Day 20, Leg 14

What a day. 

I'm back home, and it's after midnight, i.e., technically Sunday. 

I left the Songhak Motel a bit late Saturday morning—at 5 a.m. Unlike the previous morning, this one started off clear, which I took as auspicious since this was my final day of walking on this trip. Fog began rolling in later in the morning, and along with it came the cold. I had broken out two chemical hand warmers again, but I somehow forgot one when I departed the motel. To compensate, I wore gloves. I also started the day with my trekking pole again strapped to the underside of my backpack to keep my hands free.

While I was as slow as usual, it felt like a good, steady walk. I tried to remember how many hills the day held in store for me, and it turned out there were only two: the first was a double-humped hill that could arguably be counted as two hills; the second was a hill that didn't seem so large last year, but that struck me as respectably huge this year. Still, the slope wasn't as bad as the meanest hill's; I altered my formula to fifty steps, then a pause of fifteen to twenty breaths.

As I walked, I looked out for any lingering shaman spiders, but there were none: they'd all gone to ground or died, leaving room for the next generation. During the final part of the walk, which started right after the second hill, I also kept an eye out for that giant hornets' nest I'd seen twice before, but I never saw it. It either got destroyed by people or was consumed by nature.

The final day of the Nakdong route is nice because it presents you with a variety of terrain—long straightaways, gentle hills, rough hills, neighborhoods, farms, and parkland. After the final hill is done, the rest is parkland for five or six kilometers, followed by a straight shot to the Andong Dam.

Every time I've been to the dam in the past, it's been quiet, but Saturday was loud and crowded; with tons of traffic on the street. It was as if eastern Andong had come alive. This sector of the city had always had a tourist-trappy vibe about it, but it all seemed to make sense on Saturday: there were food stands and concerts and events. Even the motorboat tours on the river seemed more active, and strolling couples armed with cell cameras and selfie sticks were everywhere. I therefore wasn't able to take as many of my own pics as I would have liked. 

Nor was I able to find a quiet spot to sit down and record videos of me speaking in English, French, and Korean to announce the completion of this latest walk. People were using loud jet skis on the Nakdong; concerts were booming everywhere along the riverside, and bikers would stop right next to whatever bench I was resting on to jabber loudly on their cell phones.

Despite these frustrations, I was in too good of a mood to be bothered deeply by them. A strange and funny thing did happen, though, at the very end: I had come back down to the town after spending some time on top of the dam, and I was trying to take a photo of the giant, male/female pair of jangseung that guard one side of the town, but a heedless cluster of Korean girls was blocking my ability to take the picture. I was tired and getting frustrated, and one of the girls was staring straight at me and making some sort of gesture. As politely as I could, I made a shooing gesture in return, pantomiming gently shoving the girl and her friends aside so I could have a clear space for my shot. The girl understood; she and her friends moved dutifully out of the way, and I got my shot. Only later did I realize that the girl, who was somewhat attractive but way too young for me, had wanted to talk about my tee shirt. So I had basically come off looking like a mean old fart to her, despite my polite smile as I shoo-gestured her out of my way. Ah, well. What's done is done.

The final climb to the top of the dam was more arduous than it had been last year. As I mentioned previously, Saturday was the only day when I felt I might have a heart attack. The path I had chosen involved stairs and steep trails, and I really should have paused more often to catch my breath. Because the day was crowded, I had to stop and yield for healthier, faster people—some very old—who were also on their way up to the traditional-looking observation deck that sits right next to the dam. Somehow, after much huffing and puffing, I finally made it up to the observation deck, then over to the dam. I was too tired to feel sentimental or to ponder my accomplishment. But as I reflect on the ascent now, and on the whole walk, I do feel redeemed after last year's disaster. I have closure and can move on. 

Walking to Andong Dam is a good, dramatic way to end a long walk. I'll try to be more sensitive to and perceptive about people the next time I'm in a crowd situation. Being introverted makes this difficult, but not impossible. That said, I'm glad I survived this endurance test and hope I can do the longer Four Rivers walk next year or in 2027.

Here's a final set of ten pics from Saturday's walk. I'll add the promised video soon, then get to work uploading the rest of the pics, editing posts, enlarging pics, and adding captions and commentary.

Orion's belt and sword, one last time

one final Big Dipper

the last river mist of this trip

Winter is coming.

one last "sunrise"

It always comes back to agriculture.

garbage handling in progress

the ever-vigilant watcher

Beopheung-sa's seven-tier pagoda

view of the river from the top of the dam

PHOTO ESSAY

girded for one last battle, 4:56 a.m.

Orion's belt and sword

Jupiter, Procyon, Sirius

Big Dipper, called Chilseong/칠성 (Seven Stars) in Korean

While the Big Dipper is a "drinking gourd" in American culture, and it's known as part of "the Big She-bear" (la Grande Ourse in France, Ursa Major in the anglophone world) in the West, it's called Seven Stars (Chilseong/칠성) in Korean and is associated with gods of human fate and fortune or prosperity. See more here.

bye-bye, Songhak Motel

finding ways to stay warm—a sight seen as I walk back into the main part of Pungsan-eup

moving out of town—the early steps

sign for Pungsan Elementary School

sorry for the blur

top sign: Danger Guy is nothing if not committed.
bottom sign: Nakdong River bike path

leaving Pungsan now but not crossing that bridge

the Pungnam Bridge (Pungnam-gyo/풍남교, "poong-nahm")

I am, however, crossing under the Pungnam Bridge.

the moon shines bright

the moon and the green faerie lights

dawn, 6:29 a.m.

another windowed shwimteo

unbaled hay, sitting in the cold, just waiting

Are those rich-looking houses for some of the local farmers?

definitely heading east

Are these apple trees?

