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Namtaeryeong Station (남태령역) Line 4 – Station #434

November 17, 2012

This is a very bittersweet post for us here at Seoul Sub→urban. On the one hand, we’ve reached something of a milestone: Namtaeryeong marks the 100^th station that we’ve visited for the project. When we began we had no idea where it would go or how long it would last, and the idea of covering a hundred of Seoul’s countless neighborhoods seemed far off, if not impossible. To have reached this point and to have had so many other good things come our way – a magazine column, radio segments, a book deal – is incredibly gratifying, though even more gratifying has been the chance to explore and to get to know intimately a city that we really love and to share that process with so many people, not just other expats but Koreans too. Throughout it all we’ve had a great deal of help and support, and all the ‘thank you’s that we owe people could fill a book, but we’re particularly grateful to the folks at Nanoomi, SEOUL magazine and Seoul Selection, TBS eFM, the various websites who have republished our columns and helped bring our work to a wider audience, everyone in the media who thought we were worth writing or talking about, and 김소이 and Andrew Haglin for their personal support. Also, and most importantly, to all of you who’ve read our posts and followed us around Seoul. We never imagined we’d get such a positive response to this project, and the feedback and support we’ve received from you has been so, so gratifying. Thank you.

Sadly, though, this post also marks the end of Liz’s tenure here. Those of you who follow the blog regularly were no doubt already aware that Liz has left Korea to embark on a year-long round-the-world trip with her boyfriend (and good friend of mine) Andrew, and Namtaeryeong is the last station she shot before departing. Liz’s work has been instrumental to the project and I was incredibly lucky when she said yes after I asked her to undertake the blog with me. She was a great partner to work with, and so often her camera brought to life aspects of the city that my writing never could. She’ll be missed, but she’s on to great things and hopefully she’ll be back in the future to do a special guest post or two when she passes through Seoul again. In the meantime, you should follow her along on her travels at thiskentuckygirl.com where she’s posting photos, a write-up, and a one-minute video of each day of her trip. It’s amazing and addictive and induces unhealthy amounts of envy. You’ll love it. And now, on to the post…

Wedged between Umyeon Mountain (우면산) and Gwanak Mountain (관악산), Namtaeryeong is a curious little area with a small residential neighborhood isolated from the rest of the city, linked to it only by the subway and Gwacheon-daero (과천대로). This makes it feel like an American suburb, and that sensation is only made stronger by actually walking through it. By Exit 1, a side street leads off the highway into the neighborhood, where homes line up on a clean grid, practically nothing is taller than three stories, and there’s none of the irrepressible commerce spilling onto sidewalks that’s so ubiquitous in most parts of the city. There are some small local businesses to be sure, but they mostly keep things indoors.

On the station map this area is called Jeonwon Village (전원마을), but ‘village’ gives the wrong impression, as it’s a pretty well-to-do place. When I said ‘homes’ I meant actual homes as in houses; there are very few apartments here. Most of these houses are made of brick, with gambrel roofs, and are surrounded by brick walls with metal gates. Most houses also have actual yards, and while most of them are microscopic in comparison to yards in American suburbs, in Korea any yard at all is a pretty big deal. Some yards have gardens, some have evergreens or persimmon trees, some have clotheslines, and some have small playsets for toddlers, complete with tiny plastic slides. There were solar panels on roofs and a car with a ‘USC Dad’ bumper sticker.

Lest we be tempted to think that we’d somehow been zapped across the Pacific, there were enough signs to remind us that this was still Korea. Vegetables had been left to dry on mats outside, there was a path leading to a hiking trail in the mountains, and, tucked in the neighborhood’s southeast corner, people working in a garden next to a series of sheds wrapped in a black mesh covering.

On the neighborhood’s north side was Seoul Electronics High School (서울전자고등학교) and the offices of the CJ online mall. Something else was in the works too, as along the east side of Gwacheon-daero was a long gray metal construction fence, dotted with absurd pictures of untouched forests and pristine waterfalls. Further north, beyond the school, the side of a mountain had been razed. Below a stripe of trees running over the crest, the now smooth face had horizontal lines of fencing running across it and tarps covering the lower sections, perhaps to prevent rock slides.

Nestled below the surrounding mountains, the Namtaeryeong area was, on the day I visited, both beautiful and sinister, accented by the sharp autumn foliage, but also loomed over by heavy dark clouds and periodically brushed with rain. In a way, that contrast was matched by the two other features of the area.

Just outside Exit 4 was the main entrance to Capital Defense Command (수도방위사령부). This, obviously, is not on any map, but it takes up essentially the entire west side of the area. From the sidewalk, carpeted in wet gold and brown leaves, all I could see were the driveways leading back to the compound’s buildings, which were well out of view. The driveways had black and yellow-striped barricades (some spiked) on them, necessitating any car entering or exiting to slalom between the barriers. They were also watched over by helmeted soldiers, dressed in camouflage uniforms or long green pea coats and armed with short-nosed rifles. Curiously, the cars that I saw going in and coming out weren’t unmarked or even government vehicles, but regular old Kia Mornings and Hyundai Sonatas.

Across the street, north of Jeonwon Village and Exit 2, was Jeonggak Temple (정각사). On the way there I passed a city bus depot, where buses were filled with compressed natural gas and got baths from jumbo-sized versions of the automatic washers found in drive-through car washes.

Next to the base for the Korean National Police, Unit 868, the temple had a large golden Buddha statue on a platform in the courtyard in front of the temple. Fat and happy, he looked over a much smaller version of his newborn self that was flanked by a white elephant and a pair of deer. A canopy of brightly colored paper lanterns led up to the temple’s main door, which was framed by green and orange dragon heads. The place was simple. There was a small garden, and behind the temple seaweed hung out to dry, rather inefficiently considering the day’s weather. Across from the temple’s west side, water flowed out of a tunnel in the hillside into a concrete channel before disappearing into another tunnel below.

