(ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE IDENTITIES OF THOSE INVOLVED)

It’s late summer in Seoul, which if you’ve never visited, means either humid sun or typhoons. 

The thirty-degree heat that I had become used to in my first week here is now punctuated regularly by heavy showers, at the first sign of which the city’s entire population pops up their umbrellas in perfect choreography. The faint smell of exhaust fumes and humidity is washed away as the natives hurry by, their journeys, unlike mine, unhampered by the tyranny of nature. 

Somewhere in the middle of my month in the country, I have been planning a trip south to visit Busan and its beaches. After learning that there has been a typhoon on the southern coast, this is my plan no longer. Alas, Seoul is the biggest city on the planet in terms of people to space. Surely I can work out what to do with my weekend from within the city limits. 

The Han River is the fourth largest on the Korean peninsula, beginning in the eastern mountains and converging on the southern capital. Aside from the more professional geography talk, what made the river a perfect way to spend this particular day, is that it happens to run slap-bang through the centre of Seoul. It is lined either side by pathways, and if you walk the whole edge through the city you will regularly come across sprawlingly grand areas of public art, exercise machines, fountains, food stalls, and anyone with some free time. These are the Hangang Parks, and you have merely stumbled upon one of twelve. 

Something that the British government has seemingly neglected to do, the lack of such ‘river parks’ back at home may have something to do with the aesthetic capabilities of our rivers, much the same as it probably has something to do with the slow development of our communities in general; that cities sprawl out around sources of water, pushing them back as a piece of the landscape. 

The Han River is much the same, big and rarely blue but always lined with people, on picnics, lunch breaks, bikes and skateboards. My favourite quickly becomes the slightly aged Korean men who use the built in speakers on their bikes to blast a certain combination of Korean traditional music and Kpop girl groups that make walking behind them a very enjoyable affair. In Seoul, the river is itself a citizen, a rare piece of nature among the streets and highways to be beautified rather than let slip into the humdrum background of city life. 

Well then, it is settled, a trek to the Han River and then a walk along it. 

It is a somewhat annoyingly bleak day into which I set out, jet lagged and feet blistered, haunted by the ending of a long term friendship and overcast in pathetic fallacy. But I am on the way to see the Han River, the longest walk I have yet embarked on this trip, almost three hours from the goshiwon. Compeeds and two layers of socks on, umbrella shoved between my satchel strap and thigh, I am ready. And this is where this particular story finds its beginning, two thirds into my plan, and just after crossing a particularly quintessential bridge into what seems to be a traditional neighbourhood spotted with shopping centres and offices, overlooking a playground. 

“Do you know where the Harry Potter cafe is?” Two girls stand behind me, expectant looks don their faces. One is taller and dressed in a stylish yet understated beige turtleneck. Her short haircut that might be expected to age her only adds to the erudite yet relaxed facade she gives. The shorter has long hair in a sleek ponytail and glasses, green duffel coat and cross body bag – the telltale sign of a student. Quickly, since I have absolutely no idea of the answer to their question, I pull up the maps app on my phone

“I have no clue, but I can work it out for you.” I smile. For some reason, the girls are quick to decline, and when I reiterate that ‘this is the route’, the short one looks to the tall one as if for guidance. And then come the questions. As I try harder and harder to inch away in that polite way westerners do to indicate this conversation is nearly over please say your farewells, I am quizzed on the basic topics most travellers get asked about. Where I’m from, why Korea, why solo travel – on this last point I am decidedly untruthful;

“I’m here helping my friend move to the country, but she’s sorting out her documents today, so I’m exploring until we meet later.” 

The girls nod and the conversation is jovial now that I have been, somewhat forcibly, strapped in for the long run. They explain that this time of the year is very special to Koreans, that at their school’s temple they will perform traditional rituals to celebrate family, ancestors, life and the things they hold dear. It’s Chuseok, the Korean harvest festival. With this at the forefront of my mind, the ritual comment goes over my head as a combination of questionable translation, and actual Korean tradition that I am oblivious to. 

“Would you like to come? We can go there now.” 

“To your temple?” 

This is where the first red flag is pushed into the ground beneath my feet. Why did you start the conversation asking for directions to a cafe, when your goal was to invite me to a temple? 

Well, because how else can you start this particular conversation when you are a member of Daesun Jinrihoe, a Korean religious fringe group looking for foreign support. 

South Korea’s certain…penchant, shall we say, for new religious groups is one you may not normally associate with such a sprawling metropolis. The question of why these groups are so popular is an entirely different topic, spanning generations and citing multiple different gruelling subjects and griefs associated with being Korean in a modern Korea. Ironically, this concept is named ‘Han’. 

Daesun Jinrihoe’s doctrine, among other major themes, is peppered with references to Christianity and Confucianism, and the relationship between the ‘divine spirits’ of the East and the West. In practice, this results in a focus on charity aid, social welfare, and education, according to their Wikipedia page that is. Otherwise, there are sinister whisperings surrounding the actions of most of these groups, including one such church being linked to the infamous sinking of the Sewol ferry. I had been warned about them, and heard of their prolific nature in the country, and yet my very British attitude to the whole thing still reigned supreme in my head. The presence of a cult in general in my life had been something fantastical; yes they exist, but they’re a source of intrigue and mystique, when was I ever going to come close to touching one? It’s more of a yank thing. 

