Gongju Getaway

After the nightmarish bus ride back from Daegu, I decided to stick closer to Seoul for my December escape, and the Gongju trip was an ideal weekend: perfect weather, interesting sights, and smooth sailing from beginning to end.

Gongju itself is a pleasant town, on a river, surrounded by mountains, under the watch of a centuries-old fortress. (granted, that could describe just about every town in Korea, but the effect is no less appealing) Its glory days were in the early Centuries of our Lord, when Korea consisted of three kingdoms and Gongju did time as the capital of one of them, Baekje.

In 1971, crews were digging in one of Gongju's hills for a drainage project when they discovered a cluster of tombs that turned out to be from the 6th century. Most were long-looted, although their structure still provided insight into the death and times of the Baekjes. The tomb of King Muryeong, however, was completely intact, providing not only a chance for modern historians to do some looting, but also important corroboration of ancient legends.

The outside of the tombs are grass humps, familiar to westerners with some knowledge of either Celtic habits or the Teletubbies, and familiar to Koreans as the form still used for graves today. The insides, recreated in a very nicely done exhibit at the tomb site, were impressively engineered, with crypt and arched entry of lotus-stamped bricks, murals of spiritual animals on the walls, and a ring of niches for lamps (they had to hope that the king & queen would head out for the afterlife before the candles burned out). I was particularly fond of the stone critter that guarded the entry to the tomb, resembling Haechi (Seoul's mascot) with a single antler tied to his head like the Grinch's dog, and proving that the Korean penchant for using cartoon characters in every conceivable (and inconceivable) context didn't start with anime.

The recreated tomb (as of discovery--no extant corpses) really enthralled me. My inner archaeologist/anthropologist could feel the excitement of finding something like that, and the allure of the story it told...the way things lay where they had fallen, the way they were direct, visible evidence of the existence of people that I can never completely convince myself were real. We hiked over to the Gongju National Museum (leaving our packs with the kind lady at the TI, who had us write down our names when we retrieved them) to see the relics, where I again felt the awe of looking at actual objects that were crafted by actual people 1500 years ago. Earrings, necklaces, ornaments for the crown, mirrors, shoes, head- & footrests, all decorated in exacting detail by people to whom they mattered. I envisioned someone dressed in all this stuff walking in to the museum and realized it would be terrifying, less because they'd be a ghost, and more because that getup would be so radical amidst the skin-tight jeans and day-glo Nikes and bear hats (themselves unsettling if I hadn't become completely inured) as to be truly freaky.

Speaking of freaky, the metal construction fence that lined most of our walk to the museum was decorated with murals telling what I assume is some sort of folktale. A man chases a blue rabbit, falls into a lake of some sort, where he is rescued by a bear with a cub. They all live happily together, until the man starts to dream of his former home and sneaks out one night to swim back across the lake. The bear is devastated by his departure, and swims across to find him, nearly drowning herself and the (now two) cubs. The man finds them unconscious on the beach, and there is a tearful reunion, but his expression in the embrace is cryptic. I tried to ask one of my co-teachers, but we got hung up on the concept of pictures on a wall, so I remain on a quest to discover the meaning of this.

The weekend's other highlight was a visit to Magoksa (temple). I'd almost axed it from the itinerary, as it's an hour's bus ride from Gongju and the temples do tend to bear a strong resemblance to one another. But Lonely Planet had high praise for it, Diana had never seen a temple here, and I was able to reconfigure our plans to comfortably accommodate it, so on Saturday morning, we made our way to the Gongju bus terminal and were off to the mountains. Unlike most temples, this one has not been recently repainted in a Fisher Price palette, making it much easier to appreciate its age (350). Its setting astride a wide stream, features like a two-story prayer hall (unusual) and shrine with hundreds of little Buddha statues (all different), and relative uncrowdedness all made it particularly pleasant and more spiritual than others. I would have been happy just with that, but I also got to hike a short trail into the mountains, walking through trees on dirt and needles, and meeting only a handful of others (one of whom pointed out a Buddha carved in the rock that I would not have seen otherwise). I don't know when the last time any of THAT has happened.

We missed the next bus for the sake of seeing an odd little park with all kinds of carved totems and statues, and buildings that look like they were inspired by Dr. Seuss. Unfortunately, with the dark LCD on my camera, I was unaware of its death rattle, and got "home" to find that only about 10% of the weekend's pictures turned out. I'm waiting for Diana to post hers so I can steal them.

A couple other random details:
We stayed in a typical Korean hotel, leaving our shoes in cubbies by the front door and walking around in provided slippers. The room was strikingly similar to the one in Sokcho, except that this time the heat was on. With a vengeance. I didn't have the blanket fully over me at any time, and it wasn't until the second night, when I slid my hand under the pillow and found it hot under there, that I deduced what the switch on the mirrored headboard was for. The bed was heated, too. I could use a little of that at home!

I took my big, woods backpack this time, and was pleased that although it was reasonably heavy, it rode quite comfortably and wasn't a burden to walk in. All the same, when the young Korean man offered us a ride halfway to the bus station, I accepted without a second thought. I'm sure that will horrify many of you back home, and indeed I probably wouldn't have done it back home, but it's routine in Korea. For every 30 people who unapologetically slam into me or insist on walking in front of me only to stop dead at a narrow spot, there's someone who goes out of their way to be helpful, and they remind me what Korea really is--a nation of preoccupied introverts who are usually pretty nice.