Seoul Sub→urban

Yeouido Station (여의도역) Line 5 – Station #526, Line 9 – Station #915

April 22, 2012 by Seoul Sub→urban

Change is a constant theme on this blog, one that’s unavoidable when you talk about Seoul, but there are few places in the city that have undergone it quite so dramatically as Yeouido. In the Joseon era, this island, whose name literally translates to ‘Useless,’ served as a sheep and goat pasture, and that’s pretty much how it stayed until the Japanese built the country’s first airport here in the early 1900s. Still, it wasn’t until the ‘70s and Korea’s major industrialization that the island began its transformation into the financial and political center it is today.

This focus on finance and power has led Yeouido to sometimes be referred to as the ‘Manhattan of Seoul,’ in keeping with the unfortunate national habit of making overstretched and not very accurate comparisons (see: Jeju is the Hawaii of Korea; Garosugil is the Paris of Korea; Seoul National University is the Harvard of Korea). Despite the rather overextended metaphor, Yeouido does exude an air of Serious Business, and its status as the country’s seat of economic power does at least mirror that of Gotham. Hit up the neighborhood around noon on a weekday and watch the sidewalks turn into rivers of power suits.

When you step out of the subway station, the first thing you notice is, of course, the many tall office buildings, most of them covered in various hues of tinted glass – purple, cobalt, black, aquamarine. There’s so much reflective glass in this neighborhood that if you left some kindling out on the street, sooner or later the sun would probably hit the right angle and it would catch fire. Many of the buildings exhibit commissioned outwork out front, usually a sculpture in a style that emphasizes geometry over detail.

Yeouido isn’t all work and no play, however, as I found out via a few hours in the neighborhood on a late autumn afternoon. The island has some of the city’s nicest green spaces, and is one of the best spots in the city for recreational biking.

Seoul initiated a public bike system just over a year ago, and although the city’s size and terrain have kept its scope relatively limited thus far, the program’s proved popular and there are plans to expand. If you’re looking for a free ride in Yeouido, however, you’re in luck, as it’s the program’s hub. All over the island you’ll find racks of crimson and white bikes available for public use. They’re free for the first 30 minutes, after which you’ll have to pay a very modest fee. Alternatively, you can purchase a one-month or six-month subscription. More info is on the website (Korean only).

At first glance, Yeouido might seem like an odd place to set up a public bike program like this, but it’s got a few things working in its favor that made it a sensible place to start. For starters, it’s flat, which much of Seoul is not. The wide roads and sidewalks leave plenty of room for bikes (practically every street on Yeouido has a bike lane), and there’s a lot of parkland as well.

And those parks? They’re good ones. We’ll start with Yeouido Park (여의도공원) (which we also visited when we went to Yeouinaru Station), a long strip that divides the island in half, just a couple blocks from Exit 3.

Yeouido Park is divided into four sections: Traditional Korean Forest (한국전통의 숲), Grassy Field (잔다마당), the Cultural Events Plaza (문화의 마당), and Ecological Forest (자연생태의 숲), from northeast to southwest. If you come from the station you’ll first arrive at the Cultural Events Plaza, a paved expanse dominated by an enormous taegeukki waving in the breeze. Its edge is ringed with pickup basketball courts, most of which were being used when I passed by. There were also fathers playing catch with sons and a pair of old ladies sharing a tandem bike. Stands on the plaza rent out balls and rollerblades if you don’t have or don’t want to bring your own. As its name implies, the plaza also hosts events and concerts, and on the day I was there a group of workers was setting up a stage for some type of performance. While they worked, the enormous sound system blared out the same adult contemporary song over and over again.

South of the plaza, the Ecological Forest was peaceful, save for the Olivia Newton-John soundalike wailing through the trees. A boardwalk loops through the trees in this section, which the signage says depicts miniature versions of a variety of eco-zones. I came across a photo shoot taking place on one stretch of the walk, a not uncommon occurrence in the park, which is a popular place for shoots, both professional and amateur, thanks to its varied and picturesque scenery.

On the other side of the plaza, the Grassy Field is an open space of gently undulating knolls, dotted with trees. It’s a great place for a picnic in warm weather or for playing in the snow in winter. Like in the Ecological Forest, there’s a small pond here, overlooked by a country-style thatch-roofed pavilion. In the northeast corner you’ll find a statue of King Sejong the Great, similar to the one in Gwanghwamun.

