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holidays you’ll never forget!

a movie star trip toWin LA!SEE INSIDE FOR DETAILS

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Travel To

GL21 Cover-10.indd 1 19/5/09 8:43:25 AM

#42 get lost! ISSUE #21 get in the know! Home to some two million soldiers, the DMZ is the world’s most heavily fortified border.

Try This quick quiz. can you name a place where Buddhist temples and spectacular national parks sit alongside one of the

heaviest militarised zones on earth? Where ski resorts are open until 4.30am but the beaches are closed for ten months of the year? Where barehanded trout catching is a national obsession, ice fishing festivals attract a million visitors and a squid sundae is the ultimate in fast food? Gangwon-do province, home to phoenix park and yongpyong ski resorts, is situated in the north-east corner of south korea, bordering the Demilitarised zone (Dmz) with north korea.

It is a frosty winter evening in Seoul and I have a midnight rendezvous with a mountain. The mountain part I’m quietly confident about, it’s the midnight bit I’m not so sure of. I catch a bus from downtown Seoul for the two-hour drive to Phoenix Park. The grey city slips away and I enter a stark and beautiful landscape forged by the forces of time and geography. It is a place of rugged mountains and wide rivers, deep lakes and narrow gorges, soldiers and mountain temples. This is Korea’s frontier.

The midnight expressThe swish-swish of ski pants, the aroma of hot wax and a veritable zoo of animal-shaped

of third time lucky when they try for the 2018 Winter Olympics.

The real games begin when I try to purchase a lift ticket. The individual sessions are straightforward enough; I am offered a day, a night or a midnight ticket. It’s the ‘upsizing’ that confuses things. Options include a night plus morning, an afternoon plus night, a night plus midnight or a midnight plus morning. By pointing to my watch, spinning the hour hand and counting on my fingers, I eventually come away with a lift ticket flying proudly from my jacket pocket.

With few people on the slopes, night skiing has a spirit of camaraderie. The world shrinks and all I can hear is my breath, the blood pounding in my ears and that damn Korean pop music. Most of the runs are short and cruisy and there are only a couple to get seriously excited about – Paradise and Dizzy. While Dizzy gives me a brief head spin and Paradise has a decent

text: kerry van der jagt

images: kerry van der jagt

KOrEansoulWith few people on the slopes, night skiing has a

spirit of camaraderie. The world shrinks and all i can hear is my breath, the blood pounding in my ears and that damn korean pop music.

beanies let me know that I’ve arrived. The blaring Korean pop music confirms it. There is an energy here that can both invigorate and decimate. The lifts close for just six hours a day, so I have the opportunity to do more skiing in one day than I would normally manage in a long weekend. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to ski for eighteen hours straight.

Phoenix Park is a resort town with modern facilities, and while Mt Taegi is more molehill than mountain, it has a big heart and a big dream – to host a winter Olympic Games. Without the big

mountains or the big snowfall, it has a snowball’s chance in hell, but don’t tell the Koreans that. The Olympic dreams of Pyeongchang County first melted when they lost the bid for the 2010 Winter Olympics to Vancouver by just three votes. They then dipped out to russia’s Sochi for the 2014 Winter Games. The determined Koreans are convinced that it will be a case

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on the mountain slopes of south korea’s Gangwon-do province, kerry van der Jagt catches more than a cold.

korea

GL21 KoreaSki-3.indd 42 19/5/09 11:43:53 AM

ISSUE #21 get lost! #43

The locals here dream of one day hosting a Winter Olympics. They are clearly optimistic.

get in the know! Tae kwondo, the national sport of Korea, is the world’s most popular martial art.


left hand corner title

#44 get lost! ISSUE #21 get in the know! When taking photographs, Koreans will often use the word ‘kimchi’ in the same way as English speakers use the word ‘cheese’.

variety of slope characteristics, neither are true black diamond runs.

“Take the gondola to the top and then stick to the far right of Paradise,” advises Bruno Lee, a local who has been coming to Phoenix for more than ten years. “after a storm, that’s where you’ll find the best powder stashes.” There’s an equal mix of skiers and boarders at Phoenix Park. It is popular with snowboarders because there aren’t any flat areas that need traversing or any annoying T-bars, just chairs and a high-speed gondola. The terrain park with its half-pipe, tabletop and rails isn’t huge but it’s still the place where the cool crowd chills. anywhere else in the world, tucking into a dish of kimchi (pickled cabbage) and washing it down with a Hite beer at sunrise would be wrong on so many levels. Here on Mt Taigi, with my new best mate Bruno, it seems so right.

