Insadong

I began writing this entry a month ago, but then I got distracted by midterms and out-of-town trips, so I’ve only just now gotten around to finishing it.  But I wanted to make sure to post it, because it covers one of the most interesting and charming parts of Seoul. 

When visiting Korea for the first time, Insadong in Seoul should probably be one of your first stops, but for some reason it took me nearly 8 months to get there.  It’s a great place to sample all things Korean, from traditional tea shops and killer street food to all kinds of hand-made souvenirs, and it’s right in the heart of the capital.  So when a friend suggested a day trip to Seoul on one of the first nice spring weekends, this is where I requested to go.  His way of agreeing was to ask with incredulity, “What do you mean you haven’t been to Insadong yet?”

Jogyesa Temple

We hopped on a train around noon on a Saturday after a hasty kimbap lunch.  Once we arrived in Seoul, our first stop was Jogyesa Temple.  I hate to say it, but after 8 months in Korea the Buddhist temples, beautiful though they are, are starting to lose their novelty for me – meaning, they’re all starting to kind of look the same.  The colors are still stunning, the carved panels along the outside are still impressive, but I’d be lying if I said I still regard them with the same sense of wonder that I had last fall – especially when they’re in the middle of an urbanized area surrounded by the same featureless office towers that pervade every Korean city. 

Close-ups of Jogyesa
Temple decor

At any rate, in contrast to the usual stillness of temples, the courtyard outside Jogyesa was bustling with activity on this Saturday.  This was partly due to there being many visitors like me who were trying to enjoy the nice spring weather.  But there was something else going on, something augmenting the bustle – there were groups of men everywhere, some of them stacking dozens and dozens of large cardboard boxes against the temple, while others were erecting rows of thin metal poles and scaffolds all through the courtyard.  My friend explained to me that they were preparing to decorate the temple for Seokga tansinil, or Buddha’s birthday.  This is a national holiday in Korea (and most other Asian countries), and at the time the date was still over a month away.  I now know that Buddhist temples throughout the country festoon their grounds, buildings, and gardens with colorful paper lotus lanterns for the entire month of the holiday, and if I’d waited just a couple more days before visiting Jogyesa, I would have arrived to a much more vibrant, festive display. 

After concluding our stroll around the temple grounds, we crossed the road and entered Insadong.  If I’d thought the temple was bustling with activity, I was ill prepared for the commotion of Insadong.  The dense crowds that thronged through the streets swept me away, and it was useless to fight against the current.  This place was an assault on the senses.  I was bombarded by all the sights, sounds, and smells (the good and the bad) of Korea, for they all seemed concentrated in this one small neighborhood.  The rank odor of simmering beondegi (silk worm pupa, a popular street food item) mingled with the spicy smell of more palatable Korean food like tteokbokki.  People stood on soapboxes and in store fronts shouting in Korean, some of them with microphones or megaphones – I think this had something to do with the upcoming election, because there were people marching around with large signs as well.  I could be wrong about that though.  The streets were lined with little merchant shops selling their wares – antiques, pottery, porcelain tea sets, intricately decorated wooden boxes, hanji paper, hand-printed cloth wall hangings, etc. etc.  There were men painting and selling paper fans on the sidewalk.

Insadong is popular with locals and foreigners alike, which I’m sure is why it was so crowded on this day, the first true spring-like Saturday after a long, cold winter.  Even though it was once a neighborhood for wealthy government officials, Insadong has been the haunt of artists, especially painters, for hundreds of years.  It was transformed during the Japanese occupation when all the wealthy residents were forced to leave and sell their belongings, turning the area into hotspot for the trading of antiques.  Over time, the area became more and more associated with arts, folk crafts, and cafes.  It supposedly once had a more historic feel than it does today.  Korea sometimes has an upsetting tendency to bulldoze its historical sites in its quest for modernization; this tendency led to the renovation of Insadong at the start of the new millennium.  Still, it has managed to maintain its status as one of the most popular parts of Seoul, especially with foreign visitors. 

Hotteok!