The Traditional Korean Forest, at the far north end, is a simple, unflashy section where walking paths wend between the trees, all of which are species native to Korea. There’s another pond here, at the divide between the forest and the field. It’s probably the prettiest one in the park, and as I admired it I watched four ducks paddle around and occasionally plunge into the water in search of something to eat.

The other park on Yeouido is the Yeouido Saetgang Ecological Park (여의도 샛강 생태공원), which forms the island’s southeastern border and connects with the Hangang Park to create a green loop encircling Yeouido. A short walk from Exit 1, this is, without exaggerating, one of the nicest green spaces in Seoul. Though it’s an engineered wetland, the sculpting is minimal and prevents the park from feeling artificial, save for a couple spots. Even in those spots, however, I was so taken by just how damn nice the place was that I hardly cared.

Although it’s not quite big enough to get lost in – the drone of traffic is always present, often visible, and the tops of office and apartment towers hog the horizon – it’s still the most ‘natural’-feeling place that I can remember visiting in Seoul, with the possible exception of Bukhansan. On the mountain, however, you almost always have to contend with crowds, whereas in the Ecological Park you can frequently find yourself alone on the dirt walking paths, with nothing for company but the bent willow trees and the breeze rattling dried reeds like rainsticks.

Near the entrance to the park from Exit 1 is a small stream and cascade that tumbles into a pond where two more ducks, one white, one brown, were bobbing up and down. Above the pond is the wonderful Saetgang Bridge (샛강다리), a pedestrian span linking Yeouido with Yeongdeungpo. This thin, curvaceous span has two triangular wings formed by cables linking diagonal poles with the walkway, making it look like a lithe metallic dragon.

Lastly, something that doesn’t really fit in anywhere else in this post because it’s just so, well, weird, but that I have to mention because, well, precisely because it’s so weird. While I was walking down Geukjegeumyung-ro (극제금융로) from Yeouido Park back to Yeouinaru-ro (여의나루로) I walked past a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, and literally had a Wait…did I just see what I think I saw? moment. Was there a car parked inside that Coffee Bean? Were there four cars parked inside? There were. And there were people reading at tables just as natural as can be, completely indifferent to the fact that at the next table there wasn’t actually a table. There was a car.

I looked up at the Coffee Bean sign. A Hyundai one was right next to it. Was it a café with a showroom in the middle of it? Or was it a showroom surrounded by a café? It was like one of those perceptual illusions: Is it a young woman or an old hag? A vase or two people facing each other? The questions didn’t end there. I get the appeal of having a coffee while you look at new cars, but why would you want to drink coffee surrounded by a bunch of mid-priced family-friendly sedans? Wouldn’t the scent of coffee interfere with that new car smell, and vice versa? How soon will I be able to sip on a Frappuccino while I browse whiteware? And, most pointedly: Huh? (To see it for yourself, go out Exit 4 and turn left on Geukjegeumyung-ro.)

Yeouido Park (여의도공원)

Exit 3

Yeouido Saetgang Ecological Park (여의도 샛강 생태공원)

Exit 1

Tags: Line 5, Line 9, park, Yeongdeungpo-gu
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Airport Market Station (공항시장역) Line 9 – Station #903

April 8, 2012 by Seoul Sub→urban

Almost none of the buildings around Airport Market Station are more than three or four stories tall, and this makes the wide Gonghang-daero (공항대로) just south of Exit 4 seem bigger than it already is. I used to live close to here – my first place in Seoul was south of the nearby Songjeong Station – but even though I obviously got out to other parts of the city I never really paid attention to the relative spaciousness until I recently returned.

The reason for the low buildings, of course, is the proximity of Gimpo Airport, which Gonghang-daero runs right up to at its west end. I started my visit by walking in the direction of my old neighborhood, taking in a clear view of the large three-legged sculpture that marks the airport’s entrance. It was a warm day and a lot of people were out, including a guy who had set up a row of about 50 yellow bins along the west wall of Songjeong Elementary School to sell all sorts of domestic odds and ends.

