Not long ago I spent a weekend in Andong. Andong is geographically on the southeastern quarter of the peninsula, yet not so far as to be coastal. As with much of this country, it is flanked on all sides by a battalion of mountains. Right through the heart of the city runs a major river that has been dammed up to create Andong lake. Culturally, the city is home to many superlatives, including the oldest standing wooden structure, the first stone pagoda, the strongest alcohol, the original masks of the Koryeo dynasty, the longest foot bridge, the most authentic folk village, and the largest statue of Buddha.
The most important superlative for my particular trip was neither geographical nor cultural: it was meteorological. I unwittingly chose the coldest day of the year in Korea to visit a city where the only things to do are be outside and eat. That doesn't mean my group and I wouldn't put on a scarf, an extra pair of socks, and a happy face in spite of it all.
The first place we stopped was accidentally the original bakery of Korea. Mammoth is reportedly the bakery upon which all the other chains in the country have been based (Tous les Jours, Paris Bagguette, etc.). It was certainly a cut above the rest. I had a legitimate croissant for the first time in 2 years. After the bakery, we scoped some of the food and markets, then began walking out toward the pagoda.
On our way we stopped at the largest operating temple I've ever witnessed, just to avoid the weather for a few minutes. We took off our shoes and crept around in the ornate worship hall, trying not to disturb the one praying woman along the south wall. After we'd warmed up our feet and worn out our welcome, we trekked further east out of the town until we came upon the 7 story pagoda. It wasn't much to look at in comparison to some of the more decorative ones in Seoul or Gwangju. However, it was a treat to see the rudimentary early attempts at a structure that has become so prevalent in the region.
We next crossed the river southward over the longest footbridge in Korea. Of course, it's kind of a cheap achievement in that they designed the bridge to unnecessarily zig-zag its way across, but it's an achievement nonetheless. On the other side waited a smaller and unused folk village that was preserved from when the dam flooded the plains in the seventies. Unfortunately, it was so painfully cold that my face was getting windburn, so we ducked into a small museum. I spent a half an hour following a young family, using the mother's watered down explanations that were meant for 5-year-old ears as my audio tour.
After cabbing our way back into the city proper, we sought out Andong's arguably most celebrated cultural property: andong jjimdalk. This is like a bona fide stew, just with chicken rather than roast. Big discs of potato and carrot give it that hearty, home-cooked feel. The stew part itself gets reduced down to a thick, soy-based gravy, and it's kicked up a notch with the addition of red pepper. All this is heaped onto a bed of vermicelli noodles. The chicken really takes a back seat when it's all said and done.
There's no need to go into detail, but the legendary 40% alcohol content soju of Andong (which is rumored to not have been allowed outside of the city's walls) got the lion's share of the rest of the evening. In the grog of Sunday morning, the group rehashed what was yet to be done before heading back up into Seoul for another week of grind. It was clear that Hahoe needed to be seen.
Hahoe is the largest folk village in Korea out of which people still live their daily lives. Just a few kilometers west of Andong city center, it consists of several dozen houses, a ferry, restaurants, and a museum. Before we wandered through the village, we stopped for lunch. The menu: "phantom religious service rice." This is a horrible translation for a delicious appropriation of ceremonial food to everyday life. In the past, this food was part of ceremonies which were held to remember and respect lost loved ones. Nowadays, this spread of grilled fish, salted mackerel, piles of side dishes, and a local variation on bibimbap is less about veneration of one's ancestors and more about keeping those who've survived them full and happy. My stomach is okay with that.
We left the would be funereal commemoration and wandered into Hahoe village proper. It was not structurally much different from anything else I'd seen. The life of the place was what made it interesting. Something that's usually an outdoor exhibit was alive and operating. Vegetables hung drying along the typically barren walls of the homes, and wooden chairs sat in what I'd only known until then to be dust lawns. Here there was not only grass, but trees, garden stone paths, and even residence numbers for the postman.
One of the last things we experienced on the way back toward the bus station was the mask museum. Apart from hundreds of international masks, it houses 9 of the 12 original wooden masks that proliferate the touristy areas of Seoul. One of these is missing its jaw piece. The story goes that the man who was commissioned to carve these masks in the first place was told to do so under conditions of the utmost secrecy. Obediently, he wrapped his house in paper and sequestered himself for the duration of his task. Unable to control her curiosity, a young girl from town poked a hole in the paper with her finger and took a peek. Although he was on the 12th masks mouthpiece, he hadn't finished the task yet, and as the girl peered into the room the carver promptly died. 4 of these originals have been lost or damaged over the centuries, but 75% of the history remains there in Andong.
