April 12 Temples

My friend Professor Cho Sung Kyum, who teaches journalism at Chungnam National University here in Daejeon, got it into his head that I had to see some of the lesser known temples here in the area. The big, popular temples, like Donghaksa, are too wealthy and the monks and nuns therefore too proud. So he took me to Gapsa Temple, on the other side of the mountain from Donghaksa, and we wandered the grounds on a warm late afternoon. (A “temple” typically consists of many buildings—an administrative building, the dormitories for the monks, and several temples where prayer is conducted.)

Just up the hillside from the temple complex is a small guest house, operated by a nun, and although she was leaving just as we arrived (“Otherwise, I would make tea,” she told us), we sat on the steps in the silence and enjoyed the peace and solitude.

Next Professor Cho took me to Sinwonsa Temple, even more remote than Gapsa.

At the back of the Sinwonsa complex is a temple devoted to traditional Korean shamanism, or nature worship—the Buddhist monks will have nothing to do with it, and the paint is quite faded. That was the only temple we saw all day that was packed with people, seated on the floor in meditation and prayer. Professor Cho explained that it is the “temple of a thousand religions,” because each person who comes there has his own personal interpretation of God and his own way of worshipping.

On the walk back to the car from Sinwonsa, we passed a house with some tables and chairs scattered out front. “Shall we stop here for supper?” Professor Cho asked me. “It might be rather unhygienic. Do you mind?” How could I pass up an offer like that? At this point I’m supposed to say that this humble, unhygienic home restaurant created the best Korean food I’ve ever tasted, but in fact, the food was just ok. However, I have lived to write about it.

The other temple I visited this weekend was Hanbat Stadium, home to the Hanwha Eagles, Daejeon’s professional baseball team. I went on Sunday afternoon with my friend Chon Byung Ik and his son and son’s friend. Hanbat has 13,000 seats, and when we arrived at the top of the fifth inning all of them were filled with chanting, screaming, singing fans. (The starting time of the game had mysteriously changed from 5 pm to 2 pm, apparently not an uncommon occurrence.) After about a half an hour of wandering around the small stadium, we found four seats—two together for the boys, and separate seats for Mr. Chon and me.

The game is identical to American baseball (at maybe the AA or AAA level), with a few small exceptions.
· There is no seventh inning stretch.
· At the end of the fifth inning, both teams take the outfield to do stretching exercises and sprints.

· Whenever a relief pitcher comes in, the team in the field “warms up,” as they would at the start of an inning—the first baseman throws ground balls to the infielders and the outfielders play catch.
· Drums, whistles, and cheerleaders keep the fans in a deafening frenzy throughout the game.

· A game can end in a tie.

The Eagles’ printed roster is broken out by position, and each group has its own slogan. For the outfielders, it is “There isn’t a ball that these outfielders can’t catch!” (One highlight for me was the appearance of outfielder and former Mariner Victor Diaz, who now plays for the Eagles.)
The infielders’ slogan is a bit more problematic: “They don’t allow a single pitch!” I had visions of the shortstop tackling the pitcher each time he was in his windup, but in fact, many, many pitches were allowed as the Eagles fell to their arch rivals from Busan, the Lotte Giants, 7 to 4. The loss did not seem to bother the fans too much, especially the one dressed up in his chicken hoodie for no apparent reason.