Korea Slow Trip - Unrestricted Roam at Changdeokgung Secret Garden

It was a dream come true for independent travelers, a divine afternoon spent lying flat on the centuries-old polished planks of the Joseon Dynasty royals' favourite pavilion, and free to roam the normally-restricted acreages of the intimate Biwon, or Secret Garden, of the UNESCO-inscribed Changdeokgung Palace.

For these two foreigners it was an unexpected and most extraordinary honour, effectuated by these extraordinary times.

And no, we're not diplomats or state guests -- we just happened to arrive during the COVID-19 pandemic when Changdeokgung completely shut down its compulsory, 90-minute tour of the Secret Garden in which a designated guide would advance visitors along a circuit and escort them out at the end. Our jaws nearly dropped when we realized that we had an entire afternoon to freely roam the palace's expansive grounds, taking off our shoes at the verandas and sitting back to enjoy its serenity -- the way it was designed for its Joseon Dynasty masters.

Best preserved of Seoul's Five Grand Palaces and the only one elevated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Changdeokgung was the favoured residence for centuries of Joseon kings until the dynasty's demise in 1910 at Japanese hands. The last king continued to live here under house arrest, and his youngest daughter -- the last Korean princess -- resided until her death in 1989. At one point it was among the world's longest continuously-occupied royal residence at nearly 400 years, longer than Buckingham Palace or Palacio Real de Madrid.

Compared with the famous and centrally located Gyeongbokgung -- an ongoing modern reconstruction based upon a core of 19th century halls and offices -- Changdeokgung sees just a small fraction of tourists despite its impeccable credentials. Forget the changing of the guards, costume experiences and other gimmicky shows: this is your authentic Korean palace for aficionados.

En route to the Secret Garden today's visitors must pass by the monumental Injeongjeon, and fittingly so given the imposing hall's original function as the dynasty's official reception for foreign dignitaries and its legions of Yangban officials alike.

A Rank Stone marks the old assembly spot for Jeong 2-pum, or Senior Second Rank, of the king's scholarly aristocrats at formal ceremonies such as proclamation of the Crown Prince. If you happened to be Junior Ninth Rank, you probably have no chance beholding the embroidered dragon on the king's authoritative red robe.

Advisors senior enough for king's personal audience would enter Injeongjeon's opulent interior, focalized upon the Phoenix Throne and ornamented with a magnificent formation of ceiling panels featuring the ihwamun, the stylized pear blossom considered the emblem of Joseon's royal family.

While Injeongjeon was at least accessible to civil servants, the neighbouring Daejojeon, literally Hall of Great Creation, had always been highly restrictive. For centuries the bedchambers of the Korean queen -- and of the last Korean king upon Japanese occupation -- this was symbolic enough that the Japanese colonial government had to strip down Gyeongbokgung for material to rebuild this royal residence after a 1917 fire.

Impressive enough, and that's just the outer 40% of Changdeokgung.

Going deeper requires a separate ticket, highly sought-after especially in peak seasons of cherry blossom and autumn foliage, available for online reservation only up to 6 days in advance. We did our due diligence in booking our spot for a chilly February afternoon only to join a handful of fellow participants amid the height of South Korea's COVID-19 outbreak. And when our restrictive 90-minute circuit was unleashed into an entire afternoon of unobstructed stroll at our own pace, for the first time we didn't mind the constant hand-washing and mask-wearing so much.

A long corridor of stone ramparts led to the complex of Buyongjeong, a pavilion built in the shape of a lotus flower in full bloom and overlooking a square pond centered upon a round, pine-clad island, a timeless illustration of the ancient East Asian cosmology of cheonwonjibang, or round sky and square earth.

As tranquil as the small island may seem today, this was the centre of boisterous poolside parties in which King Jeongjo would jokingly banish any luckless aristocrat for the crime of failing to compose a poem within the allowed time. Hosting fishing invitations and moonlight boating parties here at the Buyongji pond, Jeongjo was evidently a wise king who understood the value of team building sessions with his closest advisors.

King Jeongjo also had a contemplative, academic side illustrated by his establishment of the the royal library above his favourite pool, entered through a gate consciously named Eosumon -- literally Fish-Water Gate -- as a self-reminder of the intimate working relationship between the king and his subjects in achieving harmonious rule.

Constructed in the same year (1776) as American independence in the Western world, Juhamnu pavilion housed Korea's royal library until its priceless volumes were relocated in the 1920s to what would become the Seoul National University. Today its second floor -- the king's strategy room -- continues to overlook the neighbouring square pond and the Yeonghwadang Hall below.

