The LKL Korea Trip 2010 - London Korean Links
Royal Ancestors and Ancient Remedies
A brief journey through Korea’s heritage
Preface 2
About London Korean Links 2
The final schedule 3
Introduction 4
1: Royal Ancestors and Lee Young-ae 4
2. The Schedule: where next? 5
Friday 30 April: Arrival 6
3. Moon Vases and Kim Gun Mo 6
Saturday 1 May: Tourism day 7
4. Yongin Folk Village 7
5. The National Museum of Contemporary Art, Gwacheon 8
6. The remains of the day 9
Sunday 2 May: The Rituals 10
7. Gwanghwamun, early morning 10
8. The Jongmyo Rituals 11
9. MISO 14
10. Korean Drinking 15
Monday 3 May: Interviews, day 1 16
11. The Bucheon World Intangible Cultural Heritage Expo (BICHE) 16
12. A meeting with Sorea (95%) (Final polishing) 17
13. A chance encounter 19
Tuesday 4 May: Interviews, day 2 19
14. Seoul Design Foundation interview (40%) (Research on programme for the year, check against notes) 19
15. Meeting Ms Kim 20
16. Seoul Museum of History 21
17. Hwang Byunggi Interview 21
18. Korean Cultural Heritage Foundation 23
19. Networking in Hongdae 25
Wednesday 5 May: Hadong County 26
20. Journey into unknown territory 26
21. Hadong (90%) (Final read-through and comparison with notes) 27
22. The House of Choi Cham-pan (90%) (Couple pines and more about Toji) 29
23. The Jjimjilbang experience 30
Thursday 6 May: Sancheong County, day 1 31
24. A sense of direction 31
25. Turtle, Phoenix and Seal 32
26. Lunch with the mayor 33
27. The expo incl Heo Jun play and herb museum (40%) 34
28. Temple Stay (95%) (Maitreya and pagoda) 35
Friday 7 May: Sancheong County, day 2 41
29. Early morning prayers and sutra-painting 41
30. Remembering the Partisan struggle (80%) (research on Jejudo and Daejeon. Rebuilding of Daewonsa. Final paragraph) 42
31. Namsa-ri Hanok Village (80%) (Rice dish, red bean ice and Hague conference) 43
32. Song Chol (90%) (Further research on his life) 44
33. Sancheong's finest potter 46
34. Makgeolli, Maeuntang and a fashion show (10%) 46
Saturday 6 May: Sancheong to Seoul 47
35. The Jirisan trail (50%) 47
36. The Last King of Kaya 47
37. The ever-popular Park Soo-keun 48
38. The Korean Literature Project (30%) 48
39. Rakkoje (0%) 48
Sunday 9 May: Departure 49
40. The Return home (30%) 49
Follow-up 49
Preface
About London Korean Links
London Korean Links is a well-established website founded in 2006 which covers Korean arts and culture in London and elsewhere. It is a reflection of the way Korean culture has begun to gain momentum among foreigners outside of Asia. It provides a space for those who are interested in Korean culture to write about their enthusiasm, while providing an authoritative and independent source of information and critique about events in London and Korean cultural content generally available internationally. The website usually distances itself from comment or coverage on day-to-day events in Korea.
It has a team of volunteer writers covering a wide range of Korea-related topics:
News and reviews of Korea-events in London and elsewhere, both those sponsored by the Korean Cultural Centre and independently organised events
Reviews of books related to Korea
Album, film and drama reviews
Interviews with musicians and other prominent individuals
Description of some of Korea’s historical cultural achievements
Analysis of some of the Korean treasures in the British Museum
Travel tips and diaries of trips to Korea
The Korean football league, and Korean footballers in the UK
Articles highlighting connections between the UK and Korea
Anything else that its writers think interesting or noteworthy
The website takes particular interest in UK based Korean artists, performers and designers, and in Korean artists and performers visiting the UK. It also aims to support events organisers by providing a free publicity service for advertising their events. The website has been featured in the Korea Times and the Donga Weekly magazine, and has been described by Anna Fifield of the Financial Times as “a great resource” and by Aidan Foster-Carter in the Asia Times as “excellent” (and in Print Quarterly as “indispensable”). The site has an international readership, attracting visitors from emerging countries interested in the hallyu but also academics, and followers of Korean film and arts in the West.
LKL’s is founder and editor is Philip Gowman. He graduated from Oxford University in 1984 and since then has worked in London’s financial services industry. His interest in Korea commenced in the late 1980s when one of his clients was a mutual fund investing in the Korean stock market; and in the 1990s he spent much time assisting Korean banks to acquire their UK banking licences. Since then his interest has grown to include Korean history and culture. Most of his spare time is spent maintaining the website, reading and writing about Korean culture, watching Korean films, listening to Korean music and attending Korea-related events in London and elsewhere.
The final schedule
|Friday 30 May |2:40pm |Arrive at Incheon. Transfer to hotel |
| |5:00pm |Visit to Gallery Hyundai |
| |6:00pm |Welcome dinner in Seoul |
|Saturday 1 May |10:00am |Yongin Folk Village |
| |2:00pm |National Museum of Contemporary Art, Gwacheon |
| |4:00pm |Changdeokgung and Secret Garden |
| |7:00pm |Dinner with Mr & Mrs Park |
|Sunday 2 May |9:30am |Jongmyo rituals: ceremony at Yeongnyeongjeon |
| |11:30am |Jongmyo rituals: the royal procession |
| |1:00pm |Jongmyo rituals: ceremony at Jeongjeon |
| |4:00pm |“Miso” performance at Chongdong Theatre |
| |6:00pm |Drinks with Yi Chuljin |
|Monday 3 May |11:00am |Interview at Bucheon Intangible Cultural Heritage Expo |
| |4:00pm |Interview with Sorea |
|Tuesday 4 May |10:00am |Interview with Seoul Design Foundation |
| |12:00 |Lunch with Ms Kim |
| |2:00pm |Seoul Museum of History |
| |3:00pm |Interview with Hwang Byunggi |
| |5:00pm |Interview with Korea National Heritage Foundation |
| |7:00pm |Meetups in Hongdae |
|Wednesday 5 May |1:00pm |Hadong Green Tea Festival |
| |4:00pm |The House of Choi Cham-pan |
|Thursday 6 May |12:00 |Sancheong County: the Presidential Seal |
| |1:00pm |Lunch with the mayor |
| |2:00pm |The Sancheong Jirisan Medicinal Herb Festival |
| |5:00pm |The herb museum |
| |6:00pm |Temple Stay at Daewonsa |
|Friday 7 May |10:00am |The Partisan museum |
| |2:00pm |Namsa-ri Hanok Village |
| |4:00pm |Song Cheol Sunim memorial |
| |5:00pm |Visit to Kim Young-gi’s pottery studio |
| |7:00pm |Hanbok fashion show |
|Saturday 8 May |9:00am |Sancheong-Hamyang Massacre Memorial |
| |11:00am |Jirisan trail |
| |12:00 |The tomb of the last King of Kaya |
| |1:00pm |Shabu Shabu |
| |5:00pm |Park Soo-keun at Hyundai Gallery |
| |6:00pm |Meetup with Charles Montgomery |
|Sunday 9 May |10:00am |Depart for Incheon |
Introduction
1: Royal Ancestors and Lee Young-ae
It is always an efficient process arriving at Incheon Airport compared with most destinations I can think of. Immigration and baggage reclaim takes no time at all. I am met at the exit from immigration by Morgan Park, released from her university programme in Advanced Interpretation and Translation at Joong Ang University. She is to be my constant companion and guide for the week, along with a driver. I am the privileged guest of the Korean Culture and Information Service, whose remit is to assist foreign journalists find out more about Korea – and where necessary to try gently to correct any misapprehensions: they are effectively the Government Press Office.
Every year they host visiting journalists, assisting in fixing interviews, providing translation and logistical support and showing off some of the many and varied tourist sites that Korea has to offer. Each programme is different: a French team recently did a feature on the decline in rice consumption in Korea and its impact on the farming community; a Polish team were interested in the economy and in relations with North Korea; a crew from India had a whale of a time wherever they went experiencing the tourist sites, clowning around wearing the pom-pom hats of the traditional farmers dancers and bouncing on the see-saw in the Yongin Folk Village. All good for promoting Korea as a tourist destination. The Iranians had the best idea: given the popularity of a certain TV drama in Iran and the Middle East generally, they did a feature on Dae Jang Geum – and secured a coveted interview with A-list actress Lee Young-ae.
I wish I had thought of that.
My own purpose, on behalf of LKL, whose main remit is to try to present Korean culture to non-Koreans in a user-friendly way, was to understand more about how Korea preserves and presents its intangible heritage and how it reinvents it for modern audiences. And, while in town, to do something topical on Seoul as World Design City 2010.
The visit was timed to take in the maximum number of UNESCO World Heritage points in one go: the Jongmyo Royal Ancestral Rituals[1], which are held at the Jongmyo shrine[2]. The rituals are held every year, the first Sunday in May. An ancient ceremony not performed anywhere else, lovingly preserved and performed for the public, a ceremony moreover which scholars from China attend in order to rediscover some of their own lost heritage: surely a suitable, indeed the most suitable, case study for my project on cultural preservation.
Every Korean I spoke to thought I was mad. “It's so boring” they all said. A couple of Korean traditional musician friends in London confirmed the story: it's boring. If even the specialists thought I was crazy, what hope did I have? I polled the blogosphere for more input. “I'm a Korean and it's really really boring” said one, while a cultured and seasoned foreign Korea hand said: “It's pretty repetitive. Lots of old guys walking slowly, chanting, and setting tables in hanbok.” Hardly a way to describe a solemn ceremony with more than 600 years of history, but I’m beginning to get the idea.
A Korean architecture specialist, always to be found at the various cultural events in London, pondered for a while and recommended that I appreciate the scale, majesty and beauty of the shrine itself. He was evasive about the actual ceremony, but I could read what he thought in his worried frown.
Finally, quite by chance, the night before the rituals this year I had dinner in Seoul at the apartment of some Korean friends from London. The hostess had attended to the traditional music high school which provides the dancers for the Jongmyo rituals. Three years running she had performed at the ceremony, and had trained the dancers for another couple of years after that.
Her verdict? You’ve guessed it: really boring.
So, I had come to Seoul in order to experience a day of excruciating dullness. And to think I could have been interviewing Lee Young-ae instead...
But having come to Korea in order to experience its intangible heritage item number 1 in the capital, on my trip to the less-visited southern part of the peninsula I stumbled over Korea's most recent UNESCO heritage listing, the seventeenth century medical text-book compiled by Sancheong local hero Heo Jun. In a country known for its technology and internet speeds, a more ancient culture is never far away.
2. The Schedule: where next?
My schedule, prepared with great care by the KCIS team at the Ministry of Culture Sports and Tourism, contained a balance of sights and interviews that I had requested for my intended articles, together with sights which they thought might be interesting for me or which are on the normal programme for their visiting journalists. One or two things on the schedule I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen if I’d been organising things myself; and one or two sights on the list I had already seen. But I am always keen to be a good guest, and to seize the opportunity to experience new things: to see what it is that other tourists might be interested in even if I was luke-warm about them. And I don’t mind seeing the same thing twice, because you can always appreciate a different aspect. So whatever was on my schedule I was very happy to experience to the full. And as it happened, “experience” was to be a constant refrain I heard from the event organisers that I met throughout my trip. (The other one was: there's not enough time).
One of the destinations I had requested, after doing the heavy cultural projects in Seoul at the start of my visit, was Sancheong County in Gyeongsangnam-do in the far south of the peninsula: as well as there being a seasonal Medicinal Herb Festival (the Koreans seem to have a festival for everything, so I wanted to pick one at random to see what they were all about), I’d been told there was plenty of sights to see in the area as well. In particular, Jiri Mountain at tea picking time has for a long time been something I’d wanted to see[3]. A friend of mine was exhibiting at the festival, so it seemed like a good opportunity to kill several birds with one stone: see a friend, see how Koreans preserve and present what could loosely be called “culture” in a local festival, and see some scenery.
With utmost consideration, the KCIS had accordingly included the Sancheong Herb Festival in the schedule. On top of that, they had included the nearby Hadong Green Tea festival, a walk on Jirisan, a trip to a scenic bay in neighbouring Jeollanam-do, and also managed to squeeze in a temple stay in the middle of all this. Now that is what I call ingenious and thoughtful.
But my friend in Sancheong wanted me to spend longer there, and had rung my interpreter, Morgan, to see what could be done about it. Before I knew it my schedule had been changed, new accommodation fixed, and I am spending an extra day in Sancheong – of which more later.
I was learning that my schedule was not at all fixed if I did not want it to be.
On the way to the Yongin Folk Village, destination #1 of my first tourist day, Morgan asks me about some of the items on the schedule. “Have you been to the Suwon Fortress?” she asks (Suwon is destination #2 on the schedule). “Well, actually, I went there last year,” I said, in an embarrassed fashion. And after a pause, I added enthusiastically, “but I don’t mind seeing it again, because I didn’t see all of it last time.”
“No, that’s OK, let’s skip it,” she says, brightly. “Where would you like to go instead?” I hadn’t come prepared for spontaneity, and didn’t have my regional guide book with me. But after a bit of discussion we decide on the National Museum of Contemporary Art in Gwacheon (Seoul Grand Park), of which I never tire and where I have never on previous occasions had enough time (not that it was going to be any different this time).
Similarly, when I got down to Sancheong, the initial proposed schedule was subject to revision as my local hosts discovered what interested me. I have a slight suspicion that down in Sancheong I was gently hijacked by the local tourism promotion board, and they were keen for me to see everything. That was fine by me as I made discoveries that would never have happened had everything been set in stone from the start.
So the visit to Korea was full of pleasures both expected and unexpected.
With that, on to what actually happened.
Friday 30 April: Arrival
3. Moon Vases and Kim Gun Mo
As usual, my arrival through Incheon Airport is swift and stress-free. Morgan, my interpreter, is there to meet me, my rental phone is ready for pickup at the usual desk, plus this time I have the added luxury of a driver (though the hotel limo-bus I usually take is also stress-free). I am taken to my hotel, and see that there is just time to shower, change and get to an exhibition at Gallery Hyundai before dinner.
Gallery Hyundai had done an efficient publicity effort for this particular exhibition. It’s not often that I see coverage of contemporary art shows in the English language Korean press, but both the Korea Times and the Joongang Ilbo had been given the publicity material and had run articles with it. It was enough to catch my attention and make we want to go along.
While the main gate to the Gyeongbok Palace, the Gwanghwamun, is being repositioned and renovated, its site is covered by a giant mural created by Korean born, New York resident artist Kang Ik-joong, famous for his love of moon jars and his creation of big mosaic style works: each individual panel can be considered individually, but together they create a larger narrative.
The Gallery Hyundai exhibition is Kang’s first show in Seoul for 14 years. The centrepiece of the exhibition – the work which appeared in the Korean press – is an installation of 1,392 reduced-scale moon vases arranged in a circle of sand on the floor. The concept is similar to Lee Young-jae’s installation of 111 vessels exhibited in Brussels two years ago[4]. And to me the greater space and natural light available in the Beaux Arts museum enabled that installation to breathe more, creating a more pleasing overall effect. Possibly more interesting in the Gallery Hyundai exhibition were Kang Ik-joong’s larger images of moon jars painted in lacquer on wood, perhaps an homage to Kim Whanki. The woman on the front desk wasn’t at all interested in emailing me any press information about the show, so I shall say no more about it. But I caught it just before it packed up to head off to the Shanghai expo, where no doubt there are big bucks sloshing around which might be persuaded to invest in one of Korea's better known overseas artists.
I just have time to get round the exhibition before it's time to head off to dinner. On the way back to the hotel, I pop in at Seoul Selection bookshop, now rebranded Hank’s Book Café. I always try to go there when I’m in Seoul to check out their stock, though more serious Korea scholars will want to visit the Royal Asiatic Society bookshop as well. I’m pleased to see that they have seven copies of Jennifer Barclay’s book, Meeting Mister Kim. They were rather slow to stock it when it first came out, but they seem to be making up for it now. They don’t have the second edition of Tom Coyner’s book on Mastering Business in Korea yet, though they have plenty of the old edition.
By an amazing coincidence, that very morning Anna from Indieful ROK had arrived in Seoul from Sweden for a week, aiming to attend some exciting gigs, and I was cheeky enough to get her invited along to dinner. My KCIS hosts were graciously accommodating. Although I had known Anna by email for a few years and am a huge admirer of her work, I had never met her in person. I decided to ring her the previous day in Sweden because I thought it would be just too weird if the first time we actually spoke to each other was in Seoul.
Over dinner there was talk about Korean culture, how Anna and I first became interested in Korea, the Korean health system, and the appropriate transliteration of last year’s most happening drink. Makgeolli is the official spelling under the current standard Romanisation system, though most westerners would struggle pronouncing the word correctly when spelt that way. Secretly, some ministry staff recognise the difficulty, but they are stuck with the need to enforce the official system.
I am also told that my hotel, just around the corner from the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism in the Gwanghwamun area and where the august Royal Asiatic Society, Korea Branch, have their fortnightly meetings, is where Shin Jeong-a, the ex-Dongguk University art curator with the fake Yale degree, conducted her affair with a highly placed government official. I always like a bit of local colour.
I discover over dinner that Anna’s initial exploration of Korean music started around 14 years ago, exchanging cassettes (remember them?) with a Korean pen-friend. And by another strange coincidence, the first Korean album she came across that really caught her imagination was Kim Gun-mo's 3rd. It was exactly the same album which first caught my own attention, though in my case it was a recommendation from my Korean hairdresser in a salon off London’s Oxford Street.
It was very pleasant evening of civilised conversation with our KCIS hosts, and there was a seemingly never-ending procession of Joseon dynasty palace food. Afterwards I’m ready to turn in for the night, but Anna is still full of energy and heads off to Hongdae where she catches the tail end of some gigs and has tea with one of her favourite musicians, Tearliner.
I can tell it’s going to be a great week.
Saturday 1 May: Tourism day
4. Yongin Folk Village
Today is a tourism day. We head out to Yongin, just outside the famous city of Suwon where the UNESCO-registered Hwaseong Fortress is situated.
Yongin contains a folk village which opened in late 1974, at the height of the Saemaeul movement when modernisation in the countryside was bringing to an end a certain style of traditional architecture. Traditional buildings, including some threatened with flooding as a result of dam construction, were dismantled, transported and reconstructed on this site. It has been speculated[5] that Yongin is the first example of a specially created “folk village” anywhere in the world. This would suggest that Korea is a pioneer in preserving ancient culture – perhaps as a result of its traumatic history in the first half of the twentieth century.
It’s a place which is a popular attraction not only with tourists, but also with Koreans wanting to reconnect with some of their own culture. This is particularly true of Koreans returning home from abroad with children who have grown up in a foreign country.
