Having a Riot in Seoul

« Return to South Korea

Another irony: travellers like to get lost in order to find themselves. Korea Tourism has been pushing spiritual getaways to temples around the country, a “Temple Stay” for tourists to experience the tranquillity and order that comes from life inside a Buddhist monastery. We headed over to the Lotus Lantern International Meditation Centre, a few hours drive from Seoul, to try on a little monkhood. First, I had to try on grey overalls, to be worn at all times. A young shaven headed Russian monk gave us an introductory talk in spotted English, although it was impressive how he switched to Korean for the horde of local university students also spending the nights. Alexander gave us a brief introduction to Korean Buddhism, a constant, peaceful smile on his lips. We would chant and meditate, bow to the Buddha three times upon entering the temple, exit facing the Buddha. Meals are vegetarian, and eaten in silence, although the head monk’s cellphone did interrupt him for a few minutes. We tried meditating atop soft pillows in a long hall, emptying our heads, counting to ten, focusing on breath. I confess, I’m one of those people who constantly buzzes. I’ve got fire ants in the pants, speed racer neurons triggering thoughts, with soundtracks of music in my mind. I quite like it that way. But I hate mosquitoes - the largest, nastiest species being present in abundance. I ask if mosquitoes constitute a sentient life form, a sly-handed way of enquiring whether it’s OK to squash the buggers in a Buddhist temple. “Monks do not kill mosquitoes,” says Alexander, waving a couple away from his face. This could be the single biggest obstruction to me ever becoming one. I spend the meditation session swatting, staring out the window into the forest, using this rare moment of silence to reflect on all I have to be grateful for. A half hour later, I emerge from the hall relaxed and jovial, a believer in the benefits of taking a time-out to stop and think about the things that matter, or even nothing at all.

Physical challenges have somehow become my forte so performing 108 prostrations in a Buddhist temple at 4am should have been easy. Bend your knees, touch your head on the mat, raise your hands, stand up, repeat. By number 60 however, I was dizzily sweating, my knees trying to topple the chicken buses of my tendons. As a form of meditation, prostration takes practice and is a sign of devotion. A golden statue of Buddha looks on approvingly, eyes half closed, dragons above his head. Behind me, some of the students are giggling in agony. Things you’re not supposed to do on TV:
1. High five.
2. Say the word, “awesome”.
When the bowing stops, Julia and I rock an awesome high five.

By 5am, we are back in the meditation hall, facing outwards, fighting the attack of thoughts. This time, I think about countries and the adventures I had within them, the people I met, and anything that will prevent me from falling asleep. Pickled cabbage and radish and porridge for breakfast, a dash of calligraphy, and we return to the city for a meal of ginseng chicken soup, various timelapses along the busy streets of Insadong, the canal of Cheonggyecheon, Gyeongbokgung Palace, the 360 views atop N.Seoul Tower showing just how massive this city is. I catch a martial arts display, some interesting public art, we spend a night in a beautiful traditional guest inn called Rakkojae, a historical pocket of Korean history amidst the latest slick city fashions. I sleep on the floor off the manicured gardens, half-expecting to see the silhouettes of attacking ninjas through the light screen doors.

Finally, a visit to the World’s Largest Congregation, a mega church that according to the Guinness Book of Records, has some 780,000 members. Yoido Full Gospel Church looks like a stadium, and holds 12,000 people at a time. Seats are so in demand that people arrive hours early, and little ladies barge through me on their way to the pews. On Sunday, there are seven, packed services, featuring a band, full orchestra, choir, giant TV screens, and thousands of little old ladies waving their hands in the air. There’s a special section for foreigners, where it is their “godly pleasure” to serve us with headphones and translation services in eight languages. The elders, all men, sit on comfortable leather couches on stage, stoically facing their adoring audience. The dome above looks like a snail’s shell, a molluscular ceiling of faith. The production value of the service is top notch. A short film about mentally ill children supported by the church has the ladies reaching for donation envelopes, stuffing them with 10,000 won notes. I noticed ATM’s and a bank in the lobby if they needed to get some more. Behind me, three women are raising the roof, one with the tears of the faithful. It’s our lucky day too, since Pastor David Yonggi Cho, the retired and globally renowned founder of Yoido, is giving a sermon in aid of the church’s charity. He’s a slight man, blown up to mega proportions by the mega screens, speaking with a seemingly divine ability to take no pauses. There are more Christians in South Korea than Buddhists, and Korean missionaries are common around the world, making this segment a nice counterpoint to my temple stay, for an article, and for the show.

One week in any country can hardly make you an expert, but admittedly we pack in more than most people. Racing about in our bus, our driver Mr Kim slamming on the brakes and pulling U-turns as is custom in Seoul traffic, our wonderful local guide Sarah showing patience beyond anything we deserve. I’ve barely got time to catch my breath, let alone write three articles to pitch, and once again my little diary has run into thousands of words. Time to gather up the innards of my backpack and catch the early morning flight to the Philippines. As for South Korea, what else can I say? It’s been a riot.

Somerset Palace
Seoul, South Korea

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