Further towards the Secret Garden's rear we reached an intimate group of complexes modelled after civilian houses, intended as informal meeting spaces and living quarters complete with farm plots for the king to appreciate his subjects' sweaty labour in the field, plus a silkworm hatchery for the queen's embroidery work.

Hailing from the early 1800s, the king's private study featured traditional ondol heated flooring for wintry days as well as detacheable window panels that could be lifted for ventilation during Seoul's humid summers. With the best in material comfort and the most qualified faculty on hand, there was certainly no excuse for the Crown Prince to skip school.

The absence of other tourists in our pictures wasn't just due to camera angles -- we saw less than 20 visitors over the entire afternoon in the Secret Garden. The charming hexagonal pavilion of Jondeokjeong, one of Changdeokgung's oldest and most famous with its engraved poem by King Jeongjo, was completely ours to explore.

Perhaps the most extraordinary pavilion in the Five Grand Palaces, one-of-a-kind Gwallamjeong is a late Joseon Era design with a floor plan in the contour of an open fan and featuring a whimsical, plantain leaf-shaped name plaque. Setting foot inside the historic structure was strictly prohibited, barefeet or not, apparently unless you're filming a period K-drama like Kingdom.

One of the best viewing angles to appreciate the uniqueness of Gwallamjeong was from the uphill pavilion of Seungjaejeong. From here Gwallamjeong's deck could been seen overhanging an unorthodox pond in the shape of the Korean Peninsula, alleged by some to have been ordered by the colonial government to re-educate the Korean royalty that their cultural influence should not extend to Southern Manchuria where the Imperial Japanese Army would soon invade.

After a long scenic route back to King Jeongjo's square pond, I took off my shoes and laid down with eyes closed inside Yeonghwadang, ironically famous for the Joseon dynasty's most nerve-racking exam in which the year's top scholars would compose their final paper in the watchful presence of the king, all competing for the prestigious title of Jangwon and a guaranteed post in the imperial court.

It was almost sinful to be lying flat admiring the intricacies of Yeonghwadang's ceiling. In the old days only the king and his closest confidants had such privilege, smelling the early arrival of springtime and composing poetry in classical sijo. And we were all alone in the late afternoon without any other visitor, the only person in sight being a palace security guard in the distance.

Prior to leaving I sat up and admired the exquisite Juhamnu and Eosumun from our pavilion's veranda, partaking in the harmonious fusion between Korean palace architecture and the natural landscape. Five nights in Seoul and Incheon, and this was our favourite hour.

As walked back in the setting sun, it dawned on us that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that we likely won't come across again. Surely we wouldn't mind revisiting in the season of blazing autumn foliage, though that would surely be in a jam-packed guided tour rather than a free and spontaneous stroll during COVID.

Korea Slow Trip - Spectacular Ulsanbawi Hike at Seoraksan

One of the most gorgeous yet easily accessible hikes in Korea, the Ulsanbawi Trail at Seoraksan National Park takes even beginners up the sides of precarious cliffs and granite pillars on well-engineered boardwalks and steel staircases. There is nothing technical about the route -- you just need to be physically fit enough for 40 minutes of pure stairs.


This is the real life inspiration for those classic Korean ink paintings of snarly pine trees growing impossibly out of vertical rockfaces, up in the clouds with commanding views of snowy mountain ranges in the background. It's Northeast Asia's answer to Huangshan's West Sea Canyon, on a smaller scale and with a far less intimidating trail.


Did I mention the marvelous Korean architecture at several historic Buddhist temples along the route? What about the lipsmacking seafood at the neighbouring town of Sokcho just 30 minutes from the National Park by local bus? For independent travelers in Seoul with a couple days to spare, the unbeatable combination of Seoraksan and Sokcho would make a great detour for the eyes and thighs, as well as the tastebuds.


To set up our day-hike at Seoraksan, we rented a service apartment on the south side of Sokcho, a short hop to the National Park by bus and a 5 minute walk to some excellent restaurants (see review) as well as the highspeed bus terminal for our trip back to Seoul. The above night view of Sokcho across the Cheongchoho lagoon was a bonus.


This apartment was unexpectedly among the most expensive of our travels across Korea, but it also turned out most comfortable with a separate living area equipped with the best ondol flooring for a chilly February. The sofa was hardly needed as I was hugging the balmy floor half the time.


