Korea Dispatch

Yeonju Hermitage

She stood at the bus stop gazing out across the empty field , back turned to the rain soaked avenue as she peered up at the mighty peak. She was smiling, eyes lost in some far off dream as cars whizzed by and commuters drearily awaited their bus’ arrival. I too was looking up at the mountain, framed by a spider’s web woven into the chainlink fence that surrounds the field.

Mount Cheonggye surges upwards in the far southeast corner of Seoul. Directly opposite, across the narrow waters of Yangjae creek, stands Gwanak mountain, a rocky, craggy behemoth that is the yang to Cheonggye’s yin. Their shadows cover almost this entire area, a gentle reminder to peer upwards every now and again, to escape the dizzying assault of the city and lose oneself in their embrace.

Korea’s mountains, which cover over 70 percent of the peninsula, are a central feature of the landscape, both physical and spiritual. Millenia ago they were the abode of gods and spirits, the birthplace of deified rulers and the heart of Korea’s indigenous shamanic traditions. Today droves of hikers make near daily pilgrimages up their steep slopes, to exercise, to pray, to drink.

What I love most about hiking in Korea is the intimacy, the closeness of the mountains. Like dear friends or relatives who are only ever a few steps away, there when you need them. You step out your door, ascend the peak, drink in the view that unfolds beneath, and then come down for some hearty barbecue and a shot or two of local liquor. All within city limits.

Huffing it up one of Gwanak’s greuling ridge trails recently, my lungs heaving as I’m passed by a group of grey haired seventy-year-olds, I step around one of many bunkers, a reminder of Korea’s tortured past carved into the side of the mountain, like a permanent scar. Further up sits Yeonju-am, a centuries-old Buddhist temple whose sloping roofs quietly blend into the rolling summit.

As the bus approaches I ponder over the inherent symbolism of Korea’s mountains and their relationship to the country and its people, its past. Like a raised fist their peaks grasp towards the heavens, aspiring and hopeful, even reverential — yet ultimately, stubbornly defiant of its fateful decree.