But know this; they do exist, and they can reach out to you if you are travelling solo in Korea. 

When I agree, the girls are surprised. 

“Yeah?” The tallest grins, eyebrows high. 

In all honesty, my willingness to join them in their ceremony has more to do with crippling social anxiety and a subsequent inability to say no for fear of causing offence. But with hindsight, it is a shrewd journalistic move to investigate. On the journey to the temple – which is not a temple but a rented space in an apartment block, the conversation covers everything from a love of ABBA to western terrorism. The girls, who I have come to know as Areum and Jin, fawn over my tattoos as we cross an unnamed station platform. Jin, the taller of the two, is a big fan of Noreban the Korean karaoke scene, and loves sports at university, while Areum is a music post-graduate and teaches children piano on weekday afternoons. 

‘Are your parents going to church?’ Jin asks politely, on account of it being a Sunday afternoon. 

‘Oh god no,’ I laugh, ‘we don’t do all that stuff.’

After another bus ride, and the customary removal of shoes, I am unknowingly sat down for my first lesson in this still unnamed belief system. Jin is obviously the extrovert, perfect for her role, proficient in English to an extent that her repeated questions of ‘do you understand?’ do begin to bring on feelings of inferiority, buried deep under the more pressing question on my mind – is this meant to be complicated? 

When asked for the third time if I have any questions, I finally push a little. 

“So are you guys, like, do you get this belief system from your parents?” 

I am met with pushback instantly, and a feigned misunderstanding of the question, almost as if Jin is surprised I’m even asking it. She is quick, however, to tell me that this has very little to do with her family. 

I am assured repeatedly that this is all a very big honour, and I will be taking part in a ‘once in a lifetime ceremony’ that is meant to make all of your wishes come true. 

Well, despite stepping repeatedly on my Hanbok, the ceremony is something of a success. Aside from the fact that this room, possibly on account of the sheer amount of candles set up among a gorgeous display of fruit on the offering table, is like the centre of the sun. A fan is churning in the corner, and I relish the milliseconds that its amazing breeze is focused on me. The paranoid among you may interpret this as some grinding cultish recruitment technique, but alas dear reader, I am just fat. 

“Good lord”, I puff with a laugh as I exit the ceremony room, while Jin fans my red, sweaty face with the paper she has been using to doodle their karmic concept onto during our lesson. 

“You were very good, she said so.’ Areum says to me in the changing room, referring to the woman who had led the ceremony (who at one point had come over and whispered very gently to me ‘you don’t have to bow so low’).  The only one, interestingly, who is allowed to do multiple ceremonies, hence why Areum and Jin had not joined me for the bowing – because it is a once in a lifetime experience, and believe me, it bares repeating. 

“You were a good MC.” I tell the ‘leader’ when she walks into the changing room, her fringed face more cherubic up close. A laugh ripples around the room, and she thanks me with a smile and a sigh. Now that I’m cooling down, I feel good. 

There have been attempts made multiple times throughout my visit at the ‘temple’, for Areum and Jin to get connected with me via social media. My Korean sim, however, only allows data, no calls or texts. 

“How about WhatsApp?” Jin chimes

“I only have it for my British phone number”

Her face falls, before I suggest Facebook, which they both hurriedly add me on. Oh well, I think, I barely use it anyway. Jin informs me excitedly that she will message me later, 

‘But, don’t block me’, she laughs quickly in the middle of two other unrelated sentences, and it’s evident it’s because this has happened before. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I reply as Areum hands me a bakery bag filled with the cakes that had been on the shrine in the ceremony. “For me?!” I exclaim with so much excitement that I catch the attention of a boy across the room, solo like me, who has just been brought in by a Korean boy. He looks at me somewhat anxiously, and in that moment I chalk it up to a disdain for my lack of volume control. 

The girls walk with me, chatting about my plans for my remaining two weeks in the country as we meander through the streets to a convenience store, so that I can withdraw some money to top up my T-card. As we cross the threshold of the real holy temple, the 7/11, the door pings above us. The boy behind the counter, lithe and messy haired, greets Areum and Jin whom he recognises, before tossing a nod my way, which I return with my mantra of a Korean greeting – ann-yeong-ha-sey-yo. We head to the ATM at the back corner, when Jin taps my shoulder and tells me that the boy is ‘intrigued by me’ 

“He’s curious about you” she whispers, “his sister is in the school with us.”

“Well what does he want to know? Can you translate?” I suggest but she shakes her head lightly, and waits for me outside. 

After a very brief conversation about the legality of marijuana back in the UK (Jin is surprised, her impression is that it is ‘completely free’ to which I reply ‘no it’s very expensive’ and am met with blank looks), I am escorted down into the subway station. Since it is now early evening, the elation that I’m about to be able to go back to bed is rearing its beautiful head. I am reminded once again that I will be receiving a Facebook message, and I blow them kisses as I am slotted through the barriers, which they return, laughing at the foreign gesture.

