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Dongguk University Station (동대입구역) Line 3 – Station #332

December 11, 2011

Sitting at the foot of Namsan, Dongguk University Station is of course the jumping off point for Dongguk University (동국대학교), one of Korea’s most prestigious Buddhist-affiliated universities. Just after riding the escalator up to Exit 6 you’ll spot a second escalator that leads up to the school. It drops you off on a small plaza with a statue of the venerable monk Samyeong (사명대사), robes and long beard flowing, his right hand holding a staff and his left one placed over his heart. Samyeong is most renowned for assembling a militia of fighting monks to combat Japanese invaders during the Imjin War, instigated by the theft of one of Buddha’s teeth from Geonbongsa, the temple for which Samyeong served as head priest. After the war, Samyeong traveled to Japan as an envoy of the Korean government, at which time Tokugawa Ieyasu, the ruling Japanese Shogun, granted the monk’s request and returned the tooth, along with 3,500 Korean prisoners, which, it must be said, is not a bad day’s work.

Dong-dae was predictably quiet on the recent Sunday that I visited, which made for a pleasant walk beneath the campus’ abundant trees, whose leaves had felt the bite of autumn and had just begun to turn. Many of the university’s buildings were rather old and had chipping paint, dull in a 1960s kind of style, but there were a few slick new ones that had either gone up or were in the process of being constructed.

The prettiest, most stately building is of course Dong-dae’s main one, a long, three-story gray stone building with a central tower that forms one side of the campus’ main plaza. In the middle of the plaza is a gray-green statue of a standing Buddha, surrounded by decorative black metal latticework. Facing both the Buddha and the main building are three statues depicting a family of elephants mid-stride. Three stone pagodas are also located on the plaza, as well as several trees, below one of which a young girl was scooping up fallen gold leaves and tossing them in the air before letting them fall over her.

The most significant Buddhist marker on campus is not located on the central plaza, however, and this is the Sungjeongjeon Hall of Gyeonghui Palace (경희궁 숭정전). Built between 1617 and 1620, Sungjeongjeon was a royal audience chamber of Gyeongdeok Palace (경덕궁). The area that the hall was located in was destroyed by the Japanese to build a middle school in 1910, and the hall was moved to Jogye Temple (조계사) before being moved to its present location in 1976. It’s now used as Dongguk University’s sermon hall and called Jeonggakwon.

The stairway up to the hall is flanked by a pair of stone lanterns, and when you make it up to the top you’re able to see the fading and chipping that time has wrought on the intricate painting decorating the underside of the roof and the supporting beams. This wear and tear contrasts with the immaculate inside where, a buffed wood floor and paper lotus lanterns hanging from the ceiling frame a gilded seated Buddha that gazes out across a dirt athletic field.

Also outside of Exit 6 is Jangchung Park (장충공원), a relatively new and remarkably lovely park. In the northeast corner is a small pond that collects the water from a man-made stream that runs alongside the park’s eastern edge, under small wooden bridges and trees leaning over the water, over a series of little cascades, around a small circular island, and past thick bunches of tawny reeds with wispy gray tops. It also passes below the 27.5-meter granite Supyo Bridge (수표교), which, according to the plaque nearby means ‘water mark observation balloon bridge.’ Supyo Bridge was constructed during the reigns of Kings Taejo and Sejong, originally spanning the Cheonggye Stream (청계천). When the Cheonggye underwent its postwar redevelopment the bridge was moved, then moved again to its present location in 1965. If you’re planning on heading up Namsan you can cross the bridge, as there’s a stop for the N Seoul Tower bus right there.

The park is a popular place for the elderly to gather, and also for families with kids to hang out. In addition to pavilions and walking paths, the south end of the park also hosts a teahouse, in front of which is a courtyard where you can play tuho (투호), the game where you try to throw an arrow into a trio of tall cylinders, and gulsoe (굴쇠), using a prod to roll a metal ring.