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the folk village: as a concept it sounded rather artificial. But it is well laid out, and with the dedicated help of our tour guide, Marina, we have an informative time.
Marina is a typically feisty Korean. She injured her leg in a hiking accident a couple of weeks beforehand and had to spend some time in hospital. But she has hobbled to work on a crutch in order to welcome foreigners to this attraction.
As I was to discover almost everywhere, I was on a very tight schedule. We had to get to the performance area by 11am. We pay a quick visit to the little shrine to the local deity, just outside the village gates; we pass the totem poles designed to ward off evil spirits; there’s a special gateway to reward one local women for her extraordinary piety. Another old lady is demonstrating silk-weaving to a couple of young girls. Elsewhere, a toddler is trying her hand at the ironing bats and the bean-grinder.
Marina tells us why the gate into a rich person’s house has a raised roof (so that the palanquin can be carried in easily), about the rivalry between the kitchen spirit and the toilet spirit, about why a metal fish hangs in the eaves outside a scholar's room (the fish never closes his eyes, and is therefore an inspiration to keep studying), about the ondol system and ventilation, about the separation between the sexes, about the symbolism behind the five colours of the streamers which hang from the trees. She’s a mine of information, but this is the first full day of my trip and I haven’t got into the swing of taking notes yet. I absorb what I can and ignore the rest, enjoying the different patterns of the stonework in the walls, the pleasant garden of totem poles and kimchi pots under the shade of the trees, and the newly ploughed field in the middle of the village.
If you choose to visit the Yongin folk village, which I recommend despite not initially being too enthusiastic, I suggest you choose to hire a guide if one is available. Not vital, because you can still have a pleasant time without it, but a little talk about folk customs always fills out the experience.
The folk village has a regular schedule of daily performances. We had to say farewell to Marina all too quickly so that we could get to the colourful farmers nongak dance, with swirling ribbons and rousing rhythms. The loudspeakers which support the music are cunningly disguised as beehives. Next, the rope-walker (if you’ve seen King and the Clown, you’ll know the form). I was planning to ask Morgan, my interpreter, to grab the acrobat afterwards and ask him how he avoided doing mortal damage to his manhood during the act. But it was not necessary. Like most Korean performers, there was much bantering and backchat with the audience during the proceedings, and he communicated that he removes his testicles before the performance and reattaches them later.
Next, some lively trick horsemanship, followed by a re-enactment of a Joseon dynasty upper class wedding. Very colourful and picturesque, not just the robes of the happy couple, but also the sparkle on the sun-visors of all the ajummas wandering round enjoying the spectacle.
There’s plenty to see, eat and browse at the Yongin folk village, and you could probably spend the best part of a day there, but my schedule awaits, and we head off after lunch.
Further reading:
5. The National Museum of Contemporary Art, Gwacheon
It’s the weekend, and Seoul Grand Park is busy. The funfair rides are full of fun-seekers, and there’s a queue to get in. There’s even a queue to get in to the car park of the National Museum of Contemporary Art: not, I would have thought, the most popular destination. But even though the car park is full, inside the gallery there is plenty of space and it doesn’t feel crowded at all.
It’s a place I always try to go whenever I’m in Korea – a fantastic selection of some of the best of Korean modern and contemporary art, with usually a special exhibition or two going on at the same time.
My initial encounter with Korean contemporary art was as a result of a foolish favour I volunteered to do for a Korean friend: I proofread the text of a book arising out of her PhD thesis on the art produced by the minjung democracy movement in the 1980s. Since democratisation, the art establishment seems to have sneered somewhat at the sometimes naïve, always vibrant style of the minjung artists. I hear that the National Museum of Contemporary Art has some minjung work in its collection but it seems they never dare hang it on their walls: the work is either artistically or politically incorrect, or both. But that doesn’t stop me returning to the museum hoping to catch the curators in a more rebellious frame of mind.
On this occasion there’s no time to visit the permanent collections. Instead, we head to the special exhibitions: the museum’s artist of the year, Park Kiwon (neither Morgan nor I felt able to engage with his work – whole rooms full of wire wool or giant plastic pillows), and a retrospective of 30 years of their Young Korean Artists exhibition.
In London, we get plenty of Korean contemporary artists displaying their work either in commercial galleries or at the Cultural Centre. But being in a foreign land rather than in the centre of things in Seoul I’m never quite sure whether we’re being fobbed off with the B-list artists. It was therefore gratifying that on temporary display outside the museum, as part of the 30-year anniversary show, were two works by artists very familiar in London: Lee Jae-hyo and Choi Jeong-hwa.
Inside, the special exhibition was a good retrospective of the quality and variety of contemporary Korean art. There was plenty to enjoy, plenty to find alternately strange or familiar, and some fun items too. Suh Do-ho, the first Korean artist along with Michael Joo to represent Korea at the Venice Biennale, was represented by his signature piece Some/One. In one room, an old-fashioned desk and open book thereon is being drenched with a downpour of late summer rain (Lee Ki-bong: Extraordinary Late Summer). Other rooms contain artists familiar in the London scene: Koh Myung-keun's Stone Body series was featured in the Cultural Centre two years ago, while Koo Bohn Chang's In the Beginning series was seen at the Christie's Distinctively Korean sale last year.
In one darkened space, webcams are trained on a cardboard model of the 9/11 atrocity, broadcasting to a TV screen outside (Zin Ki-jong: CNN). The most fun pieces could easily have been from an episode of Monty Python: a video camera is set up to record the scene at European tourist destinations – the Brandenburg Gate and other familiar landmarks (An Jung-ju: Lip-Sync Project). Instead of the natural soundtrack, a team of beatboxers and vocal artists try to mimic the sounds that seem to be implied by what is on the screen: footsteps, conversations, cameras clicking, flags flapping in the wind. Is it art? Who knows? Whatever, it’s fun. And the gallery attendants in the museum were keen to point out some of the most interesting features. They wouldn’t let me pass until I’d tried the headphones on the Brandenburg Gate videos. Without their attentiveness, I’d not have had half as much fun.
The National Museum of Contemporary Art is a must-see destination while in Seoul. It’s not too far on the subway (Seoul Grand Park on Line 4), but for those who are too time-constrained to venture out of town, I hear that there’s an outpost being built in Bukchon, just north of Insadong, due to open soon. But if you don’t go to Gwacheon, you’ll never capture the atmosphere of the place. The sculpture park overlooking the hills, and the big Nam June Paik installation in the foyer are alone worth the trip.
6. The remains of the day
I am fated never to see the Secret Garden. On the previous two occasions when I have tried, it has been closed. Until recently, I think it has only been possible to visit the Changdeokgung as part of a guided tour, but it is now possible to go in unguided and straight to the garden. Except that the numbers are strictly controlled, and today being a Saturday it is full to capacity. Another excuse for me to come back another day.
So instead, I have some unexpected free time to check emails and maybe do a few Tweets (my hotel’s internet connection and my netbook are far too underpowered to attempt any serious blogging). And Morgan has casually dropped it into conversation that it’s her birthday in a few days’ time, when she’s on the road with me down south. Shopping in Insadong is always a pleasure, and always dangerous for the credit card. But this time I have a focused remit. I thought it might be a challenge to try to find a gift not geared towards the foreign tourist, but a nice silver necklace was easily found in one of the arcades.
Before I know it, it’s time to head to Oksu where I am having dinner at the apartment of some Korean friends from London. They were the first Koreans to invite me to their home in New Malden (where the London Koreans tend to live), and are the first to do so in Seoul, so I am doubly privileged. I go armed with a packet of Earl Grey tea from my local tea shop in Barnes, SW London, not knowing what would be appropriate to take. Fortunately, my gamble is spot on, as that’s the one English speciality that they’ve been missing since their return to Seoul.
Their teenage son is more interested in making his Gundam robot toy than socialising with a foreigner. I was half expecting to be pressed in to service to give some quick English language coaching, but that’s fine with me. I am learning not to assume that everyone fits some stereotypical view. And possibly one stereotypical view we have of Korean youngsters is of their total dedication to study, their non-stop focus on ensuring they get the best grades so that they get to the university of their choice. But this young lad has different ideas.
“Why to I have to work so hard?” he complains to his long-suffering mother. “Well, son, you see all these buildings around you, the bridges, the cars, the technology? Sixty years ago this country had nothing. We've had to build our country from scratch with nothing but our grit, determination and energy to see us through. That's why we have to work hard.”
“So, isn't it time we had a rest now?” There's a certain logic to that response.
I tell Mrs Park about my plans for the next day: the Jongmyo rituals. Mrs Park is an alumna of the traditional music high school that provides the dancers for the rituals, and she adds her voice to the many that have already told me not to expect too much excitement from the occasion.
After dinner, we stroll along the banks of the Han river, past exercising pensioners, to the subway station. It’s a quiet, peaceful and unthreatening walk, which would not be possible in London.
Sunday 2 May: The Rituals
7. Gwanghwamun, early morning
I still haven’t adjusted to the time zone. I finally wake up at 5:30am, and think it unlikely that I will get back to sleep, so I get up. It’s a beautiful clear day, and I decide to catch a view of Seoul’s streets while they are deserted. Although the streets are indeed largely deserted in the Gwanghwamun area, there’s still a strong police guard outside the US embassy. The new plaza in front of the great gate is empty apart from one or two early risers, and the statue of King Sejong, which is new since I last visited Seoul, has few visitors. Both Sejong and, further away, Admiral Yi Sun-shin, are gazing southwards, and both seem to have their own personalised giant TV screens conveniently located on buildings within their field of vision.
When the Japanese occupied Korea in the first half of the 20th Century, one of the more subtle things they did to break the Korean spirit was to plonk the monolithic Government General building in the middle of the Gyeongbukgung Palace. The flow of Ki energy from Bukhan mountain, through the palace and out of the Gwanghwamun gate into downtown Seoul was thus blocked. In a further subtle twist, the Japanese building was constructed 6 degrees out of orientation with the palace, thus disrupting the powerful pungsu of the place even more. In 1928, the Japanese found the Gate an inconvenience and moved it. It was burned down in the Korean War. Park Chung-hee had it rebuilt in 1965 in front of the Japanese government building, but with the memory of the right geomancy now lost, the gate was positioned to align with the new building. In 1995 the Japanese building was demolished, thus eradicating one of the more obvious colonial legacies which dominated Seoul’s skyline. But that left the problem of the gate now being out of orientation with the palace it serves.
The Gate is currently being reconstructed and realigned, in a two-year project using Korea’s finest craftsmen. The story has caught the imagination of the Prince of Wales, always a keen supporter of world heritage, who has organised funding for a documentary about the project. A lot of effort has been invested in the environment of this part of Seoul, and it seems to have paid off. Next time I come, the Gwanghwamun will be fully restored.
8. The Jongmyo Rituals
I found it really quite hard to find accessible information online in respect of the Jongmyo rituals. Often, on the UNESCO site, there is documentation which sets out why the submitting country thinks that this particular intangible cultural property is worthy of inscription on the international list. But no such information was immediately evident on the UNESCO site for the Great Jongmyo Rituals.
In my Korean book collection I have a two-volume publication by Hollym on Korea’s intangible cultural assets, which to be honest weren’t much use to me; the ever-helpful EJ Shin, librarian at the Korean Cultural Centre in London, had provided me with a much more useful book on Korea’s UNESCO listings. But if you had tested me on my knowledge of the ritual beforehand I would have been able to provide only the following information
King Sejong had something to do with it (always a good bet with any of Korea’s cultural achievements);
In one dance, all the dancers move to the left, and in the other they all move to the right;
One dance is about the civil achievements of the ancestors, the other is about the military achievements;
The titles of the two dances are unpronounceable;
The instruments used include a rack of tuned slabs of rock, and a tiger with a spiny back which sounds a lot like a washboard;
There’s lots of Chinese influence in the music; and
Most people think it’s very, very boring.
Armed with that limited information, I turned up at the entrance to the Jongmyo shrine at 9:30am with my interpreter Morgan and an open mind.
It was a brilliantly sunny day, but with a pleasant crispness to the air. Numerous volunteers at the entrance were handing out informative brochures and plastic sun-visors. I didn’t feel quite ready yet for ajumma status, and it wasn’t that hot, so I declined the visor and just took the brochure.
Once through the gate, the walk through the park was beautiful. The last remaining blossom clung to the shrubs in the middle of the ponds, and people posed for photographs. We followed the crowd in the direction of where the action was.
When the shrine was first built in 1394 there weren’t that many royal ancestors which needed honouring. The Yi / Joseon dynasty was in its early days: more precisely, King Taejo, the founder of the dynasty, was only in the third year of his reign. But with the march of time and as the centuries rolled on, the main shrine got rather crowded, and an overflow shrine was required. And that meant ceremonies needed to be done at both shrines. In a way, it’s a good job the Joseon dynasty finished when it did: we’d soon be needing a third shrine.
The flow of people was headed to the secondary shrine, the Yeongnyeongjeon, and as we got near I could hear some mystical music and chanting. I was a little surprised that the proceedings had started bang on time at 9:30 – not a normal occurrence for a Korean event in London. But then I suppose you can’t keep the ancestors waiting. They are important people, and they’ve been waiting a whole year for this. The ceremony used to be performed several times a year, but now the ancestors have to wait a full twelve months and must get hungry.
The ceremony’s history goes back to Silla times, but received an infusion of Chinese ritual in the 12th century. The result was a mix of Korean and Chinese music and ceremony. King Sejong (r 1418-1450) tried to redress the balance a little. He instructed one of his scholars, Pak Young, to catalogue all the music that had been used in the ceremony over the years. Sejong then selected the music that would be used in the future. Finally, in the reign of King Seongjong (r 1469-1494) the format of the ceremony was documented in a formal manual, and the rites have remained in more or less the same form ever since.
The shrine is already crowded with sightseers, but Morgan and I spy a less congested spot towards the West of the arena, right next to the 8 by 8 square of dancers. The crowd is three-deep against the restraining rope barrier, but we can just about see around the heads of the people in front.
When court music was introduced from China into Korea in 1116, the gift was accompanied with 36 costumes for the dancers. The memorial rites for the ancestors of the Chinese emperor featured 64 dancers – an 8 by 8 square. But Korea, being the younger brother, was only permitted a 6 by 6 square. That’s how it stayed until the late 19th Century. As the power of China declined, and an emergent Japan declared itself an empire, Korea followed suit. If the upstart Japan could decide to have an emperor and thus claim equality to China, Korea was not to be outdone, and proclaimed the Great Han Empire. And the number of dancers at the Jongmyo rituals was promptly upgraded to the imperial 64.
The dancers' moves are steady and measured. They perform a dignified semaphore with the implements in their hands: during the first dance which celebrates the civil achievements of the ancestors, they hold a three-holed bamboo flute and a feather-tasselled wooden stick. In the military dance they hold a wooden sword or a small pike. A good sense of balance is required as much of the dance involves standing on one leg.
The music is slow and stately. The solo chanting by the leader of the ceremony is perfectly out of key with the orchestra, presumably intentionally, because it takes some skill to hold one's own against superior forces in such a way. For those used to western music, the soundworld is totally alien, but not unpleasant. It’s not toe-tapping stuff, but it enters into your body and slowly possesses you.
If the sights and sounds start repeating, what about the smells? The aroma of toasted mugwort and oiled millet wafts across the shrine as the offerings to the ancestors are made. Then the music changes, with more drums; the rattling sound of a stick on the tiger's back makes the washboard sound: I’d been waiting for that. Are those suspended slabs of stone really producing music, or is it the bells that are struck almost at the same time? Where is the sound of the shawm coming from? What is producing that sound like a swarm of angry bees? The intervals intoned by the precentor change from an augmented fourth through the quarter tones to a perfect fourth. Suddenly the dozens of butlers are on the move, first in a long queue, then prostrating themselves in unison.
With so many ancestors to honour, the ceremony is a bit of an endurance test. Soon the less dedicated audience members call it quits, giving the opportunity for you to get to the front of the crowd. For the performers too, stamina is required, and two of the 64 high school girls had to be led out of the arena, fainting. Fortunately, substitutes were available.
Some of the sightseers were well-prepared. Some of the amateur photographers had come with stepladders or extension poles so that their cameras had a bird's eye view of the proceedings. And the professional photographers, getting in everyone's way, were trying to find ever more inventive camera angles, grovelling on the ground pointing the lens upward at the performers.
Even if you find the ceremony boring (which I didn't), there was plenty else to keep you interested. Watch the people in the crowd picnicking or playing ring o' roses. What is that idiot with the long lens doing? Those high school girls who've been sent to the ceremony as a photo assignment are grumbling at how dull it all is and have started eying up some boys. That dancer in the third row is really uncomfortable with that hat: she keeps adjusting it. And that girl in the 7th row shouldn't really be turning round to chat with her friend in the 8th, should she?
Try moving from your position in the crowd, get a different viewpoint. There's endless entertainment to be had, all for free, and the two hours pass extremely quickly. Periodically I check to see that Morgan isn’t bored out of her mind, but she seems to be quite happy watching me watching the crowds watching the ceremony.
Finally the rituals are over, promptly finishing two hours after they started, and we realise that all the elaborately-dressed ceremonial officials are really just ordinary people after all. They all line up in front of the shrine for a team photo as a memento of the occasion.
As we file out from the shrine, we mingle with the butlers who are off to have a quick breather and cigarette before the next ceremony. Already the queues are forming to get into the main shrine for the headline event at 1pm. No need for us to queue, though: we’re lucky enough to be on the guest list, courtesy of our Ministry of Culture hosts.
We have one and a half hours to kill before the event at the main shrine – the Jeongjeon. We have the choice of following the royal procession though the streets of downtown Seoul, from the Gyeongbokgung palace to the Jongmyo shrine for the main ceremony at 1pm; or sneak off into the Bukchon area for something to eat. We take the latter option.
We return in good time, and I find that I’m accredited as an official journalist, complete with a Press jacket. But without a monstrous camera I don’t really look the part, and I decide to just try to mingle in with the other guests. Now that the sun is stronger, I decide to grab an official Jongmyo sun-visor, helping me to blend into the crowd still further.
The rituals in the Jeongjeon, the majestic shrine with the long, unbroken roofline and huge courtyard, is the showcase event. This is the one to which the foreign guests are invited. There are speeches by VIPs, live screens with subtitles broadcasting the proceedings to people unlucky enough not able to fit into the courtyard itself, and introductory promotional videos with rousing soundtracks proclaiming the significance of what the guests were about to see. For the privileged few, live multilingual running commentaries were available through headsets:
And now the [pause] Ujeongwan and … the Daechukgwan put the … er … mortuary tablets of royal ancestors to their … place in each shrine chamber. The Chanye officially [pause] announces for the Choheongwan that the ceremony has just started.
On second thoughts, I think I'll turn that off.
What I hadn’t realised was that the ceremony in the Jeongjeon is an exact repetition of what had happened earlier in the day. If I’d thought about it, it should have been obvious: it’s just a different bunch of ancestors to respect: why would you treat King Injong any different from King Taejong. OK, the latter is sandwiched between the august figure of King Sejong and the founder of the Joseon dynasty, King Taejo, but you shouldn’t show favouritism.
