Ninnaji: Temple Stay

Originally built in the 9th century (but of course burned down numerous times, as is everything stubbornly rebuilt over and over in wood), Ninnaji Temple was a palace-turned-Buddhist-temple built for those with imperial lineage to serve as head priest.  It's oldest buildings are now from the 1600's.  It's famous for its five-story pagoda, large sprawling grounds, and cherry trees that have been cultivated for hundreds of years. 

It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  And I stayed there for the night.    

In most of Japan I spoke in short phrases I had learned and they simply guessed what I needed or responded in English.  Thankfully, this temple has a website with good directions in English.  The blog takes a while to get a response from, but the hotel lobby had Wi-Fi.  This was fortunate, because it was the first time while I was in Japan that there was truly a language barrier between me and the man in the simple clothing.  Fumbling with Google translate ensued. 

Because I've been living in Korea, I knew enough general Asian etiquette: what to expect as far as meals, how to accept and receive money, and how they used baths--I was able to fully take advantage of a hot spring and bath area all to myself, which felt heavenly after a long day of hiking my bag all over Kyoto.  I made some tea in my room and was asleep with the sunset. 
    

The next morning I awoke well-rested at 5 a.m. in time for the service.  I found that besides the Buddhists living at the temple, the other guests were one Japanese family of four, a foreign man married to a Japanese woman, and me.  The ceremony was just what I hoped for.  Although there was no English, my interest and knowledge of Buddhism served me enough to appreciate the beauty in the symbolism and simplicity.

The ceremony lasted thirty minutes or so and afterwards, with the sun just rising, I felt I had been transported to ancient times.  The tourists still hadn't arrived by the time we finished breakfast.  I had time all by myself to wander in and out of the cherry trees, appreciating the uniqueness of the experience.  The simplicity of the service had gotten to me.  Not having a phone, simply living out of a bag, simply taking each moment as it came to me was a meditative experience in its own right--something true travelers experience and become addicted to for its freedom. 

After a while, the couple approached me and the man asked if I would like to listen to his wife translate the introduction the priest gave to us at the beginning of the service, welcoming us and explaining a bit of the temple's history. As she finished the fascinating explanation the front gates opened, letting the tourists in for the day.  That was my cue to leave.

Gyeongju (경주): The Museum Without Walls

Starting in the first century B.C., the Silla Kingdom was unified for almost 1,000 years.  Gyeongju was the capital of that empire. As anyone who has visited South Korea knows, any original historic structures are rare and to be regarded as invaluable.  Between visits by the Mongols, the Japanese, the Korean War and various tensions with North Korea, any temple or statue older than 1950 is hard to find.  Thankfully, grand palaces like the one at Anapji Pond held enough history in the ground all this time to able to resurrect a city that had been all but forgotten about until the 20th century. 

Gyeongju is the perfect place to spend a weekend, but since it is the museum without walls, any time outside of winter is ideal.  In two days we definitely couldn't see it all, but the highlights were really worth seeing, and I definitely plan on going again. My boyfriend and I took a bus from the Express Bus Terminal at 11 a.m., and we were in downtown Gyeongju by 2 or 3p.m.  Immediately outside the bus terminal is a tourist office, which had a very helpful employee and an informative map.  We walked in the direction that had the most to offer.

 

The  first site that caught our eye was a park surrounded by a low, decorative gate that allowed you to see many neat, trimmed and maintained hills sticking out, plain and unadorned.  Not knowing what they were, we paid the 1,000 won entrance fee and ambled through.  The trees were mostly bear save for a bright orange fruit of some kind, and the bright hills stood out against the stark blue sky.  It turns out, these were the ancient burial grounds of kings and queens, filled inside with paintings and relics on display at the wonderful Gyeongju National Museum.  Since it was late fall, the only other green that could be found besides the tombs was along a winding path through Evergreen and Fern trees as we headed towards the back exit.

