Getting There
This was the most grueling trip I had ever made in my life. I arrived in Seoul around 9 pm, if I recall correctly, and I was beat. I staggered into the airport arrivals area much relieved that I made it through customs unchecked and that the copious amounts of contraband nosh imported for my mother were intact. When I was accosted by two crazed women waving a big blue sign reading "CHILD"!  No doubt, the other folks waiting for their loved ones thought my mother mad, and thought it unlikely that she could find anyone with such a vague sign.  But I knew it was especially for me, in fact, it couldn't be more specific.
No sooner had we kissed our hellos than my mom and Kris had opened the feta, artichokes hearts and other delights.  It took some effort to preserve some of these treats for later.

So, after having traveled for a total of about 23 hours, we discover that we could only get standing room on the next train to Waegwan.  I was crushed.  I thought I could not bear it.  But, much to our delight "standing room" in this case meant sitting on stools in the cafeteria-style bar of the train, munching on goodies offered to us by fellow travelers, drinking beer and having innumerable short conversations with the very friendly and curious Korean riders.  These Conversations generally went like this: "English?", to with we smile and nod yes.   Sometimes the chats extended to include "American?"  and "Teacher?", to which we answered "no, Canadian" and "yes, she is, in Waegwan".  Generally the good heartedness continued in the form of consumables but, given the limited capacity for communication we all shared due to the lateness of the evening and linguistic shortcomings, the verbal communication generally stopped there.
    When we got to Waegwan 27 hours after I left my home in Canada, I went to sleep for about 14 hours and somehow entirely avoided Jet LAg.  So, I was prepared to get started right away!

Waegwan

In the following days I went to the dentist and had a tooth pulled, and toured around 

Haeinsa
The drive to Haeinsa Temple was so beautiful; I was astounded by the countryside, the villages, the rice fields and ancestral tumulis (family burial plots).  Even the beauty of the drive there could not have prepared me for my first temple.  I am very grateful to Mr. Park for driving us up there, and patiently waiting as we investigated and took pictures, and were generally awe-stricken.

Tripitaka Koreana 
 Haeinsa is quite sacred for the Korean people, for beyond being a Buddhist temple of great beauty, it houses the Tripitaka Koreana.  High up on the mountain where the temple buildings are is one very special building constructed to provide the perfect environment for the thousands of wood-blocks which contain all of the sacred Korean Buddhist writings.  The building is fascinating in that it provides the ideal humidity, ventilation, and temperature and so on to insure that the blocks do not decay.  And they have not, for 100s of years!

The Search For a Local Temple
(and the subsequent contact with Korean reality)

     I am not sure it is possible for me to relate this day with any of the impact it left on us, but I will try to reconstruct this narrative with hopes that some of it will translate.

My mother and I had decided to take a walk, and do some exploring of the local temple my mother had heard about on the other side of the mountain in the North of Waegwan.  We walked along, enjoying our time together, absorbed in our own moment.  Our attentions were called by a group of women, dressed in red, beckoning us to join then in their activities. We crossed the street, not entirely certain of what we were in for, when we were handed glasses of beer and plates of Korean Cabbage which had been breaded and fried in a wok over a fire they had burning.  It was great!  There was a lot of smiling and nodding going on. After a while, we indicated that we had had enough, said our Kamsihamnidas and our Anyong he ke sayos and trotted our our merry way, delighted with our encounter.

As we continued, we came across a very old Confucian school, and a stream.   We figured that following the stream was a good plan, since temples are often near springs.  While we found no temple in the proximity, we did have an adventure.

There were little personal shrines with little Buddhas, offering plates and candle wax along the stream.  As we walked uphill we notice a regal (and long) stairway leading up the mountain.  We thought this was it, for sure.  So, huffing and puffing we marched up and up.  We arrived at the top of the stair to find a bunch of "Keep Out" signs in one direction and a spring (with a really scary Buddha relief on it's head) in the other.  We wandered around the non-forbidden area, looking for evidence of this reported temple, all to no avail.  So, my mother asked an old woman (halmani), who was getting water at the spring, where the temple was.  The woman pointed to the forbidden area and nodded.  So, we crossed the line and followed the path...

As we meandered along wondering how much further it was, where we were, and if we should be doing this at all, I began to notice tires lining culverts in rows along the mountain.  I asked my mother if they were left over from the war, she thought they were some irrigation implement.  Only a few steps further and it was very clear that we were walking through a front zone of The Korean War.  Trenches wove intricate spider webs all over the side of the wooded mountain.  It was astounding, such contact with such a presence of real history, tragedy, and of reality for the many Koreans who remember.  Inside the trenches there were holly trees and rose bushes growing, a delightful and potent symbolism, and accident of nature.

We continued to explore the trenches, foxholes, and other marks that the war left upon this ground for hours.  In fact, we got a little lost and edgy thinking about the possible land mine situation.  Before we knew it, we had arrived at the other side of the mountain, at the park which commemorates the war.  It was good to feel free again, but Waegwan never looked the same, it was not the innocent village I had thought it was in the days preceding.

While we hadn't found a temple that day, am quite sure that my mother and I shared a metaphysical/physical experience that cool December afternoon which has left marks on our souls which will long outlast the marks on our bodies made by the rose bush thorns.

Kongju
On a quest for some of the dynastic history of Korea, we made the trek to Kongju.  We passed through, and spent the night in Taejon – a booming metropolitan/university town which stood in strong contrast to what was to come at our destination. 

Kongju was once the seat of the Shilla Dynasty and is the location of the only royal tombs of that era to be found untouched.  While the site of the tombs is pretty, it was not very exciting; however, the Museum is lovely – it contains all of the contents and a scale re-creation of these royal graves.

For me, the most interesting aspect of Kongju was the fort.  This walled city/fort was built in the 1500s and was renovated in the 1700s, its newest parts are older than Canada!  There is still a village inside the walls.  I felt as though I was entering a time machine, I was like a specter from the west floating through this city, along the walls, touching things and climbing sentinels and looking over the mountains and across the foggy river which comprise its borders.  Before the three kingdoms of Korea united, this must have been quite a hot spot for disputes.