The lkl korea Trip 2010

22. The House of Choi Cham-pan (90%) (Couple pines and more about Toji)

What is authenticity?

Probably, over the course of Korea’s long history, most of Korea’s precious buildings have burned down and been rebuilt. It’s a natural hazard of building from sustainable materials such as wood. Marauding invaders or revolting slaves can cause great destruction with just a single spark.
The reconstruction work might be done using original techniques, or might incorporate some technological improvements. Probably most of us would not regard one of Korea’s national treasures as unauthentic simply because it has been burned down at some stage. But when precisely does a reconstruction become unauthentic?
Is moving an “authentic” old building from one place to another (as happened, for example, in the creation of the Yongin Folk Village) an act of preservation? Or is it the creation of a theme park? Is the construction of a completely new building using traditional methods committing some sort of fraud on the beholder, or is it evidence of showing a commendable respect for ancient tradition?
When a royal palace or collection of traditional buildings is taken over as a film set, does that somehow cheapen the structure? Probably not. When a collection of picturesque traditional-style buildings is built from scratch to serve as a film set, is the structure worthy of visiting in its own right? Or only if the film is really popular?
And what if you don’t know, when visiting the site, whether it’s “authentic” or not?
This last question was the one that bugged me most, as I was ferried to a beautiful spot up in the hills in Hadong County where a long-running TV series had been filmed. Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t know what I was seeing, and I didn’t have time to ask. Up in Daewonsa temple the following morning, Neunghae Sunim would tell me to take things slowly and relax, but my schedule most of the time would not permit it.
So I had to go with the flow, and simply appreciate where I was on its own terms.
And that was fine. It was a very picturesque spot. A yangban’s house, with a fishpond by the side of which young boys in noble hanbok were playing, had a pretty garden where the wind was gently stirring the trees. Inside the courtyard, a tea ceremony was being enacted as a 5 year-old girl humbly served tea to her mother, backing away five paces before turning to return to her station at the other side of the room. Tears were being shed by the onlookers at such filial piety and devotion.
Outside the courtyard, rustic farmers’ cottages fanned out along pathways and across the terraces. Tea bushes flanked the footpaths, and yellow rape flower added colour. The village commanded spectacular views across the valley plain below. And in the centre of the plain, surrounded by a faintly mauve carpet of alfafa, were two solitary pine trees. The locals called them the “Couple Pines” or the “Husband and Wife Pines” [Bubusong] Their very presence seemed poignant and melancholy, and you could imagine the landmark having special significance in a weepy melodrama.
Jin-tae and Eun-sook are childhood sweethearts and always used to play under the cool shade of the Couple Pines, flying their kites on New Year’s day and sucking on sweet watermelons in the heat of the summer. One day, they have to part, but vow to return in ten years time to see if their love can survive. Meanwhile it is discovered that Jin-tae has in incurable disease, and Eun-sook has been secretly betrothed to … fill in the rest of the details yourself, as the sobbing soundtrack tugs at the heartstrings.
The village itself was used as the set for a long-running TV drama called Toji (The Land), with the storyline by Park Kyung-ni. The Yangban’s house was billed as the House of Choi Cham-pan. And maybe in the story there really was a couple of star-crossed lovers for whom the couple pines had a special meaning. I just didn’t get the chance to ask.
http://www.dbpia.co.kr/view/ar_view.asp?arid=825140

http://www.wearekim.com/bbs/zboard.php?id=yk_Landscape&page=16&category=&sn=off&ss=on&sc=on&keyword=&prev_no=&sn1=&divpage=1

