Trickster Magazine

The morning mist also brought a sweet smell of overripe persimmons that had fallen on the ground and started rotting. It was so pungent that you could feel the sweet, fermenting taste on the tip of your tongue. There, after a Buddhist morning prayer, or yebul, which takes place every morning at 4 a.m., I was practicing a meditation walk and found myself smiling, for my love for cooking and fermentation manifested itself so clearly here in Jikjisa Temple, on the autumn foliage slopes of Hwangaksan Mountain.

Korea has always been a terra incognita for me. My roots stem from Korea, so one might be correct in pondering why I feel about it the way I do. But therein lies the enigma. I had not been to Korea before; most of my knowledge about it was based on the stories and experiences of my mother and my grandmother, the way they raised me, and the many small gestures, superstitions and cultural minutiae that planted themselves in my consciousness and everyday life. For me there was no real anchor, especially after I started cooking the food that I had grown up knowing to be Korean, or somewhat Korean. Are the dishes that I create a pale imitation or a strange fusion? Are the tastes and the combinations, the techniques and textures even correct, or are they way off? Do I understand the base and the history of hansik (general term for Korean cuisine)? I want to handle this cuisine with the care and respect that it deserves, but how can I do it if I have not been to Korea and experienced hansik firsthand?

Korea in autumn is special. October, in fact, is by far the most popular time to visit. Early in the month you can still find scorching sun and summer weather on the southern coast or Jeju Island, and late October sees all the forests and mountains adorned with countless shades of brown, yellow and red. Our journey, my brother’s and mine, took us around Korea, from small historical cities with big treasures like Gyeongju or Jeonju, coastal cities beaming with life like Yeosu and Sokcho, and to giant metropolises like Seoul and Busan. Was there an itinerary? Yes and no – in the heart of this adventure there was an intent to keep an open mind, follow the gut and try to soak in as much of Korea, whatever it meant in the moment, as possible. And food, lots of food.

Everything starts in Seoul. Busy, loud, colourful, bold, historic, futuristic, and oh-so-big. Seoul does not hold your hand and introduce itself to you; it does not ease you in, nor does it ask you to take it easy. There is no shallow end to step into when arriving in Seoul. For us, the initiation took place in Jongno district around Gyeongbokgung Palace. Thousands of tourists and locals alike, dressed up in hanboks or traditional Korean clothing, head towards the many palaces and shrines to have their historical K-drama experience. Although it might superficially seem like cultural appropriation, the truth is far from it. Celebrated by Koreans, it has been seen as a great way to popularize and introduce foreigners to Korean culture and history. A sign of it is that if you are dressed in hanbok, the entrance to the palaces and shrines is free.

Walking on dazzling Hongdae Street in the evening, Seoul drops you into a mishmash of weirdness as old men dressed as schoolgirls dance their way through a well-put-together choreography built on the “Pineapple” song; live-streaming influencers with their entourage draw everyone in a hundred-metre radius towards them, while just-about-to-make-a-breakthrough K-pop groups power through their routines on several of the small public stages set up throughout the area. Food markets in Seoul are in a league of their own. Gwangjang, Namdaemun, Dongdaemun are just a few and the best-known names of markets that lure you in with a promise of every type of Korean street food delicacy one can imagine. You just have to find your way first, pick a stall or a stand, and then wait until you are stuffed with japchae, tteokbokki, mandu, sundae, hotteok, jeon, gimbap and more. The food is good, service fast and prices fair. For additional points from the chef lady, ask for a soju and a beer, as well.

But there is a place where the noise dies down, where the oppressive smog dissipates and crowds of people are replaced with herons sitting on willow branches, schools of fish swimming upstream and nighttime air filled with gentle bat chirps. Cheonggyecheon is a small stream and a public space that runs over ten kilometers through downtown Seoul. It is an old sewage stream that was covered in the 1950s with an elevated highway but restored as a public green space in 2005. It serves as one of the best examples of urban renewal projects in the world that had a positive impact on the city’s urbanization problems. It increased the number of businesses and working people in a decreasing area, helped reduce the heat island effect and had a massive effect on calming traffic and reducing air pollution. Restoring the stream and planting greenery along it increased the biodiversity of the area by 639%. Cheonggyecheon is loved by locals and tourists alike and is a great place to spend a bit of time either during the day or at night, when the whole park is lit up.

Although Seoul is the giant beating heart of South Korea, for me the real exploration started as we headed out of the metropolis. We came back to Seoul two more times, spent more than a week there in total and had some of the deepest and most meaningful experiences there – looking at you, War Memorial of Korea. However, yellow rice fields and deep lakes pressed between cloud-covered mountains, countless Buddha statues and river-crossing bridges, temples of old and fishing villages newly discovered, cities with distinctive culinary and historic stories – this is where my Korea truly started.

