A Travelogue of 10 Routes

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue | Like Being Left Out of the Side Dishes

I sometimes think, ‘Korea sure has a lot of signs.’

Not just at cultural heritage sites or scenic spots, even a stroll through a neighborhood park or the hill behind your house reveals plenty of informational plaques. When I was a kid, I thought those signs were only for dads out on a walk. But somewhere along the way, I started stopping to read them too. They say you know you are getting older when you start wondering about the names of wildflowers. I guess that applies to me now.

Still, these signs help pass the time and are surprisingly enjoyable to read. “Spirea is named for how its blossoms look like rice cooked with millet,” I’d murmur to myself as I nodded along. Sure, I forget most of it afterward, but maybe that’s why it’s fun because I’m not trying to memorize anything.

These days, as I travel to cultural sites, I often stop to read historical markers. Some are simply printed; others are etched in stone. Unless they are way too long, I try to read them all.

And one phrase keeps catching my eye especially when the topic is pre-Goryeo history:

“According to Kim Bu-sik’s Samguk* Sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms)...,” or, “According to Iryeon’s Samguk Yusa (Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms)...”
(* “Samguk” means “Three Kingdoms.”)

These two books are the most important sources on Korea’s ancient history, so of course they are quoted constantly. And when the signs describe the Three Kingdoms Period, there’s often a map alongside - one showing Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla. But that always sparks a question:

“If every map of the Three Kingdoms includes Gaya... why are we calling it the Three Kingdoms?”

It is a question I have had for a long time. Even in school, whenever we looked at that map, I wondered. But I always brushed it aside, thinking there must be a reason. This time, I finally decided to look it up. And of course, there’s a reason!

First, the term “Three Kingdoms” was coined by Kim Bu-sik, author of the Samguk Sagi. And he was from Silla, the very kingdom that conquered and absorbed Gaya. It makes sense when you remember that history is often written by the victors.

Second, Gaya was not a centralized state like the other three. It was a confederation of smaller polities. So even though it adds up to four names on a map, calling it the “Four Kingdoms” would be misleading.

In the end, I found myself accepting why it’s still called the Three Kingdoms. And yet, I could not shake this uneasy feeling. As if Gaya’s cultural brilliance, the legacy of the so-called “Iron Kingdom,” was somehow fading under the shadow of that tidy number three. It just didn’t sit right, like being left out even as a side dish, not even the cubed radish kimchi, just overlooked altogether.

So, it feels fitting that I am now setting off on the Gaya Culture Route. I have always had a soft spot for Gaya. Maybe it’s human nature - when someone’s left out of the group, you instinctively want to offer them an extra rice cake. Maybe that’s why Gaya caught my interest in the first place.

No one likes to be treated like an afterthought. I should know I was always the shortest kid in class until I hit my growth spurt. Maybe that’s why, whenever I saw the word “Gaya” tucked into the corner of a Three Kingdoms map, I felt something. Like I was looking at an old friend who had been overlooked one too many times.

The city of Gimhae in Gyeongsangnam-do is the perfect place to start the Gaya Culture Route. Gimhae was the cradle of Geumgwan Gaya, one of the early Gaya polities and the most powerful among them.

위에서 바라본 김해시내 전경

I flew from Seoul to Gimhae Airport, which conveniently connects to the city by light rail. I got off at Gimhae National Museum Station and walked from there. As soon as I stepped outside, I saw a monument engraved with the Gimhae Citizen’s Charter. The first line read:

“We inherit the brilliant traditions and culture of the Gaya Royal Capital and, with harmony and unity, strive to build a city of happiness for future generations.”

I have never seen a welcome sign so full of affection for Gaya. I knew I’d come to the right place.

나무 사이로 보이는 국립김해박물관 외관

My first stop was the National Gimhae Museum. When you travel around Korea, you’ll often find museums located near major heritage sites. I’ve learned it’s always best to visit the museum first - it’s like a preview that helps frame what you’ll see later. I used to visit the actual sites first and save the museum for afterward, but now I realize how much more sense everything makes when you do it the other way around.

박물관 내부 모습과 모형물

The lower Nakdonggang River basin, where modern-day Gimhae sits, has been home to human life since the Paleolithic era. Back then, it was not the wide-open plain we see today, but rather a region of islands and sea. By the Neolithic period, people here were already venturing far out to sea in boats, showing early signs that the area would become a hub for maritime trade. By the Bronze Age, wet-rice farming had taken root, and large villages began to appear. Toward the end of the Bronze Age, the arrival of iron accelerated major societal changes, and it was then that Gaya began to emerge in earnest.

말갖춤과 여러 철제품

The foundation of Gaya’s economic strength was undoubtedly iron. Thanks to the area's proximity to both mountains rich in iron ore and the sea for transportation, Gaya had easy access to high-quality iron. In fact, the name “Gimhae” is said to have originated from this era, meaning “a place where iron was as plentiful as the sea.”

The frequent discovery of iron horse armor and helmets in Gaya archaeological sites proves their advanced ironworking techniques, and hints at the intensity of warfare in the region.

동물 모양의 작은 토기 유물들

Another defining trait of Gaya was its identity as a “maritime kingdom.” With iron as its key commodity, Gaya actively traded not only with other Korean polities but also with China and Japan. Geumgwan Gaya, based in Gimhae, rose to dominance thanks to its advantageous position in this iron-based maritime trade network. Iron became the medium through which it expanded outward through commerce and consolidated power internally among the Gaya confederation.

Geumgwan Gaya’s founding myth is recorded in the Samguk Yusa. Famously associated with the song “Gujiga,” the myth connects directly to the next stop on the Gaya Culture Route.

Behind the National Gimhae Museum is a small, turtle-shaped hill called Gujibong. Around 2,000 years ago, it was here in Gusan-dong that nine village chieftains gathered to sing and dance.

The song they sang, now known as Gujiga, is simple but eerie:

"Turtle, turtle, stick out your head. If you don’t, we’ll cook and eat you."

Maybe the sky was moved, or frightened, by their dancing threats. A box descended from above, containing six golden eggs. One by one, the eggs began to crack open, revealing six strapping boys. According to legend, each one was a towering figure over nine feet tall.

These six sons became kings of the Six Gaya States. And just like twins are ranked by who’s born first, so too were the eggs. The first to hatch became the eldest, and he would rule the land where they had appeared: modern-day Gimhae.

That boy became King Suro, the first monarch of Geumgwan Gaya and the founding ancestor of the Gimhae Kim clan.

수로왕릉 드론샷

Today, the city proudly embraces its 500-year heritage as the capital of Gaya, and King Suro’s tomb is carefully preserved in a vast royal park covering nearly 60,000 square meters. It’s a pleasant place for a quiet stroll.

While the founding myth is detailed in the Samguk Yusa, the tomb itself is more mysterious. We don’t know exactly when it was built. And though legend says King Suro was born in the year 42 and died in 199, that would make him 157 years old. Most likely, this was an exaggeration passed down through the ages. Still, there’s a good reason to believe he lived a long life.

수로왕릉

Sadly, Gaya fell before Chinese-style historiography had taken root in Korea, so few written records remain. Fortunately, the archaeological record is rich, giving us valuable insight into the era.

According to excavations, Geumgwan Gaya experienced rapid growth after its founding. Its strategic location as a port city certainly helped, but so did the long and stable reign of its founding king, Suro.

수로왕릉 드론샷

After visiting King Suro’s tomb, I took a short 15-minute walk north to reach the tomb of his queen, Queen Heo, also known as Heo Hwang-ok. Her story is quite extraordinary: she is said to have been a princess from Ayodhya in India who traveled to Korea by ship at the age of sixteen. Though this tale is not mentioned in the more historical Samguk Sagi, it is recorded in the Samguk Yusa, a text rich with regional legends.

수로왕릉으로 올라가는 계단

At her tomb, you’ll find the Pasa Stone Pagoda, which according to the Samguk Yusa, Queen Heo brought with her from India. The story is intriguing enough on its own, but things got even more interesting when the National Museum of Korea asked a university research team to analyze the stone’s geological origins. Their conclusion? The rock did not originate from anywhere on the Korean Peninsula.

Could it really be that, two thousand years ago, a sixteen-year-old Indian princess journeyed all the way to Korea to marry King Suro? What’s even more fascinating is the observation written by the monk Iryeon, author of the Samguk Yusa, some 700 years ago:

“The stone has fine reddish specks and a soft texture, so it does not come from our land.”

Apparently, even centuries ago, people sensed that the Pasa Stone had traveled a very long way.

History is captivating because it is not just about cold facts. It is about weaving together the fragments we find: artifacts, records, legends. In that sense, history is a blend of rigorous logic and creative thinking. And in ancient history, where documentation is scarce, that creativity becomes even more essential.

When it comes to Gaya, much of what we know comes from archaeological research, especially since its history wasn't well documented. One of the biggest blank spots was the era around the 4th century. That gap began to close in 1990, when archaeologists began excavating the Daeseong-dong Tombs in Gimhae.

대성동 고분군 드론샛

Located just a ten-minute walk from King Suro’s tomb and only 600 meters from Gujibong, this area once called “Aeguji,” or “Little Gujibong,” holds a special place in Gaya history. If the main Gujibong was the most sacred site, then Aeguji must have been revered too.

대성동 고분군

The Daeseong-dong Tombs are the burial grounds of Geumgwan Gaya’s elite, including royals. The excavation of these tombs unearthed numerous royal graves, shedding light on previously unknown aspects of Korea’s ancient history. Remarkably, the site also yielded artifacts showing cultural exchanges among Korea, China, and Japan, which is a proof of Gaya’s significant status in the region.

But Gaya’s golden age would not last forever. In the year 391, one of Korea’s most legendary monarchs, King Gwanggaeto the Great of Goguryeo, rose to power. As he expanded his kingdom with overwhelming military force, the political landscape of the Korean Peninsula began to shift. Responding to a request from Silla, the Goguryeo army pushed all the way down to the Nakdong River basin, attacking Gaya in the process. This period of instability is reflected in the sudden decline of the Daeseong-dong Tombs in the early 5th century.

From that point on, the center of the Gaya Confederacy began to shift from the coastal powerhouse of Geumgwan Gaya to the mountainous inland regions of Gyeongsang-do.

From Gimhae, I rented a car and drove northwest to Hapcheon in Gyeongsangnam-do. Though nearly 100 kilometers away, Hapcheon and Gimhae have long been connected by the Nakdonggang River, which served as a vital route for exchange and trade.

다라국의 뜰

After arriving at the Hapcheon Museum and parking my car, I walked behind the building toward a hill where the Okjeon Tombs are located. At the entrance to the trail, a sign caught my eye: “Field of Dara-guk.” Dara-guk, or the Kingdom of Dara, appears in Chinese and Japanese historical records as a small Gaya polity believed to have been located in this region.

나무사이로 보이는 옥전고분군

Climbing the hill, I found a lonely but striking landscape of tombs of all sizes spread across the slope. The people buried here may be long gone, but their tombs remain as vital sources for understanding the past.

Like the Daeseong-dong Tombs in Gimhae, the Okjeon Tombs are thought to have belonged to the ruling elite. Weapons, armor, and ornaments unearthed from these graves support that theory. From Tomb M2 alone, over 2,000 beads were discovered. In Tomb M3, four large swords were excavated - each engraved with dragons, phoenixes, or a combination of both - clear symbols of supreme authority.

옥전고분군 드론샷

What makes this site even more significant is that similar tomb clusters can be found throughout the Nakdonggang River basin. This supports the idea that the Gaya polities coexisted in a unique political structure - a confederation, rather than a centralized state like Goguryeo, Baekje, or Silla. In a unified kingdom, the elite tombs would likely have been concentrated in a single location.

Moreover, by the late 5th century, artifacts found in tombs across areas like Goryeong, Hapcheon, Sancheong, Hamyang, Namwon, and Jangsu began to show increasing similarity. This suggests the emergence of a powerful confederation uniting the mountainous regions of Gyeongsang-do. When considered alongside the decline of Geumgwan Gaya in Gimhae, it becomes clear that the center of Gaya’s power had shifted from coastal to inland areas.

From Hapcheon, I drove eastward to Changnyeong. Like Hapcheon, Changnyeong was home to “Bijiguk,” one of Gaya’s smaller polities, and it flourished during the 5th and 6th centuries, the same period as the Okjeon Tombs.

At first glance, Changnyeong’s ancient tomb clusters may not seem that different from others. But I chose Changnyeong as the destination of the Gaya Culture Route because it is closely tied to the last chapter of Gaya’s history.

멀리서 본 무덤 모형도

The ancient tombs in Changnyeong are located in the northeastern part of the town. I began my journey at the tombs in Songhyeon-dong, then moved on to the larger ones in Gyo-dong. The tombs in Gyo-dong even had models showing what the inside of a tomb looked like. Originally, this area had many more burial mounds, but during the Japanese colonial era and the post-liberation years, many were looted or converted into farmland, leading to a significant reduction in number.

The tomb structures confirm that this area was once part of the Gaya Confederacy. But what sets it apart are the artifacts found here. While some items retain distinct local traits, many others show clear Silla influences—especially in the later layers. This makes sense, given that Changnyeong was situated at the edge of Silla’s traditional territory.

옆에서 본 고분군

Historians believe that Bijiguk may have been assimilated into Silla well before Gaya vanished completely. It’s also likely that Silla used Changnyeong as a strategic forward base during its conquest of the Gaya polities. After all, King Jinheung of Silla erected the Monument de Changnyeong here to mark his expansion into the region.

Epilogue

As the small inland polities that formed the late Gaya Confederacy were gradually absorbed or conquered, the story of Gaya quietly slipped from the pages of history. This iron kingdom, which had held its own alongside Silla for nearly 700 years through an independent confederate system, vanished almost too easily.

But was it truly that simple? Perhaps, like Baekje’s General Gyebaek who fought to the death at Hwangsanbeol, Gaya too had warriors who made their last stands - fathers who said farewell to their families before charging into battle. We simply don’t know. All we can do is piece together what might have been from the remnants they left behind.

This journey along the Gaya Culture Route has been one of imagination more than anything. Gaya’s history is largely undocumented, and much of what we believe is based on archaeological evidence and informed speculation.

And yet, this is also what made the journey so rewarding. As I followed the path of Gaya’s rise and fall, I felt like I was stepping into a historical mystery like reading a novel where you fill in the gaps with your own interpretations.

Cultural heritage always sparks the imagination. In a way, history is like an escape room filled with hidden clues, and cultural relics are the keys. But to truly understand, we must look beyond what’s written on the placards. Sometimes the most meaningful stories are the ones left unsaid.

History must be grounded in fact, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t wander freely in our minds. Imagination makes the past feel alive. If we only respond to what’s directly in front of us, the world becomes far less interesting. The same is true of history.

In Gyeongsang-do province, when someone says “gukbap,” chances are they’re talking about pork gukbap. While cities like Miryang and Busan may lay claim to being its true birthplace, these days you’ll find pork gukbap just about anywhere in the region. So if you're traveling the Gaya Culture Route, it's worth saving at least one meal for it.

Pork gukbap is exactly what the name suggests - rice in a broth made from simmered pork bones, served with slices of pork. It might sound simple, but until the early 1960s, this dish was virtually nonexistent in Korea. Most agree it spread after the Korean War, when refugees from the North settled in Busan and brought their food traditions with them.

If you are expecting something like seolleongtang, the beef-based milky soup, your first visit to a pork gukbap restaurant might catch you off guard. Pork, unlike beef, has a much more distinct aroma. These days, some places serve a cleaner, milder version with a light broth and lean meat. But I prefer the traditional kind: thick, rich broth; a generous heap of meat; and a bold combination of seasoning - plenty of minced garlic, a spoonful of saeujeot (salted shrimp), and a mountain of chives sprinkled with chili flakes. Add a few coils of somyeon noodles at the end for good measure. If it’s too refined, it’s just not pork gukbap.

And in places like Goryeong and Changnyeong, heartlands of the later Gaya Confederacy, another beloved dish takes center stage: sujure gukbap.

“Sujure” refers to the chewy, gelatinous tissue left after removing the skin from a cow. In this version of gukbap, the meat is simmered for hours with the sujure, sometimes alongside blood sausage. Though made from beef, it typically includes no sliced meat.

Once considered humble fare for the working class, sujure gukbap has now become something of a rare treat, less common than regular beef soup, but unforgettable once you have tried it. At first, the sight of a bubbling hot pot stacked with what looks like pure fat might intimidate you. But get past the appearance, and you’ll discover a dish with rich texture and deep flavor.

The sujure is tender and pleasantly chewy - not tough, not greasy. The broth, brimming with green onions, garlic, and chili peppers, cuts through any heaviness. There are countless delicious gukbaps out there, but none quite like this one. It’s one of a kind.

Now that I have had a taste, I can’t go back. And honestly, that’s a bit of a problem.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / Like A Traveler Roaming Under the Sky

There are countless great things about traveling, but for me, the best part is this: for a brief moment, I can live a life completely free from the constraints of survival and competition.

Of course, being realistic, making plans, and acting pragmatically are necessary for living. But sometimes, I feel weighed down when my mind becomes too filled with such thoughts. It frightens me when I notice that only practical words come out of my mouth. After staring at so many complex numbers for too long, I find myself falling into this pattern without realizing it.

That's when I decide to escape into the deep wilderness, as far from the touch of civilization as possible. I enjoy those moments when I’m standing before unreal, vast landscapes, feeling myself slowly unravel. And I remind myself once again: "Don’t live thinking you're tied down somewhere," and "Don’t let yourself be confined by small things."

Perhaps the sublime beauty of nature has a purifying power. Just by existing, breathtaking scenery cleanses the stained corners of the human mind.

This time, I’m traveling along the Gwandong Pungryu* Era Route in Gangwon-do Province. Known for its stunning scenery, the Gwandong region has long been a destination for poets and scholars who sought to immerse themselves in nature and enjoy the arts. So, I’ve decided to keep the spirit of “pungryu” in mind for this journey - appreciating nature, savoring elegance, and, most importantly, enjoying life at a leisurely pace, like wind and water flowing freely. With that mindset, I headed east.
* “Pungryu” is the Korean art of living in harmony with nature, savoring beauty, leisure, and intellectual pursuits.

Gwandong refers to the area east of Daegwallyeong mountain pass, which makes Daegwallyeong the gateway to the Gwandong Pungryu Era Route.
Long ago, Shin Saimdang crossed the Daegwallyeong with her young son Yulgok, yearning to visit her mother in Gangneung. Danwon Kim Hongdo also crossed this ridge, brush in hand, to paint the Eight Scenic Views of Gwandong.
Before crossing the Baekdudaegan Mountain Range along the Daegwallyeong, there's a spot worth visiting - Woljeongsa Temple, a Buddhist sanctuary nestled in Odaesan Mountain.

일주문 사진

After passing through the temple’s first gate, Iljumun, I walked into a lush forest. It’s quite a long walk, nearly 2 kilometers, but the path is lined with over 1,800 fir trees that are more than 80 years old, making it a beautiful, serene journey. Finally, after crossing the Geumganggyo Bridge over a crystal-clear stream, Woljeongsa quietly appears, nestled deep within the mountain.

월정사 사진

The first thing you notice at the center of the temple is the octagonal nine story stone pagoda. In front of the pagoda stands a statue of a Bodhisattva, kneeling on the right knee, with hands clasped in a gesture of offering, gazing reverently at the pagoda.

Aside from the pagoda, it’s hard to find traces of the temple’s long history, which is only natural. Woljeongsa was founded in the 7th century but has burned down three times. The first time was during the reign of King Chungnyeol of Goryeo, the second during King Sunjo of Joseon, and the last time, relatively recently, during the Korean War.
There’s a tragic story behind the final fire - it was deliberately set by South Korean forces. Fearing that the North Korean army would use the temple as a base during the retreat in January 1951, the South Korean troops set Woljeongsa ablaze before leaving.

월정사 부감 사진

If, like me, you’re planning to start your journey along the Gwandong Pungryu Era Route, I recommend beginning at Woljeongsa. It’s worth visiting not only for its cultural heritage but also for the beautiful natural environment of Odaesan. It’s a perfect place for a traveler just leaving the city to clear their mind.
After briefly exploring Woljeongsa, I crossed the Daegwallyeong and headed for Gangneung.

My exploration of the Eight Scenic Views of Gwandong, crafted by the East Sea, began at Gyeongpodae Pavilion.
Some people mistakenly think Gyeongpodae refers to the area like Haeundae in Busan, but Gyeongpodae is actually a pavilion on a hill north of Gyeongpo Lake. It was once famous as the best place on the east coast to watch the moonrise.

경포대 그림

As I climbed the hill, I saw familiar paintings next to the pavilion. Gyeongpodae has long been a beloved site for poets and artists who visited the East Sea, and many left behind poems, writings, and paintings. Though I’d seen these works before, seeing the actual landscape they depicted in front of me made me study them more closely. It was amazing to think that nature had remained largely unchanged for centuries.

In front of me lay Gyeongpo Lake, with a thin strip of land separating it from the sea beyond.
경포대 정자와 해변

Back in high school, when I was preparing for the college entrance exam, Gwandongbyeolgok, written by Songgang Jeong Cheol during his time as the governor of Gangwon-do Province, was not my favorite subject. No matter how beautifully he praised the scenery of Gwandong's Eight Views, old Korean literature was incredibly difficult to study.

Yet here at Gyeongpodae, Gwandongbyeolgok, which had once tormented me, suddenly came to mind. Jeong Cheol no longer felt like a distant historical figure. After all, he stood in the same spot as me, gazing at the same landscape and feeling what I felt. The same goes for Kim Hongdo and Jeong Seon.
The harmony of the lake and sea viewed from Gyeongpodae was elegant and refined. I began to understand why those famous works of art were created here. It’s one of those moments when the knowledge you once acquired merges with real-life experience - a rare and special joy.

경포대 누각 천장 시인의 글

The ceiling of the pavilion is lined with writings from poets and scholars who visited Gyeongpodae. Among them is a poem by King Sukjong and a dedication by Jo Hamang, a former governor of Gangneung. One of the displayed works is Gyeongpodaebu, written by a young scholar from Joseon who spent his childhood in Gangneung. The piece not only describes the distinct seasonal beauty of Gyeongpodae but also expresses his ambition to help the suffering people, all written with great literary flair.

The most surprising thing? This piece was written when the scholar was just 10 years old. I bet you can guess who the author is. The answer lies in the next part of my journey.

Ojukheon is not far from Gyeongpodae - it’s within walking distance. It’s likely that the 10-year-old boy who wrote about Gyeongpodae grew up here.

율곡이이 동상

The first thing that greeted me upon entering Ojukheon was a statue of Yulgok Yi I, one of the most prominent Confucian scholars in Joseon history. In front of the statue was a plaque engraved with his guiding principle, “見得思義.” This is a phrase from the Analects of Confucius, meaning, “If you gain something, first consider if it is righteous.”

There’s a famous story about Yulgok. At one point, his family was so large that he had over 100 relatives living under his care. After leaving government service, there were many days when he and his family went hungry. His friend, Choi Rip, a county magistrate, once sent him rice, but Yulgok refused to accept it, believing it was grain taken from the government. That’s how much Yulgok prioritized right and wrong over profit and loss.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진17-문성사 사진

At the far end of Ojukheon stands Munseongsa, a shrine dedicated to Yulgok’s spirit, and in front of it grows a crepe myrtle tree that blooms red for 100 days. The tree is over 600 years old, meaning it must have blossomed in the same spot during Yulgok’s childhood.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진19-몽룡실 외부 사진

Next to Munseongsa is Mongnyongsil, the room where Shin Saimdang gave birth to Yulgok. True to the name Ojukheon (meaning "house of black bamboo"), the area surrounding the building is filled with black bamboo groves.

Yulgok, regarded as one of the greatest geniuses in Joseon history, has many stories surrounding his brilliance. For example, there’s the famous anecdote about how he ranked first in the civil service exam not once, but nine times, earning him the nickname Gudojangwongong (The Scholar Who Won First Place Nine Times).