Also within the confines of the park are a number of commemorative memorials and statues. Occupying an open space in the center is the Jangchungdanbi (장충단비), a stone that was erected by Emperor Gojong in 1905 to soothe the spirits of those victimized during the Eulmi Sabyeon, the period in 1895 during which Empress Myeongseong was assassinated and many soldiers were killed fighting the Japanese. Of course the stone was removed when Japan annexed Korea in 1910, only to be replaced after the war, in 1945, at the current site of the Shilla Hotel (just across Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)), before ultimately being brought to its present location in 1969. Located behind it are a stele and two stone lanterns.

On the park’s west side a trio of monuments are lined up. From the station, the first you come to is the Monument of the Korean Confucian Scholars’ Independence Movement of Long Letter to Paris, which is, above all else, a mouthful. The letter in question was sent to the Paris Peace Conference around the time of the March 1, 1919 independence movement, asking for the conference’s support. Signed by 137 Confucian scholars, it was delivered by 김규식 (Kim Gyu-sik), a delegate of the provisional government in Shanghai.

Several meters south is the Statue of Patriot 일성 Lee Jun (일성 이준열사 동상). Born in 1858, 이 was a member of the Independence Association, and in 1907 received an order from Emperor Gwangmu to participate in the International Peace Conference being held in The Hague. Unable to enter due to Japanese obstruction, 이 sought recourse by going to the press, appealing to them to recognize the Eulsa Treaty, which deprived Korea of its diplomatic sovereignty, as void and to denounce the Japanese invasion. Though the plaque in front of the statue says that the press was sympathetic, world powers ignored 이’s case. Despairing, he committed suicide by disembowelment. 이 posthumously received the Republic of Korea Medal in the Order of Merit for National Foundation in 1962, and his remains were transferred and buried in Suyuri Cemetery the following year.

이 is depicted standing, feet firmly planted at shoulder-width, a scroll clutched in his left hand, but the statue fails to project any sort of gravitas as its execution is remarkably cartoon-like. There is almost no detailing, and even the proportions seem to depict the man as he might be depicted in an educational video shown to elementary students.

Finally, at the far southern end of the park, you’ll find the Lee Han-eung Memorial (이한응선생기념비), There was no information on site, and I couldn’t turn up anything online, so if anyone knows anything about the man or the memorial, please feel free to share in the comments.

Across the street from the south edge of the park is the Jangchung Little Baseball Field (장충 리틀 야구장). Despite the fact that the entire surface is synthetic, even the dirt (it’s just brown astroturf), it’s the nicest facility that I’ve seen for youth baseball teams. Most of the time athletic fields for anything below the professional level are extremely modest affairs, even for university teams, frequently just patches of dirt, but the Jangchung field was fitted out with covered stands running along either baseline and even lights for night games. A youth team was holding practice when I happened by, shagging fly balls and taking grounders.

The road that runs south, Jangchungdan-gil, skirts the eastern side of Mount Namsan, running past yet more monuments. Across from the ballpark is a statue of 류관순 (Ryu Gwan-soon) rushing forward, torch held aloft. 류, a student activist and independence agitator, is one of Korea’s most famous martyrs. Following March 1^st protests that she helped organize, she was arrested, imprisoned in Seodaemun Prison, tortured, and killed at the age of 17.

A few dozen meters more and you’ll find the Commemorative Monument Tower of March 1 Korean Independence Declaration (3.1 목립운동기념탑). 19.19 meters tall, for the year of the declaration, the large stone tower comes to a sharp point at the top, a bit like a weaponized fountain pen. There’s necessarily a certain amount of aggression inherent in any declaration of independence, but, to my mind at least, that aggression comes across a bit too (and I tried to avoid this word and the ensuing pun, but it’s apt) pointedly. Plus, I think it’s kind of ugly. Behind the tower are a bas relief and two groupings of statues. The west side of the tower’s base also bears an English translation of the declaration.

Across the street from the monument tower is the current home of the 107-year-old Seoul Club, the National Unification Advisory Council (민주평화통일자문회의), and, perhaps most interestingly, the Club E0E4 Drive-in Theater, where you can pull in and watch a flick from the comfort and privacy of your own car, exactly like your folks did back in the ‘50s; just substitute Kias and Hyundais for Fords and Chevys. Exit 5 is the most straightforward way of getting to these.

