. Besides, the sport aspect was low on my list of priorities and I definitely excelled at priorities one and two. Dez, on the other hand, experienced just as much physical (and probably mental) pain as I did and managed to continue BOTH days. I was so happy to see him in one piece that night, and I am really proud and thankful of his and Tim's positivity.
Lil' ski virgins
The view from the gondola lift, the only way I managed to get down from the tip top of the mountain.
I was more than happy to morally support these ski babes.
Some people are completely insane and do this at night, too.
So there you have it. Lunar New Year, not as relaxing or restful as I previously anticipated, but still a very fun, educational experience. Plus, I get badass points for crossing skiing off my to-do list. If anyone at home wants to give me free ski lessons I would gladly accept, but until then you can probably find me in the lodge sipping a hite russian and reading Walt Whitman on a bearskin rug.
