The peace and quiet offered by the Jirye artists’ retreat – that also happens to be a family home – is a unique experience, largely because of the vision of its founder, Kim Weon-gil. Chris Pritchard spends a few unforgettable days catching up on reading, sleeping and rediscovering inner tranquillity.
“Are you listening?” asks Mr Kim, cupping his hand over his right ear. “This is a place where we enjoy hearing the earth revolve.” Silence is deafening, precisely the point my host is making about his unique homestay: Jirye’s peace and quiet provides exquisite respite from the hustle and bustle of the South Korean financial success story.
Mr Kim quickly confides he is “one of so very many Kims”. Indeed, more than nine million of 48 million South Koreans answer to this East Asian nation’s most popular surname. Only Kim Weon-gil, however, has a hilltop hideaway so splendidly located. It epitomises a now-rare tranquillity in the land of the morning calm.
Peek into many a guidebook or glance at a map merely a few years old and Jirye will probably be called Chirye. But Romanised spellings were altered before soccer-crazy South Korea co-hosted the 2002 World Cup. An exception: few Kims have changed their spellings to Gim.
Jirye Artists’ Colony – Mr Kim’s home – exists because his country’s fast-developing economy desperately needed more dams. The planned Imha Dam, set to flood a farming valley, would wash away an historic village replete with old buildings constructed in the 1660s. A campaign to save some of these houses was mounted by Mr Kim and others opposing a dominant view favouring progress at any cost. He bought a group of doomed structures 17 years ago. Piece by carefully marked piece, he trucked them to a slab of unused family land on a nearby mountaintop, 200m above the man-made lake they now overlook.
Painstakingly, the quaint and characteristically Korean buildings were reassembled. Since deemed culturally important by officialdom, the saved buildings may not now be externally altered.
A cluster of 10 small tiled-roof Korean houses, formerly farmers’ homes, have been transformed into guestrooms. These are warmed in winter, when the locale is lightly dusted by snow, with traditional under-floor heating. Guests sleep on floors, upon soft mats, with rice-husk pillows and as many thick, quilted covers as they want. Timber-panelled rooms, according to Korean custom, are mostly devoid of furniture except for closets and trunks. Modern western-style bathrooms, immaculate but not en suite, are immediately alongside accommodation and come with hot water.
The newest of these buildings – and the only one that didn’t serve as a house – is a 76-year-old village school that has been reborn as a spacious suite equipped with a grand piano. Happily, it is the lodging to which I am assigned because a week-long stay by one of South Korea’s most esteemed classical pianists has just ended. Several prominent composers have also visited, as have leading musicians. I decide not to insult the gleaming grand piano by belting out my imperfect rendition of Chopsticks.
Guests include musicians, writers, poets and painters. They come either to create or escape. Mr Kim, a former professor of literature at Andong University, is a member of numerous arts-related organisations. His third volume of Korean poetry was recently published.
One of the buildings is occupied by Mr Kim, his wife and his 86-year-old father, a former politician and portrait photographer, also renowned for his calligraphy skills. The senior Mr Kim, his bowtie looped loosely around his neck, still dabbles in calligraphy and wanders through the complex making sure it is spick and span.
Meals are served in a farmhouse-type room with an open-plan kitchen where Mrs Kim and a helper from down the mountainous road cook Korean fare complemented by home-made kimchi (Korea’s national dish: spicy pickled vegetables; most commonly, cabbage). Organic herbs and vegetables are harvested from gardens dotted amid the terrain’s natural greenery.
I glance down into the valley on my way to breakfast one morning. Mist wafts eerily across the lake’s surface.
Jirye Artists’ Colony is sometimes a venue for seminars and workshops. Musicians, singers and dancers gather around a campfire in the evenings whenever Mr Kim arranges occasional performances to entertain his guests. “No one is forced to join in,” he explains.
“The type of people we get often prefer to curl up with a book. Some work on their music or writing – or even on business topics on their laptops. It’s meant to be a rejuvenating retreat. If people want to be left to their own devices, we respect that.”
