"Wow...I'm really in Asia." -- A mountain temple, a traditional folk village, a national hero's elaborate shrine.

So, it occurred to me, upon reviewing my previous blog posts, that I hadn’t really put a lot of effort into interacting with Korean culture in those first few weeks.  I mean, drinking with other foreigners and watching rugby isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘immersion.’  At any rate, since then I’ve begun to have what I consider to be more authentic experiences.   But the truth is, it’s hard.  Korea is a tough nut to crack.  The culture is hard to pin down and difficult to access without help.  Since it’s impossible for me to be anything other than an outsider, I need to be befriended by Koreans who can bring me into the fold and really show me what this country is all about.  So far, that hasn’t happened.  The closest I’ve gotten is a few dinners with some of my Korean co-teachers, which were nice and all, but I know there must be more to this millennia-old culture than food and dining etiquette. 

Still, I’ve managed to learn some things about Korean history and see some interesting sights on my own.  My first noteworthy solo adventure came a few weeks ago when I decided to sample some of this country’s outdoor offerings. 

Korea is a very mountainous land, and if you know me at all, you know that mountains make me extraordinarily happy.  I don’t think I’ve yet stood in a spot in this country without being able to see peaks somewhere within the span of the horizon.  I knew about this before coming here, but I had for some inexplicable reason deluded myself into thinking that Korea’s mountains would be smaller and somehow less impressive than what I had grown used to in Washington.  I am pleased to report that this is simply not true.  The mountains here are every bit as dramatic and beautiful as any I’ve seen.  There is one regrettable difference though.  In Washington, when you stand on a summit, you are often granted a view that takes in only more wild, uninhabited peaks and ridges.  No such wilderness seems to exist in Korea; at least, I’ve not found it yet.  The population density doesn’t permit such luxuries, I guess.  From the top of Mt. Gyeryongsan, where I went for my first major hike, I was treated to some truly gorgeous views, but I had to make a conscious effort to ignore the high-rises visible in the distance.

I woke up early on a Saturday and caught a KTX train to Daejeon.  From there, I hopped on a bus, and an hour later I was disembarking at the base of Mt. Gyeryongsan National Park, one of Korea’s oldest national parks.  I was greeted by a sight that made me groan with disappointment:  a massive hoard of people, decked out in fancy, brightly-colored hiking gear.  I usually try to seek out places where I can find solitude, but I think that may prove difficult to do here.  Fortunately, my disappointment soon faded as I escaped the crowd and began to walk around the little village at the base of the mountain.  It was still morning, my favorite time of day, and the weather was absolutely perfect.  This little village was bustling with activity.  It was the first place I’d been in Korea that didn’t feel totally commercial and touristy.  It felt more genuine.  It’s hard to explain why.  I was the only white person around, for one thing, but that isn’t actually all that unusual.  There were small shops and restaurants, and a picturesque little stream running along the main road.  Old women were selling their farm fresh produce on the sidewalk.  Old men lounged lazily smoking and eyeing this odd waygook in their midst.  I bought a coffee and just sat for half an hour content to people watch. 

Eventually I roused myself and entered the national park.  I soon came upon my first temple – Donghaksa.  It was a sight to behold – a beautifully colorful and complex cluster of old buildings with curving slopes nestled in a verdant forest at the base of towering mountains.  This is what Asia is supposed to look like – the cliché postcard version that I didn’t even realize I’d been looking for.  It was one of those moments where I found myself suddenly looking around, thinking “Wow…I’m really in Asia.”

Donghaksa Temple

I’d never been to a real Buddhist temple before, so I found everything about the experience interesting.  I didn’t have many preconceived notions…except for maybe one.  I never expected to see female monks.  But they were there – heads shaved, clothed in loose grey garments, wearing the stereotypical conical hats.  In fact, ALL the monks I saw were women.  I’d never heard of such a thing, so I was baffled.  It wasn’t until that evening when I had time to do some research online that I learned that Donghaksa Temple is the oldest existing temple of it’s kind – for hundreds of years it has served as an academic institution for the education of female monks of the Jogye order, a sect that only exists in Korea, and the only one of its kind in the world. 