If those are apple trees, they were harvested some time ago. While Korean apple trees are producing their fruit, the ground is lined with foil-like reflective material to shine light and heat back up at the trees so as to promote faster ripening. We're way past the foil-cover stage.

Ma-ae Prehistoric Site Exhibition Hall

As long as I keep passing by this hall at this time of day, I will never visit it.

heading over the river

the misty Nakdong

the Danho Bridge (Danho-gyo/단호교)

I'm always laughing when I pass through this area. There's this Danho Bridge, and later on, there's a Danho Village. With the Korean pronunciation of \ dɒn ho \, it sounds in my mind like the entire area has devoted itself to the cult of Don Ho, the famous Hawaiian singer of 1966's "Tiny Bubbles." When I was a kid, the parody lyrics were Tiny bubbles / made of glue / keep me high / then make me blue. I was singing the parody lyrics in elementary school, back when I still was too young and naïve to know what they meant. I still don't know the actual lyrics to the song.

the moon, more clearly seen as a crescent

and of course, a glove as I cross

frosted veggies in the morning cold

that morning river mist

on the far side: myo and a... scarecrow?

blue sign: I must go left
red sign: watch out for forest fires (sanbul joshim/산불조심)

Before going left, though, I had to walk over and see the snazzy scarecrow up close. Lookin' good, there, guy.

Thank God—an uphill road I won't be ascending (and an irrigation channel, perilous for cars).

Imagine going up or down that road when it's icy, knowing you could slip into that channel. I think Koreans generally don't worry about such dangers, which are invisible to them.

But I am treated to a slightly uphill grade.

I don't think I've ever figured out what crops are under those.

Office? Restrooms? Branch of some secretive agency?

roads to nowhere, as far as I'm concerned

I head left and down this path toward the river.

more chilies

the frosted-over world

There's another restroom up yonder, but I won't be needing it.

no three-door format this time

Small restrooms and port-a-Johns along the bike trail vary in terms of what they offer. There can be sit-down toilets (Western-style) or squat toilets. The laughable claim I'd heard from some of my students, decades ago, was that squat toilets were cleaner than Western toilets because your bum merely hovered over the hole rather than touching the toilet rim. In reply, I drew a squat toilet ringed with shit-speckles from people who couldn't manage to aim right or whose output had been particularly shotgunny and explosive. This elicited the Korean version of an "ewww" reaction, but no one disputed the truth of my j'accuse-atory art.

My way runs left, not up.

Interesting. Normally, the main bike trail is on top of the berm, not just below it.

This lower position means the sun has to rise higher for me to see and feel it.

one faux sunrise

frosty cabbages

See dem chikinz?

another faux sunrise

I've moved to the top of the berm to take advantage of the visible sun. My fingers are freezing.

The mist battles for existence as the rising sun uses its sun-magic to burn the mist away.

burd, no doubt waiting for the mist's disappearance

passing truck

another "sunrise" coming

The mist follows me.

One nice shot's going to follow another now.

It might be a faux sunrise, with the sun well up over the horizon, but it's still beautiful.

frosty grass and leaves

It's a wide, quiet world this morning.

Exactly 7:30 a.m.

more hay, quietly waiting

still too cloudy for clear tree shadows

farm road to mystery

crushed hopes and dreams... but new beginnings

7:41 a.m. If I can trust this sign, I've got 23K more to the dam.

I've been walking at a slow rate of around 3 kph this entire walk. Today is a 28K walk, so it's tempting to look at the above sign, assume I've traveled only 5K, and calculate my average speed as not even 2 kph. But we have to factor in the idea that the signs measure only the bike route, not my personal route. This morning, I personally had to walk about 3K just to get back to the trail, so my actual walked distance is, I think, around 8K as of the above sign, not merely 5K. 8K ÷ 2.667 hours = approx. 2.999 kph, which sounds more plausible. Out of caution, I was walking very slowly in the dark this morning, but I still managed to keep my normal pace. Again, I realize that my slow pace (3 kph is way slower than average) and my shutterbugging would drive a hiking companion mad, but that's why I walk alone, and why I won't be taking any photos when I do the Camino de Santiago with my buddy Mike when I turn 60. Assuming I make it to 60.

Ah, now we're getting tree shadows.

solar far out on the real farm

I'd be curious to see some stats on how much the solar energy really helps and how much panel maintenance costs in terms of money and man-hours of labor (those panels have to be regularly cleared of dust to maintain efficiency, and they'll eventually break down, which can be its own nightmare). If it's a net benefit, then fine. If not, I'd suggest going back to good, old normal farming.

7:48 a.m.

no more faux sunrises

The sun is eventually going to win this battle against cold and mist.

for the time being, though, it's "the misty Nakdong cold"

so crunchy

another kilometer down

8:00 a.m. exactly

I doubt the sun moved that far across the sky in twenty minutes. It's more likely that the path swung right, changing my relative attitude to the sun. And the tree-shadow angle.

Hey, hay.

I'm greeted by a serious-looking panel.

mist gettin' wispy

a panel of panels

swingin' right

into the farmland

and immediately left

"Sharp curve; Nakdong River Path"

We're getting close to the border of Danho 1st Village. Heh. Don Ho.

It's just up the road.

As always, a cautionary sign about forest fires. Especially during the warmer months, there's a lot of tinder-box material.

Do you see the bus stop and town marker ahead and on the right?

Danho 1st Village (yes, in my mind, the village of Don Ho)

This is the Sangdanji bus stop. Goha Village is ahead; Danho 2nd Village is behind.

no choice but to walk along the road (ain't no pedestrian lane)

either a large orchard, or Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane

Ah!

Ladies. I've come to appreciate you on this walk. And all you do for the country. Thank you for your service.

Let's zoom in a bit.

Ma'am.

This hill is a tricky double-hill. There's a "summit," then a dip that levels out, then another summit.

myo

more morning fog

8:23 a.m.