The east side of the station was a peaceful, family-oriented neighborhood, filled mostly with local shops and notable for its relative dearth of chain stores, particularly international ones. The expected red brick apartments lined the backstreets, and I watched for a bit as people headed to Banghwa-dong-ro (방화동로), the main street, to do shopping. Walking north on it, I was slowly trailed for a block by a Bongo truck creeping along and using the loudspeaker mounted on its roof to blare advertisements for the squid in its bed. There was nothing particularly special about the area, but it gave off good vibes, and felt to me more like a smaller, provincial city than part of Seoul.

I looped northwest for a bit, through an area that took me past auto service centers, hostess bars, restaurants, churches, and snack shops, before returning to Exit 1 to check out the actual Airport Market (공항시장).

Immediately outside the exit some old women were selling vegetables and legumes on the sidewalk, and as I walked past them an guy driving a flatbed cart attached to a small tractor motor went past, the loudest thing I had heard in the neighborhood.

I turned right into the market on Banghwa-dong-3-gil (방화동3길) and walked past a couple decrepit looking buildings, their paint all chipped and the canvas that had once formed overhangs now shredded and hanging forlornly from the skeletal steel beams. A few steps further on a neon sign (off) picturing a mug of beer and the word ‘HOF’ hung at a crazy angle from a lone loop of wire.

There were a few businesses that looked like they formed the link between raw material and product sold in the market, but approximately 80% of the businesses were closed. I first wondered if Saturday was just an off day for the market, but the longer I wandered around the more I became convinced that things were simply falling apart. Clumps of weeds grew out of cracks in the buildings and on roofs, and inside the passageways were lit by single bulbs, occasionally partly illuminating a shadowy figure walking through.

I wandered into the actual market building, where most places’ shutters were down. Judging by the amount of rust on them it was likely they hadn’t actually been opened for a long time. Life here seemed to have packed up and moved on.

Before doing so myself, however, I needed to sate my curiosity, so I ascended the concrete steps to the second floor. Amazingly, not everything up there was closed. A tailor shop was still open, the proprietress sitting inside and chatting with a friend, and, in doing so, leaving me baffled as to how one could manage to stay in business on the second floor of a building that was three-quarters abandoned inside a market that was three-quarters abandoned. There was also a bar up there, doing a fairly brisk business of old men, though this was easier to comprehend. Old guys like to drink and they especially like to drink on the cheap, and I doubted I could find many cheaper bars in Seoul.

Just before I went back down and returned to the subway, I walked to the south end of the building, past an old-fashioned sewing machine set along the wall in the hallway, and stepped into a room where sunlight poured in through the window. There was a desk on one side and a whiteboard calendar hanging on the wall opposite, and between them a lone navy and silver ottoman, sitting in the middle of the floor. I wondered how long ago whatever business that had been there had left, and how long it would be until all the others did. My guess was not long.

Airport Market (공항시장)

Exit 1

Right on Banghwa-dong-3-gil (방화동3길)

Tags: abandoned buildings, Gangseo-gu, Line 9, market
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Dongnimmun Station (독립문역) Line 3 – Station #326

April 1, 2012 by Seoul Sub→urban

Seoul’s modern history is a tumultuous one, but the city keeps her scars well hid beneath hard-earned layers of development and success. There are some areas, though, where the wounds have been left exposed, and you can get a glimpse of the troubles the capital and its people have been through. A good place to do that and to gain a deeper appreciation for how far the city and country have come is the area around Dongnimmun, or Independence Gate.

The station takes its name from the triumphal arch that sits just south of Exit 4. Near the intersection of Tong-il-ro (통일로) and Seongsan-ro (성산로), the large gray stones of Independence Gate (독립문) frame the south entrance to Seodaemun Independence Park (서대문독립공원). The arch was constructed in 1897 and modeled on France’s Arc de Triomphe, as seemingly all arches everywhere are. Previously this had been the location of a different gate, Yeongeunmun (영은문), where envoys from the suzerain Ming and Qing dynasties of China were received. Soon after the First Sino-Japanese war ended the gate was demolished, and a year later Independence Gate was completed. Near the gate is a statue of 서재필 (Seo Jae-Pil), a renowned independence activist and the man who was responsible for organizing the gate’s construction.

Opposite the arch, across Seongsan-ro, is Yeongcheon Market (영천시장). Covered stalls filled with produce lead down a side street to a larger covered market. Quite a bit longer than you first suspect when coming from the station, the market building houses, in addition to the usual suspects, a small supermarket and even places selling finches, goldfish, and fishing supplies.

