Wild Grape Village

If you know me well at all, then you know my personal philosophy on camping: God invented beds for a reason. If He had wanted us to sleep on the ground sheltered from the cold and the dark by a flimsy, fabric structure supported only by poles the width of toothbrushes we would never have made it out of the teepee. And I for one am glad that we're no longer dancing with wolves. Think of the possible repercussions: we might still be traveling on horseback..we might still be throwing spears..Kevin Costner might still have that mustache. Ick.

That being said I do like the outdoors. I love hiking. I love campfires. I love the instant comraderie that develops among a group of people when you make the conscious decision to leave civilization and trek into the wilderness past the reaches of billboards and Starbucks and cell phone signals. *It should be noted that I never personally travel out of reach of a cell phone signal or a venti non-fat-sugar-free-vanilla-latte but I've heard it's possible and I'm sure the comraderie, while mixed with intense and gripping fear, would be great.*

So when the opportunity came up to leave English Village and spend a night camping with friends at Paju's Wild Grape Village I decided to toughen up and go along. On paper it seemed like a pretty sweet deal. An hour bus ride would drop us off at the village of wild grapes where we would spend a warm indian summer evening around a campfire and then spend the next day picking wild grapes off the vine and communing with nature in what was sure to be nothing less than picturesque scenery. Plus I was assured that there was indoor plumbing.

To prepare for the event I bought new hiking boots, a winter jacket which was a wee bit on the small side, a jar of creamy peanut butter, 4 wheat rolls, 4 bottles of blue Powerade, 3 apples, and a giant plastic bottle of OB Blue beer which I convinced myself would taste just like Labatt given that they both had the word, "Blue" in their name and the label was printed in the same font. I was ready. You may have noticed both my lack of tent and my lack of sleeping bag in this equation to which I say you are absolutely correct. But when I asked my friend Evan about this problem (as he had the same one) he assured me that there were lots of people going and that we'd just, "play it by ear."

After spending an hour and some change on the bus we arrived at Wild Grape Village ready to set up camp, build a fire, and enjoy ourselves. The nice Korean woman who owned the Village directed us to the path that led behind the main house and to the camp site. Eagerly we started up the hill and into the wilderness. Seven seconds later we arrived at the camp site, a plot of mowed grass lined entirely with brick approximately 10 feet behind the main house. Backyard camping at it's best. We tried to go about setting up the tents realizing too late that we had only brought two flashlights between the nine of us, one of which was a battery free light that needed to be shaken in order to gain power. *It should be noted that this may be the worst invention ever as the shaking time required far exceeded the longevity of the light itself.*

So we stood there in the glow of a single head lamp debating how to best go about setting up the tents in our backyard paradise. Of course we didn't all have problems. While my personal tenting skills are novice at best, Kelly from Montana was basically a professional. As I stood there drinking a blue Powerade and watching my fellow campers struggle with unfolding the giant chopstick tent poles Kelly had her tent set up, her sleeping bag unrolled, and was sitting there preparing a tin foil packet of meat she had killed and skinned herself. All of this was, of course, done without any light what-so-ever and with one hand tied behind her back. Those Montanians don't mess around when it comes to camping. Kelly's best friend growing up needed a flashlight to set up her tent and they made her move to Ohio. Seriously.

Eventually, and with Kelly's guidance, it all fell into place and I even secured a spot in a tent and an extra blanket my friend Sarah had brought along. We decided it was campfire time and headed back down the path to the fire pit. Seven seconds later we arrived and arranged the pile of dry wood we had purchased into an appropriate campfire structure. A bit of gasoline and a few clicks of a cigarette lighter later and we were in business. So we sat..and ate...and drank...and proposed various, "Would You Rather" scenarios concerning sleeping with Bob Barker or taking a shot glass of frozen cold diarrhea. All the while inching closer and closer to the fire as the night air got colder, and colder, and colder.

Indian summer my ass. By the time we decided to head back up to the tents it was basically arctic outside. I decided the only thing to do was bundle up. 3 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of sweat pants, 2 long sleeved shirts, a vest, and my new winter coat with the hood up later I climbed into the tent and sandwiched myself between the two other occupants. I laid down on the egg carton that seperated my body and the brick laden ground, closed my eyes, and realized that I was never going to fall asleep.

The first immediate problem I encountered other than the stunning cold was my lack of pillow. I prefer to sleep on my side and when I rolled onto my hip I realized my jacket, a wee bit small to begin with, had now with the extra layering become a gortex coccoon from which my body could not escape, or bend. I either had to hold my head suspended in the air, or stretch my neck beyond its comfort level to reach the ground. I tried to rest my head on my arms but when one is encased in a gortex coccoon any arm movement above the elbow does not exist. I was literally laying on my side balanced on my right hip and arm with my head in the air unable to move like a giant, tightly swaddled, jointless, toy soldier.

Then the gun shots started. Then the chanting started. And then my friend Anand was sure he could hear horses gallopping through the woods behind us. Now don't be too scared for my safety. In Paju we are very close to the DMZ and there are tons of military bases around and often lots of gun fire. The chanting was also certainly military related and the galloping horses, well that I really have no idea about but I'm pretty sure we weren't in danger of being trampled by a herd of wild mustangs given there was a convenience store and a put- put course just down the road. I won't lie and say it wasn't a little scary though. I have this intense fear of hearing an army coming to attack me. It isn't based on anything real, but I have always thought that the worst feeling in the world would be to hear the gun shots and the screams coming towards you. This was a little like that. Hopefully had there been an attack the mustangs would have trampled them before they could get near us.

Well needless to say all my praying for morning paid off and the sun finally came up. We got up, drank huge amounts of coffee, and went to pick the "wild" grapes that in fact were growing inside a green house. After a few games of 500..a 5 minute hike to the man made "stream"..and a rather rousing Boggle tournament we decided to pack it in and head back to civilization with a new found appreciation for our mattresses.

I can honestly say I think I've done my camping....for the decade.