The brochure said, “If you want to realize your mind as it really is, and thereby lay down all afflictions and delusions, come and join the experience of Myogak Temple on Mt. Naksan.”

So I’m in a taxi in downtown Seoul, Korea, feeling the tension of my driver as he winds his way up the hill in his much-too-wide midsize sedan, trying not to rip off the side mirrors in the narrow alleys. Most times I prefer to find my own way around – part of the joy of traveling, but I’m thankful that the hotel concierge wrote out the name and address in Korean. I would never have found this place on my own.

After many more twist and turns, we see the imposing temple at the crest of a hill, hemmed in tightly by houses and apartment buildings. I enter through a pair of brightly painted wooden doors, and wander around until I find what looks to be an administrative office, where I announce myself and mention, “Templestay.”  Ever since I arrived in Korea, I’ve eagerly anticipated this overnight in a temple, promoted as an ‘opportunity for a first-hand experience of monastic life in a Buddhist temple.’

The lady protests, “Not today, only the weekend.”

“But I have a reservation,” I say.

Several minutes later, I’m greeted by a middle-aged monk who explains – in perfect English – that they were not expecting me, and that the nun who is in charge of foreign Templestay guests is away. He’s called her and left a message.

While we wait for a decision about what to do with me, he explains that he a novice monk, having been at it for only a few months. I ask – innocently enough – what he’s been doing previous to this.

“It’s normally not discussed,” he explains. “Once you become a monk, you forsake everything including your possessions and your identity. Koreans would not ask this question, but since you are a foreigner, I can answer.”

He’d been a professor for the past 20 years and had gradually become disenchanted with his routine. Teaching the same thing, year after year. In 2008, he was invited to journey to Dharamsala, where he heard the Dalai Lama speak for three days. It triggered his dormant childhood dream – to be a monk. After pondering the possibility for a couple of years, he made the definitive decision … he’d become a monk.

He applied to several temples but was rejected. “Too old,” or, “Too educated.”

Finally, Myogak temple admitted him – but only to perform menial tasks and assist the monks and nuns. Finally, three weeks ago, the Temple Master admitted him into the “monkhood.” He’s a novice on a long multi-step process.

“Where did you learn your good English?” I ask.

“I lived in America while I studied for my Masters and Ph.D. in Philosophy.”

“Oh, where did you study?” I ask.

“Michigan State.”

What happenstance! Another happy travel accident. What are the odds? … My botched reservation leads to a meeting with a rookie monk at a Buddhist temple in downtown Seoul who once lived 90 minutes from my hometown of Saginaw, Michigan.

It’s a small world, indeed!