Despite the main shrine holding 3 more ancestors, there being further to walk around to “set the tables”, and there being all the speeches to fit in, somehow the ceremony was exactly the same two-hour duration as the more intimate ritual at the Yeongnyeongjeon earlier in the day. If anything, it felt shorter rather than longer.
Members of the public sat down on the ground in the courtyard; the VIPs sat on reserved seats under awnings around the edges. Press photographers annoyed everyone by roaming seemingly wherever they pleased, while TV cameramen were respectfully dressed as Joseon dynasty palace servants.
Like the earlier ceremony, some members of the public showed more determination than others in staying the course and towards the end there was plenty of empty space in the courtyard.
We eventually filed out with all the other members of the public knowing we had witnessed something special. Students try to get visitors to complete assessment questionnaires. How would we rate the rituals as a tourist experience? Excellent. Would we come if we had to pay to get in? Absolutely.
As we neared the main gate to the shrine complex, we encountered some discrete souvenir stalls (though strangely none of the excellent photographs of the shrine were for sale). Young girls in hanbok were directing the crowds, one of whom had been number 1 dancer in row 8 of the first ceremony that same morning. A long day for the performers as well as the audience. But the ancestors must be properly honoured, and the Korean heritage authorities do it in great style.
Despite all the naysayers proclaiming its dullness, I would heartily recommend the Jongmyo rituals to anyone. It is a great day of sound and spectacle, a unique experience unavailable anywhere else in the world. If you don’t want to attend both, go to the earlier ceremony. It’s more intimate, more informal and less crowded but has exactly the same ingredients as the main one. And then come back to appreciate the architecture of the main shrine another day.
9. MISO
Korea is known for its high-energy stage shows. They have a huge international appeal. Shows like Nanta and Jump perform to enthusiastic audiences everywhere, combining acrobatics, humour, music and maybe some traditional culture – though dressed-up in an accessible way. A feature of the shows is that they are largely non-verbal (no surtitles are needed to transport the show and enable a foreign audience to enjoy it); they encourage audience participation; and they are not dependent on a complex plot. The emphasis is more on the action and humour. But though accessible to an international audience, the shows have roots in Korean recent popular culture: martial arts in the case of Jump, drumming and cooking in the case of Nanta, and breakdancing in the case of Break Out.
This is, in part, the market which Miso (“Beautiful Smile”) is aiming to please, and many of the elements of these popular shows find their way into the current incarnation of the long-running production at the Chongdong theatre. But Miso also aims to include slightly heavier traditional cultural content into the mix.
The show is structured around the story of Chunhyang, probably the best-known of traditional Korean stories, or at least the best-known of those that have entered the Pansori canon. A story of love and devotion, of Confucian loyalty, and of triumph of good over evil: it even has a happy ending. The costumes worn by the cast are traditional hanbok, and the musicians, all playing traditional instruments, are in a balcony erected high up on each side of the stage.
While live traditional instruments predominate in the show’s musical score, there is also a certain amount of pre-recorded support from more modern, synthesized sounds: the score is a mix of traditional music sweetened with fusion sounds. There's a good variety of traditional style dances and acts, from the fan dance and buddhist-style drumming to the nongak farmers' dance to samulnori beats.
Those who expect a bit of audience participation from a Korean stage show will not be disappointed. Somehow the production manages to work in some entertainers who divide the audience into two halves for the usual competition for who can cheer loudest; and as usual a couple of audience members are dragged on stage to provide a bit of further entertainment, this time to engage in a bit of plate-spinning. This section of the performance provides a lightweight interlude between the elements of the traditional Chunhyang story.
The show starts with a ritual for peace and prosperity, and the production manages to work in not just some celebrations for Danoje (the spring festival that falls on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month) but also a quick shamanistic exorcism. Some more traditional springtime activities follow – some ssireum wrestling and playing on the swing. Next, a springtime dance followed by a five-drum dance based on Buddhist ritual: all very colourful. Mongryong and Chunhyang fall in love while all this is going on, but of course Mongryong has to leave to go to Seoul. The local magistrate has a banquet which is an opportunity to have a traditional fan dance and a sword dance. Chunhyang resists his advances and is thrown in prison. Mongryong returns and everyone lives happily ever after, giving an excuse for some jolly nonggak ribbon-dances. It's non-stop action, with plenty of variety, and on the Sunday afternoon we were there it was playing to a packed house. Somehow, though, it left me less than satisfied.
Those who want an easy-to-digest collection of traditional Korean music and dance in a reasonably pure form should go the performances at Korea House. Those who are less concerned with authenticity, and prefer a bit of colour, entertainment and fusion, while being introduced to one of Korea’s most enduring folk tales, will be very happy at Miso.
10. Korean Drinking
I had secretly been hoping, before my schedule was finalised, that after the Jongmyo rituals I would be able to go to an authentic Buddhist dance performance by my friend Yi Chuljin. In a marathon exercise supported by the Jogye temple, he is in the middle of a 100-day run of performances of the traditional Seungmu monk’s dance. Seungmu is one of Korea’s intangible cultural properties, and Yi Chuljin has studied Seungmu with the holder of that property. While nothing in this world is certain, Yi is one of the prime candidates for being the next holder of the property.
But instead of attending his performance, I ended up experiencing the fusion Korean musical, Miso, a different though not unpleasant experience entirely. Instead, I join Yi and his friends for drinks after his performance, in a small theatre around the corner from Sungkyukmung University. I know it’s a dangerous thing to do, because every time I go drinking with Yi Chuljin I wake up wishing I hadn’t.
When I arrive, the party is in full swing. Beer, soju and red wine bottles are all open on the table, with various stews and side dishes on the go. Koreans don’t really understand the British culture of just drinking. In Korea, drink always has to be accompanied by food. But somehow, people seem to get just as drunk, or even drunker.
The partygoers immediately make room for me at the table, and start struggling to use their rusty English on me. It’s not necessary, because alcohol is a universal language. But before I know it I am buried in business cards (impressive, seeing as most of the drinkers are doing postgraduate studies at university), and have several recommendations for the best places to visit in Jeollanam-do next time I’m in the country.
I make my daily call home to my wife, who wisely counsels me not to get drunk tonight. I know it’s sensible advice, and I have half an intention of following it. But back at the table they’re mixing a cocktail of soju, baekseju and beer, which is crying out to be sampled. More stews are ordered to dilute the new brew, together with side orders of more soju.
Then it’s time for yicha, the second stop on the drinking odyssey for the evening. Fortunately, a few sojus and stews later, people decide not to go for samcha (the third stop). Somehow I make it back to the hotel, and do not want to remember how.
Monday 3 May: Interviews, day 1
Today and the next day are all work: primarily interviews to flesh out my little project on the preservation, presentation and reinvention of Korean traditional culture, plus a topical piece on Seoul’s position as World Design City 2010.
11. The Bucheon World Intangible Cultural Heritage Expo (BICHE)
Bucheon, a city of around 850,000 people in Gyeonggi-do just 40 minutes' drive West from Seoul, is home of the Intangible Cultural Heritage Expo, an annual event which showcases some of Korea's finest performance arts and crafts alongside those of a dozen or so invited countries. The first expo was held in 2008, and sadly last year's event was cancelled at the last minute, along with so many others, at the height of the bird flu scare. 2010's Expo will be bigger and better than 2008's, with 15 countries participating.
As part of my little project on the way that Korea preserves and presents some of its traditional culture, I thought this international expo an ideal case study and made an appointment to see members of its organising committee. How is it possible to get the average person interested in traditional cultural heritage?
“Every year, at Chuseok time, 10 million Koreans head back to their home village. Tradition and heritage is deep down in people’s bones,” says Mr Yoo Gill Chon (유길촌), the secretary general of the BICHE organising committee. “But nevertheless, our intangible heritage is at risk and needs support and preservation. The purpose of our expo is to help keep it alive.”
But it's not just an exercise in preservation. While clearly the presentation of some of the finest crafts and performance arts is a laudible end in itself, the theme of the 2010 Expo is also forward-looking: “Discovering the future in tradition: a search for the DNA of future industries.” The possibility of earning revenues from culture and heritage is not a new one, but it is unusual to hear it so explicitly stated.
We visit the expo site: the Bucheon Visual Culture Complex, a large out-of-town area currently used as a film studio. Scenes from the blockbuster Korean war epic Taegugki were filmed there, as well as several popular TV dramas. A 1950s-style tram is in the street, and round the corner a TV crew is working on an episode of the latest drama.
Strangely, though, in a corner of the complex are seven recently built hanok-style houses, which serve as studios and genuine living accommodation for some of Gyeonggi-do's intangible cultural property holders. In one is Yi Gyu-nam (이규남), who preserves the art of carving the wooden calligraphy you see above temple doors and under palace roofs, and in another is Gwak Hong-chan (곽홍찬), a metal engraver. There is a shop where the works created by these craftsmen are sold. This little compound is part of Gyeonggi-do's ongoing commitment to preserving its intangible heritage: any day of the year apart from Monday, any member of the public can visit these studios to see the craftsmen at work.
During the expo itself, there will be much more to see. The compound will be expanded, at the expense of demolition of some of the film sets, and more craftspeople installed. Elsewhere in the area, exhibition halls and performance spaces will be built. Korean traditional music such as pansori will be performed, and possibly the highspot of the festival will be a rare performance of Jeju Chilmeoridang Yeongdeunggut outside of Jeju-do[6]. This Shamanist ritual is held in the second lunar month to pray for calm seas, an abundant harvest and a plentiful sea catch. It's another of Korea's UNESCO-registered items of intangible cultural heritage, and a reason I'm going to find an excuse to come back to Korea in the autumn this year.
But it is not just Korea's intangible cultural heritage which is being showcased. Heritage from South America, Europe, Africa and Asia will be on show. The budget of the expo is 9.2 billion Won, a bit of a shoestring considering the effort involved: construction of the site, sponsoring of the international teams to come to Korea, a permanent headcount of 43 people, boosted to 500 with volunteers during the time of the expo. About 20 percent of the money is coming from the Ministry of Culture, with provincial, city and corporate sponsorship making up the difference.
With 2008 being the first year of the expo, they had ambitious targets for visitor numbers, but really they couldn’t know with any certainty how many were likely to turn up. In the end, the expo had around 300,000 visitors (the target was 1 million), of which there were only around 1,000 foreigners. The lack of foreign interest is unsurprising in the first year, as there was limited effort to attract them. But feedback from the visitors last time was overwhelmingly positive, which gave the organising committee encouragement for the future. This year, the expo is being marketed more actively, with information being passed to Korean embassies and cultural centres overseas.
In a site of 266,000 square metres, there will be three theatres, dining facilities, outside spaces, and an “experience centre”. Particular emphasis is placed on “experiencing”, whether through trying your hand at a particular craft, flying traditional Korean kites, or attending the live performances: over the course of the 20 day expo, there will be different live performances every day, from Korean folk songs to Cambodian court dancing. Crafts on display will range from Korean wrapping cloths to German arrow-making.
Although 2010 is only the second time BICHE has happened, the investment in the expo complex itself bodes well for the future. Identifying profitable industries or cultural contents from traditional heritage is never certain – for each Dae Jang Geum there are several other dramas which never attract many export dollars – establishing Bucheon as a national, and indeed international, centre for showcasing intangible heritage is a far-sighted move.
BICHE 2010 will be held from September 28 to October 17 at the Bucheon Visual Culture Complex, Bucheon, Gyeonggi-do.
Jokagjang (조각장) – metal sculpture and engraving artisan
Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property No 39
The traditional engraving technique of making various patterns by carving, hardening or making grooves in the surface of gold or silver utensils and filling them with gold, silver or copper wire.
Seogakjang (서각장) – wood block lettering artisan
Gyeonggi-do Intangible Cultural Property No 40
The art of engraving letters or pictures onto wooden blocks, a skill which combines calligraphy and sculpture.
12. A meeting with Sorea
In an unprepossessing building in a small backstreet in trendy Gangnam is a compact office which manages a gugak fusion band which briefly caught the spirit of a nation. At the height of the Korea, Sparkling promotional campaign, when the Korean Tourism Organisation was promoting Korea as a place with ancient traditions but with very modern style and energy, Sorea's “In Panic” video was a YouTube sensation. Five pretty girls playing traditional Korean instruments to a very modern beat, and a b-boy from Korea’s world-beating Extreme Cru dancing to the same beats as traditional nongak dancers. A perfect fusion of old and new.
Sorea is the brainchild of Ryu Moon, a music industry veteran of more than ten years. Mr Ryu had noted the growing World Music trend, spotting the international popularity of styles such as Celtic music and Tango. He judged that Korea had something to contribute to this new trend. In the first “Creative Gugak” competition run by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism in 2004, Sorea were unexpected winners.
Sorea is commercial operation, formed to sell a product. The product is pretty girls on traditional instruments playing accessible new music for a young audience both domestically and internationally. For the domestic audience the hook is the new use of traditional instruments, while for the international audience this is a fresh new entrant in the World Music market. If a girl band can succeed, what about some cute boys, I ask Ryu. Is there room in the market for a gugak fusion boy band, a samulnori TVXQ to rival Sorea's SNSD? Ryu has considered it, but with an eye on the international market has concluded that while such a product would sell in China and the rest of Asia, it would flop in the West.
While the Sookmyung Kayageum Orchestra, an all-female kayageum band, tends to focus on cover versions (the Beatles songs you hear on the KTX express train or in tourist shops are likely to be played by them), Sorea is all about new music. You’re not going to access the World Music market if all you’re playing is cover versions. Sorea’s music is mainly written by independent composers, but arranged by the Sorea team. Although the music is all new, that's not to say that there isn't some reference to the tradition from which the instruments come. For example, in the first track of their first EP Ryu tells me you can hear the traditional gutgori and chajinmori rhythms. “But we don’t have a serious message. We’re all about entertainment. But if people come to understand their tradition better as a result, that’s great.”
Despite their success, Sorea has released comparatively little on CD, compared with, for example, the four albums released by haegeum player Ccotbyel: no full-length album, just an EP and a collection of tunes from their fledgling stage musical. Ryu is cautious about releasing a full album, even though he has 16 tracks in the bag which could easily form the basis of a CD. He prefers to focus on live performance and to keep an eye on where the market is going, waiting for the right time and the right market to release a full-length album – if indeed there is a right market.
Ryu gives me a quick overview of the music industry to explain his cautious strategy further. The move from LP to CD was reasonably quick, he explains, while the move from CD to MP3 was quicker. “Increasingly, music isn’t something people listen to any more. It’s a service. It’s used as something to express identity, for example by personalising the ringtones on your cellphone or providing background music for your CyWorld page. How does a traditional CD fit in with this new market?” Ryu regards the market right now as in a transformational period.
The Korean music market is only 1% of the size of the US market, and around 2% of the Japanese. And traditional music is only 2% of that. Sorea therefore has to be international in order to be a success. And each international market is different. This involves tailoring the sound for different countries. Ryu rattles off more statistics: “13% of the US pop market is guitar based. That’s a lot more than Korea. That means we’ve got to consider our sound if we release in the US. The core product and basic style will be the same, but the sound engineering will be localised.”
In Panic was an immediate success in Korea and elsewhere, and Ryu is looking to maintain that success. One obvious question: if part of Sorea’s selling proposition is young, pretty girls, what happens when the years might take an inevitable toll on the players' youthful good looks? Not an issue: there is a ready stream of gugak players exiting university, and today's Sorea is in fact a squad of 12 musicians even though only 5 will appear at any one gig.
Evidencing Ryu’s further experimentation with the market, a stage show, called Monsters Theatre was produced last year, which had a brief run at the Myongdong Theatre in Seoul and which also made an appearance at the Thames Festival in London. A major gig is planned for the autumn of 2010 to coincide with the G20 summit, at which Sorea will share the billing with other big names like Kim Duk-soo’s Samulnori and the Sookmyung Kayageum Orchestra. Tours to the US and France later this year provides further opportunity to get Sorea’s name known better. The prize is a piece of the World Music market, and Moon Ryu is determined to win it.
13. A chance encounter
I’m driven back to my hotel near Gwanghwamun. Lunch that day had been difficult to face. Even in the evening I’m still suffering from the hangover incurred the previous day, and so I head off towards Insadong in the hope of finding a haejangguk (Hangover Soup) restaurant. Instead I come across a pork cutlet place which is even more what my stomach seems to be wanting. I sit quietly in the restaurant trying to think of some sensible questions to ask at my interviews the following day, drinking more Korean cider (non-alcoholic) than I would normally.
The streets around the Gwanghwamun and Insadong areas are festooned with lanterns – in preparation for Buddha’s birthday a week or so later – and advertisements for Gallery Hyundai’s next big-budget show, a collection of paintings by Korea’s favourite post-war artist, Park Soo-geun. If I have time later in the week, I’ll try to visit. But more immediately, as I’m in the area, a quick trip to Jogyesa is warranted: the courtyard is gradually filling up with hundreds of colourful lanterns – a pretty sight in the dusk of the evening.
There’s still plenty of time before the gift shops shut, so I execute a surgical strike on {the more southerly of the two Lee Geon Man shops}{one of the high-end accessory stores} in Insadong. I always like browsing in the Insadong shops. Plenty of high quality traditional and modern-style gifts and accessories (and plenty of tourist tat as well). {Lee Geon Man}{This particular designer} specialises in neckties, handbags and scarves with a hangeul design. But the thing I find irritating about the staff in {the Lee Geon Man}{his} shops is that they insist on telling you, as soon as you start browsing, that, yes, the sophisticated almost-repeating designs that recall those of Dior, Gucci and YSL are in fact made up of Korean letters. It gets very tiring. So the objective is to reach the desired tie and indicate that I want to buy it BEFORE they tell you that its design is the Korean alphabet. If you’re quick enough you can just about do it, but it requires reconnaissance on a previous visit (and enduring the inevitable piece of obvious but well-meant information). And having thus indicated that I meant business, I was free to browse the silk scarves without much bother.
My souvenir-shopping done, it’s time to work my way back to the hotel while browsing the window displays of Insadong. I am soon accosted by Christian Oliver from the FT on his evening perambulation. I met him on my last visit to Seoul. General chit-chat about London, Seoul, the Cheonan sinking, Shin Jeong-a, the Korean Pension Service’s UK investments, and the Korean War. I can’t remember how the last topic came up, but it furnished me with an anecdote about the last surviving partisans in Jeju-do and Jirisan which I would find useful later on in the week. Seoul seems full of happy coincidences.
Tuesday 4 May: Interviews, day 2
14. Seoul Design Foundation interview (40%) (Research on programme for the year, check against notes)
More interviews today. First, the Seoul Design Foundation. We enter an anonymous office block, and ascend to the ninth floor. Exiting the lifts, the signature colour on the wall is the fashionable lime green which seems to be used in all this year's kitchen design catalogues. It's a busy office, with lots of energy. We have come to meet Ken Nah, Director General of World Design Capital Seoul 2010. It's a job he manages to combine with his teaching responsibilities at Hongik University, where he lectures in design management.