A photo that attempts to
capture the "steepness" of
the trail

The rough and rocky trail

After poking about the temple for a bit, I moved on, and the really punishing part of the ascent up the mountain began shortly thereafter.  I think it’s safe to say that I underestimated the difficulty of this hike.  On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, this one was rated a 4.  Since I’m a pretty experienced hiker, I didn’t expect to have any trouble.  Well, this trail was not like the ones back home.  The pathway was constructed of broken boulders and stones that lay about in uneven jumbles – not very kind on the feet.  Another thing that became painfully clear was that Koreans apparently don’t believe in switchbacks.  The path continued in a more of less linear fashion, adhering to the contours of the mountain.  Some places were incredibly steep.  When the trail became too steep for normal hiking, there were stairs – sometimes hewn directly from the rock, and in other places with metal steps and railing.  Some spots were even so steep that the stairs ceased to be stairs and essentially became ladders.  I think I’m in pretty good shape, but the climb humbled me.  My hiking experience hadn’t really prepared me for this kind of trail.  Koreans, on the other hand, seem to be used to this type of thing.  As I neared the top, sweating and panting with extremely sore leg muscles, I actually got PASSED by a pair of middle-aged Korean women.  That was a bit of a blow to the old ego.

All this was forgotten when I reached the top.  The view from the summit was marvelous – jagged peaks jutting up out of the hazy valley into a clear blue autumn sky.  It was around this time that my stomach started growling and I realized that in my haste to leave in the morning, I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I still had a lot of ground to cover, so I didn’t linger long.  I still had to reach an additional peak before I could start descending.

The next 2km of the hike were the best part, because I was able to follow the ridge and keep an open view of the surrounding landscape, which kept changing as I hiked.  By the time I reached the junction of the spur trail that led to the second peak, I hesitated.  I was exhausted and hungry and so I contemplated skipping the spur trail and the summit in favor of continuing on and reaching the bottom sooner.  As I stood there trying to make up my mind, a solitary woman passed me and continued up the spur trail without stopping.  She wasn’t even sweating.  At that point, my ego kicked in and I pushed myself up to the summit in spite of the sounds of protest that were issuing from my empty stomach.

My descent down the mountain was not graceful – more like a boulder rolling downhill.  I let my momentum carry me, driven by the thought of the bubbling bowl of haejangguk and the hot odeng-on-a-stick that was waiting for me in the village at the bottom.  My heavy plodding combined with the rocky, uneven terrain caused some pain to flare up in my right foot, which had just barely recovered from a recent injury.  By the time I reached the village, I was a little worse for the wear, but alive nonetheless. 

So that was my first Korean mountain hike.  Number two is coming up this weekend – Seoraksan National Park in Gangwon Province.  I’m sure I’ll be writing about it soon.  I went into a bit more detail about the hike than I had intended and now my brain is tired, and I haven’t saved much energy for writing about all the other experiences I intended to tell you about.  But just as I forced myself up that second summit, I’m going to push on now for the fear that, if I don’t write about these things now, I never will. 

In addition to Donghaksa Temple, I’ve had two other cultural experiences that I’d like to share.  The first one was the International Dance Festival which was held right here in Cheonan.  To be honest, I hadn’t really planned on attending.  But in the end, I didn’t really have a choice.  I was attempting to take the bus into the city to meet up with some friends at a hookah bar for a couple of drinks and a smoke, when the bus suddenly came up against a wall of people and had to reroute.  It was the first night of the festival and there was a parade going on.  The road the bus needed to take to reach my destination was closed off, so the bus driver abruptly stopped a block away from Cheonan Station and made everyone get off the bus.  By total luck, I soon ran into one of the people I was supposed to be meeting – she hadn’t been able to make it all the way downtown either.  At that point, we resolved to walk the remaining distance.  So we basically walked along the same road as the parade and got to see some of the action.  Since I can’t understand Korean and can’t read it very well either, I was unable to tell what countries, provinces, etc. each of the performance groups was from.  I did get to hear some cool traditional music, see some crazy dance styles that I can’t even begin to describe, and a giant mechanical dragon that breathed fire.  The hookah bar was closed when we finally got there, but the night was in no way a loss. 