For most hikers a functional kitchen would be a necessity for prepping a hearty pre-hike breakfast, and a washing machine would be much appreciated for those sweaty undershirts and socks in the aftermath. And a state-of-the-art Korean clothing steamer? That's pure icing on the cake.


Thanks to the English-speaking front desk which directed us to the nearest major supermarket, we were able to warm ourselves with a morning pot of Busan style eomukguk, some microwaveable tteok-galbi patties and the most authentic instant chicken porridge to come out of a foil package. Fellow Canadians please let me know if you come across the Ottogi brand ginseng chicken dalkjuk on the right at your local Korean supermarket!


After a carb-filled Korean breakfast, the National Park was a quick 25 minutes away on local bus 7 or 7-1, terminating at the imposing sanmun gate of the Sinheungsa Temple. With buses running as early as 07:30, there was really no need for day hikers to stay at the overpriced hotels near the park entrance and miss the unbelievable seafood scene at Sokcho.


Upon paying a nominal entrance fee for the National Park, hikers are guided on the right by the unmissable landmark of the 15m tall Tongil Daebul or Great Unification Buddha, a 21st century addition funded by Sinheungsa's faithfuls -- many belonging to the North Korean diaspora at nearby Sokcho -- wishing for reunification of the Koreas.


Crossing the stone bridge of Sesimgyo above a stream of pristine snow melt, our route passed the historic Main Hall and monastery living quarters of Sinheungsa. The temple also provides a temple stay program popular with foreigners, at 50000 Won per night at the time of writing.


Purported by some as the world's oldest Zen Buddhist temple, Sinheungsa's current wooden structures date from the 17th century after its previous incarnation was lost in a fire. Numerous national treasures and provincial level cultural properties abound in its grounds, including this enchanting Gate of the Four Heavenly Kings.


Starting from the National Park entrance, the Ulsanbawi Trail measures 3.8 km each way with an elevation gain of 600m, mainly towards the end after 3 km of relatively slow ascend. The first half consists of mostly dirt paths with some stone steps leading towards the medieval hermitage of Gyejoam.


Everyone's midpoint pit stop at 2.5 km, the enigmatic Gyejoam has a spotlessly clean, contemporary Korean temple retrofitted inside a timeless stone grotto settled by buddhist hermits more than a thousand years ago during the Silla Dynasty.


Poems and names from distinguished visitors of past centuries were hewn into the smooth rock faces, many located at heights that would have required rapelling from the top -- or scaffolding from the bottom -- to chisel this perfect calligraphy in block Chinese characters.


More famous than Gyejoam itself is the Heundeulbawi, literally Wobbling Rock, a large roundish boulder resting delicately at a small indentation atop an even larger boulder and inviting everyone to push against it. If you're unfamiliar with how nationally famous this landmark is, stories of its destruction after being pushed down by a bunch of over-enthused youngsters made national news and topped Naver search ... before being rescinded as an April Fool's joke.


Many casual visitors would turn back after their obligatory wobbling of the Heundeulbawi, shortening the route to two hours or less. Those pressing forward would see a gradual increase in steepness, eventually exposing this quintessentially Korean vista with rows of dark pine trees on snowy mountain ridges, as if you're transported inside a traditional ink painting.


Finally we reached the evil final boss of the hike so to speak: 40 minutes of non-stop stairmaster to the mountaintop. Exceedingly well-engineered and mostly covered with rubber mats, these stairs were nothing technical from a hiker's perspective; just bring reasonable footwear and be fit enough to negotiate the 800+ steps.


Once in a while we would stop to catch our breath and look back -- and whoa! -- at the dramatic panorama of vertical granite cliffs rising out of a sea of ancient forests. With sceneries like this you too would wish the stairs were longer.


Just before the summit a steel ladder led up a narrow, sail-like boulder, with sheer 200m drops on either side and little potholes of residual ice to complicate the footing. At this point I could barely stand against the 60 km/h winds and had to drop to all fours to reduce my drag atop the exposed rock.


The reward for clambering to the end of the rock was a jawdropping 270-degree view down the slippery cliffs, its smooth rockfaces perennially polished by the springtime dust storms of hwangsa from the Gobi Desert.


90 minutes after Gyejoam we finally reached the summit the Ulsanbawi for easily the most spectacular sight of our Korea trip. An easterly view stretches as far as the East Sea, and to the west the 1708m peak of Daecheongbong, highest in Seoraksan National Park and third tallest in Korea, looms among an impressive row of granite peaks.


