Although Michael’s wardrobe wasn’t new enough to keep up with current fashion, he still owned enough coats and jackets to keep him warm even when the temperature dropped below zero. None of this was helpful, though, because when he had packed for his trip to Jindo the evening had been warm, and his body told him he needed nothing stronger that a heavy sweater and a few thick tops. This oversight started hitting home by the time he arrived at the bus station at a little after 10pm on a Friday night. By then, the temperature had plummeted, and Michael began thinking wistfully of his thick, soviet-winter pea coat. The problem with the thick, soviet-winter pea coat was that it was bulky and a nuisance to carry around when the weather crept up into the single digits. Also, the stitching of one pocket had also come undone, which meant that anything he put into that pocket always wound up getting lost in the lining. Still, it would have been the perfect companion now. It could have also served as a blanket during the three-hour bus ride to Gwangju.
In hindsight, Michael regretted not paying more attention to the event invitation. All he knew was that it was called the Jindo Sea Parting Festival, and that it somehow involved green tea. Beyond that, he hadn’t bothered reading the details. He’d simply paid his money and marked his calendar. Fortunately, he was travelling with his friend Tamarra, who had been to the festival the previous year, and that was alright. Over the years he had learned that as long as someone knew what they were doing, he generally didn’t have to worry, so when Tamarra greeted him at the bus station with a hug and a concerned “Is that what you’re wearing?” he knew that everything would work out.
In Gwangju they transferred to another bus filled with sleepy travellers also making their way to Jindo, all neatly bundled in jackets and beanies and scarves. It was just past three o’ clock in the morning, then, and the bus sped on into the night towards a destination that Michael couldn’t entirely fathom. There were a few excited whispers from some of his fellow tourists. People were talking about colour festivals and green tea plantations. Someone asked Michael if he’d signed up for the Special Green Tea Plantation Experience. Not knowing what this was, he said he had, and then made a mental note to check his email to find out what he’d just been in a conversation about. He knew the tour involved a trip to a green tea field. Was that the same thing as a Special Green Tea Plantation Experience? It had been weeks since he’d submitted his application for the trip, but as a rule Michael had a tendency to say yes to things, so he was quite sure he had said yes to this thing, whatever it was.
After a time, the chatter died down as people began trying to get some rest, but for Michael this was an impossibility. He had been told to wear shoes that would be okay to get wet, and due to his limited wardrobe this meant a pair of heavy, worn-out hiking boots which were thoroughly uncomfortable and prohibited any sort of meaningful sleep. Instead he checked his phone and tried to doze as much as his shoes would allow.
At 5am in the morning the bus reached its final destination. It was still dark outside, but it seemed as if they were in an open field. Michael could make out the brake lights from other buses that were just arriving. As his own bus came to a bouncy stop, the tour guide, John, flicked on the rather unnecessary microphone and addressed the passengers.
“Right so we’ve just arrived in Jindo,” he said, turning backwards in his seat to face the others. “You can buy rubber shoes just outside the bus, and after that walk up the road to your left and collect your tiki torches. After that we’ll walk up over the bridge to the sea to catch the sunrise.”
Other that the inevitable rising of the sun, very little of what John had said made any sense to Michael.
What were the rubber shoes for? Wouldn’t his uncomfortable hiking boots be enough?Had he brought along his worst choice in footwear for nothing? And where were they going? It all seemed chaotic and miserable, and when John opened the door to the bus Michael suddenly felt a deep and intense longing for his warm red beanie, which at that moment was, presumably, lost somewhere within the lining of his soviet-winter pea coat.
Outside the bus, tourists were bustling about in the predawn darkness like shoppers at a market. People were purchasing cheap thigh-high rubber boots from the backs of vans and pulling them on. Others were finding their friends, or putting on the warmest clothing they had. In the headlights of the arriving buses, Michael could distinguish silhouettes and foggy breath. If the temperature wasn’t below zero, it was certainly close to it. Amid the pandemonium, he stood and shivered. A woman who had been on Michael’s bus approached him.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” she said. “Aren’t you going to get any rubber boots?”
