← PreviousDaegu in colour, in South Korea's fourth cityIn the end, getting out of the city went smoothly and peacefully. We left around 9, yet the streets were strangely empty. Maybe because of tomorrow's presidential election? Today the sky is low and dark, and a nasty drizzle keeps us company.
It's not ideal for riding, but we put up with it because we have to, without complaining too much. On the other hand, we can't stop grumbling about the cycle route's profile, which sometimes throws real walls at us that are very hard to climb. Every specialist website says Seoul–Busan is almost flat, but the devil is in the detail of that cursed "almost". At the start of the day it's one bump after another, and we realise there are probably few cyclists riding this route as loaded as we are. We've got a good 15 kilos on each bike and at least 25 to tow when Clémence is in the trailer.
We can only press on for the first twenty kilometres, as there's nowhere to stop. We ride through farmland as far as the eye can see and notice that the work is still largely done by hand. The plots are small, probably family-run, and dozens of people are busy bent over the crops. We often see heads under conical hats lift as we pass and surprise cross their faces. Sometimes we get a wave or a nod.
We stop for lunch at a slightly odd café whose owner sometimes disappears for tens of minutes. The rain keeps drizzling and we have little choice but to drag out lunch playing Old Maid with Clémence. We need to eat well, as we have a pass to climb. And indeed, at the foot of it we understand why it shows up in red on cycling apps. The slope is brutal, around 10% for 1.5 kilometres with sections at 13%, and we have to take a short break halfway before Stéphane has a heart attack, since he's pulling the trailer. After a few deep breaths he sets off again and manages to haul the trailer all the way to the top, though almost entirely out of the saddle and with great difficulty.
We don't stop at the top, though, as we want to wrap up this gloomy day as quickly as possible. That's the downside of bike touring with a child in bad weather: it's very hard to keep her busy. While our days usually revolve around her, there's nothing we can do when it rains. So we ride, talk to her, put her on the seat on the front of the bike, and she copes like a champion. She reads, tells stories, scolds her toys for mischief they got up to the day before, and sings. In short, she doesn't seem bored.
Arriving in Namji, we find a reasonably priced hotel, and since it has a big bathtub we make the most of it to play in the water. Unfortunately the rain is still here, so the playground will have to wait until tomorrow.
Tuesday 3 June
It's very quiet this morning when we leave the hotel. Admittedly we're only going a kilometre to a café, but the streets are very empty for a Tuesday. As we sit with our morning hot drinks, the owner tells us about his upcoming trip to France and even plays French music. He's very friendly, and as we're about to ride off, he comes out with a packet of homemade cookies in his hand. "For the road," he says.
We don't go far, though, as there's a gigantic playground right opposite, but we gladly accept his gift. In fact, it's culturally very rude to refuse a gift in Korea. While Clémence plays, it strikes us that what looks like a huge school complex is very empty. And yet we see a whole ballet of cars and people of all ages going in and out. It dawns on Cassandre: today is the presidential election!
It's true that Korean TV talks of nothing else. We even came across candidates holding rallies in Seoul and Daegu. We don't dare go and peek into the polling station, even though we're itching with curiosity. Election days are public holidays throughout Korea, so leisure spots are overrun. The restaurant we'd targeted on the cycle route for lunch has a queue promising at least half an hour's wait, even though we arrived early (noon).
Not for us: we get back on our bikes and stop to eat at a little convenience store overlooking a dam 5 km further on. A bit further, we take another break at a café set in a hanok, the country's traditional houses. Prices are higher than elsewhere: a coffee and a strawberry smoothie still cost us €11. It's expensive, but it's worth it for the beauty of the place. You can sit cross-legged on little mattresses around a low table in tiny private rooms. Sliding doors between the rooms let you shut yourself off completely from other customers.
Our neighbours in the next room strike up a conversation. Here, men really are gentler with children, especially older men. You can see tenderness in their eyes and gestures; they always try to make Clémence laugh. Strangely, and unlike at home, women are more indifferent. Older women's faces are very closed and hard, which often scares Clémence. We remind ourselves that these people lived through the Korean War, which ended in 1953, and then a dictatorship that lasted until 1979. That can wipe smiles away for ever.
We only have fifteen kilometres left, which we ride calmly. Just before reaching the hotel, we come across a playground where we stay a long time. Then we get back on the bikes for a few minutes and arrive. The concept is unusual: our room is literally above our parking space. We can park our bikes, climb a little staircase and find ourselves in a spacious room for another well-earned night's sleep.
Wednesday 4 June
That's it: South Korea has a new president. Lee Jae-myung has become the 21st president elected by the people of the Land of the Morning Calm. Without the news, we wouldn't have known. No scenes of jubilation, no noise; politics has little impact on daily life. It's sunny and already hot when we leave this morning after breakfast in our room. We're on the last long straights before arriving in Busan, planned for tomorrow.
Although often sumptuous, the Four Rivers cycle route is starting to bore us. The route is monotonous, with little relief, and passes few points of interest. It's perfect, though, for taking the country's pulse and getting used to the people and infrastructure before venturing off the beaten track. Today's profile is flat; there are no more difficulties as we're close to the sea, and we make fairly quick progress.
Our first stop, a restored former railway tunnel, disappoints us. When we arrive, we realise it charges an entrance fee, and an excessive one. Looking it up online, we realise it's mainly a spot for pretty Instagram photos, which we're not particularly keen on. We turn back, to the despair of Clémence, who has discovered a passion for tunnels.
We recharge at a café, then head for a playground in the countryside. We have fun in the full sun, "being silly" as the little one puts it, but when it's time to leave, we hit a snag. One of the trailer wheels is flat. We've been riding with it for three years, it's done thousands of kilometres, and it gives up on us now, in South Korea! Fortunately we have a spare inner tube that fits, and we find that a nasty thorn has stuck into it. Clémence helps with the repair by scattering the tools and wandering off 300 metres with the tyre lever.
Not very sure of the wheel, we'd rather finish our ride quickly. In the end it holds up very well and we arrive early at the hotel, which is never a problem, as rooms are always ready. Once again, for around thirty euros, we have a spacious room with a huge bed and a shower-bath combo. The humblest motel offers services that would put many French establishments to shame.
We go back out for a snack; Clémence is given treats again, then we find yet another playground. After her bath, we go out to eat at a Japanese restaurant. We think we're safe from spices. But no: the dish of tteok (cylindrical Korean rice cakes) in sauce that we ordered is like hell's antechamber; every mouthful strips the lining from your mouth. We sweat and cry but force ourselves to eat so as not to waste it, since we don't have much in our stomachs. Clémence taunts us with her plate of chips, eyes glued to a baseball game on TV. The day ends there for her, as her eyes are closing on their own. We take one last walk around the little neighbourhood where we're sleeping before going back to the hotel around 8 pm.
On the road