However, the story that came to mind as I explored Ojukheon was about when Yulgok’s mother, Shin Saimdang, passed away when he was 16. Yulgok observed the three-year mourning period for her, but even after that, he couldn’t let go of her memory. At 19, he made the decision to leave the secular world and entered a temple, becoming deeply immersed in Buddhism for a time. It seems that Yulgok’s childhood at Ojukheon was filled with joyful memories of his family, making his loss even harder to bear.

After visiting Ojukheon, I headed to Seongyojang, a traditional house that perfectly exemplifies the upper-class homes of the Joseon era.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진23-선교장 외부 사진

Seongyojang is a privately owned national cultural asset and has been passed down through the family for over 300 years. Because it’s still a residence, the structure has been expanded and rebuilt over time, so it lacks the uniformity and order of other historical sites. Yet, the house exudes a humble and human charm, despite its massive size.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진25-자연환경과 선교장

The way it harmonizes with the surrounding natural environment is stunning. The tall pines behind the eaves are impressive, and the artificial pond and pavilion at the entrance immediately make you feel that this was a place designed for enjoying pungryu.
The pavilion, named Hwallaejeong, is a small room that can barely seat a few people, yet it doesn’t feel cramped. This is because the windows facing the pond offer a picture-perfect view of the serene landscape, as if framing a living painting. It’s easy to imagine the scholars of old sitting here, leisurely enjoying poetry and music.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진27-활래정 안에서 본 연못

After leaving Gangneung, I continued driving north toward Naksansa Temple, nestled at the foot of Obongsan Mountain. Naksansa is home to Hongryeonam, a shrine dedicated to the Bodhisattva of Compassion, and Uisangdae, one of the eight scenic wonders of Gwandong.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진29-낙산사와 동상

I parked at the beach parking lot and walked through the pine forest toward the summit of Obongsan. The mountain is also known as Naksan, meaning "Mountain of Nirvana," as it’s said to be the place where the Bodhisattva of Compassion resides. Naksansa was founded by the great monk Uisang during the Silla Dynasty after he had a vision of the Bodhisattva.
At the summit stands the towering Haesugwaneumsang, a 16-meter-high statue of the Bodhisattva gazing out over the East Sea. This statue, erected in the 1970s, was the largest Buddha statue in Asia at the time.
I was captivated by the view from the top. In front of me stretched the endless coastline of the East Sea, while behind me, I could see the distant peaks of Seoraksan Mountain, including Daecheongbong and Ulsanbawi Rock.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진31-의상대로 가는 길

However, the four scenic wonders recorded in Jeong Cheol’s Gwandongbyeolgok are located closer to the beach, beneath the summit. One of these is Uisangdae, the meditation site where Uisang first established Naksansa. There was once a hermitage here, but now a pavilion stands in its place.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진33-의상대 정자에서 본 홍련암

From the pavilion, if you look to the left, you can see Hongryeonam, perhaps the most important site at Naksansa. The name Hongryeon means “Red Lotus,” and it comes from a legend about the temple’s founding.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진34-홍련암 사진

In the 12th year of King Munmu’s reign, Uisang witnessed a mystical blue bird while meditating here. He followed the bird as it flew into a cave by the sea. Intrigued, Uisang prayed earnestly for seven days, sitting naked on a rock in the middle of the ocean. After his prayers, a red lotus bloomed from the sea, and the Bodhisattva of Compassion appeared.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진35-홍련암에서 본 바다

Inside Hongryeonam, there is a seated statue of the Bodhisattva. In 2005, a massive wildfire swept through Obongsan, destroying much of Naksansa, but Hongryeonam was miraculously spared, one of the few structures to survive the blaze.

관동 풍류의 길 여행기 사진37-낙산사 부감 사진

Epilogue of the Gwandong Pungryu Era Route

I concluded my journey along the Gwandong Pungryu Era Route at Naksansa Temple.
This trip allowed me to fully appreciate the unique beauty of Korea’s mountains and seas. As I walked along the Baekdudaegan Mountain Range and the East Sea, I finally understood why poets and scholars have been drawn to Gangwon-do Province for centuries.

Have you ever read Alain de Botton’s book “Status Anxiety”? There’s a line in it that I really like: “Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than a moving plane, ship or train. There is an almost quaint correlation between what is in front of our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts at times requiring large views, new thoughts new places.”

I’ve always thought this. When people live in the same place, meeting the same people, doing the same things every day, even the smallest problem or stress can start to feel like it’s consuming your entire life. That’s why, sometimes, the best way to solve a problem isn’t to fight it head-on, but to step away from it. In that sense, the Gwandong Pungryu Era Route is an incredibly appealing journey.

Now, I’m heading back west, following the setting sun. I’m returning to the life bound by the “constraints of survival” that I mentioned at the start. Ah, the pungryu is over. It’s time to switch back to my “reality mode,” which has been hidden somewhere inside me.
But am I sad to be going back to the real world? Not really. Just as I was able to escape for a while and enjoy pungryu, I want to live my life always on the border between reality and dreams. To be able to move freely between them, like the wind or the water. With that thought in mind, I pedaled westward.

As for the flavors that complement this route, they should evoke the taste of the sea - a dish that brings to mind the sound of crashing waves the moment you take a bite. Ideally, it should pair well with alcohol, because in Korean pungryu, food and drink go hand in hand.

So, the dishes I recommend for this journey are Chodang Sundubu (Chodang Soft Bean Curd) and Ojingeo Sundae (Stuffed Squid).

Is there any food that captures the purity of the East Sea better than Chodang Sundubu? Made with seawater brine, Chodang bean curd originated from Heo Yeop, the father of the famous writers Heo Gyun and Heo Nanseolheon. Properly made Chodang Sundubu crumbles like the white foam of breaking waves, and when you take a bite, it slides down your throat as smoothly as receding tide. While the spicy jjambbong (Spicy mixed-up seafood noodle soup) sundubu popular with younger generations is a tasty variation, if you want to truly savor the essence of tofu, I recommend the plain, white sundubu.

Ojingeo Sundae, a local dish of the Yeongdong region, is made by stuffing squid with filling and steaming it. It’s an ingenious dish, though similar versions exist in other parts of the world. These days, some people coat it in egg and pan-fry it, but either way, what matters is that it tastes great.

One of the best ways to enjoy Ojingeo Sundae is to take it to your lodging and eat it there. Pair it with a bottle of cold soju, and you have the perfect combination. With your bed nearby, there’s nothing to worry about. A bite of Ojingeo Sundae and a sip of soju, and the world fades into happiness.

In modern times, I think even this could be considered part of the pungryu spirit. That’s what I believe.

by SUNH HO PARK

Prologue | Was It Everywhere?

I commute from my studio in Seongsu-dong, Seoul, to my home in Gaepo-dong. I always take a public bike "Ddareungi." It’s not a short distance, but if I cross Yeongdongdaegyo Bridge and follow the paths along the Hangang River and Yangjaecheon Stream, I arrive before I know it.

Riding this route countless times, I’ve noticed that the city is full of outdoor advertisements. As I pedal past them, it sometimes feels like I’m flipping through a restaurant menu - a kind of urban menu board. I imagine putting up even one of those ads must cost a fortune. After all, the logos I see belong to household-name companies. It’s like a “special menu board” made up entirely of signature dishes.

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to them. They are just too familiar. This is my neighborhood, and those brand names feel like the guy next door, a younger sibling, or maybe that cool older kid from down the block.

But it’s different when I’m abroad. These days, it’s not uncommon to see familiar Korean brands during my travels whether in Mexico, Thailand, or Sri Lanka. When that happens, it feels like running into a neighborhood friend in a busy city center - all dressed up. At first, it’s surprising, but then comes a warm sense of recognition. Sometimes I even feel a little proud.

You might be wondering, “What does this have to do with Baekje?”

Well, in my mind, Baekje has always carried these kinds of titles: a cultural powerhouse of ancient times, the original wave of Korean influence.

Just as Silla is remembered as the unifier of the Three Kingdoms, and Goguryeo as a bold, expansive kingdom, Baekje, to me, is a refined and expressive civilization that spread its elegant culture far and wide.

Besides, Baekje was founded along the Hangang River - right where I bike every day. If this were still the Three Kingdoms era, I imagine most of those glowing signs I pass would be Baekje brands. And if I visited Japan, I’d probably spot Baekje’s influence everywhere - like the Seven-Branched Sword or the Gilt-Bronze Incense Burner.

Of course, Baekje eventually fell, overshadowed by Goguryeo and Silla. Maybe these thoughts are silly. But then again, the things we think about on the ride home often are.

If you’re going to start telling the story of Baekje, it makes sense to begin while looking out over the Hangang River. Because Baekje was founded by Onjo, son of Jumong* from Goguryeo, who established the capital at Wiryeseong along the river.
* Jumong is the founding monarch of the kingdom of Goguryeo.

The sad part is that little remains from Baekje’s Hanseong era, despite the fact that the kingdom lasted nearly 500 years. It’s just too long ago. On top of that, much of what’s believed to be the core area of Hanseong Baekje - around the Songpa-gu area in Seoul - was built over during the development boom in the Gangnam area.

That’s why it feels a bit unclear to define a starting point for the Baekje Antiquity Route somewhere along the Hangang River. The theory that places Wiryeseong at present-day Pungnap Earthen Fortress is relatively recent. In fact, debates over its exact location have existed since the Goryeo and Joseon dynasties.

공산성의 서문인 금서루를 하늘에서 본 모습

Grand statue of King Muryeong standing in the middle of the road

So this journey along the Baekje Antiquity Route begins instead at Gongsanseong Fortress in Gongju, Chungcheongnam-do. This fortress is believed to be Baekje’s second capital, Ungjinseong, to which the kingdom relocated after Hanseong. Its main gate is the western entrance, Geumseoru, easily recognized by the grand statue of King Muryeong standing in the middle of the road just outside.

공주 공산성에 올라가 깃발이 나란히 이어진 길

My first impression of Gongsanseong was that it seemed smaller than expected. There are the remains of a few sizable buildings and some storage facilities, but for a palace fortress of a kingdom like Baekje, it felt a bit tight.

But one thing was clear - it was the perfect natural fortress. The walls are built to follow the natural ridges of Mount Gongsan, forming steep and defensible slopes on three sides. And in front of it flows the Geumgang River, serving as a natural moat.

공산성 안에서 본 하늘과 전경

Understanding why Baekje relocated its capital to such a defensible location makes sense when you consider the circumstances of the time.

Before coming here, early Baekje had been a prosperous nation. Thanks to the fertile lands along the Hangang River, it rapidly developed both agricultural and iron cultures. Its location near the sea also made it easy to bring in high-level culture and goods from China.

Baekje’s golden age came under King Geunchogo. According to the Samguksagi (the Chronicles of the Three States), he was noted for his exceptional stature, appearance, and wisdom - a legendary figure in Baekje history.

Under King Geunchogo’s rule, Baekje conquered the Mahan confederation in today’s Chungcheong and Jeolla regions. To the north, he even attacked Pyeongyang, the capital of Goguryeo at the time, and killed King Gogugwon.

But legends weren’t exclusive to Baekje. Goguryeo’s own conqueror, King Gwanggaeto the Great, soon emerged. He was, in fact, the grandson of King Gogugwon (16th king of Goguryeo) who King Geunchogo had slain.

연못이 있는 공주공산성 연지

King Gwanggaeto the Great laid siege to Hanseong in a bloody campaign for revenge, pushing Baekje into crisis. His son, King Jangsu, was no less formidable. After moving the Goguryeo capital from Gungnaeseong to Pyeongyang, he launched a full-scale southern expansion. True to his name (“Jangsu” means “long life”), he lived to the age of 98 and led Goguryeo to its peak.

In desperation, Baekje’s King Gaero appealed to the Northern Wei dynasty in China for help, but was turned down. Worse, the appeal only provoked King Jangsu. In the end, Wiryeseong fell, and King Gaero was beheaded.

That’s when his son, King Munju, fled to what is now Gongsanseong Fortress. It’s no wonder he chose this mountainous terrain over wide-open plains - it was better for defense.

It was a painful new beginning. However Baekje slowly rebuilt, step by step, in hopes of regaining its former glory. King Dongseong strengthened the Baekje-Silla alliance through marriage. And later, King Muryeong and his son, King Seong, became known as the kings of Baekje’s revival - a second golden age. Both are remembered as wise and stable rulers, the finest since King Geunchogo.

진묘수를 재현한 큰 동상과 진묘수 모양의 조명이 여러개 설치된 모습

The splendor of this era became widely known when the Tomb of King Muryeong was excavated and revealed a treasure trove of artifacts. Fortunately, the tomb had remained completely sealed underground, untouched by looters. It is also the only Baekje royal tomb with a clearly identified occupant.

When I visited Gongsanseong, the first thing I saw on the lawn were these adorable pig-like stone animals. It turns out they’re Jinmyosu, the guardian beasts that once stood at the entrance to King Muryeong’s tomb. In 1971, archaeologists found one of them standing right inside the passage to the tomb. Imagine that - standing guard alone for nearly 1,500 years.

강을 건널 수 있는 다리의 모습

As luck would have it, the Baekje Cultural Festival was taking place during my visit. First held in 1955, this annual celebration is jointly hosted by the cities of Gongju and Buyeo with the goal of reviving Baekje’s cultural legacy. If King Muryeong and King Seong, who dedicated their lives to restoring Baekje, could see it now, they would surely be moved.

The entire city had been lovingly decorated for the festival, and it was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It's rare to find a city anywhere in the world that holds an event of this scale every year.

Before heading to Buyeo, Baekje’s final capital, I made my way south to Iksan. Though Baekje ultimately fell when King Uija surrendered in the 7th century, I wanted to start with the story of his father, King Mu.

박물관에 있는 무왕의 초상화

The 30th king of Baekje, King Mu, established Mireuksa Temple in the 7th century. As the name suggests, it was a Buddhist temple rooted in Maitreya belief - the idea that a future Buddha would descend to set the world right. It’s easy to understand why such faith would flourish during Baekje’s turbulent final years. After all, following King Geunchogo’s reign, Baekje endured multiple royal assassinations and two capital relocations.

Like King Muryeong and King Seong, King Mu worked tirelessly to restore Baekje’s strength. Domestically, he oversaw large-scale infrastructure projects; externally, he led 16 major battles against Silla over a span of 40 years, starting with the Amakseong Battle (or Battle of Amak Fortress).

하늘에서 본 익산 미륵사지 터

Though only remnants of Mireuksa Temple remain - a half-standing stone pagoda and foundation stones - its scale speaks volumes. Just as Silla had Hwangnyongsa Temple and Goguryeo had Geumgangsa Temple, Baekje had Mireuksa Temple.

Baekje's architectural prowess was unmatched. Japan’s first full-scale Buddhist temple, Asukadera, built by the Soga clan, was reportedly constructed under the guidance of Baekje artisans. And when Queen Seondeok of Silla planned to build a nine-story wooden pagoda at Hwangnyongsa, her ministers advised:

“We will need craftsmen from Baekje to make it possible.”

To create such intricate and towering structures, Baekje’s expertise was indispensable.

미륵사지 근처 나무

After exploring Mireuksa, one might assume Iksan must have been Baekje’s most prosperous city. But the truth is - we don’t really know.

Iksan remains one of the greatest mysteries in Baekje history. It’s unclear which king built a palace here, or why exactly it was chosen. And to add to the intrigue, there’s the legend of Seodong.

We’ll pick up the thread of that mystery at the Iksan Wanggung-ri Site, believed to be the palace of King Mu.

Iksan, once called Geummajeo, is a gateway city at the edge of the vast Honam Plain. King Mu is thought to have lived here and sought to revive the fading power of Baekje. Some believe he even planned to move the capital from Buyeo’s Sabigung Palace to this very location.

But to me, King Mu is more familiar by another name: Seodong. He was a poor Baekje youth who made a living by digging up yams. His story, specially what happened in Silla. is the stuff of legend.

액자틀 모양 조형물 사이로 보이는 왕궁리 유적

Hearing that Princess Seonhwa, the third daughter of King Jinpyeong of Silla, was famously beautiful, Seodong decided he would marry her. Clearly, he wasn’t just any ordinary man. What he did next was even bolder: he handed out yams to children and taught them a scandalous song.

“Princess Seonhwa sneaks out at night to visit Seodong’s room.”

The song spread like wildfire. Princess Seonhwa was expelled from the palace and, during her journey into exile, encountered Seodong and married him. Today, this might land you in serious trouble, but it is a legend, after all, and times were different.

옆에서 본 왕궁리 유적의 모습

How did a poor yam-digger like Seodong become King Mu? That part’s a mystery too. Some say he struck it rich after finding buried gold. Most simply say, “he became king after overcoming countless hardships.”

But one thing is clearly stated in the Samgungnyusa (The Heritage of the Three States): Seodong was indeed King Mu, and Mireuksa Temple was built at the earnest request of Princess Seonhwa.

정림사지 오층석탑

But if that were the end of the story, Iksan would not be considered one of Baekje history’s greatest mysteries.

On January 14, 2009, a groundbreaking discovery shocked Korea’s historical community. During the dismantling of the stone pagoda at Mireuksa Temple in Iksan, a hidden compartment was uncovered - filled with Baekje artifacts. Among them was something truly remarkable: a gold plate inscribed with a record detailing the founding of Mireuksa, known as the Sari Bongyeonggi.

The issue was the name of King Mu’s queen engraved on the plate. It wasn’t Princess Seonhwa of Silla, daughter of King Jinheung, as the legend had claimed. It was the daughter of a Baekje noble family, the Sataek clan.

So, was Seodong someone entirely unrelated to King Mu?

Many theories still circulate. Some argue that King Mu could have had multiple queens, so Seodong and King Mu may still be the same person. Others claim that it was actually King Dongseong, known to have married a Silla woman, who was Seodong. Yet another theory, based on older manuscripts of the Samgungnyusa, suggests Seodong was not King Mu but “King Mugang,” a name some believe to be another title for King Muryeong, given its possible meaning.

Which version is true? That’s the beauty of history - it keeps asking questions, even across the millennia.

Leaving the enigmatic city of Iksan behind, I headed to Buyeo, my final destination.
If Iksan is wrapped in mystery and speculation, Buyeo holds the sorrowful conclusion to Baekje’s 700-year history.

도시의 건물들이 빼곡한 부여를 하늘에서 바라본 모습

Set against the backdrop of the gentle Baekmagang River, the fertile plains of Buyeo feel immediately livable - “a nice place to settle down,” you might say. And people must have thought the same in ancient times. Baekje relocated its capital twice in its history, but each move had a completely different context.

The first move from Hanseong to Gongju was a forced retreat, as discussed earlier. Fleeing Goguryeo’s southern advance, Baekje needed a defensible stronghold. Thus, Gongsanseong Fortress in Gongju was chosen as a place to hide and regroup. Interestingly, even during the Joseon dynasty, King Injo took refuge there during Yi Gwal’s Rebellion.

However, the second move was entirely different. Under King Seong, Baekje relocated by choice and with purpose. Buyeo was a new capital, part of a grand plan to revive the kingdom. King Seong even renamed the country “Southern Buyeo” to emphasize Baekje’s claim to the cultural legacy of the northern Buyeo state - home of Jumong, father of Baekje’s founder Onjo.

산 봉우리 안의 부소산성

Busosanseong Fortress wraps around the ridgeline of Mount Busosan on the south bank of the Baekmagang River. Inside the walls are the remains of buildings and military storage sites. It was likely used for both strategic defense during emergencies and as a place of leisure and retreat during peaceful times.

However, the rugged terrain of Mount Busosan makes it unlikely that this was the full extent of Sabiseong, Baekje’s last capital. Fortunately, just below the southern slope lies the Gwanbuk-ri Site, believed to be the site of the royal palace. Most scholars now consider the entire area to be the historical Sabiseong.

구드래 선착장 부여 유람선

Instead of climbing the fortress right away, I headed to the river’s edge to catch a ferry. The Baekmagang River, named after “Baekje’s great river,” offers the most scenic way to experience Sabiseong’s atmosphere. What’s more, the boat itself is modeled after traditional Baekje-era vessels, making the ride feel like a journey back in time.

강위에서 바라본 백마강

As the ferry glided gently across the water, it eventually brought me to the base of Nakhwaam Cliff, Busosanseong’s most poignant landmark. According to legend, when Baekje fell to the Silla-Tang alliance, the royal court ladies threw themselves from this cliff to preserve their honor.

The cliff was originally called Tasaam, but in later years, it became known as “Falling Flower Cliff,” a poetic name evoking the image of blossoms drifting to their end.

나무사이로 보이는 고란사

The boat stopped at Goransa Temple, just below the cliff. From there, it’s an easy climb up to Nakhwaam without having to hike all the way across Busosanseong Fortress. At the top sits a small pavilion called Baekhwajeong, built in 1929 to comfort the spirits of the court ladies.

낙화암에 올라서 바라본 강의 모습

When you finally reach the cliff, you might be surprised by how small the area is. That’s probably because, as children, we learned that “3,000 court ladies” leapt from this very spot. Of course, we now understand that “3,000” wasn’t a literal headcount - it was a literary device to signify a great many. Some even argue the story itself may have been crafted to tarnish the reputation of Baekje’s last king, Uija.

Whatever the case, the dead remain silent, and the defeated even more so.

After taking in the view from Nakhwaam, I returned by boat to where the journey began. The sky was clear, the wind still. The Baekmagang River carried me gently back, gliding like a leaf across ice.

물위를 유유히 지나가는 황포 돛배

Epilogue

When I was in middle school, there was always one movie playing on TV during the holidays: “Hwangsanbeol (Once Upon a Time in a Battlefield),” a historical comedy film about the fierce battle between Baekje and Silla over control of Sabiseong Fortress.

I recently watched it again for the first time in years. Back then, I thought it was just a funny movie. But now, two decades later, I see it in a new light. Knowing the real history behind the Baekje Antiquity Route I just explored, I can’t help but wonder what those final moments of Baekje were really like.

Nowadays, you can find all the iconic scenes from old movies online and scroll through the comments to see what others think. The movie “Hwangsanbeol” is no exception. Judging by the comments, many people remember it fondly, just like I do. Most are positive: “A masterpiece that broke the stereotype that historical films must be serious.” “Funny on the surface, but deeply meaningful underneath.”

Curious, I also looked up reviews from when the film was first released. Thanks to the internet, that’s easy enough to do. But back then, critics weren’t all so kind. Some called it a “self-deprecating parody of Korea’s solemn history.” Others warned that it might “mislead younger generations who lack historical reflection.” Words like “vulgar” and “lowbrow” also made appearances.

Still, I can’t help but wonder - if not for movies like Hwangsanbeol or legends like Seodong’s tale, would I have ever developed such an interest in Baekje history?

Maybe putting engaging stories front and center isn’t such a bad thing. After all, the more people who care, the less likely something is to be forgotten.

That said, I’ll probably always picture General Gyebaek as (actor) Park Joong-hoon, Kim Yushin as (actor) Jung Jin-young, and King Uija as (actor) Oh Ji-myeong. Which might not be ideal… but hey, who’s to say what’s right?

Still, if I may offer one piece of advice: before you walk the Baekje Antiquity Route, give Hwangsanbeol a watch. You’ll find yourself rooting for a kingdom long gone. And that kind of immersion is what makes exploring Korean heritage truly fun.

Do you like bibimbap? I do. I enjoy both the neatly arranged kind, like Jeonju bibimbap with its ingredients laid out clockwise, and the kind where you just toss in whatever’s left in the fridge, add a spoonful of gochujang and a drizzle of sesame oil, and mix it all up.

But the Hwangdeung Bibimbap I had in Iksan was something entirely different - a style I’d never encountered before. I expected it to be similar to yukhoe (raw beef) bibimbap, but it had its own charm.

The standout feature of Hwangdeung Bibimbap is that the rice, pre-mixed with bean sprouts and gochujang, is warmed in rich beef bone broth. On top, a hefty mound of seasoned raw beef sits like a crown. Each glossy grain of rice bursts with umami, and the clear seonji-guk (blood curd soup) served alongside is deeply flavorful and refreshing. One bite, and you can’t help but wonder: how have I never heard of this?