Fog rolls in.

Nakgang Pavilion

Sangnak-dae

On this trip, you've seen two kinds of dae. There's dae, the adjective (大) meaning "big." Then there's the above dae, the noun (臺) meaning something like "raised area" or "platform" or "support structure." The problem is that Korean is not a tonal language the way Chinese is, so you often have two or more hanja that are pronounced the same way in Korean. This is why Korean newspapers will often show hanja in parentheses to make sure readers have clearly understood which hanja-derived words they're looking at. They'll sometimes do the opposite as well, showing Korean in parentheses after showing hanja in the main text to make sure everyone is phonetically and semantically on the same page. When I looked dae/대 up in the online Naver dictionary just now, I saw seven or eight characters all pronounced dae. 

Years ago, I had a student named Kim Su-yeong/김수영, and everyone jokingly gave him the English-sounding nickname of "Swimming Kim" since suyeong can also mean "swimming." I doubt that the characters for his name, Su-yeong, were the same as the characters for "Swimming." God, Swimming Kim was a student from back in the 90s, back when I was young and had yet to learn that teaching in a hagweon (cram school) can be a nightmare. (I ended up suing my first Korean boss. He was in his sixties back then; I can only imagine that he's dead now. What a monster.)

a sign for both the Danho campground and a ecological-learning center

green column: Danho Sand Park Campground
dark-blue column: Nakdong River Ecological Learning Center

Up I go again.

But there are higher points that I'm not going to, thank Jeebus.

This hill has me pausing for breath a few times.

But it still goes up.

almost at the top

8:57 a.m.

Were it not for the fog, that would be a nice view down.

With relief, I start my descent.

looking down on the Nakdong

O sun, weren't you large just a little while ago?

river in the murk

down, down

There's one more big hill on this day. But not for a bit.

A choice is coming up.

Fate makes my choice for me. Left along the river, now that I'm back at river level.

This could be the Pungsan Bridge (Pungsan-daegyo/풍산대교).

peaceful for the next little while

Occasionally, a tree will stand out.

Pronounce the temple's name as "moh-oon-sah." It's part of the Daehan Buddhism Jogye Order.

I think Jogye is the biggest order in Korea. The head temple is in Seoul.

veering left, away from the road

Ah. A nice town named Hangye/한계 is coming up.

I have to head left across the bridge.

That bridge.

a sign pointing to Geomam 1st Village

Names repeat. There's a Geomam Station when you leave Seoul and get close to Incheon.

brown sign: Dongin-sa (Dongin Temple)
dark-blue sign: Dongin Welfare Town

I don't know how it works in Korea. Would you want it known you lived in a "welfare town"?

the Geomam Bridge bus stop—downtown ahead, Goha Village behind

Geoman Bridge marker

crossing now

looking over

the town of Hangye

And this is the Mi Creek (Mi-cheon/비천).

trail goes thataway

toward that bridge I'd been looking over at

9:47 a.m.

The walk will be placid for another kilometer or two (and note that the fog's gone again). Then comes the second big hill of the day. After that hill, it's all smooth sailing until the very end, when I have a steep climb up to reach the top of Andong Dam.

I wonder what determines the shapes in which the hay is laid out.

Just appreciate the geometry.

I'm far enough north of Busan for fall colors to be all over the place now.

the heights

9:59 a.m.

hardy veggies growing in the cold

no baling attachment on that tractor

people among the rows

She catches me, conspicuous as I am on the top of a berm and standing still.

Are these chilies?

I believe they are.

Lots and lots of chilies.

straight on

The big hill is not far from here. I have to go straight to that part of town, then left, then up the hill soon after.

turning left here

But first, I must take time to smell the...

...chryssies.

And zinnias.

however haggard they might look

no matter whether they've been in barfights

Roses never scan well in any digital camera. The red is too weird.

But they're still pretty. The roses, I mean, not the cameras.

yellow chryssies

Let's all live in harmony.

cabbage patch, but no kids

residence in the town

a marker for this impressive "protected" tree

So let's have a look at the tree.

shwimteo—a resting area next to a restroom

reminder of fall

10:13 a.m.

again, no third sex

first hint of the hill up ahead

I've turned right and am preparing to go up.

a glance over

looks to be a shrine of some sort

on the right path

old-school building design, modern solar panels

a senior community center

Geomam Village Senior Center

The hill makes its appearance.

looking left as I pass

ever closer

where the machinery goes for sleep (and speed bumps from here for 30 m)

10:23 a.m.

7% grade for 500 m is going to feel like more than 7% soon enough.

...and I start up.

This year, the hill felt longer. Probably because of my health.

backwards-facing forest-fire sign (sanbul joshim/산불조심)

myo on the hillside

zoomed in

REALLY ZOOMED IN

Any excuse to stop, take a breather, and shoot some pictures, right?

A while to go, and this feels steeper than a 7% grade.

Oh, look—

—another dead person. (I must be tired.)

I switch to landscape style... for more, uh, breathing room for the dead.

Why on earth did I take so many pictures of this myo? I must've been really out of breath.

the break in the fence

What is donggil chobbing/동길초삥?

The above graffito looks almost like a four-character Chinese proverb—what Koreans call a saja seongeo (사자성어/四字成語—lit. four-character proverb or "venerable words"). The problem, though, is that the above 삥/bbing (or is it 빵/bbang, i.e., bread?) looks like pure Korean, which has no place in a saja seongeo ("sah-jah-suhng-aw"). What the hell is the graffito saying?

