We go climbing at Palgong-san. Hiking.

On the ride up, Lisa is surprised to notice that the navigation isn't on: "Hey, Daddy knows the way!"

It is 2pm on a Sunday, and on the road up to the mountain there is a cluster of parked cars clogging the route. I know the parking at the base of the hiking trails will be packed, and I dread the inevitable "Just park here. I can't park here. Everyone parks here. Everyone is an Asshole." back and forth with my wife when we get there. I am looking for spots on the road as we approach, and noting the mileage to see if it is reasonable to come park there when there are no spots up above.

But the parking lot is almost empty. Apparently people come to the mountain late on a Sunday afternoon not to hike, but to eat mushrooms and chicken soup.

The air is cool and breezy. A nice change from the wet stifling heat in the city.

We climb the trail to Gat-ba-wi. Its not really even hiking. More a slow stumbling. For me it is mostly waiting, with the occasional bit of a stroll.

Waiting, as Lucy and Lisa approach, I accuse my family of having a slow race. They say it is a cultural thing. This is a response that is becoming all more common as my children embrace my growing disconnection with life and family.

"Culture this!" I say, but can't manage to yell it with the fury I imagined. It comes out a with a sniffle and maybe a tear. "As refreshing as this mountain air is, it is still stifling up here."

As she finally approaches my wife says, "Oh, Mark. I didn't know you were here." Indeed, why should she.

A middle aged woman comes down the trail in her middle aged woman hiking gear with her middle aged husband in his middle aged man hiking gear. But the woman has no shoes on. This seems to be a trend. Barefoot hiking. It is not only women, but more women than men that do it. Very clearly someone in a recent TV Drama has been hiking barefoot.

I stomp down on her toes as she passes.

Her husband laughs, "I kept telling her it was dangerous."

Like the parking lot, the trail has very few people on it. When we get up to the fun rocky bits, my family starts to go a bit faster.

We can hear a monk chanting as we approach the top. "Yak sa yeol e bul. Yak sa yeol e bul. Yak sa yeol e. Yak sa yeol e bul."

It keeps going.

At the top, there are people on mats doing yoga. But really low impact yoga. I guess it isn't really yoga. They don't have the sexy pants on.

Yak sa yeol e bol.

We skirt around them to the Buddha, and put coins on the wall below him. We make our wishes. I wish I was Buddha and that people put coins on me.

There are garbage cans labelled for recycling. The usual: bottles, glass, paper, regular garbage. But there is another one with a hand label. I look closer to read it. It is a garbage bag for lilies. "Odd." I think, looking in. It is full of lilies.

It clicks, what all those cars were down below. People climb barefoot in the breezy air with their lilies to do yoga while chanting "Yak sa yeo e bol", make their wishes, and then go celebrate it with chicken soup. I totally get it. "It's Cultural" I say, "I get it."

"Yeah you do Daddy. You are one of us."