The Best Camping Spot
A small campsite tucked away in the mountains between Gapyeong and Chuncheon, Gyeonggi Province.
Just like Assistant Manager Park said, there really aren’t many people here.
At first, since this was my first camping trip, I’d planned to keep things simple and head to a campsite near Bukhansan, the one closest to home. But then:
“No, no, Assistant Manager Kang. That place is too nice.”
“Isn’t a nice facility the best kind of campsite?”
“Ahem! Camping is, by nature, a place to enjoy the pleasure that comes from enduring inconvenience. Besides, places like that are swarming with people. If you want somewhere quiet and atmospheric, you have to go where there aren’t any people. I know a perfect spot. I’ll tell you. Go there.”
Convinced by Assistant Manager Park’s argument, I set my destination here.
It was a government-run campsite, so it was cheap, but the facilities were rough and it wasn’t widely known outside, which apparently kept it wonderfully quiet.
This really is nice.
It was even more pleasant than it had looked in the photos.
“Wow, this is great!”
The view down the mountain opened wide before me, and the air was so clear it couldn’t even begin to compare with Seoul. On top of that, birds sang now and then.
What I liked most of all was this:
There aren’t any people.
I’d overslept that morning and arrived later than planned, but there were only two cars in the lot besides mine.
For a weekend, that was astonishingly empty.
Assistant Manager Park was right for once.
I’d come all the way into the mountains to get away from crowds and the city, so fewer people was exactly what I wanted.
He did say the enthusiasts liked it here.
There was a reason for that.
Should I set up around here?
I parked in the space I’d reserved and began unloading my camping gear one piece at a time.
Let’s do this properly and enjoy it.
***
Clang- clang- clang!
“...Ugh, I’m dying.”
I’d come camping expecting to relax and recharge.
But while setting up the gear, sweat had already beaded across my forehead.
“This feels like I came on a weekend business trip to the mountains just to do manual labor...”
Still, there was no going back now.
As I kept forcing myself through the setup, the damn tent was the real problem.
“That bastard Assistant Manager Park was snickering that I’d get lost setting it up for the first time. Guess he had a reason.”
At first I thought I’d inserted the poles wrong, so I tore everything down, set it up again, and even drove in the stakes.
Damn it, the first way had been right.
So now I was dismantling it again and starting from scratch.
Why is it that my craftsmanship skill never kicks in for things like this?
That would have made things a lot easier. As it was, all I could do was regret it.
After a long stretch of that miserable labor, I finally finished setting up the basic gear well past lunchtime.
“Haaah. Time to rest.”
I dropped into the folding chair with a thump.
Just when the exhaustion was peaking, a breeze slipped through and cooled the sweat on my skin.
The wide-open view in front of me was enough to lift my mood all by itself.
Even the tent’s up, so it actually feels pretty satisfying.
Now that there was nothing left but enjoying myself, I found a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth without even meaning to.
There are more campers already.
While I’d been focused on the tent, another car had arrived.
That made three groups in total, not counting me.
One was a family of four with two young children.
Another was a couple in what looked like their late twenties.
And the last group was two men, which felt oddly hard to place.
They don’t seem like friends, but they don’t seem like lovers either...
Since it was the weekend, it didn’t feel like business, either.
Or maybe some manager like Section Chief Kwak had dragged along a subordinate.
No idea.
There was no real reason to waste attention on strangers when I’d come all the way out here to camp.
I barely had enough time to enjoy nature as it was.
Come to think of it, the sky is strange.
Because we were in the mountains, the weather seemed to change in an instant.
It had been clear when I arrived, but by now thick clouds had rolled in.
When I checked the forecast, it had been changed to snow.
Better than rain, at least.
And the snowfall didn’t look all that heavy, either.
If I had to guess, it would be the kind that made a satisfying crunch underfoot.
That might actually add to the atmosphere.
It wasn’t a place where water would swell up like a stream and flood the area, either.
With this amount of snow, the roads wouldn’t get slippery when I drove back tomorrow.
Should I light a fire?
Camping meant a little fire-gazing, didn’t it?
I decided to start a campfire before it got any colder.
One of the campsite’s biggest advantages was that, inside your own area, you could light a fire even without a brazier.
But there was still the issue of firewood.
Of course I couldn’t just break off branches from the surrounding trees and use those.
Normally, people would gather dry twigs or buy firewood from a shop.
But I’m different.
I pulled out the chunks of wood stacked in my trunk.
I can burn all of this if I want.
They were what used to be handsome walnut dining tables, the grain still visible in the wood.
Waste material I’d discarded while working on woodworking pieces because of my Craftsman Spirit.
Honestly, it’s a shame...
But they had no use beyond firewood.