What is the first thing you notice about Korean architecture as you make the long road journey into Seoul from Incheon? Probably the identical apartment blocks which cling to the side of the hills. Their only distinguishing feature is that they have different numbers on the side. To many visitors they seem monotonous, uninspiring and slightly tired. At the time of their construction the priority was to provide much-needed accommodation for Seoul's rapidly growing population, and in that respect they have undoubtedly served their purpose.
But as if to mark a break from this utilitarian past, Seoul's new design guidelines require all new buildings to have new features. Or put another way, no new property can be identical to another one. [Check with Nah. Is it a guideline or a law?]
It is a commonplace that Korea in general and Seoul in particular has changed rapidly over the past 50 years and continues to change rapidly. Ken Nah's task is to embed design in Seoulite's everyday life, a task which...
Seoul's last Mayor, Lee Myung-bak, started the improvement in Seoul's environment by getting rid of the Chonggyecheon expressway and reopening the stream as a breath of fresh air through the heart of downtown Seoul. Other urban projects to improve the environment were the greening of Seoul's forests. The current mayor, Oh Se-Hoon, has taken over where Lee left off, but while Lee's programmes had to bulldoze their way against protest and incredulity, Oh has made design and the environment part of the organisational structure of the city administration, with a Deputy Mayor specifically responsible for design. There is a green project (which speaks for itself) and a blue project – opening up the banks of the River Han for recreation and exercise. As a brief example, in the course of a light night stroll along the river I saw, where in London would be threatening youths loitering or skateboarding, an exercise area where ajummas and ajoshis were working out on the equipment. And where in London would be the eyesore of competing graffiti, under the road bridge was a portrait of Korea's favourite sporting heroine, Kim Yeon-ah. This may not be a direct result of the central push, but is indicative of [something]
Nah's aim is to embed design into everything that Seoul does, from a state where people are not interested in design or think it is a fancy optional extra, to a situation where it is part of the process of everything that is done and improves people’s lives.
I couldn't resist the question: if Seoul can care so much about its environment that it can pass a micro-managing regulation that every new building should be different from the last, why can it not pass a regulation to preserve some of the unique traditional neighbourhoods which used to add variety to the urban landscape but which are rapidly being lost for ever? This is clearly not Mr Nah's brief, though I can tell that he is saddened by, for example, the destruction of the Pimatgol neighbourhood. The fact is, that when a multi-storey building is worth so much more than a single-storey one, there is money to be made from knocking down traditional housing.
Garosu-gil in Agpujongdong
15. Meeting Ms Kim
Although I’m very proud of the organisation I work for – a multinational company with a long heritage - I try to keep my Korean hobby and my day job separate. But I thought that as I was in Seoul I ought to pay a visit to some of my local colleagues: one day I might need their help. So I arranged to have lunch with the local head of communications, Ms Kim (not her real name). She’s someone with a truly international outlook, having worked overseas for a European industrial company for many years. She’s now got the job of managing media relations, internal communications and corporate social responsibility for the Korean operations of the organisation I work for.
We have the normal get-to-know you conversation, and chat about the challenges and rewards of doing business in Korea. But it’s the third part of her job remit which interests me most: for corporate social responsibility includes things like art sponsorship.
One of the pleasures of running LKL is the occasional off-the-wall question I get asked by visitors to the site. When I first logged in to my email account on arriving in Seoul a few days previously I received the following random query:
“I am trying my hand at making Korean fighting kites. A friend is visiting Seoul on business in a week’s time and has kindly said he will try and get me the real thing. Do you know of the address of any shops or kite makers in Seoul where he could buy a traditional bamboo and paper Korean fighting kite, and especially, if any would speak English.”
A while ago in London the Korean Cultural Centre had an exhibition by some of Seoul’s finest craftsmen and women – holders of the city’s intangible cultural properties. I recalled that one of the exhibits was a traditional Korean kite.
And now Ms Kim was telling me that as part of her remit she tries to support some of Seoul’s intangible cultural property holders.
Before I know it, I have the name and phone number of the holder of Seoul’s intangible cultural property number 4 (traditional kite making) together with details of an Insadong store which sells his kites, which I immediately send to my interested reader.
Job done. And I had a very nice lunch into the bargain. Thank you, Ms Kim.
16. Seoul Museum of History
We have half an hour to kill before setting off for our next appointment and so head off to the Seoul Museum of History in the Seodaemun area. It's getting warm and muggy, and schoolboys are playing in the fountains outside the museum entrance.
Inside, there’s no time to see the permanent displays: instead there's a retrospective of Kim Ki-chan's atmospheric photographs of 1970s Seoul: the narrow alleys between the precariously built small houses which formed much of the housing before being cleared for new apartment blocks. It's this very area of Jungnimdong in Junggu, central Seoul, which is the setting of Cho Se-hui's A Dwarf Launches a Ball, which tells the story of the lives of the people who live in these shanty areas. Kim Ki-chan's images eloquently bring them to life: car-free alleys where children can safely play and mothers can sit with their neighbours and toddlers: a communal life which is perhaps less possible in the tower blocks which replaced them. Seoul seems to be full of felicitous coincidences: it just so happens that I'm reading Cho Se-hui's Dwarf at the moment. And it's good to see that in Seoul's rapidly developing history these phases are chronicled, enshrined and remembered.
17. Hwang Byunggi Interview
Hwang Byung-gi is probably Korea’s best known performer and composer for the kayageum. When I submitted my proposal to the Korean Culture and Information Service for the stories I wanted to investigate during my visit – of which the main one was the preservation and reinvention of Korean traditional culture - I put in a range of possible interviews, not expecting that many of them would be possible in practice. I even put in a half-flippant request for an interview with celebrity kayageum player and beauty queen Honey Lee: kind of relevant for the popularisation of Korean traditional music for new audiences, but really more relevant for my photograph album. How cool would it be to meet someone who was almost Miss World?
When I received my draft schedule and saw that I had some time booked with Master Hwang, I immediately got a severe case of cold feet. I tried to suggest that meeting so prominent a musician was too great an honour for a humble blogger; that I’d be far too stressed at meeting him to do a good interview. But the KCIS chose diplomatically to ignore my protestations. There was no backing out. I made sure I packed Keith Howard’s book Creating Korean Music for the journey, so that I had enough background information not to come over as a complete fool, and made sure I prepared properly with some half-decent questions.
It was with some apprehension that we head off to the hilly area of Bukahyeon, Seodaemun-gu, where Hwang Byunggi lives. We ring the bell and the external gates roll back. We are ushered in by the great man himself, and ascend the richly-varnished wooden stairs to the upper floor. The windows are open onto the balcony, with views over the valley to the next hill. Birdsong and the distant sound of dogs barking wafts in through the window, along with a cool breeze.
Master Hwang’s 17-string kayageum is placed so that he can gaze across the room and out through the window while he is practising, which he does every day to keep in trim: he still gives regular public performances. He strums the strings of the instrument: a robust sound comes out, completely unlike the sound of a traditional 12-string kayageum. Master Hwang’s instrument has polyester strings rather than the traditional silk: it holds the tuning better and has an incisive sound more suited for modern compositions.
Master Hwang has been an integral part of the preservation and development of South Korea’s traditional music-making for over 50 years. He was the first kayageum teacher at Seoul National University when they established their traditional music department in 1959. And he was the first to create new compositions for the kayageum.
Over the course of his long and distinguished career, things have changed significantly. “When I first studied kayageum,” he remembers, “I learned by rote. There was no musical notation. I went to my teachers almost every day, and I learned by observation and repetition.”
“When I began to teach at Seoul National University, I devised a musical notation and wrote down the melodies,” he continues. This enabled the students to study in their spare time between lessons, so lessons could be less frequent. Master Hwang seems always to recognise that progress has to be made, but that not all progress is good. “Modernisation is not only a good thing. There’s advantages as well as disadvantages,” he says. The loss of a close association with the teacher is balanced by the ability to teach more efficiently.
Seoul National was the first University to set up a traditional music department. Now there are 20. I ask him whether the market can take all these musicians. Are there too many artists for the available audience? “I think it’s enough,” he says thoughtfully.
As well has having composed the first modern music for kayageum, he is the first to have had modern music composed for him. He gave the world premier of Alan Hovhaness’s 16th Symphony, “Kayagum”, for string orchestra, harp, kayageum and percussion in 1963. “I think it’s beautiful” he says. He has composed his own work for Kayageum and Orchestra, New Spring (Sae Beom) (1990), which has been performed frequently – he recently performed it in Seoul under the baton of cellist Chang Han-na.
We talk more about the traditional kayageum repertoire, the sanjo. “I learned kayageum sanjo from my teacher Kim Yun-deok. Kim learned from Chong Nam-hui. Chong is legendary. But he went to North Korea during the Korean War. I learned his melodies from Kim Yun-deok, from 1952 onwards. Eventually Kim made his own score of the sanjo, and he became am intangible treasure.”
“But I didn’t follow my teacher. I followed my teacher’s teacher, my grand-teacher. I liked his melodies very much. His sanjo lasts 40 minutes. I added to it, and made some changes, and the resulting version is 70 minutes.” He shows me the score, entitled Chong Nam-hui Kayageum Sanjo, Hwang Byung-gi school. “But I don’t regard that as composition,” he adds. “There was no concept of composer in Korean traditional music.”
Chong Nam-hui, Hwang's “grand-teacher”, has a sad story. Initially, he was held in high regard in North Korea, becoming a People’s Artist and professor at the Pyongyang College of Music and Art. But then things changed. “They respect the traditional instruments in North Korea, but they think it’s bad to preserve the tradition as it is. They must reinvent everything.” The traditional 12-string kayageum was changed and replaced with a 21-string instrument tuned to a Western scale. Those who knew and loved the old music were no longer wanted. “Chong Nam-hui’s late life was a tragedy. Not only him but every traditional musician.”
But the invention of the 21-string kayageum north of the border had unintended consequences to the south. In 1990, Hwang Byunggi together with composer Yun Isang organised a “Reunification concert” with musicians from both North and South. It was the first time that southerners had heard the new kayageums pioneered in the north, and they liked what they heard. Being tuned to a western scale, and sometimes played with both hands like a harp, the instruments were ideal for playing Western music. Gugak fusion was born, and North Korea had temporarily found an unusual export product, as South Korea imported the new kayageums either direct from North Korea or from the Yanbian Korean autonomous region in China, or from the North Korean communities in Japan.
Since then, the South has developed the 25-stringed kayageum, which is the instrument played by groups such as the Sookmyung Kayageum Orchestra. Clearly, Master Hwang is not averse to letting the music for traditional instruments develop. The repertoire can expand and move on. But he has his reservations. I ask him about gugak fusion bands such as Sorea, which are bringing traditional instruments to a pop music audience. “I don’t know whether it’s a good thing, but I don’t like it,” he says diplomatically, with half a chuckle. But he pointed me in the direction of a Kayageum quartet, Yeoul, made up of some of his students from Ewha University. One to explore further.
Hwang’s own musical path has been different. Some western musicians describe his music as a Korean take on Impressionism. “I think that comment has some point. Since Impressionism, Western music hasn’t been purely Western,” he says. “Debussy seems to include aspects of World music,” he explains. He does not deny that Debussy is a good parallel with some of his music, and adds Stravinsky and Bartok as other parallels. “But I always try to create original sounds. I don’t follow Western trends.”
Indeed one of his pieces, Labrynth, was regarded as so shocking that it was banned in Korea for a few years – this was in the Park Chung-hee era, when people could get into trouble for having hair too long or skirts too short. The piece is now back in favour, and is included in the five-CD series of his kayageum music, of which he is very proud.
“They are always in the best-seller list,” he smiles. He shuffles off to a cupboard in the corner of the room and fetches a Western CD release, on ARC Records. “And this one was in the Songlines Top 10!”
It’s coming to the end of my allotted time. I ask about the audience for traditional music in Korea. “The audience itself has changed over time,” he says. “The introduction of TV had a big impact. Before TV, Pansori was very popular in the countryside. But after TV, they all came to like pop music. But after the 1970s and 1980s, the young generation began to like traditional music. Samulnori became popular after the democratisation movement, because the movement unconsciously emphasised the people’s voice, and that reinforced Korean identity. So the young generation began to find out their identity from Korean traditional music.”
Is Master Hwang hopeful for the future of traditional music? “When I first started as a musician, only 10 new kayageums were being made a year. Now it’s closer to 10,000. That’s still nothing compared with the number of pianos, but kayaguem and haegeum are increasingly popular instruments.”
A pile of scores and CDs has built up on the table in front of me during our talk. It’s time to tidy them up and hand them back. Master Hwang poses for a photo behind his kayageum, and it’s time to leave for the next appointment.
18. Korean Cultural Heritage Foundation
As part of my trip to Korea, I wanted to understand more about the way in which Korea goes about preserving its ancient culture and presents it for modern audiences. Is it possible to market traditional culture to foreigners as a theme for tourism? How is it possible to market traditional culture to the domestic consumer? How is the choice made to preserve one particular element of culture and consign another to its fate? Is it right to preserve culture in aspic, or should traditional culture be allowed – or forced – to adapt in order to remain relevant to a modern audience? In the time available I was not going to get to the bottom of these questions, and to be honest I didn’t really know how to tackle them. I had two days for interviews as part of my journey, and one hour was allocated to the Korean Cultural Heritage Foundation. It was a start.
Korea has a complex and sophisticated system of cataloguing and preserving its intangible cultural heritage. Firstly, there are two hierarchies of heritage: the national system and the provincial system – and the day before in Bucheon we had seen evidence of the way Gyeonggi-do supports some of its important provincial craftsmen. Obviously, the national system is regarded as the more important, but that is not to downplay the significance of local heritage.
Secondly, at national level there is the distinction between the body which registers the heritage, and the one that tries to keep it alive. The former is the Cultural Heritage Administration, based in Daejeon. Their job is partly academic, and maybe a little bit political: to make policy decisions as to which items of heritage get selected for preservation; where there are competing versions of the same tradition, which version gets selected; and who should be appointed as holder of that property or tradition. Meanwhile, the semi-autonomous Cultural Heritage Foundation based in Gangnam, Seoul, is tasked with more practical matters: find outlets for promoting the items of cultural heritage which have been listed. Reflecting this practical remit, the Foundation reports monthly audience numbers and sales figures to the Ministry of Culture.
Many items on the standard tourist trail will be supported by the Foundation. For example, the traditional music performances at Korea House are supported by the Foundation (approximately 80% of the audience at these performances are foreign), and the changing of the guard ceremonies at the royal palaces. The high-quality retail outlets at Incheon Airport selling gorgeous pottery and other crafts are also run by the Foundation[7]. And one of the main events that they oversee is the annual performance of the great rites at Jongmyo.
The Foundation itself came into existence around 30 years ago. Although Park Chung-hee had established the system of registering Korea’s cultural heritage in the 1960s, the grass-roots minjung movement indicated a more widespread interest in Korea’s traditional culture as a symbol of national identity.
But despite the initial grass-roots support, it’s sometimes difficult to get people, particularly young people, interested in traditional culture. “We’ve had a traumatic modern history, with rapid industrialisation, so young people are sometimes impatient with traditional music,” says An Tae-uk, Culture and Art Director at the Cultural Heritage Foundation. “We try to heal their spirit, with education, and with performances and ceremonies like the Jongmyo rites.”
To be fair, the Jongmyo rites are a solemn ceremony and not intended as mass public entertainment, and so it is hardly surprising that the rituals are not more popular with the locals. Moreover, as I fretted that most of the spectators at the ceremony were Japanese and Chinese, I realised that there was probably a similar balance of tourists and locals in the various public ceremonies in London. And if I was going to criticise Koreans for not attending their own most solemn ceremonies, I would have to criticise myself for never having shown much interest in royal weddings and funerals in the UK. You never appreciate the things on your doorstep.
The Jongmyo rites do present a tourist opportunity, and while many of the visitors to the shrine were casual sightseers, the Korean Tourism Organisation had organised a total of some 500 tourists to come to Korea for a cultural tour of which the high-spot was the Jongmyo Daeje. The day before the rites, they had presented lectures on the meaning of the ceremonies. After the rites, the tourists were heading off down to Kyongju. And why should heritage not be a key tourism selling point? After all, Shakespeare and the Monarchy seem to be a key draw which brings foreign tourists to England.
But heritage should also be for domestic consumption, and one of the changes to the education system since the Cultural Heritage Foundation came into existence is that traditional music is now a compulsory subject in elementary schools. Confirming this well-developed infrastructure for traditional music, Hwang Byunggi had just told me that when he started learning the kayageum in the 1950s only 10 new instruments were being made every year; now it’s closer to 10,000. Seoul National University was the first to establish a course in traditional music, in 1959. Now there are 20 universities to offer it.
And it’s not just casual tourists who come to see ceremonies such as the Jongmyo rites. More recently, visiting scholars from China, where such ceremonies have been lost, have come to see how Korea has preserved the ancient traditions. To what extent is the Jongmyo Daeje put on just for tourists, or is it something which is a real, living part of Korean life? Well, the speeches and introductory videos which precede the main ceremony at the Jeongjeon might suggest that the event is primarily intended as a piece of public spectacle – in which of course it is incredibly successful. But among the crowds witnessing the event are surviving members of the Yi royal dynasty, who are there to pay respects to their ancestors.
The promotion of traditional culture is a task which is never finished, as there are always new generations of audience to educate. But the Cultural Heritage Foundation is satisfied with progress so far. And even if younger generations are not always going to be grabbed by traditional music or other items of cultural heritage, travellers from abroad, and particularly from countries in Asia with shared Confucian, Sino-centric heritage will want to experience Korea’s ancient traditions which are still maintained today.
Note: much of the material from the interview with the Cultural Heritage Foundation has been used in my account of the Jongmyo Rituals themselves.
19. Networking in Hongdae
I had intended to go to see Yi Chuljin’s Seungmu performance this evening, having failed to see it on Sunday, but there are too many conflicting appointments to fit them all in. I'm heading towards Hongdae to meet some new blogging friends – always something I like to do when coming to Seoul. It's a national holiday tomorrow – Children's Day – and beside me on the tube an office-worker has dutifully been shopping for last-minute gifts of Disney products.
Emerging into the crowded streets around Hongik University station, the evening is just getting under way. Every night seems to be party night in Hongdae, always a throng of people. Short skirts and high heels lengthen the legs of the college girls chatting on the phone waiting for their friends to turn up. My first meeting of the evening is with Robert Neff, a journalist / historian who specialises in the late Joseon dynasty and early colonial period. This being Hongdae, there's a wide variety of restaurants and bars on offer. We elect for a bizarre but tasty fusion dish, bulgogi burrito, washed down with Corona.
