"Kimchi aids digestion. Kimchi cures hangovers. Kimchi staves off cancer". Whatever stories --believable or not--the locals might tell you about Korea's most infamous foodstuff, one thing is without doubt: Kimchi is an unavoidable part of the Korean experience. Fall, as a traditional time to stock up before winter hits, is the peak of the Kimchi making calendar.

Walking the backstreets of Seoul's more traditional districts, Insadong or Hyewha for example, the tangy smell of brown ceramics full of fermenting vegetable matter and toxic spice hangs in the air; Kimchi sneaks into or (as a side dish) next to nearly every meal. In the basement of COEX, Seoul's biggest shopping centre, you'll find the Kimchi heartland: a dedicated museum where you can ogle dozens of different varieties of fermented vegetable, or peruse books on perfect production and modern day Kimchi fusion. Learn to cook the Kimchi Burger, Kimchi Pizza and even Kimchi Sushi.

Away from the regular doses of palate-scorching fermented cabbage, Korea's other autumnal fixation floods the airwaves and fills the cities stadiums to capacity. Baseball--a sport in which Korea proudly stands as reigning Olympic champions--reaches is climax in October, with a series of play off games in which the nations best pitchers and sluggers try to outwit each other before the eyes of the entire country. The eight franchise teams are spread over Korea's major cities, and draw in crowds who drink in a buoyant atmosphere along with their juice cartons of soju. The pulsating vibe at Busan based Kia Tigers is particularly infamous, with the club song filling the air, fans waving their scarves and raising their lighters as they snack on dried, flattened squid from the city's gargantuan fish market.

Far to the north, and close enough to Seoul to fall comfortably within the city's subway network, the Samsung-dominated city of Suwon--despite being overwhelmed by Korea's most famous family-run conglomerate--has a host of aging treasures to uncover. The most impressive of them is Hwaseong Fortress, an 18th century monster of a stone city wall that stretches for miles, incorporating delicate pagodas with patterned green undersides and rounded castle walls flanked by deep red flags and slits for bowmen to ward off invaders. Stare over the slate walls at the city below, or walk the wide muddy paths to the brass bell, swinging the wooden clanger to send a good luck clang over the nearby hills.

Carry on past Suwon to the end of the line, and you'll reach the surrealist city of Cheonan. Formerly an uninspiring industrial centre, downtown Cheonan has been transformed--thanks to the heavy spending of a passionate local millionaire--into an eclectic and memorable open-air museum of modern art. Huge handbags are scattered down the high street, looked down on by "Hymn", British artist Damien Hurst's famous oversized replica of a Humbrol young scientists anatomy kit. Outside the department store a bright pink, caged dinosaur is slowly trampling across a similarly garish Hyundai saloon. The streets main crossing is accompanied by a cartoon flower several stories tall and a sad-looking bear clutching a sign reading, "I'm hungry, I wanna eat a dream". The city's gallery--the famous Arario--is impressive but superfluous, having spilled its greatest treasures over the streets for all to see.

The city of Gyeongju lies in the south east of the peninsula, an average Korean city surrounded by startlingly green paddy fields and a countryside crammed full of some of Korea's oldest treasures. Parks around the city centre feature the raised graves of ancient kings, buried under mounds of earth that stick up like cartoon hills above the flat grass. Locals sip rice wine and chew seafood pancakes, sheltering from sun or rain under flowery umbrellas and wispy trees.

Outside the city, the pungent, earthy smell of boiled silkworm larvae welcome visitors to the temples of the same kings, pagodas circled around courtyards, paper doors providing scant protection from the elements under the delicate over-door signboards carved in intricate Chinese. Pools of lilies create a serene atmosphere, where ducks, sparrows and the occasional clanging of monks' meditative aids are all there is to be heard.

With the passing of summer and the onset of winter, a tiny cave holds one of Korea's greatest treasures. A shiny Buddha in a state of indefinite meditation is revealed as the deep green canopies of the steep forested hills overlooking Gyeongju fade from green to brown. In the Mireuk valley, another image of Bodhisattva is carved into a stone wall. Bodhisattva is thought of as the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, during his previous births to his career before his Great Enlightenment. This carved group is at Sinseonam and has been designated as a national treasures. The array of colors that accompany the onset of a harsh East Asian winter are a spectacular spread of hues that make Korea's many steep-sided forests a major draw in their own right.

One way to see the colours--though very briefly--is from the top of the bungee tower in the Seoul suburb of Bundang: the 45-metre drop over a lake has miles of views for the strong stomached to enjoy. Alternatively, Seoul Tower, the central spike that dominates the city skyline, will suit the fainter hearted. Rows of padlocks hang from the fence, left by romancing couples eying the views and "locking up their love". If you don't have a partner, there's always the city walls and dayglo sunset over one of the world's largest cities to distract you.

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