Survivor Heathensville

Team "Stragglers"

The name itself would strike fear into most. Organized by a blend of individuals determined to leave their mark on history as well as seared into the memories of 50 unsuspecting competitors, the maiden voyage of Survival Heathensville was always going to be a messy affair. It was just the magnitude of it all that would shock us to our core.

The foreign contingent of teachers, soldiers and rif-raff in Korea seems to consist mainly of South Africans and Yanks. This alone is a recipe for disaster. It is the number of Rhodents though, that inflate the security threat to where it now lies- in the red zone. I was met at the Dongducheon station by a scraggly character named Clint who would look at home in the Cape flats. I could tell by his donning of a purple Rhode's overall that he was ready for a serious showdown and this made me nervous. I had also heard that this particular mob of drinking athletes were battle-hardened after many months of Soju intake. But being the only Stellies representative meant that I had to dive in head first, and hope that the boeri-gods would protect me.

Due to inclement weather the venue for the event had been moved from an elaborate looking open field/obstacle course to the moderate shelter that an overhead bridge close by provided. Seventy people were to be confined for 6 hours to a shady space that most homeless bums wouldn't settle for. There were no complaints however, as teams were too focused on the task at hand. Some had been training, some had been rehearsing, and some, like my team the Stragglers had never met before. We were faced with considerable handicaps. Four Koreans in one team, for example, was a set-back. Zero Rhodent's among us was another disadvantage. But we had heart and were convinced that this would carry us through. The line-up of events was a daunting one. 30 trials and tribulations awaited the teams. Boat races, funnels, jelly shots and numerous games that I had never heard of and didn't really want to.

Our first event was a boat race against the "better than dong team" – a group of athletes bearing moustaches and tight leather pants, as well as a war cry that shook our make-shift ensemble to the core. We were never really in the contest. I was opposite a man that looked like a Mexican Johnny Bravo and inhaled his beer before I could raise mine to my lips. Hell, I was embarrassed. Upon completion the victors commenced their war-cry which now included a startling spray of beer at the defeated opponents, (us). This was followed by a funnel test which provided a bit of comic relief in watching the Koreans attempt the challenge. I just don't think they were built for mass intake of alcohol. 

The competition took on a new vibe after the funneling and two rounds of boat races. In the same way that a test match is leveled by torrential rain, the Soju was beginning to make rankings a secondary concern and survival the main objective. At one point we had a team member that we had cleverly dubbed "tank" since his job was to drive an US Army tank- who had to rush off to the trenches for some kind of code red. We were skeptical. The US doesn't generally send their troops to Korea for active duty, and the soldiers posted here spend more time at the bar then the front-lines. So it was agreed that he couldn't handle the pace. Basic training had obviously left out a crucial element of the Korean environment: Soju.


Jelly shots, relays and hoola-hoops (which I couldn't even do at Cowies Hill Pre-primary) were all challenging enough at the best of times. But these were not those times. I can only imagine the sight that was witnessed by the by standing public. Fifty people doing sprint-relays in the rain while officers dressed in Springbok jerseys blew whistles and shouted profanities at the stragglers. Had Straeuli moved Kamp Staludraad to the other side of the world? By nightfall the Rhodes boys were taking their kit off. Strangely and disappointingly the Rhodes girls were not. Buckets of Soju were now being chugged like shooters and bodies were starting to accumulate around the premises. When we vacated the crime scene, we left some good men behind.


The next stop was the fabled Norabang. I had looked forward to this experience, as it was my first since getting to Korea. A norabang is something of a Korean legend. A furnished room with TV, playlist and wait for it, Microphone! Basically a karaoke room but dressed in a lot of tradition, and culture and cheap wallpaper. Also, they seem to stay open all night, welcome drunken foreigners and allow booze inside. So perhaps that is the attraction. Whatever went on inside that room has been sworn to secrecy. Photos were deleted, stories immediately forgotten and clothes left behind forever, (as collateral).

The next day we had brunch at a magical place that served hot wings, cheese burgers, nachos - basically an oasis in this desert of Kimchi and noodles. Stories were shared, toasts made to lost comrades and of course the Rhodes troop started ordering tequila. A couple of us looked at each other with terrible anticipation of where this was headed. With our tales between our legs we hit the road and the rail, chased down the street by cat-calls and disapproving glares. There are many jobs that can be handled on a hang-over, some even welcome it. Ski instructor, Deckhand, Tour Guide? Well have another beer. But 30 screaming kids attempting to communicate at a pitch that only dogs can hear.. I think I'll take the shame, and a water to go.

Pics of Heathensville are at http://picasaweb.google.com/aidan.johnson2/Heathensville#