Chuncheon, a city less than two hours from the capital, was not in our plans, but a small stop before heading out to Seoraksan National Park to hike extended into three days of exploration. You will not find Chuncheon on many tourist brochures nor on any Instagram top ten lists. It is a quiet town with a big soul. Korea’s largest dam, Soyang, holds back the nation’s largest man-made lake, Soyangho. Taking a ferry across it and hiking up Obongsan Mountain is the only way to get to a small, serene, 1,000-year-old temple, Cheongpyeongsa. Tiny compared to some of the crown jewel temples of Korea, this place holds several national treasures and is a location for a couple of central myths of Seon Buddhism.

Dakgalbi Street is known all over Korea. Born in the 1970s, this 150-meter alley is packed with restaurants that offer charcoal-grilled spicy chicken, or chicken with sliced cabbage, sweet potatoes, tteok, onions and scallions, all cooked on a big pan in the center of the table and mixed with spicy gochujang sauce. If you are looking for some noodles, then Chuncheon is the birthplace of makguksu, or cold buckwheat noodles served in a cold dongchimi (radish water kimchi brine) or beef broth. It is such an important dish that they have a museum for it, and every year Chuncheon hosts a festival for makguksu.

But it was in Gyeongju, the ancient capital of the Silla Empire, where I truly connected to Korean culture and history for the first time. The fourth largest city in the world during the 9th century, Gyeongju has been transformed into an open-air museum for one of the most prosperous and important empires of Korean history, the Silla Kingdom. The traditional hanok village still retains the essence of history despite the abundance of 7-Elevens, flashing neon signs, posters advertising ice coffee and menus of all shapes and sizes. Nevertheless, it was the surrounding tomb complexes, archaeological sites and historical buildings that truly turned the city into an open-air museum.

Cheomseongdae, one of the oldest observatories in the world, stands opposite the Silla Kingdom’s Wolseong fortress hill; Donggung Palace, lit up in the evening lights that mirror off the surrounding Wolji Pond, stands in competition with Woljeonggyo Bridge that shone through the opening ceremony of the Silla Culture Festival. But the true highlight of Gyeongju is the Daereungwon Tomb Complex, which consists of 23 smaller and larger mounds that serve as tombs for ancient kings, queens and other nobles. Here one of the more legendary periods of Korean history is wide open for you. National treasures like the Silla golden crowns, early Buddhist sculptures and art, jewels and accessories that prove the unmatched skill of masters of ancient times, pagodas and bells that evoke humbleness for the Buddhist path to this day – all of it is here to take in, to be inspired by.

But the historical and sacred is balanced out by the modern and profane. One of the highlights of the Silla Culture Festival was K-pop Hip-Hop Festa 2025. Artists like Ash Island, BeWhy, B.I., and Zene the Zilla were headlining the show that took some artistic liberties in defining what rap and hip-hop are, meandering liberally through K-pop and R&B, but definitely delivered a memorable show that engaged young people, the older generation, and two tourists from the far country of Estonia.

While sitting on the terrace floor of a 14th-century Confucian academy in Jeonju, golden hour sunrays piercing through branches of the ginkgo tree and lighting up the architecture, I slowly started to see the appeal and beauty of mak. The crudeness or carelessness of the state or way of doing things that hides a much deeper aesthetic and philosophical capacity permeating through everyday objects and situations, revealed for people who are willing to look a little closer. This became especially apparent in classical Korean architecture. Old wooden columns, withered in centuries-long exposure to the elements, every season adding another layer of beauty and life that reflects back to us through little cracks or big splinters, in the uneven fading of the colour or not-so-meticulous cuts and asymmetrical placement. This type of beauty is open for spontaneity and the imperfection of being human. It thrives on spur-of-the-moment ideas and holds little regard for straightforward perfection. In that moment, as apparent as was the beauty of imperfection in this old sacred space, it became clear as well why I find beauty and reason in the way I do things, especially cooking.

Leave it for the final day of our Korea journey to experience an artist and art which spoke to me like few have ever done before. The culmination of our Korea circuit and the experience of cultural, social, historical, political, religious and natural sides of this great country fused together in an emotional visit to the LEEUM Museum of Art by Samsung Foundation and Lee Bul’s historic exhibition, From 1998 to Now. Lee Bul is one of the more recognized and prominent Korean contemporary artists whose works span a decade and a wide spectrum of self-expression – from performance to sculpture to painting to installations to architecture to video art. Around 150 works presented at From 1998 to Now delved into relationships between topics like body and society, our humanity and technology, nature and civilization, and how the mechanisms of power operate through all of it.

These relationships, the struggle between them, the historical narratives, paradoxes, legacies – they felt grand but also very personal. Some were clear to understand, to read; some took more time and effort, but all resonated with me and stated something true. A stand-out piece for me was her Mon Grand Récit, which finds its roots in Russian Constructivism, European landscape traditions and Korea’s turbulent modern history. A feeling of jamais vu washed over me, making me feel as if I had memories of a place and experiences I had never actually had – mirroring the strange, deep sensation of holding so many memories of Korea while visiting it for the first time.