Hainsu Temple – My First Field Trip

My first field trip out of Daegu. Another teacher, Mark, and I decided to visit Hainsa Temple, one of the UNESCO designated world heritage sites today. Consulting our Lonely Planet Guides, we determined we needed to take a taxi downtown to the bus station, a bus to the park at Hainsa (maybe an hour ride?), then walk to the temple. At the bus station the schedules were in both English and Korean – whew. We bought our tickets, headed for the turnstile, and gave the ticket taker our tickets. He began screaming in Korean, what we assumed the English equivalent would be, “Run, run, there goes your bus!,” all the while pointing at a bus that was leaving. I started towards the bus, when another man stopped me and grabbed my ticket, pointing to another bus that was parked. We stood there bewildered. Several people came up to us, took our tickets, saying, “Hainsa? Hainsa.” And pointing to the parked bus. So we got on the parked bus, fairly confident that we were on the right bus. As it turns out, a bus leaves for Hainsa every ten minutes; we had just missed the 9:30 bus.

The bus ride was about an hour and a half through sparsely inhabited countryside. Rice fields as far as the eye could see, frozen solid. We were driving farther and farther up into the mountains that border Daegu. Stopping every so often to let someone off or pick someone up by the side of the road. There didn’t appear to be any designated bus stops. A passenger would say, “Yahgi,” and the bus would stop. By the time we got to the park where Hainsa Temple is located Mark and I were the only two passengers on the bus. At the park gates the park ranger came on and collected our admission fees. We continued climbing higher and higher, winding around increasingly smaller, curvier roads. The bus stopped in a make shift parking lot area. We made our way to the front of the bus and asked the driver which way to the temple. He told us it was back down the hill we just came up. So Mark and I started down the road. As soon as I stepped off of the bus I noticed it was considerably colder than it had been in the city. And what was flying around me? Snow! Bright, sparkly flakes gently swirling to the ground. There was an unusual beauty about the park. A desolate, haunting beauty. The trees were stripped bare of any foliage, their barren, dark limbs exposed to the biting cold. And so quiet. The only sounds were the creaking limbs of the trees and the slow, gentle flowing of an icy stream nearby.

We made it back to the “main area” where the trailheads for the temple and other sites were. There were a few tourist shops there selling cheap souvenirs, snack food, film. We stopped at one; I wanted to buy a scarf. The lady was incredibly friendly. In my best Korean I asked if she sold scarves, then pointed to Mark’s. “Oh, muffler?” And she showed me a gray knitted scarf. I nodded yes, then asked, “Ol mayo?” “10,000 won.” Ay yi yi. Okay, it was only $7.80, but it just sounded like so much when the price is in the thousands. I told her I would like to buy it. She then headed to the back of the store and said, “Service. Service with scarf.” This is an interesting concept. Almost always when you purchase something, you get “service.” Which means something free. The service we got with the scarf was two cups of incredibly delicious hot tea. That in intself was worth the seven dollars. She explained the tea had been made by combining 5 different teas together. As I sipped the steaming beverage, I could feel the hotness travel down my throat, my chest, into my stomach. After a bit of polite conversation, we were ready to find the temple.

We started up a dirt trail that could have been a service road or could have been the trail. The few signs that were posted were in Korean, so we weren’t sure if we were going the right way. Soon we saw an endless stream of schoolchildren coming down the path, so we figured we were going somewhere worth seeing. Some of the school children were wearing the familiar boy/girl scout badges and ties. Many would say, “Hell-lo!” as we passed then giggle when we answered them.

We saw what we thought was the temple. We climbed one set of steep stairs to the entrance gates, hewn wood painted in spectacular blues, reds, blacks, and greens. I decided to take a picture looking back down the deserted path we had just traveled. Nooooooo. My camera battery was dead. How could this happen? I later read that the battery doesn’t come charged from the factory, it has to be charged for at least two hours before using. And Mark had not brought his camera.

We continued up another set of stairs and realized the temple was actually a collection of buildings. The main temple, 14 shrines, the monk’s living quarters, and the buildings where the wood blocks were housed. There were several levels to the complex. Each level had maybe 6 or 7 buildings. From the outside, they all looked the same. Weathered, dingy brown wood (the current buildings were built several hundred years ago). But inside. Oh! When I walked into the main temple I was awestruck. Imagine a large hall, in the center are several perfectly polished golden Buddhas looking down on you serenely. Beautiful flowers in shallow vases, perfectly arranged. Fragrant Easter lilies and lilies of the valley, pure in their perfect whiteness. The dark, polished wooden floors. And as you look up – oh! Thousands and thousands of the most brightly colored lanterns in perfect rows hanging from the ceiling. The hottest pinks, the deepest greens, the silkiest shiny red tassels. And in the distance you hear the constant soft ringing of the wind chimes that adorn the fountains in the courtyards. Your eyes move to the actual ceiling, to the walls. Not a single inch of unpainted wood. Patterns of lotus flowers, murals of folk tales. And all in the brightest colors. It is almost impossible to believe that the paintings are hundreds of years old. I expected to smell the familiar odor of the artist’s studio, of a just finished canvas. Mark started to speak. “Shhhh. . . .,” I said, with my finger over my mouth. Words would destroy the calm, the peace that permeated the temple.

Once outside we resumed talking. About the history of the temple, about the beauty of the location. From the courtyard you could see nothing but mountain ranges surrounding the complex. The snow was falling harder now, swirling in vicious patterns about us. The wind was blowing harder, causing the chimes to sound a louder, quicker song, though just as peaceful as before. We visited the buldings where the wood blocks were housed, amazed at the intricacy and the volume of the blocks. Row upon row of meticulously carved blocks from which scrolls and books were made, years before Guttenberg had considered developing the modern day printing press.

As we were carefully descending the steep steps from one courtyard to the next, we noticed another field trip of sorts in progress. A visiting group of monks. There must have been 70 monks, lined up perfectly in two rows, entering the complex. Amazingly identical in their gray robes and gray knitted caps covering their shaved heads. Oh, oh, oh, how I wish I had my camera. It would have been incredible to capture the contrast of the (outwardly) gray atmosphere of the temple complex compared to the encompassing gray of the monks’ outfits and the liveliness that conveyed.