I've spent the week on the phone, primarily, so have not had the time to chronicle last weekend's adventures. Now, a trip to the DMZ has joined the queue as well, so in the interest of catching up, and being on time for my walk in Olympic Park this afternoon, I am eschewing paragraphs.
The background: Last weekend, I went to Haeinsa with my orientation roommate, Sarah, and her boyfriend, Obi. Haeinsa is one of Korea's 3 major temples (according to my TempleStay guidebook), and home of the Tripitaka Koreana, a huge set of woodblocks with scriptures in Chinese characters carved into them, from the 1300s. "One of the world's most significant complete Buddhist texts," says Lonely Planet. They have miraculously escaped destruction from fires and bombing 3 times over the centuries, and are stored in a 600-year-old building that has preserved them perfectly, more than can be said for the replacement that was built in the 1970s and abandoned when the test blocks quickly grew mold. Haeinsa is said to be one of the big must-see sights in Korea, and it will be closed for a recess year in 2010, so getting there was imperative. It's a 1 1/2-hour bus ride into the mountains from the city of Daegu, in the southern part of the country. So...
We saw a bunch of tombs by the highway on the bus ride down. I suppose Koreans must have cemeteries somewhere, but what I've seen in abundance is family plots, usually on the side of a mountain. The tombs are grassy hillocks, sometimes with a carved stone pillar next to them.
Korean drivers are insane! Whether in car, bus, or sometimes even subway, you get used to lurching, swerving, and horns. When driving in Korea, if you want to make a turn, you do. Even if you're not in an outside lane. Even if there are cars between you and your destination. It' s ok. This can be mildly alarming under normal circumstances, but I start to feel like I'm in a movie when the bus is passing cars on mountain roads, and it's even more remarkable to be looking over the edge of a short concrete retainer to an armrest-clenching drop and then feel the bus swerve and sway.
Daegu is utterly unremarkable. It pretty much felt like Seoul, but with more sky. I think the traffic is worse, though, and that's saying something. Being a Rochestarian, I can allow for charms that aren't immediately evident, but all the same, the place did nothing for me.
Koreans have a penchant for clustering like businesses. I first noticed this last week, when walking down a Seoul street that apparently specializes in prosthetics. Window after window displayed hands, feet, and other braces, most somewhere along the decay spectrum. There were a couple of shoe stores, which I speculated must offer deals on singles. Daegu is particularly prone to this...an entire block of auto mechanics, a mile of hardware, and so on, all through the town. I was pondering this with my friend, Diana, last night as we walked past 20 hole-in-the-wall restaurants in a row, all specializing in the same dish. Wouldn't it cut into profits? Or is it useful in a place where most people are on foot? I don't know.
The only time I've left town without a place to stay prior to this was when going to Sokcho with Ramsey, who had been there before and knew of a decent motel. In Daegu, we were all on our own. A Korean saw me looking at my guidebook in the bus station and asked if I needed help; when I told him I wanted a motel, he swept his arm in a circle and told me they're all around. That did seem to be the case, but we were baffled that every one we tried said they had no rooms. A street full of high-rises, all full at 4 in the afternoon? Maybe because there were 3 of us? We tried going in in various pairs--same result. Finally, one proprietor attempted to explain. All in Korean, so it did little good, until a man walked in who knew a smidgen of English. Fifteen minutes, 5 people, one phrasebook, and a lot of failed gestures later, it was established that to get the nightly rate at a love motel, you have to check in after 10pm. Until then, rooms are rented in 3-hour blocks. So checking in at 4 would mean paying for 2 blocks, plus the nightly rate. Aha.
About love motels: while undoubtedly handy for affairs, they're primarily for young Korean couples who live with their parents. They are also, however, frequently used by travelers (and frequently recommended by Lonely Planet and others). They're pretty much like a normal motel, except that they have indoor parking lots with fringe over the entry, are likely to be decorated in black and red, and sometimes have interesting vending machines or decorations. I haven't stayed in one yet, but probably will at some point.
We finally gave up on the Daegu scene and took the bus to Haeinsa. We were due to arrive at 8:30, and a tad fretful about finding accommodation. Sarah called one hotel from the subway station in Daegu and was quoted a price of $87--a lot for Korea, but doable split 3 ways. She gave them her name, but didn't want to make a reservation without discussing it with Obi & me. Once we'd purchased our bus tickets, she called again to make a reservation and was told the only room available was $150. She declined, and we were all a bit pensive about what would happen to us. Upon arrival in Haeinsa's little town, we followed the sign for the tourist hotel, hiking up and up through and out of town, getting turned away from a couple of little places until we arrived at the giant chalet on the hill. Inside, they asked if we had a reservation, and Sarah, in a moment of divine intervention, said yes. She gave them her name--no one was fussed that it didn't match anything they had--and they gave us a sumptuous room for $87. Which, split 3 ways, isn't bad.
We were beside ourselves over the room. 2 double beds, with MATTRESSES, carpet, a shower, sheets, closets. We scuttled about the room like cockroaches, taking in and exclaiming over every detail. After a flurry of photography, we collapsed on the beds. Further scrutiny revealed the room to be little more than a glorified Super 8, but it was super and glorious to us.
The room required putting the key in a slot to make the lights come on. Which the overhead one did as soon as the key was inserted. The table lamps could be turned on with switches, but went off when the key was removed. Come bedtime, we puzzled over this for a bit, before Obi discovered a button on the nightstand (along with the radio console) that controlled the overhead lights. Brilliant! I wish American hotels had that.
To be continued...
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