Neff first came to Korea in the mid 1980s as a member of the US military, and now that he’s a civilian he’s decided to try to stay longer term. He can usually be found in libraries researching in the late 19th century English-language newspapers published in Japan which served the foreign community in the region. Through painstaking browsing, linking and cross-referencing, he builds up character portraits of the colourful individuals who lived in this frontier period. Through his weekly columns in the Jeju Weekly he brings a little-known period to life, and recently published, with Cheong Sunghwa, a full length portrait of the age: Korea through Western Eyes. Definitely one for the reading list.
Next, a quick drink with Anna Lindgren of Indieful RoK, together with Kim Jin-sung, aka Mr Kwang, the most entrepreneurial of Korean music retailers: he's full of energy, ideas and different projects. He tells me about his indie gaming project – the fact that there is an indie gaming scene, just like an indie music scene, is news to me. Then he floats an idea that he thinks might interest me: the online publication of Korean Manwha in English in a possible new channel of London Korean Links. He's right: it does interest me.
Anna is thoroughly enjoying her brief week in Seoul. She’s preparing for her interview with the Donga Ilbo on Friday, and is full of stories from an amazing concert. Having met Tearliner on her first day in Seoul, a couple of days later she had visited the Pastel Music studios and ended up chatting with Zitten: both artists she has interviewed for London Korean Links in the past couple of years.
Onwards to meet a friend from England, celebrating her birthday in a western-style bar in Nakseongdae near Seoul National University. The tube is still crowded at 10pm, with standing room only. I'm always amazed at the ability of Seoulites to keep their balance without strap-hanging.
Watery, gassy beer by the jugful is probably the best drink to be served if you want to stay sober, and that's what this Naksongdae bar specialised in. Just as well, as I had an early start the next morning. But why would people go to such a soulless place when in any backstreet there's an informal restaurant where you can drink and have a tasty stew to go with it? I deliver my birthday gift of Marmite, which is gratefully accepted, and then I make my apologies.
Earlier that day, Mr Nah of the Seoul Design Foundation had told me that Seoul drivers have become calmer in the last few years. He hasn't met my taxi driver. I make the journey home to the hotel almost literally in double-quick time. The speedometer was touching 120 as we sped across the Han River, and I distinctly saw a 60 speed limit. No matter. The roads are empty, and we're soon back in familiar territory. And 13,000 Won for a 25 minute cab ride is not bad.
It's past midnight, and the orange pojangmachas off Insadong are full of late night soju-drinkers. Nothing rowdy, nothing raucous, and plenty of middle-aged women having their fair share of liquor. The streets are quiet, and those who have finished drinking stand patiently waiting for the next taxi home. Tomorrow, being children’s day, there's little need for them to get up unless they have young ones to spoil.
Wednesday 5 May: Hadong County
20. Journey into unknown territory
It’s an early start as we have a lot of ground to cover. We are joined by Yoseph Moon and Miss Lee from the Korean Culture and Information Service. The extra passengers mean that we can now use the left hand lane of the expressway leaving Seoul, reserved for vehicles containing at least six people. Yes, the arithmetic is not exact, but neither are the cameras that check very good at counting. The road is sometimes flanked by tall concrete walls, up which creepers are climbing, to shield the neighbouring apartment blocks from traffic noise.
We soon emerge from Seoul into plains where young vines are growing, before a gentle climb into the hills. Mauve jindalle and bright red azalea break the slightly monotony of the road.
We are heading into unknown territory. As far as the standard Korea guide books are concerned, Hadong and Sancheong Counties in the South West of Gyeongsangnam-do might as well not exist. Frommers, Insight Guide, Lonely Planet and The Rough Guide seem to ignore both counties, other than as a starting or finishing point for a walk on the Jirisan Trail. Information in English about the history and geography of the region is hard to obtain. For facts about the area I am totally dependent on the information and anecdote conveyed by my local tour guides, which I am unable to fact-check with many written sources. So if some of the historical detail in the accounts which follow seems either lightweight or fanciful, it’s because the region is under-explored by the foreigner. I feel like a Herodotus, naively wandering round a strange land relaying all the magical tales I hear from the natives. Maybe there is some truth in them. And maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to go back and try to cross-check against alternative sources another day.
Our first destination is the Hadong Green Tea festival. It’s a long road south, and we go on a huge detour to find a samgyetang restaurant for lunch, only to discover samgyetang was “off”. The pork bulgogi was fine, but if we had known better we would have headed straight for Hadong and sampled the many local delicacies and green tea-inspired dishes in the huge food tent at the Green Tea Festival. Next time we shall know better.
21. Hadong (90%) (Final read-through and comparison with notes)
As we pick up the signs to Hadong, along the Samjingang river, the other side of which is Jeollanam-do, we see our first neatly trimmed tea-bushes. These, I am later told, are the cultivated tea plants. You know the famous photos of the Boseong tea slopes in Jeollanam-do, with beautifully serried ranks of tea bushes manicured as if in a garden? Those are of course cultivated, and picked by machine: such techniques produce inferior tea as they pick the coarser leaves along with the juicy tips.
The best Hadong tea, on the other hand, is hand-picked, usually from old tea bushes which pre-date the Japanese colonial period. The finest tea, the small leaves picked before the first spring rain, is called Ujeon, picked between the 10th and the 20th day of the fourth lunar month. The first taste of this, made with water at no more than around 70ºC, immediately hits you with the savoury “fifth taste”, unlike any other tea you have tasted. Subsequent brews in the same pot change subtly, with the second cup said to be the best taste. Good leaves can sustain 8 or 9 brews, though unlike conventional Earl Grey the leaves should only be brewed for only a few seconds rather than 3-4 minutes. At the Hadong tea festival the very finest hand-made Ujeon was selling, at a discounted “Wholesale” price, for the princely sum of 150,000 Won for 100g, around 25 times the price of your average Twinings black tea in the supermarket.
But think of the health benefits. The claims made for green tea rival that of kimchi.
The 15th century tea master Hanjae Yi Mok[8] made relatively moderate claims for tea: the Five Effects and Six Efficacies of drinking tea. Some of the Effects can surely apply to a cup of builders’ tea: #1: is the fairly universal “Helps one to absorb oneself in reading, and quenches one's thirst”, while #5 is “Eliminates a hangover” (somehow, one doesn’t expect tea masters to have hangovers). Strangely, effect #4 was “Removes parasites from one’s body”. Well, at the at the Hadong Tea Festival, green tea foot- and face-washes were available, so maybe our master bathed in tea as well as drank it. Efficacy #1 is “Helps one lead a long life”. The second, presaging more extravagant claims to come in later years, is “Helps disease to be healed”. The most intriguing is efficacy #5, “Makes one a Taoist hermit with superpowers”. Hanjae Yi Mok (1471-1498) died before reaching thirty, so one assumes he met a violent end and these superpowers did not extend to self-defence.
It seems to be only more recently that more extravagant powers have been claimed for Hadong's green tea. A diagram in the tea museum claimed that tea not only has anti-cancerous properties and prevents obesity but also cures constipation and prevents “adult” diseases. Equally entertaining is the quaint national stereotype of English tea culture, portraying an ancient neverland of lost gentility.
The Hadong Green Tea festival has been in existence for 15 years. There’s a range of stalls selling the finest freshly-made green tea leaves, but also other green tea related products. Green tea ice-cream is a familiar delicacy in any Korean city, but Green tea soju? I sampled the deluxe version. I think they said it was double-distilled. It was certainly strong, but I was not tempted. I have bought too many bottles of schnapps and grappa when entering into the spirit of things on a continental European holiday, only to find the thing totally undrinkable when I get home. I settled for a bottle of conventional-strength green tea soju, which will taste very nice suitably chilled.
The festival is a great family day out. I was so tempted to try out the rickshaws, powered by robots disguised as giant teddy bears or cuddly elephants. But there was too much else to do. First of all, there was a tea ceremony with some of the ladies who had picked, roasted and rolled the tea a week or so beforehand. Their hands still brown from the tannin, they graciously served their precious liquid, with delicately flavoured dainties of rice cake and green plum jelly. It is said, by those who are sensitive to such things, that green tea can be acidic on the stomach, and maeshil (green plum) jelly is the best way to keep a balance. Science or no, the plum jelly was very popular with our particular party.
As with any Korean festival, the emphasis is on experience. So it’s compulsory for us to try roasting and rolling the leaves, and then laying them out to dry. The freshly-picked bright green leaves gradually go a dark green as you gently hand-toss them in a giant wok, wearing two layers of gloves to avoid your hands getting burned. Next hand-roll and crush the leaves a few times, as if rolling tough pastry, before laying them out on a rack to dry. They then alternately get laid out in the sun and brought inside, and then they’re ready for use. It’s a laborious process, but worth it in the end for some of the finest tea available.
Those leaves that are left in the sun longer start to ferment, producing longer-lasting black tea, while yellow tea is 50% fermented. The precious green tea is unfermented.
Outside the tea museum, we come across the festival's organiser, Jo Jeong-guk, having a quick breather. It’s the last day of the festival, and soon he will have a chance to rest properly.
This year’s festival has had more than its fair share of stress. First, the unseasonably cold weather meant that the tea was slow in growing, and there was some doubt as to whether any of the Ujeon would be picked, dried and packaged in time for the opening of the festival. Second, there were concerns that the weather would discourage visitors to the festival itself. Fortunately the latter concern was unfounded: the weather for the festival was perfect, and the people came. They estimated that around 500 foreigners had visited during the course of the 5-day festival, including a tour from the US and Canada as well as the usual Chinese and Japanese. On the day that I visited there was a busload of young Americans from Seoul happily trying their hand at roasting and rolling the leaves. They even had a visitor from the British Council on day 1 of the festival.
What was the highlight of the festival? There’s a sandy bank on the Samjingang river, and the previous night there had been poetry reading and tea drinking under the stars. I’m sorry I missed it.
Hampyeong County in Jeollanam-do, home of the butterfly festival, markets itself as “Eco Hampyeong”. Hadong’s branding is La Citta Slow, as its name suggests an Italian initiative. It’s certainly a relaxing place to be, and you are surrounded by greenery at all times. Our local guide, Isabelle, is in fact based in Kangwon province but comes to Hadong every year for the festival as a volunteer, and hopes to settle down there in due course.
While the festival lasts for only five days, Hadong provides interest all the year round. The tea museum itself is always open, as is the village where Toji is set; and Samgyesa temple where according to legend the Korean pentatonic scale was devised, nestles on the slopes nearby.
22. The House of Choi Cham-pan (90%) (Couple pines and more about Toji)
What is authenticity?
Probably, over the course of Korea’s long history, most of Korea’s precious buildings have burned down and been rebuilt. It’s a natural hazard of building from sustainable materials such as wood. Marauding invaders or revolting slaves can cause great destruction with just a single spark.
The reconstruction work might be done using original techniques, or might incorporate some technological improvements. Probably most of us would not regard one of Korea’s national treasures as unauthentic simply because it has been burned down at some stage. But when precisely does a reconstruction become unauthentic?
Is moving an “authentic” old building from one place to another (as happened, for example, in the creation of the Yongin Folk Village) an act of preservation? Or is it the creation of a theme park? Is the construction of a completely new building using traditional methods committing some sort of fraud on the beholder, or is it evidence of showing a commendable respect for ancient tradition?
When a royal palace or collection of traditional buildings is taken over as a film set, does that somehow cheapen the structure? Probably not. When a collection of picturesque traditional-style buildings is built from scratch to serve as a film set, is the structure worthy of visiting in its own right? Or only if the film is really popular?
And what if you don’t know, when visiting the site, whether it’s “authentic” or not?
This last question was the one that bugged me most, as I was ferried to a beautiful spot up in the hills in Hadong County where a long-running TV series had been filmed. Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t know what I was seeing, and I didn’t have time to ask. Up in Daewonsa temple the following morning, Neunghae Sunim would tell me to take things slowly and relax, but my schedule most of the time would not permit it.
So I had to go with the flow, and simply appreciate where I was on its own terms.
And that was fine. It was a very picturesque spot. A yangban’s house, with a fishpond by the side of which young boys in noble hanbok were playing, had a pretty garden where the wind was gently stirring the trees. Inside the courtyard, a tea ceremony was being enacted as a 5 year-old girl humbly served tea to her mother, backing away five paces before turning to return to her station at the other side of the room. Tears were being shed by the onlookers at such filial piety and devotion.
Outside the courtyard, rustic farmers’ cottages fanned out along pathways and across the terraces. Tea bushes flanked the footpaths, and yellow rape flower added colour. The village commanded spectacular views across the valley plain below. And in the centre of the plain, surrounded by a faintly mauve carpet of alfafa, were two solitary pine trees. The locals called them the “Couple Pines” or the “Husband and Wife Pines” [Bubusong] Their very presence seemed poignant and melancholy, and you could imagine the landmark having special significance in a weepy melodrama.
Jin-tae and Eun-sook are childhood sweethearts and always used to play under the cool shade of the Couple Pines, flying their kites on New Year’s day and sucking on sweet watermelons in the heat of the summer. One day, they have to part, but vow to return in ten years time to see if their love can survive. Meanwhile it is discovered that Jin-tae has in incurable disease, and Eun-sook has been secretly betrothed to … fill in the rest of the details yourself, as the sobbing soundtrack tugs at the heartstrings.
The village itself was used as the set for a long-running TV drama called Toji (The Land), with the storyline by Park Kyung-ni. The Yangban’s house was billed as the House of Choi Cham-pan. And maybe in the story there really was a couple of star-crossed lovers for whom the couple pines had a special meaning. I just didn’t get the chance to ask.
최참판
Since returning home, I’ve had a chance to find out more about Park Kyung-ni and The Land. Had I been more diligent in reading my news clippings over the years, the novel and the author would have registered immediately. It is a very familiar problem that Korean literature is not very well known outside of Korea, and that therefore Korean authors are very little known. But Park Kyung-ni is of such importance that she merited a feature in The Times when she died in May 2008.
23. The Jjimjilbang experience
It was only a couple of hours ago that we had lunch, but Koreans seem to eat dinner early. During the tea festival, our guide Isabelle does well for food: she is usually entertained by the people she is showing around, and this time is no exception. We go to a restaurant which serves a local delicacy: beef bulgogi where the cows have been fed on a diet of pine needles. It's a subtly different flavour, but when you mix it with the normal bulgogi accompaniments of dwenjang, grilled garlic and kimchi some of that subtlety is lost. No matter, it's a hearty dinner, washed down with soju.
We discover that we have not seen the last of the tea festival. We head back to the main festival area and just catch the end of the closing ceremony. The winners of the best tea competition and the most elegant tea ceremony performance collect their prizes from the local mayor. A video montage of highlights from the festival is projected onto giant screens: an elderly couple had clearly found the mutual green tea foot-bathing a moving experience.
The light is fading, and the lanterns along the riverside are lit, giving a slightly magical feeling to the proceedings. With some final speeches, and a brief firework display, the festival is over for this year.
We were in the car heading towards our overnight stop when Morgan asked an unexpected question: “Would you like your jjimjilbang warmed up?”
Those who have been to a jjimjilbang swear by them. These public baths are much more than a steam room, sauna, plunge pool and related facilities. They are places where families can meet and socialise with others, and where drunken businessmen can sleep very cheaply after missing the last bus home. Anna Fifield, in one of her many fascinating Financial Times features on Korea, highlighted the jjimjilbang experiences as one of her favourite things.
But despite being the product of an all-male boarding school, I remain uncomfortable with the concept of public nudity. With the other public bath experiences I have had – the Turkish bath in London’s Royal Automobile Club and a local Hammam in Sana’a where my brother used to live – towels have been available to wrap around one’s waist to enable one to retain a sense of modesty. I once ventured into the entrance of the jjimjilbang of a posh hotel on Busan’s Haeundai beach, and immediately exited on seeing that the towels were the size of face flannels. I hear that’s pretty much standard for Korean jjimjilbangs, so that’s that.
What about the prospect of a private steam room in your cabin at a pension / hotel? That seemed to be the thrust of Morgan’s question, and the concept was a novel one. But I’ve never really seen the point of roasting yourself to perfection, and I thought the whole point of a sauna was the communal experience. So I turned down the opportunity of the private jjimjilbang experience, though I was still intrigued with what I was going to find at our overnight stop.
The car pulls in at what could be a hobbit village. Little wooden huts with pleasingly domed roofs, clustered around the edge of a gravel driveway. There's a stillness in the air. We are allocated our huts. Inside, all is very minimalist: a sink and kettle; a low table, an open wood-fired oven, rustic wooden steps leading to a sleeping area in the roof. And two doors off the ground floor: behind one, a jjimjilbang full of bedding; behind the other, a wooden clad wet-room, complete with wooden bath.
The jjimjilbang has been warming nicely, and I need to open all windows to get the cabin temperature down. There's still some daylight left, and I sit on the balcony behind a low table, working away at my netbook, imagining myself back in Joseon dynasty times studying the Confucian classics. The compound has an intermittent wi-fi service and I catch up on some emails before the reception gives out, while listening to one of Hwang Byunggi's CDs on my iPhone. It's a beautifully calm evening, and soon the bugs start to bother me, so I get an early night.
Thursday 6 May: Sancheong County, day 1
24. A sense of direction
I’m somewhat stiff from sleeping on the floor. Throughout the night different parts of my body were suffering from pins and needles. But the location was peaceful, and I get up rested. Overnight rain has made everything seem greener, but low cloud clinging to the hilltops and wisps of mist rolling over the trees threaten more moisture later.
The sound of the river at the edge of the pension grounds is refreshing, and it's time to sample the bathroom: a highly focussed hand-shower in a room designed for water being splashed everywhere. This is a room designed for Koreans and Japanese. The water-everywhere concept has not yet caught on in the West, and neither have the napkin-sized towels. The latter do an efficient job though.
I’m wondering what sort of people come to this place. It’s quiet and remote, so maybe they come for the walking, but I remain puzzled by the concept of a lodge with private jjimjilbangs. But there is no chance to interview the manager, because the driver has arrived to take us to Sancheong. We say farewell to Miss Lee, who is heading back to Seoul today, and set off.
Maybe I haven’t looked hard enough, but I’ve never seen any road maps of Korea. When I’m on the road, I like to know where I am, where I’m headed, and where I am in relation to various landmarks. I’m very old-school and like to have things in hard copy. A road atlas is my constant companion in the car.
Korea seems to be very 21st Century. Every car I’ve been in seems to be equipped with a Sat-Nav. Amazing devices, which when working, and if fed with the right data, are a boon to mankind – or at least to the driver, because they don’t satisfy my own needs for general orientation in hard copy. And I can’t help think that a Sat-Nav ruins one’s sense of direction. As you turn a corner, the screen always re-orients itself so that Ahead is Up: North, South, East and West are meaningless concepts to a Sat-Nav. All it’s interested in is getting you from where you are to where you want to be. If you’re lucky.