Many of Mr Kim’s Korean guests are well-travelled English-speakers. They include foreign and local business leaders besides a creative crowd and entertainment celebrities. An arts editor from a leading European publication is staying when I visit.
English-speaking Mr Kim is a solicitous host, making sure foreign guests feel comfortable. He is knowledgeable about – and immersed in – South Korea’s art-and-culture scene and has interesting tales about Andong and its history.
Vulgarity is non-existent. This, I decide, is a memorably civilised and sophisticated setting. Conversations at meal times focus on the arts and cultural matters.
Mountain hikes entice, along trails leading off a steeply winding dirt road that ends at Jirye. This road itself is a reminder of a bygone Korea, a striking contrast to the oh-so-smooth expressways now criss-crossing the country.
Mr Kim arranges a car and driver for me to tour the Andong area. Most guests avail themselves of opportunities for such excursions. South Koreans tell me with pride that this is one of their most culturally significant districts. They point me to a visitor-welcoming factory still hand-making paper, for cards and ceremonial purposes, using centuries-old techniques.
Andong, a university town with 180,000 people, is rich in good museums and restaurants, elaborately decorated Buddhist temples and age-old Confucian tradition. The city hosts South Korea’s leading masked dance festival annually and is a hub of literature, dance and theatre.
I find myself on an unhurried amble through Bongjeongsa Temple, a Buddhist holy place built in the late 1300s and revered as the nation’s oldest wooden building. Bongjeongsa Temple boasts both historic and academic significance. Its assets include a three-storey pagoda in its main compound. Nearby, Bongjeongsa’s Geugnakjeon Hall is renowned because it harks back to unique Shilla dynasty architectural design which differs markedly from other buildings in the complex (and elsewhere in the country) for which Chinese designs were chosen.
Later, I visit Dosan Confucian School – founded by scholar Toegye Yi Hwang in the 16th century and no longer an educational centre but a cultural attraction much visited by trippers from Seoul.
Nearby Hahoe Village – surrounded by Fuji-green rice fields – is a step into a mysterious past, even in these historic environs that seem a million miles from Seoul’s neon-lit modernity and glitz. The village retains age-old architecture with thatched peasant houses and showcases a bygone lifestyle. It is in this village that painted masks associated with Korean dance originated.
Laughter lures me to a small hall where visitors watch a masked dance performance incorporating thigh-splitting routines by an assemblage of instantly recognisable goodies and baddies.
In the evenings, I am content to skip a tortuous drive to Andong: the cooking at Jirye is superb. Mr Kim keeps a good stock of Korean beers and of soju, the national alcohol-fuelled spirit. I have read that Andong reputedly produces the best soju and Korean fellow guests assure me this is most decidedly so. Besides, a good book and early nights, watched over by the schoolhouse’s grand piano, prove adequate attraction.
Seasons here are distinct, with mild temperatures and abundant greenery in autumn and spring luring the largest numbers of guests.
“It’s pleasantly cool up here in summer,” observes Mr Kim. “I’m surprised, though, by the number of guests who prefer winter: some are clearly intent on working creatively but for many it’s an ultra-romantic getaway.”
FACT FILE
Many airlines fly to Seoul. From Seoul, alternatives are train (four hours), comfortable express bus (three hours) or car (rental or with driver, under three hours; most foreigners prefer not to self-drive on South Korea’s expressways) to Andong in the southeast. Mr Kim or someone else from Jirye Artists’ Colony meets and collects guests in Andong (if they have a vehicle, he has them follow him for the scenic one-hour drive on winding back roads to Jirye).
Jirye Artists’ Colony, 769 Bakgok-ri, Imdeong-myeon, Andong City, Gyeongsongbuk-do, South Korea (tel 82 54 822 2590, www.jirye.com). Rates from 50,000 won (US$54) per person per night (depending on room occupied); meals 6,000 won (US$6.47) per person per meal. These old houses are small, mostly just one room, so each is allocated to only one party at a time.
For more details, contact Korea National Tourism Organization (www.tour2korea.com) or Jirye Artists’ Colony.