To catch a coldBy mid-afternoon I can’t take any more. Who am I kidding? My legs are as weak as rice noodles and I feel like I’m in some kind of parallel universe where the days don’t end. I down ski stocks, declare Mission Impossible and jump a bus to Chuncheon. This remote city is tucked within the Taebaek Mountains, just 40 kilometres south of the DMZ. Because of its strategic location, Chuncheon is known as a military town and several large bases surround the area. I can’t quite decide if this makes me feel better or worse.

My accommodation is at the Manhae Village, a modern temple-style hotel named after a nineteenth-century Buddhist leader famous for writing poems about love and longing. Today it is a place of retreat for poets and writers. Being somewhat of a fool in the love and longing department myself, I can only hope some of the ancient wisdom rubs off.

The next morning is a frigid –11°C as I take the bus to the mountain village of Hwacheon. Fresh

Skiing at night means more hours on the snow and less people to bump into.


ISSUE #21 get lost! #45

korea

get in the know! Korea formally numbers all of its cultural and natural assets. For example, Seoraksan national Park is Precious natural Product number 171.

snow carpets the ground and the chisel-like peaks of the Great Baekdu mountain range scratch the sky. a three-tiered pagoda, frosted in fresh snow like a wedding cake, stands to attention in the distance.

The wide Hwacheon river has frozen over and the Sancheoneo mountain trout, indigenous to this part of Korea, is the star of the show. The Hwacheon Ice Festival is an annual event that attracts more than a million visitors. It runs for three weeks every January and plays host to everything chilly – from ice fishing, ice skating and ice sculpting to bobsledding, bobsleighing and barehanded trout fishing.

During the festival the frozen river is divided into three sections: the Fishing Plaza, the Sports Plaza and the Ice Plaza. Holes can be drilled through the ice using an auger, or if you’re feeling fit, chipped out with an ice pick. Brief notes of encouragement are posted on festival notice boards. I have it on good authority that the signs say, “Do not get depressed. Keep your rhythm. Be persistent.” This could easily be the Korean motto for life.

One of the more bizarre sights during the festival is the ‘suicide tank’. On a section of the frozen river an icy pond has been carved into the snow and stocked with dozens of trout. Three times a day contestants are encouraged to enter the giant slushy bowl and tackle as many trout as they can, using only their bare hands. To identify them, these crazy people are dressed in bright orange T-shirts and shorts. The whistle blows, the crowd goes wild and the contestants jump in. There’s only one rule: you must catch three fish to be are allowed out of the water before the requisite ten minutes is up. Most don’t go the full ten minutes.

From Hwacheon I head to Lake Soyang, the site of the Inje Ice Fish Festival. Inje is a traditional town set within the rugged beauty

of the Seoraksan Mountains. The Inje County mayor, Park Samrae, is keen to share the remarkable beauty of his county with visitors. “The motto for the people of Inje County is kindness,” he says.

The frozen lake is a massive ten million square metres of ice in the middle of the Inner Seoraksan Mountains. The ice, at just 25 centimetres, is thinner than at Hwacheon, though still thick enough to drive a car on. It takes about ten minutes with a pick to create a decent hole.

The creature in question here is the delicate silver bingeo fish (also known as smelt). Traditionally, they are eaten alive. Since they’re too wiggly for chopsticks, you hold them by the caudal fin, dip them in cho-gochujang (a vinegar and chilli paste mix) and toss them down the gullet.

Three times a day contestants are encouraged to enter the giant slushy bowl and tackle as many trout as they can, using only their bare hands.

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#48 get lost! ISSUE #21 get in the know! Nelson Mandela returned to his Vilakuzi Street house after his release from prison in 1990 and proclaimed at a rally in Soweto, “I have come home at last”.

south africa

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GL21_South Africa Soweto-3.indd 48 19/5/09 3:39:08 PM

ISSUE #21 get lost! #49get in the know! A 1972 poll had found that 98 per cent of young Sowetans did not want to be taught in Afrikaans.