My schedule says that we have to leave our hotel in Hadong Country at 10am and will arrive in Sancheong County at the herb festival at 12 noon. I can’t understand why it takes two hours to travel to the next county, when it only took four hours to get down all the way to Hadong from Seoul. But I leave it to the experts.
Before we know it, we’re on an expressway and getting somewhere fast.
That somewhere is Namwon. Jeollabuk-do. Not the next county, but two provinces away. But with no map, the driver sees nothing unusual at all in the direction he has been heading, and we motor onwards. As far as he’s concerned, the Sat-Nav says go straight on, so that’s what he does, even though straight on is North West from where we started, when we want to go North East[9].
Not to worry. We get to the right place in the end, with the help of my friend who’s exhibiting at the Herb festival, and who has secured the services of the local guide. Where one piece of technology failed us, at least the cellphone doesn’t let us down.
We enter Sancheong town precinct, passing through a disinfectant spray to limit the spread of foot and mouth disease. Kyung-sook and our local guide are waiting for us to show us some of the sights before meeting the local mayor for lunch.
25. Turtle, Phoenix and Seal
Sancheong is a land of mystery and legend. It’s also a small part of Korea with ideas well above its size. Sancheong rice is sent to Cheongwadae. Sancheong dried persimmons are sent to the Queen of England (they have a thank-you letter to prove it). Their strawberries are the sweetest and most expensive in the land, and indeed the early-season fruits which seemed to be everywhere during my visit were among the finest I have tasted.
But what is more precious is the landscape itself. Sancheong means, broadly, mountain purity. The mountain part is easy: Sancheong lies at the foot of Jirisan. The purity comes from the fresh water in Sancheong’s rivers. More important than the obvious features of the landscape, though, is the hidden power, the ki of the earth. Sancheong boasts as spot with one of the strongest levels of energy in Korea.
Nestling on the slopes of Wangsan, one of the peaks in the Jirisan region, is a giant turtle-shaped rock weighing 127 tonnes. Its shell is carved with ornate designs. It rests flat against the mountainside, and is said to be one of the strongest sources of ki anywhere. Rest your hands on the rock for a minute, and you will benefit from that energy.
It is said that Lee Charm came here recently, laid his hands on the stone, and made a wish. Before long, he was head of the Korean Tourism Organisation. On a more mundane level, we were invited to test the rock’s mystic powers. “Make an ‘O’ shape with your thumb and index finger,” instructed Mr Min, our guide. “Try to keep that ‘O’ shape while I try to force your fingers apart with my hands. Remember how hard or easy it is for me to break the ‘O’.” We duly obeyed. “Now place your hands on the rock for two minutes and try it again.”
We were amazed. Was it that our bodies were reinforced with elemental Ki energy? Was it that we knew what to expect? Was it that Mr Min wasn’t trying so hard the second time? Was it that I was reinforcing my index finger with my middle finger? Whatever, I could just about imagine that I managed to withstand Mr Min’s strength for slightly longer after that brief infusion of turtle-power.
Further up the hill was another ornately carved stone, in a perfectly circular shape. The stone is known as The Mirror. And there is a magical tale about it. Originally, the rock was a plain grey. Then, one day, two years ago, the figure of a white phoenix magically appeared in the centre of the stone. It was a portent. And on the same day, 100 wild ginseng roots were found on the slopes of Wangsan, the King’s Mountain, in Sancheong County, a record harvest for one particular day. It was the day that the new Presidential Seal had been completed, something that happens only once every 100 years.
Such is the power of the Earth in Sancheong. But the special energy in Sancheong is more than being just about the Earth. It is about the sky, the earth and mankind being in harmony with each other. The sky brings blessing, the earth brings opportunity, and people help things to happen. Sancheong is said to be the area in Korea with the strongest harmony between sky, earth and mankind; Ha-neul, Ddang, Sa-ram.
It is in this auspicious spot, right by the turtle-rock (symbolising the land) and under the watchful eye of the Phoenix mirror (symbolising the sky), that some traditional temple-style buildings are being constructed. In one of these buildings, in 97 years time, the next presidential seal will be made, using ancient Korean craftsmanship techniques. The seal will be imbued with all the special energy of this special part of Korea.
Until that time, the buildings will form part of the Sancheong infrastructure, helping to host an expanded mountain herb festival, and a festival devoted to Heo Jun, local medical hero and author of Korea’s latest inclusion on the UNESCO world intangible heritage list, the Donguibogam textbook of traditional Korean herbal medicine.
26. Lunch with the mayor
We drive to a quiet restaurant – though in Hadong County that describes most of them. In the shaded car park we are greeted by a large reception committee. The mayor and his wife, all dressed in habok, are waiting, and many of the county officials. I think my friend Kyung-sook has rather over-egged the pre-visit sketch of the visiting journalist, and the local hierarchy are keen to make an impression. More than anything, though, they are keen to make sure the good news of Sancheong's many attractions get to an outside audience.
Inside the restaurant, the lunch is splendid. There's a local variation on samgyetang: O-ri-baek-suk is a rich chicken casserole in a thick black sauce of mushrooms and nuts, to be attached with both chopsticks and spoon. I was seated opposite the mayor, and was grateful that he set the example with what to do with the discarded bones – simply place them on the table cloth.
The local alcohol is a soju stored in bamboo vats, giving it a golden colour. Being used to casual soju-drinking with friends in London I am concerned that I have just received or poured the precious liquid in a disrespectful manner, so I try to make amends by deferentially turning my face away when having a drink. But maybe the mayor is just having an off day.
I take the opportunity of getting some of the background on the Sancheong Herb Festival, and the plans of the organisation committee for the future.
The Sancheong Medical Herb Festival has been going for 10 years now, and seems to get bigger every year. The festival is only a week long, but the organisers claim that they have had 1 million visitors (maybe that's a mistranslation, but the festival area is huge, and seemed respectably busy when I visited.)
They plan to go international in 2013. In that year, the Ministry of Culture have decided that there will be an International Medicinal Herb Festival in Korea, and Sancheong is a prime contender, having the biggest and longest-standing festival, and the only one listed by the Ministry of Culture, though there is competition from four other cities in Jeolla and Gyeongsang provinces. The international festival will also showcase Korea's latest UNESCO “Memory of the World” listing, the herbal medicine text book from the early 17th Century, the Donguibogam. Here again Sancheong has the advantage, being the home town of the text book's author, Heo Jun. Sancheong also claims to be the origin of Korean herbal medicine, and the location where the best quality, most potent, medicinal herbs are grown, thanks to the unique circumstances of Earth Sky and People being in perfect harmony, the pure waters in the area, and the strong Ki energy in the region.
Reflecting this perceived advantage, Sancheong County is investing heavily in the infrastructure for 2013 in a multi-year project with a huge budget of 90 billion won. The complex of traditional buildings near the turtle are due to be completed in time and will form part of the festival's attractions.
I'm convinced, and I look forward to returning to Sancheong in three years' time to see the completed International Festival preparations.
27. The expo incl Heo Jun play and herb museum (40%)
The mayor hurries off for an appointment, leaving the rest of us to finish the soju and then make our way to the festival. It's a huge site, with a big stage, exhibition marquees and seemingly hundreds of smaller tents in which local farmers and herbalists display their wares. We pass a test where monks from Daewonsa are encouraging people to come for a temple-stay. My place is already booked for the evening.
Our first destination is the display tent of my friend Kim Jin-gu: ceramic artist, healer and herbalist. Bringing together all his skills, his stall sells ceramic pots designed for burning medicinal herbs. And, seeing that this is a Korean festival, we have to have the full Experience. Morgan is first, and Jin-gu massages her, feeling the energy flows in her body and reading her personal history: he divines that in a previous life she was a monk. Next, the herbal treatment. The pot of smouldering herbs is placed on her bare stomach, and before long Yoseph and I join her on adjacent bunks. We lie, in the warmth of the spring afternoon, digesting our lunch, drifting in and out of sleep, as the gentle weight of the ceramic containers press down on our bellies and the smell of singed herbs drifts towards the sky. We could have stayed there all afternoon.
After a refreshing cup of tea, it's time to visit some of the other stalls, while our guide tries to give some local history.
Each stall seems to be handing out free samples, usually dark green or brown decoctions which promise to raise my body temperature, reduce my body temperature, heighten the balance in my body. But most of all, they promise stamina. Virtually all the herbs seem to be good for a man's stamina, which, from the hand gestures a gather is a euphemism for sexual performance. I am concerned that when I am at the temple that night I am going to be suffering from acute priapism, hardly a condition conducive to focusing on one's inner self.
We see giant mushrooms and fungi, the inevitable ginseng and herb reductions of all kinds. Most of the produce seems to be geared towards men, but when pressed I find a herbalist who will show me a bag of dried fungus which is good for women.
I pass stalls of herbal soaps, stalls selling Sancheong's famous dried persimmons, and my favourite, after all the not terribly pleasant-tasting samples I had tried: freshly-squeezed Sancheong strawberry juice. We move on to a stall where students from Jinju university are experimenting with cocktail recipes: very colourful, and fortunately not too alcoholic. Another opportunity to experience herbal medicine visitors are invited to try their hand at chopping various herbs using vicious-looking guillotines. I remember the opening scene of Bong Joon-ho's Mother, where the central figure is filmed using exactly this implement to chop her herbs. The finger gets closer and closer to the blade, and her attention is distracted. The camera cuts away from the herbs as the viewer waits for the inevitable scream...
I am told that there's a herbal medicine for any disease you care to mention: you do not need Western medicine. And despite Korea's impressive health system, traditional herbal medicine is growing in popularity. In the last 15 to 20 years, the number of Korean doctors specialising in herbal medicine has grown threefold – from 5,792 in 1990 to 16,732 in 2007. And the medicine on display at Sancheong is definitely herbal. When one thinks of oriental medicine one often thinks of trade in unspeakable body parts of endangered species. There were no bears' gall bladders, powdered rhino horns or tigers' penises at Sancheong. This festival is purely vegetarian.
There's other things to see: a nice little exhibition of bonzai trees, informations boards, and many different shapes and sizes of ginseng roots in coloured oils: some of them look almost human.
From the main stage the PA system is blasting out the latest single by Girls' Generation. Meanwhile, on a smaller stage at a corner of the campus, the story of Heo Jun is played out in a mini-musical.
Little information is available on Heo Jun in English. Indeed, more information is available on the Korean TV drama which is based on his life. Heo was born in Sancheong, and was a famous court physician during the reign of King Seonjo (r 1567–1608). But, so the story goes, his vision was to make medical care available to all, not just the court, and returned to Sancheong.
Heo Jun is best known for compiling the Bonguibogam, the comprehensive herbal medicine text book. The work was completed “with the collective support of medical experts and literati according to royal instruction. The work informs the evolution of medicine in East Asia and beyond. In terms of health care system, it developed the ideals of preventive medicine and public health care by the state, which was virtually an unprecedented idea up to the19th century.”
28. Temple Stay (95%) (Maitreya and pagoda)
We drive up a winding road, through woodland on the side of a valley until we arrive in the car park of Daewonsa Temple, in the foothills of Jirisan mountain. We are met in the car park by a monk well known to our local guide. “She’s my favourite monk,” he tells us. And yes, it seems that Daewonsa is almost exclusively inhabited by female monks.
“Our” monk, who later introduces herself as Neunghae, is in charge of temple-stayers and other visitors. Shaven-headed like all the monks, she has a wonderful smile and radiates an incredible warmth.
We are more than an hour late, and the scheduled evening meal has finished. But whether it’s divine intervention, or the local mayor gently pulling strings, they have kept the refectory open for us.
I follow wherever I am led. And before we do anything else it seems the first thing we must do is pay our respects to Buddha. Not for the first time on this trip, and definitely not for the last, I wish I was wearing slip-on shoes. We enter one of the shrines, having of course taken off our shoes, grab a cushion each from the pile in the corner (two piles for guests, two piles for the monks), and lay them side by side in front of the Buddha statue. I’m not sure what comes next, so I watch my guide out of the corner of my eye. We are going to do some bows, but I’m not sure how many, or what type of bow. If you’re not used to it, keeping your balance as you kneel down, placing your forehead to the ground, turning your palms upwards, and then standing up again, is difficult enough. But when you try to do it while watching what your neighbour is doing, it’s doubly difficult.
It was only three prostrations, and I managed to stumble twice. Not a good introduction to the life of peace at the temple. But it was a got me in training for what was to come.
Exiting the shrine, I grumbled as I tried to get my feet back into my shoes, and decided to give up, instead breaking their heels and using them henceforth as slippers. We are shown to our rooms and then directed to the refectory.
Waiting for us at the table is the mayor’s wife, obviously a well-known figure at the temple. Although there’s generally a segregation of the sexes at mealtimes, I was allowed to sit with my interpreter, the mayor’s wife and the local guide, Mr Min. Yoseph and the driver bond on a separate table.
I like my meat, but I would be perfectly happy being a vegetarian if every day I was fed the type of food I was given at Daewonsa. Countless side-dishes of every conceivable herb and vegetable, in all kinds of dressings, are laid out, together with a doenjang jjigae and rice. My own favourite herb was represented: yeolmae, both in leaf form and berry form. It is said that only Southerners can appreciate Yeolmae. If so, I was a Southerner in a previous life. Morgan, who has never tasted Yeolmae before, and who according to my friend Jin-gu was a monk in a previous life, almost spat it out. She’s obviously a Seoulite through and through.
After supper, our privileged group adjourned to a small room in a corner of the main courtyard, next to the main temple bell, for tea.
A monk sits in the corner of the room, brewing yellow tea, while we sit on the floor around the main table. Perfectly ripe fruits are laid out in front of us, including some of Sancheong’s famous strawberries.
The conversation rumbles on, I’m not sure about what, because it was all in Korean and my interpreter rightly didn’t feel the need to give me a running commentary. Maybe it turned towards acupuncture. For whatever reason, the lady mayor reaches into her bag and gets out her acupuncture needles.
First, Neunghae Sunim bows her head towards Mrs Mayor, to accept the needle in the middle of the skull. She makes all sorts of agonised grimaces to express the pain as the sharp steel went in. But she was just kidding. It’s soon clear that we are all to be treated in this way. Apparently a needle in the centre of the skull takes away your tiredness. To be honest, I didn’t feel a thing when the needle went in (and neither did I feel appreciably less tired), but maybe this was a long-term thing. We were told to leave the needles in until we went to bed for the night. Morgan had extra special treatment. As well as a needle in the top of her head, she also had a needle in the middle of her forehead.
Bbbonnngggg.
It’s 6:45pm, and the temple bell is ringing to signal the end of the day, and banish down the valley any worldly cares and thoughts.
Bbbonnngggg
The rich, round sound resonates around the courtyard, and with each peal a different set of harmonics make themselves heard. Ultimately, as the echo decays, the shifting soundscape settles on a melancholy minor third.
Bbbonnngggg
Somehow the tone is unlike any sound produced by a western church bell. Maybe it’s the fact that the bell is suspended in the open air, not in an enclosed belfry. Or that it’s hit with a wooden hammer rather than a metal clapper.
Bbbonnngggg
I just want to listen in silence to the sound of the bell. But the conversation around the table rattles on regardless. I wonder if it would be impolite to get up and go outside for a bit of peace and reflection. But my good manners get the better of me and I continue to try to pay attention, drinking my tea and picking at the melon, while wishing I was outside.
It’s now time to work out my schedule for the next fifteen hours. Just one night is obviously not enough to be introduced to what Buddhism is all about. And with nothing to go on, Neunghae Sunim asks me what I would like to do, and what I wanted to get out of my visit.
That’s a tricky question, because I’m not sure what temple stays are all about, and to be perfectly honest if I’d been in charge of booking the schedule myself I wouldn’t have booked myself a temple stay. Three o’clock in the morning is not my time of day, and everything I’d heard about temple stays involved getting up at that hour to do some prayers and meditation. How you’re supposed to meditate when you’re more than half asleep I wasn’t sure. But I couldn’t really say that I was only here at the temple because it was on my schedule, so I improvised something non-committal about wanting to find out more about the Buddhist way of life (and that if it involved eating yeolmae every day they might have a recruit).
Neunghae Sunim read me out the options. I was invited to choose as many or as few as I wanted.
This was really embarrassing. Was I expected to go for the full works? Or could I really just go to bed, have breakfast, have a stroll round the area and then leave for the next attraction? Better wait to hear what the options were. They were as follows:
(1) Join the monks for their regular 7:00pm and 3:30am prayers, followed by early morning meditation. It was now 6:55pm, so I’d kind of missed this already, but Neunghae said that was no problem. But 3:30am is definitely not my time of day. And despite my wanting to take advantage of opportunities that presented themselves to me, I considered what other opportunities would be presenting themselves later on during the following day, and how much better I would appreciate them with an extra few hours sleep. So thumbs down to this option.
(2) The 108 bows. I’d heard about this one. People had said what was in store, and how crippling it was. But I thought to myself: how hard can it be? 8pm-8:30pm sounded like a doddle, so that option was on. Besides which, I was told that I could do the 108 bows in a separate chapel so that no-one would see me making a fool of myself and laugh. Even better.
(3) The 9pm bell. This involved sitting in the courtyard listening to the bell. Now that sounded easy. And just right up my street. I was told I also had to meditate, to look in on myself. But they couldn’t really check, could they? Tick, another one for the list. If I could listen to that bell again in perfect peace, that now was really all I wanted from my visit. Forget about anything else.
(4) Some sutra-painting. This would enable me to … well, I can’t really remember what, but it sounded different, and there was some spare time in between breakfast and when we had to leave, so there was nothing to lose.
I even had a choice of breakfast times. Now this was REAL luxury. “What time do you normally get up at home?” I was asked. I could sense that there was the invisible hand of Mrs Mayor involved in this incredible flexibility. Breakfast time at the temple is 6am, and I was quite prepared to fit in with this in the interests of experiencing things to the full. They tried to push me towards an 8am breakfast, and we ended up compromising on 7am.
Toc Toc Toc
It’s 7pm and the prayers are starting. The magical sound of the moktak, the little prayer-drum, floats over the courtyard from the nearest shrine.
Toc Toc Toc
Tac Tac Tac
Another monk joins in. Before long it sounds as if a prayerful company of woodpeckers have taken over the temple, as the sounds seem to come from all directions.
Soon, an infinitely thin strain of chant, like a wisp of smoke rising from an extinguished candle, reaches the ears. Then another strain.
But the conversation over the tea table carries on, swamping the sounds from outside. I can bear it no longer. I make my excuses and walk out into the courtyard to immerse myself in these new sounds.
I take my seat on the stone steps outside the main shrine. The evening is still warm. There’s a gentle breeze which rustles the leaves of the trees, but even louder is the white noise rising from the rapids in the valley below, which almost drowns out the sound of anything else.
A monk tries to usher me into the chapel, but I resist and stay where I am, just listening, with my eyes closed, though I do get out my iPhone and try to record what I am hearing.
