Between Gyeongju — A Journey Through the In-Betweens of Gyeongju

Samneung Forest, the Hwangnyongsa Temple site, Bonghwangdae and Jungang-ro, and Yongrim. Photographer Ahn Soohyang*, who lives in Gyeongju, North Gyeongsang Province, guides us through the in-between spaces of Gyeongju in her own gentle language.

Words Ahn Soohyang
Photos Ahn Soohyang, Yeo Jiung
* She travels, takes photographs, and writes. She also surfs from time to time. She is the author of ‘Clumsy but Blue,’ ‘The Old Future,’ and ‘Anyway, Surfing.’ She runs the independent bookstore Peach & Salt in Gyeongju.

This is a journey that skims across in-between spaces. Between death and life, between love and hate, between hope and despair, between progressive and conservative, between locals and travelers, between you and me.... In-between is simply another word for boundary. Just as we come to see ourselves left behind when we set off on a trip, standing at a boundary reveals things we could only come to know there. Why is it that in Gyeongju, my own life has so often struck me as suddenly, strangely unfamiliar? Perhaps it’s because this place is full of countless ‘in-betweens.’ When I see people eating happily right in front of someone’s grave from a thousand years ago; when I overhear the cold words a couple exchanges as they gauge the distance between them, in the middle of a petty quarrel on a trip they’d hoped would be joyful; when I catch a pair of eyes lost in deep thought at a café with a fine view of Bonghwangdae; even now, having become a local rather than a traveler, living in Gyeongju, when I still feel I stand awkwardly between outsider and traveler—at moments like these, it feels as though Gyeongju is telling me to spend a little more time looking at both sides. And perhaps that includes the space between me and myself.

Between Memory and Memory, Samneung Forest

If I had to pick just one favorite place in Gyeongju, I’d say, without hesitation, Namsan. On this single modest mountain there are* 13 royal tombs, 4 fortress sites, 150 temple sites, 129 Buddhist statues, 99 pagodas, 22 stone lanterns, 19 lotus pedestals, and 694 cultural heritage items in total—a museum tucked into a forest, essentially. No matter which path you choose, you’ll encounter treasures. The best option is to climb Namsan itself, but if you’re short on time or stamina, simply walking through Samneung Forest is a wonderful choice too. At the foot of Namsan, the forest that links three royal tombs said to belong to kings of the Park clan with the tomb of King Gyeongae is known as Samneung Forest. It’s especially beautiful on rainy days, so if you happen to catch rain during your trip to Gyeongju, please remember Samneung Forest. The pines stay green through all four seasons, the forest’s foliage deepens, and clusters of flowers in every color bloom according to the season—as though they exist there just for you. I love this place so much that on days when rain is forecast, I look forward to visiting Samneung Forest after work, and I always make sure to bring my film camera loaded with ISO 400 film. * Source: Gyeongju Namsan Research Institute, www.kjnamsan.org

Film. Living in Gyeongju, I somehow found myself using a film camera more and more often. Then one day, thinking about how many film photographs must have been left behind in this place over the years, I suddenly felt a wave of vastness. Long ago, Gyeongju apparently had a great many photo studios. Between the honeymooners and the school trip groups, business thrived, and film was the only medium for photography back then. Newlywed couples typically hired a taxi for a day of sightseeing, and the taxi driver would naturally end up taking on the role of photographer too. Which is why, they say, taxi drivers of that era became remarkably skilled at taking pictures. Time has passed, and now we live in an age where a phone can do everything, yet I still find myself surprised sometimes. These days, I keep running into young travelers in Gyeongju carrying film cameras. I once asked someone why they bothered with a film camera when it’s slower, less convenient, and produces lower image quality than digital. They told me that traveling with the camera their parents once used made scenes feel warmer somehow, as if layered with an extra trace of their parents’ memories. That answer made me genuinely happy. It seemed like that person understood that photography is, above all, a matter of the eye and the heart, more than the capability of the camera. Between someone’s memories and memories, between the grain and grain of a photograph, perhaps what fills the space is our own stories and recollections.