Whatever the above graffito means, I did want to mention, on this final day of the walk, the prevalence of saja seongeo in Korean culture. Two that come to mind have direct parallels in the West. The first is il seok i jo/일석이조/一石二鳥, or literally "one stone, two birds." Does that sound familiar? As in, "Killing two birds with one stone." The wisdom being preached here is the virtue of economy and efficiency: less effort to accomplish a bigger task. I suppose a contrarian could tease out a lesson about the importance of random luck when one makes an effort (two birds = lucky shot). The second saja seongeo with Western parallels is muhan bulseong/무한불성/無汗不成, or literally "no sweat, no success." Doesn't that sound like "No pain, no gain"? Another one taught to me by my Korean-fluent buddy Charles is gojin gamnae/고진감래/苦盡甘來, or literally "hardship disappears; sweetness appears," i.e. as Mark Salzman said in Iron and Silk (the movie made from his book about two years in China), "You have to eat bitter to taste sweet." I think there are Americans who embrace this value, but I also think a lot of Americans think the easy way is better and smarter. So is there a tension among the proverbs I've mentioned? "One stone, two birds" seems to go against the hard-working ethos of "no sweat, no success" and "hardship disappears; sweetness appears."

Well, part of being a mature human being is recognizing that contradictory wisdom is still wisdom, and that living a proper life means keeping each proverb in its proper place, to be applied depending on the situation, not in an absolutistic, inflexible manner. Proverb-wisdom isn't the same as values. Sometimes, for example, it's important to Look before you leap so you don't end up doing something stupid, like marry the wrong woman who carries a strong whiff of the crazy. At other times, though, it's good to remember that He who hesitates is lost, and you might end up losing the perfect woman through spinelessness, laziness, and lack of initiative (ask me how I know). Each proverb has its place and its purpose. It's good to have a gun closet full of such proverbs, even when they contradict each other. Let values guide your heart and soul; let proverbs help you to navigate life. Different wisdom for different situations. As the Buddhists would say: upaya.

"Min-jeong! I love you!"—the cry of a dying young heart on this hill.

Something about long, steep hills brings out the graffiti artist in us.

10:47 a.m. I'm over the top and on my way back down.

I had initially thought that this hill was the first of two as well, but what happens now is that the road levels off, then there's a slight rise, then I finally descend back to river level, and it's smooth sailing—i.e., pretty much flat—for the rest of the walk.

The urbanized part of eastern Andong lies ahead.

Didn't go this way. But I was intrigued.

big machines in the distance, doing big-machine things

squash leaves

squash flower

other big leaves

chili-chili-chilies

left column: "Sand Plant" (dirt piles and conveyor belts)
right column: Cheongyong ("Blue Dragon") Enterprises

swingin' right

at least two arfers, barking lazily

household waste-product processing facility

the downhill slope continues

stairs up a terraced hillside

There's always construction/development somewhere.

Until the country finally runs out of room. I won't be alive for that, thank Cthulhu.

tobogganing ever downward (and about to lose the cycling/pedestrian lane)

We're about to end up... on the other side of the tracks.

There used to be a menacing dog down there, always barking up at me.

I feel safer from the dog with this barrier in place. The dog can't fly up like Superman to bite my crotch off.

hulking things being taken over by nature

nearing the bottom of the hill

It's an interesting transition. From heavy equipment and scrap metal to, suddenly, parkland.

But I have to get past the machinery first.

Now, that's a derelict framework.

parkland ahead

11:12 a.m. I take this ramp down, and it's parkland for the next few kilometers.

This turns out to be one of the mellowest, most beautiful sections of Andong City.

river ahead, worries behind

Someone whooshes by me.

I'm getting ready for the end of this walk.

I've seen hornets' nests twice in this area (see here in 2022 and here in 2024—different trees).

I didn't see any nests this year. Maybe they got cleaned out, or maybe even nature had had enough.

Apartments (actually on my side of the river) loom ahead.

facial hair, almost three weeks later (Day 3 comparison here)

If you want to relive Day 3, it's here. (It's also a link on the sidebar. See the archives there.)

This entire path can't help but make me happy.

I assume this fills with water during rain, then sluices out to the river.

a parallel bridge

easy steps up an easy slope to the street level

another of Korea's willow-like trees

Why am I thinking of this and this?

At least it's not strip mining.

Gotta keep the old people moving.

the wheel on which they break you

straight on past the apartments

Here's a sight coming up.

11:57 a.m. Recognize this from my blog's banner?

These are images of traditional wooden masks used for dancing ceremonies. Andong is the city of tradition.

There's something eerie and totemic about these masks as they guard the river. Like riverine divinities.

The spice must flow.

VIDEO: River Aeration Close to Andong Dam. (bad camera work, I know)

No fish has ever made it up this ladder alive. You, son, must be the first.

There's a convenience store around here.

crossing the street, tempted by the thought of snacks

You can't quite see it, but there's a GS25 convenience store off to the left (ground floor, blue stripe).

Done with the store. I'm happy enough to ignore the presence of cars along the path. I'll be passing under several bridges.

Why, here comes one now!

Danger Guy demonstrates what not to do. But upriver, there are places to do aquatic sports.

as always, that lovely, blue sky

7.2 km to the dam, but wait a sec... (see a few pics down)

12:23 p.m.

I sat here and snacked. A young Korean woman on a bike pulled up and began jabbering loudly on her phone.

The incident didn't—couldn't—spoil my day.

Onward I go.

Ah! The aforementioned "water sports." (Two words. Not, uh, watersports.)

The dam is now 10 km away! Never trust the signs.

But Naver Map says the Andong Dam cert center is only 6.3 km away, which puts the dam about 7.3 km away... meaning the first sign, above, was right.

VIDEO: Water sports on the Nakdong River.

pergola... with benches

Shakespeare on the riverside?

1:27 p.m.

I don't think this nonfunctioning rail bridge is even visible on Naver Map.

Thus begins the track for barefoot walkers.

the art of barefoot walking

"This is a place for barefoot walkers, so no pets."

1:38 p.m.