Spending time in the township of Soweto is

an essential experience for travellers who

want to delve deeper into the South African

soul than a game park visit will allow.

Shoot me, Shoot me,” A pint-Sized boy pleads. i decide to put him out of his misery – after all, memory cards are cheap. he puffs

his puny chest out, crosses his arms and stares flirtatiously into the lens. he then dashes over to giggle at the photo captured. tourists may worry about getting their stuff swiped in South African townships but the greatest risk is having their camera grabbed and manhandled by grubby little fingers. the kids’ delight at seeing themselves on screen makes you wish you had a polaroid picture to give them to keep.

The cries of “shoot me” might reflect outsiders’ expectations of life in Soweto – guns and bravado in the ghetto. After all, it is the most famous – or infamous – township in South Africa. It’s technically part of the capital Johannesburg – a city with an unrivalled reputation for crime. The name Soweto comes from its location relative to Johannesburg – South Western Township – where it was established as an informal settlement after the gold rush in which so-called ‘blacks’ and ‘coloureds’ were relegated to live in poor areas.

Soweto is now far from the suburban enclave or modest township that its name may suggest. Estimates put its population at anywhere between 900,000 and 3.5 million. Even at the lower end of this range, Soweto boasts two thirds of Johannesburg’s population crammed into a much smaller area than that occupied by J’burg. Of these masses, just 60 or so whites live in Soweto – typically individuals with local spouses. Like tourism, interracial integration is seen as part of the post-apartheid healing. Soweto still wears its history and its heart on its sleeve, however – not surprising when you consider the struggles that it played host to and the many activists that it has produced. Vilakazi Street, in Orlando West, Soweto, lays claim to being the only street in the world in which two Nobel Peace Prize winners have resided: Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu.

text: tamara caddy

images: tamara caddy

“


SKY (Soweto Kliptown Youth) is helping to break the cycle of poverty in Kliptown, one of Soweto’s poorest suburbs.

#50 get lost! ISSUE #21 get in the know! Kwaito, a type of South African hip-hop that blends house, African percussion and a repitition of lyrics, started in Soweto and has its own style of dance called Pantsula.

In 1998, Soweto local Lebo Malepa was selling crafts to tourists outside the Hector Pieterson Museum. He found that he was making friends with tourists who wanted to see more of Soweto. After five years of putting them up in his bedroom in his parents’ house, he opened the first and only backpacker accommodation in Soweto. There’s more to Lebo than savvy entrepreneurialism. It’s ‘peak hour’ in the parkland out the front of the backpacker hostel. The place is swarming with screaming under-fifteens, older boys kicking a soccer ball and teens leaning against the wall sprawled with anti-Aids slogans and images of activists like Steve Biko. The park is a world away from its former incarnation as a rubbish dumping site. By clearing the land, creating a football pitch and volleyball field, putting in seats and painting the wall, Lebo and his Swedish partner Marie have slowly crafted this space into a community parkland. It is a hive of afternoon activity – a realisation of the goal to give kids a safe and green place to play. The crowning glory is a recently installed jungle gym and the park is now regularly filled with laughing chubby cheeks and squeals of delight from after school until dark.

Lebo is not much bigger than some of the kids, and is just as energetic. As well as being the hostel owner he acts as playground policeman – within minutes of Lebo wandering across to the parkland the kids swarm around him. As they complain about the bigger kids hogging the swings he remains cool and calm. He is an unwitting role model with his firm but fair leadership. He lets the kids wander into the hostel to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom but there’s a clear understanding as to where the boundaries lie.

With its football club, guitar and sing-along sessions and its classes in beading, photography and drumming, Lebo’s Backpackers is a community hub. Travellers can get involved in just about any capacity; Lebo and Marie are open to all suggestions. Long-term overseas volunteers are a permanent feature, working on various community projects, and it is no surprise that they stick around; those that do, see the direct result of their efforts and become part of the community.

