Sin ought to be something exquisite, my dear fellow.

Emile Zola, “The Kill”

Updated list of the people from the hostel:

• Owner – owner of the hostel, 41yo guy. Originally from Cananda, he seemed (and acted) way younger. Fond of drinking and talking about being horny.
• C.H. – one of the staff members, 28yo guy. Bespectacled, served in the navy, intensely shy.
• Nacho – Korean-American female staff member in her early thirties, originally from L.A., in charge of the volunteers. Bespectacled, hilarious, and plump, with a BTS haircut and a crazy sleep routine.
• Chica – Spanish volunteer / actress from Madrid, 34yo girl. Short, perky, petite, with long, straight hair and freckles.
• Lil G – Mexican volunteer, 33yo guy. He’s my height, yet three times thicker than me, like a bodyguard.
• Painter – Brazilian volunteer, guy in his late thirties. Been here for around five months. Half of the time, he painted the hostel instead of cleaning.
• Horizon – Israeli volunteer, 22yo girl. Half Turkish, half Indian, sensitive yet tough.
• Ryu – German volunteer, 22yo girl. Platinum-dyed hair, straight, black eyebrows. Fluent in Japanese, having spent senior year of high school in Osaka. Also, intermediate in Korean.
• Q – Spanish volunteer from Barcelona, 20yo girl. Thin glasses, curly hair like a poodle’s (her own description).
• Mon chéri – French volunteer, 22yo (?) girl. A tall, redheaded beauty, she’s the party girl, with a  thick, sultry accent and a love of coffee.
• Cosima – Romanian volunteer now living in the island of Sardinia, 27yo girl. With glasses, a bob cut, and a sharp nose, she possessed deep knowledge of Korea (and delicious ability of cooking Korean food). I picked Cosima, the feminine version of Cosmo, due to her cosmopolitan nature.
• Angel – 27yo French girl with long curly hair, black glasses, and an olive skin, staying at the hostel for a month, studying Korean in Busan. Her long term residency and bubbly personality made her an instant addition to the volunteer group.

8 June 2023

• 10:45-11:20 Daegu Bank stop to Hadong jeommaeul stop bus number 11
• Exploring an abandoned sex museum (40m)
• 4-min taxi ride to Expo Park bus stop; taking the wrong bus… yet again; bus number 11 to Expo Park stop, 13:10-13:30 Expo Park stop to Andong/Girimsa/Golgulsa stop bus number 100 (100-1 and 150 also go there), shuttle to Golgul-sa temple
• 15:00-16:00 Sunmudo demonstration
• 16:10-16:30 orientation (introduction to the temple)
• 16:30-17:30 Sunmudo training
• 17:40-18:00 108 prostrations
• 18:00-18:30 dinner

Accidentally Exploring My Second Abandoned Sex Museum in Korea

During breakfast in the hostel, the conversation around the table gravitated towards Jeju Island, the next destination for some of the guests.

A girl from Kazakhstan with purple dreadlocks, fluent in English and Russian, mentioned the Museum of Sex and Health, which the brave Croatian girl from the natural pools had recommended me. I mentioned Love Land, the abandoned, erotic museum I’d visited instead. Then the Kazakh girl informed us that Gyeongju had its own sex museum.

When I asked her what Kazakhstan was like, she showed me a video saved on her phone that broke stereotypes around it. She must’ve been tired at this question by now.

Google said the museum in Gyeongju was permanently closed. The girl said it was open during her visit. I didn’t care either way. I checked out and hopped on the bus there. Eastbound – in the direction of my temple stay.

The bus dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, in front of the sex museum, which was, surprise surprise, abandoned.

I snuck inside. It was bigger, racier, and creepier than Jeju Love Land. Dozens of crazy outdoor sculptures. Walking around them, I came close to wasps, got entangled in spiderweb, and freaked out whenever cats made sudden noises.

The forest section had me shaking. There was a sex doll cemetery, as well as were audio installations with sounds of Korean, Japanese, and American people having sex. Yet the electricity was off.

Then there was the indoor section, with no light whatsoever.

I was scared shitless by this point. Who knew what lurked there.