Four lanes, then: barefoot, walking, and two for cycling.

Technically, the cycling lanes should be separated by a yellow/orange dotted line indicating that traffic goes in two directions. If you've been to enough countries, you know that the color scheme is more or less an international standard. But this is Korea, so...

two bridges, side by side

Andong Bridge (Andong-gyo/안동교, the ridge I'm under right now)

Andong Bridge again

...and this is also Andong Bridge, but it's the Andong-daegyo/안동대교, or Andong Big Bridge.

Andong-daegyo

Is this a memorial for someone named Kim Ji-seop?

Maybe not. See below.

I think the hanja here is Nu Ho Yeong/樓湖映/누호영 (UPDATE: read it R-to-L as Yeonghoru)

Near as I can figure, a nu/누 is a high house with no walls built on a lofty place. The word ho/호 means "lake," as in the Korean word hosu/호수 (lake). Finally, the yeong/영 means "shine/reflect." (We will see the nu/樓 character again at the very end.) But here's the AI god with its take:

"樓湖映" (Yeonghoru/映湖樓 in Korean, also romanized as Nuho-yeong) translates literally to "Pavilion (or Tower) Reflecting the Lake." This name is likely given to a traditional Korean pavilion (called nujong in Korean) known for its picturesque views of a nearby lake or body of water.

So this Yeonghoru/영호루 (read from right to left) or Nuhoyeong/누호영 (left to right) is located right next to to the aforementioned memorial for Kim Ji-seop (which I never saw). Judging by Naver Map's designation, Yeonghoru/영호루 is the place's official name. The "also romanized as Nuho-yeong" bit is probably just the AI's inability to tell me I'm flat-out wrong.

the UFO-looking building across the water

This is the Andong Gymnasium (Andong Cheyuk-gwan/안동체육관)

Based on the loud music, the gymnasium was serving as a concert hall.

Notice the color change in the sand for the barefoot-walking strip?

This looks more pleasant to walk on, frankly.

The stripped-bare "eco-tunnel" that's doubtless lush during the summer months, when I never come by.

The barefoot-walking sand color changed back.

another platform/stage-like area, with equipment on it.

through the tunnel

looking creepily over at a kiddie park

Seems to be blocked off. Which way would the water flow were this unblocked?

Onward toward the last bridge or two before I make a final turn to cross the river and head toward Andong Dam.

across the top: "Happy Gangnam"

The term Gangnam/강남/江南, also found in Seoul, literally means "river-south," i.e., "south of the river." It's a generic term as much as it's a proper name for a specific region. But since so many cities the world over have rivers running through them, it shouldn't be surprising to discover that, in Korea, a lot of cities have a "Gangnam" area. North of the river would be Gangbuk/강북/江北 ("gahng-book," rhyming with "strong mook").

The K-pop singer singer Psy was the first guy whose video "Gangnam Style" (which many Americans were initially mispronouncing hilariously as "gag-numb style"—it's "gahng-nahm") reached a billion views (after 13 years, it's now at 5.7 billion views). In Seoul, "Gangnam" is associated with things that are rich and ritzy—the glass-facade buildings, the nightclub lifestyle, etc. Psy's song was a parody and critique of that, and he has since largely disappeared back into the woodwork, still a star but leading a quieter life. I'm not sure whether even Koreans really understood the subtext of his hit song—not young Koreans, anyway. The AI god says this about Psy nowadays:

Psy is still very active in the K-pop scene, running his P Nation record label, mentoring artists, hosting huge annual festivals like "Summer Swag," releasing his own music (like the hit "That That" with Suga of BTS), and recently co-hosting the Apple TV+ show KPOPPED, balancing executive duties with being a performer.

"K-popped," huh? Hilarious. I bet a lot of young ladies are looking to meet him and his fellow stars to get themselves, uh, K-popped.

"2025 Andong Barefoot-walking Rally"

exercise stations for everyone

more here

and here

Last few bridges coming up.

"Oh, to be young, and to feel love's keen sting."—funniest line in that movie.

Meondal Gongweon/먼달공원 = "Faraway-moon Park"

Yeongga Bridge (Yeongga-daegyo/영가대교)

looking parkward

I can't help myself: I have to get these cathedral-like shots.

If you look carefully, you see the water splits. I need to cross over and continue along the left branch.

See that bridge with the wavy sides? I won't go on it, but I'll be paralleling it.

approaching the eventual crossing

Here we come. And note the massive aeration setup: rectangular stones and more natural, uneven ones.

Waterfowl love this area, especially when it's warmer.

2:17 p.m.

about 4K to go to the end

Danger Guy gives one of his final performances.

Across I go.

looks almost like a lake (that's the right branch)

Above is the very wide mouth of the Banbyeon-cheon/반변천, a tributary creek that feeds into the Nakdong River at this point. I made the mistake, last year, of bumbling up this creek for a kilometer before I looked around and realized my mistake. That's the price I pay for senility and inattention. Another reason for me not to walk with anyone else: I'd be a terrible navigator.

This year, though, I made no mistakes.

I've been here when the stones were covered with ducks and loons and even gulls from the east coast.

It's all very deliberately landscaped, but...

...it's still very beautiful.

Reflection makes me reflective.

Oho! Mr. and Mrs. Mallard!

I made the mistake of turning right, right here. I should have turned left.

I have one more footbridge to cross before I definitively turn right.

pedestrian and bike lanes clearly marked

See the wavy-walled bridge? I'll be walking alongside that.

It says "Nakdong River starting point," but it isn't, really. Not even the Andong Dam is the Nakdong's source.

Reputedly, the Nakdong's source is east of Andong Lake (the lake created by the making of the Andong Dam), in Taebaek City. There's apparently some debate about the true source. I've been trying to decide whether tracking that source down is worth the trouble. Andong Lake isn't walkable, and it's only partially bikeable and drivable.