Between Presence and Loss, the Hwangnyongsa Temple Site

A temple site, a place where a temple once stood. That’s what it means when the name is followed by ‘-sa-ji (temple site).’ Gyeongju has countless temple sites—Cheongwansa-ji, Sacheonwangsa-ji, Mangdeoksa-ji, and more—but none feel quite as quietly solitary as the Hwangnyongsa Temple site. And with good reason: * Hwangnyongsa was a temple that the Silla kingdom spent an astonishing 93 years building, said to have been the largest in all of Asia at the time. Foreigners of that era reportedly traveled to Silla just to see it. It was entirely destroyed in the Mongol invasion of 1238, and today only the faint outline of where the pagoda once stood remains. Just roughly gauging the distance between the flagpole supports and the temple grounds gives a sense of how immense the scale must have been. Now everything is gone, and only the stories remain. * Source: Cultural Heritage Administration, National Heritage Portal, Hwangnyongsa Temple Site page

Presence and absence—a gap that even 700 years cannot fill. The scale of loss is always proportional to the scale of what once existed. Sometimes, when I feel I’ve lost something, I ride my bike to the Hwangnyongsa Temple site. Somehow, hidden among the wildflowers there, I can grieve freely, without holding back. I know that growing older means losing as much as you gain, but even now, my heart still gives in easily to gravity over the smallest things. More often than not, I end up biking home feeling a little sheepish about a sense of loss that would fade within a matter of days anyway. Between my questions about existence and loss, there is, today as always, a sunset quietly fading and a bright morning star glowing white. And along with it, the resolve to pedal my bicycle wheels firmly, once more, toward home.

Between Bonghwangdae and Jungang-ro

A wall, somehow, always gives the impression that whatever it encloses belongs only to the one who built it around it. That’s exactly how Daereungwon feels to me—never quite close at hand. Curiously, though, the neighboring Nodong-ri and Noseo-ri tomb clusters right next door always seem naturally open. At the back entrance of Daereungwon, the Silla Bell now stands in the spot once occupied by the old Gyeongju City Hall. From the Silla Bell, a small road called Jungang-ro runs alongside the edge of the Nodong-ri tomb cluster all the way into downtown Gyeongju. The undisputed highlight of this street is Bonghwangdae. It’s an ancient tomb so massive it can be spotted from far away, with several enormous old trees growing along its slopes, so that it almost feels like a small hill in its own right. Bonghwangdae has long been regarded as a public square and gathering spot for the people of Gyeongju. Even now, on weekends, it fills with families out with their children and people strolling with their pets.

Starting with the café Coffeeplace, small shops have gradually settled along this street over the past few years. Since it was originally a road used mostly by locals, it naturally began filling up with residents rather than tourists. From the Mediterranean restaurant Dome Community to the gelato shop Halta Boca, Coffeeplace, the bar Prep, the whiskey bar and restaurant Steel Room, and across the street, the bakery Deneb, the taproom HHH, and Woljeong Confectionery... I think that because these places chose the quiet hours of facing Bonghwangdae and its greenery, they’ve been able to get even closer to the warm faces of their regulars.
Every morning at Coffeeplace, you can see locals ordering coffee one by one, sitting down, and catching up with each other. An Australian friend who’s spending a month in Gyeongju has somehow blended right in, exchanging morning greetings here too. He told me he fell in love with this street and decided to stay in Gyeongju for a month because of it. During break time, employees from nearby shops bring out chairs to rest at Bonghwangdae; watching them greet the same dog walkers who pass by on similar routes every day, or seeing a small crowd gradually gather around two people playing catch, makes me feel that the future of this community lies somewhere between Bonghwangdae, Jungang-ro, and this very street.

Between One Season and the Next

It might be an exaggeration, but Gyeongju feels like it’s half historic ruins and half flowers, offering the joy of flower-viewing in every season. Gyeongju’s cherry blossoms have long been famous, so you’ve probably seen them at least once. Watching the cherry blossoms in spring, it almost feels as though the word ‘splendor’ exists just for them. When the blossoms bloom, I recommend walking along the stone walls of Wolseong or Oreung. Besides cherry blossoms, Gyeongju also has magnolias in March, wisteria and trifoliate orange blossoms in April, fringe tree blossoms in May, trumpet creepers in July, and pink muhly grass in October.

Of all these, the event I look forward to the most happens in April. A little way from downtown, at 527 Oryu-ri, Hyeongok-myeon, lies a place once used as a hunting ground for Silla kings, known as Yongrim. Here, several ancient and enormous wisteria trees form a dense thicket. They’re so massive it’s hard to even guess their age. Every April, these wisteria trees burst into countless blossoms, creating a breathtaking spectacle of purple. I’ve witnessed countless blossoms bloom and fall in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as radiant as this. Days with a light mist or a gentle drizzle are the best times to admire the flowers. When the seasons seem to pass by especially fast, I find myself paying closer attention to the quiet signs of flowers and trees — the countless nameless blossoms and falls, the births and endings. In doing so, I often discover the many in-between moments that the word ‘season’ alone could never fully capture.