City Guide Review: Buseoksa Temple
Review by Arista Ngodinh, ETA 2019-2020 City: Yeongju Type of Business: Temple (UNESCO Historical Site) Address: 345 Buseoksa-ro, Buseok-myeon, Yeongju-si, Gyeongsangbuk-do Cost: Adults: 1,200 won / Group: 1,000 won Youths: 1,000 won / Group: 800 won Children: 800 won / Group: 500 won Nestled in the mountains of Gyeongsangbukdo lies one of Korea’s most unique UNESCO heritage sites, Buseoksa Temple, otherwise known as the “Floating Stone” temple. Visitors come to the temple mainly because it is one of the few places in Korea where you can see five of Korea’s national treasures at once, including the stone lantern in front of Muryangsujeon Hall, Muryangsujeon Hall, Josadang Hall, wall painting in Josadang Hall, and seated clay statue of Amitabha Buddha. People love visiting not only for the national treasures and beautiful temple grounds, but also for the magnificent mountainside scenery. While the temple and scenery are stunning throughout the year, many visitors prefer to visit during late October to early November to enjoy the extraordinary reds, oranges, and yellows of fall foliage. The temple is built on terraced hills, and the layout of the grounds is modeled after the chinese character ‘華’ (hua) as a tribute to the beliefs of the Hwaeom buddhist sect. Walking through the temple is meant to symbolize walking towards the heavens, and this is reflected in the architecture. There are 108 steps up to the top to represent the ascension to Nirvana (don’t worry, it’s not as daunting as it sounds). The main hall itself is constructed to draw attention towards the sky. The columns are arranged in ascending height order. The outer columns of the hall tilt inward, and the ends of its roof curve upwards to draw the eye upward towards the heavens. Visitors will first follow a tree-covered path up to the entrance of the temple. Once reaching the entrance, visitors will go up the steps to the first terrace, where they will be met with beautiful temple grounds. Walking further up into the courtyard, visitors will see two pagodas from the Late Silla period. To the right is the first national treasure, Josadang Hall of Buseoksa, and within it the second treasure, the wall painting. Continuing up more stairs, visitors can find the magnificent Beomjonggak pavilion leading up to the main hall. At the top, visitors will finally come upon the main hall, Muryangsu-jeon, another of the five national treasures at Buseoksa. The main hall contains another treasure, the statue of Amitabha in shining gold as well as a beautiful wall painting next to it. Outside of the hall is a final national treasure, the stone lantern. To the left of the main hall, visitors can find the “floating” stone for which the temple is also known. In all honesty, it is not as exciting as the name seems. The stone is only said to be floating by a few centimeters. However, the rest of the temple is incredibly beautiful, and the national treasures allow visitors a firsthand look at the long-lasting and majestic nature of Korean history. For those looking for a unique place to visit that is rich with Korean culture and history but not overwhelmed by crowds of tourists, consider going off the beaten path to Buseoksa in Yeongju. [FinalTilesGallery id=’6′]
How I Learned to Be Confident in Korea
I learned how to be confident in Korea, holding my head high, high heels announcing my presence, steps echoing in a still-quiet subway station. I learned how to be confident in Korea starting with lip tint – for the moisturizer, then lipstick – it was a gift, now BB cushions, oil cleanser, concealer, and double lash mascara. I learned how to be confident in Korea hearing unearned affirmations praise for physical traits previously disregarded an anthem now follows in my wake: Small face Small face Small face Your face is SO small! I learned when confidence fails me in Korea, when despite heat and oil, my hair stretches her frizz high and wide rebelling at the worst time, on a morning missing mascara. When the office is quiet, save for a hello or two, critical eyes pass over my hair, face, body and say nothing. Yet in crucial moments, a warrior emerges sword lifted high against stereotypes, gender roles and fat-shaming rhetoric – relics of my code of honor. False confidence shed and armor donned, I catch battles at every turn, from bus to lunchroom, in sight-seeing and church-going but I in my righteous fight am far outnumbered. The warrior retreats. So I slip back into my new confidence, and on a day when I’m dressed up nice, I slide open the office door and announce my presence, counting down the seconds until the first compliment confirming that I am indeed Beautiful. Monica Heilman is a 2014-2016 ETA at Yeongdo Girls’ High School in Busan. She previously taught at Gimhae Jeil High School in Gimhae, Gyeongsangnam-do.
