I jumped up on to the green bus number 218 at Gwangju bus terminal just in time, taking my place in a low seat that happened to be above the rear wheel on the driver's side. As the bus moved through the suburbs of the city and out into the countryside, I could feel the soles of my feet warming up. Whether this was the result of the climate, the mechanics of the bus, or something else, I do not have a good enough understanding of physics to explain. One thing was for certain, though - it was going to be a warm day.
I got out of the bus at the turnoff for Unjusa. Nothing was here - just a few houses and a couple of closed workshops, their corrugated iron roofs glinting in the severe heat. Not so much as a convenience store. I began to walk along the road when a people carrier pulled up alongside me. A woman in her mid-thirties, Mrs. Kim, offered me a lift. "I work at Unjusa", she said. "Jump in, I'll give you a lift and you won't have to pay to enter".
Buddhist chants backed by soft music played over loudspeakers around the gravel patio in the courtyard where temples and other buildings stood. I climbed a hill and came to a few Buddhas carved from stone, standing by the path. Further up, I reached a look out point A line of pagodas pinpricked a grass plain at the bottom of the valley, beyond the patio and main entrance. The hills rose in all directions, becoming mistier and more silhouetted as the distance increased, like a theatrical stage of the landscape of an ancient world.
This wondrous spectacle distracted me from the effects of the relentless heat, which soon left my t-shirt without a dry patch on it. I can not remember ever sweating so much. After climbing a second hill I lay down under a rock in an attempt to cool down, but succeeded only in getting dirt to stick to my legs and arms. Directly above where I was laying there were another two Buddhas, carved into the horizontal rock face, reflecting the powerful rays of the sun.
I have visited few places where the sense of spirituality that others have been able to access there has swayed my own consciousness. Unjusa, though, is one of them. I edged back down hill, past the pagodas of the aforementioned viewpoint, which now towered above the lawn from my lower perspective. Legend has it that Unjusa once was home to a thousand Buddhas, with a hundred or so still scattered around the hills. I passed many more of these, carved into rock or standing alone by the path in their litany of poses.
Eventually I arrived back at the bus stop. Ajoshis and ajummas sat on the foot-high wall, shouting at each other across the clear area in front of the road. The old men wore thin, baggy cotton trousers and shirts. One played loud K-pop through a handheld radio. The tiniest of breezes moved the branches of a tree around in the heat. An old man arrived on a scooter, and another equally old man got up from where he was sitting on the wall, hopped on to the back of the scooter, shouted something in a tone that suggested both surprise and satisfaction and they zipped away past the junction for the Buddhas and off in the direction of the fields ahead. The remaining ajoshi switched off his radio. The road was quiet again.
I got out of the bus at the turnoff for Unjusa. Nothing was here - just a few houses and a couple of closed workshops, their corrugated iron roofs glinting in the severe heat. Not so much as a convenience store. I began to walk along the road when a people carrier pulled up alongside me. A woman in her mid-thirties, Mrs. Kim, offered me a lift. "I work at Unjusa", she said. "Jump in, I'll give you a lift and you won't have to pay to enter".
Buddhist chants backed by soft music played over loudspeakers around the gravel patio in the courtyard where temples and other buildings stood. I climbed a hill and came to a few Buddhas carved from stone, standing by the path. Further up, I reached a look out point A line of pagodas pinpricked a grass plain at the bottom of the valley, beyond the patio and main entrance. The hills rose in all directions, becoming mistier and more silhouetted as the distance increased, like a theatrical stage of the landscape of an ancient world.
This wondrous spectacle distracted me from the effects of the relentless heat, which soon left my t-shirt without a dry patch on it. I can not remember ever sweating so much. After climbing a second hill I lay down under a rock in an attempt to cool down, but succeeded only in getting dirt to stick to my legs and arms. Directly above where I was laying there were another two Buddhas, carved into the horizontal rock face, reflecting the powerful rays of the sun.
I have visited few places where the sense of spirituality that others have been able to access there has swayed my own consciousness. Unjusa, though, is one of them. I edged back down hill, past the pagodas of the aforementioned viewpoint, which now towered above the lawn from my lower perspective. Legend has it that Unjusa once was home to a thousand Buddhas, with a hundred or so still scattered around the hills. I passed many more of these, carved into rock or standing alone by the path in their litany of poses.
Eventually I arrived back at the bus stop. Ajoshis and ajummas sat on the foot-high wall, shouting at each other across the clear area in front of the road. The old men wore thin, baggy cotton trousers and shirts. One played loud K-pop through a handheld radio. The tiniest of breezes moved the branches of a tree around in the heat. An old man arrived on a scooter, and another equally old man got up from where he was sitting on the wall, hopped on to the back of the scooter, shouted something in a tone that suggested both surprise and satisfaction and they zipped away past the junction for the Buddhas and off in the direction of the fields ahead. The remaining ajoshi switched off his radio. The road was quiet again.
