Baedamsa Temple, Inje, South Korea

Baedamsa Temple, Inje, South Korea

746, Baekdam-ro, Buk-myeon, Inje-gun, Gangwon-do, Republic of Korea

Baedamsa Temple, nestled at the heart of the inner Seorak range, is a place connected to two figures who left profoundly significant marks on Korea's modern and contemporary history. It is also, for me personally, a place threaded through with memories from childhood. Heading out from Inje in Gangwon Province toward the junction for Hangyeryeong Pass and turning in the direction of Jinburyeong, one soon reaches the entrance to Baedamsa at Yongdae-ri; from there, an unpaved road winds upward for some eight kilometers before the temple comes into view. In years past, visitors would walk this path for two hours, or make the journey by taxi or private car. But returning after twenty years, I found that everything had changed: all private vehicles are now stopped at the national park entrance, and the only way to reach the temple parking area is by a shuttle bus run for a fare of two thousand won each way. The shuttle, I was told, is operated by residents of the surrounding village — a welcome sight of the kind one more often associates with famous tourist destinations or national parks abroad.

Baedamsa, revisited after nearly twenty years, has changed a great deal. What was once a small and modest hermitage has expanded considerably; multiple new halls now stand within the precinct, and the temple runs templestay programs alongside various other revenue-generating activities, much like well-known temples elsewhere in the country. The atmosphere of remote solitude that I remembered from before — the sense of a place deep in the mountains, quietly keeping to itself — has largely disappeared, and I felt a faint pang of regret at finding it gone. Yet the valley stream of the inner Seorak flowing before the temple was as beautiful as ever, and for a long while I found myself lost in memories of my university years, when I had climbed the trail from this very spot up through Bongjeongam Hermitage all the way to Daecheongbong Peak — a route I completed three times in those days.

According to the temple chronicle written by the monk Manhae Han Yong-un, Baedamsa was founded in 647 — the first year of Queen Jindeok, the twenty-eighth ruler of Silla — by the monk Jajang, under the name Hangyesa, and was renamed Baedamsa in 1783. This brings me to Manhae Han Yong-un himself, the author of that chronicle, who cannot go unmentioned here. The name Manhae Han Yong-un may call to mind first and foremost his poetry collection The Silence of Love, but Manhae was far more than a poet: he was the preeminent Buddhist intellectual of the Japanese colonial period, a leading figure in the resistance against Japanese rule, one of the thirty-three representatives of the Korean people who signed the Declaration of Independence during the March First Movement of 1919, and the founder and driving force behind the Korean Buddhist Youth Association — one of the most prominent independence activists of his era.

Perhaps because of this, once one understands that background and looks at Baedamsa with fresh eyes, the entire atmosphere of the place seems suffused with Manhae's presence. The experience of passing through Baedamsa in youth as little more than a waystation on the way to climb Seoraksan, and the experience of returning with a true understanding of the temple's history, are entirely different things. Baedamsa was never a large temple to begin with, and it holds no particularly notable cultural artifacts. Yet the spirit of Manhae Han Yong-un that permeates this place, and the traces he left here, are alone enough to give the whole temple an overwhelming weight.

There is, however, a second figure associated with Baedamsa — former President Chun Doo-hwan. Having seized power through the military coup of May 1980 and subsequently convicted of massive corruption following his time in office, Chun served part of his sentence before receiving a presidential pardon, after which he retreated to Baedamsa for several years of self-imposed seclusion, eventually returning to his home in Seoul once public attention had subsided. Baedamsa stands at the center of that chapter of his life. Standing within the temple grounds and holding both men in mind, the contrast could not be starker: one figure's legacy grows only brighter, the other's only more squalid. Had Chun known how history would judge him, one imagines he might have thought twice before choosing to take refuge in a place so imbued with Manhae's moral and spiritual legacy.

There is an irony in all of this. Baedamsa was once little more than a small hermitage — precisely the quality that gave it such warmth and intimacy. But in the wake of the former president's stay and the notoriety it brought, the temple appears to have grown several times over in scale, expanding into something rivaling the more established temples of the country. For someone who travels in search of Korea's finest and most unspoiled temples, it registers as something of a blemish on an otherwise fine picture. I arrived at Baedamsa at four in the afternoon, and after an hour of wandering through every corner of the grounds, it was five o'clock; the sun was beginning to settle against the mountainside, and the temple, caught in the backlight, took on a quality of quiet mystery. It was just at that moment that I had to hurry away to make the return journey, and riding the shuttle bus back down to Yongdae-ri, I let my thoughts drift once more to those precious memories of younger days.