The question that persisted through the weekend: Are you Andong? Final decision is yes. I could eat jjimdalk on the regular. I was impressed with the concentrated history. I want to see the various folk festivals of the summer. I enjoy being ensconced in mountains. I felt at ease in the laid back environment of both its people and its foreigner community. I am totally Andong.
The most important superlative for my particular trip was neither geographical nor cultural: it was meteorological. I unwittingly chose the coldest day of the year in Korea to visit a city where the only things to do are be outside and eat. That doesn't mean my group and I wouldn't put on a scarf, an extra pair of socks, and a happy face in spite of it all.
The first place we stopped was accidentally the original bakery of Korea. Mammoth is reportedly the bakery upon which all the other chains in the country have been based (Tous les Jours, Paris Bagguette, etc.). It was certainly a cut above the rest. I had a legitimate croissant for the first time in 2 years. After the bakery, we scoped some of the food and markets, then began walking out toward the pagoda.
On our way we stopped at the largest operating temple I've ever witnessed, just to avoid the weather for a few minutes. We took off our shoes and crept around in the ornate worship hall, trying not to disturb the one praying woman along the south wall. After we'd warmed up our feet and worn out our welcome, we trekked further east out of the town until we came upon the 7 story pagoda. It wasn't much to look at in comparison to some of the more decorative ones in Seoul or Gwangju. However, it was a treat to see the rudimentary early attempts at a structure that has become so prevalent in the region.
We next crossed the river southward over the longest footbridge in Korea. Of course, it's kind of a cheap achievement in that they designed the bridge to unnecessarily zig-zag its way across, but it's an achievement nonetheless. On the other side waited a smaller and unused folk village that was preserved from when the dam flooded the plains in the seventies. Unfortunately, it was so painfully cold that my face was getting windburn, so we ducked into a small museum. I spent a half an hour following a young family, using the mother's watered down explanations that were meant for 5-year-old ears as my audio tour.
After cabbing our way back into the city proper, we sought out Andong's arguably most celebrated cultural property: andong jjimdalk. This is like a bona fide stew, just with chicken rather than roast. Big discs of potato and carrot give it that hearty, home-cooked feel. The stew part itself gets reduced down to a thick, soy-based gravy, and it's kicked up a notch with the addition of red pepper. All this is heaped onto a bed of vermicelli noodles. The chicken really takes a back seat when it's all said and done.
There's no need to go into detail, but the legendary 40% alcohol content soju of Andong (which is rumored to not have been allowed outside of the city's walls) got the lion's share of the rest of the evening. In the grog of Sunday morning, the group rehashed what was yet to be done before heading back up into Seoul for another week of grind. It was clear that Hahoe needed to be seen.
Hahoe is the largest folk village in Korea out of which people still live their daily lives. Just a few kilometers west of Andong city center, it consists of several dozen houses, a ferry, restaurants, and a museum. Before we wandered through the village, we stopped for lunch. The menu: "phantom religious service rice." This is a horrible translation for a delicious appropriation of ceremonial food to everyday life. In the past, this food was part of ceremonies which were held to remember and respect lost loved ones. Nowadays, this spread of grilled fish, salted mackerel, piles of side dishes, and a local variation on bibimbap is less about veneration of one's ancestors and more about keeping those who've survived them full and happy. My stomach is okay with that.
We left the would be funereal commemoration and wandered into Hahoe village proper. It was not structurally much different from anything else I'd seen. The life of the place was what made it interesting. Something that's usually an outdoor exhibit was alive and operating. Vegetables hung drying along the typically barren walls of the homes, and wooden chairs sat in what I'd only known until then to be dust lawns. Here there was not only grass, but trees, garden stone paths, and even residence numbers for the postman.
One of the last things we experienced on the way back toward the bus station was the mask museum. Apart from hundreds of international masks, it houses 9 of the 12 original wooden masks that proliferate the touristy areas of Seoul. One of these is missing its jaw piece. The story goes that the man who was commissioned to carve these masks in the first place was told to do so under conditions of the utmost secrecy. Obediently, he wrapped his house in paper and sequestered himself for the duration of his task. Unable to control her curiosity, a young girl from town poked a hole in the paper with her finger and took a peek. Although he was on the 12th masks mouthpiece, he hadn't finished the task yet, and as the girl peered into the room the carver promptly died. 4 of these originals have been lost or damaged over the centuries, but 75% of the history remains there in Andong.
The question that persisted through the weekend: Are you Andong? Final decision is yes. I could eat jjimdalk on the regular. I was impressed with the concentrated history. I want to see the various folk festivals of the summer. I enjoy being ensconced in mountains. I felt at ease in the laid back environment of both its people and its foreigner community. I am totally Andong.
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