Exploring Bogyeongsa

We decided to catch a bus to Bogyeongsa, described in our guidebook as a “gateway to a beautiful valley boasting 12 splendid waterfalls, gorges spanned by bridges, hermitages, stupas, and the temple itself.” It’s got everything. It’s the Wal-Mart of temples.

At the bus station we asked for tickets to Bogyeongsa. The ticket vendor pointed to the right. “Way-out! Way-out!” It’s a strange feeling when you follow someone’s directions, having no idea where you’re going or what you’re doing. There was an older building next to the bus terminal. Another bus terminal. The waiting area was large, maybe 50 feet by 50 feet, with a few old benches surrounding a broken kerosene heater. The room appeared larger because of the few number of people present. There was a small convenience shop off to the left, carrying snacks and emergency supplies. To the right was the tiny bus terminal office. We entered and asked about tickets to Bogyeongsa. Because it was a holiday, there was a limited bus schedule. Next bus, 1:00. Oh. We have an hour and a half. Hmmmmm. . . Chanta was hungry again (I’ve nicknamed her Ms. Pac Man because she is constantly eating) so we set out to find something to eat. We walked along the road, to no avail. Everything was closed. The streets were silent. We went back to the main bus terminal – surely there would be something to eat there. And there was. Another little mom and pop diner style restaurant. As we walked in, we saw someone eating soup. Mmmmmmm. The hajima (older women) asked us what we wanted. Soup. No. No soup here. But. . . but . . . we saw someone eating soup. No. No soup for you. ?????? We’re determined to have soup. So we walk over to the table where the man is eating and point at his bowl. The hajima says another word. Okay, okay, sit down.

The udong arrives. Very good. Very hot. Just what we needed to warm us up. We head back over to the old bus terminal. A few older people are sitting on the benches. I walk to the window, scanning the buses to see if one has a sign for Bogyeongsa. Even though the man told us the bus didn’t leave until 1, I’m wary. What if that’s not really what he meant? What if he meant there is only 1 bus to the temple today? What if he meant they leave 1 an hour? There are so many interpretations when you don’t know all the words. Chanta goes into the convenience store. One of the bus drivers approaches me. “Where are you going?” Before I can answer, all the old people, in unison, say, “Bogyeongsa.” How do they know where I’m going? The driver nods and motions to stay where I am.

At 12:50 I see a bus pull up that says Bogyeongsa in the window. I call Chanta and we walk outside. We start to get on the bus. The driver tells us, no, no, no and points to his watch. Not until 1:00. As we’re standing there, a Korean man walks up to us. “You go to Bogyoengsa? Me, too. We will go together.” On the bus Chanta and I sit in the very first seats so that we can see out the front windows. Our new friend, Jong Kuk, sits behind us. Chanta is talking animatedly about everything, what’s been going on at school, her family back in the States, what she plans to do now that our hours aren’t so long . . . At a stop, the bus driver turns around, commands, “Silent!” and makes a motion with his hands “talk, talk, talk, talk” and points to us. I was somewhat taken aback. Other people on the bus were talking. Not as loud as us, but they were talking. Then I realize he probably was asking us to be quieter, not to stop talking completely. Chanta is enraged. She gets defiant. “No one can tell me what to do. I wish I knew more Korean so I could give him a piece of my mind.” I point out that I think he’s asking us to be a little quieter. That it must be grating for him to hear two people talking in a language he doesn’t understand which probably sounds harsh to him. And he’s trying to drive. She’s not happy about it, but agrees to speak in whispers for the rest of the trip.

We arrive to Bogyeongsa. It’s a short walk through a tiny town then we reach the entrance to the park. First we walk around the temple grounds. The architecture is amazing. There are many similarities between temples, yet many slight differences as well. Every temple has a “guard house” where four figures stand, stomping on evil, protecting the temple. The four figures are the same at each temple, yet each artist depicts them differently. At Bogyeongsa the four figures appeared almost Balinese, with brightly colored, intricately patterned, swirling beards. And bulging eyes. And somewhat scary looking. We continue through the temple grounds. The buildings are amazing. Chanta and I ponder if the buildings were painted before being put together or after. The designs are so intricate, but how could they paint them after the buildings were constructed? And how are the colors still so amazingly bright?

We decide to hike the trails of the waterfalls and bridge-spanned gorges. Jong Kuk comes with us. I’m a fast hiker. Chanta is a slow hiker. But we have an understanding. We each go at our own pace and we’ll meet each other at the end. There’s no pressure to stay together. Jong Kuk had other ideas. He first stayed very close to Chanta. She wanted to have nothing to do with him. He was asking her questions, trying to make conversation. He asked her about Korean athletes in the US. Chanta’s response, “I don’t like sports. She does (pointing to me). Go talk to her.” Thanks, Chanta. So he caught up with me. We talked some, but mostly hiked in silence, enjoying the beautiful views. The waterfalls became increasingly bigger. One of the dichotomies of nature fascinates me – frozen water sources that still flow beneath the surface. Chunks of ice formed upon the surface of the stream, with fish or leaves slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, moving much deeper down. The sound of the water trickling, then bursting forth. The contrast of frozen ice and free falling water. For hours we hiked.

We finally came to the end of the trail. And were met by a magnificant waterfall, probably two or three hundred feet high. We ooohed and aahed, took some pictures, then turned around to hike back to the temple. Chanta bolted ahead. She had expressed to me that she didn’t get a good feeling from Jong Kuk. Jong Kuk and I walked along, marvelling at the beauty before us. Suddenly, he let out an exclamation of surprise upon meeting an old friend upon the trail. He introduced us, then we kept walking. They chatted in Korean. Amazingly, I picked up that upon meeting Chanta and me, Jong Kuk had called the friend, the friend took a taxi to the park, had hiked the trail looking for us, and they wanted to take us to dinner. Hmmmm. . . . Back at the temple, Chanta and I reunited. We walked the narrow street to the bus stop, the two Koreans following behind us, but not speaking. They immediately suggested we take a taxi back to town. “No, thanks, we’ll wait for the bus. It shouldn’t be long. You can take a taxi, though.” They waited with us. The bus arrived, with the same driver who “silenced!” us from the morning. We headed to the back of the bus. Chanta immediately fell asleep. I read for a few minutes, then joined her in a slumber. We woke up with a start about 45 minutes later. The bus was packed and we were met with stares from all around us. We wiped the sleep from our eyes and sat up straight, trying to figure out where we were. Jong Kuk and his friend still sat behind us. As soon as we woke up, they nudged us and said, “Come on – get off here.” We looked around. This wasn’t the bus terminal. No, no. We’re fine. Bye. But they didn’t get off.

A few stops later we arrived at the bus terminal. We got off the bus. They followed us. “We will introduce you to the beach.” No, that’s okay. We’re going back to our yogwan to take a nap. It was nice meeting you. Bye! “No, we will come with you to your yogwan.” No. You won’t. It was nice meeting you. Good-bye. With that, Chanta and I hailed a taxi and headed back to our beloved yogwan. In the taxi she went off. She claimed her “creep-o-meter” went off as soon as Jong Kuk introduced himself. That it’s not normal for people just to latch on to you and follow you around. All I could think was, “Chanta, maybe not in your world, but in mine, this happens all the time.”

We had a quick dinner then returned to our yogwan. Hot showers and a hot bed. Life could not be any better. We watched a Korean fashion show on tv (very interesting), read our books, practiced our Korean, then fell into a deep, deep slumber with the crashing of the waves echoing outside our window . . .