This dedication fudges a bit, calling this the "starting point of the main part of the Nakdong River."

curving right

ditch/tributary/sluice

almost at the second footbridge

Here we go.

2:31 p.m.

more aeration, this time from the Nakdong branch, not the Banbyeon-cheon branch

And now, there is nowhere to go but straight on to the dam. 2:35 p.m.

I just paralleled the Beopheung Bridge (Beopheung-gyo/법흥교), probably named for Beopheung Temple up ahead.

Beop/法 (rhymes roughly with "up") is, in the Buddhist context, the Sino-Korean (hanja) word for dharma. The word beop, however, predates the arrival of Buddhism, but early foreign monks arriving in China from India chose this word (pronounced fa in Chinese, like Falun-gong/法輪功) to represent the Buddhist concept because the word's original Chinese meaning (and it's still the meaning today) was/is "law." In both Hinduism and Buddhism, dharma means many things, from law (of the universe, i.e., natural law) to nature, to teaching (more Buddhist than Hindu), to role in society (more of a Hindu meaning than a Buddhist one). In the Bhagavad Gita—a selection of chapters from the massive Hindu epic the Ramayana, the morality is taught that one must act according to one's dharma, i.e., according to one's nature or assigned cosmic role. Robert Pirsig, who wrote both 1974's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and its years-later sequel Lila (1991), saw connections between dharma and the more ancient concept of Ṛta, which finds its way into r-t words in modern English like right, rite/ritual, worth, art, and the Greek aretê (virtue, excellence)—always with a connotation of rightness and straightness. Even in French and Spanish today, the association between rightness (i.e., correctness, justice, rightwardness, or even a just claim) and straightness still exists: in French, tout droit means "straight ahead"; les droits de l'homme are "the rights of man"; droit devant toi means "right in front of you"; une ligne droite is "a straight line." In Spanish, a la derecha means "to the right"; los derechos del hombre are "the rights of man." And so on. So the concept of Ṛta may have led to the Hindu/Buddhist concept of dharma while also flowing off in other directions to irrigate the minds in many other cultures. It's a scarily pervasive concept, always on the tip of the mind's tongue, to use an awkward metaphor.

Can't say that I like walking on this dirt path.

stairs up to the street level

2.5 km to the Andong Dam certification center, about a kilometer from the dam itself

broken chair in exile

I've moved off the dirt path and am walking on the left like a good American.

one of the last boardwalks of this walk

a few more bridges to cross under

Dongmun Church (dongmun could mean "east gate")

up close; urban-style steeple

the beginnings of the temple grounds for Beopheung-sa/법흥사 (Beopheung Temple) 

If beop is the Buddhist concept of dharma, heung is the hanja for "prosperous" (among other meaning). So the hanja for Beopheung-sa (法興寺) could mean "temple of the dharma's flourishing."

Still on the right track, here at the end of all things.

the temple's apparently famous seven-story pagoda

The word tap/탑 is used to mean any sort of stacked/vertical structure from a cairn of stones to a pagoda like the one above. It's sometimes even used to describe tower-like monuments and memorials. Think back to my starting point on Day 1; there was a tower-like memorial tap there.

When a prominent monk is cremated, the solid remains after the fire—bits of bone, metal from fillings, etc.—are called sari/사리. These can be removed and buried inside a special pagoda/stupa called a saritap/사리탑. The temple Tongdo-sa/통도사 (one of the "Three Jewels" temples along with Haein-sa and Songgwang-sa) is said to house sari from the Buddha himself. In Catholicism, mortal remains of saints are referred to as relics, but whether they're Catholic or Buddhist, I tend to view both with skepticism given the fetishistic attitudes that surround these objects and the people who insist they've experienced miracles upon encountering them. For all my study of and respect for religion, I think I am, at heart, more of a scientific skeptic. But I tend to keep my skepticism to myself, and I think most religious practices aren't as harmful as some people think they are. (Example: On my first long walk in 2008, an attempted walk across America, a woman offered to pray for my injured knee. She was convinced of the healing power of prayer and thought that Jesus, or some power, would help to heal the knee, but as I walked on, the knee only got worse. Still, I didn't think there was any harm in receiving this sincere bit of good will from a stranger, so of course I allowed her to perform her prayer. Only a committed asshole would sneer and loudly object.)

the tap in context

self-explanatory

I've never visited. Note the temple's strange color coordination—more black, brown, and white and not the usual forest colors.

lanceleaf Coreopsis

and another, with a little fella on a petal

On my first trip this way, I had thought this was the Andong Dam.

The syllable-by-syllable sign on this dam advertises this as the (work of the) Korea Water Resource Corporation.

building, top text: "A future opened by water, and shared happiness"
bottom text: small(?) hydroelectric-power plant

1.5 km to the certification center (then another 1000 meters to the dam)

2:57 p.m.

I've never walked onto this dam.

In case you were wondering, this is the Jojeongji Dam (조정지댐).

I can almost see Luke and Vader fighting on that narrow strip down there.

"If you only knew the power of the dark side."

To my delight, I saw that this bridge had finally been completed!

In looking at my Naver Map app, I see the bridge has been named the Dalbit-daegyo/달빛대교, or the Moonshine Bridge—no cultural association with "moonshine" as Appalachian folks mean it. More like "the moon's shine." This ties it notionally to the name of an upcoming bridge.

This was one of the fastest completions ever. I'd been watching this since 2022.

functioning tunnel, too

The water level seems to have sunk in recent days.

But I must go straight on; you can see, far off, the sloped wall of the Andong Dam.

Sanga-dong bus stop. Don't pronounce that like an Aussie saying sanga for "sandwich"; it's "sahng-ah."

Sanga 2nd Tunnel

Going straight leads to the Andong Cultural Tourism Complex on Seokju Street.