I sit facing down the valley, where the sound of the river is coming from. Behind me is the main shrine, where most of the monks seem to be praying. But over to the right, on the far side of the courtyard, there’s another shrine from which more chant and more toc-toc-toc sounds are emanating.
Messiaen could not have conjured up a more magical aural experience. When you try to notate sounds on a sheet of paper lined with musical staves, no matter how much you instruct the musicians to improvise or act spontaneously, there is an element of predictability in the outcome. But I now know towards what such music is unattainably striving.
Behind me and to the right, the moktaks were being struck whenever a monk had a prayer come into her head. Another monk felt moved to express her prayer in chant. This was not the rich, sonorous baritone chant of a Benedictine monastery, but a timid, wasted sound, but nevertheless quietly insistent, in a waveringly thin contralto. The wisps of chant wrapped themselves around the sharp hollow taps of the moktaks. In the trees, an occasional songbird twittered, almost inaudible against the roaring torrent in the valley below. The tiny bells hanging under the eaves of the shrines occasionally tinkled in the wind. And then a new bird joined the symphony, D-C-C-A, repeated once, carefully phrased, and then silence for a few minutes, while she listened to the prayers, before returning to reprise her simple solo.
The 108 bows
The time has arrived for the 108 bows. Strangely, we are told to meet in the car park. But that’s where a large side chapel has recently been built, mainly to minister to visitors on the temple stay programme. The chapel at the moment has none of the internal decoration of the main shrines, and is left plainly simple. Neunghae Sunim is there to welcome us.
The candles on the floor are lit, and we are invited to light some incense sticks and place them on the altar. In front of the candles, cushions are placed on the floor. We are told that there are many woes in the world – as many as 1,080, and we need to repent for each one of them. But beginners are permitted an abbreviated version, only 108.
Neunghae demonstrates the exercise.
“Put your hands together like a lotus bud. Kneel down, sitting on your heels. Then place your arms on the floor, your elbows beside your knees, first the right, then the left. Then place your forehead on the ground. Turn your hands over and raise your palms from the ground. Now there are five points of your body touching the ground: two knees, two elbows, and forehead. Then place your palms flat on the ground again, raise your body, stand up again and return your hands to the lotus-bud position, first the left, then the right.” It was all a bit much to take in.
“Now you try”
“Put your hands together like a lotus bud.” No problem with that. Although I’ve never knowingly seen a lotus bud, I can see what she means.
“Kneel down, sitting on your heels.” Six cracks, as three pairs of knees protest in unison at the unwonted exercise.
“Place your arms on the floor, your elbows beside your knees, first the right, then the left.” Relatively straightforward.
“Place your forehead on …”
YEEEOOOWWWCH.
Morgan had forgotten the acupuncture needle that was still in her forehead. It rather shattered the mood of the moment, and she retired hurt.
To help us through the 108 bows, Neunghae announced that she was going to put on a CD. The instructions: “Whenever you hear a moktak, bow. And then get up quickly, or you won’t be ready for the next one.”
A quiet, enveloping music started emanating from the speakers. A kind of generic, soothing, anonymous music that you might be played while receiving holistic therapy. “Oh dear. I hope this isn’t going to be too distracting,” I thought.
Just as distracting was the accent of the voiceover that was going to be leading the prayers for the next twenty minutes. “We pray to Boo Dar…” It took me a moment to figure out who he was talking about, and I resolved to try to filter out these distractions: I had to enter into the spirit of things, and experience it to the full. But my battle against distractions was itself a distraction, and I wondered if I was ever going to settle down.
Toc-toc-toc.
It’s time for the first prostration. The knees crack again. I bow and stagger back up again.
Toc-toc-toc.
These prostrations are coming thick and fast. Neunghae wasn’t kidding when she told us to get up quickly.
Toc-toc-toc.
I soon find I’m getting into the rhythm. I might not be doing them perfectly, but it’s good enough for me. My knees are no longer cracking, but now there’s another distraction: with each prostration my cushion is inching closer and closer to the candle on the floor in front of it, threatening a conflagration, so each time I struggle back up to my feet I try to pull the cushion back towards me.
I gradually settle down into the gentle exercise and start letting the repetitive prayers enter me. We were repenting for our individual and collective sins, against each other, against nature, against the environment, and for all our petty ways. We were vowing to make amends, and seeking healing. For anyone used to the confession and intercessions at Christian church services these prayers were second nature, but somehow the physical rigours of prostrating yourself at every confession reinforced the meaning.
I had no idea how many bows I had done, but they seemed to be passing very quickly. The prayers seemed to be winding up, and then suddenly it was all over. I felt I could have carried on for another 108. The exercise of confessing seemed remarkably healing, but having stopped I now felt hot, giddy and slightly nauseous from the exertion. It was good to get out into the dark night air waiting for me outside the chapel.
The 108 bows as exercise
The 9 o’clock bell
I’m not sure if the monks do their 108 bows every day. If they do, we did not see it because we did our bows in a separate chapel. And if they do, I’m sure they don’t listen to that CD when they’re doing it.
But I was expecting the 9 o’clock bell to be a communal experience. As it turned out, it was a meditation activity designed solely for their temple stay guests, of whom there were just the three of us.
We gathered in the courtyard as instructed. Neunghae Sunim had brought crash-mats, blankets and tea for us, for this was to be a deluxe meditation. I had brought my iPhone with me so that I could record the temple bell. But under Neunghae’s watchful eye I didn’t feel able to get it out of my pocket. I had to be doing this meditation thing properly.
First, we have to sit on the mats cross-legged, keeping our backs as straight as possible, and look back in on ourselves. And we wait for the temple bell to sound. The mellow rings possess us, but this time, the bell is only struck three times and the experience was over before we had time to savour it to the full.
After a while, Neunghae instructs us to lie down, and she covers us in the blankets. Very cosy. I feel myself drifting off, lulled by the sound of the river below and the rustling leaves above.
Suddenly, something drops onto the mat beside me from the tree above. I wonder what sort of bug it is. What sort of bugs live up in the mountains and drop on you from trees? Probably big scary ones with thick shells. Something else drops. I want to turn to investigate what they are, but I’m meant to be meditating. I want to smash them with my fist, but during the course of the 108 bows I have just repented of all the creatures I have needlessly killed in my life, and I don’t want to have to repent all over again so soon. I wait for the bugs to start crawling on my face, and the opening title sequence of Shiri flashes in front of my mind’s eye, when the North Korean agents have to stay motionless as a scorpion crawls over them.
This is not what you’re supposed to be thinking about when you’re meditating. But the bugs, or whatever they are, don’t crawl on my face, and my thoughts drift off somewhere peaceful again.
All too soon, Neunghae is back, pouring us refreshing tea from a thermos flask. It was a pleasant, dreamlike experience, and now it’s time to retire for bed.
I’m sharing my rather palatial guest room with Yoseph, while Morgan has one to herself. After figuring out which bits of bedding are meant for lying on and which are meant as coverings, Yoseph elects for some mutual privacy and occupies the kitchen area. We turn out the lights and relish the luxurious warmth of the underfloor heating. Yoseph, perhaps missing elements of the real world down in the valley and back in Seoul, watches an episode of his favourite TV drama on his media player, while I try to sort out some notes. But soon sleep calls.
Friday 7 May: Sancheong County, day 2
29. Early morning prayers and sutra-painting
I wake up at 3 o’clock. My body seems to be ready for early morning prayers even though I hadn’t signed up for them. And I wanted to hear those moktaks and chants again, so I stumbled into my clothes and went out to the main temple courtyard to wait for the prayers to start.
I am rewarded not only with the moktaks and chants, but the main temple bell as well. I sit listening for half an hour, before returning to my room to catch a couple of hours’ sleep before breakfast.
Breakfast is pretty similar to supper the previous evening: rice and vegetable side dishes with a rich variety of tastes. I could eat this for every meal, without any problem.
Our next appointment is sutra-painting. Again, we meet in the car park to go to the side chapel meant for use by temple-stayers. Two tables are laid out with black paper and gold paint blocks. Yoseph and I are to do the painting, while Morgan is on translation and camera duty.
We take our seats on the floor and await further instruction. The black paper is faintly marked with an intricate tracery of lines which depict a seated [maitraya]. We are to paint over these delicate lines with the gold paint and the brush provided. The exercise is in patience, concentration, but because it does not require too much brainpower it is also intended as an aid to meditation, to help you focus on yourself.
The only thing I can focus on is that there’s an awfully large number of lines to paint, and they’re very fiddly, and the driver is coming in an hour’s time to take us away. I wonder where I’m supposed to start, and decide on the eyes.
With hindsight, I realise that was a bit of a faux pas. I later thought back to my visit to Haeinsa the previous year, when a lot of the external temple paintings were being restored. All the paintings were pretty much finished, apart from the Buddha’s faces. The faces and eyes are always the last to be painted.
Never mind. I carry on. The brush seems too thick, the paint seems too dry, and I’m never going to finish it in time.
“Slow down. Relax. Enjoy yourself,” was the constant message from Neunghae. I try, but I’m torn between wanting to do a good job and wanting to finish it off. Neunghae realises that she’s not going to get me to relax unless she starts helping me out with the picture. I’m amazed by her dexterity, by the smoothness and delicacy of her lines, and by her unhurried execution. I enjoy listening to the musical sound of her voice as she chats and laughs with Morgan. She is totally relaxed, unselfconscious, and helps me to unbend as well.
I ask her about life in the temple: how cut off from the world are they? Do they listen to the news? Apparently it depends. Some of the monks focus on meditation and on their inner lives. These monks don’t follow the news. Other monks go out into the world, or try to introduce people to Buddhism. In order to engage with the world, they need to know what’s happening in it. So yes, they do follow the news.
With Neunghae’s help, the painting is soon finished, and she then embellishes it with an inscription. Yoseph is not far behind.
I’d forgotten that we were due to have more tea before setting off on our travels again. We return to the room at the corner of the courtyard where we had drunk tea the previous evening. There is a large glass bowl of yellow tea with a lotus flower floating in it. On the table is more fruit, and dark green rice cakes made that very morning by the senior monk herself.
We are joined for tea by our local guide and by my local friend Kyung-sook, who has done so much to introduce me to Korean culture. We talk about the history of Daewonsa – how it was burned in the partisan struggles which preceded the Korean War, to be rebuilt years later through the dedication of a woman who used to be a banker. I learned that Park Chan-soo, whose sculpture was currently on display in London, and who is helping to oversee the rebuilding of Gwanghwamun, and who is an advisor to the Bucheon Intangible Cultural Heritage Expo (clearly an important figure in Korean culture) used to live at Daewonsa.
The temple is a special place, in a beautiful and peaceful location. Before leaving, we have the opportunity to explore the grounds more fully. We see the storage area where the big earthenware jars of kimchi, home-made soy sauce and bean paste are carefully arranged and labelled. We are shown the ancient pagoda, national treasure [ ], and savour to the last the atmosphere of the place in the warm morning sun.
Neunghae tell us that our stay has been too short. She is, of course, right.
30. Remembering the Partisan struggle (80%) (research on Jejudo and Daejeon. Rebuilding of Daewonsa. Final paragraph)
Sancheong County, nestling at the feet of Jirisan in Gyeongsangnam-do, has two memorial museums to the struggle between the leftist partisans and the Southern military and civilian authorities at the time of the Korean War.
The key headlines of the conduct of the Korean War itself are well known: the Northern sweep southwards, the UN Incheon landings and advance beyond Pyongyang, followed by the Chinese drive back south ending in the stalemate near where everything started three years earlier. But behind these headlines, tragic as they are, there is the more tragic story of Korean fighting an ideological war against Korean. It was a struggle which started well before the formal outbreak of hostilities in 1950.
To those who like to explore Korean history through watching Korean film, the classic ones to illuminate this aspect of the Korean war are Im Kwon-taek's Taebaek Mountains and Chong Ji-young's Nambugun[10].
The first major pre-Korean war conflict of this nature was in Jeju-do, [ a bit more detail of the massacre ] after which some partisans escaped to Daegu and ultimately to the Jirisan area. Conflict was rife in the Jirisan area well before the outbreak of the Korean war – and indeed in 1948 the picturesque Daewonsa temple was a casualty of the fighting between leftist elements and the police force, not to be rebuilt until [ ]. But the mountain strongholds proved to be a strong base for the partisans. And following the early successes of the Northern armies the partisan numbers grew stronger as people were encouraged to join with the promise of the best jobs following the inevitable communist victory. Additionally, the sweep south by the Northern armies brought reinforcements in the form of regular North Korean soldiers.
The UN counterattack at Incheon, half way up the west coast, did nothing to clear out the Jiri mountains in the south, and the partisans remained a thorn in the side of the Southern forces, carrying out acts of sabotage and raiding towns and villages for food. The Chinese intervention brought new hope. In the Jiri mountains, the conflict led to atrocities on both sides.
One of the more controversial incidents took place on 7 February 1951, two days before the New Year festival of Seollal, when several villages were cleared by southern forces under the harmless-sounding Plan Number 5, a scorched earth policy to tighten the grip on Wangsan, one of the peaks in the Jirisan area. Unofficial statistics place the number of civilian deaths at 705 (the official death count is 386), as villagers were rounded up and shot by Southern soldiers. Statistics also indicate that nearly half the dead (45%) were under 19 years of age; 84% of the casualties were women, the elderly, or children. The story is movingly told in a 15-minute film shown in the Sancheong-Hamyang Massacre Memorial Park museum in Sancheong County. Elderly survivors of the incident, small children at the time of the shootings, are interviewed and display their wounds. Outside, visitors are invited to keep silence at the foot of the memorial to the incident, and remember that war drive humans to atrocious acts.
Later in 1951, the dirty job of aiming to root out the rebels fell to General Paik Sun Yup, who had fought with distinction in the conflict further north. Learning the lessons of what had gone before, one of his key objectives was not to alienate the local civilian population, while still offering no quarter to the partisans. The operation as a whole was called Operation Rat Killer.
[A safe conduct pass, issued by Paik Sun Yup, encouraging partisans to surrender, displayed in the Nambugun memorial museum, Sancheong-gun.]
While General Paik's campaign against the partisans was judged to be a success, it did not completely eliminate the threat. Indeed, clean-up had to carry on for a further ten years after the 1953 armistice was signed. The last partisans were shot or captured in November 1963. The cottage where the last partisan was caught is the centrepiece of the Nambugun memorial museum, nestling on the hillside beneath what is now a bamboo forest. The last partisan herself, Jeong Suk-deok, was found hiding in the ondol system under the kitchen floor, a place so hot she thought no-one would think of looking there. She was wounded, captured, and eventually died in 1993. The two museums provide an interesting contrast: one a conventional museum documenting a troubled episode in Korean to educate the current generation, and the other a more emotive experience designed to commemorate an appalling tragedy and reminding us that in war humans are capable for terrible deeds.
It is museums like this which [blah]
Further reading:
Sancheong-Hamyang Massacre Memorial Park:
31. Namsa-ri Hanok Village (80%) (Rice dish, red bean ice and Hague conference)
Another lunchtime treat today. Sancheong is known for its rice, indeed I was told that the Blue House wouldn’t accept any other rice. This particular restaurant’s speciality is [ ]. Rice mixed with nuts and beans is brought in a sizzling stone bowl. There are the usual vegetable and meat side dishes. On finishing the rice, water is poured into the bowl and the charred grains scraped off the bottom for a tasty rice tea. It’s the sort of thing that would probably be regarded as frightfully bad manners in England, but it’s a way of making sure than not any of that precious rice is wasted.
The restaurant is a popular one, and in a private room on the side a large party of dignitaries from Seoul are tucking in to their own lunch.
Next on the agenda is a visit to the local hanok village. The village’s name is Namsa-ri. Unlike the folk village in Yongin, which is an artificial creation, this one is the genuine article. Not every building is in traditional style, but the gems that remain are worth a visit. We walk down a long alleyway, tall walls on either side preventing roving male eyes from seeing the timid womenfolk on the other side. Or maybe it’s the other way round, because we were told that the reason see-saws and swings were a popular diversion with young Joseon dynasty girls was so that they could propel themselves high enough to see over the walls and eye up the local boys.
At the end of the alley we come across the local yangban’s house. Its grounds are open to the public, but the house itself is still inhabited by a “real” person. To demonstrate its ongoing use, an exercise bike is on the veranda.
To the side of the male reception rooms is a door in the tall garden wall leading through to the women’s quarters. Open the door, and you see another tall wall. After all you don’t want casual passers-by to get a sneak peek of the ladies as you go through. In order to get through to the women’s quarters you need to go round a corner, having shut the door.
Although it’s early May, the sun is beating down fiercely. Korea’s famed four distinct seasons seem to be reducing to two: springs and autumns are getting shorter and shorter, and today it seems like summer already. The sun is bright, and the red azaleas are almost painful on the eye against the green of the grass. In another corner of the courtyard is the kitchen garden: one of the few places the wife and mother-in-law can easily talk and gossip about the husband of the house.
At the end of another passageway is the old village school, still in impressive condition. One of the rooms is available for rent, for families to sleep in overnight. Why would they want to do that? Namsan-ri, like Sancheong more generally, is full of ki energy from the earth, and the energy seems to be strongest in this school building. Once again, our guide demonstrated the power of ki. Yoseph was asked to make the “O” with his thumb and index finger, and Mr Min tried to break the “O” before and after Yoseph placed his hands on the wall of the building to absorb some of the energy. Yoseph didn’t look convinced, but Mr Min carried on regardless. “You see? And that’s why people sit on the floor in Korea. It’s to absorb the ki energy from the earth.” And there was me thinking it was to get the warmth from the toasty warm ondol system…
And there’s more to be said of Namsa-ri, a tiny hamlet, in the small county of Sancheong. It has produced three national assemblymen. Admiral Yi Sun-shin stayed there on his way to giving the invading Japanese another bloody nose with his famous turtle ships. And it was in Namsa-ri that a secret plot was hatched to send a Korean delegation to the Hague Peace conference in 1907. This was a big international conference designed to [ ]. Since 1905, Japan had governed Korea’s foreign policy as an interim stage towards full annexation in 1910. Nationalists saw the conference as an opportunity to protest about Japanese occupation of Korea and to proclaim independence. The problem was, as Korea didn’t have its own foreign policy they couldn’t send their own delegation. A secret proclamation was drafted on hanji, Korea’s famous indestructible mulberry paper. The paper was rolled up into rope, and a pair of sandals was woven out of the rope. And thus was the crucial document smuggled out of Korea to the Hague, to alert the international community to Japan’s aggression.
Sancheong is truly a place in which legends are made.
The Korean delegation to the conference were unsuccessful in getting their message fully heard, but represented a brave manifestation of nationalist resistance to Japan.
After such heroic tales, a cup of tea was in order, and Namsa-ri has a perfect tea-shop, packed with curios for sale. We ordered a round of [P'at' Bing Soo ]: sweet red beans, fresh fruit, and a milky sauce piled on top of crushed ice. A perfect refresher for a hot day.
