I've wanted to check out the Suyu Junction area for some time now. It's situated a few kilometers northwest of us. Quite close, but we just never had the time or motive to head that way.
"Junction" in Seoul implies hubbub and ado. It's busy up that way, maybe busier down the other way, and it's a madcap rush of mankind and machines where they all collide at the junction. You really need to be alert to emerge unscathed.
In looking at a map, what fascinated me about Suyu Junction was its proximity to the mountains. Deongneung-ro heads west from Suyu and becomes Hwagyesa-ro before ending at the border of Bukhansan National Park. A dead end implies either peril or something really good lies ahead. The map indicated a Buddhist temple. Surely, peril was thwarted.
Stacey and I rode up from Miasamgeori on the subway and emerged like subterranean critters from Suyu Station. From a city point of view, Suyu is impressive. We were greeted by a broad avenue, spacious sidewalks, and glitzy commercial high-rises. All the trappings of a busy junction were present: honking horns, weaving scooters, a multitude of buses coming and going, street vendors, people on the go. We could easily have passed the late afternoon and early evening there, but the allure of the dead end pulled us westward.
Deongneung-ro from Suyu Junction heading west is a delightful city street. Narrower than the other streets feeding the junction, it is lined with mature broadleaf maple trees. Traffic is relatively light and appealing shops and businesses entice the passerby. I had to drag Stacey past one floral shop.
The incline steepens approaching the end of the route. Iljumun Gate, which stands as the gateway to Hwagyesa Temple, comes into view. Traffic flow is reduced to a slow trickle and the world has taken on hushed tones. Hikers descending the heights of Bukhansan are largely silent as they pass through the temple grounds. Even dogs seem to know not to yap. A stark contrast to the clatter and clang just ten minutes back down the road.
The temple grounds and the trails branching off to the high country are serene. The limbs of tall trees sway in the breeze and clear, spring fed water speaks softly as it courses its way to lower ground. A slab of stone seems a comforting place to sit and let time pass. The same perch that in a parlor at home would elicit groans of "man, this is hard as a rock" seems fine. Hardships are softened and life's sharp edges are dulled out here.
I've come across places in my lifetime which draw me back, time and time again. Quite often, they are seemingly solemn places a bit off the beaten path. Many are relatively uninhabited in contrast to their nearby environs. Must be something in my genes. Maybe it's the spirituality of a curmudgeon.
Nothing lasts forever. We all live out the chapters of our lives as change unfolds around us. But, for most of my lifetime, I was well acquainted with a particular forty acre wood that I often visited.
There, I enjoyed walking silently on soft, spongy layers of decaying pine straw below towering, old white pines. Naturally free of dense undergrowth and low hanging limbs, it was cathedral-like in its grandeur. I lingered and loitered there.
For a span of many years, I frequented a favorite trout stream where I liked the feel of cold, black water surging and pressing against my hip boots as I waded the meandering ribbon of creek through a tunnel of dense alders.
I've known special mountain haunts where I gleefully tolerated the pain in my calves as I hiked uphill in search of higher ground and a better view. We've all encountered such places that elate and rejuvenate our senses of spirit and well-being.
The woods and waterways surrounding Hwagyesa Temple impart that same, good feeling to me. I'll be back.
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