If you often find yourself wishing there were more meat in your bibimbap, Hwangdeung Bibimbap is your answer. Every bite is half rice, half beef - a golden ratio if there ever was one.

There’s a phrase in the Samguksagi (The Chronicles of the Three States) that captures the elegance of Baekje culture beautifully:

“儉而不陋華而不侈”
“Simple, but never shabby. Splendid, but never excessive.”

These were the words historian Kim Bu-sik used to describe the appearance of Baekje’s royal palace.

And among the flowers loved most in Baekje, none surpassed the lotus. The kingdom’s most celebrated metalwork, the gilt-bronze incense burner, takes the form of a blooming lotus. Lotus motifs adorned not only Baekje temples but even the royal capital itself.

Today, in the area around Busosanseong Fortress, you’ll find many restaurants serving lotus-leaf rice. According to local lore, the people of Buyeo have long harvested lotus leaves from the royal garden pond, Gungnamji, to wrap and steam their rice.

Now, this dish often appears in hanjeongsik meals, paired with grilled short rib patties or mushroom hot pot. The lotus-leaf rice itself is subtle - glutinous rice wrapped in a large lotus leaf and steamed, often with grains and slices of lotus root. The flavor is balanced and gentle, with no one ingredient overpowering the others.

It’s a dish that might appeal more to mature palates. If you're expecting bold, spicy flavors, you might be disappointed. But then again, this journey is about immersing yourself in Baekje culture. And for that, it’s worth remembering:

“Simple, but never shabby. Splendid, but never excessive.”

That’s the kind of refined, understated taste you’ll find here. And if your kids pout at the subtle flavors, just order them a side of grilled short rib patties

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / Why Are Temples in the Mountains?

Today, most Buddhist temples in Korea are nestled deep in the mountains. When one imagines a Korean temple, it is often accompanied by images of streams and forested hills. It evokes the image of a monk quietly chanting sutras, far removed from the noise of secular life - serene, spiritual, and otherworldly.

That is why it can come as a surprise when visiting other Buddhist countries like China, Japan, Thailand, or Sri Lanka. In those places, temples are commonly found right in the heart of cities, often tucked between restaurants and convenience stores, much like how churches and cathedrals are scattered throughout modern Korean cities today.

But during the Three Kingdoms period and the Goryeo Dynasty, Korea too had temples in urban centers. This was only natural, as Buddhism had served as the state religion for nearly a thousand years. In fact, Buddhist teachings were often used to legitimize royal authority, prompting kings to construct ever more grand and powerful temples in their capitals.

For example, King Jinheung of Silla built Hwangnyongsa in Gyeongju, a temple taller than the royal palace. King Gwanggaeto the Great of Goguryeo built nine temples in Pyeongyang alone. By the late Goryeo period, when Buddhism was at its peak, the country had an estimated 13,000 temples and roughly 150,000 monks, which was a massive number for a population of just four million.

So how did temples end up in the mountains? The shift began during the Joseon Dynasty with its policy of “Revere Confucianism, Suppress Buddhism.” Spearheaded by reform-minded scholar-officials and King Taejong, the dynasty sought to curtail the overwhelming influence of the Buddhist establishment. As is often the case in regime changes, one of the first steps was dismantling the dominant powers of the previous era. Founding contributor Jeong Do-jeon even wrote a fierce critique of Buddhism from a Neo-Confucian perspective, titled Bulssi Japbyeon (Arguments Against Buddhism).

Urban temples were gradually dismantled or relocated to remote areas. Some were converted into Confucian academies such as Seowon or Hyanggyo. Monks were banned from entering the capital and were demoted to the status of commoners. Even temple bells were removed and melted down to make weapons. The famed Emille Bell (Seongdeok Daewang Sinjong) nearly met this fate, but was spared when King Sejong personally intervened, as recorded in the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty.

Had it not been for this suppression, Korea today might be filled with temples on every city street. But history offers no “what ifs.” The relocation of temples to the mountains became a defining feature of Korean Buddhism.

Over time, the term “sansa” (mountain monastery) became embedded in everyday language. This unique feature of Korean Buddhism has since been recognized globally, with “Sansa: Buddhist Mountain Monasteries in Korea” inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Driving south from Seoul, once you pass Route 39 between Cheonan and Asan, you’ll begin to see the vast expanse of rolling hills stretching across Gongju, Cheongyang, and Boryeong. These undulating low mountains, known as gureung, create winding, narrow roads - perfect for a slow and scenic drive. The Korean Temple Monasteries (Sansa) Route is as much a journey through Korea’s mountain landscapes as it is through its historic temples.

하늘에서 찍은 공주 마곡사 드론샷

My first destination was Magoksa Temple, nestled on the slopes of Taehwasan Mountain in Gongju, Chungcheongnam-do Province. Said to have been founded by Jajang Yulsa, one of the ten great Buddhist monks of the Silla Dynasty, Magoksa has stood for nearly 1,400 years as a testament to Korea’s ancient Buddhist heritage.

물에 비치는 마곡사의 다리

A local saying passed down in the Gongju region goes, “Magoksa Temple on Taehwasan Mountain is most beautiful in the spring, while Gapsa Temple on Gyeryongsan Mountain shines in the autumn.”

Unfortunately, I visited Magoksa in early autumn, so I missed the temple’s famed spring freshness. Still, autumn - with its calm, romantic atmosphere - is my favorite season. And since it was a weekday, the quiet grounds allowed me to stroll through the temple at my own pace.

석탑이 보이는 마곡사의 모습

Magoksa is not a particularly large temple today. Although it is said to have once comprised more than 30 buildings, only a few remain: Daeungbojeon (the Main Buddha Hall), Daegwangbojeon, Yeongsanjeon, Sacheonwangmun (the Gate of the Four Heavenly Kings), and Haetalmun (the Gate of Liberation). In the courtyard of Daegwangbojeon stands a five-story stone pagoda, believed to date back to the late Goryeo Dynasty. At the highest point of the temple grounds sits Daeungbojeon, which houses a statue of the Buddha.

햇빛이 비추기 시작하는 마곡사를 정면으로 하늘에서 본 모습

The area surrounding Magoksa is said to resemble a taegeuk (yin-yang) symbol, with the curves of its mountain ridges and the flow of the Magokcheon Stream. This ideal geomantic formation earned it a place among Korea’s “Ten Perfect Sites” (Sipseungjiji) - locations believed to offer safety and tranquility during times of war. Appropriately, Magoksa is steeped in stories of refuge and escape.

벽에 그림이 그려져 있는 마곡사

In 1453, a political purge known as the Gyeyujeongnan erupted in the Joseon Dynasty. Prince Suyang (later King Sejo) seized the throne by eliminating his political rivals. Upon hearing the news, the famously precocious scholar Kim Si-seup, who had mastered The Doctrine of the Mean and The Great Learning by the age of five and earned praise from King Sejong, wept for three days. He burned all his books, shaved his head, and chose the life of a wandering monk.

Aware of Kim Si-seup’s brilliance, King Sejo sought to bring him into his court. During a royal tour of prominent temples, he learned that Kim had taken up residence at Magoksa after spending over a decade at Baekryeon Hermitage on Mount Deogyu, and set out to meet him.

But the meeting never happened. Upon hearing of the King’s imminent arrival, Kim quietly left the temple before Sejo could reach him. Today, Magoksa still preserves the royal palanquin (Sejo Daewangyeon) used by the King on that journey - a silent witness to the meeting that never was. A plaque on Yeongsanjeon Hall, bearing Sejo’s own calligraphy, also remains as a legacy of his visit.

마곡사 영산전

There is one more story worth telling: in his youth, the independence activist Baekbeom Kim Gu also spent time at Magoksa.

Here’s what happened. In 1896, at the age of 20, Kim killed a Japanese merchant in a place called Chihapo in Hwanghae-do Province, believing him to be a soldier involved in the assassination of Empress Myeongseong. This incident, detailed in his autobiography Baekbeomilji, was driven by his deep outrage over the Empress’s murder.

He was imprisoned in Incheon Prison for the act but later managed to escape. Seeking refuge, he fled to Magoksa, where he took monastic vows under the Buddhist name Wonjong and lived briefly as a monk.

Of course, as we now know, Kim eventually left monastic life and returned to society. He went on to lead rural enlightenment movements and ultimately devoted himself to the cause of Korean independence. Many years later, in 1946 - after liberation - he returned to Magoksa as President of the Provisional Government. Reflecting on the past, he wrote in Baekbeomilji:

“The temple greeted me with the same unchanging spirit as before, but not a single monk from 48 years ago remained.”

Today, the juniper tree he planted during his time at the temple still stands - a living testament to his youth and the quiet role Magoksa played in his extraordinary life.

물이 흐르는 마곡천

If you exit Magoksa to the west and follow the Magokcheon Stream, you will find the “Baekbeom Solbaram Meditation Trail.” This gentle, flat path is perfect for a relaxing stroll. It’s said that Kim Gu shaved his head and renewed his resolve on one of the boulders along this trai - a place where 1,500 years of history still lives and breathes.

I left Chungcheong-do Province and headed south to Suncheon, the largest city in Jeollanam-do Province. A geography book from the Joseon Dynasty, Sinjeung Dongguk Yeoji Seungnam, describes the region’s landscape as follows: “Its mountains and waters are so picturesque and beautiful that it is called ‘Little Jiangnan.’”

Much like Jiangnan in China, renowned for its lush scenery and natural abundance, Suncheon earned this nickname for its exceptional beauty. It has long been celebrated as one of Korea’s most scenic regions.

조계산 도립공원 안내도

The mountain I came to visit in Suncheon is Jogyesan, often regarded as the most famous mountain in the Honam region. Located at the southern tip of the Sobaek Mountain Range, Jogyesan stands at a modest 889 meters above sea level, but it is a richly diverse mountain, blessed with clear streams, dense forests, waterfalls, and natural spring water.

The entire mountain is covered in broadleaf deciduous trees, offering a vivid display of seasonal changes throughout the year. Cherry blossoms in spring and colorful foliage in autumn are especially stunning. Its gentle slopes make it a popular hiking destination year-round.

Yet even more famous than Jogyesan’s natural scenery are the two iconic temples on its eastern and western slopes: Songgwangsa and Seonamsa. Jogyesan serves as a living record of Korean Buddhist history and a showcase of cultural heritage.

산에 둘러쌓여있는 송광사를 위에서 본 모습

I first visited Songgwangsa, nestled on the northwestern foot of the mountain.

Korea has three temples collectively known as the Three Jewels Temples (Sambo Sachal), each representing one of the Three Jewels of Buddhism: the Buddha (bul), the Dharma or teachings (beop), and the Sangha, the monastic community (seung).

Tongdosa Temple in Yangsan, which houses relics of the historical Buddha, symbolizes the Buddha. Haeinsa Temple in Hapcheon, which preserves the Tripitaka Koreana, represents the Dharma. And Songgwangsa, which I visited, symbolizes the Sangha. During the Goryeo Dynasty and early Joseon Dynasty, this temple produced no fewer than sixteen national preceptors (guksa), the highest-ranking monks in the country.

삼청교 다리와 본찰

Crossing the Samcheonggyo Bridge and passing the scenic Uhwagak Pavilion, I entered the main temple compound. Since it was early on a weekday afternoon, the grounds were quiet and nearly empty - something that made me feel especially fortunate, as I had this renowned temple almost to myself.

Songgwangsa was originally founded under the name Gilsangsa by a Silla monk named Hyerin. It underwent several renovations over the years, and later, the eminent Goryeo monk Jinul greatly expanded it as he preached and taught there. Jinul was the founder of the Jogye Order, now Korea’s largest Buddhist sect. It was during his time that the mountain’s name changed from Songgwangsan to Jogyesan.

꽃이 핀 배롱나무

Of all the temples I have visited, Songgwangsa stands out for its sheer scale. Perhaps it is no coincidence that a temple of this size produced sixteen national preceptors - after all, a larger community naturally nurtures more exceptional individuals.

During the Goryeo era, Buddhist monks wielded immense influence, and Songgwangsa’s reputation must have been extraordinary. It is easy to imagine countless young men from across the country flocking here to pursue the monastic life. One striking artifact is the bisari gusi, a massive rice cauldron used to cook meals for the monks - it’s about the size of a bathtub. At first glance, you might even mistake it for a boat sitting in the temple courtyard.

In the past, a set of portraits known as the Portraits of the Sixteen Guksa was displayed in the temple’s Guksajeon Hall. Unfortunately, around seventy years ago, thieves stole all but three of them.

송광사 처마 아래에서 본 단청과 그림

It took quite a while to walk through and take in the entire temple. With no crowd around, I found myself observing everything more closely.

As I wandered, I suddenly thought of Seorae and Haejun from the film “Decision to Leave.” The scene where they apply hand cream and lip balm to each other beneath the eaves, the image of Haejun handing Seorae a handkerchief as she breaks down in tears in front of the main Buddha Hall - those moments came vividly to mind.

To me, Songgwangsa is most memorable for its appearance in Decision to Leave, which won Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival. I wonder what it was about this temple that captivated director Park Chan-wook and made him choose it as the setting for the film’s most romantic scene. I heard that after filming, actress Tang Wei even stayed here for a templestay and joined the monks for their morning meal. It is hard to imagine now, standing in such stillness with only birdsong in the air.

But it’s not just the movie. Long before Decision to Leave, this place bore witness to over a thousand years of monks bathing, meditating, and praying. With a legacy as lofty as its reputation, Songgwangsa must hold countless stories buried in time - just waiting to be discovered.

There are two ways to get from Songgwangsa on the western slope of Jogyesan to Seonamsa on the opposite side. One is by car. Although both temples sit on the same mountain, the drive takes longer than one might expect - it is a 30-kilometer loop around the mountain, taking at least 40 minutes.

The other option is to walk. Songgwangsa and Seonamsa are connected by a hiking trail through Jogyesan Provincial Park. Thankfully, the trail does not take you all the way to the summit but rather along the mid-slope, making for a manageable incline and a scenic route.

선암사로 향하는 개울

Following a stream toward Seonamsa, you will come across Seungseongyo Bridge, an elegant stone arch, and Gangseonru Pavilion. Both are designated Treasures of Korea and blend harmoniously into the surrounding landscape, making them popular photo spots for visitors.

Interestingly, all three names - Seonamsa, Seungseongyo Bridge, and Gangseonru - contain the Chinese character “仙,” which refers to Taoist immortals. Legend has it that Seonamsa got its name from Taoist sages who played baduk (go) on a flat rock west of the temple. Gangseonru was said to be a place where these sages would descend to enjoy themselves, while Seungseongyo Bridge represents their return to the heavens with the rising sun. In short, the area is imagined as a playground for immortals.

These names reflect the idea that this place transcends the mortal world of birth and death -a vision of the Buddha’s pure land, where one finds eternal peace. In Buddhism, the rainbow bridge is a symbolic path between this world and the next.

산에 둘러싸인 하늘에서 본 선암사

Once again, the temple grounds were quiet and nearly empty. Compared to Songgwangsa, Seonamsa felt more serene and intimate. Although historical records say it once had over a hundred buildings, many were lost to fires, and now only around twenty remain.

Seonamsa is a Seon (Zen) practice monastery - a place primarily dedicated to monastic training and communal study. The surrounding forests and fresh mountain air create an atmosphere of perfect tranquility. Just being here feels like spiritual practice. You are more likely to meet a squirrel than a person.

템플스테이 문

While the human world is full of pain and the endless cycle of birth and death, a Buddhist temple represents a pure land free from suffering, jealousy, hatred, and desire. It is a place accessible only to those who have let go of worldly attachments.

That is why visiting a temple means leaving the everyday world behind, even just for a little while. Passing through the Iljumun Gate, you symbolically shed your secular self. Crossing through the Haetalmun (Gate of Liberation), you’re reminded that enlightenment and suffering are two sides of the same coin. As the saying goes, the more we struggle in life, the deeper the mire becomes - and the more we try to escape, the more endless the mountains seem.

Perhaps that’s why so many urbanites today seek out temple stays at remote mountain monasteries, looking to shed their burdens and find peace. These programs, which include rituals and communal meals with monks, have even been scientifically proven to benefit mental health. Seonamsa also offers a temple stay program - and my own father once took part in it.

물이 흐르는 개울가

To me, Seonamsa is a place I will never forget. A few years ago, my entire family - my father, mother, sister, and I - drove from Seoul to visit the temple together.

The walk from the parking lot to the temple took a while, and the four of us walked together the whole way. But on the way back, only three of us returned. My father, who had been weighed down by worries at the time, was gently encouraged by my mother to try a temple stay. Half willingly, half reluctantly, he agreed to stay behind.

But that alone is not what made the experience unforgettable. What truly etched it in my memory was what happened a few days later - my father showed up at home completely unannounced. He had escaped from the temple after just a few days.

Unable to endure the boredom of life without TV or convenience stores, he had left. Seonamsa is deep in the mountains, and not easily accessible without a car, so how he managed to make it back to Seoul remains a bit of a mystery. According to him, he simply wandered down the mountain until he found a car headed to downtown Suncheon, then caught an intercity bus to Seoul.

In any case, he looked far more at ease after returning to the city. Part of me wondered just how bored he must’ve been, but another part was relieved - glad that he still had that kind of energy left in him.

Early in the morning, I boarded a bus from Seoul and headed to Hapcheon in Gyeongsangnam-do Province. Upon arrival, I rented a car and drove north toward Gayasan Mountain, winding my way up its narrow valley roads. To say “Haeinsa is easy to get to” would feel a little dishonest. Though the roads are now relatively well-paved, this area was once considered one of the most remote regions in Korea.

But if you ask, “Is it worth the journey?”- the answer is an easy yes. Gayasan, long considered one of the “Eight Scenic Wonders of Joseon,” is renowned for its breathtaking beauty. With towering peaks and deep valleys, it is home to lush forests and an almost mystical atmosphere. It was revered as a sacred mountain as early as the Three Kingdoms period and was later designated a state ritual site after being incorporated into Silla. Even just for the scenery, it’s well worth the visit.

계곡에 물이 흐르는 모습

And nestled deep in Gayasan’s remote forest lies Haeinsa Temple - the place I had most wanted to visit. As most people know, Haeinsa is home to the Tripitaka Koreana, a UNESCO Memory of the World and one of Korea’s National Treasures. It is also one of the “Three Jewel Temples” of Korean Buddhism. While Tongdosa represents the Buddha (bul), and Songgwangsa the Sangha (seung), Haeinsa symbolizes the Dharma (beop) - the teachings of the Buddha preserved in scripture.

세계문화유산 해인사 고려대장경판전 기념석

In fact, Haeinsa was not originally built to house the Tripitaka Koreana. The temple predates the woodblocks by over 400 years, having been founded during the Silla period, while the Tripitaka was created in the Goryeo period. The current Janggyeong Panjeon (Depositories for the Tripitaka Koreana), where the woodblocks are stored, was only built in the Joseon Dynasty. The Tripitaka was initially kept on Ganghwa Island and moved here during the reign of King Taejo.

Near the entrance to Haeinsa, you can still see the stump of a tree said to have been planted at the time of the temple’s founding. According to legend, in the year 802, Queen Seongdeok was miraculously cured of a serious illness through the prayers of monks Suneung and Ijeong. In gratitude, the king planted this zelkova tree and supported the monks in founding Haeinsa.

Though the tree has long since died, its massive trunk remains - a living testament to Haeinsa’s 1,200-year history. After standing sentinel at the temple gate for over a millennium, it finally withered in 1945.

산안개가 있는 해인사

Welcomed by the ancient tree’s presence, I entered Haeinsa - a secluded mountain temple hidden in the depths of Gayasan. Rich in history and cultural significance, Haeinsa houses 6 National Treasures and 21 Treasures of Korea.

Many renowned historical figures have passed through its gates. One was the monk Heirang, who rejected an offer from Gyeon Hwon of Later Baekje and supported Wang Geon, the future founder of Goryeo. In recognition of this, Wang Geon declared Haeinsa a national temple and helped fund its expansion.

Later, during the mid-Joseon period, the famed monk Samyeong Daesa - revered for leading warrior monks in battles against the Japanese during the Imjin War - passed away here. And Choe Chiwon, one of the “Three Choe Masters” of late Silla and a brilliant writer, also spent his final years at Haeinsa.

In 1817, during the reign of King Sunjo, many of Haeinsa’s buildings were destroyed in a fire. At the time, Kim Jeong-hui - better known as Chusa, a prominent scholar and calligrapher - composed a prayer text for the temple’s reconstruction on behalf of his father, the governor of Gyeongsang-do Province.

매달린 등에 둘러 싸여있는 석탑

Whenever I visit a new temple, I make a habit of checking when it was last restored. Wooden structures are especially vulnerable to fire, and many temples were rebuilt after being destroyed during the Imjin War or the Korean War. So, when I come across one that has miraculously survived for centuries, I feel a mix of gratitude and wonder.

Haeinsa itself has been rebuilt seven times due to fires, with the last major restoration taking place in the late Joseon period.

해인사의 계단

Remarkably, however, the Janggyeong Panjeon buildings, which house the Tripitaka Koreana, have never once been touched by fire. Even during the Korean War, the entire temple complex was designated a bombing target. The reason? It was suspected that the North Korean partisans, known as the Chosun People’s Guerrilla Corps, were using it as a base.

The tense events of that time are well documented. In 1953, during the final stages of the war, an order was issued to eradicate the remaining guerrilla forces in the Gayasan and Jirisan regions. Air Force Colonel Kim Yeong-hwan led a squadron of fighter planes on the mission. U.S. aircraft first dropped smoke bombs to mark the target zone, and the South Korean Air Force was to follow with actual bombs.

But Colonel Kim disobeyed the order. Despite knowing that refusal to follow commands in wartime could result in immediate court-martial, he chose not to issue the bombing command. The area blanketed in smoke included Haeinsa Temple. Instead, he completed the mission by firing warning shots to disperse the enemy and then returned. The military launched an investigation into his insubordination, but he stood firm and said:

“Haeinsa houses cultural treasures that carry the spirit of our nation, passed down for 700 years. Let us recall how France spared Paris during World War II, and how the U.S. refrained from bombing Kyoto to protect its cultural heritage.”

장경판전 내부 모습

Thanks to his courage, we can still visit the Janggyeong Panjeon and see the Tripitaka Koreana today. One is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the other as a UNESCO Memory of the World.

Though the buildings are closed to the public, you can peer through the cracks between the wooden slats. I looked again and again - it felt like staring into a magical mirror showing the past. It’s astounding to think that these Buddhist scriptures, carved in the Goryeo Dynasty, have survived intact to this day.

Temples nestled in the mountains - still and silent like the sea floor - always have a way of making even a thousand years feel like a memory from just yesterday.

그림이 그려진 해인사의 한 벽면

Epilogue

Twice in my life, I spent entire seasons living deep in the mountains. Once, in a shipping container turned shelter at a remote campground in rural Australia. The other time, in a small, rented house in a mountain village nestled high in the Georgian side of Jirisan.

There were no people to talk to, no television, no internet. Most days, I simply read for hours or wandered the mountain paths. At night, there was nothing to do but gaze endlessly at the stars.

It was a time of extreme simplicity - boring, solitary, and uneventful. Days felt impossibly long, time so drawn out it almost stopped. The world I had left behind must have been spinning on in its usual frenzy, but I no longer cared. I was living in a different rhythm, a different kind of time.

Every time I return to the mountains, I think back to those days. When life gets too noisy, or I find myself buried in the purely practical, I begin to miss that stillness. Strangely, those were the most tedious days of my life - and yet they remain among the most vivid in memory. Perhaps the kind of satisfaction that comes from radically simplifying life is more powerful than we think.

As I walked through the mountain temples, I felt a quiet joy returning. The exhausting race of daily life seemed to vanish, as if it had never been real. In its place came gentler thoughts -“Let me live healthily,” “Let me live happily.” That was it. Nothing more.