We got lucky: without a specific plan besides the usual "see stuff", the back exit led us right to the famous observatory tower.  It was only 9.17 meters (30 feet) tall, but every sign in Gyeongju tells you to see it immediately.  Past that is Anapji Pond and just down the road is the the National Museum...which makes for a perfect walking day. Each had a compelling character, rich history, and allowed you to glimpse into a city as ancient as the Egyptians.

My favorite part of the trip was Seokuram Grotto.  From Bulguksa Temple, (which is a wonderful stroll, where I was compelled to start a heated debate about the value of original works versus replications) take the bus to Seokuram Grotto.  DO NOT WALK.  Koreans are wonderfully, notoriously hikers.  Even throughout this, the coldest winter in Korean history, the subway was filled daily with ajummas and ajoshis in full-out hiking gear, having spent the day trudging through snow to the tops of mountains.  So, when I decided we should walk, the Koreans we asked simply said, "Walk in that direction."  What we didn't know was they meant, "Walk in that direction, uphill, over boulders, for three hours".  Thankfully my boyfriend insisted we take the bus up a winding course over precarious ledges.  It was worth the bus fare.

Although you can't take pictures, I will remember the statue of Buddha in the grotto.  The slight smile and open nature of the image, the way it was guarded by various Bodhisattvas, the way it filled the round and secluded room with life, the moon-shaped ceiling, and the faint glow of candles on this 1,200 year old statue made it memorable and more impressionable that I had thought possible.  The idea that it's been hiding, kept safe from attacks by the reclusive nature of the Korean mountains made it a special moment that seemed almost serendipitous.  It was worth the equally terrifying ride back down the winding mountain path. 

Overall, Gyeongju might be my top favorite trip in Korea so far.  Its history, accessibility, and beauty make the entire city a priceless relic to stroll through on a fine autumn day.

Not Normal.

It's the end of January, nine months into my contract, with only three short months left in Korea.  Since I've stopped writing I've gone to Japan (Tokyo and Kyoto) for a week, I've gone to Taiwan (Taipei and Taroko Gorge) for four days, and the Philippines (Tacloban and Bilihran Island) for yet another week.  Oh, and I've been in Korea this entire time.

I can't believe how quickly this life became normal for me. 

Of course I wanted to write.  Of course I had things to say about what I did.  However, being surrounded by others who share the same interests--that have travelled just as much if not more than me--convinced me that what I was doing was average. Not worth sharing. Normal.  As if staying on a private island surrounded by untouched jungle and no electricity with a group of friendly locals helping you fish for breakfast was normal (Higatangan Island, Philippines).  As if attempting to hitch-hike on a thin strip of road with a wall of stone on one side and a rushing river in the gorge hundreds of feet down was average (Taroko Gorge, Taiwan).  Almost as if staying in an ancient temple on palace grounds before it is opened for tourists, waking up with the monks for a Buddhist service that has been happening at sunrise for hundreds and hundreds of years was an uninteresting day (Kyoto, Japan).

I realized in Japan that if I really wanted to travel--and continue for some time--I would have to find new ways of discovery.  I was glad to see Tokyo, but it had the same Starbucks that Seoul and New York did.  It had McDonald's and Wi-Fi and movie theaters.  It had a subway and set prices and imported food.  I love these things (I really do), but ultimately it is detrimental to learning what the essence of a culture is and meeting those from that culture.  Strangers are less likely to help you in a city where the signs are in English.  They're less likely to talk to you, and probably won't even notice you.  You're more likely to know exactly what you've ordered at a restaurant.  And you're able to figure out exactly how to flush the toilet.

I am slowly but surely going around the world, meeting interesting people and learning where I belong in the whole colorful, adventerous mess. My travels may not be easy, but they are a rewarding challenge for the true back-packers out there.  I want to let others interested in these things know when, where, and how to travel as best as I can.  I want to make it easier to get to Sokcho, or Maokong, or Kyoto and save the traveller after me some precious time on their trip.  I also realized that where I plan on going, you need all the help you can get. My stories can help travellers who believe that tanning on a beach in Boracay is not a true Filipino experience, or that Seoul shouldn't be all that one experiences in Korea.