Capital Defense Command (수도방위사령부)

Exit 4

Jeonggak Temple (정각사)

Exit 2

Straight on Gwacheon-daero (과천대로)

Tags:Line 4, school, Seocho-gu, temple
Posted in Line 4, Seocho-gu, Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

Seoul Station (서울역) Line 1 – Station #133, Line 4 – Station #426, AREX – Station #A01

April 29, 2012

For almost anyone who travels, there’s a certain romance associated with rail travel that other modes of transportation can’t quite match. Flight had its moment of glam in the postwar years, but few still find anything romantic about the process of contemporary air travel with its steadily decreasing comforts and increasing security indignities. Boat travel within developed countries all but doesn’t exist, and cruises aren’t so much travel as the vacation itself. Trains, however (and their whiff of outdatedness for long distance travel may in part explain this), still evoke a certain charm, a sense that wonderful things might happen not only at your destination, but on your way there. The names of the great routes – the Orient Express, the Trans-Siberian, the Blue Train – and the great stations – Grand Central, Union, Gare du Nord, St. Pancras – reflect that. It’s no coincidence that the Hogwarts Express was a steam train and not a jetliner. Magical people take the train.

Alas, Seoul Station is not one of the world’s greats, but that’s largely due to a political twist of fate. If reunification ever becomes a reality, Seoul will become the terminus for what would undoubtedly be one of the world’s longest and most incredible journeys: Lisbon to Seoul overland.

Until that day, however, those of us who live and travel here have no choice but to accept the fact that what counts as Korea’s ultimate rail journey is the between-meals run to Busan or Mokpo. What the Korean railroad suffers in its geographical limitations, however, it compensates for in its quality and in its wonderful station.

Uh, make that two stations.

Seoul Station, now, refers to the new Seoul Station, but it used to refer to the old Seoul Station right next door. In the interest of historical linearity, let’s start there.

The old Seoul Station is a beauty of a thing; it looks the way a train station is supposed to look. Designed by the Japanese architect Tsukamoto Yasushi and completed in 1925, thick stone slabs ring the bottom below reddish-pink bricks, all below an arched central window and Byzantine dome.

While trains may no longer run from the old station, it has fortunately been brought back to life with an extensive refurbishment and reimagining. Reopened on August 9, 2011 and rechristened Culture Station Seoul 284 (문화역서울 284), it’s been turned into an exhibition space, and until February 11 it’s hosting a preliminary exhibition entitled ‘Countdown’ before fully opening as an art complex in March. The current exhibition is a mélange of disciplines and styles from a number of artists, foreign and Korean. Works range from sculpture to video to slideshows to audio to site-specific installations.

As interesting as the artworks, if not more so, is their juxtaposition with the restored station and the station itself. The new Seoul Station is a paragon of modernity, but the original captures the imagination in a way particular to old rail stations. It’s not hard to envision a curl of cigarette smoke drifting out from a shadowy corner, followed by a trench coated Graham Greene or Paul Theroux, leather satchel in hand. Thick granite columns line the foyer, and light streams through a stained glass skylight in the ceiling. There are fireplaces, candelabras, and wood-paneling on the walls. The exhibit guide notes where the Ladies’ Waiting Room and the Barber Shop were, and you can stroll the carpeted floor of what used to be The Grill, for a long time Seoul’s best Western restaurant, imagining the intrigue as foreign powers plotted Korea’s fate in the pre-war years.

In at least one location, the old station offers an even deeper look into its past. In the old barber shop and restroom on the second floor, refurbishment has been left half-completed, so that you’re able to view original construction materials and techniques from behind protective glass.

The old station is connected to the new by Seoul Square, which is known by many Seoulites primarily for being a popular gathering spot for the city’s homeless. Indeed, you’ll always find several wandering around or seated on blankets or cardboard, drinking or eating cup ramen, but their presence here is less pronounced that at similar stations in the U.S. There is also, more often than not, the odd demonstrator or two, bearing a sign and airing a grievance, as well as members of the Seoul Station Street Church (서울역 거리 교회), with their bright jackets, fliers, and eager entreaties to know Jesus. I had one member, a genial middle-aged man with a voice that sounded like he lived on a diet of cigarettes and gravel, follow me down the street for a block or so before deciding to try his luck with someone else.

Also on the square is a rather badass statue of Kang Woo-kyu (왈우 강우규 의사). The statue, which was only unveiled last year, commemorates the anti-colonial activist who, when he was already in his 60s, threw a bomb at the Japanese Governor-General Saito Makoto on this spot in 1919. Sporting a goatee and some serious boots, his hanbok flowing behind him, Gang’s right arm is tensed at his side, ready to unleash the grenade in his hand.

The new Seoul Station (서울역) is bright and airy, and it handles its bustle well. Lined with fast food places and shops, it also has floor exhibits where the likes of Chevrolet show off their latest products, but the tall, high windows create the feeling of space, and people move through the station efficiently. A department store is attached to both the first and second floors of the station, and on the upper concourse, in addition to a food court, you’ll also find space for photo exhibits and the Open Concert Hall, where two pianos and a keyboard sat at the ready.

After looking around the interior of the station for a bit I decided to head out to the mezzanine above the tracks, from where I could watch the trains pulling in and departing and watch the flow of passengers. I was briskly making my way there when a line of yellow tape that I spotted on the ground caused me to stop in my tracks. On the tape was text that read, in English, ‘We Trust You: (Only paid customers can cross this line.)’ (고객 신뢰선 (운임경계선) in Korean). That was the security check. All of it. Of course, tickets are checked on the train, but there were no guards, no metal detectors, no baggage inspection. It was remarkable, and even though I had no intention of sneaking onto a train it seemed so good-natured, so trusting, so esteeming of my character that the yellow line actually made me pause and consider for a moment whether or not I should cross it, and when I did I needed to take a moment to convince myself that what I was doing was OK, that I was acting in the name of reportage and wasn’t actually doing something wrong.