As the crowd carried us down the street, I disengage myself long enough to pop into a few shops to seek out souvenirs for folks back home.  This was like Takayama all over again – after months of failing to find suitable gifts for people, I suddenly found myself surrounded by them, and a minor shopping binge ensued.  The only thing I bought for myself was some hotteok, my favorite street food snack (it’s sort of like a thick fried pancake or biscuit stuffed with brown sugar, cinnamon, and ground peanuts).  We also stopped in a tea house – this one was more modern than traditional – and I had a big steaming cup of the richest, most decadent ginger tea I’ve ever encountered.  At that point, I was satisfied with my Insadong experience and was ready to get away from the crowd for a little while.  On our way out, we got stopped by two separate groups of college-age girls (about 5 or 10 minutes apart) who were trying to interview tourists about Korea’s services and tourist infrastructure.  It wasn’t clear whether this was for their jobs or if it was a class assignment.  Now, I’m not sure if I’m technically a tourist, and I usually don’t stop to talk to clipboard-carrying people who approach me on the street – but what can I say?  I’m a sucker for cute Korean girls, I guess, because I gave each group about 10 minutes of my time.

Tea house in Insadong

Traditional hanok houses in Bukchon

A short walk away from Insadong is Bukchon, a beautiful neighborhood of steep, narrow streets and traditional hanok houses.  Unlike recently-renovated Insadong, this 600-year-old urban environment still manages to capture the atmosphere of the Joseon Dynasty.  It’s also probably among the most photographed places in Seoul – I’d wanted to check this place out ever since seeing some images a friend uploaded to facebook months before.  It’s a place of pretty interesting contrasts.  Very old-meets-new.  The streets are lined with old, quintessentially Asian houses with curving roofs and parallel rows of overlapping shingles; but between the houses one can see the towering, faceless skyscrapers of modern Seoul all around.

By the time we left Bukchon, the daylight was fading.  We appeased our appetites with some typical Korean barbeque and then patjuk for dessert – a hot, sweet red bean porridge.  I know patjuk may not sound very appetizing to some, and to be honest it didn’t sound so great to me either, but it was surprisingly good and I could easily understand why this was considered a winter-time staple.  We then capped the night off the way we do so many Saturday nights in Korea – with a couple bottles of maekju.

Check back soon for some posts about a few other interesting parts of Korea that I’ve recently visited for the first time – such as Gyeongju and Busan.  

Bukchon neighborhood in Seoul

The Japan Saga, Part IV: Takayama and the Rest

A river fringed with snow in Takayama

During the night I spent in Yudanaka, a heavy blanket of snow fell on the mountains of central Japan.  In the morning, I had to trudge through deep drifts of the white stuff to get back to the train station.  After such a spectacular day with the snow monkeys, I was sad to be leaving so soon, but I was also pretty psyched about my next destination:  Takayama.  I took the slow local train back to Nagano where I was supposed to catch a connection that would take me to Naoetsu, where I would make another transfer.  This is where my inability to understand Japanese got me into a little trouble.  The heavy snowfall during the night had apparently made the mountain passes between Nagano and Naoetsu impassable; the train would therefore only go as far as Kurohime (a middle of nowhere small village stop).  They made frequent announcements about this change while I was at Nagano station, but of course, I was completely unaware of them.  I unknowingly boarded the train and wondered why it was so empty.  When the train stopped at an open platform and didn’t continue on, there followed several minutes of confusion before I was made to understand (mostly by way of miming) that the pass was closed and I now had two options:  wait for a bus that would take me to Naoetsu (which could take many additional hours, provided the bus could actually navigate the mountain pass), or take the train back to Nagano and try a different route.  I went with the latter – eventually traveling all the way south to Nagoya and transferring to the Hida line to reach Takayama.  This roundabout course took the entire day;  I didn’t arrive in Takayama until well after dark. 

Zenkoji Temple Inn in Takayama

After checking in at my hostel, I spent the rest of the night relaxing in the warmth of my private room and enjoying the free wifi.  I was too tired to do anything else.  In the morning I woke with renewed vigor and began to explore the super fascinating hostel I was staying in.  Zenkoji Temple Inn is actually maintained by and connected to a Buddhist temple.  It was really quiet on this morning and seemed to be empty – I know I wasn’t the only one who slept there the previous night, but it appeared that the other guests had already checked out.  I made myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and went to check out the snow-covered garden.  This didn’t last long – it was freezing outside.  I decided instead to go investigate the temple.