I could still recycle the scraps that came out during the crafting process, but because of the Craftsman Spirit trait, the raw materials I’d thrown away couldn’t be reused at all.
It was a pain even to throw them out as trash, so it was a relief I could at least use them as fuel.
Crackle, crackle-!
The carefully stacked remnants of the wooden tables began to burn.
Since I’d dried them thoroughly and evenly in the process, they caught beautifully.
Every time the wood burned, the distinctive scent of walnut drifted out softly, pleasantly tickling my nose.
Warm and nice.
I stared blankly into the flames and let my thoughts empty out.
How long did I enjoy the quiet for?
Grrr-.
Guess it’s time to eat.
I’d come without even breakfast, so my stomach was already growling in protest.
I should make something to eat.
I took out the cooking gear and started preparing the meal.
The menu had been decided before I’d even left.
Fried food, no question.
I rolled up my sleeves.
Let’s see how good the Auxiliary Talent really is.
***
There’s something a lot of people misunderstand about frying: while the ingredient itself matters, the real life of fried food is the batter.
To preserve that crisp, explosive texture, the key was the perfect batter ratio and keeping it cold.
I mixed flour and starch with cold water.
Once the temperature was right, the first rule was ratio, and the second rule was ratio again.
Instead of measuring or calculating in my head, I adjusted the ingredients by instinct, watching the viscosity as I went.
This was exactly the kind of moment when talent shone.
A pinch of salt, and a small spoonful of baking powder.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-!
I whisked the batter quickly with chopsticks until it was thoroughly mixed.
The batter in the bowl wasn’t too thick or too thin, but just sticky enough to stretch a little.
Before it could set, I started right away.
The first ingredient was shrimp.
I coated one in batter and lifted it slightly; the batter slid down in a lush, glossy stream.
Perfect.
That finished the first stage of preparation.
I didn’t need a thermometer.
A seasoned cook... no, talent could tell by feel alone.
Ripples started forming in the oil inside the mess tin.
I dropped in a round blob of batter and watched it sink.
One, two, three.
It rose back up in three seconds flat.
Perfect.
I dropped the shrimp, fully coated in batter, into the oil.
Chagleg-chagleg-chagleg-!
Chaaaarrrr!
Bubbles burst up across the surface. The unmistakable smell of frying rushed over me in an instant.
You can’t fry too much at once. The moment the oil temperature drops, the food soaks up the grease and turns limp.
Besides, there was no need to make a lot.
I’m the only one eating.
I wasn’t serving anyone else, so it was enough to fry slowly at my own pace.
After a while, I lifted the shrimp tempura out with long wooden chopsticks.
“Look at that color.”
The shrimp, coated in a golden shell, looked gorgeous.
I set it on a rack and shook off the oil with a few brisk taps, and it was ready.
Chiiizzz-!
I popped open a can of beer, and foam bubbled up all at once.
It was cold outside, but I still couldn’t resist a crisp beer.
Just one sip.
After wetting my lips with beer, I took a big bite out of the shrimp tempura.
Crunch-!
“Holy shit...”
The praise burst out of me before I could stop it.
“This is too good?!“
That wasn’t an exaggeration at all.
The batter’s overwhelming crispness.
The shrimp’s moisture, untouched by oil and not dried out one bit.
And over all of it, the rich, fragrant flavor of the oil tying everything together in perfect harmony.
I took another long swallow of beer.
“Ahh, that’s the stuff!”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
It was heaven in my mouth.
This is happiness. This is life.
After I’d eaten about three shrimp tempura, I picked up the bowl of batter again and added more flour.
The batter wasn’t fixed; the ratio had to shift a little depending on what you were frying.
This time, I’m going with fried chicken thighs.
Boneless chicken, chicken karaage, dakgangjeong.
Call it whatever you wanted.
Today, I was going to enjoy it without worrying about my arteries or my weight.
Don’t stop me!
***
When you’re choosing a drink, they say you should match the color of the main dish and the liquor.
Red meat with red wine.
White fish with white wine.
So what about golden fried food?
Obviously, yellow lager beer.
“This is insane. It’s so good!”
The praise kept spilling out of me.
For the first time that evening, the 25 million won didn’t feel wasted at all.
Because I’d been sweating while setting up the tent, and because I’d already drunk several cans of beer, my head had started to feel pleasantly fuzzy.
But maybe because I was eating slowly, or maybe because we were up in the mountains, even after eating enough fried food that I normally would have felt sick of it, my stomach still wasn’t full.
I let a little more heat out of the brazier and kept it at a steady temperature.
Let’s keep frying and eating all night.
Just as I was busily prepping the next ingredients with that sort of resolve:
“Excuse me, hello!”
A stranger’s voice called out.
When I turned, it was the father from the family with two children.
In his hands was a plate of pork belly, still steaming.