Back beyond the arch, Independence Park is full of remnants of and memorials to Korea’s troubled past. The largest and most significant of these is the Seodaemun Prison History Hall (서대문형무소역사관), just up the path from Exit 5. When you reach the top of this short path you’re met with the sight of a red brick wall about ten feet high with an arched entryway reminiscent of the front of a barn. Next to the entrance rises a gray octagonal watch tower with small windows in each side. The tableau is at once stern and quaint: the sturdy bricks and squat dimensions give it an air of authority, but for anyone who’s ever seen or is familiar with modern super-max facilities it lacks the ability to intimidate. Its slightly nostalgic quality shouldn’t fool you about the horrors that occurred inside, though.

Built by the Japanese, the prison was opened in 1908 with a design meant to hold up to 500 inmates. A mere 11 years later it held 3,000, an indicator of how vigorous the Korean resistance was and how harsh the Japanese repression.

Visitors are taken on a self-guided tour that begins in the Exhibition Hall with an overview of imperialism in Korea, from the French landing on Ganghwa Island (강화도) to the Sino-Japanese War to Japanese colonization. It also tells you how the prison was expanded in the 1930s by a magnitude of 30 from its original 1,600 square meters in order to accommodate the explosion in arrests of Korean independence activists. What the history glosses over is that the prison was not shut down with the defeat of the Japanese, but was maintained by Korea’s subsequent dictatorships and put to use for their own nefarious purposes until finally being closed in 1987.

From the Exhibition Hall you pass into the Central Prison Building, which was the command and control center of the old prison and held the warden’s office. Here there is a variety of information on resistance movements, with basic information provided in English. There is also a memorial hall, where the mug shots of some 5,000 killed independence activists cover the walls. It’s a humbling sight.

In Prison Building No. 12 the exhibitions continue in the basement with displays on how inmates were interrogated and tortured by their captors. One of these was simply called water torture (물고문), and consisted of a prisoner being strung upside down by the feet while a prison guard either dunked his head in water or poured water from a kettle up his nose to make him think he was drowning. I suppose you would have argued that the Japanese were only using an ‘enhanced interrogation technique,’ though, huh John Yoo?

Above the interrogation and torture chambers, and in Prison Building No. 11 as well, concrete block and steel corridors of cells show the prisoners’ quarters: small wood-floored squares with heavy triple bolts on each door. When the prisoners were let out it was often to go to the Engineering Work Building, which housed some of the 12 factories that were set up in the prison, mostly to produce textiles and clothes. Finished goods were used both within the prison itself and also to bolster the Japanese war effort.

In a rather disorienting contrast with the horrors and deprivations that once occurred here, the grounds of the prison are beautiful. The stately red brick buildings contrast with the bright green grass of what are some of the nicest lawns in Seoul, and the entire complex is surrounded by hills that are often shrouded in mist, and fronted by the rising peak of Mount Inwang. I haven’t been there in winter, but I’m sure that it would be equally lovely on a bright, crisp January morning, covered in a blanket of snow.

The one building that, fittingly, scars the lovely scene is tucked away in the far southwest corner. The Execution Building is a homely structure of unpainted wood planks that looks something like a frontier schoolhouse. Inside three benches face what looks like a miniature stage, where a noose hangs above a stool set on a trap door. There are even curtains, and one wonders if they were opened for the performance or closed before the final act, each its own respective type of cowardice.

Surrounding the Prison History Hall is the large Independence Park, which has many of the things your average neighborhood park would have – walking paths, exercise machines, basketball courts – but which also hosts a couple of structures related to Korea’s independence struggles: the Patriotic Martyr Monument (순국선열추념탑) and the Independence Hall (독립관).

The former, a tower of taegeukgis flanked by bas relief of scenes of famous activists, was erected by the Seoul Metropolitan Government on August 15, 1992. The latter, just a few meters away from the Independence Gate, went through a transformation similar to its neighbor. Originally called Mohwagwan (모화관) and used to entertain Chinese emissaries, it later hosted forums to promote independence. Destroyed by the Japanese it was reconstructed in 1996 and now the handsome dark brown wood structure houses memorial tablets and relics.

Across Tong-il-ro is the neighborhood’s other main feature: an entrance to Mount Inwang (인왕산), Seoul’s most spiritual mountain, and the trio of attractions found on its lower slopes: Guksadang, Seonbawi, and a carved Buddha.