The romanization on the sign says "Sokju," not "Seokju," which will lead to the mispronunciation "soak Jew," which sounds bad in any language. Seok is somewhere between "suck" and "sawk"—still not pretty, but closer to the actual Korean pronunciation.

almost in tourist town

one of the tourist boats, chugging along (can't go far because of the dam I'd passed)

boat, in context

3:15 p.m.

a clearer look at the Andong Dam's river-facing wall

That white bridge you see, with the pavilion in the middle, is the Weolyeong-gyo, the Moonlight Bridge. As I'm about to find out, this whole part of town is full of people. Ah, people.

The narrow vertical sign (left) is for a resto advertising a local specialty: gan godeungeo/간고등어.

Gan geodeungeo is dried-then-braised mackerel. I had some on my first trip here in 2022 at my buddy Charles's recommendation, and it was good. The owner had warned me that I was ordering a 2-person meal, but what came out, while delicious, was barely enough for just me. You know—fish. Fish is tasty, but on its own, it's almost never very filling. That's why, in the West, we batter and fry it or serve it in a heavy (or light) cream sauce or put it on top of a mound of carbs like rice or taters or Spätzle or eat it as a fried-fish sandwich or fishburger.

I think this is a nonfunctioning rail bridge. It doesn't appear on Naver Map.

almost in town

a glimpse out over the water

burd with a special glow

300 m ahead, a CU convenience store that I won't be hitting until much later

This emart24 store feels new.

Ah, the people. By that green tree is the entrance to the Weolyeong Bridge.

And here at last is the fabled Andong Dam certification center. About one more km to go to my goal.

At the cert center, I had to wait for some biker to finish stamping his passbook—my first real flash of impatience. Introvert that I am, I get a bit surly when there are crowds stupidly milling about, and I generally try not to photograph people close up and without permission. I have no problem, though, when people are far off or turned away (and I can guarantee they won't hear my phone's un-removable* clicking noise).

*In East Asia, there's a problem with perverts in subways who take surreptitious upskirt photos of young women, so phones purchased here make loud clicking noises that can't be deactivated. This way, if a guy tries to photograph something he shouldn't, the woman at least as a chance to notice and perhaps do something about the situation. I've figured out how to cover the speaker on my phone with a finger, thus muffling the clicking noise by 95%... but I don't do this to be able to take upskirt photos. What kind of a monster do you take me for? And after spending all this time getting to know me, too! Maybe you're the pervert!

certification center, un-peopled (with a stone advertising this as the Nakdong River trail's starting point)

Weolyeong Park (Moonlight Park, 月映공원)

Aquaculture Center

walking toward the dam, the final bit of distance

lovely fall colors

3:26 p.m. and a lovely sky

the Tree that Stands Alone

the "I Love Andong" sign

I shake my head every year: every place has to have a sign advertising its place name. Sheesh.

"I'm stuck. Can't move. Is this hell?"

Looking right. I won't be crossing this just yet.

ah, the other parts of the dam (sluice gates, but huge)

I'm not sure that I've ever seen these open, but they have to open. Otherwise, no river.

Or is there some underground passage for the water...?

3:35 p.m.

The wall approacheth.

forward along my final boardwalk to the stairs that will take me up to the dam's top

sluice gates, zoomed in

so many damn cars

I don't think I ever found out what made this day so special. Maybe it's simply that I had arrived here on a Saturday, hence the crowds.

a bit of rockiness

looking up at the massive wall that is now the western edge of Andong Lake

chair, exiled—the last exiled chair of this trip

Ah, the stairs. Thus will begin my climb.

The climb to the top from this side, while short, is steep. It involves a mix of stairs and trails.

looking down after the first few steps

I'm avoiding photographing them, but there are a lot of people going up and down.

gorgeous fall colors, though

that nearly 45-degree wall

I elected not to go this way. Too steep, no railing for me to grip.

Railings are important for a stroke victim with deteriorating balance.

looking back down from an easier trail up to this point

But the easy trail isn't done yet.

I'm following the sign in the middle, which indicates the "summit."

relatively flat; I take a breather, heart pounding dangerously

Even after three weeks of walking and conditioning, I can no longer handle this sort of climb. The wages of heart failure. I feel I may be pushing my limits here.

metal stairs leading up to the observation deck

the task before me (but this isn't the end)

I had to let people pass me, including—embarrassingly—a very old man.

looking down at what I've accomplished (but still more stairs to go)

The deck itself has its own set of wooden stairs.

Finally. At the top. Almost level with the dam's top. 4:07 p.m.

I have to go slightly uphill to get onto the dam. But it's not bad.

The afternoon sun; I'm obviously facing west, having walked 90 km due east from Sangju.

Andong-nu (안동누/安東樓), the Andong observation deck

I told you: There's that nu/樓 character again.

This photo both bothers and satisfies me. On one hand, it's cut off. On the other hand, I like the lighting.

"We welcome your visit to the Andong Dam summit path."

I don't know why, but this evokes that brief moment in Star Trek III when Kirk looks over the disintegrating Genesis planet as he's climbing to a high point to be beamed back up to the Klingon ship. That may have been the most majestic special-effects shot in that whole film (yes, even more majestic than all the shots of the Enterprise's escape from Spacedock), and James Horner's few notes to mark that scene are seared into my memory. The scene above is no hellscape, to be sure, but I see the same sort of planetary majesty that comes with a sense of the grandiose. This has been a good walk. A very good walk, and this is my moment to savor. How beautiful.

From here, that slope looks almost fun to tumble down. I'd die, of course, but whatever.

Not the last of Danger Guy, I see! He's been my guardian angel this entire walk.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is Andong Lake—what you see when you look over the dam's other side.