Perhaps in a setting this simple, our thoughts become simple too. But with that simplicity came a deep sense of ease. And I found myself, almost without realizing it, enjoying it. I think this is the true charm of Korea’s mountain temples. In places like these, everyone comes to love the soft breeze and the quiet chime of a temple bell.\

At the entrance of nearly every mountain trail in Korea, you’ll find a row of restaurants clustered together. These places serve dishes rarely found in the city - steamed chicken with amur cork tree bark, duck stew with wild mushrooms, grilled black goat patties, acorn jelly, roasted deodeok root, and more. Most of these dishes are made with ingredients sourced right from the surrounding mountains.

But the undisputed star of any mountain menu is sanchae bibimbap - a bowl of rice topped with a generous heap of wild greens. In fact, it is hard to find a famous mountain in Korea that does not serve it.

That said, if you are eating at a traditional temple food restaurant, do not expect to see any meat on the menu. In Mahayana Buddhism, meat is strictly forbidden. You may also notice the absence of pungent vegetables like green onions, garlic, leeks, chives, or wild garlic - ingredients collectively called “oshinchae” that are believed to arouse unnecessary desires and disrupt spiritual practice.

Aside from those, any combination of fresh greens can make a perfect bibimbap: fernbrake, aster scaber, bellflower root, deodeok, shiitake mushrooms, spinach, bean sprouts - you name it. Luckily for us, who are perhaps more focused on flavor than spiritual purity, red pepper paste (gochujang) is generally permitted. Since it doesn’t carry the strong scent of the oshinchae, many temple cooks allow it. Spicy gochujang and nutty sesame oil are the true leaders of the sanchae bibimbap ensemble, bringing harmony to this flavorful medley.

To fully enjoy a bowl of sanchae bibimbap, there is a certain process to follow. When the earthenware bowl arrives brimming with greens, begin by tasting each one individually with your chopsticks. Consider it a kind of roll call. The real charm of this dish lies in its freshness - ingredients harvested from the very mountains you are walking through.

Next, try mixing the greens and rice together without any sauce. The seasoned greens might taste mild, but they shouldn’t be bland. This is the best way to appreciate the unique character of each mountain herb and how they blend together naturally.

Finally, once you’ve met each green and made your judgment, pour in some red pepper paste or soy sauce and mix it all together. It may feel a little inappropriate to say this while eating temple food - but it’s a true taste of nirvana. A flavor that soothes, centers, and comforts.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / A Glimpse into Joseon-Era Education

I graduated from a private boarding high school in Ulsan. I studied while living in a dormitory with classmates and prepared for the college entrance exam with a do-or-die spirit. As an autonomous private school, we had flexibility in our curriculum, and scholarships were available for top-performing students. On the founder's memorial day, a large-scale school event would be held. During my first year, we even studied the founder's life and ideals.

Interestingly, the private Confucian academies of the Joseon Dynasty, known as “Seowon,” shared many similarities with the modern private school I attended. Seowon were private educational institutions established in the provinces. Like the entrance exam I took for high school, admission to prestigious Seowon was highly competitive. There were heads of academies, teachers, and students, much like the principals and instructors of today. Students studied Confucianism and prepared for the state civil service exams while also receiving moral education. They also participated in rituals honoring the academy's founders and notable Confucian scholars.

It is fascinating to see how education in the Joseon era and in modern times share so many parallels. Walking the Korean Confucian Academy Route while imagining the lively scenes of students gathering to study centuries ago will make for a more immersive and enjoyable journey.

But before diving into the journey, a brief pause. Understanding the educational culture of the time will make the experience more vivid, so let us first go over some basic terms. You may wonder, "Do we really need a glossary?" But let us take it step by step, as if we are students once more.

In the Joseon Dynasty, the main educational institutions were Seodang, Seowon, Hyanggyo, Sahak (also called Sabu Hakdang), and Sungkyunkwan. If we categorize them by today’s standards into public and private, then Seodang and Seowon were private, while Hyanggyo, Sahak, and Sungkyunkwan were public institutions.

Seodang handled elementary education. Children began with the Thousand Character Classic, learning to read and write. The owner of the school, often the only teacher, was known as a hunjang. It was essentially a private tutoring school.

Next were the public schools: Sahak, Hyanggyo, and Sungkyunkwan. Sahak were national schools in the capital, while Hyanggyo were established in regional areas. As state-run institutions, their mission included promoting Confucian ideals and conducting rituals. These rituals honored Confucian sages like Confucius and the Four Disciples: Yan Hui, Zengzi, Zisi, and Mencius.

Top students from Sahak or Hyanggyo or those who passed the lower-level civil service exams could enter Sungkyunkwan, the highest educational institution of Joseon. It was equivalent to today’s national university. Sungkyunkwan produced many renowned scholars including Jo Gwang-jo, Yi Hwang, Yi I, Jeong Yak-yong, and Shin Chae-ho.

Now, let us return to our main subject: Seowon. These private academies were established by scholars who had withdrawn from political life during times of upheaval. Specifically, they were “sarim” scholars, a group of Neo-Confucian intellectuals who sought moral governance and were known for their academic rigor. They had been marginalized by the dominant political group at the time, the “hungu faction,” an entrenched aristocratic elite that held power in the early Joseon period through military merit and royal connections. Moving to the countryside, these sarim scholars built Seowon to educate disciples and cultivate intellectual influence, away from the capital’s political strife.

Since seowon could pass down specific philosophies and values to future generations, they often stood in contrast to the public education system. Seowon began to flourish especially as national institutions like Hyanggyo declined due to war and instability. Seowon helped develop local codes of conduct and became powerful fixtures in rural society.

Eventually, the sons of prominent local families flocked to Seowon, and many graduates entered politics. These individuals formed the sarim faction and came into conflict with the older hungu faction. This marked the beginning of Joseon's party-based politics.

And that is the historical background you need to begin your journey on the Korean Confucian Academy Route. The students nurtured in seowon later brought vitality and turbulence to Joseon society. Now, let us explore how and where they studied and lived, through the lens of the Korean Confucian Academy Route.

Joseon honored a group of Confucian scholars known as the Eighteen Sages of the East. These were thinkers who reached the highest level of intellectual and moral respect across Korean history from the Silla and Goryeo periods into the Joseon Dynasty. Their names remain revered today: Jo Gwang-jo, Yi Hwang, Yi I, Choe Chiwon, Jeong Mong-ju, and many more.

드론으로 멀리서 찍은 논산돈암서원

Seowon, as private Confucian academies, were founded to honor these great scholars. So, this journey will introduce us to several of Joseon’s most distinguished Confucian minds.

The first stop is Donam Seowon in Nonsan, which enshrines no fewer than four of the Eighteen Sages of the East: Kim Jang-saeng, the master of Confucian ritual studies; his son Kim Jip; and his disciples Song Si-yeol and Song Jun-gil. Donam Seowon was originally established to commemorate the scholarship and moral conduct of Kim Jang-saeng.

소나무와 논산 옆에서 본 논산 돈암서원

The Gwangsan Kim clan was a prominent aristocratic family from Yeonsan-hyeon (present-day Nonsan). Kim Jang-saeng’s father, Kim Gye-hwi, held a top post in the Joseon central government. The site of Donam Seowon was originally a place where father and son studied and taught their disciples. Three years after Kim Jang-saeng’s death, the academy was officially founded on this same site. Thirty years later, King Hyeonjong granted it the royal plaque “Donam,” officially designating it as a state-recognized seowon (called a “saek seowon”).

서원의 넗은 마루를 가진 응도당

Buildings within the Seowon had specific roles: lecture halls for instruction, facilities for publishing study materials, and dormitories for students.

The most striking structure at Donam Seowon is Eungdodang Hall, a spacious lecture hall where students engaged in “jangsu ganghak,” a phrase meaning the cultivation of body and mind (jangsu) through active question-and-answer learning (ganghak) with teachers. Rather than rote memorization or passive learning, the emphasis here was on self-driven thought and debate.

서원 뒷편의 사당

As is common among Seowon, the shrine is located behind or atop the complex, a layout known as “jeonhak humyo,” or “study in the front, ritual in the back.”

Donam Seowon enshrines Kim Jang-saeng, Song Si-yeol, Kim Jip (also known by his pen name Sindokjae), and Song Jun-gil (a relative of Song Si-yeol and student of Kim Jang-saeng). All four scholars were later included among the Eighteen Sages of the East, making Donam Seowon one of the most prestigious institutions of its kind.

The decorative walls surrounding Sungnyeosa Shrine at Donam Seowon are inscribed with quotes from classical Confucian texts. For example:

(地負海涵): “Be like the earth that bears all things and the sea that accepts all waters.” In other words, approach learning with an open and accepting heart.
(博文約禮): “Expand your knowledge widely, but speak and act with humility and in accordance with propriety.”
(瑞日和風): “Be like the auspicious sun and gentle breeze.” In other words, treat others kindly and live out what you have learned.

Ye studies, a specialized branch of Confucianism focused on propriety and rituals, were central to Joseon thought. Kim Jang-saeng was a master of this discipline and helped formalize it into a distinct academic tradition. So, it is only natural that the Seowon he inspired is adorned with messages emphasizing dignity, etiquette, and moral conduct.

위에서 정면으로 바라본 서원의 모습

Our next destination takes us south to the Honam region. Traveling by car from the capital or the central region, you will encounter Jangseong, a gateway to Gwangju in Jeollanam-do. Here lies Philam Seowon, dedicated to one of the most revered scholars of Joseon, Haeseo Kim In-hu, known as the royal tutor.

멀리서 하늘에서 바라본 서원과 마을 모습

Most Neo-Confucian scholars built their academies away from towns. They believed that the ideal setting for education required a stream running through a valley and nearby mountains to inspire contemplation - conditions suited to the goals of Neo-Confucianism. Accordingly, Philam Seowon, too, is surrounded by serene and peaceful scenery.

필암서원 정문인 붉은 빛의 확연루

Philam Seowon stands at the foot of a mountain, beyond a wide park. A ginkgo tree and the red-painted pavilion Hwagyeonnu mark the entrance. The calligraphy on the Hwagyeonnu nameboard was written by none other than Song Si-yeol, whom we encountered at Donam Seowon. Deeply admiring Kim In-hu’s character and scholarship, Song Si-yeol also wrote the epitaph for Kim’s memorial stele:

"Among the figures of our land, it is rare to find someone who excels in all three virtues - Confucian learning, integrity, and literary talent. Most excel in only one or two. Heaven must have favored the East, for it granted us Haeseo Kim In-hu, who possessed all three."

필암서원

Philam Seowon is regarded as a symbol of scholarly culture in the Honam region. Kim In-hu is the only Honam native among the Eighteen Sages of the East. But more than that, he was universally admired for his academic depth and moral conduct. His excellence impressed none other than Toegye Yi Hwang and even King Jungjong himself. Recognizing his virtue, King Jungjong appointed Kim In-hu as the tutor to the crown prince, later King Injong.

King Injong, known for his gentle disposition and love of learning, deeply respected Kim In-hu, and their close bond led to a strong relationship of mutual trust. Kim was also well-versed in astronomy, geography, medicine, divination, and music. King Injong, a patron of the arts, once presented him with a personally painted image of bamboo.

담장이 보이는 필암서원

Yet, as history tells us, Injong was a tragically short-lived monarch. He passed away only eight months into his reign, making him the shortest-reigning king in Joseon history. The shock of his death was so great that Kim In-hu suffered a heart attack. He soon resigned from his official post and returned to Jangseong, where he spent the rest of his life in seclusion.

True to his character, Kim In-hu’s teachings emphasized moral integrity and loyalty. He valued reverence and sincerity, never claiming to have mastered the Way, always thinking of himself as a humble learner. His legacy endured, and Philam Seowon became a spiritual center for Confucian scholars in the Honam region.

Later, the regent Heungseon Daewongun referred to Jangseong in his essay "The Eight Unsurpassables of Honam" with the phrase: "In scholarship, no place surpasses Jangseong."

At the heart of that reputation stood Philam Seowon and Haeseo Kim In-hu.

Before leaving Jeolla-do and heading to Gyeongsang-do, let us take a moment to clarify two terms that continue to appear: Confucianism and Neo-Confucianism. They may seem interchangeable, but there is an important distinction.

Confucianism, or “Yuhak” in Korean, is based on the teachings of Confucius, who lived during the tumultuous Spring and Autumn Period in China, a time when rival states vied for dominance. In such chaos, Confucius and other scholars asked: "Why is the world in disorder, and how can peace be restored?" Confucius proposed a moral solution: the disorder stemmed from individual ethical decay, and social harmony could be restored only when individuals cultivated personal virtue. His teachings, later compiled and developed by disciples like Mencius, formed the foundation of Confucianism—a philosophy concerned with morality, social harmony, and governance.

Neo-Confucianism, or “Seongnihak,” emerged in the 12th century through the efforts of Zhu Xi (also known as Juja), a scholar of the Song Dynasty. Born into a Confucian family, Zhu Xi was a brilliant student. Following his father’s wishes, he studied Confucianism but also explored Buddhism and Daoism. While he found merit in their teachings, he was also critical of their limitations. Synthesizing elements from all three, Zhu Xi developed a comprehensive system of moral philosophy, metaphysics, and educational theory known as Neo-Confucianism.

Thus, Neo-Confucianism is a school within Confucianism, created to counter what its proponents saw as the escapism of Buddhism and Daoism. Zhu Xi’s influence became so significant that his ideas shaped the state ideology of Joseon.

서원을 하늘위에서 바라본 모습

And now, back to Joseon. As is well known, Joseon adopted Neo-Confucianism as its guiding principle. The scholar we encounter at Oksan Seowon in Gyeongju played a critical role in shaping this tradition.

If Kim In-hu of Philam Seowon was the moral compass of the Honam region, then Yi Eon-jeok of Oksan Seowon was the intellectual pillar of the Yeongnam region. Yi Eon-jeok, whose name appears in both the royal ancestral shrine (Jongmyo) and the Confucian shrine (Munmyo), was instrumental in establishing the direction and nature of Neo-Confucianism in Joseon. His ideas were later inherited and expanded upon by Yi Hwang (Toegye).

물가 근처에 쌓여있는 작은 돌들

Oksan Seowon is located in a remote mountain valley outside Gyeongju. The nearby Jagyecheon stream winds past broad stone slabs, creating a serene and picturesque setting. After retiring from public office, Yi Eon-jeok gave names to the surrounding landscape. One such place is Seseomdae, meaning “purify the mind and pursue knowledge in harmony with nature.” The name was carved into a rock by Yi Hwang himself.

나무로된 계단이 있는 누마루 무변루

The first building one encounters upon entering is Mubyeonnu, an open pavilion where students would rest. Mubyeonnu is a raised wooden platform, and Oksan Seowon is said to be the first seowon to incorporate such a structure. By linking the internal courtyard with the external scenery, this pavilion embodies how architecture can harmonize with nature.

옆에서 본 서원의 모습

Oksan Seowon is also renowned for its extensive library, which holds the largest collection of texts among surviving Seowon. Notably, it houses a copy of the Samguk Yusa by Kim Bu-sik, one of Korea’s two primary sources on early history. Calligraphy plaques by master calligraphers like Han Seok-bong and Kim Jeong-hui are also preserved here.

벽에 걸려있는 한자로 된 글들

Yi Eon-jeok frequently submitted memorials to the king, urging rulers to lead by example. He believed the monarch should prioritize self-cultivation and moral conduct, warning against luxury and greed while promoting national discipline.

He held the same expectations for scholars and officials including himself, advocating for ethical leadership and practice. Even after being exiled due to political purges during the Eulsa literati purge, Yi Eon-jeok remained steadfast in his studies and writings.

문사이로 보이는 옥산서원 정면

His unwavering integrity inspired widespread respect. Remarkably, even members of the rival Hungu faction (his political adversaries) recognized his scholarly and moral stature and visited to offer condolences upon his death. Afterward, King Myeongjong posthumously reinstated Yi Eon-jeok’s titles and honors, and no one raised any objections. Yi Hwang, in a commemorative writing, expressed his regret that he hadn’t asked Yi Eon-jeok more questions when he had the opportunity.

The final figure in our journey is yet another of the 18 Confucian Sages of the East: Kim Goeng-pil. But before we explore his story, let us briefly introduce the book Sohak, or "Elementary Learning."
Sohak was a primer compiled for children beginning their study of Confucianism. It contains maxims on moral self-cultivation and everyday etiquette, essentially, a textbook for elementary students of the time.
The reason we bring it up now is because Kim Goeng-pil, the scholar honored at Dodong Seowon, humbly referred to himself as a “Sohak child.”

수령이 400년 넘은 거대한 은행나무

Dodong Seowon is located in Dalseong County, Daegu. Heading west from Hyeonpung-eup along the Nakdonggang River, one finds the Seowon nestled in a tranquil area. The paths are so well maintained that many cyclists pass by. Yet the site is hard to overlook - an enormous 400-year-old ginkgo tree in the front courtyard instantly captures attention. It was planted by Jeong Gu, a Confucian scholar and the maternal great-grandson of Kim Goeng-pil, as well as a student of Yi Hwang and Jo Sik.

서원을 위에서 본 모습

Of all the seowon I have visited, none surpass Dodong Seowon in beauty. Its picturesque setting by the Nakdonggang River, the layered rooftops rising at different heights, and the elegantly constructed walls, designated as a Treasure of Korea, create an aesthetic harmony that is simply breathtaking.

Architecturally, Dodong Seowon exemplifies the core design principles of Joseon-era seowon. It has no extravagance, yet its simplicity and adherence to tradition have become its most striking features.

서원 내부 천장과 현판

This restrained elegance mirrors the character of Kim Goeng-pil himself.

Kim Goeng-pil studied Sohak until the age of thirty, continuously striving to cultivate himself. Despite mastering Neo-Confucianism later in life, he remained devoted to the teachings of Sohak, modeling his daily life on its moral principles and referring to himself as a “Sohak child.” He also devoted himself to mentoring future generations among them the eminent reformer Jo Gwang-jo.

However, Kim Goeng-pil’s life was not without tragedy. During the First Literati Purge of 1498 (Muosahwa), he was implicated, flogged with 80 strokes, and exiled to Heocheon in Pyeongan Province. Two years later, he was moved to Suncheon, but during the Second Literati Purge (Gapjasahwa), he was executed and his head displayed in the Suncheon marketplace. He was 51 years old.

서원에서 학생들이 수업을 받고 있는 모습

During my visit, a group of middle school students happened to be studying at Dodong Seowon. They were reciting four-character aphorisms from Sohak. One particularly charming and humanizing verse closed their lesson:

嗟嗟小子, 敬受此書。
(Ah, dear young ones, receive this book with reverence.)
非我言耄, 惟聖之謨。
(These are not the ramblings of an old man, but the guidance of sages.)

As I watched the students, none were disruptive, but their gazes wandered. Getting children to focus is never easy. Perhaps things weren’t so different back then either. In that moment, it felt as though I were peeking into the past.

Epilogue

Seowon are not flashy structures. As institutions that valued frugality, they lack the grandeur of royal palaces or the solemnity of Buddhist temples. And yet, they are neither plain nor uninspiring. Their quiet dignity and elegant simplicity reflect the refined beauty of the noble scholar. As Confucius once said, “Excess is the same as deficiency.”

This journey along the Korean Confucian Academy Route has been an opportunity to meet the scholars of the Joseon era. While the buildings themselves showcase the aesthetics of Joseon architecture, the true appeal lies in the lives of the scholars they commemorate—individuals who lived with principle and integrity as both politicians and academics. Their stories still inspire reverence today.

Each seowon retains its own unique academic legacy, and walking through them offers a chance to reflect on those distinct values:

Nonsan Donam Seowon encourages reflection on proper manners and conduct, guided by Kim Jang-saeng’s teachings in ceremonial etiquette.

Jangseong Philam Seowon calls to mind loyalty and reverence in human relationships, as exemplified by royal tutor Kim In-hu.

Gyeongju Oksan Seowon, home to Yi Eon-jeok, reminds us to be moderate and exemplary in our behavior, rejecting luxury and greed.

Daegu Dodong Seowon teaches the importance of returning to basics and practicing constant self-reflection, modeled after the humility of Kim Goeng-pil.

There are still many more seowon across Korea that I haven’t visited. When embarking on your own journey, take the time to learn which scholar is honored at each academy and what values their lives can teach. Among all the texts and cultural artifacts designed to educate people, few things resonate more deeply than the legacy of a truly virtuous life.

The featured dish for this journey along the Korean Confucian Academy Route is “Dubu Jeongol,” or tofu hot pot. While it may seem unrelated to seowon, this humble dish is tied to a fascinating anecdote from the Joseon Dynasty.

Among the well-off yangban aristocrats of the time, many were true gourmands. They savored seasonal dishes suited to the weather and the mood, often enjoying up to five meals a day. In addition to the typical three, they’d have a light porridge upon waking and another light snack before bed.

Among the most treasured delicacies of these aristocrats was tofu. It was beloved to the extent that people wrote poems about it and even held social gatherings in scenic locales to enjoy it together. In essence, tofu was the highlight of many Joseon-era intellectual retreats.

One tofu dish that emerged during this time closely resembles today’s clear tofu stew or tofu hot pot. It was traditionally prepared with chicken broth, and the great scholar Dasan Jeong Yak-yong even documented its preparation in writing. He also noted its name: yeonpotang, meaning “soft tofu soup.” These gatherings were known as "Yeonpojihoe," or the Soft Tofu Assembly.

Now, you might be thinking: isn’t yeonpotang the name of a nourishing soup made with octopus? That’s true, but it wasn’t always that way. Over time, octopus gradually replaced tofu as the main ingredient, especially in coastal areas where seafood-based broths became popular. As tofu became more affordable and octopus more prized, the spotlight shifted. Today, octopus has become the star of yeonpotang, while tofu quietly stepped aside.

In a way, tofu’s story mirrors that of many overlooked virtues: foundational, reliable, and quietly dignified just like the seowon themselves.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / The Solace of Vast Nature

I often travel in search of vast nature. It does not have to be the Serengeti Plains or the Sahara Desert. Sometimes, simply hiking up a nearby mountain to look down on where I live, or standing on a beach and gazing at the endless horizon, is enough to feel the immensity of the natural world.

There is a reason I seek out such landscapes. I love the feeling of becoming small in the face of something so much greater than myself. That is why I sometimes leave behind the comfort of paved roads and step into rugged, untamed nature. I believe that the feeling of becoming small, what vast nature evokes, has a healing power.

Many people have probably experienced this feeling: that quiet moment when the infinite begins to gently overwhelm you. The reason it brings healing is simple, because it is not just you that feels small in front of nature.

Nature makes your entire world feel smaller. Our lives are often cluttered with all kinds of problems - relationship troubles, pressure to succeed, financial stress. In moments like this, nature helps. As your sense of space contracts before something so immense, the problems that once filled it shrink as well. You begin to realize that the burdens you carry were not so great after all. They only seemed enormous within the narrow frame of daily life. What once felt like a heavy blanket smothering your existence becomes, in comparison to the vastness of nature, insignificant and fleeting.

Ironically, becoming small also flattens the differences between people. In the confined spaces of everyday life, our differences can feel overwhelming. But in front of nature, where all of us are reduced to mere specks, they cease to matter.

So if someone is struggling, I often recommend a trip into the heart of nature. In many cases, the feeling of becoming small can gently restore peace of mind.

And nature’s beauty - its grandeur and grace - holds a purifying power of its own. At times s, a breathtaking landscape can wash away the weight on your heart more effectively than any words of comfort ever could. Nature’s quiet consolation is, more often than not, the kindest there is.

Cheorwon-gun County in Gangwon-do Province, Korea’s northernmost frontier, borders Pyeonggang-gun County in North Korea. In Pyeonggang-gun, there is a modest mountain called Orisan Mountain, rising just 454 meters above sea level. Its name, “Ori,” meaning “five li,” refers to its approximate circumference. This unassuming mountain was, in fact, a volcano that erupted multiple times between tens of millions of years ago and around ten thousand years ago.

Today’s journey along the Prehistoric Landscape Route begins with places closely tied to this mountain. Often referred to as “the navel of the Korean Peninsula,” Orisan Mountain played a crucial role in shaping the geology and topography of Korea’s central region. Interestingly, its eruptions were not explosive central eruptions like those of Hallasan or Baekdusan Mountain. Instead, Orisan Mountain’s eruptions occurred in the form of fissure eruptions - magma oozing out quietly through cracks in the Earth’s crust.