If you step out of Exit 2 you should notice a sign pointing left up Tong-il-ro-14-gil (통일로14길) to Seonbawi and Inwangsan Guksadang. Past this the route isn’t well signposted, but the entrance isn’t too hard to find. From the station exit, make the sharp turn at the sign and follow the road up to the Hanok Restaurant (한옥). Take a right there, toward the steps that you should see in that direction. If you’re not sure, the friendly ajumma in the nearby convenience store will point the way, as she did for me. At the top of the steps is an inclined sidewalk with a wood fence on the right and I’Park apartments on your left. Here you should see a sign or two again. It’s only about 200 meters to the mountain path entrance.

At the entrance to Inwangsan is a brightly painted wooden gate, from which it’s just 150 meters to Guksadang and another 30 to Seonbawi. You’ll pass a few small temples on the way up, including Seonamjeong Temple (선암정사), where a vicious-looking pair of door guardians scare off evil spirits, one wielding a scimitar, the other holding a boulder over his head.

I could already hear the sound of drums coming from above, and just a few more steps took me to their source at Guksadang (국사당), a wooden shrine in the familiar burgundy with emerald trim, finished off with bright and intricate detailing. Vivid robes in several different bright colors hung from a thin rope across a doorway, and inside was a large central altar stacked with fruit and flowers and bearing a pig head, its mouth stuffed full of money. Several shaman assistants in all white hanbok sat inside, a couple of them on smoke break. Off to my right I noticed a monk in gray robes and wide-brimmed straw hat ascending some steps, a big plastic bag full of groceries in either hand. As soon as he disappeared through a gate the drums, which had gone quiet, took up their cadence again, this time joined by a pair of cymbals and a piri (피리), the keening traditional Korean flute. The female shaman, or mudang (무당), dressed magnificently in royal blue robes and a red hat with two pheasant feathers sticking straight up, began to walk around rhythmically in front of the alter, her eyes closed.

Guksadang is the country’s most important shamanist shrine, said to house the spirit of King Taejo, founder of the Joseon Dynasty. Originally located on Namsan, it was rebuilt here after being demolished by the Japanese in 1925. Korean shamanism is an animist religion or, maybe more accurately, belief system, and one of its primary features is the gut (굿) (pronounced goot), a rite performed by the mudang to do everything from pray for a bountiful harvest to initiate a new shaman.

This particular rite was a memorial service being performed for the surviving family, which consisted of the widow, some sons and daughters, and one grandchild, who seemed far more interested in his ice cream than in what was going on around him. Indeed, the expressions on the sons and daughters’ faces were mostly ones of forbearance; indulging mom in a belief they themselves had lost.

I lingered outside for a bit, trying to make myself inconspicuous, unsure of whether or not I was welcome, but just as I was about to leave one of the assistants, a woman with a small streak of hot pink in her hair, waved me around to the side and invited me in, and I sat down to watch the ceremony.

Guts are hard to reconcile with modern Korea, but they’re still a common occurrence at Guksadang. This particular one mostly alternated between the shaman intoning, bouncing, and walking about in front of the altar, and inveighing in a chant-talk before the family. It also involved more costume changes on the shaman’s part than you’d see at most pop concerts. The most curious moment came partway through when the family was ushered outside to sit on the temple steps. They were then given a large sheet of white crepe paper to hold over their heads, onto which the shaman sprinkled first water, then sesame seeds that had been in a bowl together with eggs and what looked like feces. Several colorful flags were then waved above them, followed by a pair of knives that the shaman banged together, tapped on each family member’s head, and stabbed the air with. Finally, she took the paper, lit it on fire, and waved it in the air before taking a sip of liquid and spitting it in a spray over the family’s heads.

The ceremony was long – after this climax everyone went back inside for more of the back and forth of chanting and posturing before the altar – and when it reached a point where it began to turn into a session of genuine mourning I quietly made my leave, hiking the 50 meters up to Seonbawi (선바위) (often Romanized as the Zen Rocks, Taoist Rocks, or Immortal Rocks). Called this because they are said to resemble a pair of robed monks absorbed in meditation, they’re a popular spot for women to visit to pray for a child. My secular mind was unable to make out anything even remotely monk-like in their appearance. What they mostly look like is a giant chunk of half-melted butter that someone then took swipes out of with their fingers, or like an ooze creature that had risen up from the ground only to glimpse Medusa and be turned into stone. You might not be after a child, but the rocks do offer magnificent views across the city, taking in Namsan, Jongno Tower, and the folds of mountains ringing the city. It’s a peaceful view, and it’s likely the only sounds you’ll hear will be the drumming carrying up from Guksadang and the cooing of the dozens of pigeons that like to hang out on the rocks.

