Growing up in Los Angeles, I’d consider myself very health conscious. There is a range to this. LA health can become a parody of itself, with twelve dollar activated charcoal juice and any vegetable you can imagine being “massaged.” Yoga studios charge exorbitant amounts for classes that make you wonder how aligned the practice is from the place it was created. But for each absurdity you encounter when it comes to wellness, there is also gold. While raised in a predominantly Asian and Latinx neighborhood, there was a fruit stand each direction where I could buy a mango bouquet drenched in chili powder and lime as well as decades-old family run acupuncture studios passing down the stunning tradition of cupping therapy. I had the privilege of having access to so much greenery, with mountains skirting through the city, with countless breathtaking hikes that jumped out at you from the freeway. I’d run through the mountains as frequently as I could, so when I got to South Korea, I knew Bukhansan National Park would be my friend. But I was wrong.
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