The lava that flowed out was basaltic, low in viscosity, and spread gently over the land. As it cooled and hardened, it formed a vast, flat volcanic plateau. This is how the Cheorwon Plain, the widest plain in Gangwon-do, was formed.

Later, during the Ice Age, this expansive plain was buried under glacial ice. When the climate warmed and the glaciers melted, tremendous volumes of water surged into the cracks in the Earth's surface - cracks originally formed when the lava cooled and contracted. Over time, water widened these fissures, carving out dramatic cliffs and creating a landscape of striking rock formations.

드론에서 찍은 고석정 뷰

Between those cliffs now flows a river: the Hantangang River, which we will follow throughout this journey. The Hantangang River Basin is part of the “Hantangang River UNESCO Global Geopark,” Korea’s first geopark centered on a river. It features numerous geological sites shaped by ancient volcanic activity. Our first stop is one of Cheorwon’s top nine scenic attractions and a designated national tourist site: Goseokjeong Pavilion.

고석정으로 내려가는 계단

Goseokjeong takes its name from a two-story pavilion built here during the reign of King Jinpyeong of Silla. Although the current structure is a modern reconstruction - the original was destroyed during the Korean War - the area has long been a destination for enjoying the natural beauty of the Hantangang River. King Chungsuk of Goryeo once visited and stayed here, and during the Joseon Dynasty, high-ranking official Yu Cheok-gi came here to recuperate.

고석정 정면 화강암 바위 모습

What made Goseokjeong so famous is the towering granite boulder that stands imposingly beside the river. Reaching 15 meters in height, this stone was once buried beneath ancient lava flows. It emerged over time as the river eroded the softer surroundings. In that sense, it is one of the oldest visible remnants of Earth’s memory in this region. Scientists believe the granite dates back to the mid-Cretaceous period, around 110 million years ago, before the extinction of the dinosaurs.

고석정에 배가 지나가는 모습

The area is also said to have served as a hideout for the legendary bandit Im Ggeokjeong. Described by the Joseon-era scholar Yi Ik as one of the “Three Great Outlaws” of the Joseon Dynasty, alongside Hong Gil-dong and Jang Gil-san, Im Ggeokjeong was a butcher from Yangju who led a band of rebels, frequently eluding capture. It is said that when royal forces were dispatched to suppress him under orders from King Myeongjong, he hid in the caves of Goseokjeong.

꽃밭 가는길 입구

If you ever visit Goseokjeong, be sure to check whether the Goseokjeong Flower Garden is open. The garden blooms twice a year - in spring and autumn - in dazzling display. I visited in early November, just in time for the final day of the autumn opening.

분홍색 꽃밭

Interestingly, the flower garden used to be a military training ground where tanks conducted exercises. Today, those rumbling tanks have been replaced by a slow-moving “can train” that carries visitors through the garden.

Depending on the season, the flowers and the layout of the fields change. In spring, vast yellow canola fields stretch out before you, while autumn brings an even more colorful variety. When I visited, the most vivid display came from a sea of crested cockscombs -
vibrant red and yellow flowers arranged in thick stripes across the fields like giant brushstrokes.

선명한 색을 뽐내는 맨드라미 군락

Leaving the flower garden, I followed the flow of the Hantan River downstream. At the southern border of Cheorwon-gun County lies Pocheon, the largest city by area in Gyeonggi-do Province. Long known for its clear, abundant water, Pocheon gets its name from the idea of a “place that embraces water.”

Have you ever heard of a road called Gyeongheung-ro? If we liken a country’s road network to the human circulatory system, its main arteries would be the expressways or trunk roads. During the Joseon Dynasty, several such trunk roads connected the capital to the country’s distant regions, and Gyeongheung-ro was one of them. This route stretched from the royal capital of Hanyang to the northeastern province of Hamgyeong-do.

At the time, Joseon often exiled disgraced officials to remote northern border regions. For those unfortunate souls, Gyeongheung-ro would have been a road of hardship and sorrow.

한탄강에 물이 비친 전경

But for others, Gyeongheung-ro was a road of joy and adventure. Anyone wishing to make the revered pilgrimage to Geumgangsan Mountain, the ultimate dream destination for Joseon-era scholars, had to take this route. Naturally, scenic spots along the Hantangang River began to be discovered and written about early on. Among them, eight celebrated sites in the Pocheon area, which was then called Yeongpyeong, became collectively known as the "Eight Scenic Views of Yeongpyeong."

화적연을 왼쪽 위에서 본 모습

The most famous of these eight sites is today’s second stop: Hwajeokyeon Rock. This 13-meter-tall granite formation stands prominently at a bend in the Hantangang River. Its name, Hwajeokyeon, which means “stacked rice sheaves,” comes from its resemblance to a neatly piled stack of harvested rice.

겸재 정선이 그린 화적연이 나와있는 관광안내판 - 영평팔경

Hwajeokyeon is neither as grand in scale as Goseokjeong nor as crowded with tourists. However, the spiritual aura created by the rock’s extraordinary shape is second to none. It is easy to understand why Joseon scholars considered it the crown jewel of the Eight Scenic Views of Yeongpyeong.

During the Joseon Dynasty, Hwajeokyeon was a popular subject for paintings and poems. The master of "true-view" landscape painting, Jeong Seon, included it in his Haeeakjeonsincheop, a travelogue of scenic views encountered en route to Geumgangsan Mountain. Heo Mok, a high-ranking official who served as Chief State Councilor in the late Joseon period, also mentioned Hwajeokyeon in his travel writings about Geumgangsan. Many other scholars and artists likened the rock to a crouching dragon resting by the river.

There is also a legend associated with Hwajeokyeon. One day, an old farmer, exhausted by a prolonged drought, sat by the pond and lamented, “How can crops wither and die when there is so much water here? Heaven is cruel, and even the dragons seem to be asleep!” At that very moment, the water surged, and a dragon rose from the river into the sky. That night, rain fell, and a bountiful harvest followed. Perhaps because of this tale, Hwajeokyeon is believed to have been a site where the Joseon court held rain-invoking rituals.

은행나무와 나무들

Beyond its towering granite monolith, Hwajeokyeon is simply a peaceful place to enjoy nature. Although a campground operates nearby, the riverside remains quiet, thanks to the surrounding trees that block noise. It is also far removed from major roads, so the sound of cars is nonexistent. Swimming is prohibited, which adds to its serenity. For those who cherish calm, this is a place worth visiting.

The name of the Hantangang River carries meaning: “han” means “great,” while “tan” means “rapids” or “shallow rapids, (and “gang” means “river.”) Put together, Hantangang means “the great rapids.” True to its name, it is a forceful and rugged river, once notorious for accidents and now popular as a destination for whitewater rafting.

There are, however, alternate explanations for the river’s name. One story says it comes from Gungye, the king of Later Goguryeo, who supposedly lamented his downfall by the river after being overthrown by Wang Geon. Another claims it originated during the Korean War, when refugees unable to cross the river expressed their grief (hantan, meaning “sorrow”).

한탄강 근처의 땅

But old maps, such as Kim Jeong-ho’s “Daedongjiji,” label the river as “Daetangang,” which means “river of great rapids.” This supports the more geological interpretation. It is more plausible that the tan in Hantangang refers to “rapids,” not “lament.”

Still, it is no coincidence that stories of sorrow and seclusion recur in tales related to the Hantangang River. The answer lies in the landscape. Formed by lava that flowed into fractures in a flat plain, the river is not easily visible from above. It runs deep through a narrow gorge - hidden from view unless you are standing right on the edge. This means there are many places to hide, and also many spots where one can become trapped between cliffs.

In short, this lava-formed river is full of secrets. As the lava flowed beneath the surface, it carved hidden wonders underground - treasures not immediately apparent on the surface. The next site we visit is one of the most striking examples of this.

한탄강 지질공원 안에 지구가 있는 조형물

I arrived at the Hantangang UNESCO Global Geopark in Yeongbuk-myeon Township, Pocheon. To see Bidulginang Falls, a nationally designated Natural Monument and one of the Eight Scenic Views of Hantangang, you must descend into the gorge.

Before reaching the falls, there are two useful geological terms to understand: columnar jointing and wave-cut caves.

Columnar joints are often found in volcanic rock landscapes formed by lava flows. These structures resemble hexagonal columns and form when lava cools and contracts rapidly. These joints create natural fractures, making the rock more vulnerable to erosion. When rivers or waterfalls pass through these areas, water can more easily carve through the rock. Over time, swirling currents from falling water can create massive caves beneath the cliffs. These are known as wave-cut caves, or “haesik-donggul” in Korean.

비둘기낭

Now you can better understand how Bidulginang Falls took its current shape. Unfortunately, there had been no recent rain during my visit, so there was no waterfall to see. Still, the site powerfully illustrates the characteristics of erosion landscapes created by volcanic activity. Its dramatic basalt columns, lava plains, deep gorge, waterfall, and wave-cut cave all tell the story of molten lava erupting long ago, and the slow chiseling work of water and wind over countless years.

물이 흐르는 비둘기낭

The water of Bidulginang Falls flows down to the left side of the cave. On days with heavy flow, it even creates a cloud of mist. In the absence of real water, I tried drawing in a waterfall on a photo, adding that one element really brought the scene to life.

The name “Bidulginang,” meaning “Pigeon Gorge,” comes from the flocks of wild pigeons that once nested here during the winter. Hidden by dense vegetation, the area is invisible from above and was even used as a shelter by local residents and soldiers during the Korean War. It is a secret natural wonder, revealed only to those who seek it.

Leaving the flow of the Hantangang River behind, I continued southward. After about 40 minutes, just before entering the city center of Pocheon-si City, I turned left and arrived at the foot of Cheonju-san Mountain, where a large parking lot marked the final stop on the Prehistoric Landscape Route.

모노레일이 지나가는 모습

I parked the car and purchased a one-way monorail ticket. The path from the entrance is not particularly long, but the incline is steep, so the monorail offers a much easier ride up.

What makes Pocheon Art Valley most distinct from the other sites on this route is that it is a place deeply shaped by human hands. While Goseokjeong, Hwajeokyeon, and Bidulginang Falls are natural masterpieces, Pocheon Art Valley is a collaboration between nature and humankind. This was once a granite quarry.

하늘에서 본 아트밸리

In the late 1960s, during Korea’s rapid economic growth, this site was home to one of the country’s most prominent granite quarries. It produced Pocheon-seok, a type of granite renowned for its durability and beauty.

Pocheon-seok granite was used in the construction of many of Korea’s most iconic institutions, including Cheong Wa Dae (the Blue House), the National Assembly Building, the Supreme Court, the National Police Agency, Incheon International Airport, and the Sejong Center for the Performing Arts, to name a few. In that sense, this site is deeply intertwined with Korea’s modern history.

But rapid development often comes with growing pains. By the 1990s, the supply of high-quality granite began to dwindle, and the quarry was eventually abandoned, becoming a desolate and unsightly place. Then, in 2004, Pocheon began a five-year effort to transform the site. It was a gesture of reflection, a commitment to restoring damaged nature and returning it to the people.

아트밸리 풍경

Riding the monorail up to Cheonjuho Lake, I arrived at a body of water that had formed in the quarry pit, now filled with rainwater and natural spring water.

From the lakeside, the cliffs of Art Valley offer a truly breathtaking view. Here, nature’s raw, rocky formations are mixed with the clean, geometric cuts left by human tools. The result is a surreal and dreamlike landscape, almost otherworldly, as if you have been transported to another country.

아트밸리의 화강암

Granite is formed when magma cools slowly underground. Interestingly, until the 1970s, Koreans commonly referred to granite by its native name, :ssukdol,” meaning “mugwort stone.” During the quarry’s heyday, locals would have called this place the ssukdol quarry. And come to think of it, the stone’s speckled, bluish-green grain does resemble the square blocks of traditional “ssukddeok” (mugwort rice cakes).

아트밸리에서 내려가는 계단

If you want a panoramic view of Cheonjuho Lake and the surrounding cliffs, follow the wooden stairs up to the Sky Garden (Haneuljeongwon). From there, you can take in Cheonju-san Mountain, the lake amphitheater, and the sculpture park. Knowing that this once-forgotten quarry has been revived into a vibrant cultural destination brings a sense of comfort and hope.

I visited the Sky Garden with my mother, who accompanied me on this journey. We both had the same thought: “I hope more people discover this place.” The view was far too beautiful for just the two of us to admire alone.

나무와 돌이 보이는 풍경

Epilogue

Earlier this year, I visited Acatenango Volcano in Guatemala, a place I had also visited four years ago. There was a reason I made the long journey again. Near the summit, at an elevation of about 4,000 meters, there is a spectacular base camp that offers a direct view of a neighboring volcano. Of course, if all I could see was a bit of smoke rising in the distance, I would not have made the trip. But this place is one of the few on Earth where you can witness volcanic eruptions throughout the night, right before your eyes.

It was a night I will never forget, for many reasons. My body was worn out from brutal altitude sickness and freezing cold. But whenever my consciousness blurred and the pain dulled, thunderous explosions would rip through the sky. It was a sound I had never heard before - an unimaginable roar.

Perhaps the inside of a volcano looks like a giant lottery machine. That is the only way I can explain the sound of massive boulders, each several meters in diameter, rolling and colliding all at once. After rumbling for a while, the volcano would erupt in an explosive boom, shaking the earth with a force like an earthquake mixed with a lightning strike. Volcanic debris shot upward like rockets, and a thick black cloud spilled out like an omen. Then, thick, glowing red magma gushed out like someone vomiting after drinking too much.

As I walked the Prehistoric Landscape Route, those eruptions came vividly back to me. The scenery before me must have originated from moments just like that. I felt overwhelmed by the sheer scale and unimaginable timespan of the Earth’s history.

That is why I find so much meaning in traveling to face vast natural landscapes. Having lived my entire life in the city, I sometimes unconsciously fall into a human-centered view of the world. I look at the Earth and think about life through the narrow lens of human perspective. But when I encounter the vastness of nature, I begin to see things differently. I think about human existence through the eyes of the planet itself. Within that infinite expanse, I start to see just how small and fragile our lives really are.

Among all the local foods commonly found in northern Gyeonggi-do Province and the mountainous areas of Gangwon-do Province, buckwheat dishes are perhaps the most representative. While many people today associate Gangwon-do with potatoes, the crop was only introduced to Korea less than 300 years ago. Long before that, even prior to the Three Kingdoms period, Gangwon-do was known for its buckwheat.

In mountainous regions, buckwheat was a valuable subsistence crop. To be considered a subsistence crop, it must meet certain conditions: it should be relatively unaffected by climate, grow well in poor soil, and require only a short cultivation period. Buckwheat meets all of these conditions. In addition, it thrives in cool climates, making it ideal for regions like northern Gyeonggi-do and Gangwon-do.

Even today, restaurants serving buckwheat dishes can be found all throughout the Hantangang River area. The two most popular are “memil makguksu” (buckwheat noodles) and “memiljeon” (buckwheat pancakes). Until the early 1990s, it was common to find “makguksu” served in a chicken-based broth, but nowadays, most restaurants use chilled “dongchimi” (radish water kimchi) broth instead.

There is nothing complicated about how to eat it. Simply grab a few cold noodles with your chopsticks, slurp them up, and tear off a piece of the warm buckwheat pancake to balance the meal.

“Makguksu” is not a dish meant to be eaten delicately or formally. The word “makguksu” is believed to come either from the word “mak” meaning “roughly ground” buckwheat, or from the idea that the noodles are made “on the spot” as orders come in.

In that sense, “makgeolli,” unfiltered rice wine that shares the same mak origin, is its perfect match. A bite of “makguksu,” a bite of “memiljeon,” and a bowl of “makgeolli.” Everything goes together so well, it feels like it was all planned in advance. It is a complete flavor experience.

And since Pocheon is famous for its clear water, it is no surprise that the makgeolli here is especially renowned.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / The Long Journey Ahead

I live my life as a professional traveler. Whether for better or worse, I’m always either away or preparing to leave. My daily routine has always been one of these two. Luckily, I’m still young and full of energy, so it’s not a bad way to live. Who knows what the future holds, but if I had worried about that, I might never have started this journey.
This year, I’ve roamed various parts of the world and finally returned to Korea. Has it been a little over a month? Lying on my floor after such a long time, I thought, “I should take some time to recharge.” But suddenly, I was tasked with writing a series on the Ten Korean Heritage Visit Routes.
I thought, “Well, if it’s just ten, I can take it slow.” But upon closer inspection, each route has five or six places to visit, all scattered across Korea’s beautiful landscapes. Thankfully, my backpack, which I had set aside thinking I would unpack later, is still exactly where I left it.
Where should I start? I quietly stared at the map of the ten routes.
“How do you choose your travel destinations?” Now that I think about it, I often get asked this question. Repeated questions tend to create a standard answer, and I always give the same one: “I first think about how different the scenery is from what I usually see.”
Having traveled so much, I’ve grown used to the act of leaving. For me, the most important part of a trip is feeling like I’ve truly ‘left.’ It’s not just about physically going somewhere; it’s about my heart leaving as well. I’d say the kind of escape I seek is what defines a great trip for me.
For someone like me, Jeju-do Island is the perfect place to begin a long journey. Born and raised in Seoul, I always find trips to Jeju-do exciting and delightful. Even after countless visits, it never fails to thrill me. The moment I step out of the airport and see palm trees, I still feel like I’ve truly left.
This time was no different. The moment I left the airport with my backpack, Jeju-do’s strong winds greeted me. The sky was a clear Prussian blue, and just like that, the part of me dreaming of recharging at home opened up.
With such a refreshing start, I’m ready to go anywhere. There’s a long journey ahead, or as they say in the Jeju dialect, “ha-yeong” (a lot), but what could stop me?
There’s nothing quite like the thrill of a fresh start. I immediately headed east.
성산일출봉

To Seongsan Ilchulbong, the top destination for anyone who loves Jeju-do Island.
Just as one visits the Colosseum in Rome or the Eiffel Tower in Paris, people say that “Jeju-do means Seongsan Ilchulbong.” I’ve heard this ever since I was young. Some even say, “If you haven’t climbed Seongsan Ilchulbong, you can’t say you’ve been to Jeju-do.”
There are times when I feel a rebellious urge to avoid such famous spots. I think, “I’m not the kind of traveler who follows the crowd,” and I want to pretend I’m indifferent. Admittedly, it’s not the most mature attitude.

설화와 자연의 길 사진4-성산일출봉 안내석 사진

But even I have climbed Seongsan Ilchulbong several times. The first was during a school trip—reluctantly trudging along. Since then, I’ve climbed it voluntarily, seeing it as a form of exercise. Each time, I’d secretly admit to myself, “It’s not famous for nothing. I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive.”
Still, I didn’t want to completely give in, so I became the kind of person who thought, “If you want to say you’ve been to Jeju-do, at least you should climb Baekrokdam.” Perhaps because Baekrokdam is harder to climb, Seongsan Ilchulbong has claimed the title of Jeju-do’s symbolic landmark.

설화와 자연의 길 사진6-등경돌 사진

As you climb Seongsan Ilchulbong, you can’t help but notice the towering rock beside the stairs -Deungyeongdol. According to legend, this rock was once the stand where an old woman placed her lamp while she sewed. “How on earth did she put a lamp on such a huge rock?” you might wonder, but the woman herself was enormous to begin with.
Her name in the legend is Seolmundae Halmang, and her height? It’s said that when she lay down using Hallasan Mountain as her pillow, her feet stretched all the way to Gwaneum Islet off Jeju-do’s coast. If you measure that distance on a map, it’s roughly 40 kilometers. They say Seolmundae Halmang sewed every day with a single lamp on Deungyeongdol because she only had one outfit, though the fact that she even had clothes that fit her seems legendary.

설화와 자연의 길 사진7-정상에서 내려다본 성산일출봉

Once I reached the summit, the wide-open view was incredibly refreshing. Gazing out at the vast landscape, I almost felt like a giant myself.
When traveling around Jeju-do, following the legends of Seolmundae Halmang leads to countless fascinating stories. After all, she’s the one who created Jeju-do Island, right in the middle of the blue sea. Legend has it that she carried dirt from the mainland in her skirt and piled it up to form the island. No matter how deep the sea was, it never went above her knees, so it was possible.
Finally, she shook off the remaining dirt from her skirt to create Hallasan Mountain. But because the mountain was too tall and sharp, it was uncomfortable to sit on, so she snapped off the peak and tossed it far away. That’s how the crater at Baekrokdam was formed.
So here’s a question: What happened to the peak that Seolmundae Halmang threw away? To find the answer, I descended from the summit and drove toward the southwest coast.

산방산, 용머리해안

Jeju-do has three mountains considered its most majestic. One is Hallasan at the center, another is Seongsan Ilchulbong at the eastern tip, and the last is Sanbangsan, a renowned mountain in the southwest, said to have been formed when Seolmundae Halmang tore off Hallasan’s peak and threw it away.

설화와 자연의 길 사진10-산방산 부감 사진

As I passed through Seogwipo and headed west, Sanbangsan’s grandeur started to come into view from a distance. From there, I no longer needed navigation. The mountain stands alone in the flat landscape, so all I had to do was follow its towering presence.
The legend that Sanbangsan was once the peak of Hallasan stems from several coincidences. First, the diameter of Baekrokdam and the base of Sanbangsan roughly match. The rock material of Hallasan’s summit, like Sanbangsan, is trachyte. Moreover, Sanbangsan, with its bell-like shape lacking a crater, seems perfectly suited to fill the gap at Hallasan’s peak.

설화와 자연의 길 사진11-산방굴사 불상 사진

I entered through the ticket gate and began climbing the path. The name Sanbang (meaning “mountain room”) comes from the cave located halfway up the mountain, called Sanbanggul. At the end of the path is this sea cave, where a Buddha statue is enshrined. For this reason, the cave has long been referred to as Sanbanggulsa Temple.
The trail leads only to Sanbanggulsa Temple. The cliffs of Sanbangsan are home to rare plants of significant academic value. To preserve the cultural heritage of Sanbangsan and protect the natural monument plant habitat, access beyond this point is prohibited.

설화와 자연의 길 사진13-산방산에서 바라본 용머리 해안 풍경 사진

As I climbed the stairs and turned around, the spectacular view of Yongmeori Coast spread out below. The sweeping curves of the coastline resemble the head of a dragon, leaving no doubt as to why it’s called Yongmeori (Dragon Head) Coast. It’s as if a dragon’s dynamic energy stretches from the base of Sanbangsan, reaching toward the sea.

설화와 자연의 길 사진14-산방굴사 굴 내부 불상 사진

It didn’t take long before I reached Sanbanggulsa Temple, situated about 150 meters above sea level.
At the highest point, a seated stone Buddha statue gazes down at the sea. The cave itself isn’t very large, but the occasional drip of water from the rocky ceiling echoes softly in the stillness, stirring the quiet cave. That sound felt almost mystical, and sure enough, there’s a legend tied to it - Sanbangdeok’s tears.
Sanbangdeok was a heavenly maiden who came down to the human world and married a woodcutter named Goseongmok.
But, as is often the case with legends, their story didn’t have a happy ending, but rather a sorrowful, poignant one.
The local magistrate became infatuated with her beauty and began to desire her. In the end, the magistrate falsely accused her husband of a crime and forced them to part. Heartbroken, the maiden entered Sanbanggulsa Temple, where she cried for days before passing away.
Thus, the water dripping from the ceiling is said to be the tears of Sanbangdeok.
설화와 자연의 길 사진15-내려다본 마을 사진

Despite the tragic legend, the view from Sanbanggulsa is breathtakingly beautiful.
It was early morning, and I had the place to myself, enjoying the tranquil scenery in peace.
Far across the sea, I could see Songaksan, surrounded by cliffs, and behind it, Gapado, a flat island shaped like a stingray. Beyond that lay Marado, the southernmost island of Korea.

