Waiting for a Wide Horse Sky. Elaine Kennedy

guide’s voice droned on.

      ‘Bulguksa was originally built in 528 and it stood for more than a thousand years before the Japanese destroyed it in 1593. It was completely restored in the 1970s …’

      The endless voice seemed almost meaningless to me as the group followed from one place of interest to another. We stopped in front of a pagoda that the guide described as the finest of the Silla Period stone pagodas.

      ‘Early this year the oldest Buddhist woodblock print in the world was found hidden in this pagoda when renovations were being carried out …’ I tuned out the voice as we continued down a twisting path until, with a shock, a story about the huge bell in front of us came into focus.

      ‘… the bell didn’t ring clearly. It would need to be recast but to make sure that it gave a sound worthy of the Buddha a small child was thrown into the molten metal. Now as the bell is rung you can hear the child crying out Emille or Mummy …’ I walked away as quickly as I could, trying to hold myself together as others took turns to ring the Emille bell with a metal mallet.

      I walked up a path leading to the top of the temple compound, wanting desperately to be by myself, and found a shady spot behind a building. I sat on a slab of stone, allowing myself to give way to tears.

      ‘Am I intruding?’ It was the guide. When I looked up I saw kindness in his face. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you.’

      ‘No don’t apologise,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I’ve been bottling up my feelings for so long and when I heard the story of the bell … well … it seemed so cruel.’

      I felt embarrassed making such a fuss but at the same time, I told him, I wondered how people could hear those stories of cruelty without it touching them at all. ‘I’m afraid I’m embarrassing you. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

      ‘Just call me Song.’ He glanced at my name tag. ‘And I see you are Elaine.’ I nodded. ‘I understand why you are upset. It’s difficult to get used to another culture. Korea must seem very cruel to you sometimes, I think. We’ve been troubled by wars all through our history. Many countries have ruled us harshly; it has hardened us. There are still a lot of Koreans living in extreme poverty even now and that makes it difficult for them, particularly, to have compassion for others. But now that our economy is improving and people like you are coming here to help us make changes, things will improve. I think you are very brave.’

      ‘No, I’m not brave at all but it has made me feel better talking to you. Now I think I need to catch up with the others. I don’t want to be left behind.’

      ‘I’ll make sure that you get to your bus on time. That’s my job.’ He smiled. ‘But first I want you to see the temple you have been hiding behind. It’s more than coincidence that you came here when you were upset. The shrine of Kwan Seeum Bosal. Did you know?’

      I shook my head. He had gone into tour guide mode again but I did my best to look interested. I don’t think I really took in what he was saying, I was thinking more about how earnest he looked while he was talking and how attractive.

      ‘She is the Bodhisattva of Perfect Compassion. She is called the “One who listens to the cries of the world”. She is dedicated to the wellbeing of all living things.’

      He led me into the shrine and told me to just breathe in the peace. It actually was very peaceful but what else would you expect of a secluded stone shrine with creepers trailing around the entrance? Then he quietly walked back down to the bus with me. Song left me with his card and told me that if ever I had a problem in Korea I should call him. I doubted that I would.

      ‘To think we were worried that you might be lost,’ said Amos when I rejoined my friends. He was looking quizzically at the back of the retreating guide. They continued to tease me on the way back to the hotel but I didn’t really mind.

       Three

      We were back that day in time to have a swim in the hotel’s pool. The next day’s tour was to Pohang Steel. The others agreed with me that it would have been so nice to spend the day in the pool instead of inspecting a steelworks but that option wasn’t offered. We had to travel quite a distance so we set off early the next morning.

      ‘Pohang is a city of considerable size in its own right and it is built up around the steel industry. There are shops, housing estates, schools, sporting complexes and community halls all provided by Pohang Steel Corporation. Everything has been purpose-built for the workers and their families and many spend their whole lives within its precincts,’ the steelworks guide began.

      ‘Must be nice to have your whole life controlled like that,’ I whispered. Amos laughed rather too loudly and was treated to an ‘evil eye’ look from our Mr Kim.

      We had been ushered into an ultramodern building which could have doubled as a museum. At the end of an enormous entrance lobby a door led into a room equipped with a floor to ceiling screen so we were immersed in images. In the middle was a table the size of a large lounge room. It was covered by a scale model of Pohang city, complete with the bay and model ships. There were tiny globes which lit up identifying landmarks linked to buttons to be pressed on the edge of the table. It was all very impressive but the contrast between the heat outside and the cool air-conditioned building was making me feel sleepy.

      There was nowhere to sit during the lengthy introductory speech by an official from the steelworks and we continued to stand while a film played on the large screen showing the town and propaganda about the steelworks followed by footage of the 1988 Olympic Games in Seoul. Athletes leapt over our heads followed by shimmering water and crowds screaming as swimmers reached for the side of the pool and it seemed as if the water would engulf us. It was reminiscent of James Bond or perhaps Batman, all very modern and showy but somehow threatening. Even at this point it came across as a demonstration of power and moving on into the smelters further reinforced this.

      We were led single file across steel mesh walkways with waist-high sides. Through the mesh floor we could see the ground way below. The heat was unbearable and Olivia, who had complained back in the university about her jet lag, decided she had had enough and loudly made her opinions known. Half way across the first walkway and level with vats of molten steel, she balked, holding up the single file procession.

      ‘I just want to get out of here.’ Then louder, ‘Right now, let me out of here!’ The officials looked embarrassed and Mr Kim was red in the face and murderous as he waved his arms at her, signalling for her to move, and quickly. Although everyone could sympathise with her reluctance to keep walking into the intense heat we were surprised at her audacity.

      ‘I’m getting out of here right now before I faint,’ she screamed and pushed her way back past the following trail. No one was sure when she ceased being part of the group but by the next tour Olivia was no longer with us. Amos and Marilyn could never resist black humour about what really happened to her. Early next morning the buses left for the return trip to the university.

      The following two weeks were intense. Visiting lecturers presented information on thousands of years of Korean history; more recent war-time atrocities suffered by the Korean people and the everyday customs and etiquette we were expected to learn and comply with. We were constantly watched, not only by Mr Kim but other junior assistants who had joined him and had taken on the sour facial expressions and attitudes of their mentor. The classes were required to be silent during sessions and any lapse resulted in loud chiding by the supervisors. Once, when a man had dozed off, he was woken by the sharp prod of a ruler. His startled reaction set the whole room off laughing, which was not approved of, of course, but there were too many involved to handle that time.

      I was interested in the information being discussed but long, hot days in a crowded room and speakers who were often indistinct became a trial of endurance. The irritation of being watched and comments being obviously written against names had everyone on edge which was probably why at any opportunity we responded with inappropriate mirth; it was like living on the set of a slapstick comedy.

      After classes finished I felt the need to get away for a while and