The Waterfall That Wasn’t

Yesterday, I got out of the city for a hike in the woods. Daejeon is surrounded by mountains, and I found a hike in Gyeryongsan National Park that is easily accessible by public transportation. The research I did beforehand was minimal, but when I saw there was a waterfall, I was already in. The weather was beautiful, with temperatures in the upper 70s and a light breeze—a perfect day for a hike.

The trail to the waterfall is an easy walk along a paved path. Since it’s such an easy stroll, it was a little busy. The trees were treeing, the sky was skying, and nature was naturing. It was refreshing to be surrounded by nature instead of city life.

Before I knew it, I had passed the “waterfall,” which definitely wasn’t waterfalling. It was only a 12-foot rock with a trickle of water running over it. I took a picture as I walked by, thinking, “This can’t be the waterfall. It must be farther up the trail.” After hiking in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, I had become accustomed to false “waterfalls” with the real waterfall hidden farther up the mountain.

Nonetheless, I continued farther up the trail. I started seeing fewer and fewer people, and when I came to an intersection, it became obvious from the trail map that I had already passed the waterfall. Disappointment!

I was feeling good, so I decided to continue up the mountain and complete the circuit. That’s when I encountered the trillion-step staircase. First, the trail climbed over stairs made from rocks, and then it eventually turned into an actual staircase. It was a steep, winding staircase that seemed to continue forever, with occasional landings where hikers could stop and take in the views. Despite the unending climb, it was still refreshing to be out in nature.

As the afternoon wore on and I walked along the mountain ridge, I started noticing insects hopping around. Then I saw one—a creepy-ass, giant cricket! I could hear them hopping through the leaves and across the trail. Soon, bugs were buzzing around my ears, and I found myself swatting away mosquitoes. I became homesick for Colorado: fewer bugs, less humidity.

At one of the lookouts, there was a fantastic view of the city. But the more I looked at it, the more it resembled a prison. All the buildings are tall and white, and from a distance they look as though they have no windows. There are 1.44 million people living in Daejeon, squeezed into 208 square miles and stacked on top of one another in 25-story apartment buildings.

The population is largely homogeneous. The cityscape feels bleak and repetitive, dominated by gray and white buildings. Only the neon lights seem capable of bringing the city to life. Then daylight returns, and the city resumes its daily routine. Ants marching to the beat of an invisible drummer. Marching to work. Entrenched in the man-made landscape. Oblivious to the natural world surrounding them.

It’s unfortunate what “progress” has taken away from humanity. Daily purchases—including food—can be delivered directly to your doorstep. Remote work can make it entirely possible for a person to never leave their home. A lonely existence where technology becomes the primary connection to the rest of the world.

When I set out on my hike, I hadn’t intended to go on a long trek or have such philosophical thoughts. By the end of the day, however, I had hiked for three and a half hours, covered six miles, and climbed one trillion steps. But what I really gained was a reconnection with the universe and a reminder of what life should really be about.