연합뉴스
| yna@yna.co.kr 2025-03-04 15:25:29
Following up on the previous column, I continue the story of the time I taught skiing to Ewha University students on the Daegwallyeong slopes.
Perhaps it's what they call "ho-sa-da-ma" (a proverb meaning that good things often lead to unexpected troubles). I became so absorbed in the fun of teaching a group of 20-30 female students that one time, in an attempt to demonstrate, I pushed myself too hard and ended up falling.
The sharp edge of the right ski, which I had just bought, cut deeply into the left knee bone, causing a severe injury.
At the time, my skis were brand-new models from a famous Japanese brand, Nishizawa, and there were no safety bindings. Despite falling, the skis stayed attached, and I ended up tumbling, with my legs tangled. The sharp edge of the right ski sliced through the bone of the opposite leg.
The sight was so embarrassing that I tried to act like it didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t the case.
When I finally looked at my left leg, I saw that the leg of my ski pants, made of rubberized fabric, was cut about 5 cm as if done with a razor blade, and blood was flowing from the wound. When I peeled it back a little, I could see the white bone through the torn flesh. That's when the pain hit me full force.
When I took off my ski boots, I found my underwear and socks soaked in blood, and there was even a puddle of blood in my boots.
Later, I heard that my face had turned so pale that the students were all worried and could tell I was badly injured, but I pretended not to care.
Fortunately, a nursing student came forward to stop the bleeding and brought Professor Lee Chang-hwan, a physical education professor at Ewha, who was at another slope. Since he was also a doctor, he examined my injury and diagnosed that I needed to go to the hospital.
I was carried down the mountain by a few students and headed to the nearby town of Hoenggye, but there was no hospital in that rural area. We barely found a pharmacy, and Professor Lee laid me down on a long wooden chair, asked for a needle and thread, disinfected the wound, and then sewed up the injury without local anesthesia.
The female students who were trembling beside me held me still as I gritted my teeth and endured the "surgery" without screaming. I was then taken back to the lodging and was given a ski ban for the remainder of my stay. Over the next ten days, I was confined to my room, taking aspirin and antibiotics.
Luckily, thanks to Professor Lee’s consideration, one unmarried teaching assistant and a student who had no desire to ski stayed behind to take care of me.
Those ten days, spent with the teaching assistant and one student who rotated every day, remain some of the most cherished memories I have to this day. Among them, I had a conversation with a history student who was a disciple of Professor Ko Seong-hwan. She shared a story about Angkor Wat in Cambodia and secretly showed me a faintly faded photo.
At the time, it was very dangerous to secretly carry or show photos of communist countries.
It was during that moment that I first learned about Angkor Wat and began dreaming of visiting there one day.
This was in 1970, and it took me 30 years before I was finally able to visit. Even as I was exploring the site, I couldn’t help but remember that student.
In some years, heavy snow in the Gangwon Province would cause traffic to be completely cut off on the Daegwallyeong road. Traffic disruptions due to heavy snow were a common occurrence in Gangwon Province. During my time there, there were two or three occasions when I got stuck in Hoenggye Village, waiting for the roads to reopen for a week or even ten days.
At that time, perhaps because people were more laid-back or because our country was more primitive, we were generally less sensitive to such disruptions than we are today. When the roads were blocked, it was accepted as a natural disaster, and even if it took ten days to reopen, there was a general sense of “this is just how it is.”
The real problem was that we all ran out of essentials (cigarettes, toothpaste, soap, canned food, snacks, etc.), and as a result, I had to dig out my underwear that had been crumpled up to dry and wear it again.
The biggest issue was running out of money. At this point, a friend with a family to support would call their home in Seoul and ask for money to be sent.
I would go to the Hoenggye post office every day to check if the money had arrived. When it finally came, we would all gather and spend the evening together, drinking and sharing the money.
At that time, the transportation system was such that when something went wrong, it was almost impossible to solve the transportation issue. From the Dongdaemun Majang-dong Gangwon Passenger Car Station, it took a minimum of 8 hours to travel the winding, unpaved mountain roads through Wonju to Daegwallyeong.
Although it was said to take 8 hours, the reality was that during the winter, the road was almost always blocked by snow, or at best, we would travel slowly, with the 200 km journey sometimes taking 12 hours.
In fact, with an average speed of 20 km/h, it was hard to even call it transportation.
Moreover, the vehicles were old military trucks, often refurbished, and frequently broke down on the way, leaving us stuck for hours. There were also frequent breakdowns with steering or brake failures, and falling off a cliff was a common occurrence. Even if there was an insurance company, they likely wouldn't have provided coverage under such conditions.
Even if the weather was good, the roads were clear, and the vehicle was in good condition, with the trip completed in 8 hours, there was still another "incident" waiting.
Driving on that rough, unpaved, gravel-and-dirt road felt like being shaken for 8 hours on a hard wooden chair in a high-speed vibrating machine.
Every one or two hours, when we would stop for a bathroom break, my back would ache, my legs would wobble, and my head would spin. It was unbearable.
And that’s not all. Our poor old equipment couldn’t withstand the vibrations and all the screws would loosen and fall off, while any straps tied to it would come undone, making it difficult to even find matching parts.
The best solution was to hang the skis from the pipe handles on the bus ceiling, so the vibrations would be less, but even that was only a temporary fix. If you got a little careless or fell asleep, the straps would come undone, and the skis would fall, hitting the people below or scattering screws and parts everywhere.
It truly was a story from long ago.
Then, in 1975, Yongpyong Ski Resort was built starting from the peak of Balwang Mountain and extending to the northern slopes, and the memories of walking up the hill without a lift to ski in Hoenggye Village became a thing of the past.
The roads improved, the vehicles got better, and we were able to ski more comfortably and more frequently. However, with these changes, our youth gradually became a thing of the past.
I went to Daegwallyeong every year without fail, but in 1980, after a collision at the "Red" peak, I tore a ligament, which led me to reflect deeply on many things.
I underwent surgery to repair the ligament in my right knee and spent two months in the hospital with a plaster cast. Afterward, I spent another two months on crutches, followed by six months of physical therapy.
After suffering for an entire year, even 45 years later, my leg remains incomplete, and I mostly spend my time on the green slopes, enjoying the snow slowly throughout the day.
I often think back on the days when I threw myself into something with such passion.
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