Two years after establishing the hostel, Lebo started running bicycle tours. Tourists quickly warmed to the idea of seeing Soweto on two wheels. I am keen to try, and as we commence our cycle tour, we are passed by a troupe of schoolchildren singing and dancing. Soaking up the atmosphere is part of the fun as you cycle past sights like Orlando Stadium and the disused, vibrantly painted electricity towers. As we travel further, the houses are set closer together, there’s more rubbish on the ground and less order. Women are selling fruits from wheelbarrows. Stalls sit under makeshift tin shelters. We have arrived in Mzimhlope, formerly known as Zone 11, a notorious part of Soweto that once consisted of small dormitory accommodation for male black workers who were forced to live in hostels separated from any women.


Young girls flying the flag for their hometown.

ISSUE #21 get lost! #51get in the know! Illegal immigrants are prevalent in South Africa. As many as 20,000 Zimbabweans cross the border everyday, many of them heading to townships such as Soweto.

south africa

“What? We are going in here?” Puzzlement reigns as the guide leads us into a small tin shed. It’s hot and riddled with flies. A handful of men and an older lady with red eyes and slurred speech sit on benches. They greet us with open arms. Welcome to the Zone 11 shebeen. The apartheid regime banned non-whites from drinking alcohol, so shebeens or illegal pubs opened for township dwellers. Although this particular ‘establishment’ is little more than corrugated iron and wood benches, shebeens were usually in private houses with watchmen stationed in case of police. The grog could be hidden and the drinkers sent out the back door in a matter of minutes. As I’m handed a bucket filled with milky liquid I’m thankful that I’m the first person to take a swig. The warm, flat concoction is actually a homebrew beer called mqombothi. Soon the bucket is being passed around another time. As all eyes are on me I can’t refuse, so suppressing my germ phobias I take another swig. Enduring the unfermented maize porridge called mageu is even less pleasant by reason of its lukewarm, yoghurt-like consistency. Despite our screwed-up faces we are farewelled as emphatically as we had been welcomed.

We press on into Mzimhlope and although we are a small group, we are wary of invading people’s lives with a paparazzi-like presence. The reception from locals of all ages is warm; I’ve never said hello so much in such a short space of time. Everyone from schoolkids, guys in their twenties to mothers with babies ask to be ‘shot’. Friendly it may be, but it’s not all rosy in Mzimhlope. It’s mid-afternoon and there are lots of people, men especially, hanging about – a sign of the endemic high unemployment rate across the country. Another shebeen we pass is filled with boozed young men. The electricity supply is unreliable and I spy a communal basin where women wash their clothes. There is dust and grime and some houses are surrounded with barbed wire. Some buildings don’t look too stable and kids wander around without shoes. I’m informed that a government housing program is operating to slowly replace the hostels and shacks. Given the scale of the undertaking, it could take some time.

After the ride I dump my bags at Mama Lolo’s B&B and soak up the relative serenity of my massive bedroom with a deliciously comfy bed, television and an ensuite bathroom. Mama Lolo’s B&B is a mansion in Diepkloof Extension, a decidedly

newer and shinier part of Soweto. Extension, as it is known, is a planned and ordered suburb that was developed in the 1980s for black professionals after a commission into the 1976 uprising identified housing as a problem. Extension is more Audis and bling than squalor and shacks. The contrast between here and Zone 11 is stark.

I was dubious of the name of Mama Lolo’s B&B but it was clear within a minute of arriving that Lolo was a true African matriarch for a large and ever-growing extended family. She was nursing, tickling and juggling one of her many grand- and great-grandchildren as she beckoned me to sit down and chat. Sitting and talking about her life, Soweto, and everything from politics to hijackings made me feel privileged to be invited into her home. Disarming in her demeanour and impressive in her feats, Lolo was a teacher who progressed to principal and then to inspector.

Mama Lolo tells me, “I have many children”. She has adopted and fostered many from difficult home, which explains her enormous family. During my stay it took some concentration to keep track of who was who amongst all the faces that appeared. Built for Mama Lolo’s family,


text: luke wright

get in the know! The title for the loudest rock concert ever recorded goes to American band, Manowar, at 129.5 decibels.

confessions

I have an unusual confessIon to make.

I paid a holy man to lift an enormous rock

with his penis. Perhaps a reputable magazine

isn’t the best place to make this admission, but

sometimes the truth must be told. It’s true, I

allowed a sadhu (a wandering ascetic) to lead

me into a forest in kathmandu, shed his clothes,

and lift a 50-kilogram rock with his sacred

sausage. here’s how this peculiar day unfurled.