And I've had adventures that, if nothing else, I would like to write down and remember and look back on.

So, this is my own little manifesto.  I have three months to really dig deep and discover more of Korea from Gyeongju to Jeju Island.  I have a couple of months to document my trips through southeast Asia this summer.  I have a lifetime of new places, people, and discoveries to find.  You're welcome to follow me.

Busan Aquarium: Swimming with Sharks

I've never been one for fireworks.  But, when my boyfriend decided he was deadset on going to Korea's largest fireworks display in Busan, I immediately decided it would be a perfect time to learn to scuba dive in a tank full of sharks.

After a quick check to see what would be required, (all the information is on the website: http://scubainkorea.com/), we had our reservation.  It was going to be a perfect fall weekend before winter set in with fireworks on the beach, good food, and a new experience.  Unfortunately, when we showed up for the fireworks on Saturday, the weather looked like this:

We were stopped by a reporter who asked us to speak slowly and clearly about how we felt about the fireworks being delayed until Sunday night.  It didn't interupt our train schedule, or our shark dive, and I think my boyfriend and I were just happy to be out of Seoul, so we told the camera things like oh, well we understand.  The weather is awful. Maybe it will work out.
The cameraman lowered the camera with a disappointed look on his face.
"Can you maybe sound angrier?" asked the reporter.

Thank goodness we were in such a good mood, because the next three hours were spent trudging in the rain looking for a hotel in a city booked to its bursting point.  Every hotel had no vacancy.  Finally, after numerous calls and some nasty looks on my part to a boy hogging the much-needed computer for a video game, we were helped by the concierge, who probably just wanted us homeless-looking folk out of his lobby.  For 50,000 won each we had a comfy bed with a view just in time for us to put our bags down and find something to eat, which (of course) was one of the most delicious seafood meals I've ever had.

The next morning we were up bright and early as the doors to the aquarium opened to the public.  Mike met us at the entrance, and simply motioned for us to follow him, where we paid the other half of our deposit to the aquarium (which also included full entry to the rest of the aquarium).  We entered a room filled with fish, but didn't have to time to take it in because Mike casually leaned on an unsuspecting door, leading right into a large room meant for staff only.  This was how the staff fed the creatures in the tanks, and where we would enter the shark tank from. We found out, to my absolute delight, that we would be his only customers that day.  A private scuba diving lesson for two.  To celebrate, Mike brought in a giant sea turtle to say hello, which was a special privilege I had never expected.

Much like rock climbing, white water rafting and skiing, scuba diving was not what I thought it would be.  In response to the fact that the wetsuit was actually torture to put on, Mike simply shrugged and said, "Well, you're not shaped like a Korean."  This is true.  I also somehow forgot that breathing, hearing, and seeing would be completely different while underwater.  The first time I tried to empty my goggles of water while underwater, I was hyper-ventilating so much I had to stand up in the practice pool.  When he explained how to put the mouth piece back in underwater, I actually didn't believe it would work, despite his decades of experience.  Turns out it did work, however. 

He was also right about the fact that once I got in the tank, I would forget about trying to breathe altogether. Immediately after reaching the bottom of the tank, I made friends with two beautiful porpoises, who followed my every move.  By the time both our instructor and my boyfriend were down at the bottom of the tank, I remembered to turn around.  There, right in front of me, was six feet of shark with some 100 teeth at the end.  Then there more. Then a sea turtle, some tropical fish and two giant groupers, which Mike said were more dangerous than the sharks. (Needless to say, I didn't believe him when he said that, either).  We spent the next fastest forty minutes of my life collecting shark teeth, waving like a celebrity to the children gazing in at our bravery, and making sure we didn't stick our arms out too far in case it looked too delicious.  At first I was hesitant getting into the tank.  By the end, I didn't want to leave.

We dried off, had a delicious lunch at Taco Senorita's, and explored the rest of the fish in the aquarium, proud to point and say we were in there.  We took a crowded subway to a crowded place to see the fireworks. We enjoyed the show from a motel roof with a perfect view away from the crowds with a couple good friends.