On your way back to the station, you might want to stop by the Rock-carved Buddha (마애불) that’s down a pathway to your left if you’re standing facing the steps to Seonbawi. Frankly, it’s not very impressive. About two meters high and lacking in intricacy it left me a bit disappointed, though it undoubtedly suffers from comparisons to the area’s more fascinating surroundings.

Independence Gate (독립문)

Exit 4

Yeongcheon Market (영천시장)

Exit 4

South on Tong-il-ro (통일로), cross Seongsan-ro (성산로)

Seodaemun Independence Park (서대문독립공원)

Exit 4 or 5

Seodaemun Prison History Hall (서대문형무소역사관)

Exit 5

www.sscmc.or.kr/newhistory/index_culture.asp

02) 360-8590~1

Hours

Mar – Oct: 9:30-18:00; Nov – Feb: 9:30-17:00; Closed Jan. 1, Seollal, Chuseok, and Mondays (Tuesday if Monday is a holiday)

Admission

Adults: 1,500; Teenagers: 1,000; Kids 7-12: 500

Mount Inwang (인왕산)

Exit 2

Left on Tong-il-ro-14-gil (통일로14길), right at Hanok Restaurant (한옥), up stairs and sidewalk

Guksadang (국사당)

Follow the path leading up from the parking lot on your left after passing through the Inwangsan’s entrance gate; approximately 15 minutes from the station

Seonbawi (선바위)

Follow the path up from Guksadang

Rock-carved Buddha (마애불)

Standing at the base of the stairs to Seonbawi, follow the path to the left

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

Tags: history, Line 3, market, monument, museum, park, prison, Seodaemun-gu, temple
Posted in Line 3, Seodaemun-gu | 1 Comment »

Gimpo Airport Station (김포공항역) Line 5 – Station #512, Line 9 – Station #902, AREX – Station #A05

March 18, 2012 by Seoul Sub→urban

Gimpo Airport Station presented a rather expected problem, namely, as an airport, there’s not much walking around you can do, and the local topography is limited mostly to three things: big buildings, big roads, and big parking lots.

Coming out of Exit 4, I was presented with the latter – an enormous spread of asphalt that reminded me of life back in the U.S., where some parking lots could seemingly command their own zip code. Encircling half of the lot here was a line of taxis leading up to the Domestic Terminal (국내선터미널). The drivers waiting their turn would stop their cars and get out and talk with their fellow drivers, and then, after several cabs at the front of the line had picked up passengers and departed, they’d all climb back in their vehicles, start them up, and move them forward about ten meters before turning them off, getting out, and starting the process all over again.

I looped around the parking lot toward the domestic terminal, finding it curious how quiet it was. Gimpo isn’t the busiest airport in the world, but I had expected the occasional roar of an arriving or departing plane, which I wasn’t hearing. This odd quiet held until a nearby traffic light changed from red to green and buses and cars came roaring by on the six-lane road running in front of Domestic. Then the light changed back to red and all was quiet again.

Inside, the first floor of the domestic terminal had the slightly bored, slightly resigned feeling that small airports often do, the knowledge that their trip is a small one and that there are more exciting places to go seeming to infect everyone there. A drama was playing on the TVs in the waiting area, but most travelers were ignoring it, choosing instead to gaze at their smartphones or laptops. Nearby, a trio of young guys slurped up 4,500 won ramen at the snack bar, a criminal price if ever I’ve seen one.

Upstairs to departures. Passengers rolled luggage across the hallway; pretty flight attendants, their hair pulled severely back, quick-stepped to their planes; a Buddhist nun in gray robes checked her luggage; and police with snub-nosed guns slung over their shoulders walked casually by. It was all getting my feet itchy, as airports always do, even if the prospective trip was only to Daegu or Jeju.

