Jindo's Rough Seas and Hidden Clues
We arrived in Jindo late in the afternoon and headed straight for the guesthouse where the Mad Woman—Yonghwa Seonnyeo—was crashing for a bit. Islands and coastal areas close to the sea tend to have this closed-off vibe, where outsiders make folks uneasy. But since tourists and fishermen bring in good cash, they're pretty tolerant about it. Still, the moment we rolled into the village, a few locals clocked us as outsiders and shot us these unwelcoming glares.
Deep mountain hollows or remote farming villages give off a similar feel, but sea folk have it rougher overall—their work's brutal, which toughens people up. Inland fields or mountains don't see as many deaths or injuries, but the sea? It's weird how many guys drown or get wrecked out there. Maybe that's why.
"Strange. When I went sea fishing, the vibe wasn't like this."
"Where'd you go?"
"Incheon."
"West Sea and South Sea have subtly different atmospheres. East Sea too."
Korea's got this unique setup—three sides bordered by ocean, but each sea has its own flavor. Part of it stems from how Seoul sucks up the population like a black hole. Development lags in fishing villages and islands, lacking conveniences, so young people bail first. Every year, youth populations on islands and coasts plummet, leaving mostly elderly behind. That's why lonely deaths and accidents are rampant.
Places near the sea that haven't lost their pop include Incheon and Busan—thanks to Korea's iconic ports. Those hubs sparked growth: factories, housing complexes, crowds flocking in like to Seoul. It's no exaggeration to say Incheon absorbs the West Sea crowd, Busan the South. So naturally, spots farther out get prickly toward outsiders.
The old talk of warm rural hospitality? That's ancient history now.
"No public parking in sight, so we'll use the guesthouse lot. Does that mean we're staying here too?"
"I'd kill for a seven-star hotel, but what can you do? When in Rome, follow the Holy Roman Empire's rules."
We parked in the guesthouse lot and stepped into the yard of what looked like an old two-story house expanded and remodeled into a minbak. The wide courtyard had big traditional platforms like old Joseon-era inns, dotted with early guests already boozing it up, laughing and chatting noisily.
"Atmosphere's not bad, at least."
"Customers?"
Just as S-man dropped his curt take, a tanned, sturdy guy in his 50s or 60s emerged from inside and asked. Built like a classic sea dog.
"We got word a friend of ours is staying here, so we came to crash for a few days."
"...Come on in. We charge 80,000 won per night for 1-2 nights up to 3-4 nights. Long-term, 6-7 nights or more, it's 50,000 won discounted."
80k a night for off-season coastal minbak? A tad steep. But with thrill-seekers and pure leisure fishermen coming for personal escapes, they could afford the gutsy pricing.
Since it tied to office business, I fronted the cash for three nights four days upfront and snagged a four-person room. Nice touch giving it to just two of us.
"Where's Yonghwa Seonnyeo, though?"
I gave S-man a vague answer as we unpacked. What else would a shaman do in a backwater like this?
"She's not the type to wander aimlessly like some neighborhood go player. Obviously at the seaside."
"The sea... I heard shamans don't go there much."
"Unless it's praying for a big haul, suppressing grudges from swarming water ghosts, or soul-gathering for drowned unfortunates, they avoid it on purpose."
The sea's yin energy is thick—too thick. Psychics or those with spirit sight steer clear more than haunted houses. Even regular shamans can get possessed in a blink, swallowed by the massive yin. Out-of-towners lingering long? Rare as hell.
Countless souls die at sea, and their grudges don't untangle easily. Land gets repurposed—new settlements, yang energy stomping it out. Sea? Nah. Water ghosts from deep grudges, ancient wandering spirits, evil ghosts fattened on them, local minor deities worshipped by islanders for ages—they swarm it. Like a kimbap joint stuffing nothing but cucumber, the sea repulses shamans on a gut level. River soul-gatherings and sea ones? Worlds apart.
"Dinner later with the Mad Woman. First, let's find what she's up to."
"Spotted a pier nearby. Plenty of charter boats for fishing tourists and working trawlers."
Heading out empty-handed right after checking in looked sketchy, so we grabbed some basic fishing gear. That's when the platform drinkers nabbed us.
"Hey, young guys. Heading out to fish now?"
"Two dudes unpack at a minbak—what else but fishing?"
"Fair point, but if you're fishing now, better skip it."
"Why?"
"Lately, local fishermen keep having accidents. Guys falling off boats and drowning, others vanishing from islands overnight—gear left behind. South and West Seas thrive on fishing tourists, but these incidents blew up suddenly. Mood's sour."
"Sea dragon god pissed off or something?"
"Hell if I know. We tried pier fishing at dawn today—nada. So here we are, drowning sorrows."
"Told ya I know a prime spot..."
"Prime spot my ass. Boats go out, someone croaks. Shut up and drink."
"Fill 'er up then~."
Clue obtained from the plastered drunks!
Even Jesus couldn't stop us, so we strutted to the pier with heads high.
Nearby wharf bustled: trawlers returning late, others gearing for night ops. Despite grim rumors, plenty still cast lines from the breakwater, reluctant to quit. Most empty-handed, though—chilly autumn sea breeze debuff sending them to boil ramen and bullshit early.
Wondering if no fishing charters ran, we checked the pier and spotted a bizarre scene: rough sea men in work clothes mobbing a woman in ritual robes.
"Sister! Why isn't shit improving?!"
"This is our livelihood! Peak fall season—fish everywhere...!"
"Before those Chinese bastards sweep 'em up, we gotta fish!"
"We did the rite, and problems still pop? What's the point?!"
Up close, it wasn't a spat—it was a one-sided beatdown. The Mad Woman, usually in sloppy tracksuit and ponytail, decked out rare in full robes and makeup. Shaman work, clearly. But it flopped, judging by the unfiltered sailor rage-fests. Comedy gold.
Shit happens, fine. But blaming one person entirely? Shady. And to my eyes, a few of those yapping weren't innocent.
I deliberately kicked over a nearby empty cooler. It crashed loud, finally yanking the pier crowd's stares our way.
"What the fuck you staring at, you bastards? Can't a guy kick a cooler?"
What can I do if my feet were born this deviously mischievous?