I forced myself to venture into the dark corridors. Once inside, I came face to face with private booths with… curtains… and a collection of sexual objects and art. A notebook where visitors wrote some… interesting things. And some unplanned souvenirs.

My shoes got covered in dust, and after a while, I heard noises from outside. Panicking inside the dim exhibition room, I decided it was time to hurry back outside.

My First Temple Stay in Korea

My next stop was a temple stay. Just what I needed, to repent for my sins.

I waited at the bus stop. The bus didn’t come. Just like in Jeju Love Land. So I took a cab, a 4-minute ride to my next bus, that somehow cost me more than yesterday’s cab.

At the bus stop, I asked a French couple if they were headed to the temple. They said yes and that the next bus went there. This bus wasn’t mentioned on the temple’s website. But I trusted them, and also asked the bus driver. The latter confirmed it by pronouncing the temple’s name as slowly, loudly, and clearly as possible (truly wowed me for a moment, coming from an old person). I nodded, and got in.

Then I realized the bus was going in the direction I came from. There was a temple in the area with a very similar name. Hence the driver’s enunciation.

I got off again in the middle of nowhere and waited for another bus to take me back to the stop where I took the taxi to. At least I had two hours before check in.

Finally, I got on the correct bus.

Fifty minutes of a winding, mountainous road: exactly what I’d sought, when deciding to stay at a faraway temple in Korea.

I looked out the bus window at the green landscape around us. Forever a scene that made me pensive. Just like the first time around, I got the chance to infiltrate an abandoned sex museum in Korea I hadn’t known of. After hearing about it and deciding to go there right away, it turned to be in the middle of nowhere, full of dust, and devoid of people.

The experience was both fun and scary, depraved and jejune. Without realising so, it was just what I’d needed: to blow out, to act a little inappropriate, to go all the way with my demand for an adventure. With all the tasks I’d been juggling during my first week of volunteering at the hostel, I was about to erupt.

My only regret was visiting this museum alone.

I got off at the bus stop for the temple with a German girl. At once, a van honked at us.

“Golgul-sa temple stay?”

“Yes,” we said.

We hopped right in. The temple’s driver gave us an impromptu lift up the hill, instead of climbing it for scorching 15 minutes.

Big, blue eyes; reddish-purple hair. Ear piercing and arm tattoos. There was something grungy about the German girl, as to be expected from her nationality, but also innocent and kind, thanks to her gentle face. She was doing a master’s degree in English literature. Clueless about the amazing 1-night promotion, she’d booked two expensive nights here.

While checking in, three middle-aged New Yorkers arrived as well. A Korean guy and a ginger guy my age were checking out. We talked for a bit. I was disappointed to see them go, because they were the ones I wanted to be with.

Golgul-sa temple, headquarters of Sunmudo (a Buddhist martial art) and Jogyae order of Korean Buddhism, was an enormous compound. Gates, halls, pavilions, sculptures, pagodas, accommodations, teahouses, a souvenir shop, a weekend market, and a meditation house (only for the monks). The rules forbade smoking, drinking, bringing food from outside (particularly meat), leaving the temple grounds, entering each other’s room, and wearing revealing clothing. One had to arrive early for each activity, so as to not be late.

The German girl and I changed into our assigned uniform and climbed the world’s steepest hill for the first activity on our intensive schedule for our stay: Sunmudo demonstration.

Sun – meditation; Mu – martial art; Do – the way of doing something. Together, they formed a unique training method, designed to harmonize the mind with the body.

It was invented in the Silla period, and revived in the 20^th century, in Busan’s Beomeo-sa temple. Grandmaster Jeong Un Sunim introcued them to the public, and established Golgul-sa as the World Sunmudo Federation Headquarters.

The first martial artist wowed the audience (mostly comprised of Koreans who’d come just to watch this performance). The second was basically a contortionist.

My mouth was agape the entire time. He twisted his body in ways I hadn’t known were possible.

“That’s going to be us by tomorrow,” I whispered to the German girl.

After the demonstration was over, I noticed three guys wearing the same uniform as us. A group of Polish friends, with blond hair and trimmed beards, they had checked in today as well, late to the demonstration by five minutes.

