There is a week at the end of July, crossing into the first week of August, where everybody in Korea decides that it would be a great time to go on vacation. Everybody. At the exact same time. This does wonders for traffic, hotel costs, and crowd control. I seriously considered boarding myself up in my apartment for the week, in order to avoid this influx of people. Then I remembered that I spent my last chunk of vacation time hauled up in my apartment, trying to bypass the denial stage of grief by watching a lot of television. Or something like that. This made no sense. Upon remembering this, I decided that it was probably time to get off the mainland for a while. Traveling was a much better idea than television. Progress! Jeju Island was calling.
The plan was to take a Tuesday flight into Jeju, and figure the rest out when we got there. Traveling with just April Teacher, it promised to be an uncomplicated affair. As we had expected, we were very travel compatible. You know those people that have to do absolutely everything together? Who plan every minute detail of their trip: from what time they will check into the hotel, to where they will eat breakfast on the last day? Who need constant reassurance that you’re still in the seat on the bus beside them, via never-ending mindless banter? We are not those people. While those people can be fantastic over the course of dinner or afternoon at the beach, spending several days with them results in a serious lack of Me Time. Without quality Me Time, I become a monster bitch. Even more so than usual. It’s terrible for everybody, really.
Among other things, we hiked sunrise peak, spent a day on Jungmun Beach with the Golden Drunk and Heila, viewed some waterfalls, visited a sex-themed outdoor sculpture park (Love Land), and went horseback riding. As amusing as it is to find an abundance of statues in various positions of intercourse, Love Land was only of slight interest to me. First, none of the male sculptures exhibited frat-boy-like qualities. A serious flaw (my frat boy fetish has been well documented). Second, all of the female statues had breasts slightly large than mine. All of them. This made no sense. How can a country where I can hardly buy a fucking bra depict all of the females in a sex exhibit as voluptuous? Broken. Rather than continuing on how Love Land crushed my soul, I’m going to talk about how horseback riding takes my breath away.
I don’t recall ever going horseback riding during my childhood. I was in no way prepared to hop on a saddle without any instruction whatsoever, and ride off into the sunset. Somebody dropped the ball and failed to point out that one of the instructors was going to walk us around the course with the horses, though it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. I was still being asked to hand over control and trust a creature with which I had no idea how to communicate (which is something I really ought to be used to, given the frat boy fetish). What if it didn’t like the way I held the reins, or the way my weight was distributed on its back? What if the horse threw me clear off of it for no particular reason? How could I get off the horse once it started moving? Could I get off the horse? How long was the course? This was going to end badly.
April Teacher was about to learn an important lesson about Barbie Teacher. April Teacher has ample experience with horses, and was perhaps a bit bewildered by the weight of my anxiety. I managed to get on the horse, thinking that it would only get easier after that. I even made it through some photos of the two of us with our horses. I thought that maybe it would get better once the horse started moving. This thought was dumb. Realizing now that a panic attack was imminent, I warned April Teacher of what was coming. Understandably, she didn’t take this too seriously. Who would? I’ve been known to exaggerate. She started to move along with her horse, likely expecting that mine would follow. Until she heard me hyperventilating. As it turns out, Barbie Teacher kids about many things, but panic attacks are not one of them. Wisely, April Teacher told the instructor guy to get me the fuck off the horse. Once my feet were on solid ground and I was in complete control of my movement again, I felt just dandy. April Teacher had a grand old time doing her rounds on the horse, and I enjoyed the view of Mount Hall and The Sea. All was well with the world. Not only did April Teacher get to ride horses that day, but she got to witness her first Real Live Panic Attack. It was a special moment, I’m sure.
I’m not afraid of horses. Looking at horses, walking around horses, standing beside horses, and petting horses are all tolerable activities. Apparently it’s sitting on them that is the problem. There is a really obvious paragraph about control and trust issues that could be written here, but it would bore me to write it. The truth is I was pretty sure that I was going to freak out over horseback riding well before we even touched ground in Jeju. I tried it anyways. I’ll probably try it again, someday. Just not with anybody of the friends who read my blog; they're unlikely to invite me horseback riding anytime soon.
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