The platform is quiet at this time of evening, in this suburb of the city, save for one train every 6 minutes and the subsequent familiar whooshing of the platform doors followed by the muffled click of shoes against the tiles. Come to think of it, I don’t even know which station it is, which suburb it is. I FaceTime my boyfriend from the platform bench to tell him about what happened, reiterating that aside from all the y’know…cult stuff-

“They were so nice to me!” I gush holding up the bag of pastries. 

Of course they were, but still, it is the resonant emotion.

‘Thank you so much for the experience.’ I send them in a Facebook message that night, and then I block them. 

And, thankfully, this is where the story ends. The next day when I actually make it to Hangang Park uninterrupted, I spend an afternoon next to the river researching, scouring forums and looking for others who had had the same experience as me. Most who have been approached, say it’s regularly done by pairs, and you will rarely be approached by someone of an opposing gender. Most people, also, have seemingly angrily declined to follow a complete stranger to a ‘temple’ to do a ritual, as perhaps you should.  But they are so rude about it that I begin to feel glad that I was so eager not to offend those ladies. Others, who have done what I did, are seemingly just so bewildered as me; they take you to their temple, perform a traditional ceremony, and then release you with goodies. 

‘They will come back’, one post reads ‘I went for coffee with them and they asked in a round-about way for a donation, when I declined they became very mean.’ It was not a singular post, many detailed the fervent repetition with which these ‘members’ had asked them for cash, and the following guilt trip that had led them to empty their wallet, mostly just to have the chance to make a dash to the exit. 

But there is a sinister undercurrent. 

I am particularly glad that I never have to see the evil side of Jin and Areum, if there even is one.  There is no palpable sense of luck or relief that I ‘escaped’, as for the most part, you can count on the fact that it would be obscenely bad press for an already somewhat shunned religious group to bring harm to a foreigner, their target market for donations and ongoing actions. Having said that, use your judgement, never ever go anywhere with a stranger who, or enter into a situation which, you don’t think you could reasonably get away from should it go sour. 

Though, in all honesty, as someone who struggles to form connections to people in person, and really derives a lot of release from anxiety in the control I get from doing everything alone, those girls found their perfect target in me. They were intelligent, funny, talented, kind women with bags of personality, who went a long way to make me feel favoured, but of course, I know exactly why that makes them the right choice for their role. So, in some pathetic way, I wish that there hadn’t been that guise of gain floating over their offer of friendship, because had their sweetness not been motivated by something else entirely, I really would have valued their ongoing company. It would have been a pleasure, in fact.

But, having all this and my own stupidity curiosity in mind, I got recruited by a Korean cult, and it wasn’t half bad. Of course, Korean members of these fringe groups are rarely so lucky.

Like any good story, there is an epilogue to finish this one off. 

I am often struck by this last bit, that it was just too perfect. Among others, my dalliance with Korean, underground, organised religion had been a defining moment of my trip. So what better way for life to imitate fiction and end the story, than by proving to me that it had not all been some jet-lag dream. 

It is my last night in Seoul, I am on my way back to the goshiwon, my brain filled with my itinerary for travelling home. The night is dark but clear, and having just walked Namsan Mountain and purchased possibly the best fried chicken I will ever have for the second and last time, I am content in just fabric shorts and a long blouse. My route is deliberate, back past the spots where I spent the majority of my time in Seoul. And then, two young ladies approach me. 

I smile knowingly, here we go again. 

The one waves to me, a beautiful girl in a long sand coat and collar combo that would make her look like a businesswoman, had her face not been so youthful. And the second is blurred in my memory, probably as a result of the fact that I was now just as much a pro at this routine, and already knew my out. I wait for a few seconds to hear them out, perhaps these two women have absolutely nothing to do with any Korean cult, while she explains that she and her friend are students at a school, 

‘Ok, yea, I know about this, is this the-” My face is blank as I struggle, rack literally my entire brain, to find a societally acceptable synonym for ‘cult’ that wouldn’t offend the two young, beautiful, cult members awaiting my answer. “Well you explain, I can’t explain it.” I smile, waving my hands signalling my own delirium, and the girl laughs. 

“Well, we are currently performing ceremonies to honour things important to us.” 

Bingo. 

“Yea, the once in a lifetime thing?” I perk up. “I’ve done it.” I say before apologising and once again, making moves to leave.  

“With who?”

“Areum and Jin.”

The English speaker furrows her brows and for a moment I think she’s going to tell me she doesn’t know who that is, why don’t I still have coffee with them? But she nods her head, and the conversation is over.  Serendipity is upon me as I speed-walk away mouthing ‘oh my god’, finger already on the button to call my boyfriend with the update. 

So here is your excuse, if you are approached by members of a Korean religious group, you have already completed the once in a lifetime ceremony and are on the way to your taxi because, oh no, your plane is about to leave.