A young couple from Germany kindly pointed out the pig and the little bird in this vista on our way down. The percentage of foreigners here seemed to be the highest outside of Seoul, at least during our visit in the low season of February. The hike down, via the same skyscraping stairs, was conceivably tough on the knees in the absence of hiking poles.


For a relatively short trail of 3.8 km each way, our hike took 2.5 hours up and 1.5 hours down with generous photo breaks for the mesmeric scenery. Back on level ground we stretched out on a park bench with a picnic of supermarket braised jokbal and half a styrofoam box of Korean strawberries -- my favourite Korean fruit in winter season -- to the approval and envy of fellow hikers.

Given the beauty of the Ulsanbawi Trail and the national fame of the Heundeulbawi Rock, you'd think that this must be the national park's most popular attraction. Unfortunately -- or fortunately for photographers -- that's just not the case.


Seoraksan's most popular attraction is the Sorak Cable Car, a Swiss made gondola zipping visitors up a steep pine-clad mountain to Gwongeumseong, the barely-recognizable ruins of a mountaintop fortress built to withstand the Mongol invasion back in the 13th century. Compared with the majestic granite pillars of Ulsanbawi though, the scenery here was downright anticlimactic.


We spent barely 45 minutes at Gwongeumseong before taking the gondola down, followed by the next Bus #7 back to Sokcho for a tour of its seafood market at sundown. If we had one more day in Sokcho, I would have loved another day hike to the combination of Biryong Falls and Geumganggul Cave. With such great hiking and fabulous local cuisine, Seoraksan and Sokcho turned out to be just the perfect weekend getaway from the breakneck speed of Seoul.

IF YOU GO

Seoraksan National Park (see map) is accessible via local buses 7 and 7-1 from the neighbouring city of Sokcho, at 15 to 20 minute intervals from 07:00 till 20:00 at the time of writing and taking about 30 minutes. If you're coming from Seoul, frequent coaches depart Dong (East) Seoul Bus Terminal (Line 2 Gangbyeon Station, see map) and the Seoul Express Bus Terminal (Line 3/7/9 Express Bus Terminal Station, see map), reaching Sokcho in 2.5 to 3 hours.

Korea Slow Trip - Sokcho, Korea's Seafood Mecca

Tragically dismissed by most foreigners as the unattractive gateway to Seoraksan National Park, the rough-and-tumble seaport of Sokcho is famous among Koreans for its lipsmacking regional recipes and bountiful hauls of red snow crabs. It's also the closest thing to a North Korean town you can visit without traveling to North Korea, which adds to the legend of this farflung city sitting north of the 38th parallel.


Even within South Korea Sokcho carries a roughneck reputation, a Wild West with kitschy signs for Thai massage next to the bus terminal and featuring an excess of cheap hotels and furnished apartments for corporate employees on assignments and beachgoing vacationers alike. It may not strike first time visitors as the most welcoming destination until that first bite of its unpretentious North Korean dishes, served perhaps by a broad-shouldered ajumma with a peculiar Hamgyeong accent from beyond the militarized border.


This uniqueness in local cuisine is just tip of the iceberg, an epitome of Sokcho's twist of fate when the initially-North Korean city ended up in the South by the end of the Korean War. It should be no surprise that Sokcho hosts the largest North Korean community in the South, with a third of its citizens -- 30,000 in all -- still speaking some variant of a northern dialect.


The result is an exquisite fusion of North and South Korean culinary traditions, brought together by the resourcefulness of the North Korean diaspora in Sokcho and found nowhere else in the world. As most of these North Koreans happened to be fishermen by trade, today's visitors are treated to some of the peninsula's freshest seafood and most fascinating recipes.

Restaurant Review: YETBUKCHEONG ABAI SUNDAE (옛북청아바이순대) (Sokcho) (see map)

One such recipe is Sokcho's nationally-famous dish known as abai sundae, a stark departure from the conventional sundae typically seen coiled up and steaming at neighbourhood streetside stands across South Korea. Sokcho's version -- North Korea's version actually -- replaces the bland sausage casing with an entire tube of lightly charred calamari and the blood pudding filling with even more squid. You're probably drooling now if you're a seafood lover.

So we consulted the Korean bloggers on Naver and picked out this locally recommended spot.


