Seoul was proving confusing and chaotic ? until a monk drove up and offered a ride to a Buddhist temple in the hillsI had to admit it, I was out of my depth. Burned out from work, I came to this country, not knowing what to expect, hoping for an experience. I'd been stuck in Seoul for weeks, paralysed by the language barrier and the heat and humidity and the crowds. My first time at a restaurant brought a bowl of cold elastic noodles and a pair of garden shears. And now I'd come to Toksan, a town which isn't the prettiest, and it's pouring so hard I'm sheltering under a shop's awning, and that tent in my backpack doesn't seem so useful now. And those little shorts I'm wearing seem a bit inappropriate, but not nearly as inappropriate as they'll seem soon.A car stops and a window slides down, revealing a monk with a shaved head and grey robes. Odi gan? I recognise those words at least: where are you going? I'm going to Sudoksa, the monastery, the big Buddhist monastery up in the hills; that is why I'm here. But I'm not expected at the monastery. I just read about it and was planning to make my way there tomorrow. I can articulate none of these things in Korean, however, so when I say the name and he beckons me into the car, I simply get in and say thank you. I try to cover bare leg with backpack.I had set off the day before yesterday, determined to see more of this country and to become a little less invisible than I'd felt in the capital city of 11 million harassed souls.As soon as the bus started speeding through farmland, I knew getting out of the city had been the right thing to do. There were rice paddies with blue sky reflected in water between bright green shoots, white egrets and a figure in baggy clothes and a wide straw hat knee-deep in water. I was invited into a private singing room last night, saw inside an ancient tomb and had lunch with a lady in the market. And now this.After driving in silence for a while, we pass through a gate and head uphill into pine woods. In the misty gloom we draw towards buildings with black-tiled roofs and red pillars, like the palaces in Seoul. The eaves are painted in delicate pinks and greens, with flower and animal carvings. The monks here practise Seon, or Zen Buddhism.My monk disappears into a hall. I'm sure he's going to emerge saying there's been some kind of mistake. Instead, a young boy gives me an umbrella and two monks lead me across the sandy courtyard past a stone pagoda towards the Hall of the White Lotus. We ascend to the raised walkway under the eaves, and wooden doors are slid open to reveal a bare room. I take off my shoes and the monks bring satin cushioned quilts and a pink, seed-filled pillow, and leave me alone with a bow and a smile.Incredulous, I listen to the thunder in the hills and the splashing and crashing of rain. Opening paper shutters held back by carved wooden turtles, I look out into the semi-dark and smell the fresh air. Lightning floodlights gnarled trees and a giant iron bell. Monks with umbrellas flit about in robes and slippers. The two who brought me here return with a candle."Breakfast is at eight," they say, then confer. "No, sorry, six." They smile and bow.? To find Buddhist monasteries in South Korea where you can stay the night, see eng.templestay.com/index.asp, tinyurl.com/5vy7gcs and visitkorea.or.krSeoulSouth KoreaAsiaguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2011 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
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