설화와 자연의 길 사진17 - 마라도 여객선 선착장 marado excursion ship wharf 화살

설화와 자연의 길 사진17 - 마라도 여객선 선착장 marado excursion ship wharf 화살

And as it happens, Marado was my next destination. From afar, it was clearly visible, and I already felt excited to see it. However, when I descended
Sanbangsan and approached the coast, I found the waves raging fiercely. I thought I’d have a rough time on the boat, but there was no need for concern—the day’s sailings had all been canceled.
But I’m not the type to be easily disappointed or flustered by such things. It might sound a bit arrogant, but I can say that confidently. One thing I’ve gained from my long travels is resilience to unexpected situations. For me, traveling has always been about embracing serendipity.
Fortunately, the stronger the winds and the rougher the waves in Jeju-do, the better the experience at certain places.

주상절리대

Jusangjeolli Cliffs is one of those places I rarely visit. You can see Jeju-do’s blue sea anywhere, and the hexagonal rock formations in front of it, though interesting, only hold my attention for the first few times—just enough to think, “Hmm, that’s a cool sight.”
But if the wind is howling and the waves seem unusually fierce, you must visit Jusangjeolli. On such days, the cliffs reveal their hidden claws like a wild beast.

설화와 자연의 길 사진20-파도치는 주상절리 사진

Each time a massive wave crashes, it climbs the cliffs and shatters into white foam. The wind whips it toward you, cold and sharp against your face. I couldn’t help but feel like a helpless fish laid out on a chopping board.
The waves didn’t seem like they’d stop anytime soon. They were immense, with an overwhelming power that sweeps away the chaos of the world in one fell swoop. Watching such a scene, the thought that “humans are truly amazing” that I’d often felt living in the city began to feel like mere child’s play.

설화와 자연의 길 사진21-주상절리 하단부 사진

As the sea breeze began to feel quite cool, I headed to Soesokkak, which has a charm opposite to that of the dramatic Jusangjeolli Cliffs. “Soesokkak” is a deep pool where freshwater and seawater meet. In the Jeju-do dialect, “soeso” means a pond shaped like a cow lying down, and “kkak” means the edge.
설화와 자연의 길 사진24-쇠소깍 부감 사진

Though the wind continued to whip up fierce waves, the waters of Soesokkak, divided from the black sandy beach, were surprisingly calm.
This contrast is what makes Soesokkak so alluring—a dramatic shift that feels like stepping into another world. Moreover, the peculiar rock formations, hardened from lava, and the lush forest surrounding it make this place feel like a secret, mystical haven.

설화와 자연의 길 사진25-레저를 즐기는 여행객들 사진

And of course, such a mystical spot inevitably has a legend. There’s a tale that a dragon once lived in the especially clear and blue waters of Soesokkak, and in the past, this place was called Yongso (Dragon Pool). During droughts in the summer, villagers would gather here to perform rain rituals to appease the dragon’s wrath.
Because it was once considered sacred, no one was allowed to swim or throw stones here. Nowadays, however, many visitors enjoy the scenery by kayaking or riding traditional rafts known as “teu.”

설화와 자연의 길 사진27- 테우 타는 사람들 사진

On the morning of my last day in Jeju-do, having already seen plenty of the ocean while traveling along the coast, I decided to end my journey at Geomunoreum. The name means “black oreum” because the forest is so dense that it appears dark.

설화와 자연의 길 사진30-거문오름 부감 사진

For reference, oreum refers to a volcano that has erupted just once and is now extinct—essentially the graves of volcanoes that once existed on Earth.
Of course, that’s the scientific explanation, but according to legend, the oreum were also created by Seolmundae Halmang. She truly was remarkable. But it wasn’t intentional—she accidentally dropped dirt from her skirt while carrying it, and that dirt became the oreum.

설화와 자연의 길 사진31-제주세계자연유산센터 간판 사진

There are over 360 oreum scattered across Jeju-do Island, but Geomunoreum is the only one listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. Its natural value is so high that individual access is restricted, and visitors must be guided by a nature interpreter along the trail.
I had reserved the first morning trek the day before. At the designated time, about 30 travelers gathered at the entrance, and we set off into the forest together.

설화와 자연의 길 사진32-빽빽한 나무들 사진

Right from the entrance, the path was lined with cedar, cypress, and pine trees. Though slender beams of light filtered through the dense leaves, they weren’t enough to fully brighten the forest. It truly deserved the name “Geomunoreum.”
The first 30 minutes of the trail were a steady uphill climb, but the dense trees blocked the sun completely, keeping the path refreshingly cool - perfect for hiking.

설화와 자연의 길 사진34- 잘린 나무에 이끼가 자란 사진

If you were expecting an open panoramic view like other oreum on Jeju-do, Geomunoreum might not be satisfying. There are very few places along the trail where you can see beyond the forest. Even at the summit, there’s only a sign indicating “This is the summit,” with both sides enclosed like a long tunnel.
However, if you enjoy observing the mysterious ecology of the forest or the fresh smell of greenery carried by the damp air, Geomunoreum is the perfect summer retreat. The cool breeze from the volcanic air vents acts like a natural air conditioner. The lush green scenery that blankets the world reminds you just how vibrant and refreshing the color green can be.

설화와 자연의 길 사진36- 거문오름 주변 오름 설명 사진

Epilogue of the Mythic Landscape Route

With the blue path as my final step, I wrapped up my first journey on the Mythic Landscape Route. Quite literally, as I followed the stories and nature of Jeju-do, the journey came to an end before I knew it.
Now that I think about it, there’s one more part of the Seolmundae Halmang legend that I haven’t mentioned yet. It’s a story from when Jeju-do was fully formed, and people began living on the island.
Seolmundae Halmang asked the people of Jeju-do to gather 100 bolts of silk to make an undergarment for herself. One bolt of silk is about 50 lengths, and a single length is roughly 20 meters long. So, 100 bolts of silk is truly an immense amount. In return, Seolmundae Halmang promised to build a bridge connecting Jeju to Mokpo on the mainland.
But what happened in the end? We already know the conclusion. There’s no bridge between Jeju-do and the mainland, and Jeju remains an island to this day. The people managed to gather 99 bolts of silk, but they were short by just one.
If I may cautiously suggest, perhaps it wasn’t an accident that one bolt was missing. Maybe Seolmundae Halmang hid it or lied about needing that final bolt. After all, how could they have fallen short by just one? Even if it’s a legend, it does make you wonder.
In any case, Jeju-do is full of fascinating stories at every turn, which makes it such an irresistible place.
However, if Jeju-do’s scenery had been dull and monotonous, these legends wouldn’t have resonated so deeply. I can confidently say that Jeju-do is filled with legends purely because of its nature. In such mystical surroundings, stories that feel like movies or fairy tales are bound to emerge. Jeju-do is simply that kind of island.

제주의 맛 소개

To end my journey along the Mythic Landscape Route, I’d like to recommend some local flavors that perfectly complement the experience.
I’m someone who believes that memories linger vividly through the five senses. The more you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch, the more deeply those memories are etched in your mind.
So, food during a trip acts like a “preservative for memories.” It might sound strange, but food truly enhances your recollection of a journey.

갈칫국

The first dish I recommend is galchi-guk (hairtail fish soup). You may have heard of galchi-jjim (braised hairtail), but never tried the soup? That’s understandable. Since hairtail is an oily fish, it can easily become too fishy, which is why people outside Jeju-do don’t often make soup with it.
However, that’s precisely why galchi-guk is considered one of the most authentic local dishes of Jeju-do. Made with freshly caught Jeju silver hairtail, large slices of pumpkin, and napa cabbage, the soup’s simplicity - enhanced with a few spicy peppers - lets you savor the essence of Jeju-do’s hairtail.

흑돼지구이

When talking about Jeju-do’s flavors, you can’t leave out black pork. “You must eat black pork when you visit Jeju-do.” For me, this has become a kind of ritual. If I travel to Jeju-do but don’t eat black pork, it feels like I haven’t fully completed my story. Dipping juicy black pork in rich fermented anchovy sauce on the grill—there’s nothing quite like it.
So, for the last dinner of this trip, I followed tradition and had black pork. Even though I had eaten a lot at lunch, I didn’t hold back. Normally, I would pace myself, but not this time. “I’m doing this for the travelogue,” I told myself, and ate to my heart’s content. I guess I have a strong sense of duty. I had both pork belly and pork neck.
Thinking back to my school trip to Jeju-do, when several of us shared one portion of black pork “dwaeji duruchigi” (stir-fried pork), I realized - this is the true joy of traveling as an adult.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue | Ears on Alert

Argentinian restaurant. Steak might sound fancy, but in Argentina, eating beef is about as common as having kimchi in Korea. The whole meal cost me around KRW 8,000 (approximately USD 5.6). Granted, this was nearly ten years ago, but even then, it was a bargain.

The town was a quiet little lakeside resort, dotted with vendors selling cotton candy, ice cream, and popcorn from their carts. Foreign tourists were rare; most of the crowd were locals - especially young couples. With their fiery South American passion, their public displays of affection were as creative as they were bold.

But that was not the important part. What really caught my attention was the music playing in the background of the restaurant. The place was bustling and noisy, so no one else seemed to notice. But I did. I perked up my ears. Amid the waterfall of Spanish lyrics, I caught a trickle of Korean.

It was unmistakably K-pop. I couldn’t tell you if it was Girls’ Generation or BIGBANG, but it didn’t matter. Back then, hearing Korean lyrics in such an unfamiliar place felt magical. I wanted to leap up, steak in hand, and shout to the world, “Hey! That’s Korean music!”

Nowadays, that kind of experience is no longer rare. I once ate tacos in a remote village in Guatemala while BLACKPINK played overhead. I watched a crowd of over a hundred people dancing to K-pop in a massive mall in the Philippines.

You no longer need to raise your hand and explain the lyrics. People around the world already know. There are K-pop fans everywhere. And often, if you are quietly humming along, someone nearby will take notice and ask, “Are you from Korea?”

When that happens, I simply smile and say, “Yes, I’m from Korea.” And I’ve seen, again and again, how that one short answer instantly warms hearts - in Egypt, Tanzania, Jordan, Colombia, and Cuba. All over the world, people have asked me to shake hands or take a photo with me, just because I’m Korean.

It is a strange and wonderful thing. Who would have thought the world would care so much about music in Korean? Just ten years ago, I often had to explain whether Korea meant the North or the South.

For this journey along the Folk Music Route, I headed to Jeolla-do (Jeolla Province), a region long celebrated as the heartland of Korean culture and the arts. It has nurtured countless artists of extraordinary talent over the centuries. Its regional folk songs, known as Namdo Minyo, are widely regarded as the most iconic in Korea’s traditional music. When it comes to tracing the roots of Korean sound, there’s no better stage than Jeolla-do.

위에서 바라본 국립무형유산원

My first stop was the National Intangible Heritage Center in Jeonju, the capital of North Jeolla-do. On past trips to Jeonju, I had mostly visited the famous Hanok Village, and I had not realized that such an impressive complex stood just across the Jeonjucheon Stream.

To be honest, I was a bit skeptical at first. How does one “exhibit” something intangible? Was such a vast facility really necessary? With any institution bearing the word “national,” I tend to be more critical than usual.

국립무형유산원

But after reading the center’s introduction, my doubts faded. I found myself nodding in agreement: “Yes, for that kind of mission, bold investment is absolutely necessary.” Of course, whether I agree or not doesn’t really matter. But for what it’s worth, I was convinced.

The National Intangible Heritage Center is not just about displaying artifacts. To appreciate its purpose, you first need to understand the nature of intangible heritage. Unlike tangible heritage, which can be preserved through proper maintenance, intangible heritage survives only through transmission. And the bearers of that heritage, whether craftsmen, performers, or ritual leaders, can’t live forever.

This makes the task of preserving intangible heritage especially challenging. Many of these arts and skills require years of training to master, and it’s not always easy to find willing successors. While a few forms of intangible heritage can be monetized, most are old songs or ancient skills that fade naturally unless consciously preserved.

국립 무형유산원 악기

That’s where the importance of the National Intangible Heritage Center becomes clear. It’s a comprehensive administrative institution designed to protect Korea’s intangible heritage and ensure its full transmission to future generations.

In fact, this is the world’s first institution of its kind, dedicated solely to intangible cultural assets. Once I understood its goals, my initial skepticism gave way to pride. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so critical from the start.

무형유산원 내부

The center has two main exhibition halls: Exhibition Hall 1 focuses on traditional performing arts, rituals, and ceremonies; Exhibition Hall 2 showcases traditional craft techniques. Since my journey was themed around the Folk Music Route, I spent most of my time in the first hall.

판소리 부채와 북

The exhibitions were curated with such creativity and care that I found myself constantly impressed. What I appreciated most was that the displays did not just focus on instruments or tools. Instead, they used a wealth of audiovisual materials to convey the atmosphere and emotion behind each intangible asset. It was a thoughtful and immersive approach.

If you ever find yourself in Jeonju, I highly recommend visiting the National Intangible Heritage Center. The experience was deeply rewarding. You will come away with a renewed appreciation for the diversity of Korea’s intangible heritage. And a vivid sense of how our ancestors turned joy, sorrow, and every shade of life into art through music and dance.

From Jeonju, I headed south, crossing the Seomjingang River into Imsil-gun (Imsil County), a region more commonly associated with cheese. Nestled in the mountainous terrain is a quiet village called Pilbongri in Gangjin-myeon. The village’s name, which translates to “brush peak,” comes from the shape of the mountain behind it, said to resemble the tip of a calligraphy brush. Most residents are farmers, and the village is believed to be around 300 years old.

필봉농악 전수관을 위에서 본 모습

Like many other rural communities in Korea, Pilbongri Village has passed down its own traditions of Nongak (village folk performances), such as Madangbalgi and Dangsan Gut. Nongak, sometimes referred to as “Pungmulnori,” is a communal musical performance played to lift the spirits of the village and promote unity and harmony.

But what made Pilbongri Village’s Nongak evolve beyond a typical village tradition was a pivotal moment in the 1920s. At that time, it was customary to invite a master performer, known as a “sangsoe,” to teach the village ensemble. Pilbongri did just that - inviting the exceptional sangsoe Park Hak-sam, who not only taught but also moved into the village and raised its pungmulnori to a professional level.

필봉굿 벽화 그림

Pilbongri Village became wholly enamored with pungmul. One of its own, Yang Soon-yong, a third-generation sangsoe from the village, went on to formalize and organize the performances, cultivating Pilbong Nongak into a cultural treasure in its own right. Their fame grew nationally, with university students from across the country coming to study pungmul in this village. Thanks to decades of dedication to transmission and performance, Pilbong Nongak was eventually designated as a National Intangible Cultural Heritage. Even today, performances continue in Pilbongri Village.

필봉문화관 입구

Of course, if you are from a younger generation, some of the terms above may sound unfamiliar. What is a “sangsoe”? What is a “geollip-pae”? And is a “gut” not a shamanic ritual? These are valid questions. As traditions fade from everyday life, they naturally become more obscure. That is precisely why places like the Pilbong Nongak Transmission Center are so important.

To learn something unfamiliar, it helps to begin with the terms. A “sangsoe” is the leader of the nongak troupe, standing at the front and playing the kkwaenggwari (small gong). Think of the sangsoe as the conductor of an orchestra or the commander of a battalion. A “geollip-pae,” on the other hand, is a more professional and organized form of a performance troupe - one that goes beyond village borders to perform in neighboring towns in exchange for compensation. These groups elevated the artistic level of pungmul and helped nurture full-time performers.

먹으로 그린 굿하는 사람

The Pilbong Nongak Transmission Center houses the instruments and clothing used by Yang Soon-yong himself. His words are inscribed on the walls:

“Play the gut with passion as if it is your whole life!”
“To host a good gut is to make every visitor feel embraced and overjoyed.”

For him, the energetic and communal nature of a gut was not just a performance, but it was a vital force that held communities together.

At a pungmul performance, individual talent matters little. What matters is the unity through music, where no one is left out, and everyone moves as one.

From Imsil, I followed the Seomjingang River down through Sunchang, then veered westward. The road passes through Damyang and cuts across the Naejangsan mountains, opening up to a vast plain that stretches all the way to Korea’s western coastline. Gochang sits at the edge of this plain, known for its open skies and panoramic views.

고창읍성을 위에서 본 모습

Encircling the southern face of Mount Bangjangsan is Gochang Eupseong, a fortress believed to have been constructed in the early Joseon era as a refuge during times of invasion. Right in front of it stands a modest hanok (traditional house) that once belonged to Shin Jae-hyo, a late Joseon official and seminal pansori scholar. Shin is credited with systematizing pansori into what became known as the "six madangs" - distinct narrative episodes or song cycles (“madang” means “a courtyard” or “performance space,” but in pansori, it refers to a complete story unit within the repertoire).

The third stop along the Folk Music Route was the Gochang Pansori Museum, located beside Shin Jae-hyo’s historic residence.

판소리 박물관

As I parked and approached the museum, a faint, expressive sound drew my attention. From one of the hanoks came the soulful strains of vocal training. On the door was a sign: “Pansori Training Room.” People in hanbok (traditional clothing) stood nearby, and when I inquired, they told me this was where aspiring pansori performers train under masters. The atmosphere was reverent, so I quietly offered a greeting and moved on.

판소리 박물관 내부 전시관

Pansori, as the name suggests, is made up of two parts: “pan,” meaning a gathering or performance space, and “sori,” meaning sound. The very essence of pansori lies in its interaction between performer and audience.

That is why the three essential elements of pansori are the singer (sorikkun), the drummer (gosu), and the audience. The audience is not just passive - they actively respond with enthusiastic calls like “Eolssu!” or “Jihwaja!”

춘향전을 재현한 인령들

During the Joseon dynasty, pansori gained tremendous popularity among the elite, with royal patronage elevating many famed performers. Renowned sorikkun were invited to perform in the palace and were even granted official ranks. Pansori was also a staple at aristocratic festivals and banquets, as can be seen in numerous 19th-century genre paintings.

So, is pansori an “aristocratic” or “royal” art?

In part, yes. Celebrated performers such as Mo Heung-gap were invited to entertain new governors. Heungseon Daewongun, a powerful royal figure, promoted pansori artists like Park Man-soon and Jeong Chun-poong by giving them titles and prestige.

판소리 북과 가야금

But pansori is also - and perhaps more importantly - a people’s art. Its origins lie with the lower classes.

The early performers were known as “sori-gwangdae,” and the term gwangdae referred to entertainers from the lowest social tier in mid-Joseon society.

Pansori flourished in rural villages and bustling market towns. Initially part of traveling performances that included tightrope walking and other acrobatics, pansori slowly made its way into the homes of the wealthy. In this transition, bawdy jokes and vulgar language gave way to a more refined style, but the soul of the performance remained intact.

초가집이 있는 모형물

At its heart, pansori is about storytelling - projecting a tale so vividly that it captivates an entire crowd. Performers needed not only enormous vocal power but also stamina: traditional pansori pieces could last over eight hours, performed without intermission by a single singer.

As a result, the best pansori singers, known as “myeongchang,” earned widespread admiration from both aristocrats and commoners. As the art form spread throughout Korea, these performers became the most sought-after entertainers - superstars of their time.

전시되어있는 판소리 책

This is where Shin Jae-hyo’s foresight shines again. He was not only a scholar and historian of pansori, but also an educator who saw its potential to flourish with structure. He established Dongnijungsa, a kind of pansori academy where he mentored promising young performers. In modern terms, you might call it a training center for future stars.

Remarkably, Shin Jae-hyo also mentored women, which was uncommon for the time. The most notable of these was Jin Chae-seon, a gisaeng from Gochang who became Korea’s first recognized female pansori singer. Her talent caught the attention of Heungseon Daewongun, and she rose to become the court musician at Unhyeongung.

In this way, pansori emerged in the 19th century as a unique art form - both aristocratic and grassroots. It told stories filled with universal emotions, songs steeped in sorrow and joy. Although it faced challenges during the Japanese occupation and the disbanding of the Joseon elite, pansori endured. Because it belonged to everyone, people preserved it, taught it, and passed it on.

Even now, in the heart of Gochang, the echoes of pansori still ring out, linking voices of the past with ears of the present.

Of the six madangs Shin Jae-hyo is said to have systemized, five have survived to this day: “Chunhyangga,” “Simcheongga,” “Sugungga,” “Heungbuga,” and “Jeokbyeokga.”

The final destination of my Folk Music Route journey was Gwanghalluwon Garden in Namwon, the setting for Chunhyangga, the most musically and dramatically elaborate of them all.

위에서 정면으로 본 광한루원

Gwanghalluwon Garden is a cultural site that owes much of its fame to Chunhyangjeon, Korea’s most beloved romantic narrative. The pavilion at its heart, Gwanghallu, is one of Korea’s four great traditional pavilions, though it predates Chunhyangjeon by centuries.

Originally constructed in 1414 by the exiled scholar Hwang Hui, the pavilion was first known as “Gwangtongnu.” Two decades later, Jeong In-ji, known for his role in the creation of Hangul (Korean alphabet), renamed it “Gwanghallu,” after a mythical palace on the moon. This was nearly 300 years before Chunhyangjeon was written.

춘향전 조형물

Just as a popular song can elevate a cityscape into a tourist attraction, Chunhyangjeon turned Gwanghallu into a landmark of romance. Often called the “Korean Romeo and Juliet,” it tells the story of star-crossed lovers Lee Mong-ryong and Seong Chunhyang.

버드나무 사이로 보이는 광한루원

I visited Gwanghallu first, which sits beside a large pond symbolizing the Milky Way. Willows surrounded the pond, swaying gently in the breeze.

It was under such trees that Chunhyang and Mong-ryong first met, on a sunny day during the Dano Festival in May. In Chunhyangga, her grace is likened to a willow branch:

"Her figure sways as gently as a willow in the breeze…"

Who could resist such a vision?

다리가 보이는 광한루원을 위에서 본 모습

Crossing the Ojakgyo Bridge that birds make once a year to connect Gyun-woo and Jing-nyuh in Korean traditional fairy tale, I found myself replaying the scenes of Chunhyangjeon in my mind.

After falling in love with Chunhyang, the daughter of a courtesan, Mong-ryong leaves for Hanyang (the old name for Seoul) when his father is appointed Secretary to the King. The drama then shifts focus to Chunhyang, who is pressured to entertain a new governor, Byeon Hak-do, a notorious figure often cited as the most infamous Byeon in Joseon history. Byeon was appointed as the new magistrate of Namwon, succeeding Mong-ryong’s father. His appointment came through the eumseo system, in which government positions were awarded based on family lineage rather than merit - a form of nepotism not unlike parachute appointments today.

She refuses and is imprisoned and tortured for maintaining her chastity.

The twist comes when a ragged beggar visits Chunhyang in prison. It is, of course, Mong-ryong in disguise, now an undercover royal inspector. Chunhyang remains defiant, though her mother, Wolmae, despairs. In one memorable line, Wolmae cries out:

"You returned as the king of all beggars!"

Such is a parent's heart - status and pride fall away when it comes to one’s child. All that remains is worry and love.

광한루원의 작은 다리

Now we approach the climax. Perhaps the reason Chunhyangjeon has endured so long is because of this one last, satisfying twist.

On Byeon’s birthday, he throws an extravagant banquet, inviting magistrates from nearby towns like Unbong, Gokseong, and Jeongeup. Still dressed in rags, Mong-ryong arrives uninvited to ask for food. Despite his appearance, social conventions of the time made it difficult to expel someone of yangban (noble) status.

But Mong-ryong, with no concern for decorum, even complains about the food. As tension rises, the magistrate of Unbong proposes a game of poetry to lighten the mood. Byeon begins with the character “Go,” and Mong-ryong responds with a pointed poem:

金樽美酒千人血
(The golden goblet’s fine wine is the blood of the people.)
玉盤佳肴萬姓膏
(The jade platter’s delicacies are the fat of the poor.)
燭淚落時民淚落
(When the candle drips wax, the people shed tears.)
歌聲高處怨聲高
(Where the songs grow louder, the cries of pain rise higher.)

Then comes the thunderous cry that rocks the whole courtyard:

"The secret royal inspector is here!"

In an age without television or Internet, one can imagine the thrill of hearing these words live. Crowds gathered like clouds to hear a pansori master shout these very lines, and it must have felt electric.