The following week I got to spend my Friday accompanying my first-year students on a field trip.  It was a beautiful fall day, and I was glad to spend it with my students outside of the classroom.  The trip was supposed to be educating for them, but they took it upon themselves to educate me about the things we were seeing.  These places were apparently nothing new for them.

The view from the folk village

A traditional Korean folk village

The first part of the day was spent in a traditional folk village.  I’m a little hazy on the origins of the place – some of the buildings appeared to be originals while others were clearly reconstructions.  The weird thing was that people seemed to actually be living there.  I hadn’t expected this; I was anticipating some kind of touristy model village.  The backyard gardens were productive and carefully cultivated, and there was clothing hanging on the lines.  I had the sense that this wasn’t just a show for the visitors.  It was easy to tell the upper-class homes from the lower by the styles of the roofs.  The former were constructed of rounded, overlapping wooden shingles, while the latter were made of thatched grasses.  It was a very picturesque scene with ancient looking stone walls along the walkways covered in vines reddening with the season. 

The second part of the field trip took us to an old Confucian school.  I don’t really have much to say about this place, and the students seemed pretty bored with the whole thing.

The last part of the day was spent visiting the shrine of a national hero – Admiral Yi Sun-sin, a 16^th century naval commander.  By complete coincidence, I just discovered a Stuff You Missed in History Class podcast about him, and it’s enable me to shed some light on who this man was.  History remembers him for his seemingly miraculous victories against the Japanese during the Imjin War in the Joseon Dynasty (1592-1598). also known as the Seven Year War.  His visionary and ingenious ship designs gave the Koreans a huge advantage over their opponents, but he is best known as a brilliant tactician.  The most exciting story tells of how he, when outnumbered 133 ships to 12, managed to route the Japanese fleet by luring them into a raging strait where they became trapped, and bombarding the ships with heavy cannon fire.  This stunning victory essentially saved Seoul from invasion.  Though little known outside of Korea and Japan, many history and naval experts consider this to be among the greatest naval defeats of all time.  Despite a lack of formal military training, Yi Sun-sin went to his grave having never been defeated in battle.  He was mortally wounded by a stray bullet in 1598 at a point when the Japanese military, which only a few years earlier had seemed invincible, was on the verge of withdrawing from the Korean peninsula and the war was all but over (Hollywood couldn't write a story this tragic).  His dying words have become a very inspiring and colorful part of Korean folklore:  “The battle is at it’s height.  Beat my war drums.  Do not announce my death.”

Students ascending the steps to the shrine 

Such a venerated hero deserves a shrine that appropriately honors his legend and what he has come to represent for the Korean people.  The shrine I visited seems more than adequate in this regard.  The shrine itself is in an elaborate and impressive temple-like building that sits on a high point surrounded by a massive park overlooking the plains of Asan and the distant mountains.  The place had a very sacred feel, enhanced by the demeanor of my students which, after being characterized by rowdy rambunctiousness all day, suddenly became serious, solemn, and respectful. 

The view looking out from the shrine

After the experiences detailed above, I feel that I’ve begun to get a little closer to the heart of Korea.  But I still have a long way to go in understanding these people and their culture.  Perhaps the most educational and enlightening day of my South Korea adventure will be detailed in my next blog post, which is already nearly complete.  Look for it to be posted in the next couple of days.

Me posing with some students at the shrine