Things started out well. I made it from Busan to Haein-sa in just five hours, taking first the subway, then a bus to Daegu, then a second bus to the temple. I didn't once get on the wrong vehicle or buy a ticket to the wrong place or get off at the wrong stop, even though everything was in Korean. Clearly the fates, or God, or maybe even Buddha himself were looking out for me (aided by the young human boy who personally escorted me from the subway stop to the Seobu bus terminal).
It was an almost 1.5 km walk uphill from the Haein-sa bus stop to the temple, over roads and paths that were not always paved. I didn't let out a single word of complaint, even though it was pouring rain and my suitcase was heavy and my umbrella was missing its handle - proof that I can tolerate discomfort with monk-like equanimity.
Up at the temple, I sat barefoot on the floor and chatted with a monk while we waited for the lady in charge of accommodation to arrive. Her English was rough, but as it turned out, she had studied flute for some years at the music university in Vienna. So, unbelievably enough, I found myself up in the mist-shrouded Gaya Mountains of Gyeongsang, checking in and receiving my temple-stay instructions in German.
It was an almost 1.5 km walk uphill from the Haein-sa bus stop to the temple, over roads and paths that were not always paved. I didn't let out a single word of complaint, even though it was pouring rain and my suitcase was heavy and my umbrella was missing its handle - proof that I can tolerate discomfort with monk-like equanimity.
Up at the temple, I sat barefoot on the floor and chatted with a monk while we waited for the lady in charge of accommodation to arrive. Her English was rough, but as it turned out, she had studied flute for some years at the music university in Vienna. So, unbelievably enough, I found myself up in the mist-shrouded Gaya Mountains of Gyeongsang, checking in and receiving my temple-stay instructions in German.
Haein-sa is an active temple. A conglomeration of temples scattered across the mountainside, actually, and there are many monks who make their homes there. The entire atmosphere changes when the place closes to tourists in the early evening. Everything becomes calm and quiet. You're suddenly extra aware of being out in the wilderness, with the mountains rising above you, the big night sky over your head, and the ancient temple buildings standing on as they have for centuries.
Dinner was taken at 6.10 sharp in the dining hall, which is one big room with separate entrances and tables for monks and visitors. I'd been told that mealtimes were to be absolutely silent. I did notice a few of the monks whispering to each other (troublemakers), but it was pretty close to silent. When have I ever eaten a meal without speaking or entertaining myself with books, TV, or computer? I'm fairly sure the answer is never.
Dinner was taken at 6.10 sharp in the dining hall, which is one big room with separate entrances and tables for monks and visitors. I'd been told that mealtimes were to be absolutely silent. I did notice a few of the monks whispering to each other (troublemakers), but it was pretty close to silent. When have I ever eaten a meal without speaking or entertaining myself with books, TV, or computer? I'm fairly sure the answer is never.
After dinner came evening prayers. These began with the drumming of the big drum and the ringing of the big bell, out in the central courtyard. There were three monks who took turns on the drum. One played for a couple minutes, then the next stood up and joined him, then the first sat down while the second continued, and so on. The tempo (in duple meter) was steady across the three, but their rhythms differed - the first was quite syncopated, while the third was highly regular and almost ferocious in its attacks. When the bell had been rung, we moved up to the main temple building for the chants. I followed along with the leading monk as I'd been instructed to do, standing when he stood and kneeling when he kneeled. He beat on a small drum as he cycled through the chants. Most of the other visitors left before the end, but I stuck around for the Cultural Experience. I am nothing if not persistent.
It was a most enlightening Cultural Experience (enlightening...ha), and nice to sit in the temple, staring up at the beautiful painted walls, with the mountains behind me and the misty night air coming in through the open window. It was so nice, in fact, that I decided not to soil my memory of the evening by returning for the early morning chants. The early morning chants take place at 3.00am, but that didn't have anything to do with my decision to stay in bed. Really.
I'm not sure which I liked better - the period between dinner and evening chants, when the temple was closed to the public and everything was quiet and serene, or the couple of hours after breakfast when the temple was closed to the public and everything was quiet and serene. I spent my morning hiking up and down the hills to some of the other temples and taking in some of the forest trails. By the time I had to run off to catch the bus back to Daegu, I was feeling pretty enamored of life as a Buddhist monk.
I'm not sure which I liked better - the period between dinner and evening chants, when the temple was closed to the public and everything was quiet and serene, or the couple of hours after breakfast when the temple was closed to the public and everything was quiet and serene. I spent my morning hiking up and down the hills to some of the other temples and taking in some of the forest trails. By the time I had to run off to catch the bus back to Daegu, I was feeling pretty enamored of life as a Buddhist monk.
In time, I might even have learned to embrace the standing and kneeling and standing and kneeling, and maybe even the 3am wake-up call. There were just three things that were deal-breakers for me: 1) breakfast, 2) lunch, and 3) dinner. Meals were served buffet-style. At each there was a big bowl of rice, three types of kimchi, soup, and some sort of side-dish (fried mushrooms at dinner, spicy potatoes at breakfast, and a sort of dried beef thing at lunch). At dinner they also served pink, green, and yellow buns with red bean paste inside (a Korean dessert - some of the monks took out a doggie bag). How long can a person survive on a diet of white rice and tea? Cause that's about how long I would last if I took up the monk lifestyle. I would have made a beeline for the nearest non-rice food substance the moment I left the temple premises if I hadn't been busy catching the right bus, subway, train, and subway to my next hotel in Seoul. God, I was famished.
My night at Haein-sa was a largely successful experiment, I think. But next time I try out life as a Buddhist monk, I'll remember to bring emergency rations.