I wonder what sort of construction is going on here. There's always something. Reminds me of Georgetown U.'s campus.

looking back at the jeonmangdae/전망대 (observation deck)

Or the dick, as the Kiwis might say. That never gets old.

And this is what the top of Andong Dam looks like as I walk regally across.

looking back down at the river

The dick becomes distant.

Marvelous. I wonder what it is. Another catwalk for Luke and Vader to fight on.

Andong Lake (Andong-ho/안동호)

practically the same picture (why did I take this one?)

a better look at the construction

4:19 p.m. I think I lost only a kilo or two this whole trip. Snacking plus slow walking.

If I became emperor of Korea, I'd host public executions here. To appease the goddess of the lake.

Even though I'm taking my time, I'm mindful of the 5 p.m. closing time.

Recall that I reached the top of the observation deck only a few minutes after 4 p.m.

I guess the lake water has to reach a certain height for these sluice gates to become relevant.

marvelous engineering

—and this looks temptingly like a ski jump.

the memorial tower

"Andong All-purpose Dam Completion Memorial"

black sign: Andong Lake

I can't leave without photographing my girlfriend's triumphant boobs.

One more longing look down the ski jump. Not today, perhaps, but one day...

looking across the way at exhibition halls and coffee shops

I've been that way before, but I've never been in those buildings, which were closed when I had gone over to see them. I did, however, entertain myself by looking at all of the neat sculptures there.

the way out on this side of the dam

a steep downhill that could have been a long and steep uphill had I come up this way

back down at the river level

My encounter with the cute young lady and her friends was right here (below), by these jangseung/장승.  Read the caption for the fuller story. The left post is male, and the right one is female. Jangseung appear in pairs or groups, painted (more often than not) or unpainted, often guarding thresholds and trailheads. They are not totem poles. They're mostly made of wood. They can be tiny, like tourist trinkets, or huge like this pair.

Right before I took this picture, I was accosted by a cute girl who got in the way of the shot. She was staring at me meaningfully and not giving ground. I was too tired to note her cuteness (until later, when the moment had passed), and I waved for her to get out of the way. In retrospect, I realized she'd wanted to talk—specifically about my tee shirt. Damn, another opportunity missed. I am perpetually clueless when it comes to people.

As I've noted before, my tee had the wrong year's map on it.

There used to be an octopus on that block. See here. This post (scroll down).

a poem about 무당거미/mudang geomi, or shaman spiders

Here's an AI translation (with poetic license by me) of the poem. It's in prose, not verse; forgive me.

The shaman spider, Geumgyohyeon, unravels colorless threads toward the sky, tying trees to trees and mountains to mountains, building a home. Even when the wind blows and the rain falls, her dreams face toward the sky. Even when the sun sets on her small house, and clouds come to block the sunshine, she builds her circular home. She gathers what she can from the sky, and even in places unseen, she builds her home with trained assurance. She feels good when the morning comes, and when birds visit, the home she's built can contain the sky. Even when the lonely nights are long, and the fields occasionally crumble, she builds a home. She builds a home be it day or night.

I hope I haven't ruined the poet's original meaning.

Afternoon becomes evening. 5:03 p.m. The dam is closed to visitors.

But there's still daylight to be had. I decide to walk slowly back to town to catch a cab. I've seen tons of cabs dropping people off, so I won't have to use the Kakao Taxi app, thank God.

beautiful trees and benches (that I don't use)

No one else bothers me as I walk back to the Moonlight Bridge.

Here's one sign for the bridge, in both hanja and Roman letters.

It was a meander, that's for sure. Everyone was strolling, so I calmed myself and meandered with the crowd.

the new Moonshine Bridge in the distance

the pavilion in the middle of Weolyeong-gyo, allowing people on it for once

The pavilion has always been blocked off before.

And that's how my trip ended (385K officially; 403K in total after factoring in all my detours for lodging). I crossed the bridge, visited the CU convenience store, ate some snacks, then flagged down a cab. I talk more about all of this in the postmortem. Suffice it to say that this was a wonderful "redemption" walk, and I feel fully redeemed after 2024's disaster. I hope the addition of captions and commentary has helped to round out the walk and give you a deeper sense of Korea and Korean culture from one fat, half-Korean idiot's limited perspective. I'm writing these words on December 23 (Seoul time), just a couple of days before Christmas. I've been back for a little more than a week, and most of my toe problems have healed. I'm also no longer achy in my feet, and I just gave myself my first good shave in over a month. Things are looking good.

Future plans? Well, my next big walk will be along the Four Rivers trail (633K officially)—psychologically significant because that will mark my fifth time along that path. Over this winter, assuming little to no snow, I might try the relatively short walk along the Geumgang (Geum River). I need to map the walk out, though, and see where I can stay along the way... or I might have no choice but to camp. If this is a winter walk, I seriously doubt I'll take many pictures because I don't want to freeze my fingers off. The walk along the Four Rivers trail might happen next year in the late fall, but if I end up visiting the US and France next year, I might have to put the walk off until 2027. I hope I'm still alive then. We'll see. If not, this year's walk provided me with a lot of beautiful views and beautiful memories, so I can honestly say that if I keeled over right now, I'd die happy. No life is ever truly finished at the moment of death: when we die, we all normally still have things to do—2do lists and notes to ourselves and plans for next week and whatnot. Pretty much everyone leaves this life in medias res, and I'm reconciled to that idea. There's a lot more I'd like to do, but if my moment comes sooner rather than later, well, so be it. If I do return as a ghost, I hope I'm a ghost who haunts Korea's trails forever, radiating some kind of whispery trail-wisdom that only dogs and children can perceive. And I hope my living friends and siblings might walk these trails, too, perhaps hoping to catch some wafting trace of me... by which I don't mean the faint odor of a fart. Of course, with my luck, fart odor will be my signature olfactory imprint as a ghost.

Righto, then—until the next walk!