최참판

http://www.antiquealive.com/store/detail.asp?idx=1877&CateNum=4&pname=Best-Green-Tea-from-Korean-Hwagae-Jirisan-Mountain:-Premium-Sejak

http://10magazine.asia/tag/hwagae/

http://www.unesco.org/culture/lit/rep/index.php?lng=en_GB&work_titre=&work_type%5B%5D=0&work_auteur=&work_langue%5B%5D=223&work_zone%5B%5D=0&trans_titre=&trans_langue%5B%5D=0&trans_traducteur=&trans_coordination=&trans_editeur=&trans_annee=&trans_annee_apres=&trans_annee_avant=&send=Search
Since returning home, I’ve had a chance to find out more about Park Kyung-ni and The Land. Had I been more diligent in reading my news clippings over the years, the novel and the author would have registered immediately. It is a very familiar problem that Korean literature is not very well known outside of Korea, and that therefore Korean authors are very little known. But Park Kyung-ni is of such importance that she merited a feature in The Times when she died in May 2008.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/obituaries/article4091217.ece

23. The Jjimjilbang experience

It was only a couple of hours ago that we had lunch, but Koreans seem to eat dinner early. During the tea festival, our guide Isabelle does well for food: she is usually entertained by the people she is showing around, and this time is no exception. We go to a restaurant which serves a local delicacy: beef bulgogi where the cows have been fed on a diet of pine needles. It's a subtly different flavour, but when you mix it with the normal bulgogi accompaniments of dwenjang, grilled garlic and kimchi some of that subtlety is lost. No matter, it's a hearty dinner, washed down with soju.

We discover that we have not seen the last of the tea festival. We head back to the main festival area and just catch the end of the closing ceremony. The winners of the best tea competition and the most elegant tea ceremony performance collect their prizes from the local mayor. A video montage of highlights from the festival is projected onto giant screens: an elderly couple had clearly found the mutual green tea foot-bathing a moving experience.
The light is fading, and the lanterns along the riverside are lit, giving a slightly magical feeling to the proceedings. With some final speeches, and a brief firework display, the festival is over for this year.
We were in the car heading towards our overnight stop when Morgan asked an unexpected question: “Would you like your jjimjilbang warmed up?”
Those who have been to a jjimjilbang swear by them. These public baths are much more than a steam room, sauna, plunge pool and related facilities. They are places where families can meet and socialise with others, and where drunken businessmen can sleep very cheaply after missing the last bus home. Anna Fifield, in one of her many fascinating Financial Times features on Korea, highlighted the jjimjilbang experiences as one of her favourite things.
But despite being the product of an all-male boarding school, I remain uncomfortable with the concept of public nudity. With the other public bath experiences I have had – the Turkish bath in London’s Royal Automobile Club and a local Hammam in Sana’a where my brother used to live – towels have been available to wrap around one’s waist to enable one to retain a sense of modesty. I once ventured into the entrance of the jjimjilbang of a posh hotel on Busan’s Haeundai beach, and immediately exited on seeing that the towels were the size of face flannels. I hear that’s pretty much standard for Korean jjimjilbangs, so that’s that.
What about the prospect of a private steam room in your cabin at a pension / hotel? That seemed to be the thrust of Morgan’s question, and the concept was a novel one. But I’ve never really seen the point of roasting yourself to perfection, and I thought the whole point of a sauna was the communal experience. So I turned down the opportunity of the private jjimjilbang experience, though I was still intrigued with what I was going to find at our overnight stop.
The car pulls in at what could be a hobbit village. Little wooden huts with pleasingly domed roofs, clustered around the edge of a gravel driveway. There's a stillness in the air. We are allocated our huts. Inside, all is very minimalist: a sink and kettle; a low table, an open wood-fired oven, rustic wooden steps leading to a sleeping area in the roof. And two doors off the ground floor: behind one, a jjimjilbang full of bedding; behind the other, a wooden clad wet-room, complete with wooden bath.
The jjimjilbang has been warming nicely, and I need to open all windows to get the cabin temperature down. There's still some daylight left, and I sit on the balcony behind a low table, working away at my netbook, imagining myself back in Joseon dynasty times studying the Confucian classics. The compound has an intermittent wi-fi service and I catch up on some emails before the reception gives out, while listening to one of Hwang Byunggi's CDs on my iPhone. It's a beautifully calm evening, and soon the bugs start to bother me, so I get an early night.