Hiking Seoul: Mt. Ingwangsan (인왕산)

When I was younger, my dad used to take all five of us kids out for hikes in central New Jersey. Of course, the trails weren't exactly mountainous, but there were trickling rivers that never ran in a straight line, shaded paths from the many oak and pine trees that scented my clothes for hours afterwards, and the occasional deer or rabbit that froze long enough for you to admire it before it scampered off into the brush. As we got older the trails got more adventurous, and soon nature was whizzing by as we tackled these trails on our bikes, sometimes skidding into rivers, sometimes bushes, or sometimes into my brother, leaving him a scar on his calf from my bicycle chains and a sense of guilt on my end  (until, of course, he crashed my car into an unsuspecting curb). Still, the sense of adventure and the appreciation of life outside suburbia and then metropolitan life never left me.

So, following my promise to myself to continue hiking Korea, I set out to hike the "Benevolent King Mountain" or "White Tiger Mountain": Mount Ingwangsan.  I got lost about 150 meters up.  I sat on a boulder very far off the trail, had lunch and read my book, Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods.  I found the path again a few bug bites later, and saw gorgeous views and appreciated the last of the season's flowers. I also stumbled onto this very interesting area of old vs. new: a functioning temple grounds with many ornate buildings coupled with old and decrepit housing covered in vines.  I felt like a modern day explorer.

I finally left the woods and wandered back through town.  Two men were yelling at any brave passerby about the atrocities of North Korean containment camps, blocking the sidewalk.  Women were heckling me to buy a bottle of water for 500 won.  The subway was crowded and when I met up with a friend for dinner, we had Chinese.  I sat there, after what was in effect a leisurely Sunday stroll, trying to figure out where I fit in to all these different aspects of life in Seoul.

Sokcho (속초): Hiking and Beaches

For only a moment, I planned on a weekend outing to Sokcho solo, and then I remembered people that move across the world are adventurous people....

How to get there from Seoul:  There is another station on the 2 line, but the Express Bus Terminal on the 7,3, and 9 lines is the most accessible to everyone, and it's easy to find the terminal from any exit, (although closest to the 3 line).  From there all you need is to purchase a ticket to the Sokcho Express Bus Terminal (17,000 won one way, about 3 hours).  Buying online requires you know Korean, so either go a day early and buy tickets for a large party, or show up early enough to get a ticket in-person (or learn Korean).  Also good to know: the bus terminal in Sokcho has literally everything you need.  You can walk to the beach from there in five minutes, and there's the 7 or 7-1 bus to the mountains from the terminal. 

 When I moved to Korea, the most amazing things to me were the busy city skylines against ranges of mountains.  The summer was particularly brutal, and simply moving from one room to another was a slow, heavy process, so it wasn't until mid-August that hiking was even a possibility.  Since then, I have been headed out to the mountains as much as possible, taking in the scents and sights of flowers and fresh green leaves before Fall sets in with it's fiery hues.  It became top priority to get to the beach one last time, and the lure of Ulsanbawi just made it more tempting. 

I had mentioned it to a friend that I was thinking of going, and she was in suddenly.  Then my other friends wanted to go, and suddenly I had to limit the invitation to 10 people, plus me.  Thanks to my Korean friend, I was able to find an open pension right on the beach last minute, and another buddy offered to get our bus tickets early so with the basics set, we were ready to go. 

When we arrived and piled out of the bus, the man whose pension we were staying at was leaning against a car that could hold six people, smoking impatiently.  He crammed eight of us in, then drove us to the pension and went back for the other three.  It took a long time of broken Korean and pantomiming, but I finally expressed the desire we had to get to Soraksan Mountain.  He finally just marched me up to the roof of the building and pointing to a sloping hill on the beach.  "There.  San.  Kayo," he said.  There.  Mountain.  Go.

Despite or lack of communication, we eventually changed into hiking shoes, got on the right bus, and headed up the mountain.  One new teacher, Laura, was with us and all she wanted to find was the giant Buddha statue, which was easy enough. 