Outside, below the woven gray canopy of beams, the sleek metallic trains lined up even-spaced on the tracks like silverware in its case, awaiting dinner. I found a spot near the mezzanine’s edge to watch as, a stream of hundreds of dark coats poured out of a newly arrived train and up the escalators. It was New Year’s Eve, and lots of soldiers were out on leave, heading home to spend time with their families. A group of about 20 army men went by, all dressed in identical camouflage uniforms and with green canvas duffels strapped to their backs. More stylish were the marines in snappy gray topcoats with polished gold buttons.

In front of Seoul Station and Seoul Square is the busy Hangang-ro (한강로), and, leaving the station behind, I headed south on it, past a busy taxi queue, to see a bit of the neighborhood.

Several more of the city’s homeless were here and there on the street surrounding the square, including one I passed who was squatting over a pile of discarded wires, peeling the plastic coating off by hand to get at the valuable copper inside. Not much further on, just past Exit 13, was a line of people on the sidewalk, about 50 people deep, waiting their turn to get into a soup kitchen that was being operated in a small storefront. Workers in bright yellow jackets watched over the crowd, and when someone had finished their meal and exited they guided the next person in.

Beyond the soup kitchen were a couple of shops on either side of the street selling medical oddities like old wooden crutches, prosthetic limbs, and fake silicon hands in a variety of sizes and colors. None of them were open, and it was unclear if they were simply closed for the weekend or for good.

In the opposite direction, via a five-minute walk from Exit 4, is one of Seoul’s most well-known landmarks, Sungnyemun (숭례문), more commonly known as Namdaemun (남대문).

Of course, for the time being there’s nothing to see, as an enormous white shed encloses the gate as it undergoes restoration following the 2008 arson attack that partially destroyed it.

If you walk there you’ll notice that the area north of the station is far more lively and eclectic than the area to the south, owing, of course, to the nearby presence of Namdaemun Market (남대문시장) (which we’ll cover when we get to Hoehyeon Station (회현역)). But even on Namdaemun-ro (남대문로) there’s plenty of market spillover, and the sidewalk is lined with tables where vendors sell everything from headlamps to scarves.

To the west lies Seoul Station’s backdoor, a largely residential neighborhood whose character is entirely different from the neighborhood to the east. I actually stopped here first, stepping out Exit 4 onto a pleasant little cobblestoned plaza planted with a ‘garden’ of blue and red-tipped metal poles. Directly across the street was a fire engine-red complex of buildings behind a matching concrete wall, that upon closer inspection turned out to actually be warehouses for the National Theater Company of Korea (국립극장). Right next to the complex was a recycling yard where a half-dozen men were using heavy equipment to noisily move some metal beams about.

Behind the warehouses and the recycling yard, the hilly area between the station and Mallijae-ro (만리재로) is an older lower-class neighborhood full of brick apartments and homes, some with tile roofs, and modest, not very profitable-looking stores and businesses.

Business picks up after you climb up to Mallijae-ro, and it’s just off here where you’ll find the Sohn Kee-Chung Athletic Park (손기정체육공원). The easiest way to reach the park is to go out Exit 4, cross Cheongpa-ro (청파로), turn right, merge left onto Mallijae-ro just before the overpass, and cross the pedestrian overpass that will come up ahead of you. After you cross go down on the left and Mallijae-ro-31-gil (만리재로31길) will be directly in front of you, where a small sign points to the park 120 meters away.

Longtime readers (and those savvy to Korean athletic history) may find that name ringing a bell, as we earlier had a run-in with a Sohn memorial when we visited Sports Complex Station (종합운동장역). We touched on his history in that post, but to briefly recap: Sohn was born in 1914 in Sinuiju (신의주), on what is now the North Korean border with China. Because Korea was under Japanese occupation at the time, Sohn was forced to compete under the Japanese flag and a Japanese name, Son Kitei. In Berlin he set an Olympic record, and on the medal stand he used a pin oak sapling he had received as victor to cover up the Japanese sun on his chest.

Befitting a park dedicated to Sohn, the emphasis here is on athletic facilities, and there are several terraced into the slope, including tennis courts, a nice soccer pitch, and even a ping-pong table. Additionally, there is the Sohn Kee-Chung Culture Center (손기정문화센터) and Library (독서실), housed in handsome red brick buildings with ivy climbing up their sides.

There are two sculptures of Sohn in the park. One is a large rendering of just the elderly Sohn’s head, looking out from the park’s highest point over a wonderful view of the rooftops of central Seoul. In front of the sculpture is the pin oak (손기정 월계관 기념수) that was given to Sohn upon his victory in the 1936 Olympic marathon. According to the nearby plaque, Olympic medalists were originally presented with crowns of Mediterranean laurels, but starting with the ’36 Games the laurels were replaced with pin oak. The oak that Sohn received was planted at Yangjeong High School (양정고등학교), Sohn’s alma mater, but when the high school relocated the former site was turned into the athletic park.

The second statue is partway down the slope, and captures Sohn in a pose as the runner is more commonly remembered. The bib on his chest identifies him as racer number 382, the number he wore in the Berlin race. He is midstride, his head cocked at a peculiar angle, straining to outrun the other athletes and, just as surely, the shame and burden he was made to carry.