I was in Kathmandu and woke early. After a

sleepy-eyed altercation with a knife vendor

(not a man to mess with), I took refuge in a

busy German bakery. As I stood in its doorway

munching on a pastry, a chessboard salesman

looked at me curiously. “Can you tell me how this

is tasting, sir?” he asked. “I am never having this

food.” After questioning, it became apparent that

this man had never – ever – eaten anything but

rice, vegetables, lentils and maybe meat on rare

occasions. Nothing else. Flabbergasted, I bought

him a chocolate doughnut. It was a momentous

event. He smiled like an innocent man who’d just

walked free from prison. “I cannot wait to tell my

friends about this,” he said, laughing. Filled with

a great sense that I could make the world a better

place, one doughnut at a time, I took off to

discover Kathmandu’s hidden streets.

Revered as a symbol of life, the common cow

lives a privileged existence in Nepal. It’s not

unusual to see them blocking busy streets and

still receiving gracious blessings from passers-by.

It did seem strange, though, when I came across a

frenzied throng of locals praying extra frantically

at the feet of a bemused-looking brown cow. I’ve

seen enough cows to know they normally have

four legs, but this beast had five. Odd indeed. Its

additional leg, growing across its back, promoted

it to a godlike status. “That cow has five bloody

legs!” I said to the woman next to me. Although

she didn’t understand, she seemed pleased

with my enthusiasm and pulled me into the

crowd so I could

join the praying

and follow the

cow through

the streets

like a child after

a pied piper.

After ten

minutes of cow

worshipping,

mustering as

much fervour

as I could manage,

I was overcome with

a feeling of ridiculousness and left the divine

bovine behind. I headed for Kathmandu’s holy

river to sit and watch the world move by. To bring

the day into the realm of truly freaky, an outdoor

cremation began ten metres from where I sat.

This was the first dead body I had ever seen and it

was sizzling on a log fire next to me. Wide-eyed,

I watched as the body began to move and lift

its arm from the fire. When the hand had risen

above the flames, it slowly formed a clenched

fist. I looked around in panic to see if anyone was

concerned – clearly a man was burning alive or

we were witnessing a scary supernatural act

of sorts, but nobody appeared worried. The fire

attendant, who seemingly saw this phenomenon

daily, picked up a big stick and pushed the arm

back down into the fire. It was disobedient,

though, and bounced back up like a punch-em-

down-clown. The attendant, now peeved, gave

the arm a mighty whack and broke it clean from

the body. Problem solved. I needed a walk.

he fashioned a sling from his sarong – the large rock

placed at one end and his member slipped through the

other end – and stared at me with trance-like focus.

’’

#96 get lost! ISSUE #21

As I strolled, a sadhu appeared at my side. “Sir,

you want me to move big rock with my penis?” he

asked politely. “You what?” I replied, in shock. “I

lift a big rock for you with my penis,” he smiled.

“Don’t worry, sir, I’m not needing it anymore,

it’s broken.” When travelling, a willingness to

blindly agree to all things bizarre will invariably

result in some of the most memorable

experiences. So, after very little convincing,

I found myself alone with a naked holy man,

wild-eyed and with spit in his bedraggled beard,

chalking his manhood with dirt in preparation

for the rock show. He fashioned a sling from

his sarong – the large rock placed at one

end and his member slipped through the

other end – and stared at me with trance-

like focus. With his knees bent, the rock

still on the ground and his little man

downstairs pushed through a knot at

the top, he began to straighten his legs

and lift the entire bulk with his pious

penis. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh

or cry. He held his pose for about

ten seconds and then let it down.

I thanked him, paid him for his trouble

(the agreed fee), and began to walk

away. But he wasn’t happy. There’s

something insanely funny (and well

beyond weird) about being chased

through a forest by an angry sadhu

yelling, “Sir, give me more money,

my penis bleeds for you!” I ran for

my life. I soon found refuge in a

German bakery. I couldn’t wait

to tell my friends about this.

luke Wright takes a

leisurely stroll on the

streets of kathmandu

and discovers that

things can get a little

crazy quite quickly.

GL21 Confessions 05.indd 96 18/5/09 3:51:09 PM

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