"The Land of Morning Calm."

That’s the catch phrase people use when referring to Korea.

Is it because of the morning fog that blankets the suburbs of Seoul in late November, or because of the utter tranquility on the grounds of a Buddhist temple, or maybe it’s the docile demeanor of those in the hospitality business there?

It couldn’t possibly describe Seoul, the capital of South Korea, where horns, squealing brakes and city noises compete for the attention of the nearly 11 million residents almost around the clock. The fast-paced traffic makes even a short cab ride seem like a police chase.

Seoul resembles New York City — an array of intriguingly shaped sky scrapers and large screen monitors on the sides of buildings, but with an odd piece of antiquity thrown in every so often.

The Koreana Hotel, a wonderful western-style hotel on a main street called Taepyeongno, is just across the street from the Korea Press Center, where the East Asia Journalism Forum met last month. The problem was that nearly a dozen lanes of traffic had to be crossed to get from one side to the other. Seoul does have a very elaborate underground tunnel system that makes crossing main streets much safer. The subway system has a reputation for being safe, clean and convenient to most tourist attractions.

Just outside the downtown area are dozens of high rise apartment buildings, clustered together as if all sharing a spectacular view. Nearly as many construction cranes stand nearby, waiting to add more to the horizon.

This year, the government in Seoul decided not to sweep up the fall leaves so the people could "enjoy walking on them and feeling the crunch beneath their feet." Although trash cans are hard to find on the city streets, people pulling little wagons, or carrying dustpans and brooms keep things very clean.

The quaint neighborhood of Insadong is a mecca for shoppers as book stores, antique shops and small restaurants line the narrow city street. Silk-covered notebooks, wooden carved masks, teas and herbal remedies are plentiful. Street vendors sell everything from jewelry, to lucky bells, to a quick bite to eat — roasted ears of corn, sugar-free candy made from barley or for the more daring, mettugi — fried grasshoppers.

Korean meals are a ceremonial celebration of comraderie and the food itself. It would be impossible to visit Korea without tasting kimchi, a marinated cabbage dish that has hundreds of varieties and is served at every meal. Traditionally, the vegetables are marinated and stored in jars underground to be used in the winter. Now kimchi refrigerators, which separate the odiferous dish from the main refrigerator, help keep the tradition alive. The health benefits of kimchi reportedly include prevention of cancer of the digestive system, neutralizing stomach acid and preventing high blood pressure and obesity.

A few meals were eaten with shoes off and sitting on the floor, which is often heated. Some tables have a charcoal pit built in so food can be cooked plate-side.

Elaborate Korean meals feature everything from shark fin soup or pumpkin porridge as a starter, to a second course of braised sea cucumber or lobster salad, to more courses of sea bream, or sweet and sour fish, baby octopus, gelatinous duck eggs, boiled lotus, noodles with black soy bean sauce, beef ribs, and persimmon puree for dessert.

Green tea, called nokcha, fresh juices, and the Korean beers Cass and Hite, are often just a warm-up for an evening of karaoke and boiler-makers, called poktan ju — literally bomb liqueur, rice wine or a "medicinal" liqueur called Bulhui, made from silkworm-dongchunghacho or mushrooms grown on silkworms, and herbs.

The snippet of Korean culture experienced by the journalists was reminiscent of a 1950s United States. The Koreans we met were very gracious, genteel and maybe a tad chauvinistic, when not chivalrous or flirtatious.

To say that karaoke is big in Korea would be an understatement. It quickly became a nightly event for the international journalists. Songs drew the Chinese man from the Communist daily newspaper to the dance floor to join a fun-loving broadcaster from Australia, as an older Japanese photographer took a middle-aged Vietnamese woman by the hand to join in. Toasting is constant, from the moment a meal begins until the last song is sung. A truly meaningful gesture is when a Korean man takes an American journalist by the hand and signs a traditional song to her in front of the entire group. For this she should feel flattered, but more likely embarrassed.

At night, the red neon crosses atop churches of all Christian denominations can be seen from a distance. One such cross sits next to the Dora Observation Point, an eerie spot that looks out on the De-militarized Zone, the no man’s land between North and South Korea. The two busloads of international journalists sat at the checkpoint awaiting clearance to proceed toward the DMZ. Uniformed soldiers carrying weapons stood amidst the nondescript terrain, which looked hard hit by the Korean War of more than 50 years ago. Areas are still roped off with skull and cross-bone signs indicating land mines.

No photographs are allowed to be taken from the observation point looking toward North Korea. This is not to protect the communist neighbors to the north, but possibly to prevent disclosure of whatever the South Koreans have installed to keep their neighbors out.

Several Korean journalists shared their fears about North Korea and their development of nuclear weapons. One young reporter for a daily newspaper worried that President Bush might provoke North Korea into using these weapons, not against the U.S., which is beyond their range, but more likely against South Korea, and Seoul, home to nearly one-quarter of the country’s population, is just 40 minutes to the south.

About five hours outside Seoul, the Hyundai automobile plant in Ulsan, almost a country unto itself, is "home" to some 34,000 employees. A tour through the production facilities, the shipyard and the showroom illustrated how 5,600 cars can be produced daily with two shifts working continuously.

Men work on the production assembly line, that is, when robotic arms or automated machines are not moving parts, soldering or painting at different stages. An odd sort of carnival music plays intermittently in the background, perhaps for the robotic machines.

At the port, large cargo ships sit while car jockeys drive the cars on board, park them precisely within inches of each other, and a vehicle takes the drivers back to begin the continuous process.

The environmentally friendly campus spends $1.2 million to care for the nearly half-million trees, and has its own health facility. The employees go through eight tons of rice daily at the 30 on-site restaurants.

The noise and frenetic pace of the Hyundai plant was the complete opposite of the tranquility of the Bulguksa Buddhist Temple near Gyeongju, about six hours to the southeast of Seoul. Mr. Park Seong Ho, executive director of the Journalists Association of Korea, accompanied me on the path to enlightenment — a walk through the temple grounds. He explained that the path, or the way out of our captivity, includes eight components: right views; right intent; right speech; right conduct; right livelihood; right effort; right mindfulness; and right concentration. It was intriguing to learn what Buddhism teaches and why.

A trip to the Myeong-Dong Catholic Cathedral in Seoul illustrates that although Catholics in South Korea are still a minority, their faith is strong and the church’s ministry is apparent. With some 16,000 parishioners served by six priests and five nuns, this parish is a visible symbol of faith in the heart of Seoul’s business district.

Some of the most memorable experiences during the weeklong forum were the time spent with the other international journalists — listening to the Cambodian’s jokes, made funnier because they made no sense; to meals shared with the three Hindu men from Bangladesh; to toasting a shy Japanese man who was much braver behind his Nikon camera; to hearing national songs sung with pride; and to group hugs with our Korean hosts in the middle.

It really is a small world, especially among journalists. We share the same objectives, face similar constraints, take pride in the results of our work, and learn so much from each other.

Seeing the struggles of the Asian journalists amidst their governments, their cultures and even their peers, illustrates that as an American journalist and as a Catholic journalist, there is much for which to be grateful.

Gamsa Hamnida, Korea.