Culture Station Seoul 284 (문화역서울 284)

Exit 2

Hours | Tues – Fri: 11:00 – 19:00; Weekends: 11:00 – 20:00; Closed Monday, January 1, and Lunar New Year’s Day

Admission: Free

02) 3407-3500

http://www.culturestationseoul284.org

www.countdown2011.org

Seoul Square

Exit 1 or 2

Seoul Station (서울역)

Accessible directly from subway

Sungnyemun (숭례문) / Namdaemun (남대문)

Exit 4

Straight on Namdaemun-ro (남대문로)

Sohn Kee-Chung Athletic Park (손기정체육공원)

Exit 4

Cross Cheongpa-ro (청파로), turn right, Left on Mallijae-ro (만리재로), cross pedestrian bridge, Right on Mallijae-ro-31-gil (만리재로31길)

Parts of this post first appeared in the April 2012 issue of SEOUL magazine.

Tags:AREX, art, history, Line 1, Line 4, monument, park, sports, transportation
Posted in AREX, Line 1, Line 4, Yongsan-gu | 3 Comments »

Myeongdong Station (명동역) Line 4 – Station #424

March 11, 2012

There are chickens in Myeongdong. Not stuffed or deep-fried, but real actual chickens, about ten of them, that twitch and peck at the dirt in someone’s small yard. Administratively speaking, they may technically be in Hoehyeon-dong-2-ga (회현동2가) and not Myeong-dong (명동), but with a strong throw you might be able to hit the station with a stone, and if you get a lucky bounce it might tumble all the way across Toegye-ro (퇴계로) to the hyper-electric warren of streets that is what we think of when we think of Myeongdong.

That Myeongdong, the Myeongdong of crowds and shoppers and neon lights and some of the world’s highest real estate prices, wasn’t ever thus. It was once mostly residential, and in the postwar years it would have taken a true visionary to imagine it as it is now. But like the city around it, Myeongdong has transformed, and to trace its development is to come to the conclusion that this single square kilometer may represent more fully than anywhere else the diverging postwar fates of the two Koreas. It’s everything the North is emphatically not: unabashedly international, hyper-capitalist, über-prosperous. Chinese, Thai, and (horror of horrors!) Japanese and American tourists are to be found here at all hours, usually loaded down with shopping bags, eager participants in the whitecapped churn of consumerism as billions of won are made and spent here every day. Which is why those chickens surprised me so much. Rather than the real one, they seemed more at home in some alt-history version of Myeongdong, where MacArthur’s Incheon landing never happened, the North won the war, and Seoul became a dour expanse of factories and subsistence farming.

For the uninitiated, Myeongdong, smack in the heart of the city, is one of Seoul’s main tourist and shopping destinations, a grid of streets filled to bursting with shopping malls, international chain stores, boutiques, cafes, restaurants, and seemingly a million other places where you may quickly be dispossessed of your money. The streets are mostly pedestrian, but don’t let that lull you into believing that you can enjoy a breezy stroll while casually window shopping. The area is always bustling, and on a Friday or Saturday wading through the streets is a slow process that resembles picking your way through the crowd at a club, full of shuffle steps and bumped shoulders.

Adding to that sensation is the fact that walking through the streets of Myeongdong is like walking through a K-pop jukebox set on shuffle. Almost every storefront blares pop music into the street outside, so as you make your way down the street you’re continuously walking through five second snippets of Girls’ Generation, 2PM, and T-ARA. While the fact that every single store does this may render its effectiveness at luring in customers dubious, it doubtless adds to the area’s incredibly high energy. The music, the crowds, the flashing lights, the barkers barking in Korean or Japanese – it all will either invigorate or drain you. For me it does both. When I’m in the mood, there’s nowhere in Seoul that’s more exciting or that makes me love living in East Asia, with all its intensity and drive, more. When I’m not, I feel like a cartoon character who’s just had his bell rung, woozy and disoriented, with flashing stars swirling around my head.

While there are so many places to shop in Myeongdong that singling out one place over another is a bit moot, there is one for which I’m going to do just that. If you follow the main street just outside of Exit 6 (Myeongdong-8-gil (명동8길)) down to Myeongdong-gil (명동길), and then hang a left you’ll come to the Noon Square complex, where you’ll find Level 5, a collection of small boutiques spread over the fifth floor.

While most of the stores in Myeongdong sell the same clothing you could find in New York or Tokyo or Barcelona, Level 5 sells threads that are true Seoul and that are at the leading edge of fashion in Korea. That’s because Level 5 was established (in August 2009) as a dedicated space for promising young designers, to give them an opportunity to work with more established craftspeople, develop their own work, assist with marketing and promotion, and provide a space for them to display and sell their finished product as they work to establish themselves in the Korean and global fashion markets.

Don’t, however, thing of shopping here as charity work. The merchandise, from sunglasses to blazers, from bags to bracelets, and running the gamut from sophisticated prep to urban weekender, is high quality (these are, after all, some of the best young designers Korea has to offer) and truly one of a kind. And as an added bonus, Level 5 is relatively quiet. It’s off the radar of tourists and most Koreans, leaving it primarily to those in the know and resulting in a more relaxed shopping environment.

Back outside, you’re on Myeongdong-gil, which, even by Myeongdong standards, is irrepressibly vibrant. In addition to shoppers, the street is a magnet for the curious, noisy, and eccentric. You’ll usually see several tour groups trailing behind their guides’ bobbing pennants, often wearing matching hats or polos in the royal yellow of the Thai king. Other mainstays are the Christian proselytizers, always wearing sashes and frequently holding up crosses or signs, usually equipped with a megaphone or speakers that blare out hymns or exhortations of conversion, routinely ignored by everyone. The street is also a popular place to air grievances, and from time to time you’ll see a small demonstration, as I did on a recent weekend, where several students from Dongguk University were protesting the closing of the school’s creative writing department. As students at a Buddhist university, they were doing this not with noisy slogans, but by repeatedly prostrating themselves.