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Geonbongsa Temple, Goseong, South Korea

Geonbongsa Temple, Goseong, South Korea

723, Geonbongsa-ro, Geojin-eup, Goseong-gun, Gangwon-do, Republic of Korea

It was only a year or two ago that I came to know Geonbongsa Temple in any meaningful way. I had come across references to it as one of the great temples of Korea — one that had been burned to the ground during the Korean War and left as a ruined site before undergoing partial restoration in recent years — and my curiosity drew me to look more closely into its history. What I found astonished me. Geonbongsa is said to have been founded in 520, the seventh year of King Beopheung of Silla, by the monk Ado. For well over a millennium it maintained its prominence, and right up until the eve of the Korean War it stood as one of the four great temples of the country and one of the thirty-one head temples of the modern Buddhist administrative system — with the now far more famous Baedamsa and Seoraksan Sinheungsa among its subsidiary temples. Then the war came, and it was burned entirely to the ground.

This is perhaps not difficult to understand. Geonbongsa sits near the armistice line in territory belonging to the Geumgang Mountain range — one of the most fiercely contested battlegrounds of the entire conflict. Even today, military installations line the access road leading to the temple, offering a vivid sense of what that terrain must have looked like during the fighting. For anyone who knows the modern history of this peninsula, the destruction of Geonbongsa feels less like a tragedy of chance than an almost inevitable consequence of where it stood. It is, in the most literal sense, a temple at the very edge of the division between North and South Korea. Until not long ago, the area fell within the Civilian Control Zone, and public access was restricted; but the temple and its approach road have since been removed from that zone, and the site can now be visited freely.

The only structure at Geonbongsa to survive the Korean War unburned was the Buriumun, the Gate of Non-Duality. Even this gate — unusual in having four pillars rather than the customary two — still bears the unmistakable marks of bullets across its surface, a testament to the ferocity of the fighting that swept through here. All other buildings on the grounds date from restorations carried out after 1989 and hold relatively little heritage value in themselves. Throughout Korea there are countless sites of ruined temples, and Geonbongsa came close to joining those that have slipped quietly into the margins of history; what stands today represents a recovery from that near disappearance. Given the enormous original scale of the complex, much of the temple site remains as it was left — unrestored, open ground — with only the main hall and a handful of buildings brought back. Through the center of this partially recovered precinct runs a small stream, and spanning it is Neungpagyo, an arched stone bridge of rainbow form, built in a style reminiscent of Seungseon Bridge before Seonamsa Temple in Suncheon, South Jeolla Province.

Ruined temple sites are found across the entire country, and I have long considered them to be cultural heritage worthy of respect in their own right. Something in the experience of standing beside Neungpagyo and trying to imagine, from imagination alone, the vast monastic complex that once spread out on both sides of that bridge has its own particular value. And yet it was here, for the first time, that I found myself thinking: perhaps restoration — even partial, even imperfect — is better than leaving such a place to slowly vanish. On the way out, I came across a black-and-white photograph taken in the 1920s showing Geonbongsa as it once was. It looked like something conjured from a time machine — an immense complex of extraordinary scale, filling the valley in a way that was almost impossible to reconcile with what stands there now. Had Geonbongsa survived intact to the present day, what a breathtaking sight it would have been.

This brings to mind something a scholar once said: that for a civilization with such a long history, what Korea has managed to preserve is painfully little. Even of what did survive, there are countless examples of heritage left unprotected, neglected, or damaged through simple ignorance of how to care for it properly. What is needed now — and urgently — is the wisdom to find the right methods, to manage and preserve what remains in a systematic way, and to pass it on to those who will come after us. The great cultural heritage passed down from the past is a mirror held up to all of us, and much of it is of a value that defies easy reckoning.

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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Naksansa Temple, Yangyang, South Korea

Naksansa Temple, Yangyang, South Korea

100, Naksansa-ro, Ganghyeon-myeon, Yangyang-gun, Gangwon-do, Republic of Korea

Traveling along the eastern coast of Korea, one encounters a remarkable succession of beautiful places — beaches, mountains, sea caves, and natural scenery of a strangely moving quality. Among these, there is one outstanding cultural heritage site situated directly by the sea: Naksansa Temple in Yangyang, near Sokcho in Gangwon Province. I cannot recall exactly when I first visited Naksansa, but I believe I came once or twice as a child with my parents, and later, during my university years, I would stop by whenever I made the trip to Seoraksan — it was close enough that there was little reason not to.