It is a masterpiece that elicits spontaneous cries of “Eolssu!” - a true marvel of Korean storytelling.

Epilogue

If I had to summarize what I felt on the Folk Music Route in a single sentence, it would be this: “Through sound, we become one.”

In any society made up of diverse people, boundaries are inevitable - between rich and poor, generations, social classes, genders, religions, and even nations.

At times, sound has developed to reinforce those very boundaries, either by increasing accessibility or being made exclusive to one group.

Yet whether it is Western orchestras, Korean Nongak, pansori, or royal court music like Jongmyo Jeryeak, I always come back to the same belief: truly beautiful and powerful sound does not move only one side. It inevitably brings people together. Its force softens lines, blurs divisions, and dissolves borders.

That is why I love listening to music. Unlike food or art, which sometimes require knowledge to appreciate, music, whether from fifty years ago or five hundred, has the power to move us instantly. It renders time and place irrelevant and transforms ordinary moments into scenes from a film.

If you plan to travel along the Folk Music Route, be sure to bring your earphones. As you stroll through the peaceful Gwanghalluwon Garden, listening to your favorite songs while soaking in the breeze, your journey will become even more meaningful. It does not have to be an old pansori song like Chunhyangga. Any music you love is enough as long as it makes you feel as though you have stepped beyond the reach of everyday life.

That is the moment when boundaries begin to melt.

Ask any Korean what food best represents Jeonju, and most will immediately say “Jeonju Bibimbap.” But ask a local from Jeonju, and there is a good chance you will hear another answer more often: “Jeonju Kongnamul Gukbap” - bean sprout soup with rice.

Packed with amino acids like asparagine (good for liver health) and arginine (great for hangovers), this light, nourishing soup has long been a go-to comfort food. There are certainly flashier dishes out there, but few can rival the gentle relief and ease this one offers. Especially when served with “suran” (a poached egg in warm water), even the most worn-out stomach feels soothed and restored.

I have three personal musts when it comes to kongnamul gukbap. First, there must be sheets of roasted seaweed on the table to crumble into the suran. I love seaweed, and I like being able to enjoy it freely. Second, there needs to be spicy fermented squid (ojingeojeot) as a side dish. Bean sprouts alone can be a bit bland, and wrapping them in that spicy, salty bite is a game changer. And most important of all - those bean sprouts must never be overcooked. No one wants limp, lifeless sprouts dragging down the whole bowl.

Remember that the perfect kongnamul gukbap has sprouts that are just crisp enough to crunch. Only then does its soulmate, moju (a mild traditional rice wine), truly go down smooth.

Now, let us move to Namwon, a city blessed with the scenic beauty of Jirisan Mountain and the Seomjingang River. This region has long been known for its rich food culture, and if one dish defines Namwon, it is “chueotang” - mudfish soup.

But let us pause for a moment. What do taro stems, mudfish, and dried radish greens have in common? Two things: they are all key ingredients in chueotang, and they are all things kids tend to hate.

That is right. Chueotang is undeniably a grown-up’s food. There are no good spots for it near my home, but the older I get, the more I find myself craving it especially in autumn. It is not just fall croakers that lure runaway daughters-in-law back home. In this season, when fish are storing nutrients for winter, mudfish are at their tastiest too.

After walking around Gwanghalluwon Garden and feeling the evening chill set in, I had a bowl of autumn chueotang that I will never forget. The soup was thick, with ground fish including bones, rich with perilla seed powder and topped with a generous dash of prickly ash (chopi) powder that made my tongue tingle. Minced garlic? Spicy green chilies? I added them all liberally.

Too much, you say? That is fine. Chueotang is not meant to be delicate. It is a dish for grown-ups. By the time I stepped out of the restaurant, my whole body was glowing with warmth. That is the joy of chueotang.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue: The Traveler and the Stranger

As I’ve traveled to various places across the globe, I’ve come to realize that there are many places where life is genuinely good. The air is clean, the people are kind, and there’s a sense of leisure. Although I was born and raised in Seoul, I’ve found numerous towns that, in many ways, seem better than Seoul.
One of the difficult things for a person to do is to "keep quiet after returning from a trip abroad." So, I occasionally find myself talking about these places:
“Bømlo in Norway is such a pleasant place to live.”
“There’s an island in Nicaragua called Ometepe; I could see myself staying there for months.”
However, when someone asks me, “Is there a place you’d like to live in the future?” my answer becomes more certain as I grow older: “Korea. I want to live in Korea.”
The background of childhood memories, the language you’ve spoken all your life, the culture you’ve lived in, and the food you’ve eaten - all these first experiences in life leave an imprint that’s hard to ignore. No matter where I go, I always feel like a foreigner. I remember once thinking this while exploring ancient Mayan ruins in the jungles of Central America: “This is fascinating, but I can’t picture a place like this full of people like me living here. I’m not a descendant of the Mayans, after all.”
The path I’ll travel this time is the *Royalty Route* in Seoul and its surrounding region. This route has accumulated the grandeur of Korea’s royal family over centuries, with traces of royal authority, culture, prosperity, and moments of crisis woven into it.
I expect this journey will not only tell rich stories about our country but also help those walking the path reconnect with their identity.

To begin this journey, let’s travel back to prehistoric times, long before the dawn of human civilization.
Humans began living on the Korean Peninsula around 700,000 years ago, during the Paleolithic Age, a time when people lived in groups, hunting and gathering. Hundreds of thousands of years later, around 8000 BCE, the Neolithic Age saw the beginning of agriculture, and by the Bronze Age, societies ruled by tribal chiefs began to emerge. It was during this time that powerful chiefs began uniting surrounding tribes, leading to the rise of early states—and this is where the *Royalty Route* begins.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진4-고인돌 안내 캐릭터 동상 사진

Korea is home to one of the world’s largest concentrations of dolmens. Nearly 40,000 dolmens -almost half of all the dolmens in the world - are found on the Korean Peninsula. One of the best-preserved dolmen sites is in Ganghwa Island, where you can see various types of dolmens, including the “table-style” dolmens we often associate with ancient burial sites.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진6-고인돌 사진

On the northern slopes of Goryeosan Mountain in Ganghwado Island, a massive dolmen stands alone on a wide hill. Is there any monument as strikingly symbolic of power and authority as an ancient megalithic monument? The capstone of this dolmen weighs a staggering 50 tons - about the weight of three large buses. I stood there, staring at the stone in awe. How did they manage to lift this enormous stone onto the supporting stones so many centuries ago? It’s also amazing that the dolmen has stood in this position for thousands of years. When I visit ancient sites or see the effects of erosion over time, it often makes everything else seem insignificant in comparison to the eternity of time.

Just as I was about to leave, a group of kindergarten children arrived for a field trip. They clambered up the hill, exclaiming, “Wow, it’s huge!” They ran around the dolmen a few times before lining up again to head back down. They didn’t seem too interested in the stone.
“To think that my life of thirty-something years already feels long, yet this is a relic from thousands of years ago,” I thought.
The children didn’t seem to be having such philosophical thoughts. But then again, I wasn’t like that at their age either. I wondered if, when I’ve lived fifty more years, I might find myself shedding a tear at the sight of such immovable stones. With that thought, I descended the hill.

Before leaving Ganghwado, there was one more royal landmark I had to visit.
As we all know, the first state established on the Korean Peninsula was Gojoseon, founded by Dangun, the son of Hwanung and Ungnyeo. There are two important sites on Ganghwado related to Dangun: Manisan, where Dangun performed ancestral rites at Chamseongdan, and Samnangseong Fortress, said to have been built by Dangun’s three sons.
This time, I was visiting the Jeondeungsa Temple within Samnangseong Fortress, a temple with a history of over 1,600 years. It’s one of the oldest temples still standing in Korea today.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진8-삼랑성 성벽 통로 사진

I parked my car outside and walked past the walls of Samnangseong into the temple grounds. The path to Jeondeungsa is lined with towering pine trees, but on closer inspection, you can see that these trees are scarred with deep cuts and even patches of cement. These scars are remnants of when the Japanese extracted pine resin during the Pacific War to use as a substitute for fuel in their weapons.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진10-숲에 둘러싸인 전등사 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진11-전등사 사진

The scenery around Jeondeungsa, surrounded by mountains, is beautifully harmonious. The temple, originally built during the Goguryeo era, has long been a temple where the royal family prayed for peace. Its original name, Jinjongsa, means “pursue true religion,” but it was renamed Jeondeungsa in 1281 after Queen Wongyeong, the wife of King Chungnyeol, made donations to the temple. Jeondeungsa means “to transmit the light of Buddha’s teachings.”

왕가의 길 여행기 사진12-전등사 사찰 사진

Despite the suppression of Buddhism during the Joseon Dynasty, Jeondeungsa was protected as a royal temple. It also served as the guardian temple of the *Joseon Annals*, which were stored in the archives of Samnangseong Fortress.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진13-스님 뒷모습 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진14- 사찰 천장의 용 조각 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진15-법당명 사진

Throughout its long history, the temple bears the marks of time, like a history book scattered across its grounds. Each relic is a precious cultural heritage, filled with rich stories and echoes of different eras.

After leaving Ganghwa Island via the Ganghwa Bridge, I made my way to Jangneung in Gimpo.
The royal tombs, representing the authority of the royal family, are treasures of culture and symbols of auspicious sites in Korean geomancy. They are must-visit spots on the Royalty Route.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진17-김포장릉 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진18-김포장릉 소나무 사진

The Jangneung Tomb in Gimpo is located on a gentle slope, an ideal spot for a royal tomb. Upon entering, I was greeted by a mystical forest path lined with pine trees. Pine trees are regarded as the most important trees to plant in auspicious locations because they remain green throughout the year, symbolizing strength and vitality.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진19-김포장릉 전경 왕가의 길 여행기 사진20-건물 안에서 본 묘 사진

At the deepest part of the forest lay the tomb of Wonjong, the father of King Injo, and his wife, Queen Inheon. However, for a royal tomb, Jangneung might seem somewhat modest. That’s because it wasn’t originally built as a king’s tomb but as the grave of a prince, Daewongun.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진21-김포장릉의 건축물

Wonjong, the father of King Injo, was posthumously honored as king. He never held the title of crown prince, and after King Injo ascended the throne through a coup, he elevated his father to the status of king. This posthumous promotion stirred opposition, as some believed it was improper to crown someone who had never been a prince.

Thinking of these stories about the Joseon royal family, it’s hard to stop - it’s an endless stream of fascinating narratives. As you look into one story, it inevitably leads to the next king or the previous generation. But the rest of those tales will have to wait for the next part of my journey. After walking back through the forest, I made my way to the heart of Joseon history: Hanyang (modern-day Seoul).

In 1392, Yi Seong-gye overthrew the Goryeo Dynasty through the Wihwado Retreat and founded the Joseon Dynasty, borrowing the name of ancient Gojoseon for his new kingdom. He built his capital in Gaeseong but decided to move it less than a month after founding the new dynasty. Several cities were considered, but ultimately, Hanyang was chosen as the capital. The responsibility for designing the new city fell to Jeong Do-jeon, a key contributor to the founding of Joseon. Three years later, the new palace was completed and named Gyeongbokgung, meaning "Palace of Great Blessings."

왕가의 길 여행기 사진23- 경복궁 사진

Even though I live in Seoul and pass by Gyeongbokgung often, it never fails to catch my eye. Surrounded by gleaming skyscrapers, it always stands at the center, radiating elegant beauty.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진24-경복궁 앞 수문장 교대의식 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진25-수문장 교대의식 사진

Entering Gyeongbokgung through its main gate, Gwanghwamun, I witnessed the Changing of the Royal Palace Guard Ceremony between Heungnyemun and Geunjeongmun. Despite the sweltering August heat, both Koreans and foreign visitors alike stood solemnly, observing the ceremony. The guard system was formalized in the early 15th century, and today’s ceremony faithfully recreates the soldiers’ attire, weapons, and ceremonial gear from that period.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진26-근정문 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진27-근정전에서 본 근정문 사진

Passing through Heungnyemun and Geunjeongmun, I entered the central hall of Gyeongbokgung, Geunjeongjeon. This courtyard was where the most important ceremonies of the Joseon Dynasty took place, such as the coronation of the king and the naming of the crown prince. The courtyard is known as Jojeong, a name that should be familiar to us. Geunjeong itself means “diligence in governing,” a name given by Jeong Do-jeon, implying that with diligence, the kingdom will be well-governed.
One interesting detail is the uneven paving stones of Jojeong. The irregular surface was designed so that the sunlight wouldn’t reflect too harshly when the king looked down from above.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진28-근정전 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진29-근정전의 왕좌 사진

Gyeongbokgung harmonizes beautifully with Bukaksan Mountain, which stands behind it. The throne in Geunjeongjeon almost seems to float in midair, thanks to the wide expanse of dark stone flooring. This was intentional, symbolizing that Geunjeongjeon was a heavenly palace among the clouds. The stone steps leading to Geunjeongjeon are decorated with cloud patterns, and statues of celestial creatures - representing the constellations of the Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise - stand guard around the hall.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진30-경회루 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진31-경회루 산책하는 사람들 사진

I then strolled westward toward the pond at Gyeonghoeru Pavilion, enjoying the scenic reflections of Inwangsan Mountain in the water. The picturesque harmony of nature here is striking.
There’s just one thing that feels a bit bittersweet: the current Gyeongbokgung we see today was rebuilt in 1867 by Heungseon Daewongun. Most of the palace was destroyed during the Japanese invasions of 1592. You might wonder, “What happened during the centuries in between?”
In fact, Gyeongbokgung was left abandoned for a long time. After the war, the Joseon government decided that the costs of restoring it were too great, so they gave up. Believe it or not, for over 270 years, Gyeongbokgung was reduced to a habitat for leopards. Instead, in 1610, King Gwanghaegun rebuilt another palace and declared it the main royal palace. That palace is the final stop on this Royalty Route.
왕가의 길 여행기 사진32 - 왕가의 길 창덕궁

I walked from Gyeongbokgung past Anguk Station to Changdeokgung. It only took about twenty minutes to reach the main gate, Donhwamun.
Changdeokgung was completed in 1405 under King Taejong’s rule. Although Gyeongbokgung already existed in Hanyang, there was a reason for building another palace so soon, just a few years later. Gyeongbokgung was associated with the death of Taejong’s half-brother during the First Strife of Princes (which secured his rise to power), and it was also constructed by his political rival, Jeong Do-jeon. For these reasons, Taejong felt uncomfortable with Gyeongbokgung and chose Changdeokgung as his residence when he reestablished Hanyang as the capital.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진33-창덕궁 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진34-창덕궁 내부 사진

The most significant difference between Gyeongbokgung and Changdeokgung lies in their design. While Gyeongbokgung emphasizes geometric symmetry to showcase royal dignity and authority, Changdeokgung was built to blend seamlessly with the natural surroundings, breaking away from traditional formalities.
So, first-time visitors to Changdeokgung might find themselves surprised by its unconventional layout. Buildings are scattered freely across the grounds, following the natural terrain, and even the main hall, Injeongjeon, is misaligned with the front gate.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진35- 창덕궁 길 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진36-인정문 마당 사진

Interestingly, King Taejong wasn’t fond of these features. The responsibility for Changdeokgung’s construction fell to Park Jacheong, who was the Pan Hansungbu (equivalent to today’s mayor of Seoul). Taejong even imprisoned Park Jacheong at one point because he had disobeyed the king’s orders to make the courtyard of Injeongjeon a perfect rectangle. Park had insisted on keeping the courtyard trapezoidal to preserve the natural landscape and create a more spacious layout. In the end, what we see today as a testament to Korea’s unique aesthetic vision was the result of Park Jacheong’s resistance to the king’s wishes.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진37-창덕궁 후원 관광하는 관람객 사진

Thanks to my reservation on the Changdeokgung website, I was able to join a tour of the Huwon. The Huwon is an essential part of any visit to Changdeokgung because it offers a glimpse into the Korean worldview, reflecting our understanding of nature and philosophy. The Huwon was first created during the reign of King Taejong and expanded under Kings Sejo and Seongjong. However, much of it was destroyed during the Japanese invasions and was later restored under King Gwanghaegun.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진38-창덕궁 후원 건물 사진 왕가의 길 여행기 사진39-창덕궁 후원의 정자 사진

The Huwon was long known as the Secret Garden, a royal retreat hidden from the public. But today, anyone can enjoy walking its serene paths and ponds, so the term ‘Secret Garden’ doesn’t quite fit anymore. In some ways, it’s a relief that these once-secret landscapes are no longer kept from us. Everywhere I looked, beautiful pavilions nestled harmoniously in the natural valleys.

The royal family used this space for various purposes - rest, walks, and even academic pursuits. The Gyujanggak library housed the royal books, making the Huwon a place for study and intellectual growth. At other times, it served as a place to compose poetry, enjoy the beauty of flowers, and heal in the natural environment. Like the royals before me, I wandered leisurely through the expansive Huwon, taking in its peaceful beauty.

Epilogue of the Royalty Route

Am I getting older and wiser? The history of Korea, from Gojoseon and the Three Kingdoms to the Joseon Dynasty, fascinates me as much as a well-written novel. Each relic and monument from the royal family is filled with stories that draw me in effortlessly.
This is the charm of the Royalty Route. The capital region, which was the heart of Korean history and the seat of power for over 500 years during the Joseon Dynasty, is filled with meticulously recorded stories. The more you delve into the cultural heritage found along this route, the more there is to discover. Each tale connects to another, like a spider web of interconnected stories, making it hard to stop - much like watching a gripping drama series.
In the end, I guess I’m truly Korean to the core. The more countries I travel to and the more cultures I experience, the more strongly I feel the desire to live in Korea. No river in the world stirs me the way the Hangang River does. Perhaps the reason I’m able to live this nomadic life is that I always have a place to return to.
Walking this path reminded me once again how precious it is to live in a place filled with stories I can relate to. It keeps me grounded in who I am and reminds me of the community I belong to.
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The food I recommend for the Royalty Route is Seolleongtang, one of Seoul’s most iconic traditional dishes.
There are many theories about the origin of Seolleongtang, but one of the most famous ties it to the royal sacrificial rites at the Seonnongdan altar during the Joseon Dynasty, where the king would personally perform rituals to ensure a good harvest. After the ceremony, beef soup would be distributed to the participants, and they would mix rice into the broth - this is said to be the origin of Seolleongtang.
Of course, there are other origin stories, but there’s no debate that Seolleongtang once reigned as the king of Korean dining culture. While the number of traditional Seolleongtang restaurants has dwindled, there are still several historic spots around Jongno and Cheonggyecheon where you can taste the dish today.

왕가의 길 여행기 사진42- 설렁탕 사진

The rich, milky broth, garnished with green onions and thinly sliced beef. The thin wheat noodles, added to the dish after the Korean War when flour aid arrived from the U.S. A warm bowl of freshly cooked rice, paired with crunchy, tangy kkakdugi (radish kimchi).
That combination is something every Korean can instantly picture. And since Seolleongtang is served almost immediately after you sit down, it’s the original fast food—perfect for busy modern people who need a quick yet hearty meal.

When I eat Seolleongtang, I always season it with salt and take a sip of the broth before adding the rice. The subtle yet savory flavor is addictive. As I think, “Ah, this is why I love Seolleongtang,” a bittersweet thought creeps into my mind.
"I brought you Seolleongtang, but why can’t you eat it, why can’t you eat it… Strangely, today’s been such a lucky day…’Though it feels almost unfair to Kim Cheomji (the character from Hyun Jin-geon’s short story “One Lucky Day), I am simply grateful that I can take a spoonful of Seolleongtang and eat it. That’s what I always think when I eat it.

by SUNG HO PARK

Prologue / Human Time Is Long

One of my favorite thought experiments begins like this: “What if Earth’s history were compressed into a single week?”

Imagine that the formation of Earth happened at exactly midnight on Monday. Then, fast forward all the way to noon on Sunday that would be the present moment we are living in. What would the timeline look like?

Now, I will admit that calculations are not exactly my thing, so I am borrowing these numbers from a note I made while traveling, based on a book by the French author Bernard Werber.

In this model, each day represents roughly 660 million years. (Sure, maybe 640 million, but who is really counting?)
⠀
For most of this cosmic week - Monday through Tuesday and even into Wednesday morning - absolutely nothing happens. It is not until lunchtime on Wednesday that the first living organism appears: bacteria. These primitive beings dominate for eons, slowly evolving and multiplying until Sunday morning.
⠀
Then at last, at 4 p.m. on Sunday, the dinosaurs arrive - creatures we tend to associate with ancient history. They reign for five whole hours, only to vanish suddenly by 9 p.m. And just when you think the glorious age of humanity must finally begin… it does not.

In fact, the earliest humans do not appear until 11:57 p.m. on Sunday, just three minutes before midnight.
⠀
The world’s first civilizations, those familiar names like Mesopotamia and Egypt, do not show up until 11:59:45. In other words, human history takes up just 15 seconds. Humanity’s “giant leap” onto the Moon? That happened a mere 1/40th of a second ago. That is five times shorter than a blink.

It is a humbling thought. Even the longest-lasting kingdom in Korean history, Silla, would amount to just a few seconds.

Whenever I think about this timeline, I feel a strange chill. “If humanity were wiped out tomorrow by some virus,” I ask myself, “would that even register on Earth’s timeline?” The entire span of human civilization, let alone my own fleeting life, begins to feel like a cosmic afterthought. What is the point of a birthday party in the face of such overwhelming vastness?

That is why, when I want to reflect on long stretches of time, I break it down into human lifetimes. A millennium may be a blink of an eye to a glacier, but when filled with lives, stories, and memory - it stretches into eternity. Especially when you consider that our cultural spirit comes not from stone or ice, but from the lives of those who came before us.

And so, on this journey along the Golden Era Route, I will tell stories not just of places, but of people. Only then can we feel the true depth of a thousand-year-old legacy. In the end, history is always the story of human beings.

Of course, reading about too many people can sometimes feel like diving into a crowded novel. But when it comes to the Silla Kingdom, the names are already familiar to most Koreans. So I think you will be just fine.

Silla was the only one among the Three Kingdoms of ancient Korea that never moved its capital. From its founding to its fall, Silla remained in the same place for a thousand years in and around the city of Gyeongju, which was once called Seorabeol. In fact, one could say that Silla's history is essentially the story of how Seorabeol, a small town in Korea's southeastern corner, gradually expanded into a powerful kingdom.

To encounter both the dawn and the twilight of that brilliant golden age, I boarded the high-speed train from Seoul and arrived at Gyeongju Station.

신라대종

As one of the oldest cities in Korea, Gyeongju is steeped in the history of Silla. Its Historic Areas are so packed with cultural heritage that nearly every Korean student has visited the city on a school trip. When I arrived, the exam season had just ended, and school uniform-clad teenagers were everywhere.

Some had come from Seoul, others from Busan. I myself had visited Gyeongju during middle school and probably again in high school. In fact, I would say that for most Koreans, field trips to Gyeongju are one of those rare shared memories across generations.

멀리 보이는 계림 안의 기와지붕

Silla was not always called by that name. It began as a small state known as “Saroguk,” which ruled over the Seorabeol region. According to legend, before Saroguk formed, there were six villages in the area, said to be founded by refugees from the ancient kingdom of Gojoseon. One day, the chief of one village found a horse crying beside a well. When he approached, the horse vanished, revealing a large egg. He cracked it open, and out came a baby boy.

The six village leaders revered the child and made him their king. The egg had been shaped like a gourd, so the boy was given the family name Park, after the Korean word for gourd. He became Silla's founding monarch and the progenitor of the Park clan: King Hyeokgeose. At the time, the ruler's title was "Geoseogan," so he was known as Hyeokgeose Geoseogan.

Interestingly, Silla is unique among Korea's ancient kingdoms in that it has not one but three founding legends. Unlike Goguryeo and Baekje, which passed down the throne within a single royal family, Silla's kingship rotated among three clans: Park, Seok, and Kim.

경주 계림을 위에서 드론으로 본 모습

I began my journey through the Historic Areas of Gyeongju at a quiet little forest known as Gyerim. Though not a major tourist destination, this forest holds special significance as the legendary birthplace of Kim Alji, the ancestor of the Kim royal lineage of Silla.

