With love, from South Korea: MUDFEST 2012

Every July in Korea, there is an annual Mud festival held at Boreyang beach in Daechun. Knowing that this is a huge event in South Korea, my friends and I put in reservations almost two months ahead of time. Although it seemed like we were anticipating this weekend for so long, it came and went faster than I could have imagined. I think, from what I had heard and read about it before actually attending, I could say that it lived up to its name. After all, we did get muddy.

Friday, July 14. We all sat in our classrooms for the day, anticipating the journey ahead of us; a two and a half hour bus ride that would finally land us at a rough and rowdy little gathering of muddy drunken waygooks. The day passed slowly, but soon enough, about 14 of us all piled into a guide bus, destination: mud fest. Of course, drinking in Korea is pretty much allowed everywhere, so it should not come as a shock that we all got on the bus completely prepared for a circus bus ride consisting of soju mixers and giant bottles of Cass. Our bus departed from Seoul around 9:45PM and we were expected to arrive around 12/12:30AM. The bus ride itself was an absolute wreck, although, perhaps a good precursor to the actual festival. Some bus ride characteristics: everyone standing for most of the trip, the boys drinking too much and crying about not being able to hold their pee (needless to say, I do believe some bottles got emptied and then filled back up), sharing music, sharing jokes, laughing until we could not breathe.

Upon arriving in Daechun, everyone was nice and toasted. We had reserved one room for all of us prior to arriving, so about eleven of us bunked up in one room. The thing about Korea, however, is that most hostels or pensions do not usually have beds. Instead, everyone just stretches out and sleeps in very close quarters on the floor. We all walked in, set down our belongings, spread blankets and pillows, and set up our room so that we would all be able to leave, come back at who knows what hour and then pass out where we landed. Everyone first made a journey across the street to stock up on more beverages before making our way to the beach. We had to wait until the following afternoon to actually participate in the mud festivities, so we figured no bed time was important.

Luckily our pension was literally just across the street from the beach. As we walked onto the sand, Kimberly and I made our way straight for the water, because after all, there is nothing better than dipping your feet in the ocean at night. In fact, however, there is something better… dipping your feet in the ocean in Korea late at night. I could tell that Kim and I were feeling the same way. The water was absolutely heavenly: not too cold, clear, clean, silent. At that moment, we both just stood, taking in our breath that seemed to run away with the vast outspread of water before us and the crashing waves at our feet. What an amazing feeling. We both looked at each other and I could see that Kimberly was crying. When she hugged me and told me she loved me and was glad she could share the experience with me, I knew that her tears were happy and not at all sad. Something about moments like that just seem to make you feel full. Not full like your belly is about to burst, but full like your heart will. Moments like that, when you realize the altitude and the greatness of what you are experiencing… it’s completely irreplaceable. Just when I wondered if it could get better, someone suggested charging into the ocean fully clothed. In my head, of course, I knew that I did not have my swim suits on and I was wearing my only pair of jean shorts for the weekend, but you know, sometimes you just do things simply because you’re alive and you can. Every so often you just have to dive in the deep end, step outside the box, and do something to rejuvenate the soul. For me, these moments are what I live for, so on the count of three, 5 of us went charging into the ocean with our clothes on and fell right into the crashing waves. We all stood up screaming and playing together in the water and having chicken fights. When I was through, I walked back to shore, stretched my hands up to the sky, and just twirled about in the sand, running the tips of my feet along the ripples and sand. I felt so alive, so grateful, and so free. I had my moment of freedom, spontaneity, and appreciation.

We made our way back to the pension around about 3 or 4 am, soaking wet, covered in sand, and pretty much destroyed our sleeping quarters for that night, and the next. Of course things did not settle when we got back to the room, we had to have been up for an extra hour laughing uncontrollably and behaving like a bunch or rambunctious ten year olds. When we did fall asleep, it was something of a giant sardine slumber party. Squished together, we all knocked out pretty quickly. The next day, I woke up before everyone else around 7AM, so I decided to take my headphones and go for a stroll on the beach. When I got back only a half hour later, Mehdi had everyone awake, due to the fact that it was his birthday, and drinking had already begun. OUT. OF. CONTROL. = the three words I often use to describe my clownish male friends in Korea.

The day started out slow, but at 2PM when everyone had eaten, drank a bit, and got all stoked for the mud, we made our way to the pits. How can I describe this experience? I’m not sure I can, to be honest. It’s definitely a, “you have to be there” type of festival. As we ventured into the mud pits, people just went HAM attacking one another with mud. It did not matter if you knew the person who you were attacking or not, if they looked clean in any way, or were showing their skin in anyway, they instantly got smothered with mud. As soon as we walked in, some guys I did not even know, just took a handful of mud to my face, as they laughed and joked that I was too clean. The festival was complete with mud slides, mud wrestling pits, army crawls, paint buckets, and LONG LONG lines. It was raining, so the festival was a muddy, sloppy, goo infested trench. They say not to bring valuables to the festival because most people lose or destroy things, but I bought a waterproof case and took some good pictures. There was no way I was going to let this weekend go by undocumented. The rest of the day was spent playing in the mud, making new friends, eating moving octopus, and playing on the beach. At night, everyone cleaned up, got some food, and ended up drinking in the room. The rain was good for the mud portion of the festival, but it put somewhat of a damper on us leaving the room at night.

Saturday night, Grace went home, I did not drink, Kim drank too much, and Holly was suffering from uncontrollable bug bites. Needless to say, we all called it a night a bit earlier than the guys. Surely, that was an ignorant idea, since we were woken by their drunken stooper at an unreasonable hour. Of course James made his way into the room and started rolling around on top of us, all wet and disgusting, while Mehdi did his slurring wake up call. Oddly enough, it was too funny to be mad and pretty hard not to laugh.

Eventually, everyone knocked out on Saturday night, and what happened after that is unclear, but it’s like Vegas, what happens at Mud fest, stays at Mud fest! All I know is that when I looked at my weekend pictures the next day, it looked like the Hangover part III. So what happens when you ship eleven native English teachers, stressed from a long work week, off to a sloppy mud festival? Things tend to get a little crazy. But hey, every once in a while, it's okay to be young and crazy... and sometimes, it's exactly what you need.