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Koreans love the outdoors, so it's no surprise to see Gunsan's ferry terminal full on this summer's day. Their destination is Seonyudo, which translates as "island so beautiful God admires it". If the photos are accurate, it's not a hyperbolic statement. As the only two white faces, we stand out, and an Ajumma - a respectful name for an older woman - decides we're foolish. Through our fragments of Korean and her broken English, we understand why. "What will you eat?" she asks, "how can you camp on the beach?" She's not placated by our sunny disposition and pleas of experience, and sulks off, but not before forcing two apples into our hands. At Seonyudo, she's carried away in the throng. Most people turn right, and head towards the main, crescent-shaped beach. We however turn left, in search of seclusion. What we find is a deserted pebble beach, with chillis drying on mats, in front of a row of seemingly empty houses. It does feel like God is looking down on this place with a contented grin. After setting up our tent, we set out to the foot of Manjubong, the island's highest peak. The sunset views from the top are supposed to be spectacular, but when it's 31C during the day, and not much lower at night, it seems too much of an effort to go up. Instead we stroll around it, smiling at locals, stopping for drinks in houses that double as bars. After a meal of locally caught fish, we head back. Close to the terminal we see movement in the darkness, the furious waving of a small figure closing in. It's the Ajumma, and she's frantic. A passing man with a better grasp of English translates: she wants to feed us and let us stay in the school where she works. Again we explain we're in no danger, and again she's far from placated. She genuinely cares about the safety of two foreign strangers, as if we were her own children. We thank her, and leave her in the dark, her shaking her head at our stubbornness, us smiling at her hospitality. After a morning swim, we go back to the ferry, where we see that yesterday's exploits have left us with many mosquito bites, a fact which doesn't go unnoticed by the locals. Before we know it, our shorts are hiked up by a woman determined to apply a soothing balm to our bites. We look down and realise it's the very same Ajumma who wanted to feed us and put a roof over our heads. As we prepare to leave the island, she has finally, at the third attempt, seized her opportunity to mother us. And we couldn't be happier about it.