Back to Tongdosa (6/9)

The entrance to Tongdosa Temple, shot on my first visit

T O N G D O S A   T E M P L E   was easily my single most favorite destination from my entire time abroad. My last visit blew me away, and by this time I'd made up my mind that I needed to go back. I'd seen a particular symbol in the museum of historical Buddhist art there that stuck with me to such a degree that I knew I needed to return to capture it. The symbol was a stylized lotus design, used as a roof-end tile like the one pictured below. I wanted to record it better than the crude sketch I'd made in my notes from memory in order to turn it into a tattoo to commemorate my travels. Unsurprisingly, none of my trip mates were interested in going back to a place we'd already been, but the thought of traveling alone through a foreign country on a mission of my own design just added to my eagerness. When I heard we'd have our Saturday to ourself, I knew I had to go back to Tongdosa, and that's exactly what I did.

source: Konstantin Photography

I explained my plan to Dr. Yi, who actually had to do some traveling of her own to take care of some business. She offered me some basic directions on how to get to the temple via the train system, assuring me it was a simple task. We went together to the train station near the university, where her train promptly departed, leaving me alone in an unknown place. I killed time before my train arrived by people-watching, taking particular pleasure in waving at anyone who made eye contact on a passing train. I got a lot of elated return waves, especially from younger people; these positive interactions, although fleeting, made me feel very much connected and not at all as alone as I was.

The train station near Yeungnam

Looking out over the tracks

A look at the departures board and the challenge I faced (remember that I know no Korean!)

My first train took me to the Mulgeum station in a small city near Tongdosa. The ride took about an hour, and was actually my first ever ride on a train! I thoroughly enjoyed watching the breathtaking scenery wiz by, but had such a good time that I didn't even think to take many pictures. The station I arrived at was smaller than the one from which I'd departed, and finding a bus stop--my next mode of transportation on my way to the temple-- took a surprisingly long time. It took even longer to find someone who understood enough English and body language to inquire about the schedule, which meant wandering around the town some.

A look at the Korean countryside from the train

A shot of the town the train took me to-- look closely in the alley there!

A close-up of the alley-- my first friend of the adventure! Unfortunately didn't speak much English... but enjoyed watching me wander around lost nonetheless!

By this time my errand was beginning to feel a bit absurd, especially when I finally met someone who was kind enough to explain that I was unfortunately at the wrong bus stop. The lady who was helping me wrote out the name of either the bus I was to take or the destination I was to head towards-- either way, having the symbols on a sheet of paper made the task of finding where to go slightly less nerve-wracking, but only slightly. I spent a good while pouring over the schedules, trying to match characters and find my bus without understanding a lick of what I was reading and looking at.

My bus finally came, and I awkwardly tried to tell the driver my destination in hopes that he would tell me when to get off. I ended up getting off too soon, but the driver was kind enough to honk and gesture for me to return to the bus. I eventually got to where I was going, but having no knowledge of the area, I decided it'd be best to just hire a cab to take me what I thought would be a short distance from the stop to the temple.

Well, unfortunately for my wallet, I was wrong-- I began to worry as the cab kept driving and the meter kept running, as I didn't have much cash. By the time the driver dropped me at the entrance to the temple some 30 or more minutes later, I ended up spending almost all the rest of the money I'd budgeted for this stay in Korea. Good thing I had a round-trip ticket for the train!

Seeing the temple's gates sent my spirits sky-high, and I practically floated through the temple grounds to the museum entrance on clouds of joy. I was so relieved to have successfully (if only by the kindness of strangers) navigated the Korean transportation system and that my fool's errand had paid off.

Tongdosa's museum of Buddhist art

 I remembered exactly where the design was that I was looking for and, upon entering the museum, I made a bee-line for its wing of the collection, only to find that the doors were closed and the exhibits were being changed. I still remember the explosion of emotions I felt in that instant but unfortunately am no better at putting it into words. I was almost soul-crushingly disappointed that I'd tried so hard and put so much into returning for something The Powers That Be were keeping me from and upset that the exhibit could close after what seemed like just a few days! It was, what, a week since I'd been there? Two? What are the odds that my exhibit would close and move in that time?!

And I say that I almost felt these things because in the instant these thoughts threatened to pulled my mood down, I knew that everything was out of my control and that this simply wasn't meant to be-- I knew I had to accept with a smile the humorous irony of the situation and the mysterious way in which Fate/The Universe/What-Have-You works. It felt wrong to be in such a beautiful place that meant so much to me and to feel disappointed, so I tried my darndest to wrestle with my emotions and figure out what, if not that, I felt about this surprising development. I'd invested my whole Saturday into coming for this symbol of my visit! It meant so much to me that I wanted to permanently make it a part of me! But it simply wasn't meant to be, I chuckled to myself. For an instant I wondered if I'd done something wrong to close myself off from this symbol I idolized, or if perhaps idolizing it was the problem to begin with, but it felt silly to worry about the why's of the situation. After attempting to ask around and to open the clearly locked doors for a while longer, I accepted the hand I'd been dealt and began to wander in search of something else to focus my visit on.

Two monks walk across a bridge at Tongdosa. What would they have to say about my situation, I wonder?