As our next stop – orientation – soon made clear, today’s stayers included them, the German girl, a French girl, the American women, and a Korean girl from Busan.

So, foreigners.

Sunmudo Boot Camp at Golgul-sa Temple

We went down the hill to the training hall, where we watched an English language introductory video about temple etiquette and Sunmudo. Then we did stretching exercises on mats outside and meditated.

The noise from the road outside the temple was omnipresent. It took me out of the moment.

“Today, I am angry,” our instructor, the first martial artist, said while meditating. “Car noise. But I take it out.” He breathed out. “Happy.”

We did poses that tested the limits of my stretching ability and broke me into a sweat. Then, we headed to an outdoor gym.

The martial artist noticed a berry tree on the way. We stopped and picked up blueberries and raspberries. Not very ripe, but still a welcome taste and sight.

Our group was bigger than before now, the non-new temple stayers joining us as well. Not everyone in this temple had come for one night only. Some, for a whole month.

Today was their first time at the outdoor gym. The martial artist changed the training program every day.

The gym was so rusty, that it looked from the days of the Buddha. We walked on a narrow steel log, hung off a rope, jumped from one wheel on the ground to another, punched a wooden punching bag, etc. The martial artist demonstrated all this to us while releasing his anger.

When it was our turn, he took videos of us.

“He’s not a traditional monk, huh?” I said to one of the veterans.

“He has an Instagram,” she said. “He’s famous in Korea. He was taking videos and pictures of us on previous days as well.”

“That’s crazy.”

“All the monks are crazy. Did you see the second artist’s knuckles? He punches trees.”

I tried my best at each workout station, charging at some point with a stick at wheels.

“You have a lot of anger inside you,” a middle-aged British guest noted.

We returned to the training hall for 108 prostrations.

In Buddhism, there were six sense organs: eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. Six sense objects: color, sound, smell, taste, touch, and concept. And three reactions: likes, dislikes, and neutrality, which could lead to joy, sorrow, or indifference.

Multilpying the sense organs and objects with the three possible reactions to them yielded the number 36. Multiplied by three, for the past, present, and future, yielded 108.

Thus, the 108 prostrations represented our basic mental anguish. Doing all 108 again and again would help us break the cycle of suffering. 

In Korea, Buddhists did so by touching a mat with five points – head, knees, hands – and standing up. For 108 times.

Horror.

A female monk clapped her hand against a bamboo stick to count the prostrations. She did it so fast, that we all went into a daze.

Going to a temple and working out like I’d never had was not on my list of expectations.

We headed straight to dinner. A buffet.

Thank God the Buddha. I could fill my plate to the brim. Rice and vegetables and a tofu and noodles soup. All vegan.

A sign forbade speaking, yet everyone, including the staff, did so anyway.

I ate with the German girl and Polish gang. After my second fulfilling meal in Korea – the first one was at that local restaurant in Busan – we washed our dishes. This was not Japanese hospitality.

An Indian couple had just checked in. They were very late, having come all the way from Seoul. After seeing my room was empty upon checking in at lunchtime, I realized the man would be staying in my room.

He was nice, but we didn’t have anything to talk about, compared to the Polish guys, who were around my age and in a similar position of traveling the world while unemployed. The guys took photos and shared trip highlights with me; the former did not exchange more than a few words.

The Disappointing Mundanity of Korea

As the sun was beginning to set over the mountains, I sat on the stairs outside our room, contemplating my past, present, and future.

Tomorrow would be my one-month anniversary of traveling South Korea. Tonight’s temple stay, and the entire month, as a matter fact, had turned out wildly different from their equivalent in Japan.

I’d come to this temple expecting silence, loneliness, and thunderstorms. That was the melancholic, if not romantic, image the weather forecast had planted in me.

Instead, I was surrounded by foreigners, car noise, and exercises.

There was nothing emotionally riveting about it. This temple, and Korea as a whole, hadn’t been as turbulent as Japan had been for me. There weren’t highs and lows, scary moments and actual danger. There was more fun, more anxiety, more disappointment – but no turmoil.

