The Country Mice

On the approach up the stone steps to Haein-sa Temple, a walkway guides visitors through a series of gates, one of them called The Gate of Nirvana. I don’t believe I found it.

Lining the walkway are a series of trees, some in substantially more vigourous shape than their neighbours.

The story behind this withered fellow is that it was planted 1,200 years ago to commemorate the founding of the temple where it grew until its well-earned old age in 1945.

As a gesture of respect, I suppose, passers-by press pebbles into its corrugated exterior.

Other little piles of rock wait, inukshuk-style, gestures of time slowed, even for the few moments required to balance one stone atop another.

And a final meditative pattern — clay tiles.

Complexity in simplicity. Simplicity in complexity.

Maybe I found the Nirvana Gate after all.

Away way way up the mountainsides in the foothills of rural Korea perch many an active Buddhist temple.

By active I mean these are not simply shrines but rather are working temples, filled with the busy lives of monks and lay Buddhists, keeping simple uncluttered lives of prayer juxtaposed with the reality of computers, calculators and the other essential modern devices that keep their mountaintop monasteries running.

This morning we headed up to one such temple about three hours total travel (taxi, train, subway, bus) from the hotel, where we ambled somewhat aimlessly but surrounded by so much simple and complex beauty.

Probably the most perfect moment of the day was at about two o’clock in the afternoon when the monks glided to various temple sites and began rhythmically tapping with a stick on a hollow gourd, while chanting. One fellow sang at points — softly, perfectly pitched, absolutely otherworldly. It was the kind of moment that beckons one to just

stop

be

let go.

And lest I talk too much and spoil the moment, I’ll leave you with some pics and will expound on another day.

For about 800 metres along this quiet street, one can see and smell the ancient medicines still for sale in Daegu’s traditional-medicine market.

Roots the size of human thighs, jars of honey-coloured liquids, baskets of flowers, dried leaves and herbs sold by equally wizened merchants beckon buyers to these little shops.

Easily more than 100 of these shops are crammed cheek by jowl, all selling what appears to be the same items. Clearly the shopkeepers must distinguish themselves from one another but such distinctions are lost on the anglophones!

The aroma of something resembling like licorice root is what I noticed the most, followed by the humanoid forms of the dried and bottled ginseng root.

Most attractive, however, is the uniformity of the presentation and the obvious care taken in assembling the bundles and jars of dried plants, critters, antlers and powdered mysteries.

I have a confession: I never read travel books. I don’t like Condé Nast. I can *just* make it through a National Geographic. Forget the weekend travel section.

Can’t do it. Want to be there. Doesn’t matter where — just want to be where the picture-taker is standing. Want to be there so badly it aches. Wah!

But I know I may be alone.

Therefore, for those of you who do NOT suffer from my affliction, I present a few photos from yesterday’s walkabout in order to give you a taste of what the little Gumi countryside looks like. Just a flavour.

Homeboy and I were talking about the next greatest technological invention and we decided it would be, more tastefully named, of course, smell-o-vision.

So it’s not smell-o-vision but it’s the best I can do in the “wishing you were here” department.

Oh — and this last man — BLESS HIM!! He said the Princess looked like me!!

You’ll note an agricultural theme with the pics accompanying this little write-up. Behind our hotel in Gumi is a meandering road that stretches up to the top of Mount Geumosan. Packed into every available nook and cranny of arable land is a fruit tree, a patch of vines, an arrangement of onions, a cluster of edibles. Wise land stewardship.

The little paper packets are wrapped around apples — protecting them from the scabs and ravages of a life unprotected by sprays and toxic fumigation. The individually jacketed apples would be labour intensive but certainly worth the non-toxic and unblemished appearance in the end.

The clustered green fruit — fuyu in Japanese, persimmons in English. I don’t know what they’re called in Korea. A few were vermillion as they rotted on the ground — very attractive to the wild bees in the area.

Handed the camera over to the Princess yesterday whilst hurtling through the countryside en route to Gumi from Seoul and what follows are her impressions through the lens of her mother’s camera. Always interesting to see what captures the imagination of a ten-year-old.

Whenever I’ve had the great opportunity to travel I always think of the great green green outdoors as the true essence of where I’m visiting. The old, the unpainted, the outdated, the general homeyness and ordinariness of the world — that’s what I like to see. Others I know take their inspiration from the energy of the urban landscape, the newness, the noise, the happenings. That’s good too. But I prefer the slower pace.

When we arrived in Gumi yesterday we stuffed our not-so-stuffed (“More room for souvenirs,” I bribed, in the hope of teaching them to ‘pack light’) suitcases into some train station lockers and traipsed around the streets surrounding the station.