Noona, Onni, Agassi–Names my Host Family Calls Me
Noona, Onni, Agassi –Names my Host Family Calls Me Before meeting my host family, I thought that living with a Korean family would be a fun, perhaps sometimes challenging cultural experience. I never imagined that we could really come to accept each other as family, especially over the short period of just one school year. Each and every member of this family proved me wrong. Imo “She’s coming on Friday. You have 24 hours to decide.” I cannot imagine the conflicting feelings of curiosity, doubt, excitement and anxiety that my host mom must have felt that fateful Wednesday afternoon when she hung up the phone. My school’s host family arrangements had fallen through at the last minute, and in a desperate attempt to find me a new place, one of the teachers had called up her sister and given her this crazy proposition. Imagine this: a total stranger and foreigner who may not speak your language will come live in your house with you and your family for a year. You will have to share your personal time and space with her, cook for her, allow her to interact with and influence your children, and probably deal with not only logistical but also any physical, emotional, social or psychological problems she may have while adjusting to life in Korea. Sounds fun, right? In what I can only imagine as a moment of spontaneity and tremendous grace, my host mom (or “Imo,” as she asked me to call her) accepted. I knew before I met her that Imo doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. Having accepted the challenge of welcoming me into her home three days before my arrival, Imo immediately directed the full renovation of her son and daughter’s shared room from floor to ceiling, redesigning it to the best of her ability to fit the unknown tastes of her new host daughter, including replacing half of the furniture. She chose green for the walls and white for the furniture, making the room feminine but not too girly. She selected a white bed and matching vanity desk and stool. A white carpet and white slippers added a nice touch of warmth to the room, and a little white cloth shade hanging over the doorframe created an aura of privacy and welcome at the same time. A rolling chair with a firm back was also ordered to meet the needs of a new teacher’s busy lesson planning after school hours. Imo’s final touch was a soft, bright yellow blanket, patterned with big white hexagons, making the bed look something akin to a giant beehive. I imagine the yellow blanket was intended to make anyone feel like a queen bee coming home to sweet dreams at the end of a long day. Besides moving my host siblings out of their childhood room, Imo also got rid of almost all signs that they had ever lived in it, presumably to really make the space feel like my own. She was reluctant only to take down the framed baby pictures that hung on the walls, I know, because she must have put them back after the repapering. She mentioned at one point later on that I might take the baby pictures down and replace them with my own, but looked relieved when I told her I didn’t mind; actually, I rather like them because they make me feel connected to the family at all times. Moreover, they are a constant gentle reminder of the history that the family has had before I came and imposed myself on their lives, giant suitcase and emotional baggage and all. During our first week together, Imo went very quickly through the phases of familiarization that were necessary to accept me fully into her life. First, the pleasant surprise that I was not so alien as she had imagined: “You know, I was worried about living with a foreigner, but you are like neighborhood lady!” Second, a comforting affirmation that I was a welcome presence in the house: “At first when I said ‘yes’ to having you come stay here, I was very excited. Then, I became very anxious, very worried. Now, I know I made the right decision.” Third, a crossing over from the polite refrain of acquaintances to humorously correcting my over-exaggerated “Korean” mannerisms: “You are so polite. Too polite! Like Joseon Dynasty woman.” Finally, we reached the positive declaration of friendship: “You have been here for just one week now. But it feels like I’ve known you so long!” Over more time, I came to love her, but it happened first by allowing her to love me. I remember so clearly the day I came home in early November, distraught because of a frustrating day at school on top of the heaviness of homesickness that had just started to seep out of the seams of my pretended perfection. I had a sort of meltdown as I sat at the kitchen counter, sobbing through mouthfuls of pumpkin tteok, trying to catch my breath and explain five things at once, hardly understanding my own emotions. My host mom cried with me. She spoke many words of reason and comfort, but what I remember the most is this: “I understand. You miss your mom. I have a daughter, and I am a daughter. When you are here in my home, you are my daughter too.” Her unconditional acceptance of me, a total stranger for the last twenty-three years, as her daughter, even just for this year, shattered the walls I kept up between us out of politeness, or reserve or fear. I understood from that moment on that we were family. Imobu My host father, Imobu, is not a man of many words, but the few he does speak to me are always accompanied by a big cheesy smile and an even bigger effort to be understood through his thick country accent. Every night, just before going to bed, I inevitably catch a glimpse of Imobu stretched comfortably