The new book
101 Places Not
To See Before You Die unfortunately includes two destinations in South Korea. Last year on this blog I asked "
Should you see Korea before you die?" in response to news from a reader that the country was snubbed from the lengthier book
1,000 Places to See Before You Die. The question generated a lot of responses, with two of the most talked-up places in South Korea being Jeju's lava tubes and the DMZ. The tunnel at the latter is one of the places not worth seeing, according to author Catherine Price. From
the NPR write-up:
She expected it to be a "Berlin Wall-type thing" and was surprised to find "it's actually more of a sidewalk curb" with North Korea on one side and South Korea on the other with "soldiers on either side just staring at each other."
The tunnel is an organized tourist attraction — visitors are told to store their personal items in cubbies, don helmets and step onto a little train. Price says she was "lulled into complacency because it kind of seems like a Disneyland ride." But that didn't last long. "All of a sudden, with no explanation, they take you down into this narrow, claustrophobic tunnel blasted into solid rock."
Lest you mistakenly think the tunnel was designed with an invasion in mind ... think again! North Korea insists it's just a coalmine.
Gee, I'm sorry the goddamn Demilitarized Zone between two at-war countries didn't tickle your tourist fancy. She'll be glad to know it's gearing up to be "
the next hot spot for overseas tourists," according to the government's official webpage.
Also making her list of 101 underwhelming spots is a
South Korean templestay, more bad news for the Korea Tourism Organization. I actually had planned a lengthier post on my templestay experience for later this fall, to coincide with the one-year anniversary of it, though I guess I can speak on it a little now. Here are a few excerpts from the book, via NPR:
In theory, an overnight stay at a Korean temple sounds like the perfect activity for anyone struggling to escape the pressures of modern life. You'll meditate, you'll learn about Buddhism, you'll go vegetarian. Concerns and cares will slip away as you drift into a blissful state of conscious awareness.
Unfortunately, that's not what it's like.
. . .
When my friend and I arrived — several hours late, thanks to trouble reading the bus schedule — the Templestay coordinator introduced herself in fluent English and led us to the room where we'd be staying. It was empty except for sleeping pads, blankets, and small pillows stuffed with plastic beads. After we'd dropped off our bags, she handed us our clothes for the weekend: two identical extra-large sets of baggy gray pants and vests, along with sun hats and blue plastic slippers. We looked like we'd stepped out of a propaganda poster for Maoist China.
I'd assumed that most temple life involved sitting still and cultivating enlightenment, but instead our first activity was community work time. Clad in our Mao suits, we followed the coordinator to the garden, where eight other Templestay guests squatted between raised rows of dirt, piles of potatoes scattered around them. They gave us hostile glances as we approached — thanks to our late arrival, they'd been forced to harvest potatoes for three hours in eighty-degree heat. I couldn't blame them for their animosity; if I'd been digging in the dirt while some assholes took the slow route to Ganghwa Island, I'd be pretty pissed off too. But such negativity seemed to go against the spirit of the retreat. I adjusted my sun hat and joined them in the field.
. . .
A highly choreographed process of place-setting, serving, and eating, it included a final inspection by a head monk to see if our bowls were clean. "You do not want to disappoint him," said the coordinator. "Doing so would reflect poorly."
She then walked us through what would take place during the meal ceremony, including a final cleansing: we were to take a piece of pickled radish and use it to swab our dishes. This caught the attention of a young Canadian woman.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said. "But how is wiping my bowl with a radish going to make it clean? What about germs?"
"We fill the bowls with very hot water," said the coordinator, sidestepping the question. "So when you use the radish, the bowl is already very clean."
"Is it, like, a hygienic radish?" asked the Canadian woman.
"Yes," said the coordinator. "It is a hygienic radish."
Things went downhill from there. Exhausted and cranky, one by one we began refusing to play monk. If one of the whole points of Buddhism was to cultivate acceptance, why, I asked, did we have to go through such an elaborate meal ceremony?
Much more at the excerpt and in
her 2006 piece on Korean templestays for the New York Times.
[T]he point of the temple stay is not, as the pictures on its Web site might make it seem, to lounge next to a brook nibbling crackers as you consider what it means to reach nirvana. The point is to live like a monk. And monks, it turns out, keep strict schedules, are vegetarian and spend a lot of time silently meditating in positions that can become, quickly and without much warning, incredibly uncomfortable for those unused to them.
My templestay in rural Jeollanam-do early last winter was also quite different from my expectations, as I'll write in further detail later. I was expecting something simple and escetic---which is really counter to many of the temples I've visited in Korea---something rather like Price's experience, but instead found good meals, comfortable sleeping quarters, and plenty of tea and snacks.
I didn't realize at the time, though, that there are a number of different templestay programs available, some of them rough and rigid, others comfortable and serene. I have no complaints about my short stay, and was pleased to spend a weekend in very rural Korea, actually seeing stars and hearing . . . nothing, true rarities in South Korea. Furthermore it was relaxing in spite of the language barrier: unlike the few programs marketed to foreign guests, this one was conducted in Korean for the benefit of domestic tourists.
With her book Price "decided to create an antidote,"
according to the introduction,
a list of places and experiences that you don’t need to worry about missing out on. I called upon travel-loving friends, family and, in some cases, complete strangers, to tell me about overhyped tourist sites, boring museums, stupid historical attractions and circumstances that can make even worthwhile destinations miserable.
Some entries on the list are unquestionably unappealing, like a field strewn with decomposing bodies, or fan hours at the Las Vegas porn convention. Some depend on context—Pamplona’s a very different city from the perspective of a bull. Some are just good stories, albeit ones that are more fun to read about than to experience firsthand.
In closing, I'm not sure it's fair to criticize that particular templestay program for being too hard and labor-intensive, for at least in the western imagination---and contrary to my experience---that's how Asian monks live. In addition, the point of wiping the bowl with a slice of cabbage isn't to clean and sanitize it, but to cultivate mindful eating and to eliminate the food waste we take for granted in our lives. If you get to a point where you start fighting with a monk, I'd suggest you're the one with the issues, not the organizers.
If you are looking for something bad to say about the templestay program, I guess you could choose "overhyped tourist sites," and the "overhyped tourist site" tag is something you could really apply to a lot of South Korea, if on the inside looking out. In spite of haughty language and lofty goals, local tourism authorities have shown difficulty marketing attractions to foreigners, to consider their target audience when creating foreign-language material, and to place the interests of potential visitors ahead of the image of the country they'd like to project. But, I suspect few would actually come to South Korea for a templestay, and since most of the foreigners who participate are ones already living in Korea, I'd bet they'd find it an interesting experience, if not a terribly authentic or comfortable one.
