By: Funday Friends
Author: Marina Khe

Where Stillness Meets the Kindest Smiles

Living in Seoul and working in fashion, my days are often fast, full of movement, and surrounded by concrete. So when I joined a two-day, one-night cultural trip to Yeongju, I didn’t expect to find myself slowing down so naturally. But this peaceful city in North Gyeongsang Province had something quiet and deep—it welcomed us with warmth and gave me space to breathe, reflect, and simply feel present.

From City Noise to Fields of Apple Trees

The journey began with a bus ride from Seoul. As we drove farther from the city, I noticed the change outside the window. Fields of apple trees appeared on both sides, stretching far under the soft spring light. That view reminded me of my hometown—Almaty. In Kazakh, it means “father of apples.” The connection felt small but personal, like the road was gently leading me back to something familiar.

When we arrived, local guides greeted us with genuine smiles. I could already feel their pride in Yeongju. Their energy made me curious about what was ahead.

At the Foot of the Temple

Our first stop was Buseoksa Temple. Located on the slopes of Sobaeksan, this temple is one of the oldest Buddhist temples in Korea and part of the UNESCO World Heritage list. I had seen many temples in Korea before, but this one truly stood out. It felt alive, as if it was breathing with the mountain itself.

What makes Buseoksa special is not only its age or architecture—it’s how it becomes part of nature. The temple is famous for Muryangsujeon Hall, built in the 13th century. There is no central column inside, so nothing blocks your view of the Buddha. This detail may seem small, but it says a lot about how the space was made—with intention and with heart.

Buseoksa follows the concept of 차경 (chagyeong), or “borrowed scenery.” The buildings don’t try to control the landscape—they just blend into it. When you sit inside the hall and look out, the mountains feel like part of the temple. It’s not about showing off the building, but about showing you the greatness of the world outside.

Our guides shared these stories in fluent English. But what I felt more than the facts was their affection. You could hear it in their voices. Their love for this place quietly passed to us too.

A Warm Night

That evening, we arrived at our accommodation inside the national park. The space was spacious and peaceful, with mountains surrounding us like gentle walls. We had dinner together—warm food, made with local ingredients. It wasn’t fancy, but it was honest and full of flavor.

After dinner, we played games together. It was such a wonderful memories and made the group feel like a family. For me, that moment was the beginning of something soft and memorable.

Workshops and the Sound of the Wind

The next day, we joined several workshops, and honestly, all of them were meaningful in their own way. As someone who loves ginseng, I was especially happy when we made our own ginseng wine. It was simple, but felt so special to prepare it by hand, using ingredients that are deeply connected to Korean tradition and health.

Another moment that made me quietly excited was making my own 풍경 (pung-gyeong), the traditional Korean wind bell. I’ve always admired them and even thought about buying one someday. So when I realized I could actually make one myself, it felt even more precious. We also created natural scrubbers, and during that time, we spoke about our impact on the environment. These were small activities, but they opened conversations that mattered—about how we live, what we use, and how even small choices can become part of something bigger.

Sosu Seowon: Learning from Nature

Later, we visited Sosu Seowon, Korea’s first Confucian academy. As someone drawn to history and craftsmanship, I found this stop especially meaningful. The peaceful grounds offered a quiet glimpse into the lives of Joseon-era scholars and their pursuit of virtue through learning.

Mr. Kim Young-tak shared a thoughtful idea that stayed with me: in the past, schools were built far from cities, close to nature. Scholars lived in harmony with the land, learning not only from books but by observing the world around them. His words reminded me how much wisdom we can find in nature—if we slow down and listen. I also thought of Yi Hwang, the scholar on the 5,000 won bill, who often sat at the Chwiamdae Pavilion here, seeking clarity and insight beside the flowing stream.

Rain, Tombs, and Jeong

Later that day, it started raining heavily. When we reached the Seungheun Mural Tomb, only a few people could go inside at a time. While we waited, one of the guides began telling stories about his hometown, Yeongju. Even though we were standing outside under umbrellas, that moment felt calm and beautiful in its own way.

Before we left, the guides handed us bananas and Choco Pies. It was such a small gift, but somehow deeply touching. That’s when I felt something very Korean—jeong. It’s not always easy to explain, but it’s a kind of deep kindness, quiet and honest. You don’t ask for it. It just comes when people care.

A Quiet Town, Full of Heart

Yeongju may not be the most famous destination in Korea, but that’s exactly what makes it special. It’s a place of quiet beauty, deep cultural roots, and generous people who welcome you not just as a visitor, but as a guest in their story.

From the apple fields that reminded me of home, to the wooden beautiful architecture of Buseoksa, to the warmth of shared laughter over games, the peaceful ringing of the 풍경 (pung-gyeong), and the thoughtful farewell with bananas and Choco Pies—Yeongju left an imprint on my heart. In just two days, it gave me peace, perspective, and memories I’ll carry with me far longer.