I wanted to find the cave that had a temple carved in it, which we also found.  Three of the girls went too fast for my taste, who seemed to have some sort of appoinment to get to on the mountain and they raced ahead. Four were too slow and I worried about sunset, so we all eventually spread out to our own pace. 

We finally got above the forest, and looked up at the bright red stairs intertwining in and out of the rock.  The stairs were shaky, and steep, and were actually very, very dangerous. 

Ulsanbawi (울산바위) actually has a legend.  One day, a creator of all things decided gather all the great mountains in order to make a mountain that was the most magnificent in the world, which would be named Geumgangsan Mountain (now in North Korea). 

Ulsan came along, but it was so big and heavy it was too late "to be incorportated", like the creator finally liked how everything lined up and just said "Oh.  Right.  Ulsan....sorry we don't need you any more.  This is awkward." According the Korean sign on the mountain, Ulsan was headed home feeling rejected when it fell in love with the beautiful Seoraksan Mountain, and decided to stay.  Or, you can believe what my history major friend Belva told me, which was, "the rock was big and fat, so it got tired and decided to stay here."

We got to the top, 873 meters high, and I opened up my kimchi snack and enjoyed the view while my friends fought with the two men who had set up shop there, charging for pictures and/or making you hold a sign that advertised themselves.  We had arrived in Sokcho at 1pm, so it was nearly 5pm when we finally decided we should start making our way down the mountain.  That was even scarier, but well worth the patience it requires.  We just got back to the hostel when our pension owner offered to drive us to get some galbi.  He came to me and held up his phone.  It said 13,000 won each.  Then he typed something in and held it up again.  It said "indefinitely".  We had unlimited panchon and delicious meat, which we of course paired with beer and lots of water.  We ended the night lighting fireworks and running through waves on the beach, proud of our accomplishment of the day and excited to do nothing but lay on the sand all Sunday, having made an average weekend something else entirely.



Also, this happened.



Hiking Seoul: Inwang and Bugaksan Mountains

"Hello, this is the Dasan Call Center for Tourist Information how can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm trying to get to Bugaksan Mountain, and the directions say to take the 1012 bus, which doesn't seem to exist."
"Hm, let me see.  No, I don't know where you got your information, but there is no 1012 bus."
"I got it off of Seoul's tourist website."
"Oh."

"Well, thanks anyway," I said and I hung up.  It had been a mess of a night the night before, and I was feeling a little helpless and out of control of my own life.  My solution was to wake up at a reasonable time the next morning, take a cold shower, and find Changuimun Gate somewhere in the depths of Seoul's tallest mountains.  I packed the September issue of Groove Magazine, The Tiger's Wife, and an umbrella just in case.  On the way I picked up a small bag of health crackers, a mozzarella stick, two bananas, and two bottles of water.  From Cheolson it's quite a trek, but I had finally found my way to Gyeongbokgung Station when I hung up with the Dasan Call Center, lost and directionless once again.

Annoyed, I looked up at the city skyline, past the Paris Baguette and Ebiya, before me.  There in the distance, past some more low buildings I saw a giant mountain.  I had been to Gyeongbokgung Palace the weekend before, from where you could see the very same mountain, and even then I had declared: "I'm going to go hike that."  I felt like I needed to conquer something.  Something about venturing into the unknown, where there is no subway nearby to rescue you or coffee shops to spend 5,000 won for a cup of energy to rely on, is exciting, scary, and challenging all at once.  I started walking in the general direction of the mountain, not caring which one it was.  I didn't care what was there, if there were any trails, or where it led me.  I was going to hike that mountain, dammit. 

I walked only fifteen minutes through Seoul's winding backstreets before I found it.  In perfect weather I found the base of the mountain, which happened to be Suseondong Valley, a famous place immortalized by many painters hundreds of years ago.  It's known for its beautiful streams and rock formations that haven't seemed to change one bit.  Already feeling renewed from the sound of fresh running water, I felt energized and ready to conquer whatever lay ahead of me as I jumped precariously from rock to rock.  Still being close to the bottom of the mountain, casual visitors waded in the various pools of water and watched the children climb over the rocks playing imaginative games involving kings and dragons.   One woman set up a lawn chair in the middle of the river, in a nice spot of shade, and was reading a book, using the rock beside her as a table for her cup of coffee. 