Apart from an abandoned sex museum here and there.

When I’d told my Japanese host-friend about a few things that had happened to me in Japan, shortly after making it to Korea, he’d reacted with surprise.

“Your time is Japan sounds very special,” he texted me. “I’ve visited many countries but no country became such a special one for me. Kinda envious.

“I’m really look forward to quitting my job and travel for a while again.”

I was a bit surprised, because how could my time spent traveling not be special? How could a guy who resembled me so much – liked the same things, thought the same thoughts, saw the world in a similar way – and had visited more than fifty countries in the last few years feel this way?

At that moment, I didn’t believe him. Traveling was special. But now, after almost a month in Korea, I understood him better.

Korea was special to me: I’d already accumulated unforgettable experiences, such as couchsurfing, hiking Bukhansan, pole dancing, exploring abandoned sex museums all alone, cleaning vomit off toilet seats, and going to my first drag show.

But Japan was more special. It might have been one of a kind.

The light the room I shared with the Indian man wasn’t working. Only the automatic one at the entrance. I asked him for five minutes of privacy, so as to shower with the door open.

Then the automatic light went off, and I showered in the dark.

For a fleeting moment, all the emotions I’d felt in Koya-san deluged me. I recalled how I’d cried silently with my eyes shut during my monk-guide’s heart sutra. The thoughts that had gone through my mind at that moment, which I had not shared with anyone.

The grief I’d felt, going to bed that night, I did not feel now.

I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.

As I sat on a bench outside the main building and typed all this on my phone, I realized the buzzing of crickets had replaced the whooshing of cars. The temple complex was dark now. The sun had set during my shower.

I realized the difference in my two temple stays matched the difference in the two cultures.

Koreans were athletic and fearless. This temple offered me company and exercise.

Japanese people were more cautious and timid. Thus, Koya-san was more melancholic and quiet.

I enjoyed the variety I’d gotten at both temples, but resolved to return one day to Koya-san instead.

I returned to my room. The light was on. The Polish guy had explained to me, while sitting on the bench, to put my key in the correct position to activate the power supply; yet the Indian man had already figured it out. He was hard at work on his laptop. The light inside our bedroom was extremely bright, and my hopes of getting decent sleep for once were extinguished.

I went to bed at 21:30 with the intention of watching the sunrise at 5:00 the next morning. l longed to set food again in the land of the rising sun.

Today’s highlights: my second abandoned sex museum; surviving the exercises at the temple; the vegan buffet; showering in the dark.

9 June 2023

• Watching the sunrise
• 5:30-6:00 early morning sitting meditation
• 6:10-6:30 walking meditation
• 6:30-7:00 breakfast
• 9:00-10:00 Sunmudo training
• 10:20-11:00 morning sitting meditation (I skipped it though)
• 11:00-12:00 tea with the monks
• 12:00-12:30 lunch
• 12:40-12:45 shuttle to bus stop, 13:05-13:50 Golgul-sa temple to Gyeong-ju bus number 100-1
• Hanging out in my hostel
• 16:40-17:40 Gyeong-ju Intercity Bus Terminal to Busan Intercity Bus Terminal bus, 17:50-18:20 Nopo station to Beomnaegol station metro

Morning Meditation

I woke at 4:30, having barely slept at all. My body was sore in places I hadn’t imagined could feel this way.

Cold. I rushed uphill and made it to the famous stone Buddha overlooking the temple and mountains before sunrise. A female staff member was walking a shiba dog.

The mountains were misty, the sky growing light pink. Birds were beginning to chirp. After informing my dinner mates of my desire to watch the sunrise, the German girl showed up a couple of minutes after me, equally exhausted.

At 5:00, monks began playing instruments and chanting from somewhere afar. The tall, bespectacled, long-haired Polish guy arrived soon after. His friends were still asleep.

The three of us watched the ball of fire rise slowly over the misty mountains. Hypnotizing.

We were silent the entire time. Birdsong, Buddhist chanting. Then the sun disappeared into the mist.

Time for the early morning prayer. Cushions on the floor of the prayer hall, instead of mats. The sun shining in through the window. The same model of IKEA clock I’d been carrying in my suitcase for four months was on a low table.