Pics are needed for sure but it was a pleasure to see little piles of little dried fish, big piles of big dried octopi, neat stacks of equally sized silvery cuttlefish and icy mounds of chilled piscine something or other.

We saw tofu, nori, skewered tripe (I think), pork hocks, peaches, burdock, lotus root — amidst the brooms, kitchen supplies, socks and underwear.

The market was rather quiet — all eyes were on the foreigners — but no cries of “You buy? You buy? I give you good price.” Quite unlike my memories of other Asian countries visited. Mostly all we received were shy smiles and gentle nods of encouragement as we sniffed, poked and wondered.

The Princess had her blondish head patted, her cheeks caressed and finally, a bag of purple sweet potatoes pressed into her hands. What a lousy time to not know the words for thank you.

Later as we wandered about looking for supper we came upon several outdoor stalls, older women sitting on the steps, encouraging us to come in. We wandered in to one smiling woman’s space while we incomprehensively attempted to ask what there was to eat. She cleverly handed us the menu. We uncleverly could not read Korean. She pointed at the words, spelling them out letter by letter. We were idiots. It was clear.

Finally stumbled upon another place, greeting by smiling men, equally at a loss to communicate with our useless selves, but already serving a table of swarthy Portuguese men who loudly joked about something and laughed over their piles of food. If they’d had success why wouldn’t we?

So I pointed to their food-laden table, then pointed to our bare one. “Ah!” said the man. Comprehension dawned on us all. A few minutes later he returned with a chopped onion pancake covered with slices of mystery something or other and two types of kimchi. Then he brought two bottles of Coca-Cola, two bottles of Hite beer, two raisin-studded buns and a package of vanilla wafer cookies. We ate, it was delicious. We paid — 25,000 Won for the whole deal — that’s $25 — that’s $5 per person. For the 81-year-old who decided to buy dinner, it was the deal of the millennium.

Then I looked at the swarthy folks’ table — they had a simmering vat of mixed meat, cellophane noodles, rice and vegetables. So much for my great communication skills. But the onion pancake was pbly the best idea in the end as the three veg-heads would have been less than thrilled with the cast iron pot of body parts…

My two mice have been great little troopers and the 81-year-old has been a model for his generation — I’m immodestly proud of them all!

Thanks for reading — glad to have someone who understands me!

xo L

Arrived to Incheon Airport, at least.

During the twelve hour flight from Vancouver to Shanghai, the plane dropped a few thousand feet with some degree of suddenness, leaving my heart in my throat and wonder in my thoughts about China Eastern Airline safety checks.

But all was well.

Then some lolling about as we waited to board a Korean Air flight to Seoul. All the pretty and young flight attendants gracefully fed and watered us over the brief two hour flight. A slightly different experience, comrade.

Arriving in Seoul at 15 minutes past midnight was a serene experience, particularly after all were relatively rested from on-board naps and still on a daytime body clock schedule and, save for the cleaning staff and other nighttime travelers, the place was deserted.

We stretched out on flat wooden benches and promptly snoozed for the next four hours, waking refreshed again at 4.30 a.m. Amazing how invigorating the thrill of travel, particularly for the ten-year-old Princess. She danced, she sang, she collapsed, she slept.

At precisely 5.30 a.m. the subway system started rolling, so we slurped two bowls of udon for breakfast, hopped on a sparkling blue and glass subway car and 53 minutes later arrived at Seoul Station, the country’s main railway hub.

Realizing we’d still not been in real live air since leaving Vancouver we stepped outside the station, looked around, breathed deeply and decided all was good.

At this very moment we are now aboard a train bound for Gumi, a little town mid-way between Seoul and Daegu — the venue for the World Track and Field Championships. Same event that took us to Berlin in August 2009. Will be staying in Daegu the first two weeks as Gord goes about his official duties.

In fact, Gord is pbly already there right now. I’m traveling with my three dearest ones — The Princess, Homeboy and my dear father — the bravest 81-year-old on the planet.

It’s a lot like traveling solo — just with more hand baggage. In fact, when I woke from my nap on the airport bench to discover The Princess had climbed on top of me and was sleeping there!

Now meandering thru the mid-country countryside. Older concrete buildings in need of a coat of paint (shades of Cuba), green fields planted with rice, temples and churches spotting the hillsides.

Should arrive in Gumi just before noon, making for a perfect leisurely first day — a day that’s already on its third sunrise!

Thanks for dropping by and feel free to say hi!

xo Lois