If you can find a spot to linger without getting in people’s way (no easy task), Myeongdong-gil is a fun place to stop for a while and just see what happens. And if you get hungry you needn’t ever go very far to get something to eat. The street is lined with food carts, serving everything from sausages to hoddeok to dumplings to strips of dried squid. Prices tend to be a bit higher than elsewhere, but not unreasonably so. Interspersed with the food carts are street stalls that sell cheap accessories – lots of hats, gloves, and scarves in the winter, and belts, caps, and sunglasses in the summer.

In the middle of Myeongdong-gil is a handsome cream-colored brick building, whose modest design can make it easy to overlook among its flashier neighbors. This is the Myeongdong Theater (명동예술극장). The building, dating from 1934, was originally called the Meiji Theater and served as a cinema, primarily for the area’s Japanese residents during the colonial period. It later served a ten-year stint as city hall in the 1940s and 50s before going on to become the home of the National Theater of Korea. It was closed in 1975, not to be reopened until 2009 after renovations were completed. The 552-seat facility now holds a variety of theatrical performances.

Follow Myeongdong-gil east, gradually away from the crowds, and you’ll come to Myeongdong Catholic Cathedral (명동성당), built in 1898. Sitting atop a small hill, this large red and gray brick structure has a 45-meter central tower that ends in a gray-green peak with a thin metal cross atop it all. The cathedral is surrounded by handsome brick church buildings. On the day I went, a Sunday, the walkway was busy with people on their way to Mass and a small choir sang hymns out front.

Inside, the church has a long central aisle with stately gray stone pillars every five meters that meet to form arches above, which crisscross a simple white roof. On either side, intricate and brightly colored stained glass windows allow light in, and below them the Stations of the Cross are depicted in square, monochromatic metal bas reliefs. The windows along the sides depict only abstract floral designs, but in the apse above and behind the altar are more tall, narrow windows whose vertical triptychs display scenes from the Bible. Flanking the apse are large paintings illustrating Christianity in Korea, and on one side there is also a statue of Korea’s most famous Catholic, Saint Andrew Kim Tae-gon. In a rear balcony is a massive pipe organ, its huge metal tubes set in light-colored wood. For the moment it was silent, and the only sounds in the pre-Mass church were rustling papers, footsteps, and the noises of people settling into their seats, mostly families and old women wearing lace veils over their hair, as many older observant Catholic women do in Korea.

The cathedral occupies a large place in Korean history, and not simply because it was the biggest building in the capital when it was constructed. Stemming from its foundations as a sanctuary for Catholics in a country that was not always hospitable to them, the building has had a long association with dissidents and protestors, providing both a staging ground and asylum for them, most notably for pro-democracy advocates in the 1970s and 80s.

Just a few steps past the church as you’re walking from central Myeongdong is a small granite plaque noting the Site of the Heroic Deed of the Martyr Yi Jaemyeong (이재명의사의 거터). It was here that, during the colonial era, 이 ambushed the Japanese collaborator 이완용, stabbing him in the stomach and shoulder after he had left a memorial mass for the emperor of Belgium. The attack succeeded only in injuring 이완용, and 이재명 was caught, arrested, and executed.

Myeongdong is especially popular with tourists from Japan, and if you take a left out of Exit 6 and then your first right onto Myeongdong-8-gil (명동8길), you’ll see a corner of the neighborhood catering specifically to them. Near where the road meets Samil-ro (삼일로), about half of the signs are in Japanese and a series of stores specialize in bulk sales of kim and Korean ginseng, two of Japanese visitors’ favorite souvenirs. I noticed that you can also pick up a Hello Kitty dressed in hanbok if you prefer.

In the other direction, most easily arrived at via Exit 5 and then a right onto Myeongdong-2-gil (명동2길), is what passes for Seoul’s Chinatown. If you haven’t been and are thinking San Francisco or Bangkok or Cholon in Ho Chi Minh City, stop right there. Seoul has about the saddest excuse for a Chinatown you could imagine – one street, about a block long – though it does contain a couple interesting things of note.

After walking a block from Toegye-ro, you’ll spot the Seoul Chinese Primary School on your right, established in 1909 and recognized as the country’s oldest foreigner school. Then, on the left, is an attractive white building with the white sun of the Chinese Nationalists on a blue crest. This is the old Overseas Chinese Meeting Hall, though it now houses nothing more notable than a photo studio.

Between these two buildings, a small side street holds a few Chinese restaurants, but if you’re hoping for authentic Chinese food, as opposed to Korean-Chinese, again, please kindly place your expectations back in your stomach. The word is, though, that you can at least get some of the city’s best jajjangmyeon around here, and while I’m not prepared to rate it, I did get some that was pretty good at Sandong Gyoza, a tiny place with a cozy downstairs and a half upstairs that requires you to walk bent over. More fun might be the string of open air restaurants just past the Meeting Hall, at least when the weather is nice.

If instead of turning right you continue straight from Exit 5, you’ll turn the corner and find the hulking, and controversial, Seoul Central Post Office Tower (서울중앙우체국). Its symmetrical white towers look like a log being cleaved by a splitting maul, an interesting design, but one that’s been criticized for clashing too much with the more classical buildings surrounding Myeongdong Intersection.

While ‘Myeongdong’ makes people immediately think of the area north of the station, there is of course a neighborhood south of it too, with a couple significant attractions.

Leave Exit 1, U-turn, and follow the road as it curves around to the right, past the National Red Cross Headquarters, and up on the left you’ll spot Namsan Art Center (남산예술센터), which houses another branch of Seoul Art Space.

