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75 The next day we found ourselves waiting for a lo- cal bus to take us to a green tea field plantation in the South Jeolla Province town of Boseong. As we sat among the weathered old folk with their life-worn faces, I wondered what was going through their heads — they just sat there, staring from tired eyes, looking like they’d lived a tough existence. Were they parents? Were they participants? Once we arrived at the plantation, we decided to break away from the other foreign tourists — they said “like” far too often — veering up a hill to an unmarked path and a whole new world: one almighty view, a pan- oramic feast for the eyes. Not one voice pervaded the air; we heard only birdsong. No waddling foreign rumps in sight, no fluorescent Korean hiking gear to blot the landscape; just beautifully cultivated natural bliss. As we stood gazing out at the most jaw-dropping vis- ta I’d ever seen in Korea, where an amphitheater of green tea bushes primed an ocean laden with islands fading into the distance, there was a certain satisfac- tion at the extra effort we’d made to get here. This wasn’t in the guidebook. There was no “photo zone” sign or merchandise shop. There’s a good chance we might have been trespassing. It didn’t matter. That evening we happened across one of the only places left open, a tiny but kitsch little cafe called Hon- ey Pie. As the only two customers we were able to watch a three-piece band called Acoustic Dabang do their dress rehearsal, and two songs in, we were both on the verge of tears. We were swept away as the fe- male singer, Sewon, her powerful voice, as sweet as bamboo wine, sang her cover version of 2NE1’s “Lone- ly.” Then we watched the sunset over the bay. Although switching between a phone and reality isn’t a healthy thing to do when trying to immerse oneself in the natural environment, it has its advantages: A couple of phone-taps later, I discovered it was Parents’ Day in Korea. As my mom walked ahead of me down the boardwalk, silhouetted against the fading sun, I regis- tered what a perfect moment it was. Secretly passing a bottle of booze back and forth between us on the bus back to Gwangju, where we had a hostel to our- selves, I started thinking how relationships have a beautiful tendency to change as we age: Suddenly a parent isn’t just a person who raised us, sent us off to school, or some- one we’re obliged to join for Christmas dinner every year or Skype with on a regular basis. Now they’re our friends, maybe our drinking buddies, our travel partners, someone more than just a parent. Like the life of a leaf, from a bud to a brightly colored ornament, my relationship with my mom had developed into something expressive and engaging, not just mom- and-kid stuff. Of all the discoveries I’ve made during my time here, this is the best: My own mother is one of the best travel partners I’ve ever had.