Gyeongju, North Gyeongsang Province, is a wondrous place resonating with history and culture. Once the capital of the ancient Silla Kingdom, it stands as a living museum of Korea’s cultural and spiritual heritage. Myth and truth intertwine in the countless monuments scattered across its landscape. Silla ruled for nearly a millennium, enjoying a golden age of prosperity and artistic brilliance, leaving behind treasures that still dazzle the modern eye.

During its heyday, Gyeongju was home to nearly a million people, a population rivaling the world’s greatest cities of the time, such as Chang'an (Xian), Rome and Baghdad. Though tucked away at the eastern edge of the Asian continent, Gyeongju was connected to faraway civilizations through the Silk Road. The exquisite gold ornaments unearthed from royal tombs and the serene stone Buddhas found throughout the city speak of a cosmopolitan society whose artisans and thinkers exchanged ideas with the wider world.

Yet beneath this splendor lie deep scars. Gyeongju, like Korea itself, bears the weight of foreign invasion, colonization and reckless modernization. The “museum without walls” still holds traces of historical trauma that mar its ancient grandeur.

This autumn, Gyeongju will once again step onto the world stage as it hosts the 2025 APEC Summit. Thousands of delegates from 21 economies, including heads of state and business leaders, will gather here to seek solutions to new global challenges — among them, the economic turbulence triggered by US President Donald Trump’s tariff war. The event offers Gyeongju a rare opportunity to add a modern chapter to its long history of international exchange.

Much attention will focus on whether the summit brings a breakthrough in strained US-China relations. Speculation abounds over a possible meeting between President Trump and Chinese leader Xi Jinping, who have been locked in a high-stakes game of economic brinkmanship. Many also wonder if Trump will take advantage of his Korea visit to meet North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, reviving their personal diplomacy. Although neither Washington nor Pyongyang has confirmed such a plan, the possibility alone adds intrigue to the gathering.

The symbolism of Gyeongju is mesmerizing. More than 1,300 years ago, this very city became the first capital of a unified Korean Peninsula. Silla achieved unification by forming a strategic alliance with Tang China, defeating its rival kingdoms: Baekje in the west in 660 and Goguryeo in the north in 668, respectively. Though much of Goguryeo’s vast territory in Manchuria was eventually lost to China, Silla’s accomplishment marked a seminal moment in Korean history: the first realization of political unity across most of the peninsula.

Unified Silla flourished. Economic prosperity and political stability fostered an unprecedented flowering of art and culture. Many of Gyeongju’s most cherished monuments and sites date from this period, particularly the late eighth century. Among these are Bulguksa and Seokguram Grotto, both inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List in 1995, and the enigmatic Sacred Bell of King Seongdeok, also known as the Emille Bell.

Bulguksa, literally “Temple of the Buddha Land,” offers a rare glimpse into the architectural and spiritual world of Silla. Built on elaborate stone terraces along the western slope of Tohamsan, the temple was a grand complex of graceful wooden halls and stone pagodas symbolizing Buddhist ideals. The 13th-century historian monk Iryeon wrote that in Gyeongju’s golden days, “the temple roofs glittered like the Milky Way and pagodas with lotus finials stood in endless rows like flights of wild geese.”

Tragically, most of those temples disappeared amid war and neglect. Even Bulguksa itself, reconstructed during the Joseon era (1392-1910) and extensively restored in the 1970s, lost much of its antique atmosphere. Yet the two stone pagodas in the main courtyard — each in a distinct style — remain enduring masterpieces. Their balance of grace and strength reflects the consummate skill of Silla’s stone masons and their deep devotion to the Buddhist ideal.

Higher up the same mountain lies Seokguram Grotto. Carved from hundreds of granite blocks, the domed sanctuary houses 40 sculpted divinities arranged in symbolic harmony. At its center sits an elegant and majestic image of Sakyamuni Buddha on a lotus throne, embodying the union of faith, artistry and geometry. Seokguram encapsulates the long journey of Buddhism — from its Indian origins through Central Asia and China to Korea — culminating in a sublime expression of the human quest for enlightenment and redemption.

Regrettably, modern preservation efforts have not captured the ancient architects’ technical mastery. The original system of natural ventilation and humidity control was lost, forcing conservators to encase the dome with cement and seal the pantheon behind glass. Visitors today can only view the Buddha from a distance, separated from the intimate spiritual space its creators intended.

Gyeongju’s story, like Korea’s, is one of luminous glory shadowed by hardship. As world leaders convene here later this month, they will meet not only in a city of history, but in a place that embodies the endurance of a people who have repeatedly rebuilt beauty from ruin. Beneath the gleam of gold and the silence of stone, Gyeongju continues to whisper lessons about power, faith and the eternal cycles of loss and renewal.

Lee Kyong-hee

Lee Kyong-hee is a former editor-in-chief of The Korea Herald. The views expressed here are the writer's own. -- Ed.


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