The story goes back to the reign of King Talhae, the fourth king of Silla and the progenitor of the Seok royal line. One day, he heard a rooster crowing from the western forest of Silla. At dawn, he sent a servant to investigate and discovered a small, glowing golden chest hanging in a tree. Beneath it sat a white rooster, crying. When they opened the chest, they found a radiant baby boy inside.

Delighted, King Talhae took the child in and raised him. The boy was named Alji, meaning "wise and clever," and given the surname Kim, meaning "gold," in reference to the golden chest from which he had emerged.

The forest where this miraculous event took place was originally called Sirim, but after the appearance of the rooster, it was renamed Gyerim - literally, "Rooster Forest."

경주계림비

Today, the forest is no longer filled with the cries of roosters. In contrast to the bustle outside, it is a place of calm. Though steeped in legend, Gyerim is often overlooked by visitors to Gyeongju’s heritage sites.

Kim Alji differs in some important ways from the other Silla founders, Park Hyeokgeose and Seok Talhae. While both Park and Seok ascended to the throne and were later deified, Kim Alji never became king himself. Nor was he worshipped after death. His story lives on, but not through monuments or shrines.

계림숲길

And yet, the royal Kim lineage that began with Kim Alji would go on to shape Silla's destiny. In the early centuries, kingship alternated mainly between the Park and Seok clans. But from the 17th monarch, King Naemul, the Kim clan would take the throne and hold it for the next 600 years.

Leaving the forest behind, I made my way across the street to the Daereungwon Tomb Complex, home to numerous royal Silla tombs, including that of King Michu, the 13th ruler of the kingdom. This area has yielded an abundance of artifacts through excavations, significantly enhancing our understanding of Silla's history and culture.

경주대릉원을 드론으로 위에서 찍은 모습

As I walked through the tomb complex, I reflected further on Silla's early days.

During the reigns of the Park and Seok clans, Silla lagged behind the other two kingdoms. Isolated in the southeastern corner of the Korean Peninsula, it struggled to access the advanced technologies of China. The rotation of royal authority among different clans also suggests that Silla remained more of a tribal confederation than a centralized state. While Goguryeo and Baekje solidified their political structures, Silla was forced to expend its energy repelling invasions by Japanese pirates.

Everything changed during the reign of King Naemul. With the help of Goguryeo's mighty King Gwanggaeto the Great, who intervened to save Silla from the Japanese, the Kim clan established a lasting royal dynasty. Gwanggaeto’s support came at a price: political influence. He is believed to have pressured Silla to entrust the throne exclusively to the Kim lineage. From that point on, the Kim royal line began to strengthen Silla into a full-fledged kingdom.

Still, the path forward was not without difficulties. Natural disasters and political instability tested the fledgling kingdom. To counterbalance the power of Goguryeo, Silla even formed a strategic alliance with Baekje. But the tide finally turned in the 6th century with the rise of King Jijeung, who ascended the throne at the remarkable age of 63.

Jijeung’s reign marked the beginning of Silla’s golden age, which was a period when the kingdom began to emerge from the shadows of its neighbors and assert itself.

대릉원 앞에 현장학습을 나온 학생들

One must-see site in the Daereungwon Complex is Cheonmachong, or "Heavenly Horse Tomb." Though long believed to be the tomb of King Jijeung, the identity of the occupant has never been definitively confirmed. That is why the structure is labeled a “chong” (a generic term for tomb), rather than a “neung” (a term reserved for confirmed royal graves).

Nevertheless, artifacts unearthed from Cheonmachong including a lavish golden crown, ornate belt, and painted birch bark saddle flap depicting a flying horse suggest that the tomb dates to around the 6th century, aligning with the rise of Silla’s prosperity.

대릉원 내부에서 무덤을 보고있는 사람들

The story of the tomb’s excavation is quite fascinating. In the 1970s, as part of a national tourism initiative, the South Korean government chose one Silla tomb to be excavated and made accessible to the public. The original plan was to excavate Hwangnamdaechong, the largest mound in the complex. However, due to limited archaeological experience at the time, officials decided to conduct a trial excavation on a smaller tomb first.

That tomb turned out to be Cheonmachong, and what a discovery it was. Within just two months, over 10,000 artifacts were recovered. Four were designated National Treasures, including the golden crown, golden belt, and the saddle flap painting now known as Cheonmado, or "Heavenly Horse Painting." Six more were named Treasures.

천마총 금관

If you visited Cheonmachong on a school trip years ago, be prepared for a surprise. In 2017, the interior underwent a major renovation. Sections that were once closed to the public, including the inner wooden coffin chamber, are now open. New exhibits explain the excavation process and display restored artifacts.

The tomb’s namesake painting remains its most captivating feature. It was discovered on a birch bark saddle flap, known as baekhwasupije, found during excavation. Although many of the saddle flaps were damaged, this particular one was preserved well enough to be designated National Treasure No. 207.

경주 시내를 위에서 바라본 모습

Silla is often referred to as "the kingdom of gold" due to the abundance of golden artifacts uncovered from its tombs, particularly its iconic gold crowns. And yet, no actual gold mines have been found in the Gyeongju region. Historians believe that Silla acquired gold by panning river sediments, a labor-intensive process that suggests the kingdom had already developed considerable state power.

By the 5th century, Silla had caught up to its rivals. Under the rule of successive Kim monarchs - King Jijeung (22nd ruler), King Beopheung (23rd), and King Jinheung (24th) - the kingdom began to assert itself as a central power on the Korean Peninsula. These rulers introduced sweeping reforms and laid the foundations for a centralized state.

But one major goal remained: to seize control of the Han River basin, the economic and strategic heart of the peninsula.

Wolseong, also known as Banwolseong or "Half Moon Fortress," was the site of Silla’s royal palace. According to the Samguk Sagi, it was constructed in the year 101, and for more than 800 years, it served as the seat of the kingdom’s rulers until Silla’s fall in 935. Surrounded by a defensive moat, the earthwork walls of the fortress now enclose a quiet, grassy expanse.

경주 월성으로 가는 길

To the untrained eye, Wolseong may appear no more than a low hill. Its earthen construction and subtle contours belie its historical importance. Because of this, it is not a typical tourist destination, much like Gyerim. Many visitors, unaware of its royal past, simply pass it by.

And yet for me, this unassuming hilltop is one of the most special places in all of Gyeongju. From atop its walls, you can take in a panoramic view of the Historic Area. Though Gyeongju lies in the far southeast of the Korean Peninsula, you can imagine what it must have felt like for the kings of Silla to stand here and gaze toward the northwest, the political center of the land they aspired to rule.

소나무들

In the 6th century, under King Jinheung, Silla launched full-scale military campaigns. At the time, the Hangang River basin had fallen into Goguryeo’s hands. But with Goguryeo preoccupied by northern threats from the Turks, Silla allied with Baekje to strike a blow. Together they reclaimed the region, with Silla taking the upper reaches and Baekje the lower.

Unfortunately for Baekje, Silla broke the promise. It seized not only the upper but also the lower Hangang River basin, swallowing the entire region for itself. From this point on, Silla and Baekje became bitter enemies.

Enraged, Baekje’s King Seong personally led an attack against Silla in the Battle of Gwansanseong. But Silla was now too powerful. Instead of avenging the betrayal, Baekje suffered a crushing defeat. King Seong was killed in battle. His head taken by Silla in one of the kingdom’s most humiliating losses.

Silla, meanwhile, continued its ascent. It went on to conquer the Daegaya confederation and cemented its position as the dominant power in the southern Korean Peninsula.

발굴현장을 덮어놓은 모습

Jinheung commemorated these victories by touring the newly acquired lands and erecting the Jinheung Sunsubi, the monuments that marked the king’s inspection tours. "Sunsu" meaning royal patrol and celebrated his expanding realm.

One such monument was placed on the summit of Bibong Peak on Bukhansan Mountain to commemorate Silla’s conquest of the Hangang River. Its rediscovery centuries later became one of modern Korea’s most legendary moments of historical scholarship. In the late Joseon dynasty, the great scholar Kim Jeong-hui, also known as Chusa, climbed to the peak and deciphered the forgotten inscription, reviving a key piece of Silla history.

Meanwhile, excavations at Wolseong continue to this day. Who knows what secrets of the ancient kingdom may yet rise to the surface?

첨성대를 멀리서 바라본 모습

Following King Jinheung, the throne passed to King Jinji and then to King Jinpyeong. By the early 7th century, a remarkable event occurred: in 632, a woman became ruler of the kingdom. Her name was Queen Seondeok, the 27th monarch of Silla.

첨성대 사진을 찍는 사람들

She is most closely associated with Cheomseongdae, the only ancient architectural structure on the Korean Peninsula that has remained intact without major reconstruction or restoration. Remarkably, it has stood in the same form for over 1,400 years. But why was it built so close to Wolseong, the royal palace of Silla?

Since ancient times, humans have gazed at the heavens. It is in our nature to feel awe at celestial phenomena, and for centuries, people have tried to predict events on Earth by observing the skies. Around the world, astrology, interpreting celestial movements to determine a nation's fate, played a major role in political life.

For ancient agrarian societies, astronomy was not just spiritual; it was also practical. Tracking the stars and calculating the solar calendar, known as yeokbeop in Korea, was vital to anticipating seasonal changes and ensuring successful harvests.

This is why Cheomseongdae, as one of the kingdom's most important facilities, became a symbol of royal authority. Built beside the royal palace, it stood as a tool to foresee the future and safeguard the state.

By the time Queen Seondeok ascended the throne in the 7th century, the Korean Peninsula was embroiled in near-constant warfare and political turmoil.

Baekje, under the rule of King Uija, launched relentless attacks against its archrival Silla. In Goguryeo, the powerful military leader Yeon Gaesomun assassinated the king and seized control of the state. In this chaotic environment, Silla sought an alliance with Goguryeo and arranged a summit in Pyeongyang. However, the talks failed when Goguryeo demanded the return of the Hangang River basin. Tensions escalated when Yeon Gaesomun went so far as to imprison the Silla envoy - none other than Queen Seondeok’s nephew, Kim Chunchu.

Kim Chunchu would later escape from Goguryeo and return to Silla, where he eventually ascended the throne as King Taejong Muyeol. He is remembered as the monarch who laid the groundwork for the unification of the Three Kingdoms. By forging an alliance with the Tang dynasty of China, he created the Silla-Tang alliance and, in 660, successfully brought down Baekje.

However, King Taejong Muyeol did not live to see the completion of the unification. That monumental achievement, conquering Goguryeo and driving out the Tang forces, was accomplished by his son, King Munmu.

Still, one more key figure deserves mention: General Kim Yushin, the brother-in-law and staunch supporter of Kim Chunchu. Serving five successive Silla kings from King Jinpyeong to King Munmu, Kim Yushin displayed unwavering loyalty and unmatched military leadership, even into his seventies. After his death, he was posthumously honored as King Heungmu - a rare distinction, as he remains the only subject in Korean history to be elevated to royal status after death.

산속에 있는 불국사를 위에서 바라본 모습

With unification complete, Silla entered a period of relative peace and prosperity that lasted for about a century. A strong centralized government was firmly established, and the state began cultivating talent from all corners of the kingdom.

At the same time, Silla pursued an ambitious vision: to build a "Buddhist Pure Land" here on earth.

In Buddhist belief, the "Pure Land" (bulguk jeongto) refers to a blissful realm inhabited by Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, free from suffering and worldly desires. Inspired by this ideal, the Silla statesman Kim Daeseong led a grand reconstruction project at a temple on Tohamsan Mountain. That temple, aptly named Bulguksa, Temple of the Buddha Land, was meant to embody the Pure Land itself.

불국사 입구 현판

If you park near the Bulguksa Temple Visitor Center, it takes about ten minutes to walk to the main temple grounds. But the path is so beautifully landscaped that just walking through it lifts your spirits. As one of Korea’s most iconic temples, Bulguksa draws visitors from all over the country, including large groups of students on school trips.

불국사 계단이 보이는 옆모습

Before entering the main worship hall at Bulguksa Temple, visitors first encounter two famous stone stairways: Cheongungyo (Blue Cloud Bridge) and Baegungyo (White Cloud Bridge). These stairs symbolize the connection between the secular world and the realm of the Buddha. The lower bridge, Baegungyo, with its 18 steps, represents the white hair of an old man, while the upper bridge, Cheongungyo, with its 16 steps, represents the youth of a blue-robed young man. Together, they symbolize the full journey of human life. Since the temple’s construction, many people have climbed these steps while praying for rebirth in paradise.

다보탑과 석가탑

After crossing Baegungyo and Cheongungyo and passing through Jahamun Gate, visitors enter the sacred realm of the Buddhist Pure Land. At the center stands Daeungjeon Hall, which enshrines Sakyamuni Buddha. In front of the hall are two stone pagodas, Seokgatap and Dabotap, positioned symmetrically on either side of a stone lantern.

There is a reason these two pagodas of similar height face each other from the east and west. Their arrangement is based on a passage from the Lotus Sutra, the Beholding the Jeweled Stupa chapter, which condenses 40 years of Sakyamuni’s teachings. According to the sutra, while Sakyamuni was preaching on Vulture Peak, the Buddha of Abundant Treasures (Dabo Yeorae) emerged from the earth inside a jeweled stupa, praised Sakyamuni, and the two Buddhas sat side by side within the pagoda.

It may be a challenging concept to fully grasp, but it is still a moving sight. Dabotap Pagoda, with its intricate and elaborate design, and Seokgatap Pagoda, with its elegant simplicity, stand in striking contrast yet perfect harmony. Together, they elevate the grandeur and beauty of Bulguksa Temple.

위에서 바라본 불국사

According to historical records, during the Unified Silla period, Bulguksa was an enormous temple complex with more than 80 buildings and over 2,000 rooms, which is eight times the size of what stands today. It was truly a monumental religious site. Unfortunately, much of the original structure was destroyed in the late 16th century during the Japanese invasions of Korea (Imjin War), when the temple was set ablaze by invading forces. By the late Joseon Dynasty, a time when Buddhism was largely suppressed, the site had fallen into near-complete ruin.

As a result, the current Bulguksa cannot be said to perfectly reflect its original form. Although there were several attempts at reconstruction over the centuries, the temple as we see it today owes much to major restoration efforts carried out after Korea’s liberation in the mid-20th century. Thankfully, some parts of the original temple, such as the stone foundations and terraces, have survived since the Silla period. Let us hope that these precious remains will continue to be preserved for generations to come.

On Tohamsan Mountain, where Bulguksa is located, there is another architectural masterpiece from the Unified Silla period - Seokguram Grotto. Recognized as a National Treasure of Korea and widely regarded as a pinnacle of Buddhist art, Seokguram was constructed around the same time as Bulguksa.

While there is a hiking trail that connects Bulguksa to Seokguram for those who enjoy walking, most visitors opt to drive up the mountain to reach the grotto’s entrance more conveniently.

석굴암으로 올라가는 길 입구

The grand, serene slopes of Tohamsan Mountain have long been considered sacred by the people of Silla, who believed it protected their kingdom. As I walked through the pine forest leading to Seokguram Grotto, it felt like the perfect moment to reflect on the final chapters of the Silla dynasty.

From King Taejong Muyeol, who laid the foundation for a unified Silla, to King Hyegong, a century later, the royal line continued through Muyeol’s direct descendants. However, this line of succession came to an abrupt end when King Hyegong was assassinated during a rebellion. From that point on, the throne was no longer reserved for the direct lineage of Muyeol. Power struggles among the aristocracy erupted, and the kingdom began its decline.

Silla soon fell into a spiral of repeated uprisings. Periods of relative peace were followed by the violent overthrow of monarchs. One of the most significant rebellions was led by Kim Heonchang, a provincial governor from Ungcheonju (present-day Gongju), who launched a large-scale revolt. The central government could no longer control the provinces. Royal authority had collapsed.

As regional powers withheld taxes, the royal treasury was depleted. The government’s attempts to extract more from the people led to widespread peasant revolts. There were still efforts to save the crumbling kingdom - most notably by Choe Chiwon, a Confucian scholar who had passed the highest civil service exams in Tang China. Upon returning to Silla, he submitted a list of reforms known as the "Ten Policy Proposals" to Queen Jinseong. But by then, it was too late.

Local lords and warlords rose like mushrooms after rain. The once-unified Silla fragmented into pieces, each ruled by a different power. Among them, the most powerful were Later Goguryeo under Gung Ye and Later Baekje under Gyeon Hwon. Korea had entered the Later Three Kingdoms period, marked by ever-shifting borders and intense conflict.

But in a time of such chaos, the final victor was neither Gung Ye, nor Gyeon Hwon, nor the last kings of Silla. It was Wang Geon, a general trusted by Gung Ye like a brother, who ultimately replaced his tyrannical ruler. Wang Geon went on to unify the peninsula once more, founding a new dynasty, Goryeo, and opening a new chapter in Korean history.

석굴암 입구 건물

After a thousand years and 56 monarchs, Silla, the longest-lasting dynasty in Korean history, finally came to an end. But for all its longevity, it was a nation that experienced a golden age of prosperity and dazzling cultural achievement.

At the height of its power, Silla’s wealth and cultural sophistication were known even as far as the Western regions. To Arab and Persian travelers, it was seen as an idealized land of abundance. One scholar from the West recorded this about Silla:

"At the eastern end of China lies a country called Silla, where gold is plentiful. When people from the Western regions arrive in this land, they are so enchanted by its beauty that they settle there permanently and have no desire to leave."

Such accounts show just how far Silla’s renown had traveled, and how deeply its glory impressed even those from distant civilizations.

석굴암 구조도와 설명

Perhaps nothing captures the essence of Silla’s beauty more perfectly than Seokguram Grotto on Tohamsan Mountain. Created at the pinnacle of Silla Buddhist art, the grotto’s breathtaking precision and spiritual gravity are powerful enough to move even those unfamiliar with its history.

At the center sits a serene statue of the Buddha, surrounded by ten great disciples and various supernatural beings. Once a year, on Buddha’s Birthday, the interior is opened to the public, allowing visitors to circumambulate the Buddha and offer prayers. The grotto’s flawless symmetry and spatial harmony make it a space that inspires both awe and reverence.

Though I could only observe the Buddha from the entrance, I felt an overwhelming sense of sacred dignity and gentle vitality radiating from within. Photography is prohibited inside, so instead I carry the memory through a sketch. Within this stone chamber lies the distilled brilliance of Silla’s thousand-year-old culture.

그림으로 그린 석굴함 석굴

Epilogue

In this journey along the Golden Era Route, I traced the rise and fall of Silla from its beginnings as the small confederacy of Saroguk to its eventual collapse. With such a vast span of history, the number of key figures and dramatic events was inevitably large, and the writing turned out longer than usual. Even so, I still feel a tinge of regret at all the fascinating stories I had to leave out.

There is the legend of Asadal and Asanyeo, the tragic lovers behind Seokgatap, known as the “Shadowless Pagoda.” There is the martyrdom of Ichadon, who died in the process of making Buddhism the official religion of Silla. And of course, the story of Jang Bogo, the so-called “Marine King,” who turned Cheonghaejin, a naval base in present-day Wando, into the most powerful maritime force of his time.

Of course, it’s not that no other stories are as thrilling. In terms of sheer entertainment, there are countless novels and films far more suspenseful and emotionally charged. They also benefit from visuals and sound, making them more dynamic and exciting.

But the stories embedded in cultural heritage offer a different kind of immersion - one that imagination alone cannot match. When you realize that these tales took place on the very land you stand on, when you feel that the ancient legends passed down for generations have somehow reached you across the vast expanse of time, it evokes a unique and indescribable emotion. It stirs something deep within your consciousness - something connected to the spiritual heritage of this land.

It’s as if you’re watching a movie, and in the corner of the screen, this line keeps flashing:
"This story is based on real people and events from history."

Silla, which endured for nearly a thousand years, eventually disappeared, and now, more than another thousand years have passed. The next thousand years were split between two dynasties: Goryeo and Joseon, each lasting about 500 years. And during this era, one of the greatest influences on our cultural and intellectual spirit came from a particular school of Confucian thought, Neo-Confucianism.

Brought from China by the Goryeo scholar An Hyang, Neo-Confucianism took root in Korea and became the dominant governing ideology of the Joseon Dynasty. That is why, following Gyeongju, the next destination on the Golden Era Route is Andong, widely regarded as the cradle of Neo-Confucianism during the Joseon era.

But that is a deep and complex story of its own, one best explored in the next route: "The Korean Confucian Academy Route".

Mulhoe, a chilled raw seafood soup with broth or cold water, is a dish traditionally found in Korea’s coastal regions. There are several regional varieties, but the most widely recognized is the Sokcho-style mulhoe from the Yeongdong region of Gangwon-do. This version features assorted seafood and vegetables in a spicy gochujang-based sauce, served with ice-cold water or broth poured over the top.

But in Gyeongju, you will encounter a very different take on this dish, beef mulhoe, made with thinly sliced raw beef rather than seafood. While it shares the same spicy sauce and fresh vegetables as its coastal counterpart, the star ingredient is finely chopped Korean beef (“Hanwoo”) tartare.

In fact, this beef-based version of mulhoe is a relatively recent addition to Gyeongju’s food scene. Thanks to the region’s abundance of Hanwoo farms, Gyeongju has long been home to many barbecue restaurants. It was in the 2010s that these restaurants began experimenting with using high-quality beef in mulhoe, giving rise to this unique local specialty.

By the 2020s, however, beef mulhoe had exploded in popularity, largely thanks to social media. Today, you can find it all over Gyeongju, even served in disposable plastic cups to go. As you stroll through historic areas like the Daereungwon Tomb Complex or around Cheomseongdae Observatory, you will likely spot tourists sipping beef mulhoe in place of iced Americanos.

As for the taste, imagine exactly what you think it would be: the richness of premium raw Hanwoo beef mingled with a spicy, savory broth, served ice-cold. Delicious plus delicious. While it may not offer a radically new flavor experience, it is a welcome alternative for those who find grilled beef a bit heavy or overwhelming.

One of the best places to try this trendy dish is Hwangridan-gil, a bustling area filled with cafes and eateries. There, you will find crowds of young people in their 20s enjoying beef mulhoe, a refreshing, modern spin on a traditional dish - Gyeongju-style.

From Chuncheon’s gamja-bbang (potato bread) and Haenam’s goguma-bbang (sweet potato bread), to Tongyeong’s honey-filled kkulttung-bbang, Uljin’s snow crab bread, and Wando’s abalone bread - Korea is in the midst of a golden age of regional specialty breads. These local treats make for easy desserts, come beautifully packaged, and are perfect souvenirs, making them a favorite among tourists.

And when it comes to handmade traditional breads in Korea, Gyeongju’s Hwangnam Bread is a classic that cannot be left out. It boasts a proud legacy of over 80 years.

I first encountered Hwangnam Bread nearly two decades ago, when I was in middle school. It was during a school trip to Gyeongju on a long ride from Seoul aboard a tour bus. It was then that I saw Cheonmachong, Cheomseongdae, Bulguksa Temple, and Seokguram Grotto for the first time.

I cannot recall what we ate for lunch during that trip, but I remember one thing vividly: just before returning to Seoul, my friends and I stood in a long line in front of a Hwangnam Bread shop. We waited a long time to buy the freshly baked buns being made right in front of us. The swift hands dividing red bean paste and dough with near-invisible precision were mesmerizing to watch.

Of course, not everyone bought the same amount. With only as much allowance as our parents had given us, we each bought Hwangnam Bread to bring home. Some bought just a single bun in a small paper bag, while others proudly carried home a big box of thirty. It was not cheap. And truth be told, the mildly sweet, delicate flavor was not exactly the kind of taste most kids would crave.

But back then, it just felt cool to bring home something handmade, something traditional.

This time, with twenty more years under my belt, I tried Hwangnam Bread again. As the steam rose from the warm, freshly baked buns, I found myself thinking, ‘Was it always this delicious?’ The bread itself seemed unchanged, but my taste buds certainly had. That is the magic of traditional foods: they carry the flavor of time. A flavor that feels tender, comforting, and familiar.