An Afternoon at Beopjusa Temple

Autumn flower arrangements at Beopjusa.

Autumn in Korea is never just a season, it’s an event. It’s the time of  autumn foliage (단풍), when the mountains ignite into shades of red, orange, and gold, and the entire country seems to step outside to witness it. Koreans don’t simply “notice” autumn foliage; they follow it. News forecasts track its movement from north to south, social media fills with mountain photos, and weekends become pilgrimages to national parks and temples. During this season, places like Songnisan, Seoraksan, Naejangsan, and Jirisan transform into living paintings, and temples hidden in forests become some of the most visited destinations in the country. Families, hikers, photographers, and travelers flood these areas, not just to walk, but to participate in a tradition, to stand beneath burning leaves and feel the year changing.

Yet even in this beautiful crowd, autumn in Korea carries a softness. Festivals bloom alongside the foliage: flower exhibitions, harvest celebrations, local food markets, village events that honor both nature and community. There is warmth in the cold air, nostalgia in the sunlight, and comfort in the way people slow down. It was in this atmosphere, on the first day of November, that I visited Beopjusa Temple, hidden inside the embrace of Songnisan National Park, and found a place that didn’t just show me autumn, but allowed me to truly feel it.

Before even reaching the temple, the area was already alive with local character. Near the tourist entrance, a jujube festival was taking place. Boeun is famous for its red dates, and small stalls lined the road offering tastings, homemade products, and warm smiles. Seeing the piles of shiny, deep-red fruits and tasting the sweet, crunchy snacks sold by local vendors is the perfect prelude to a mountain hike. The scent of dried fruit and street snacks floated through the air, and families wandered slowly, laughing, browsing, sharing. There was nothing rushed or staged about it. It felt grounded, human, and sincere ,the perfect introduction before stepping into a spiritual space shaped by centuries of quiet devotion.

Flowers at Beopjusa.

The huge Buddha statue.

The Palsangjeon wooden pagoda .

The walk toward Beopjusa itself is an experience worth traveling for. A long, forested path stretches gently into the mountain, framed by tall trees whose autumn leaves form a glowing ceiling of gold, copper, and deep red. With every step, the noise of the outside world thins. Conversations soften. Breathing deepens. Songnisan does not overwhelm with drama, but offers harmony instead. It welcomes you without demanding anything. Trails branch off into the forest, leading hikers deeper into the park toward peaceful walks or more challenging routes that climb to peaks like Munjangdae, where wide views open across layers of mountain ridges. Even without hiking far, the mountain air alone feels like medicine.

Beopjusa itself was founded in the year 553, making it one of Korea’s most historically rich Buddhist temples. Its name means “a place where the Dharma resides,” and there is a sense, even for non-Buddhists, that this is somewhere shaped by intention. Over its long life, the temple flourished, was destroyed, and rebuilt, most notably after the Japanese invasions of the late 16th century. What exists today is not simply old; it is resilient. Walking through its grounds feels like touching something that has survived fire, war, weather, and time, and still remains gentle.

The main pavilion.

One of the first sights that truly stops you is the enormous golden Buddha standing openly against the mountain sky. Rising over thirty meters tall, the statue glows quietly, not with spectacle, but with presence. Surrounded by autumn trees, it feels both monumental and tender. People instinctively slow down here. Some bow, some take photos, some simply stand without speaking. The Buddha does not dominate the landscape; it harmonizes with it. However during my visit it was under renovation so I couldn’t get too close to it. However the cool blue of November and the burning leaves of Songnisan, it was impossible not to feel something stir, a softness, a reverence, a strange and comforting calm.

Beyond the statue, the temple unfolds in wooden halls, stone lanterns, carved details, and hidden corners that reward unhurried wandering. The Palsangjeon wooden pagoda rises delicately, unique in Korea, layered like a prayer in architecture. The main hall shelters beautifully carved Buddha figures, dimly lit and scented with incense. Every structure seems to belong exactly where it stands, as if the mountain itself placed it there. Nothing shouts. Everything whispers.

Boeun's red dates festival.

What made this visit even more unforgettable was the presence of autumn flowers arranged throughout the temple grounds. I was there in the late afternoon, when the day was slowly preparing to leave, when the light turns softer, longer, and everything begins to feel slightly unreal. Although the season was already turning, Beopjusa was decorated with warm-colored floral displays, carefully placed pots, and blooming arrangements that softened stone and wood alike. As twilight approached, the flowers glowed gently against the darkening pagodas, and the temple seemed to slip into another world, quieter, deeper, almost dreamlike. It felt like a farewell celebration to autumn , not sad, but grateful. Bright blossoms stood beside falling leaves, and in that blue-gold hour between day and night, it was impossible not to feel that endings and beginnings were sharing the same breath.

As the afternoon moved on, I found myself walking without direction, letting the temple guide me instead. Sometimes toward a small bridge, sometimes toward a courtyard, sometimes simply toward a patch of sunlight on ancient steps. Around me, people moved slowly, respectfully, as if the entire place had agreed on a different rhythm for the day. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang. Somewhere closer, leaves shifted underfoot. There was nothing to accomplish. Only to be there.

Beopjusa is not the kind of destination that overwhelms you with attractions. It does something far rarer. It gives you room. Room to walk. Room to breathe. Room to feel quietly grateful without knowing exactly why. It blends history, nature, local life, and spiritual stillness into something that doesn’t need explanation. You carry it with you without effort.

The bell at Beopjusa.

If you ever find yourself in Korea in autumn, when the mountains burn gently and local festivals color small towns with warmth, let Songnisan (속리산) be one of your stops. Taste the jujubes. Walk the forest road. Stand before the golden Buddha. Let Beopjusa hold your attention not through spectacle, but through peace. Some places don’t entertain you. They settle you. And long after you leave, they continue to feel like home.