The setting is storybook beautiful, perched in the foothills of Bukhansan National Park, the name of which means mountains north of the Han River. Modern buildings of pale timber have been progressively added to the temple complex and recent high-profile guests have included Jill Biden.

I struggle with the idea of cleansing my mind and concentrating on the purity of nature. Crucially, too, I need to get to grips with sitting, kneeling and then lying on a timber floor. But the head nun of an all-female order, serene and ageless with shaven head and wearing loose grey robes so stylish they could have been designed by Issey Miyake, murmurs so sweetly that I almost fall asleep. And the boards, although spine-stiffening, do have wondrous under-heating.

The vegan dishes, served as a progression of dainty courses such as marinated tofu and fermented radishes, come with a finale of silken orange persimmon that appears shockingly bright as falling snow hazes the windows.

We eat in a subdued hush after being told MSG, chilli and garlic are never used as seasonings. Our blood must not be aroused nor can our “nature be stirred”, says our tutor nun. She’s alluding, we gather, to vows of celibacy and duty. She explains how the nuns grow vegetables and herbs, and then dry, pickle and store the ingredients, taking particular care with pungent soybean pastes, some of which are aged for decades.

This temple experience is just one time-honoured aspect of a city with a quest to be as modern as tomorrow. The dichotomies are in sharp relief and frequently baffling. The emergence of PSY and Gangnam style, Netflix fantasy K-dramas, K-Pop boy bands as popular as The Beatles ever were (cue BTS), and a beauty industry with turnovers to put Paris and Tokyo in the shade, have earned Seoul a reputation as a “now and wow” destination as my hotel breakfast server Ji-Min tells me. She points me in the direction of the Myeongdong shopping district, threaded with pedestrian plazas where neon signs on clusters of brightly lit boutiques herald the likes of Pretty Skin and All Mask Story.

The lure is facial “skin sheets”, variously styled as stem cell masks, collagen boosters, red ginseng brighteners and, my clear favourite, wrinkle bounce water-full (sic) protectors. The more unusual include snail mucus filtrate masks “for tightening and elasticity”, and those made with botanical placenta. Later I ask Ji-Min how often Korean women use the sheets. “Every day, of course,” she replies. Sensing my surprise, Ji-Min continues, “But only when lying down.” Oh, OK.

I am not convinced the beatific nuns at Jingwansa use skin sheets but this juxtaposition of the ancient and aspirational continues all around.

Centuries-old temple compounds and solemn statues of kings, military leaders and philosophers sit on ceremonial plazas and along avenues of ginkgo trees in the shadows of looming skyscrapers. Elegant bridges swoop over the Han River, slender towers all but pierce the clouds and chequerboard facades seem to be the design motif du jour.

The Zaha Hadid-designed Dongdaemun Design Plaza is a revelation of neo-futuristic scale and airy volume that covers various exhibition and conference halls, parkland, multipurpose spaces, a cultural and fashion hub, and shops featuring the work of local artists and craftspeople. In stark relief, neighbouring alleyways and the huge Dongdaemun Market are so full of piled-high goods, especially clothing and fabrics, that it feels like an archaeological dig to uncover, say, a length of silk or a bunch of buttons. We fuel up and rest at nearby Gwangjang Market; hundreds of food stalls have stool and bench seating and the whole place sizzles and steams. This is the city’s largest retail and commercial shopping district, open ’til late at night but not recommended for the faint-hearted or crowd-phobic.

Across this metropolis of 10 million residents, classy restaurants and on-trend speakeasies with secret doors and passwords hunker between jostling food markets and family-run joints where a whole steamed chicken served legs-up in a fragrant broth may well be plonked without ceremony in front of each diner. Pass the kimchi cabbage, garlic and onion, please. I see signs announcing Waffle University, Chinese Mutton Refectory and Rice Cake Museum and long for our minivan to stop so we can investigate but, wait, we are to cook our own lunch. At Food and Culture Korea Academy, Ellie, a young dynamo who has lived in Perth, teaches us the basics of local cuisine and nifty kitchen techniques as we don aprons, get chopping (obeying orders to cut leeks on the diagonal), fire up the pans on individual gas burners, and toss haemul pajeon (spicy seafood pancakes) and fry up bulgogi, a beef dish abuzz with green onions, ginger juice and black pepper. It’s hugely enjoyable eating the results of our labours but the day is yet young and there’s tea to be taken.

In Bukchon Hanok Village, a beautifully preserved quarter ranged along steep streets, we visit Rakkojae Culture Lounge, a reception room, or sarangbang, where our hostess performs a tea ceremony as we sit cross-legged at a low table and instantly fall in love with yuzu and persimmon leaf blends and morsels of candied fruit.

Such “private cultural experiences”, which can include performances with traditional instruments, must be pre-booked, plus “village inn” accommodation is available under the Rakkojae banner in a hotel with five guestrooms and a communal lounge and breakfast area, plus various dispersed hanok buildings, the style of which bears direct comparison to Japanese ryokan architecture, with sliding doors, hinoki cypress tubs and floor bedding.

As our visit of almost a week continues, Yong has yet more food markets on the itinerary, the most navigable of which is the alleyway-style Tongin, where customers can purchase a bundle of old-fashioned brass coins and a disposable lunch box with multiple compartments. Each coin is worth 500 won (about 60c) and Yong instructs us to use 10 each, which turns out to be about right as vendors scoop us sweet and savoury morsels and we add drinks such as mandarin slushies. All this results in a lot of sign language but no confusion about cost and there’s a basic cafeteria upstairs where we tuck in, although it’s lacking the crucial presence of “five-star toilets”, based on an ineffable rating system Yong has devised for foreign sensibilities.

It’s at this market I learn about the joys of just-flipped bindatteok (mung bean pancakes), mayakkimbap (seaweed rolls) and iced ginseng tea. And upon returning to Sydney, turning out my pockets, I realise I still have two coins. Is this a sign I must return? As I set the money safely aside and finger the cotton thread of divine protection on my wrist, tied firmly by one of the helper nuns at Jingwansa, I believe there are clear portents that my Seoul searching is but a work in progress.

In the know

Qantas recently launched direct services to Incheon (Seoul) from Sydney, with connections from domestic ports; seasonal return fares from $1203. Retreats can be booked at Jingwansa Temple or visits arranged for a lunch and meditation session. Contact Korean Tourism Organisation in Sydney for further details, maps and touring information. Australian passport holders must apply for a K-ETA electronic permit (about $12) to enter South Korea.

Susan Kurosawa was a guest of Qantas and Korea Tourism Organisation.