Since coming to Asia, I’ve been able to get a close look at quite a few Buddhist temples.  But on this morning I was in for a special treat – I was invited to sit in on the morning prayer.  It was short and pretty much what you would expect – slow, throaty chanting interspersed with the ringing of a gong and the lighting of candles.  I just sat there breathing in incense and trying to absorb through osmosis some of the spiritual essence that seemed to permeate the room.  The altar of this temple seemed more elaborately decorative than a lot of the others I’d seen – lots of gold and brass adorning idols and dangling from above.  It was, however, much less colorful than the style of Buddhist altars I’d seen in Korea (see the Wow, I’m really in Asia blog post from last October for an example).

The alter of Zenkoji Buddhist Temple

An even more interesting experience presented itself to me after prayer time.  This particular temple has a certain feature that is pretty rare in Japan.  It’s called Kaidan Meguri, which means “Traversing the Path of Buddha.”  Here’s how it works:  To the right of the altar, there’s a short stairwell descending into total darkness, which leads to an unlit circular passageway that runs under the altar.  One is supposed to enter, and then navigate the passage by sense of touch alone.  The idea is that, with vision removed, one is guided by faith.  The goal is to locate an ancient padlock known as the “Key to Paradise” which locks a door; behind this door is a sacred Buddha statue which no one is permitted to see.  When the lock is found, one is supposed to take a mindful moment to enjoy the fulfillment of locating the key and say a prayer for sins of the past or hopes for the future.  Doing this washes away sins and lays a path to Goku-raku Jodo – the Paradise.  One then continues on, completing the circle and reemerging into the light.  The circuit is a symbol of death and re-birth – and also of Buddhist enlightenment.  One enters as a human with faults, experiences the trials of darkness, attains peace, and returns to the light. 

The stairway leading to Kaidan Meguri

I was permitted to experience Kaidan Meguri for myself.  Apparently anyone who stays at the hostel may have this opportunity, but many don’t take advantage.  I, for one, was fairly certain I wouldn’t get another chance for such an experience.  So I took a plunge into the darkness.  There was something kind of unnerving about being unable to see anything at all and having to find my way by sense of touch.  I think I was on the verge of having flashbacks to those cheap haunted houses I frequented as a middle schooler.  I reminded myself that I was actually in a sacred place that was certainly not in the business of scaring me out of my wits.  Still, I made sure I had my phone with me, just in case I got too freaked out and needed a light.

I found the Key to Paradise with very little trouble, but strangely had a difficult time focusing my thoughts while I stood there.  I took some deep breaths in the cold, close air, but the harder I tried to concentrate, the more mental clarity eluded me.  I eventually made some hasty, vague well wishes and continued through the circuit and out the other side.  Rather than obtaining peace, I mostly felt disappointed in myself for my impoverished spirituality.  At least I didn’t cheat by bringing out my phone.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around Takayama – a place surprisingly easy to navigate on foot.  There are lots of reasons to visit this undeniably charming little town – it’s quaint, quiet, and laid back compared to the hustle and bustle of the cities; it sleeps in the shadow of the beautiful Hida mountains; it’s usually covered by a pristine and frequently replenished layer of snow this time of year; it’s a sake brewing hotspot; and there are countless little artisans’ shops selling locally handmade crafts.  But perhaps the biggest reason this town draws so many historically-minded and city-weary travelers is because of Sanmachi – a very handsome historic district in the center of town featuring Japan’s best preserved specimens of Edo-era (1603-1867) architecture.  More than just about any other place in the country, this is a spot where, with a little imagination, one can get a small glimpse of what Japan looked like in the days of the Samurai.  

The Edo-era architecture of the Sanmachi historic district

When I left the Temple Inn, it was snowing again.  The snowfall intensified into a virtual white out by the time I reached the river.  As I came upon the Sanmachi historic district, I felt as though I had walked onto a movie set.  The arresting sight of old wooden merchant houses, lattice windows adorn with icicles, and narrow lanes framed by the falling snow struck me as singularly enchanting.  This was Japan’s traditional side – I managed to find it, hiding out here in the mountains.  I felt myself a world away from the noise and congested clutter of the cities I’d visited earlier in the week. 

The Edo-era architecture of the Sanmachi historic district

The snow soon began to let up as I ambled aimlessly around the three compact streets that make up Sanmachi.  The old merchant houses have been converted mostly into cafes, boutiques, souvenir shops, and sake breweries.  Since the people who make up this region have been utilizing the surrounding forests for centuries, it’s no surprise that this part of Japan is known for its woodworking.  There were many crafts of this variety on offer – everything from lacquered bowls and jewelry boxes to finely-decorated chopsticks.  It was here that I did the bulk of my souvenir shopping in Japan, finding many unique gifts for friends and family back home. 

