THE Korean bullet train is faster than Japan’s famous Shinkansen and it sped us through a dizzying succession of tunnels and over vertigo-inducing viaducts.

The line from the port of Busan, opened in 2004 was an expensive line to build and replaced the previous route which snaked its way slowly around the peaks and plunging valleys that make up much of South Korea's interior.

As a warning for those eagerly awaiting HS2 in this country, a penalty of these high-speed systems is that you often get deposited miles from your destination. And so we had to take or a 30 minute bus journey from the gleaming, new station to the city.

The bus journey only added to the anticipation as we descended through hills around Gyeongju. These soaring green peaks that surround the city are clues as to why millions of Koreans come here each year.

Its stunning natural beauty make it something of a Korean Lake District, at least that's what you'd think from the multitude of outdoor wear shops. Hiking is something that Koreans take very seriously. From toddlers to grannies, cheery walkers can always be seen scaling mist-shrouded peaks, always clad in the latest gear, brandishing their walking poles.

Another striking feature of Gyeongju is its absence of tall buildings. The city has been singled out for protection from the unconstrained urban sprawl which characterises many South Korean cities. Its rich history has prompted this ban, unknown elsewhere in South Korea.

The city was the capital of the ancient kingdom of Silla (57 BC – 935 AD) which ruled about two-thirds of the Korean Peninsula up to the 9th century amd Gyeongju is often referred to as ‘a museum without walls’.

Much of this richness can be seen in fields of dome-shaped mounds which litter the landscape to the south of the city. They have similar importance perhaps to Stonehenge, but the look is nearer Tellytubby land. These are the tumuli or burial mounds of the kings of Silla and the artefacts tell of a society rich in artistic skill. Among the treasures uncovered include a delicate gold crown and an exquisite painting of a white horse on a birch bark saddle flap from the so-called heavenly horse tomb.

We went inside one of the tombs, the chamber of which is an atmospheric, darkened display hall for many of these artefacts. We joined queues of Korean schoolchildren and their good-natured boisterousness reminded me of kids at home. This was a sharp contrast with Japan, where the same queues would have been polite and orderly.

After wandering among these other-wordly mounds, we were hungry, but to the uninitiated, Korean food can be a bit of a challenge. A typical meal can be made of around 10 or more plates, most unidentifiable and centred round a piece of grilled fish perhaps (which is at least recognisable).

We had got on overnight ferry from Japan to Busan and then the early bullet train up country. Although it was barely 11am, after a very early start, we were more than ready to eat. Chancing upon a typical Korean restaurant, where we left our shoes at the door and sat cross-legged at low tables, I invited the host to give us what he recommended. What we got was 'Ssambap'. The 'bap' means rice, but it is both more complicated and more delightful than that.

We were treated to a procession of dishes brought to our table, each only a tapas-sized portions (or 'banchan') of beansprouts, tofu drizzled with sesame oil, rice, pieces of squid in a peppery sauce and the ever-present kimchee. A sort of oriental sauerkraut, this is cabbage (or Chinese leaves) pickled with garlic, ginger and chili and although it doesn't sound that appetizing, is wonderful.

Each meal will also be served with leaves, and the best way to eat this oriental smorgasbord is to hold your leaf flat and pile it with a bit of fish, a bit of kimchee and maybe a bit of something else and then roll it up and dip it a smoky soy, sesame and garlicky paste or ssamjang (a mixture of soybean paste and chili pepper paste).

After my initial bewilderment, I quickly decided this was the tastiest food I'd ever eaten and all things considered, I'd be happy to eat like this for the rest of my life.

The slightly less virtuous but still reasonably healthy is the ubiquitous Korean barbecue. In Britain, people go to the pub after work, in South Korea they head for the nearest ‘bulgogi’ restaurant. Our introduction was at a raucous place on Gyeongju's main street where a table full of hairdressers (I'm guessing) were having a rare old time on the Soju. This is a Korean rice wine, but is a bit rougher thatn its Japanese equivalent sake. Alongside beer, it is all you'll get alcohol-wise in these places.

They don't tend to have a menu, because the choice will be limited to 'pork or beef' and often will only be pork. The waiter will light the griddle pan at the centre of your table and bring over a plate of thinly sliced pork shoulder and a pair of scissors. If you are local, you'll be left to griddle the meat yourself, occasionally snipping the meat to hurry it along.

As non-locals, we were rarely entrusted to do this ourselves, but in between cooking the meat slices, our waiter would bring dinky dishes of sliced onion, garlic and kimchee which could go on the grill too. It was a more rough and ready version of the fine banquet we had for our first lunch. Interestingly, that's how locals tended to eat too. Delicate dishes and fish for lunch, barbecue for dinner. I decided I could live with this too.

Although it was clear on our journey through the southeast of Korea how mountainous much of the country was, every flat area was intensely cultivated. And just as we were savouring the delights of this produce when sat down to eat our barbecue or delicate lunch cross-legged, so the streets of Gyeongju were thronged with people selling it.

Saturday especially was market day, or more precisely, pavement market day. Old ladies spread blankets on the pavement and laid out their crate of live crabs, a bucket full of wriggling brown eels, a thatch of knotted garlic, or great sacks of dried chillies.

It was around these markets that we stepped one Saturday morning to sample another of Gyeongju’s culinary landmarks. My young daughter wasn’t quite as taken by the delights of local food as I was, but she took a shine to the latest thing to hit South Korea – the French Patisserie. To be precise, this was a branch of the Korean chain Paris Baguette. Here, you could buy the chic-est, fussiest-looking pastries this side of the Seine, and to be fair, some beautiful coffee.

Because sometimes, pickled cabbage and live eels, aren’t exactly what an eight-year-old wants. And although I’d still be happy to eat Korean food for the rest of my life, I’d also be happy to let my daughter lead me here for breakfast.