We did prostrations while the priest was chanting. Then we clanked moktak (wooden sticks and bells). More chanting.

A loud rumbling noise shook the building.

“Earthquake?” I thought.

No. The female staff member from this morning began playing a monstrous drum.

She took us to meditate on top of the mountain, our legs crossed on benches. I counted around six bird sounds: crows, roosters, and a few songbirds. The sun was shining at us from in-between the trees.

For the walking meditation, we circled, as slowly as turtles, a geometrically deconstructed pagoda representing the five elements. Then we continued like this in a single file down the hill. 

Every step was a device of torture. My thighs were wrecked from yesterday.

Breakfast went on just like dinner. The German girl told me she’d seen me at breakfast in the Gyeongju hostel, wearing the same blue hanbok. We hadn’t talked, otherwise I would’ve remembered her. But she recognized me as soon as we’d gotten off the bus.

We had 1.5 precious hours of free time. They passed with us chatting on a bench. The temple grounds were peaceful: songbirds, no tourists or visitors, apart from those staying overnight.

I realized a Korean temple stay emphasized physicality, whereas a Japanese one, spirituality. At least that was the way I saw it.

Mixing the two was the challenge. To focus on the mind, I had to forget the body. Abusing my muscles did not enable me to reach higher, spiritual ground.

Sunmudo. The hour for more stretching had come.

The martial artist demonstrated several deranged yoga poses. Downward dog wasn’t the half of it. We were to recreate them. Tiger, turtle, deer, monkey, dragon…

The splits were child’s play for him. He’d been living in this temple for 21 years, yet looked in his thirties.

We walked in a circle like bears, on all fours, with our asses up. He took photos of us, and instructed us to massage our muscles in between exercises.

On the verge of dying enlightenment after this, the German girl and I skipped the second morning meditation. I’d been wanting to buy a bracelet at the temple’s shop, which was closed during our free time this morning. Ever since the French patisserie maker from Seoul had shown me his temple stay bracelet, I’d had my eyes set on getting one as well.

I found a brown skull bracelet. “Golgul-sa” sounded vaguely reminiscent of the Hebrew word for skull.

Next, tea with the monks. The martial artist poured tea. Haltingly, shutting his eyes in between, focusing on his actions. Every moment was a chance for meditation.

The female, middle-aged monk from yesterday’s prostration joined us.

“How was Sunmudo training?” she asked.

“Easy,” I said.

At least joking wasn’t inappropriate in a place like this.

We talked over tea. She asked us questions, and we as well, while the martial artist brewed more and more tea.

I learned from her several things.

First, the multiple dogs of this temple were all descendant of a Monk Dog.

“She was born in winter season. She was very curious in human beings. Everyday, she welcomed all visitors to the temple. She was very smart. Many offered to broadcast in Korea. Very famous dog in Korea. Every March we have a ceremony for her.”

Since then, dogs had become the guardian animal of this temple.

The monk herself had completed 3,000 prostrations in one day in order to become a monk. Both her parents and all her family were monks.

In 2002, Korea held the World Cup. So many tourists had come, that the government had asked temples to host them. Since then, temple stay had become possible for tourists in Korea.

After tea and lunch, it was time to check out.

“I’m happy I got to share this experience with you,” I told the German girl, staying in this temple for another night. “I hope to see you again someday.”

I meant every word. Our time together was a bonding experience.

Sexual Shenanigans in Gyeong-ju

I took the shuttle and the bus to Gyeongju with the French girl and Polish guys. We all went our separate ways after that. I grew downcast.

My afternoon was wide open. I returned to Jungang market, in search of a hanbok. One of the veteran temple stayers had inquired about mine so much, that we were now both on a mission to find a cheap one. The hanboks at the temple cost double than mine.

No hanboks, but I did find myself near my hostel again – so I stopped by to say hi.

The Taiwanese volunteers were there, as well as a Russian volunteer, and the Kazakh girl.

“Hey – you didn’t tell me the sex museum was abandoned!” I immediately said.

She froze on her spot.