Takayama's traditional feel is enhanced by the brilliance of the morning's snowfall

The sun came out, and after snacking on a small lunch of Hida beef (a regional specialty), I made my way out of the historic district to the eastern edge of town, hoping to find some high ground from which to get a view of the entire area.  What I found instead was a forest-enveloped shrine and a cemetery.  Rather than being creeped out by cemeteries, I’ve always rather enjoyed their stillness and serenity.  This one in particular was all powder and loveliness on this now sunny winter’s day.  I was content to stay for a while in the refuge of the soaring evergreens listening to the pitter-patter of snow-melt dripping from the boughs.  Where had this peace of mind been that morning while I stood mind buzzing before the Key to Paradise?  Perhaps it’s a natural outdoor setting that my spirit requires. 

A forested cemetery on a hill east of downtown Takayama

The front of the sake brewery

Later in the afternoon I visited a traditional sake brewery.  No fancy, sterile modern equipment here; everything is done by hand the old-fashioned way.  I was quickly whisked away by a middle-aged Japanese woman who was intent on giving me a tour and explaining the sake making process, even though she spoke no English and could see that I didn’t speak Japanese.  Still, she did her best to convey to me a sense of what goes on here, and she actually did an admirable job by means of some very animated miming.  The tour concluded with a tasting of two different kinds of sake – one hot, one cold.  The whole visit lasted about 20 minutes and was totally free.  Can’t beat that with a baseball bat.

Thus concluded my visit to Takayama.  I returned to Micah’s place in Toyohashi via a 3-hour train ride.  After a solid week on the move, I had decided to spend my few remaining days in Japan taking it easy.  I had originally planned to make one final trip to Tokyo, but ultimately decided against it for a few reasons.  Mainly, I was running low on money and I didn’t want to further infringe upon Micah’s hospitality by asking to borrow more (see Japan Saga: Part I if you missed that story).  Also – I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to convince myself that Tokyo was worth a visit.  I didn’t have anything in particular that I wanted to see there (maybe the Tsukiji Fish Market, if anything).  I don’t know, it just seems like it’s kind of the conventional wisdom that, if you’re visiting Japan, you’re supposed to see Tokyo.  It’s expected.  But beyond being just another chaotic Asian mega-metropolis, what does it have to offer?  Not even the expats living in Japan could adequately answer that one for me.  I’ve never really been much of a big city person anyway – I tire pretty quickly of concrete and crowds.  So in the end, I decided to skip it. 

A field of yellow flowers is blooming even in January on the Atsumi Peninsula

This is not to say that I was idle for my final couple of days in Japan.  For one, I got to experience the blaring neon madness of a Japanese arcade (complete with a dude in skinny jeans sweating profusely while killing it on Dance Dance Revolution…..sometimes stereotypes turn out to be true).  I also got to enjoy a leisurely afternoon driving around the Atsumi Peninsula with Micah and his friend Nick.  We scrambled around on beach rocks, frolicked in a field of yellow flowers, and enjoyed some fresh oysters and warm sake for lunch.  That night, my trip was capped off with another game of cards with Micah’s expat friends at his apartment.

Micah and Nick exploring a rocky beach on the Atsumi Peninsula

I feel like I should end this four-part series about my travels in Japan with some sort of profound overarching observation about what it all means, about how the real Japan compares with the romanticized movie version I talked about in Part I.  But it isn’t coming to me.  I will say this though – I had a really fantastic time on my trip.  I enjoyed it even more than I thought I would.  I was struck by how it is simultaneously so similar to, yet vastly different from Korea.  I was grateful to be reunited with an old friend.  I was glad to explore a new place and dispel the impression that Asian cultures are more or less the same.  I enjoyed enriching and complicating my notions of history, nationalism, taste, and tradition.  Ultimately, I will say the following about Japan:  No matter what you envision this country to be, be it ultra-modern cities crisscrossed with futuristic bullet trains, or ancient temples nestled on a misty hillside, or sidewalks packed with suit-wearing businessmen gazing with bloodshot eyes at their smartphones, or a kimono-wearing old woman silently pouring you a cup of tea – chances are, you’ll find it here somewhere.  You only have to go for yourself and have a look.  

The Philippine Sea seen from a beach on the Atsumi Peninsula

"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