Chuseok Hell at Machupicchu Grand Park
Machupicchu Grand Park could be called Korea's periodic blessing in the form of a downpour—the golden weeks including national holidays and paid leave. To kids, holidays are basically tutorial events where you bow your head to NPC adults and pocket money pops out. In reality, though, Children's Day or Christmas are way more popular. Holidays are purely adult time, making them relatively disadvantageous for children. You get some cash, get compared to your cousins, hear nagging, and before you know it, the break is gone. Unfortunately for me, the words "golden" and "holiday" never worked out positively. For starters, I preferred school lunches over home cooking by a mile. Forced to eat off relatives' backs day after day, either cooped up in the house all day or kicked outside—the golden holiday was pure shit. Children's Day and Christmas? Haven't celebrated since I was eight. Ancient history.
So I vowed that when I grew up, I'd make my own damn holidays.
"Today is one of our nation's great holidays: Chuseok. Being able to work even on Chuseok means we're blessed."
"You're absolutely right, sir. In this era of economic downturn and brutal job markets, how grateful should we be to work nonstop? So many people seem to have forgotten the value of labor."
"They're just fat and happy. On Christmas, while couples were holding hands and heading to motels to fuck, I was pulling night shifts at a club. While others lagged like turtles, I surged ahead like a rabbit."
"But doesn't the tortoise win in the end?"
"That's why I'm like this now."
"Ah."
To mark the Chuseok break that rolls around without fail every September, S-man and I strutted down the street with our shoulders spread as wide as possible, necks tensed. The Mad Woman had ditched for the day—something about performing rituals for the national holiday and heading off somewhere. I magnanimously granted her menstrual leave.
"The crowds are impressive, sir. Probably because it's the newest amusement park, opening for the first time this year?"
"People are suckers for trends. The moment someone posts on SNS, the popularity contest kicks off. The influencers flaunt it despite no time or money, then the second- and third-raters feel inferior and jump on the bandwagon. Remember why puffer jackets blew up in Korea back in the day?"
"Because Korean winters are fucking brutal?"
"The top thugs from the hot schools started wearing 'em."
Once the future room salon kings and pub MVPs started strutting around school or posting pics in thick parkas, the trend wave swept Korea. Happened over fifteen years ago, back when I was still a student, so I remember it well.
"Check out that grandeur. What do you think?"
"It perfectly targets the Korean love for novelty, sir—modeled after the ancient Machupicchu ruins, one of the world's Seven Wonders."
"Exactly. They kept the name simple: Machupicchu Grand Park. One big selling point is the massive glass dome enclosing the whole thing. In cold fall and winter, it traps heat so you ride rides without freezing or catching a cold. In shitty spring and summer full of yellow dust and heat—rat poison—it fills with cool AC. Saw it on the homepage."
"Tech's advancing every day."
I pored over the pamphlet instead of my Bible. According to the extras, the giant dome was remotely controlled. On scorching days, metal shades cover it to block heat and sun; in heavy snow, it opens fully for a pristine white wonderland. Mega construction giants teamed up with Seoul city's backing and oversight, building from 2020 over five years. Astronomical costs, materials, and manpower dwarfing Lotte Tower—we're truly living in the age of Machupicchu.
The issue? Opening in fall, smack during Chuseok golden week, drawing massive crowds. Staring at the endless entry line ahead, I couldn't help fantasizing about bulldozing them all. Especially that jammin kid—bouncing around with a balloon and cotton candy from the street vendor—pushing my rage meter higher. But the kid was here for family fun, so getting mad felt wrong. Just sprain an ankle running around, whine till Mom and Dad take you to the hospital. That'd shorten the line a bit.
As I smacked my lips in regret, a text pinged from the Mad Woman.
Good news about the family. I replied.
After chowing down a solid bowl of catfish soup that day, I'd made Kim Hakju foot the bill—so fee paid in full. I fired back "bullshit" or "trouble" at her pointless follow-ups, then powered off. Who gives a fuck about the Kim family now? Machupicchu's waiting, goddamn it.
"How do we skip ahead of these assholes?"
"Two ways, sir. First, show overwhelming force to make them recognize your authority. Fist beats law, after all—how could they stand tall and claim their spot?"
"Intriguing, but what's the other?"
"Carrot and stick: bribe and threaten. Offer cash to the broke-looking ones who couldn't afford unlimited passes, threaten the well-off with your specialty."
"Perfect. Divide and conquer. I'll read sins ahead and blackmail the meddlesome peasants. You buy off the poor ones."
I whispered to pushy parents, "What if your family knew this secret?" They backed off. S-man politely offered instant bank transfers to the ragged folks: step aside, please. By noon, we hit the ticket booth.
"Unlimited pass for a real man."
"No questions, pure freedom."
We thrust out our arms. The clerk eyed the line behind us grimly. "Your spot was way back, sir."
"Good Samaritans yielded to me—a terminal liver cancer case—and my buddy with AIDS."
"A world of mutual aid—what a sight!"
We clapped, yelling "Yee-haw~~~!" The crowd behind forced awkward grins and applause.
"Liver cancer terminal plus AIDS... loaded combo. You look awfully healthy, too."
"We all know you're minimum wage slinging tickets—don't be a prick."
"Tch. By regs, I'd call security to 'politely' send you back, but it'd chaos the line. Pass this time—no repeats."
Security would've met me anyway, so whatever. We slapped unlimited passes on our arms and passed the metal gate into the massive dome. A South American jungle vibe hit us. Modeled on Peru's Machupicchu ruins, they'd nailed the authenticity. Pamphlet said it recreated Peru's deserts, jungles, mountains, plateaus, canyons as themes. Rookie guide: jungle > plateau > mountains. Vet: desert to canyon epic.
Chests out, shoulders wide, we marched in. Nothing stopped us—not costumed vendors hawking balloons, churros stalls, or watchful guards.
"S-man, fetch mineral water. Lots."
"How much?"
"Fill this bag."
Bags stuffed, we plotted our macho route: mountains > canyon > plateau > jungle > desert finale.