Just beyond the Art Center is the Seoul Animation Center, the city’s temple to all things illustrated. Painted in bright colors (of course), there are also a number of statues of animation characters outside and on the roof, including one of Taekwon V guarding the front of the building.

Inside, displays range from whimsical dioramas of castles and small figurines to a gallery of cartoon-themed art offering takes on contemporary family life. The visitors to the center when I dropped by were, naturally, mostly kids and their parents, and some of them were creating their own work in workshops offered by the center, catching a film screening, or having their portrait drawn by one of the three cartoonists offering caricatures in the lobby. Others played with some of the interactive gadgets, including one kid I watched strain to stand on his tiptoes in order to get the top half of his head in the frame at a Pororo photo booth, not quite realizing that he simply could have backed up a couple steps.

I was, I’m fairly certain, the oldest non-parent there, but despite this, and the fact that I’ve never really been into cartoons or animation myself, I’m pretty sure that I spent the entire visit with a rather dopey grin smeared across my face. At no time was this more true than when I went into the men’s bathroom. Above the urinals was a sculpture of a crowd of characters inquisitively peeking over the ledge to see what was going on down below. But it gets better. The back wall of each urinal was composed of a video screen that alternated between a target, a buzzing fly that taunts and sticks its butt out at you, and an animated Whac-a-Mole.

Next to the Animation Center is the Cartoon Museum, which isn’t quite so much a true museum as it is an archive and library of animation. On the first floor is the Cartoon Library, offering shelves and shelves of comic books, manga, and graphic novels. The second floor holds a huge collection of video animations, everything from South Park to Ghost in the Shell to the old Claymation Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas Special. Anyone is free to come in at any time, pick out one of the videos, and watch it, slouched on a brightly colored chair in front of one of the dozen or so screens that are available. As I walked around, nosing through the collection and the figurines displayed in glass cases, kids and their parents were absorbed in Disney’s Aladdin and episodes of Pokemon.

The area just west of the museum is almost quiet, at least relative to its surroundings, and it was here that I saw the chickens. The neighborhood is dotted with restaurants and small businesses, including many that begin to display signs in Chinese for translators, travel agents, and trading companies as you work your way up Toegye-ro-18-gil (퇴계로18길) towards the Chinese embassy. En route, you’ll also pass the Chojun Textile Art Museum (초전섬유 퀼트박물관).

Although hints of the more modern Myeongdong existed in this neighborhood, in the form of clothing and jewelry boutiques, it was still much the sort of place where you’d likely witness kimchi pots stacked outside buildings, as I did.

The other main attraction on the south side of Myeongdong Station is the cable car up to N Seoul Tower on Namsan (남산). To get there, go out Exit 4, and take a left onto Banpo-ro (반포로) at the major intersection. From there you’ll be able to see the white silver and red needle poking into the sky ahead of you and the thin lines of the cable car, little gray boxes gliding up and down them.

Just before the traffic disappears into the Namsan 3 Tunnel you’ll arrive at an elevator (10:00 – 23:00) that takes you up an inclined track to the cable car proper. The trip costs 7,500 won round-trip for an adult, a fair bit more than the less direct Namsan bus, but it’ll get you to the summit quickly and directly, and provide you with views of the city bettered only by the trip up the tower itself to its viewing platform. Try to time your visit so you arrive at the tower just before dusk. That way you’ll be able to take in the city in daylight, and then watch as the sun sets and Seoul turns itself into a terrestrial galaxy, nowhere more luminous than the electric supernova below you.

Level 5

Exit 6

L on Myeongdong-8-gil (명동8길), L on Myeongdong-gil (명동길), 5^th floor of Noon Square

http://www.level5.co.kr

Myeongdong Theater (명동예술극장)

Exit 6

L on Myeongdong-8-gil (명동8길), at intersection with Myeongdong-gil (명동길)

Myeongdong Catholic Cathedral (명동성당) and Site of the Heroic Deed of the Martyr Yi Jaemyeong (이재명의사의 거터)

Exit 6

L on Myeongdong-8-gil (명동8길), R on Myeongdong-gil (명동길)

http://www.mdsd.or.kr

Chinatown

Seoul Chinese Primary School, Overseas Chinese Meeting Hall

Exit 5

R on Myeongdong-2-gil (명동2길)

Seoul Central Post Office Tower (서울중앙우체국)

Exit 5

R on Banpo-ro (반포로)

Namsan Art Center (남산예술센터), Seoul Animation Center, and Cartoon Museum

Exit 1

U-turn, follow road as it curves to right

Museum Hours: Tue – Sun 9:00 – 18:00, Closed holidays

http://www.ani.seoul.kr

Chojun Textile Art Museum (초전섬유 퀼트박물관)

Exit 3

L onto Toegye-ro-18-gil (퇴계로18길)

Namsan Cable Car

Exit 4

L on Banpo-ro (반포로)

Hours: 10:00 – 23:00

cablecar.co.kr

Parts of this post first appeared in the February 2012 issue of SEOUL magazine.

Tags:art, history, Jung-gu, Line 4, monument, museum, nightlife, restaurant, school, shopping
Posted in Jung-gu, Line 4 | 1 Comment »

Danggogae Station (당고개역) Line 4 – Station #409

October 16, 2011

As with so many of the stations that ring Seoul’s outer edges, Danggogae sits in the shadow of the nearby mountains, in this case Buramsan (불암산) to the southeast and Suraksan (수락산) to the north, and just outside of Exit 1 you’ll find a large map that outlines the local hiking trails, which a fair number of brightly-clad Seoulites were either on their way to or from when I stopped by.

