Jirisan Day 1: Bus Rides and Hwaeomsa

I've known about Jirisan for awhile. Actually, I've known about Jirisan since first I came to Korea. As soon as I arrived, the other native English teacher at my new school asked if I wanted to accompany him and his buddy down to the mountain that weekend. It sounded fun, but I respectfully declined. I had been in Korea for less than a day and I wanted some time to acclimate.
Fast forward three years later, and I've finally paid Jirisan a visit.
I went alone on my journey. Traveling with friends can be fun, but there's a special kind of freedom that comes with taking a trip solo. I get to decide where I want to go, when I want to go, how far I want to go, etc. After two months of  teaching a school full of spastic and easily excitable Korean children who love to latch onto me and are mesmerized by the hair on my forearms (no joke, eight weeks into the semester and the kids still want to touch my arm hair), I really, desperately needed some time alone.
I took a cross-country bus from Nambu Bus Terminal in Seoul down to the small town of Gurye, located at the southwest foot of Jirisan mountain. The bus ride was only supposed to take four hours, but due to the immense traffic congestion coming out of Seoul and trickling into every corner of the country, I was stuck on that bus going at a snail's pace for over six hours. Traffic in general is always pretty awful in Korea, especially around Seoul, but it gets exponentially worse during national holidays. Everybody wants to escape the city, and when you consider that the population of Seoul is roughly 1/5th the population of the entire country (10 million of 50 million people) you might begin to imagine just how difficult it is to get away from home on a long weekend, and why I often just stay put and avoid the hassle.
Not this time. I wanted to isolate myself deep in a forest, far from the hustle and bustle of the city, in a place where I could forget my daily grind and focus on marching myself up the side of a steep mountain until I reached the top and filled my lungs with that clean, crisp mountain air. These are the thoughts that I entertained myself with as I sat in mind-numbing traffic. During the bus ride I became acquainted with two other travelers, a Korean American fellow and his Korean girlfriend. We chatted for awhile, the young man explaining to me that he was taking his girl to his spring getaway spot in Piagol valley. He excitedly told me about what a perfect location it was: quiet, serene, and right next to a river that was ideal for swimming in. Listening to him, I realized that his Piagol valley was the same I planned on descending into during the final part of my hike, and we made plans to meet up again when I caught up to them.
Eventually, we reached Gurye. It was such a relief to step off the bus and into the warm spring sunshine. Seeing and feeling the nature all around me, I knew I had made the right choice to come here. And then I turned around, and my mouth popped open as I laid eyes upon Jirisan for the first time. Though it was still off in the distance, the mountain range towered over the town of Gurye, and for a moment I couldn't believe I was going to attempt to hike up that beast the next morning. My new Korean American friend, however, was disheartened; he confessed the last time he had been to Gurye was four years ago, and in that time the town had developed too much for his tastes. I jokingly said that maybe his getaway spot might be swarming with tourists now, and that just made him more glum. Meanwhile, his girlfriend had been talking to the ticket sellers inside the bus terminal, and she came back to us with startling news: there were no more return tickets to Seoul for the remainder of the holiday weekend. None of us had thought it would be necessary to reserve bus tickets out of such a small and underpopulated country town, and now suddenly we were in a most troubling situation. Of the two, the boyfriend had been in charge of purchasing tickets, and as he was now neck deep in hot water with his girlfriend I decided it was a good time to exit. I could figure out the particulars of my homeward journey later. We agreed to stay in touch, and I hopped on a town bus to my pension at the base of the mountain.
After checking in with the owner (a charming elderly gentleman who spoke a fair amount of English) and dropping off my things, I went for a small hike into Jirisan National Park to visit Hwaeomsa Temple, the largest Buddhist temple in all of Jirisan. I had a few hours before sundown and I wanted to see the temple that day, as I wouldn't have time the following morning before I began my hike in earnest.
Buddhist temples are plentiful in South Korea, and even more so on mountains where they can be closer to nature. Jirisan alone has seven temples. Walking the trail from my pension to Hwaeomsa, I was guided by a long string of colorful paper lanterns. I'm not going to pretend to be an expert in Buddhism, but from my time in Korea I know these lanterns are set up during the weeks prior to Buddha's birthday to lead people to their local temple. After walking for about a kilometer I reached Hwaeomsa, and I was not disappointed. The temple complex was huge, but not garishly so. It harmonized perfectly with its surroundings, a bastion of serenity far removed from the business of every day life. A backdrop of gently arching mountains framed the view of the temple, and the smell of burning incense lazily wafted down the ancient stone stairs to greet me.
I explored for awhile, slowly meandering through the various gardens and courtyards and enjoying the peacefulness of it all. This is good, I thought. I was beginning to finally feel relaxed. It was then I found a large arrangement of white lanterns with yellow ribbons attached. As I realized what I was looking at, a monk gonged the temple's large bell, and it's loud somber cry echoed through the valley. Being confronted so suddenly with such a powerful sight was almost too much for me. I paid my respects to the victims of the ferry tragedy and moved on.
There was a trail in the hills behind the main temple, and I followed it to the monks' living quarters and private farms. I probably should have turned around at that point, but my curiosity inched me forward until I reached a small shrine tucked away in a patch of woods. With nowhere further to go I returned to the main temple. I looked around some more, watched a few monks do their evening prayers, and took a long moment to sit and stare at the stars. It had been a awhile since I had seen such a clear night sky.
Finally, I headed down the road back to Gurye. In town I met a vacationing Korean family who invited me to join them for dinner, and after a merry meal of local cuisine and rice wine, I went to my pension to call it a night. I had a long hike ahead of me, and I needed my sleep.