Naksansa is a temple of rare scale among Korea's coastal Buddhist sites. It stands on Naksan — the mountain said to be the dwelling place of the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara, known in Korean as Gwanseeum Bosal — and was founded in 671, the eleventh year of King Munmu of Silla, by the great monk Uisang. It was rebuilt several times over the centuries, burned to the ground during the Korean War, and reconstructed in 1953, going on to earn renown as one of the three great Gwaneum pilgrimage sites in the country. Then, in April 2005, a massive wildfire swept through the Gwandong region and destroyed most of the temple's buildings, which have since been rebuilt. As a result, the site holds relatively little in the way of conventional cultural heritage value today, yet there remains much to see — among them Uisangdae Pavilion and Hongnyeonam Hermitage, both attached structures of Naksansa and together designated Historic Site No. 495.

The entirety of Obongsan Mountain, stretching along the Yangyang coastline, constitutes the grounds of Naksansa. The official main gate is Hongyemun Arch Gate, first constructed in 1467 during the thirteenth year of King Sejo of Joseon; it was lost to the wildfire and later rebuilt, and follows the characteristic style of Joseon-period fortress architecture. Many visitors are unaware that this is the temple's formal entrance. Because the nearby Naksan Beach is so well known and so well equipped with amenities, most people approach from that direction, ascending along the path that leads first to Uisangdae Pavilion and Hongnyeonam Hermitage — the sites associated with the founding legend of the monk Uisang.

This stretch of coast is celebrated as one of the finest places along the eastern seaboard to watch the sunrise, and it is here that the grounds of Naksansa properly begin. Passing through Botajeon Hall — a new building despite its traditional tiled roof — and climbing the hill, one arrives at the imposing Sea-Facing Gwaneum Statue, the Haesugwaneum. The hilltop on which the statue stands is the highest point within the temple grounds, and from it the coastline of the East Sea stretches away in both directions in a sweeping panorama that is, in itself, a magnificent sight. Continuing along the footpath past the statue, one comes to Wontongbojeon Hall, rebuilt after it was consumed in the 2005 fire. Much care has gone into its reconstruction, yet for those who remember the hall as it once stood, a sense of irreplaceable loss lingers.

The cultural heritage that has endured through the long centuries and survived to the present day may not always appear, at first glance, to be of great significance. But what has accumulated across that span of time and reached us now — once lost — is gone forever. When I think of all the precious cultural treasures that have vanished in the course of repeated foreign invasions and the upheavals of modernization, I feel a hollow ache, as though something has been taken from the chest and never returned. Revisiting Naksansa after the fire, I found myself thinking: to take thorough precautions for what little remains, to put in place systematic plans for its preservation, and to pass it safely through our hands and into those of the generations that follow — is this not the duty of all of us who were born and live upon this land?

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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Gaesimsa Temple, Seosan, South Korea

Gaesimsa Temple, Seosan, South Korea

321-86, Gaesimsa-ro, Unsan-myeon, Seosan-si, Chungcheongnam-do, Republic of Korea

Hidden away in Sinchang-ri, Unsan-myeon, Seosan City, South Chungcheong Province, lies a temple that can only be described as a hidden gem. Little known to the general public for much of its history, it was brought to wider attention when Professor Yoo Hong-june — who later served as Commissioner of the Cultural Heritage Administration — introduced it in one of his books. Getting there is no simple matter either: there is no public transportation of any kind, and visitors must arrive by private car or taxi. Even so, the number of people making the trip appears to be growing of late, and restaurants and other amenities have been appearing one by one in the surrounding area.

Gaesimsa is a subsidiary temple of Sudeoksa, the head temple of the seventh district of the Jogye Order. According to tradition, it was founded in 651 — the eleventh year of King Uija of Baekje — by the National Monk Hyegam, under the name Gaewonsa. It was renamed Gaesimsa when the monk Cheoneung undertook a major reconstruction in 1350, and was rebuilt again in 1475, the sixth year of King Seongjong of Joseon, before undergoing comprehensive restoration in 1955. The main hall, Daeungjeon, designated Treasure No. 143, is a wooden structure built in 1484 during the fourteenth year of King Seongjong's reign. It is a single-story building of three bays across the front and three bays along the sides. Its structural system blends the dapo and jusimpo bracket styles, and its fundamental composition bears a close resemblance to the Geungnakjeon at Muwisa Temple — one of the most representative jusimpo structures of the early Joseon period.