32. Song Chol (90%) (Further research on his life)
Song Chol Sunim is one of Korea’s most eminent Buddhists. When he died in 1993, he was so popular that he was named Man of the Year. But that was not the most remarkable story about his death. It is said that after his cremation, the mound of ash contained [28] crystals.
There is little available on his life in English: a one-page biography can be found on a general Buddhist website.
What is Buddhism all about? I confess to knowing very little. One night of temple stay, and browsing round a few exhibitions of Buddhist art, does not qualify as a proper introduction.
In Daewonsa, Neunghae Sunim, took a pleasingly laid back approach to the Buddhist life. “Don’t rush things” and “Enjoy yourself” seemed to be the most frequently heard injunction as I laboured painstakingly (though with an eye on the clock) over my sutra painting. I’m sure there was some more complex guidance she was trying to offer, but it either got lost in translation or I was so keen to latch on to the good news that Buddhism was all about chilling out that I couldn’t cope with any other new information.
My local guide Mr Min also tried to give me a crash course on just about everything Sancheong had to offer. The problem is, every topic seemed like a Mastermind Specialist Subject in its own right. Korea’s ancient herbal medicine; the history of the leftist partisan struggle, 1948-1963; the history of the Kaya kingdom; Elements of Buddhist philosophy; Ancient Korean geomantic theory and Taoist thought; the life and times of Song Chol; traditional Korean architectural practices and their connection with Confucian hierarchy. The list of topics was never-ending, and difficult enough to communicate to a novice even in the same language, but nigh-on impossible to convey to a foreigner. My interpreter Morgan certainly earned her keep during our stay in Sancheong, and every now and then needed to take a break, when her translation duties were assumed by Kyung-sook or Yoseph.
Throughout the two-day tour around the sights of Sancheong the one constant message that Mr Min tried to impress on me was that obsession and Buddhism did not go together. He was in despair at trying to convey the full story of the Seon master’s life, and the complexity of the Buddhist concepts that the reverent monk grappled with. So instead he told me some simple human interest stories about Master Song Chol’s life which indicated his devotion to achieving personal enlightenment. But to an unsophisticated lay person such as myself, it seemed that Master Song’s devotion to the Buddhist way, and his avoidance of the earthly life, bordered on that cardinal sin, Obsession. In a very holy way, of course.
Take his early decision to abandon his wife, six months pregnant with his daughter, to start following the Buddhist path and sever his ties to the past. Or his reluctance to meet his teenage daughter when she wanted to connect with the father that she had never set eyes on all her life. Or his reluctance to permit his mother to visit him: When his fellow monks remonstrated with him, he pointed out that some Chinese monk had done the same and had ended up becoming an even greater sage. On this point though his fellow monks finally persuaded Master Song to relent, and he duly carried his aged mother around the mountain on his back.
And how about this as a way of pruning your diary of unwanted meetings? Anyone who wanted to see him was told that they first had to prostrate themselves 3,000 times. The idea was that during the course of this intense Buddhist devotional exercise, they would figure out the answer to whatever problem they were going to ask Master Song about. I’m heartily in agreement that the lessons you learn for yourself are the ones that you learn best.
But Master Song’s pursuit of enlightenment, which involved sacrifice by himself and by those dear to him, and years of self-discipline, study and meditation, resulted in…. [ ]
My apologies to devout Buddhists who may be offended by my somewhat flippant treatment of one of the most prominent and admired of modern-day Korean Buddhist monks. I am only relaying what I was told on an all-too-brief visit, and in the absence of readily-available English biographical information about the great man, I look forward to being sent plenty of corrections so that I can pay proper respect to him next time I am in Sancheong, which I hope will be soon.
33. Sancheong's finest potter
In 1592, Japan invaded Korea. Their ultimate destination was China, but they never got further than Korea, and they wrought havoc there. During their occupation, which lasted on and off until their second invasion in 1598 was repelled by Admiral Yi Sun-shin's famous turtle ships, they sent back to Japan in their ships a human cargo which speaks volumes about the schizophrenic nature of the Japanese psyche at the time.
First, reflecting the barbaric ruthlessness of the samurai spirit, were piles of Korean noses. To validate the number of enemy killed, it was conventional to decapitate the vanquished corpse and send the head back home. But the Koreans were slaughtered in such numbers that their heads took up too much room in the ships, so as a concession the soldiers were permitted to send back only the noses. A grassy burial mound of Korean noses, erroneously called Mimzuka, the ‘Mound of Ears’, can been found in Kyoto[11].
Second, reflecting the artistic sensibilities of the Japanese elite, were Korean potters, kidnapped and sent to Japan to practice their skills there. Japan had nothing to match the sophisticated simplicity of Korean ceramic art, and desperately wanted it[12]. So Korean potters were forced to live and work in Japan. Their skills were perpetuated by their descendents over the centuries.
It seems their descendants settled comfortably in their new country. In the 1970s, Park Chung-hee tried to persuade some of them back to Korea, to bring some of the ancient arts back to the mother country. But the best deal that he could secure was that one of the surviving descendants of the kidnapped potters, Yoon Do-gwan, agreed to accept three Korean potters as students to re-teach them the ancient arts. One of those students was Min Young Ki, who lives in Sancheong. Min studied with Yoon for fiave years, and his skill and artfulness flourished.
Coming full circle, a retired Japanese prime minister, Hosokawa Morihiro[13], happened to have a love of the simple lines of Korean pottery, and wanted to learn the art of Korean ceramics from a Korean, in Korea. The potter he came to was that same potter, Min Young Ki, and he visited Min's studio in Sancheong on a regular basis.
Min's studio proudly shows a photograph of him with his illustrious pupil, together with many of the outstanding works produced by him and his son, who has also continued the family pottery tradition. Outside the studio, mounds of local clay stand waiting to be used – it’s a white clay which can take firing at a higher temperature than most.
Min hopes to have an exhibition in London soon, maybe in Gallery Bresson, where Korean ceramic artist Roh Kyung-jo exhibited a couple of years ago. We look forward to it.
34. Makgeolli, Maeuntang and a fashion show (10%)
We sat outside in a pavilion overlooking the river as the sun went down picnicking on tiny fish deep-fried with the usual side dishes washed down with makgeolli, while we waited for the rest of our party to arrive. There followed an unusual speciality of the local Saengcho Restaurant: a maeuntang stew with freshwater fish, seasoned with yeolmae, the fragrant mountain herb. More makgeolli followed. Before we could get really stuck in to 2009's most talked-about drink, a call came from the mayor's wife to ask why we weren't at the fashion show. [Sparrows]
The Sancheong Medicinal Herb Festival seems to be full of special events. This one was a hanbok fashion show inspired by the story of local hero Heo Jun. Cue lots of colourful costume of serving girls, palace attendants, king and queen and the great doctor himself.
Saturday 6 May: Sancheong to Seoul
35. The Jirisan trail (50%)
The Jirisan trail provides a well signposted and easy-to-follow walking experience through the foothills of mainland South Korea's highest peak. It passes in front of the Sancheong-Hamyang Massacre museum which commemorates the sad killings of innocent villagers by South Korean forces during the fight against leftist partisans in the Jirisan area. This was where we picked up the trail for a pleasant stroll through fields, crossing stream and climbing a gentle wooded gorge containing waterfalls and rock-pools. On one flatted rock a group of eight locals were happily picnicking surrounded by the cool water.
The whole Jirisan trail extends from [ ] in the West (Jeollanam-do) to [ ] in the East, a distance of [ ]. There was nothing too strenuous in the section we completed, in between the museum and the road leading down to the King's Tomb. Pleasant views over the peaks, gentle breezes and rather less crowded than a weekend hike on Bukhansan. It was a welcome break from sightseeing.
Apart from the picnickers, we only encountered one small party of hikers, professionally kitted out with walking boots, ski-like sticks to aid walking and rucksacks for daily necessities. For the short section we walked such gear was not necessary, though there were a fair amount of reasonable-sized stones on the path and a pair of decent lightweight walking shoes would probably have suited us better than the trainers we were wearing.
For herb-spotters there were plenty of medicinal and edible leaves on the trail, including my favourite, yeolmae.
36. The Last King of Kaya
Korea is rightly proud of its heritage, and submits the most select elements of its long history to UNESCO for inscribing in the list of important world heritage items. One of the most recent items to have been so listed is the Joseon Dynasty Royal Tombs. They are beautifully peaceful places to visit. Perfectly manicured grassy mounds, in a perfect setting: hill behind, river in front.
The tomb of the last king of Kaya is a different affair: darker, enclosed, and more melancholy in feeling. And the most obvious difference is that there is no grass growing on the mound.
The Kaya confederacy flourished 42-532 CE. It was based in the South-western part of current Gyeongsangnam-do, incorporating Jirisan mountain. Though blessed with rivers, sea and mountains the space was not perhaps big enough to enable Kaya to survive against its stronger neighbours – and in particular the Silla kingdom whose centre was in Kyongju, in modern Gyeongsangbuk-do. With his life coming to an end, King Guhyeong of Kaya realised that his kingdom would not survive his death, and he felt unworthy of the expense of a grassy burial mound. He ordered that his tomb should be unfinished, just a mound of stones.
At least, that's the local story, and a moving tale it is. And more, the site is said to be influenced not by the conventional pung-su to be found in royal tombs (hill behind, water in front), though to most people's eyes that is indeed a factual description of the topography of the place. There is said to be deeper meaning in the landscape, revealing the shape of a tigress suckling her cub. According to the tale, just as when a tiger looking after her cub will not defend herself, so the last king of Kaya accepted his fate and met his end gracefully, and the site for the tomb was chosen so that the landscape was similar to the shape of the tigress.
The information provided at the entrance to the tomb provides a more cautious and pedestrian speculation as to its history, but the signposts on the mountain trails are bolder, pointing unequivocally to Wangneung: the King's Tomb. Together with Wangsan, the King's Mountain, the place names in Sancheong claim a history back to pre-Silla times.
The site is one of the many interesting attractions of Sancheong county, and as if to emphasise its special history when I visited in early May there was one last cherry tree holding on to its blossom, long after all the blossom further north in Seoul and elsewhere in Sancheong and Hadong counties had fallen from the trees.
A short drive back to the seal centre for lunch at a local speciality restaurant serving Shabeu shabeu – piles of mushrooms, mountain leaves and thinly-sliced beefed boiled in stock at your table. This was our farewell lunch and we toasted the end of our travels with some creamy dongdongju – far to be preferred over the thinner and sometimes slightly acidic makgeolli.
37. The ever-popular Park Soo-keun
Arriving back in Seoul, there was just time to check out whether Hyundai Gallery's marketing spend on their Park Soo-keun blockbuster show was justified. Park is one of Korea's post-war artists, a safe bet in the auction room regularly selling for $300,000 in the US and occasionally breaking new highs – at one point Park held the record for a Korean painting at auction – around $2 million. This exhibition marked the 45th anniversary of his death.
The images are domestic, nostalgic and of an immediately recognisable style which is all Park's own – he was self taught and thus did not follow any particular school of painting. His work spans the 1950s and 1960s up to the time of his death in 1965. The images of women at a market place, or people simply sitting under a tree, hark back to an imagined time of innocence before war and the colonial period scarred Korea's 20th century history. There is never much motion in Park's paintings. Even the painting of four dancing nongak gong-players looks static, albeit with a certain jagged energy. Presented in profile, they recall the paintings on Egyptian tombs. The portrait of a woman pounding grain does not show the hard labour involved, but rather conjures up the woman's long and patient life. In fact, in most of Park's paintings there is a sense of waiting for something that may never happen.
The colours are muted, in simple rustic ochres and earthy tones, and the rough texture of the oil is reminiscent of Buncheon ware pottery. Most of the time the blurring of the image adds to the fond sense of nostalgia, but sometimes the obscuring of detail is self-defeating: the painting of girls playing with jackstones could easily be titled Women Sitting, as indeed are so many of his other paintings, because the stones cannot be picked out in the coarseness of the grain.
Possibly the most atmospheric paintings are those which suggest a journey is taking place – women walking along a road flanked with forlorn and bare winter trees. Park's trees normally seem to be bare, but occasionally a happy exception is presented – for example a magnolia in full bloom was another favourite of mine.
Unlike the Kang Ik-joong exhibition which closed a week beforehand, Hyundai was charging admission for this show. Park Soo-keun is always popular with Koreans, though, and the 5,000 Won price tag was not deterring the visitors. And the limited edition prints at the front of the gallery priced at up to 300,000 Won seemed to be attracting the punters. Worth a visit as an opportunity to see a generous collection of Parks in one place. And if you're very rich you could buy one.
38. The Korean Literature Project (30%)
I was back in Seoul earlier than I had expected, and seized the opportunity to link up with another blogger whose work I respect. Charles Montgomery, who came to Seoul three years ago and teaches on the Advanced Interpretation and Translation programme at Dongguk University, started the Korean Literature in Translation blog () earlier this year. The site has rapidly secured its place in the blogosphere as an interesting and focused source of information on Korean Literature.
39. Rakkoje (0%)
Text
Sunday 9 May: Departure
40. The Return home (30%)
Returning to the hotel I discover that the concept of a Considerate Contractor scheme, such as makes the constant road and office construction work less unbearable in London, is an alien concept in Seoul. With a military precision which would have cleared the partisans out of Jirisan in a jiffy, a road repair team had simultaneously sealed off both ends of my alley with piles of tarmac, bulldozers and heavy rollers. The thought of working from one end of the alley to the other so that local residents could get access in or out did not seem to cross their minds. Down to earth with a bump. Yes, Korea has many attractions to offer, wonderful food, scenery and culture, but every now and then you get a rude awakening. Not enough to stop you wanting to come back.
Seoul is World Design City, but at least one airline could do with a design makeover inside their cabins, and possibly some training on how to board a plane without stressing people out. Once inside the plane, the cabin staff are faultless and extremely well-presented in their pastel uniforms. But why does an airline stuff the back-of-seat pockets with so many fat magazines (which hardly no-one ever reads – particularly the duty free magazine) that passengers can't fit any of their own reading materials in there? And which bash even vertically challenged people like me in the knee when the person in front reclines their seat over-enthusiastically? With no space under the seat in front to store baggage because of large dangling life-jacket containers, and an over-burdened and under-powered in-flight entertainment system I can understand why a colleague I bumped into in the boarding lounge says his preferred airline is the other one.
부부송 Couple pine
샤브샤브 Nice meal!
Follow-up
Ken Nah
Thanks so much for your time when I visited Seoul last week. It was a very informative and interesting discussion. Sorry about the Pimatgol question!
I just wanted to clarify one thing from our discussion. You mentioned that each new building in Seoul has to have a new feature. Is that requirement just a guideline, or does it have the force of law? Ie, How strictly is it enforced?
Isabelle Kwak
Thanks so much for your time when I visited Hadong last week. You were a very well informed guide. I have yet to visit Kangwon-do, so maybe next time I shall have to come and stay in Toscavini!
I wonder if you could answer a couple of questions
The name of the folk village
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[1] The rituals are listed as Korean intangible cultural heritage item 56, while the music is item 1, and the both were inscribed in UNESCO’s list of masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity in 2001
[2] The Jongmyo shrine is a UNESCO World Heritage site since 1995 and Korea’s Historic Site number 125
[3] See interview with Euro Journal, August 2008:
[4] See exhibition review in London Korean Links, December 2008:
[5] Keith Pratt raised this possibility in a talk on the traditional music scene and cultural revival in Korea in the 1970s, presented at the London Korean Cultural Centre on 28 April 2010 (“On First Hearing the Court Nightingale: Reflections on Music in Korea in the 1970s”)
[6] See
[7] The fact that these outlets are run by a government organisation seems to answer a question that troubled me last time I passed through Incheon: why don't these shops include selected CDs of easily accessible Korean traditional music, or the gugak fusion CDs heard in tourist shops everywhere? I'm guessing that a CD by, say, the Sookmyung Kayageum Orchestra would be outside of the remit of these stores, because it is not a product created by the holder of an intangible cultural property. It’s a slight pity that tourists are not able to make a harmless impulse-buy of this nature.
[8] The learned English enthusiast of Korean tea, Brother Anthony of Taize, calls him the Father of Korean Tea:
[9] As a brief aside, has anyone been misdirected by exit maps in Seoul subway stations? You look at them briefly, see the “You are here” arrow, do a quick orientation check and walk in the direction of the desired exit. Beware. Maps in the Seoul subway are oriented Sat-Nav style. The direction you are facing is always at the top of the map. So if you are used to maps always having north at the top, and the map is on the south wall of the arcade, it will be upside down and you will be directed to precisely the opposite end of the station from where you want to be. I’m always falling for that trick.
[10] Director Chong was in London during April 2010 for a screening of his film White Badge – which explores Korea's involvement in the Vietnam War. I asked him what film, from whatever period in the history of Korean cinema, he thought best captured the Korean war. After some thought, he answered “Nambugun”.
[11] See Stephen Turnbull, Samurai Invasion, Japan’s Korean War 1592-1598, page 195
[12] It is said that the finest pots were so prized that Hideyoshi, the Japanese regent who ordered the invasion of Korea in 1592, rewarded successful generals with ceramics.
[13] Hosokawa was prime minister for eight months, 1993-94.
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The Jongmyo Rites:
the terminology
Jongmyo Daeje = “Great Rites”, used interchangeably with Jongmyo Jerye = “Rites for the Royal Ancestors”.
Jongmyo Jeryeak = “Music for the Rites for the Royal Ancestors”
Jongmyo: the Royal Shrine itself.
The five colours, directions, mythical beasts and elements
Black | North | turtle | water
Red | South | phoenix | fire
Blue | East | dragon | wood
White | West | tiger | metal
Yellow | Centre | dragon | earth
Five Effects of Tea
Helps one to absorb oneself in reading, and quenches one's thirst
Remove one's spleen in one's mind
Help one keep a polite rapport and a sincere relationship with guests
Remove parasites from one's body
Eliminates a hangover
Hanjae Yi Mok (1471-1498)
Six Efficacies of Tea
Helps one lead a long life
Helps disease to be healed
Makes the spirit clean
Makes one's mind comfortable
Makes one a Taoist hermit with superpowers
Makes one courteous
Hanjae Yi Mok (1471-1498)
Tea life of the English
In England, tea is much more than just a drink. The act of making and serving tea forms the basis of all social gatherings. In England, drinking tea does not simply mean drinking tea but also refers to the food that will be served with the tea. Therefore “having tea” can be said to be a social reception.
The English made acquaintance with tea relatively late. It was introduced to tea by the Netherlands during the mid 1630s. But a wonderful tea culture flourished in England. The English take about 4-5 cups of tea a day including the “Breakfast Tea”, the “Afternoon Tea” and teas taken with dinner. From the second half of the 18th century to the 19th century, numerous black tea parties were held in private gardens and tea parties were also held at dances.
Hadong Tea Museum
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