“What?”

I explained everything.

“What?” she repeated. “WHAT? I was there one year ago, I had to buy a ticket!”

“Well, not anymore!”

I showed her the pictures I’d taken, including some too private to post online.

“You’re a pervert!” she yelled, incredulous. The volunteers echoed her reaction. “You look like a good guy, but you’re bad!”

“No, I’m a good guy!”

By now, she saw the empty, curtained booths inside the abandoned exhibition hall.

“Did you jerk off?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“Of course not!”

“WHY?”

“It was dark and I kept hearing sounds, I was scared!”

“Oh,” she groaned, “you should’ve jerked off!”

This went on and on. Laughter and bewilderment around me. Even I couldn’t believe this moment.

“You looked like a good boy, but you’re a pervert!” the Kazakh girl repeated.

“You look like a good girl, too,” I said. “Your smile is like an angel’s.”

She changed it into a devilish smirk. Mouth baring teeth in a narrow grin; eyes smiling upwards. It was so cartoonish, that I kept trying to snap a photo of it. She wiped it off her face before I could unlock my phone every time.

“I am the demon of sex,” she smirked.

I showed her my “souvenirs” and gave her the choice to pick a present. Her pick – the best souvenir – I could not part with. So she got a penis spoon instead.

“You look like a virgin!” she said. “I can’t believe you did that. And you stayed at a temple right after!”

At this point, the Taiwanese volunteers were in shambles. My behavior shook (or entertained?) them to their core.

“I have to thank you for one of the best days of my trip,” I told the Kazakh girl.

“You’re the first person I told this museum about who actually went there,” she said. “I keep telling people about it, but no one ever went there.”

One of the Taiwanese volunteers put on music. “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish started playing… on repeat.

“Did you put on that song just for me?” I asked.

“Of course.”

They didn’t. It was a Billie playlist. Bad Guy simply happened to be the first one.

The Kazakh girl brought up the topic wild sex stories.

“Right,” I said, “I’m leaving.”

“No – you wait right there!” she ordered. “I have to go pray.”

“WHAT?”

“I’m an orthodox Christian!”

She grabbed her penis spoon and headed to the basement, while I went outside to buy some food at a convenience store.

When I returned to the hostel, I put my food on the table.

“It’s something you bought, right?” the Taiwanese guy asked.

“It is!” I insisted, to his amused disbelief. “I don’t steal!”

I sat down to eat. The Kazakh girl soon came back. The Russian volunteer brought out a mic with voice-distorting features, for everyone to listen to our impromptu sex stories workshop.

(No idea why the sound isn’t working. The whole point was our distorted voices. Will try again later)

“You’re so cool,” she said at the end.

“You’re one of the coolest girls I’ve met,” I said in return. “Now I have an unforgettable experience, all thanks to you.”

She went to catch the bus to Daegu, on the way to Pyeongtaek, where she lived; while I headed to Gyeongju’s main street, in search of a hanbok.

I couldn’t really find any, and either way, I was so content with the events of today, that I felt no need to keep the ball rolling.

As I walked to the bus terminal, exactly one month after landing in this country, it occurred to me that South Korea might be special to me after all.

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Special After All

Back at the hostel, things were strangely quiet. The volunteers had gone. I did laundry and ate some cereal. Right before going to bed at 20:00, however, the local guy I’d had dinner with at the traditional restaurant asked to come say hi. 

We caught up while standing in the street outside the hostel. Then someone jumped at me.

Horizon was back.

“I missed you so much, I kept asking the staff when you were coming back.”

She was with Mon Cheri. Somehow, while I was gone, they’d become besties.

More volunteers soon returned. Chica also embraced me.

“How was your trip?” Lil G asked. “Did you get a vibe while you were there?”

“No, but I have some things to tell you,” I said. “And show you…”

They wanted to drag me with them to go out. But I was too exhausted. Feeling momentarily bad with FOMO, I went to bed at 22:00. My body was drained, but my spirit was full.

Today’s highlights: watching the sun rise over mountains and the temple; surviving the second day of exercises; crazy story-time in the hostel; and reuniting with my friends in Busan.