Stepping out of the parking area and looking up the stone steps, one is greeted by the Beomjongak bell pavilion and the Anyangnu gate pavilion. The calligraphy on the signboard reading "Gaesimsa of Sangwangsan Mountain" captures, in a single glance, the entire spirit of this place. Passing through Anyangnu leads directly into the courtyard in front of Daeungjeon, a space suffused with the scent of aged timber. The Muryangsu Hall nearby immediately draws the eye with its remarkable columns — rough-hewn timber used exactly as nature left it, with all its irregularities intact, so that the pillars supporting the building are uneven and organic in form. It is this quality of natural beauty, unforced and unstudied, that makes this temple all the more endearing.

Gaesimsa is especially celebrated for its cherry blossoms in April. When the wild mountain cherries bloom across the hillsides and the ornamental cherry tree in front of the Myeongbujeon hall bursts into full flower, the temple is said to take on an almost fantastical appearance. I have not yet had the chance to visit at that time of year, but simply taking in the restrained, dignified atmosphere of the grounds is more than enough to conjure the image. The arrangement of the temple buildings — to which nothing could be added and from which nothing could be taken away — seems to distill the essence of traditional Korean Buddhist architecture into a single, quietly complete composition. I found it so thoroughly satisfying that even after I had finished exploring, I lingered for a long while, sitting on the wooden veranda, reluctant to leave.

It is only a couple of hours from Seoul, so if someone were to ask me to recommend a temple worth a day trip, I would suggest Gaesimsa in Seosan without a moment's hesitation. It is not convenient to reach without a car, but it is not so far away, and it retains every quality that a great temple should possess — untouched, as yet, by the encroachments of the modern world. My sincere hope is that it will never be diminished by an excess of visitors or the disruptions of over-zealous construction, and that Gaesimsa will go on preserving its beautiful form for many years to come.

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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Muryangsa Temple, Buyeo, South Korea

Muryangsa Temple, Buyeo, South Korea

203, Muryang-ro, Oesan-myeon, Buyeo-gun, Chungcheongnam-do, Republic of Korea

The first thing that struck me upon my visit to Muryangsa Temple was the traces left behind by Kim Siseup, the author of Geumo Sinhwa (New Tales from Gold Turtle Mountain). Known as one of the most brilliant minds of the reign of King Sejong in the early Joseon Dynasty, Kim Siseup — who went by the pen name Maeywoldang — was a wandering scholar who spent his life roaming the country after the traumatic coup of 1453, in which Prince Suyang seized the throne from the young king Danjong in what became known as the Gyeyujeongnan. Through his years of restless wandering, he left his mark in many places and produced a remarkable body of written work. In his final years, Kim Siseup entered Muryangsa Temple, where he passed away, leaving behind a portrait and a memorial stupa. Muryangsa is nestled at the foot of Mansusan Mountain in Buyeo County, South Chungcheong Province. It is not a particularly well-known tourist destination, and the surrounding area is largely free of commercial development, but the roughly two-kilometer stretch from the Oesan Township Office to the temple entrance unfolds as a quietly beautiful rural landscape.

Oesan Township lies along the road connecting Buyeo to Daecheon, and as such it has an intercity bus stop. From that stop, one can walk this neither-too-short-nor-too-long path at a leisurely pace and step into the temple grounds, where National Treasure No. 356 — the Geungnakjeon, or Hall of Paradise — comes into view. A two-story wooden Buddhist hall of rare design, it is a timber-framed structure of incomparable beauty. No precise records survive, but it is said that the temple was founded in the ninth century by the Venerable Beomil and that the great late-Silla monk Master Muyeom once resided here; it appears to have undergone major reconstruction during the Goryeo period. The five-story stone pagoda designated Treasure No. 185 and the stone lantern designated Treasure No. 233, both within the temple grounds, are believed to date from that same era.

Muryangsa was burned to the ground during the Japanese invasion of 1592 and was extensively rebuilt in the early seventeenth century; the main hall, Geungnakjeon, is the wooden structure erected during that period of reconstruction. The first floor spans five bays across the front and four bays along the sides, while the second floor is three bays by two — a double-story, hip-and-gable roof construction. The interior is open from floor to ceiling, with no division between the two levels. A two-story hall is an uncommon sight in ordinary Buddhist temples, yet it does not possess the imposing grandeur of the Mireukjeon at Geumsansa Temple. It feels, rather, like precisely the right scale for Muryangsa — no more, no less. Thanks to the double-story Geungnakjeon, the temple precinct, which might otherwise feel sparse and open, achieves a sense of vertical balance.