As I got higher and higher, the hikers got more serious.  Koreans with professional hiking gear passed me in their Northface outfits with obvious judgment on their faces. I for one am not a fan of their $60 manufactured walking sticks, but after a little while I did begin to consider investing in a real hiker's backpack.  Koreans hike all the time, it seems, and every weekend the subway is filled with people dressed in their hiking colors and fabrics, ready to spend their Sunday as I was now, exploring Seoul's topography. The path eventually split into two choices: I could go left on the paved and sunny road, or venture into the shaded forest and follow the sound of the river.  I couldn't bring myself to part with the river just yet so I went right, and continued hiking up for two hours.  I hiked through what used to be known as the land of tigers: famous for its attacks on both unsuspecting visitors and those banished by the king to suffer death by wild cats.  As I hiked up through paths that ranged from carved rock steps to slippery paths of pine, I noticed the view get more and more spectacular.  When I finally reached close to the top I came upon this sign:

I had found my mountain after all.  First I went right to Changuimun.  Walking along the fortress wall, first built in 1396, I felt I had regained my sense of power.  Not only was I conquering this mountain, I was conquering my Sunday, all on my own, able to control my life once again. I was in that moment exactly where I wanted to be, doing exactly what I wanted to do. 

Looking down I saw Cheong Wa Dae, the President's house, which means either "The Blue House" or "The Blue Roof".  In 1968 there was an assassination attempt on the South Korean President Park Chung-hee, led by 31 North Koreans.  It was unsuccessful, but many South Koreans died as well as 4 U.S. soldiers.  The hunt for the assassins lasted a couple of days and took place on the very mountain I had decided to hike.  There is even a tree with fifteen bullet holes in it that I hiked past.  Because it was considered such a threat, it was only until a couple of years ago that the hiking path was even open to the public by the government.  You're still not allowed to take pictures in many spots, and parts of the wall is closed off still.  Still, to see the old world fortress wall along modern 21st century security was fascinating, and a gentle reminder of just how close I live to a country that is still technically at war with this one.  It was time to turn around and head to the very top of the mountain, 338 meters high (1,109 feet).  

At the top there is a large, flat area, and I had to laugh when I saw it: in the middle of this area is a single boulder about six feet high.  On top of that boulder, which was only maybe 3 feet wide, stood a significant group of Koreans.  They had hiked to the top of the mountain, and in that spacious area had formed a gaggle on the single spot that was technically the highest point, I guess around 340 meters.  Wearing black with various Northface neon spots they held firmly to their hiking sticks, which when in a group made them look even more like birds perched upon their thin legs. When they dispersed, I found myself unable to resist and climbed up too. I had it all to myself until a man in khakis and a button up plaid shirt in dress shoes joined me. 

 

"Excuse me, where are you from?" he asked.

"New York."

"Ah, a New Yorker," he said as though it meant something, and in the silence I wondered how he had gotten up here in that outfit. He pointed to Namsam Mountain, which looked like a small hill from where we were standing.

"Namsam is 236 meters," he said, "and where we are is 338 meters.  That one over there is 320 meters."

"Do you work here?" I asked, and wondered what "here" would even mean.  Do you work for the mountain?

"No, I just like it here." 

We sat in silence for a while.  I promised myself I'd go hiking next Sunday as well, something so wonderfully accessible in such a diverse city as Seoul. 

"Well, it was nice to meet you," I said.  Before I could make my way off the boulder he took my hand and bowed so deeply I thought he was going to kiss my hand or quite possibly my shoe.  I awkwardly tried to bow back.  Sometimes I forget that I'm in Korea or in Asia at all, really.  Our bowing seemed like an appropriate reminder in that moment, a perfect way to end this day.  I made my way down the mountain, walking until I found a major road, found the subway and headed home.  Happy.