Michael looked towards the van where people were milling around, buying neon footwear. They had to remove their shoes to put on the boots, and the thought of taking off anymore clothing than what he currently had on was too much for Michael to bear. Even uncrossing his arms to remove his wallet was an unattractive prospect. Were the boots really that necessary?
Michael turned back to the woman who had addressed him. “No,” he said. “I think the shoes I’ve got on now will be fine.”
The woman regarded him with a look of pity mingled with condescension; the kind of look one normally reserves for a dog trying to bring a long branch in through a narrow door. “We’re walking across the sea, you know?”
Michael nodded somberly as he considered this. He also considered his puffy blue outdoor jacket, and how it would have turned this unpleasant experience right around. At that present moment, the puffy blue outdoor jacket was hung casually on the back of a chair inside his apartment, which itself was probably warm.
Not knowing where to go from there, Michael said the first thing that came into his head, which was, “I checked my email. I said no to the Special Green Tea Plantation Experience, it turns out.”
But by then the woman had gone.
In the end, it was group pressure that forced Michael to summon up his courage and buy a pair of rubber boots. Up until that point he had been the only person wearing normal, albeit uncomfortable, shoes, and this made him suspect that the others knew something he didn’t. So he approached the lively salesman and requested a pair. As the shoe monger handed over the boots, he regarded Michael’s outfit and said “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Drawing on strength he didn’t know he had, Michael eventually managed to remove his uncomfortable hiking boots and slip into a pair of bright orange rubber boots that were one size too small. Despite the squeeze, they made a nice change, and Michael jogged off to go and find Tamarra, being careful where he trod because the soles of the boots were mighty thin.
“What are you wearing?” said Tamarra when Michael found her. She was milling around with some of the other people from the bus, and each one was carrying a tiki torch. Michael had also been handed one, as well as a pair of cheap gloves, and was trying to draw as much warmth from the tiny flame as he could without setting his eyebrows on fire.
“It’s a raincoat,” said Michael. “The shoe man sold it to me, to keep some of the cold out.”
Indeed Michael was beginning to feel very slightly less cold. But he could not tell whether this was because of the raincoat, which was hardly much more than a bright blue rubbish bag, or because of the flame from the tiki torch, or because of his close proximity to other people. Perhaps it was a mixture of everything, and as the dense mass of people slowly started their pilgrimage along a cobbled road towards the sea, the light from their torches forming constellations into the distance, Michael felt himself begin to cheer up.
In the not-quite-dawn, the stars begin to dim. A broad body of water stretches away from the shore, and there, in the distance, an island becomes discernible. On the near shore, a mob gathers, bringing fire, until a river of flame waits beside a river of water. A miracle is about to happen, and these people have braved the cold to witness it. At the stroke of dawn, the sea will part, and the throng will cross the water in defiance of nature. It is a hallowed moment, somewhat offset by the sharp EDM music being blasted from a sound stage set up for this event. Over the thrumming music, a DJ asks if the mass is “ready to party.” Parts of the mob begin dancing to the music, torches in hand.
Eventually the time comes. The water is low enough, and a leader steps forward to lead the crowd into the sea. Some people snuff their torches and leave them on the shore. By now the extra light from the flames has become unnecessary, because the sun is making its glorious appearance.
As Michael gazes out at the long line of figures slowly marching across the water, Tamarra taps him on the shoulder.
“You coming?” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the feedback from the DJ’s microphone. The cold still hasn’t left him, but he has survived the worst of it. In the dawn of this new day he is still alive and the sea has parted. It is a day of miracles. Michael looks back at Tamarra, and bringing the tiki torch closer to his face he says, “Nah,” I’m just gonna stay here.”
The Hangul Games 