Perhaps owing to the lingering presence of Kim Siseup, the atmosphere within the temple grounds is one of stern solemnity. For reasons difficult to name, a quietly somber quality permeates the space, lending it a heavy, abiding gravity. The path leading straight from the Sacheongwangmun — the Gate of the Four Heavenly Kings — is interrupted by the five-story stone pagoda before continuing to the foot of the two-story Geungnakjeon. The various halls, large and small, are arranged around this central axis, and as is the case with most Buddhist temples, their placement in harmony with the surrounding natural terrain feels like nothing less than the most fitting choice possible.

There are no notable amenities in the vicinity, only the ordinary scenery of a farming village — and yet this is, perhaps, precisely what makes Muryangsa so compelling. There is nothing especially spectacular here, and the historical records are far from complete, but Muryangsa Temple on Mansusan Mountain in Buyeo, where the spirit of Kim Siseup seems to breathe still, is a place I would urge every traveler to visit at least once.

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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Sinwonsa Temple, Gongju, South Korea

Sinwonsa Temple, Gongju, South Korea

1, Sinwonsadong-gil, Gyeryong-myeon, Gongju-si, Chungcheongnam-do, Republic of Korea

I had come primarily to visit Gapsa Temple on Gyeryongsan, and on a whim, curiosity drew me to nearby Sinwonsa as well. Currently a subsidiary temple of Magoksa, Sinwonsa is located in Yanghwa-ri, Gyeryong-myeon, Gongju City, South Chungcheong Province. This temple of a thousand years was founded in 651 CE, the eleventh year of Baekje King Uija's reign, by the monk Bodeok. It was rebuilt by the national monk Doseon toward the end of the Silla period, reconstructed again in 1298, the twenty-fourth year of Goryeo King Chungnyeol's reign, by the monk Mugi, and later expanded by the Joseon-era monk Muhak, who is credited with adding the Yeongwonjeon shrine hall. In 1866, the third year of King Gojong's reign, the Chungcheong provincial governor Sim Sang-hun undertook a restoration and renamed the temple Sinwonsa, and in 1876, the monk Boyeon carried out a further reconstruction that brought the complex to roughly its present form.

Alongside the main Daeungjeon hall, Sinwonsa retains a handsome hip-and-gabled structure spanning three bays across the front and three bays deep — a building of considerable distinction among late Joseon architectural works. This is the Jungakdan, a ceremonial altar dedicated to the mountain deity of Gyeryongsan. Korea's traditional system of mountain spirit shrines comprised three such sites: the Sangakdan on Myohyangsan to the north and the Hagakdan on Jirisan to the south, with the Jungakdan here at Gyeryongsan standing as the middle altar. It is also said that the Buddhist image enshrined in the incense hall was placed there in honor of Empress Myeongseong, and for this reason Sinwonsa has long been associated with her memory. The temple carries a Baekje-era story as well: Prince Yung, son of the last Baekje king, is said to have fled here to escape the allied Silla-Tang forces, and it was at this very place — Sinwonsa — that he surrendered to the Silla army.

It was late autumn, and most of the leaves had already fallen, leaving the branches bare and the grounds wrapped in a stillness that spoke of absence. Perhaps it was the weight of the stories — Empress Myeongseong, and before her the defeated Baekje prince seeking refuge here — but the place carried a melancholy that seemed to belong to it regardless of season. The weekday quiet made it feel all the more deserted, until after a little while a handful of children appeared from somewhere and began running through the precinct, filling the air with cheerful noise. It was a little chaotic, but far preferable, I thought, to the emptiness that had preceded them. Being on the slopes of Gyeryongsan, the distant peaks of the mountain were visible from the grounds, framing the scene with a quiet grandeur.

There is no way to reach Sinwonsa by public transportation, so after finishing at Gapsa I had asked the taxi to wait — a decision I deeply regretted once I had let it go. After completing my visit and preparing to leave, I found myself stranded, and spent some time deliberating before eventually calling another taxi to take me back into Gongju. Compared to North Chungcheong, South Chungcheong conceals a surprisingly rich scattering of cultural heritage tucked away in unexpected corners. Sinwonsa might easily have passed as an unremarkable temple of no particular distinction — and yet seen through the story of the ill-fated Empress Myeongseong, it takes on an entirely different character and weight. There is a particular joy in seeking out places like this — temples that are little known, seldom visited, and entirely unexpected — and I find that joy difficult to put into words.

If you would like to experience a unique side of Korea, the "Land of the Morning Calm," please feel free to reach out. I host small, private guided tours tailored for international visitors.

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