Along with the restaurants and convenience stores selling last minute supplies, the departure lounge of the domestic terminal also had an art shop selling paintings, some of them huge, and sculptures, including one of a five-foot high eagle perched on a twisted branch, wings spread out behind him. Of course something like this can be shipped to the purchaser, but it nevertheless seemed an odd thing to pick up at an airport.

Leaving domestic, I walked past the taxi drivers trying to direct me to their cab and through the parking lot, where a worker was pushing a long chain of baggage carriers like shopping carts at a grocery store. A pair of young kids had hopped on a couple of these, using them to get a ride from their parents. There was also a car decorated in pink ribbons and fake plastic flowers, presumably waiting for its owners to return from their honeymoon.

From domestic I went over to Exit 3, which will drop you off just outside the giant tuna can of the new Lotte Complex, which contains the entire range of Lotte branches: department store, hotel, cinema. It was crazy busy inside – a line for coffee at one café ran 20 deep – way more than I would have expected it to be that far out on the edge of the city; but then again, maybe that was the reason: there really isn’t anything similar in that part of town.

The complex was what you’d expect from a Lotte complex so, not really feeling the need to spend much time there and being a bit annoyed with the crowds, I headed back outside. Fortunately for anyone feeling the same compulsion, there’s a park that runs around the back of the complex, though it’s still a work in progress. The sodding has not fully grown in and was, at present, laid across the ground like bathroom tile, small square tufts of brown grass separated by thin lines of dirt. Directly in back of the complex is a skating rink, though this too had not been completed. The rink itself was covered in black plastic sheeting, and the wooden deck surrounding it was uncompleted, hundreds of screws scattered over the wooden planks.

On one side of the rink were some walking paths running between a variety of sculptures in different styles – cartoons, a large blue man and woman holding a white ball, and bronzes of kids playing leapfrog, tiptoeing across a log, and hanging on a fire hydrant. The other side of the rink featured a windmill, a large playground, and two not-yet ponds. One was lined with fake pink and white flamingos, its empty basin revealing the piping for what will be a rather elaborate fountain. The other was done in the style of a traditional Korean garden, complete with overlooking pavilion. The overall effect of this mishmash is of a park designed by committee, as if the people in charge couldn’t make up their minds about anything and just said ‘yes’ to everything.

Finally, I made my way to Gimpo’s International Terminal (국제선터미널), which is closest to Exit 2, but which is reached from the station much more easily by the underground passageway. Once South Korea’s main airport, Gimpo has of course been supplanted by Incheon, and nowadays the international terminal here handles flights only to China and Japan, the departure board listing only Osaka, Haneda, and Hongqiao as destinations on the evening I visited. To me it actually felt quieter than the domestic terminal, perhaps because, while Gimpo is now only a secondary international terminal, its domestic terminal is still the primary one for intra-Korea flights.

In addition to the flights you can also visit the outlet mall and CGV theater connected to the terminal. Given that the majority of arrivals here are coming from China and Japan, much of the shopping is targeted at visitors from those countries, and, accordingly, the Hallyu card is played pretty heavily. Girls’ Generation, T-ARA, Won Bin, and the gang are splashed across large advertisements promoting both products and tourism to the overseas visitors. In the large plaza upstairs, the corner opposite the CGV is dedicated to life-size cutouts of B2ST, G.Na, and 4 Minute, and as I was hanging out I watched a middle-aged Chinese man saunter over with his friend to pose for some stiff and very awkward looking photos with the girls. I suppose, though, that by maintaining a dour expression he can still plausibly claim that the pics are for his kids.

Domestic Terminal (국내선터미널)

Exit 4

Lotte Complex and Park

Exit 3

International Terminal (국제선터미널)

Exit 2 or underground passage

Tags: AREX, Gangseo-gu, Line 5, Line 9, park, shopping, transportation
Posted in AREX, Gangseo-gu, Line 5, Line 9 | 2 Comments »

Myeongdong Station (명동역) Line 4 – Station #424

March 11, 2012 by Seoul Sub→urban

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

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)

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

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 | Leave a Comment »

Seoul Sub→urban

Yeouido Station (여의도역) Line 5 – Station #526, Line 9 – Station #915

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Gimpo Airport Station (김포공항역) Line 5 – Station #512, Line 9 – Station #902, AREX – Station #A05

Myeongdong Station (명동역) Line 4 – Station #424

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