Of course, the furthest that my own expedition was taking me was just the immediate neighborhood, but even if you limit your local trip to the same you won’t be deprived of the mountains’ charms. The air here is less congested than in other parts of Seoul, and as I followed Sanggye-ro (상계로) around its bend from Exit 1 I was presented with a lovely view of Buramsan’s forested peak rising up ahead, its large bald northwestern face sticking out like the bare strip cut by a razor through a thick beard.

Danggogae is a Sunday neighborhood, even on Saturdays. Maybe it’s the mountains’ mellowing influence or maybe it’s just being on the edge of the city, but the area is rather sleepy. It’s quiet there. A few people are out doing the shopping or snacking at local fast food stalls, but no one seems in much of a rush to get anywhere, not unlike the fish that I saw drying out front of a local restaurant. They’d been tied up with string through their mouths, a half-dozen of them, and then hung from a pipe that was balanced between two plastic chairs, waiting for the sun to do its slow work.

The most interesting area around Danggogae Station is just across from Exits 1 and 2. South of the tracks is a jumble of poor homes, many with tarps on their roofs held down with bricks or roof tiles like those we first came across in Geoyeo, though the neighborhood here isn’t in such a bad state. Some homes also had pumpkins growing on the roofs, and others had spread out blankets or mats in front of their doors to dry vegetables. One home had repurposed a clothes rack by slinging a reed mat across it and spreading out zucchini slices. A couple kids dashed by, but like in similar neighborhoods, most of the people around were seniors, including a trio of old men killing time on plastic stools outside of a convenience store.

Walking around, I could hear the arriving and departing trains and the bells and announcements drifting over from the station; it was a cheerful sound in the late afternoon light, but was likely an annoyance or worse for the residents, who heard it every couple minutes from dawn until nearly midnight. In addition to the noise, another problem that the residents will soon have to deal with, once again, is the cold. It’s likely that few, if any, of the homes have modern heating systems, their heat provided instead by old-fashioned charcoal briquettes. On one of the main streets in the area I came across a yeontan (연탄) hut, where hundreds of charcoal cylinders were stacked up, ready for winter. Hung on the front of the hut was a small whiteboard on which someone had written a phone number for orders.

Among the homes you’ll also notice a number of places with red Buddhist swastikas, often accompanied by paper lotus lanterns and red and white flags. In Geoyeo it was tiny churches that dotted the neighborhood and, presumably, provided spiritual succor; in Danggogae it’s these fortune tellers.

In contrast to the scene across the street, near Exit 3 Danggogae sports one of the more kitted out neighborhood parks we’ve come across. Besides basketball, badminton, and jokku (족구) courts, Danggogae Park (당고개공원) sports a couple of features that really set it apart. One is the artificial waterfall across from the main entrance. The main cascade, flanked by two smaller ones, tumbles about four into a small pool, kicking up a very fine mist. Above the waterfall is a small wooden pavilion that a group of boys had commandeered and turned into a fort, and behind that are some stone steps leading that mark the beginning of a path into the foot of Suraksan.

In the opposite corner of the park is a very large climbing wall that you’ll likely first spot on the train in. About 20 climbers were hanging around taking turns climbing, acting as spotters, and relaxing on mats and lawn chairs around the edge of the padded base.

More leisurely recreation was being pursued back on a traffic median running alongside the station. There, sitting on park benches or just standing around, several groups of old guys had congregated. A couple of these, numbering about a dozen each, were either participating in or watching competitive games of yutnori (윷놀이). Others were taking in games of Go and janggi (장기), while one group had dispensed with the pretense altogether and was just sitting around drinking.

If instead of Exit 3 you go out Exit 4, a short little alley will pop you right into a small market that runs parallel to the rail tracks. The market wasn’t marked on the station map, so I don’t know what its name is; based on its everydayness – banchan, vegetables, dried peppers, clothing – we’ll just call in Danggogae Market (당고개시장). If you’re up for a bit of a walk, you can follow the signs in the market a kilometer up the slopes of Suraksan to Haklim Temple (학림사).

Danggogae Park (당고개공원)

Exit 3

Danggogae Market (당고개시장)

Exit 4

Tags:Line 4, market, Nowon-gu, park, sports
Posted in Line 4, Nowon-gu | 4 Comments »

Sanggye Station (상계역) Line 4 – Station #410

October 9, 2011

In the 1960s and 70s, as Seoul’s modernization shifted into high gear, large numbers of residents living in Hannam-dong (한남동) and around the Cheonggye Stream (청계천) were relocated to make way for development projects. Overwhelmingly poor, many simply living as squatters, a large number were resettled in Sanggye-dong (상계동), in far northeastern Seoul, where roughly 1,500 small homes had been built with government assistance. The area, surrounded by mountains on three sides, was largely cut off from the rest of city and devoid of public transportation connecting it to the major markets. The government promised that this would be the residents’ final relocation and encouraged them to put down roots.

Then, in 1981 Seoul was awarded the rights to host the 1988 Summer Olympics. Despite being nowhere near the main Olympic venues, Sanggye-dong was considered an eyesore and became the target of further urban renewal efforts by the government. In 1986 the subway system reached the neighborhood, as Line 4 was extended. Soon after, the residents of Sanggye-dong were told that they would be relocated yet again so that high-rise apartments could be constructed for the middle class. The locals would be given a $1,000 per family resettlement fee and sent to Pocheon (포천), about 30 kilometers from the DMZ.

Needless to say, this was unacceptable to many of the local residents, but they were powerless to stop the bulldozers from moving in. Though many families saw no other option than to reluctantly pack their bags, others refused, and a tent city sprang up. Intermittent protests arose as well, culminating in a showdown in June 1986 between around 1,000 residents and an equal number of police and government-hired thugs. By the end of the day, at least one protestor was dead.