Yetbukcheong is a cozy family-run eatery a few minutes walk south of Sokcho's Highspeed Bus Terminal. The menu was straightforward: 15000 to 20000 Won (CAD$17-$23) for a full meal with an appetizer of organic salad bibimbab, mini sundae plus an entree of your choice. And according to the neon signs outside, the house specialty entrees seemed to be abai sundae and raw shrimp in ganjang marinade.


This would be one of our most memorable meals in Korea, due not only to the delectable Sokcho cuisine but also motherly care from two imonim who helped these two clueless Canadians with everything from menu recommendations to demonstrating the classic usages of condiments provided. Arriving first was a free mini bibimbab, an appetizer-sized serving of rice topped with organic salad, red seaweed and one of my favourite banchans known as ojingeo-jeot, or marinated raw squid.


This next dish alone should explain Sokcho's seduction to seafood fans.

If you're already familiar with ganjang gejang, the Korean soy-marinated raw crab that has taken Japan by storm in recent years, this is the local version made with deshelled raw shrimp to be served on top of steamed rice ... along with its mellow red caviar of course.


Meticulously cut into pieces by the imonim and mixed with egg yolk, red seaweed and even more organic salad, our ganjang saewoo would make a poor man's ganjang gejang at the blue-collar price of just 13000 Won (CAD$15).


Don't forget to scoop the luscious caviar out of the shrimp heads before digging into the steamed rice beneath. I know this would not sit well with fans of ganjang gejang, but I would rate this cheap dish of soy-marinated shrimp higher than any marinated crab -- some costing three times as much -- I've tried elsewhere in Korea.

And this was just the beginning.


Our long awaited abai sundae, Sokcho's signature dish and edible manifestation of its North Korean heritage, arrived alongside the regular black sundae and the spicy red myeongtae hoe, or marinated raw pollock. The North Korean version was the calamari lover's dream -- a whole mid-sized calamari stuffed with minced squid tentacles, glass noodles and mixed vegetables, dipped in an egg batter and pan-fried to a golden crispiness.


Here's the local wisdom that our serving imonim taught us -- use the natural salinity of fresh red seaweed to accentuate the umami flavour of the abai sundae. Just another proof that imonim always knows what's best for you.


For regular sundae our server recommended the classic vinegared perilla as wrapping. While the content of this sundae -- glass noodles, chopped cabbage and carrots, and of course coagulated blood -- seemed quite standard, I found it quite light tasting (i.e. less "bloody") and optimized for a seafood-centric dinner.


A few weeks later I'm still salivating as I process these photos. To fellow independent travelers seeking authentic Sokcho flavours, this place is a rare gem especially considering its walkability from the highspeed bus terminal for that last meal before returning to Seoul.

Meal for Two Persons

Well-Being Bibimbab	FREE
Ganjang Saewoo Bab	13000 Won
Mixed Sundae	25000 Won
TOTAL	38000 Won (CAD$44)

Aside from its North Korean-influenced recipes, Sokcho is also famous for seafood of the live, writhing variety.


Seoul has the Noryangjin Fish Market and Busan has the Jagalchi, yet most visitors don't realize that those crabs mostly come from Sokcho and the rest of Gangwon-do's frigid waters. If you're a serious crab lover, you should consider going straight to the source at Sokcho's Daepohang Seafood Market.

Restaurant Review: DAEPOHANG SEAFOOD MARKET (대포항수산시장) (Sokcho) (see map)

This isn't one restaurant, but a collection of a hundred of so fish-stall-cum-eateries across multiple buildings, all flaunting their tanks full of swimming flounders, sea breams, baby octopuses, abalones and sea squirts, and of course the famous local catch of snow crabs. We randomly chose a stall named Ilmi Taeyunine at Section A Number 20 -- nearly every stall posted the same menu with the exact same prices. Crabs don't seem any cheaper than at Noryangjin to be honest, but you can expect the freshest quality coming off Sokcho's fishing fleet just a stone's throw away.


Crab lovers should note that there are two different kinds of snow crabs at Sokcho's markets. The large brown type known as daege -- i.e. o-zuwai-gani at nabemono restaurants in Japan -- is the meatier species commanding a premium price. The smaller red ones known as Hongge -- i.e. beni zuwai-gani often used for crab meat canning -- are not as fleshy and are locally appreciated for its caviar.


Look at the vigor of this daege and its large size relative to the flounder at the bottom! Sokcho's appeal to the throngs of Japanese tourists is apparent -- an o-zuwai-gani of this size would easily command 8000-10000 yen (90000-110000 Won) in Japan. Here 120000 won would buy a multi-course feast that includes an usuzukuri (i.e. thin-sliced sashimi) of a whole live flounder.


