trip to the South

My program for the next five weeks, the Yonsei Korean Language Institute Summer Special Program, (to be exact), is largely a way for Korean-Americans to return to the motherland and learn the language. While language instruction may be the reason why some students joined, many more have no problem saying their parents compelled them to come and they are far more interested in learning about the effects of soju, (cheap Korean rice liquor) on their system than they are about learning a new language. As one of three white people, (I would tiptoe around and call myself Caucasian, but as my nickname is most often "whitey" among the other members of the trip, it seems appropriate) I stuck out quite a bit.

The first stop was at the Korean Folk Village (Hangook Minsokchon), kind of like a Colonial Williamsburg for Korea. I learned that every Korean high school student goes on the same trip as mine, and I saw very few tourists that were not attached to a whole bus load of similar people. Our guide for the trip actually took us aside when we first arrived at the Village and explained that despite our being Americans and loving "individuality," we had to move as a unit.
The village itself was interesting, built just thirty years ago. Everyone we spoke to seemed quite proud of the ability of the government to hold onto this chunk of land and keep traditions alive. Despite this introduction, all of the buildings were erected in the 1970s, surprisingly recent for a country that had a long history of advanced culture and cultural achievement. For all the fuss about America being a new country, we still preserve a great deal.

From the Village we shot across Korea to the province of Gyeongju. Our hotel for the next three days was immense, I know it sounds strange, but I felt like it was North Korean in terms of scale and dated architecture. Our one hundred and twenty students were swallowed up in the 8-story building, which was at odds with the small rural town surrounding it. What the place might have lacked in charm, it made up in location, the view was great.
You can just see in the distance some vibrant green fields, those are just a few of the millions of rice fields we saw in those few days. I don't exaggerate here, there didn't seem to be a single acre of lowland Korea not filled with orderly rows of rice stalks. The mountains hidden in the mist are another fixture in the country; it is completely filled with mountains. Home in Connecticut has a few ridges and hills, they are put to shame by the Korean countryside.

The mist has also followed me since I arrived in Korea, July apparently sees a lot of rain and sweltering temperatures. I will be here for the bitter cold of midwinter as well, at this point some freezing weather doesn't sound too bad.

The best part of the hurried tour of traditional Korean spots in the next few days was Seokguram and Bulguk-sa. The former is a buddhist shrine, the most famous in the country, set into the side of a mountain and holding an immense granite Buddha. Bulguk-sa is a restored Buddhist temple complex nearby, equally beautiful. Both of these sites are also functioning religious ground, I saw a handful of bowed older women praying at Seokguram and we were told that one hundred grey-robed monks still live at Bulguk-sa. I can only imagine what they think about the parade of camera-wielding tourists that passes by some of the holiest sites in the country. None of my shots feature the inside of the temples, white-gloved attendants instructed that there was a "no photo prohibition," which makes sense, I can only imagine how difficult it would be finding inner peace while bombarded with camera flashes.
After returning to Yonsei's campus at the end of the trip to the south, I was ready to see more of the modern, non-touristy Korea.