There is a beach. One day a beautiful woman took me to this beach. We took a long bus ride from the city. We walked through a grove of tall pine trees. The tide was out and the wind was in from offshore. Rags of fog raced in - only a few metres over the surf and sand under a bright blue sky. Whenever the fog hugged us and hid us from the crowd, she would take my hand and smile.
Later, we walked along a dusty road a few klicks inland from the ocean. There was a temple, 1600 years old or so, with bodhisatvas carved into the cliff rock. The temple was on a low hill connected by a saddle of ground to a higher hill. The higher hill had missiles on it. There were pillboxes by the pathways. There were signs for land mines. There were signs expressly forbidding photography.
One of the monks greeted us and asked if we wanted him to take our picture. We pointed to the sign. He shrugged.
"Out there they have their rules; in here we have ours."
He smiled. "If anything happens, it will happen."
On the other side of the country on another beach, in the shadow of Soraksan, in the only piece of South Korea North of the 38th Parallel, a North Korean spy submarine was grounded.
The spies on board tried an escape to the North. First they killed the sailors, then they split up. Over the next few weeks they were found, one by one. None were taken alive.
Our bus was stopped on the coastal road. A military police officer came on board. He had a white helmet. Every piece of his uniform was either starched or gleamed. He walked down the aisle. His eyes were hidden behind mirror aviator sunglasses. I wanted to make a crack about George Patton. My companion, knowing me only too well, dug her elbow into my ribs.
He stood at the front of the bus and made an announcement, snapped off a salute, and stepped off.
"He thanked us for being patient."
"Did he expect to find North Korean spies?"
"No - he wasn't looking for spies, he had other intentions. He wanted us all to know that he was looking for them."
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On the fashionable south side of Seoul there was a private English academy. The manager of foreign teachers was from New Zealand. He kept a tongue in cheek memo tacked to the teacher's bullpen wall. It listed every armed forces base within ten kilometers. It also listed escape routes.
I asked him how useful he thought it would be. He allowed as how an attack from the North would never happen; and when it did happen we'd probably not be anywhere near the office anyway...
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Most of the South Koreans I know look on North Korea as we would look on a family embarrassment. The Uncle who is into UFOs, or the cousin who suddenly gets interested in speaking in tongues or Republicanism. The people we place down at the end of the table at Thanksgiving.
North Korean pronouncements are snickered at or greeted with an indifferent shrug. Most people feel no real animosity to the North, despite the provocations. There is a feeling of "Well, you know, they're crazy... you know?"
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The temple at Taean and the beach at Monsanpo are on a spur of land sticking out into the West Sea (Yellow Sea). It is here that the first missionaries from China doubtless landed to proselytize for Buddha and the way of peace and enlightenment.
Just a little ways up the coast, and off a ways into the sea, is the island that was shelled today. Just a short bus trip inland are the ancestral graves of my wife's family. Some of my wife's closest relatives do not lie there however - Uncles are missing, victims of the Japanese and the North.
My daughters have blood relatives out there - our hostages to fortune. Their grandparents, favourite Uncle, cousins and schoolmates and friends are there.
We pray. We hope,. We plan.
If anything happens it happens.