And judging by the charcoal scent drifting off it, he’d grilled it over direct flame properly.
“We made some pork belly barbecue, but there’s too much for us. Would it be all right if we shared some?”
“Oh, absolutely. Thank you.”
After bowing my head, I asked, wanting to return the favor.
“Would you like some fried food, by any chance?”
“Thank you. The kids already said the smell of the fried food was amazing...”
A bright look spread across the man’s face.
A quick glance showed the children stretching their necks and staring this way.
They were swallowing hard, one gulp after another, so it looked like the smell of frying had set them off and Dad had come running to the rescue.
I understood it.
As a father, he’d wanted to get them something good no matter what.
“The oil’s cooled down a bit, so it’ll take some time to bring the heat back up. I’ll fry it and bring it over.”
“Really, thank you so much!”
I fried four each of shrimp, chicken thigh, and sweet potato tempura and carried them over to them.
The parents thanked me over and over, and the kids cheered with delight. I felt absurdly proud just watching them.
Yeah, this is the charm of camping too, sharing food like this.
I was starting to feel warm all over myself.
While I was eating the gift of direct-grilled pork belly, the couple’s man came over next.
“My girlfriend made this gochujang stew. Her cooking might not be amazing, but the ingredients are really fresh!”
He glanced over, licking his lips while handing me the stew and eyeing my fried food at the same time.
“Want some tempura?”
“Really? That’d be fantastic! Thank you!”
That was a satisfying exchange for me, too.
The fried food I’d been eating was just starting to feel greasy, so when I had a spoonful of that spicy broth, my mouth felt clean again.
Now that I’ve had soup, I’m in the mood for a second round.
Just as I was finishing the first round and thinking of food you might eat at an izakaya:
“Hello.”
Two men came over.
They looked more like a senior and junior from the same company than friends.
On the plates they brought were all kinds of skewers: heart, chicken thigh and scallion, corn skewers, and more.
This time, it wasn’t just a food exchange, either, since they were also carrying whiskey in both hands.
“Want to have a drink together, just the guys?”
I’d come out here to relax alone, sure.
But wasn’t the joy of travel not just sharing food, but meeting people by chance in a strange place and building a connection?
“Sure. Want some fried food?”
“To be honest, the smell of your fried food was so good we couldn’t stand it anymore and came over, ahahaha!”
From the look of it, they seemed full too.
If it’s for dessert...
I fried squid, shiitake mushrooms, and tofu.
“That smells amazing.”
“The color is insane...”
They looked like they were already drooling just from watching, licking their lips over and over.
While the dessert was frying, I took a bite of one of the skewers they’d brought.
Oh, this is good.
They’d probably bought pre-made skewers and grilled them, but eating them over open flame outdoors made them twice as good as anything from a restaurant.
Of course, what mattered more than the skewers was this:
“This whiskey smells really good.”
“Yeah. It’s a 30-year-old bottle. I brought it because it seemed too good to drink alone, so I’m glad you noticed.”
Sharing fried food and getting drinks like this made me feel even more satisfied.
“Do you come camping often?”
“This is my first time.”
“Wow, and you’ve got impressive gear.”
“I borrowed it from a friend. I’m trying to get into it as a hobby now.”
As we talked, I learned a little about them.
One was thirty-three.
The other was thirty-eight.
Both were older than me.
“Do you two come camping often?”
“Ah, we’re here for work.”
“...”
“We make movies.”
The man said it a little shyly.
“The one here is a film director, and I’m a location manager. We came to scout filming locations. We’re staying one night to get a feel for the overall atmosphere.”
“Oh, wow. You’re both incredible.”
“Not really. I’m just about to make my first commercial film. I’m a late-blooming rookie.”
He waved his hands, clearly embarrassed.
“As for me, I’m just an ordinary office worker.”
“Ohhh, we thought you had to be a chef, because your cooking skills are amazing.”
“Hahaha, I just work at an advertising company.”
“Ohhh, advertising?”
Since they were from the film world, the mention of advertising made their eyes go wide.
“How are you so good at cooking?”
“It’s just a hobby.”
“Actually, the work I’m preparing now uses a Japanese restaurant as a really important element. It’s one of those places where, in the scenario, you think, wow, this is where delicious food comes from, so your skill is honestly something I envy.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Could I maybe ask you about it sometime later? Of course I’d pay a consulting fee.”
“Haha, sure.”
It was the kind of thing people say when they’re tipsy, so I agreed without much pressure.
“I’m just going to fry one last thing and then put out the fire. Between French fries and fried eggplant, which are you more in the mood for?”
The man hesitated, then asked with a slightly apologetic look.
“Could we maybe have both? This really is too good...”
“Sounds good. Let’s fry everything.”