It's interesting to look at my notes from this day. I've written this post from memory and know it to be accurate, but there's something to be said for the words I wrote in the moment. Here's the passage I wrote on the subject:

     So there are adventures and there are challenges-- adventures possess more positivity, enrichment, and excitement up front than do challenges, even if challenges are an important part of adventure-- no voyage into the unkown is without challenges, setbacks, fear, doubt, etc. An adventure, however, sounds far more optimistic than a challenge. This journey ended up being far more of a challenge than an adventure-- there's no doubt that I will (or have) grow(n) because of the expedition; it just wasn't as fun, easy, or exciting as other adventures of mine. 

     I spent about three hours in transit to Tongdosa. This began as an exciting adventure but slowly became more of a nightmare as travel plans complexified exponentially. The path I'd been told to follow was far more complex than I'd been lead to believe, and I didn't have the time, money, energy, or the language skills necessary to flourish; instead, my optimism decayed with each new setback-- and there were many. 

     Finally, after a train, 3 busses, 4 bus stops, a very expensive taxi, and a substantial amount of walking, I reached Tongdosa. My spirits peaked immediately-- I'd reached my destination! It'd all been worth it! It was all just doubt and fear; I was fine, and I was here! The weather was beautiful; the air pure. My fear and doubt vanished in an instant, swallowed up by ecstacy. Fuck yes.

     I treated myself to some food first, before pursuing my objective at the temple's museum. What the lady told me was not spicy ramen and rice did in fact end up being quite spicy, but my hunger and excitement allowed me to brave the heat and scarf down every morsel more successfully than I've ever done before (I'm bad @ spicy food). Then, after some writing, reflection, and meditation on the morning's insanity, I set out for the temple's museum.
I didn't go straight to the thing I was looking for-- I decided to peruse the other exhibits out of respect. I remembered most of the items but did see some beautiful and exciting things I'd missed the first time around. Finally, it was time to see what I'd come for-- only the exhibit was closed and in process of being replaced. Excitement fled in an instant and was drowned by colossal waves of sorrow and disappointment-- had it all been for naught?! I tried talking to an attendant but got nowhere. It was obvious that I could do nothing. I tried the doors anyway when the attendant wasn't looking-- they were locked. My adventure suddenly became a lesson in gracefully accepting defeat. Should I try to talk my way in, to explain my situation and hope for help? I ended up walking out of the museum, alone and confused. I coulda used a fucking hug. I just wanted to cry myself to sleep, to give up. But, I'd come a long way, and had spent a lot of time, money, and energy to be there, so I ended up walking around for about an hour anyway. I was pretty sad, bitter, and upset, but I tried to find some sort of meaning or value somewhwere on the grounds. I felt pissed at Buddha or God or the Universe or the person in charge of closing the exhibit; I was searching for someone or something to be angry at; to blame. It all felt pretty juvenile. I was also upset with myself for getting so excited without realizing it-- for getting my hopes up and then for getting so crushed and for trying to rationalize it as someone/something's fault.  

     I spent an hour or two wandering the temple, but my heart wasn't really in it. In fact, I felt pretty sacrilegious being there. I didn't observe all the traditions; I wasn't a good buddhist. I felt like I couldn't be! I couldn't pay respect to any higher power that did such a thing! It was a lesson, though-- not just a lesson in gracefully accepting defeat, disappointment, and all that sort of stuff, but also a lesson in my emotions, how they come and go, and how I come and go physically throughout public space and all the things involved, including language, culture, and interactions with people. Not at all the lesson or objective I was pursuing, but an important one nonetheless. I really wanted to flip out, to rebel... but more importantly I wanted to hurry up and learn the lesson I was supposed to learn from that cosmic change of plans. I was indignant. I didn't like feeling that way, but I did! 

     And that was before trying to get back to Yeungnam! Getting there took 3 hours; getting back took 6. How? No idea. One long taxi ride was replaced by several long bus rides which certainly didn't help my time. The worst part was getting from the station to the school-- a journey that took a few minutes in the car in the morning; but took an hour or two that evening-- I thought I knew how to get there on foot but was horribly wrong and my stubborn sticktoitiveness sent me deep into the boonies of whatever city Yeungnam is in. Finally gave up and got a taxi. Pure day of defeat. Fuck.

So that's how I felt about it then-- clearly pretty tired and defeated. I'd forgotten how upset I felt, but outside of the heat of the moment I was able to step away from that upsetness and think about my feelings on things like Fate and Destiny and Control and Higher Powers and Desert (the deserve kind of desert, not the food). I'm still not sure how I feel about any of those things, but it's rare that I find such a vivid juxtaposition of all those topics in my daily life, and it's nice to reflect on them.

I think my trainride back summarizes my experience perfectly-- it was accompanied by one of the most breathtaking sunsets I've ever seen. Would that sunset have meant as much to me without the defeat? I doubt it. Would I have been as open to the sunset's beauty? I think not. A friend of mine explained that the trick to getting through life's tough times is to find the smile in whatever it is that's going on, and that sunset certainly made me smile, and a whole lot more. I felt so peaceful, so embedded in this beautiful world we inhabit-- the same beautiful world that'd seemed so closed off to me earlier, that had (to fallaciously ascribe agency to it) denied me what I sought earlier in the day.

The sun sets over a long Korean day

I miss gawking at the gorgeous Korean countryside

Despite the challenges, this was certainly an adventure that's stuck with me.

A clip from the day's travels: