MANHANGJAE - MorningCalm December 2017

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HEAVEN AND EARTH

Sitting at the intersection of Hambaeksan and Taebaeksan mountains in Jeongseon-gun County, Korea, Manhangjae is famous for its resplendent wildflowers, star-studded night skies and a deep history that’s both bittersweet and sacred.

Local road 414 in Gangwon-do Province is only about 22km. But the 414 is no ordinary route between points A and B. It’s the highest paved road in Korea and reaches its 1,330m peak at Manhangjae, a hill near Hambaeksan Mountain in southeastern Gangwon-do’s Jeongseon-gun County, just north of the city of Taebaek. In just a few months, the county will be hosting the Alpine skiing events of the 2018 Winter Olympics, making now the perfect time to experience a little Jeongseon vertigo.

The road to Manhangjae is lined with diversions. The towering headframe of Samtan Art Mine comes into view first. Operating as Samcheok Coal Mine from 1964 to 2001, in 2013 it reopened as an art complex. The installations at Samtan are eclectic and at times somber: wedding dresses hang from the ceiling of a boot-washing station, recalling an era when high mortality rates left many miners unconvinced of the practicality of holding more elaborate weddings. In the Rail by Museum, where the mine shaft descends 600m into the earth, Gloomy Sunday is playing in the background. A grime-stained sign reads, “We love our family; we love our country; we love our job.” Through the elevator cage, faint waves of heat still emanate from the abyss below.

As if a kind of spiritual balm to the proud but painful memories preserved in the exhibitions at Samtan, Jungamsa Temple waits patiently on the other side of the 414. Established in 645 by a Buddhist monk named Jajang, it’s the last of the five temples where he enshrined crystallized remains of the Buddha’s ashes, called sari in Korean. The sari at Jungamsa are kept at Sumanotap Pagoda, the pinnacle of this temple at the foot of Hambaeksan Mountain. Perhaps for this reason, the temple seems to carry an especially sacred mood.

In the spring and summer, the road to Manhangjae is festooned with wildflowers. Continuing up the 414, the colorful murals of the tiny Manhang Village, home to just about 80 residents, remind travelers of their sorry absence in winter. Just around one more bend in the road, an engraved rock indicates that you’ve reached Manhangjae. Signs with pictures and descriptions of the species of flowers found here are hung around Sky Forest Park. Some 200 species of wildflowers grow in this area, beginning with the Amur Adonis that are said to grow beneath the snow even in winter, visible as early as mid-March when the snow begins to melt.

The view from Manhangjae is beautiful, but there’s something a little melancholy about it. The name comes, in part, from the Korean manghyang, a word describing the longing one feels for their home. It’s said that toward the end of the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392) and the beginning of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), those who had moved to Jeongseon from Gyeonggi-do Province, likely due to the political upheaval of the time, would make their way up to Manhangjae in order to make their wishes, waiting for the day they could return home.

From Manhangjae, heading south will take you toward Taebaeksan Mountain. To the northwest, you can trace the region’s recent history by following the old untangil, a road that was once used to transport coal. But to the northeast, the peak of Hambaeksan promises the best view. At 1,573m, it’s the sixth-highest peak in Korea.

A tower of stacked rocks marks the hard-earned victory of the hikers who reach the summit. As night falls, the
sky blooms into a field of stars. The world below shrinks small. The journey to Manhangjae — and beyond — spans hundreds of meters beneath the earth to thousands above it. In the tradition of the old days, I look up and make a wish.

Photographs by Han Sang-mooh