Ultimately the protestors were forced out, many of them relocating to Bucheon (부천) where they purchased land that abutted the highway the Olympic Torch would pass down on its way from Incheon to the Olympic Stadium. You can read more about these events here, here, and here.

All this was 25 years ago, a lifetime in terms of what happens in Seoul, and one could be easily forgiven for being shocked by abuses so similar to the widely decried actions taken by the Chinese government in the run-up to Beijing 2008 or for being totally unaware that this ever happened at all. I’ll be the first to ask for pardon. From 2009 to 2010 I lived in adjacent Junggye-dong (중계동) and used Sanggye Station all the time, yet knew nothing of the area’s history until just a few weeks ago.

It’s not hard, in fact, to imagine that Sanggye has no history, so squarely does it fit into the stereotypical image of timeless (as in, not existing in any real time in particular) middle-class Seoul. Today it’s mostly a collection of those repetitive apartment towers and indistinct commercial areas. The most salient features are Buramsan’s (불암산) deep green and tan peak rising to the east and the copious amount of hagwons catering to the families who’ve moved to Nowon-gu for its schools’ lofty reputations. Though I lived in the area for a year I never explored it much, as the neighborhood didn’t really feel like it merited much exploring, so, heading back, I was curious to see what I’d missed.

The area on the north side of the station, out Exit 3 where I started, mostly answered, ‘Not much.’ Epitomizing outer-Seoul living, it’s a garden of apartment towers, small businesses, and chain stores. The one thing that sets it apart a bit is that the metro here is an El, the tracks perched on enormous concrete pillars and hidden by long gray metal walls while steel gates like electrified torii arch above them, connected by wires to power lines. In the back streets is a pretty neighborhood of red brick apartment buildings with brick-paved alleys running between many of them. It’s very quiet, and at various times the loudest sounds were spinning barber poles, someone in a house sharpening knives, and my own footsteps.

If you go out Exit 2, turn left, and continue parallel to the elevated tracks along Sanggye-ro (상계로) you’ll come to Sanggye-ro-27-gil (상계로27길), the main entrance to the Sanggye Central Market (상계중앙시장), a standard neighborhood market that’s mostly stores with their awnings open and spilling onto the street. K-pop chimed out of a cell phone store, and the area had a casual liveliness about it, as if it had not long ago woken up from the nap that the rest of the somnambulant neighborhood seemed to be taking. Meats, breads, rice cakes, and kitchen supplies were for sale, and at a fishmonger’s the fresh fish were laid out neatly underneath a plastic sheet, pre-sliced and gutted and kept cold by plastic beer bottles that had been filled with water and then frozen.

On your way to the market, coming out Exit 2 or 4, you’ll see an area blocked off by two-meter-high gray metal fencing. On the subway map this is labeled the Danghyeon Stream (당현천), but when I peered through a gap in the fencing it looked like there was nothing there but a dried out streambed. If you’re persistent, however, and continue walking you’ll discover that a block or so down the stream actually does start and that there’s a set of stairs leading down to it.

En route, on the stream’s south side, you’ll pass a couple of small monuments. One is a statue entitled 가슴에 새기다 (Keep It in Your Heart-ish) by 양형규 that’s a tribute to 이문건, who made the first tombstone carving in Hangeul (한글 영비) in nearby Hagye-dong (하계동). The other is an engraving of the poem 새 (‘The Bird’) by the poet 천상병.

The Danghyeon is an odd little stream. Its source is a big, rusty industrial pipe in the side of a wall where water pours out, spilling onto a wide, algae-dotted slab of concrete before tumbling into what’s basically a gash in the floor, as if a tremor had cracked the paving open. The walls underneath the nearby bridge are covered in graffiti – there are pictures of Eazy E, Homer Simpson, and SpongeBob SquarePants, and another scrawl reading ‘Notorious P.I.G.’ – and if this were L.A. and not Seoul it would be where you’d go to buy crack.

Just on the other side of that pedestrian bridge, though, the Danghyeon is as nice as any stream you’ll find in the city: manicured and engineered like Cheonggyecheon or the Seongnae Stream, with carefully placed rocks on the embankments, small sandbars, and colorful wildflowers. A handful of ducks lazily drifted with the current, at least until someone’s pet terrier bounded into the water after them, futilely chasing them downstream.

Another option for neighborhood recreation is Satgat Park (삿갓공원), which you can get to by going out Exit 4, turning left, and crossing the intersection with Deokneung-ro (덕릉로). Picnic with the pensioners on pavilions in this shady, busy park, or, if you’re feeling less alliterative, join the kids on the brightly colored playground equipment. Too old for that but too young for the other? Walk back towards the station where, in the streets around Exit 1, you’ll find a moderately busy neighborhood full of bars and restaurants. Just be sure to raise a glass to the old residents of Sanggye-dong.

Sanggye Central Market (상계중앙시장)

Exit 2

Turn left out of the exit, continue straight on Sanggye-ro (상계로), right on Sanggye-ro-27-gil (상계로27길)

Danghyeon Stream (당현천)

Exit 2 or 4

Cross Hangeulbiseok-ro (한글비석로) to the south

Satgat Park (삿갓공원)

Exit 4

Left, straight on Hangeulbiseok-ro (한글비석로), cross Deokneung-ro (덕릉로)

Tags:history, Line 4, market, Nowon-gu, park
Posted in Line 4, Nowon-gu | 4 Comments »

Seoul Sub→urban

Archive for the ‘Line 4’ Category

Namtaeryeong Station (남태령역) Line 4 – Station #434

Seoul Station (서울역) Line 1 – Station #133, Line 4 – Station #426, AREX – Station #A01

Myeongdong Station (명동역) Line 4 – Station #424

Danggogae Station (당고개역) Line 4 – Station #409

Sanggye Station (상계역) Line 4 – Station #410

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