Dinner would start with a basket of steamed scallops and clams in their shells, served with the standard dippings of cho-gochujang and wasabi. Nothing fancy; just local shellfish at their freshest.


Within minutes our expert chef had turned the thrashing flounder into a mouthwatering platter of gwangeo-hoe, complete with a little ball of end cuts sliced into thick, crunchy strips in seggosi style. It is notable that Koreans love their flounder in vinegared hot sauce while the the Japanese serve theirs with citrus vinegar. Everyone seems to agree on some acidity to zest up this mild-flavoured white fish.


One can tell the freshness of the flounder by the semi-translucense of the flesh. While the choice of ssam wrappings and condiments wasn't as sophisticated as the excellent hoetjib we visited three nights ago in Jeju, we both enjoyed the delicate flavours and chewy texture of this premium flatfish.


Not letting the flounder steal its thunder, our highly anticipated snow crab made its entrance on a steaming platter with its giant legs sliced half open and ready to be scooped out. The last time we finished an entire snow crabs was at a Japanese izakaya in Matsue across the East Sea from Sokcho, and that was nowhere as outstanding as this enormous daege in terms of its prized umami sweetness.


One recipe we learned at Sokcho's markets was how the locals scoop out the crab juice and caviar, mixing with steamed rice and stuffing the lustrous mixture back into the carapace. Our experiment here turned out somewhat successful, though a little crushed seaweed and roasted sesame would have been the cherry on top.


The bony parts of our flounder arrived near the end in the form of a maeuntang, swimming in a spicy, lightly umami fish broth beside the joseon-mu radishes and leeks. While 124000 Won for dinner certainly wasn't cheap -- and I'm sure I could have found cheaper prices at the Jungang Market -- it was a neat experience picking our own live flounder for hoe and a live snow crab that turned out among the sweetest we had ever tasted.

Meal for Two Persons

Daege Dinner for Two	120000 Won
Soju	4000 Won
TOTAL	124000 Won (CAD$142)

The other seafood market we had our sight on was Sokcho's famous Jungang Market, a 1970s style covered arcade where the local halmeoni may check out new clothes for the grandkids while picking up a bunch of dried hwangtae. Aside from the expected wet market sections for fishmongers and butchers and the dry sections for clothing and kitchenware, there also exists an entire floor of hoetjib and crab restaurants hidden in the basement.


This was late in the crab season when the crowded tanks were loaded with these thin-legged hongge while abalones and sea squirts squirmed nearby. Further down the alley the peasant favourites of sun-dried pollocks and yellow croakers hung in the wind, next to the seaweed stalls with their bewildering variety of laver: green, purple, fresh, sun-dried and roasted.


Eating too much? One could join the local kids in helping the rafter pull the gaetbae -- a human-powered cable ferry that has become the symbol of Sokcho -- across the narrow harbour towards the Abai Village, a small sandbar settled by North Korean refugees and now the de facto hometown of their children and grandchildren.


Now gentrified into a tourist district of seafood eateries and cafes, Abai Village started out as a shantytown of refugees who scraped out a tough living and assiduously transformed the backwaters of Sokcho into one of the nation's foremost fishing ports. After all most migrants hailed from wintry Hamgyeong, a penal colony in the Joseon Dynasty and allegedly raising the toughest and hardiest of Koreans.


Our two nights in Sokcho were among our best memories of Korea: sublime seafood, very nice apartment plus the most spectacular hike at nearby Seoraksan National Park. For readers interested in conquering the breathtaking landscape above, stay tuned for the next article -- it's actually a beginner's hike.

IF YOU GO

Sokcho is a 2.5 hour ride from Dong (East) Seoul Bus Terminal (Gangbyeon Station, Line 2) or 3 hours from the Seoul Express Bus Terminal (Express Bus Terminal Station, Line 3/7/9). Buses from both terminals arrive at Sokcho's two bus terminals -- the Highspeed Bus Terminal (see map) located in the south of the city and the Intercity Bus Terminal (see map) near its city centre. The two terminals are connected by frequent city buses. Staying near the Highspeed Bus Terminal may better serve hikers wanting quicker access to Seoraksan National Park, while non-hikers may want to stay near the Intercity Bus Terminal for walkability to the Jungang Market and Abai Village.