Opposite that trio, just past the tower, are the grounds of the National Theater of Korea (국립극장), where you’ll also find the Performing Arts Museum (공연예술박물관). The theater was opened in 1950, making it the first national theater in Asia, according to the Korea Tourism Organization. Today it’s the home of the National Orchestra, National Dance Company, National Drama Company, and the National Changgeuk Company, which performs the eponymous traditional Korean opera form that incorporates pansori.

A long, wide set of stairs leads up to the imposing main building, the Haeoreum Theater (해오름극장), giving it an appropriately grand feel, magnified by its prime setting on the slope of Namsan. In front of the theater is a large open plaza where, on the day I dropped by, a number of families were out taking advantage of the Indian summer: a young boy was skateboarding and a father was kicking a soccer ball back and forth with his toddler.

If you come out Exit 5, before you get to the Seoul Club or the drive-in, you’ll be close to a couple other locations of note. By turning right and walking under the traditional-style gate you’ll arrive at the Shilla Hotel. Even closer, practically right outside the exit, is the Jangchung Gymnasium (장충제육관). This silver-roofed building was Korea’s first domed gymnasium, built in 1963. Judo and taekwondo competitions were held here during the 1988 Summer Olympics, and today it hosts basketball, handball, wrestling, and ssireum competitions.

Professionally, Jangchung is home to the Seoul teams that play in Korea’s national volleyball leagues, the Dream 6 men’s team and the GS Caltex Seoul KIXX women’s team. The women’s team actually had a game going on when I happened by, and the lampposts on the stretch of Dongho-ro east of the station were decorated with banners of the various players.

Just a couple hundred meters from the same exit (and signs point the way) is a section of the old city wall and the Seoul Fortress Trail (서울성곽길). You can now walk the path of the wall around its former circumference, though of course not all of the wall remains. Here it, or at least a restoration, is in place, and a stone path and boardwalk trace its outer side. I walked along it for a few minutes as it started to get dark and the lights in the apartment towers to the east came on like an electric checker board.

The Jangchung section of the wall was also apparently where a scene from Winter Sonata was filmed, as a sign near the trail’s entrance points out in Korean, English, and Japanese. Follow it and you’ll find a photo spot where you can stick your head in a cutout of the female lead and nuzzle your nose against 배용준’s (Bae Yong Jun). Dreamy.

If you’re looking for a postgame or post-hike nosh, head across to the north side of Dongho-ro. Just outside Exit 2, across from a small manicured pond and plaza, is the Tae Keuk Dang Bakery Shop. This Chinese bakery, open since 1946, is stocked with bags of sweets and glass cylinders full of snacks and biscuits. Up ahead is a strip with lots of restaurants, noraebangs, and bars, and as I kept walking north I even spotted a couple places with signs in Cyrillic, hinting at the Central Asian neighborhood that lay up ahead nearer to Dongdaemun.

For a more serious feed go out Exit 3. Along this stretch of Jangchungdan-gil running north from the station is a string of jokbal restaurants; it’s one of the most well-known places for pig’s trotters in the city. There are about eight places in a row here, almost all of them bearing either the word ‘original’ or ‘halmoni’ in the title, and in this instance at least, they’re not misnomers. Most of the eateries here have been around for a long time, and many of them are in fact run by grandmothers who are often either manning the door or are out on the sidewalk trying to hustle for customers. Judging by how busy the places were, it seemed like most people didn’t need much convincing.

Dongguk University (동국대학교) and Sungjeongjeon Hall of Gyeonghui Palace (경희궁 숭정전)

Exit 6

Go up the escalator outside the exit

Jangchung Park (장충공원)

Supyo Bridge (수표교), Jangchungdanbi (장충단비)

Exit 6

N Seoul Tower Bus Stop

Exit 6

U-turn, right on Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)

Jangchung Little Baseball Field (장충 리틀 야구장)

Statue of 류관순

Commemorative Monument Tower of March 1 Korean Independence Declaration (3.1 목립운동기념탑)

U-turn, right on Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)

Seoul Club

E0E4 Drive-in Theater

Exit 5

U-turn, left on Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)

National Theater of Korea (국립극장)

Performing Arts Museum (공연예술박물관)

Exit 6

U-turn, right on Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)

www.ntok.go.kr

Jangchung Gymnasium (장충제육관)

Exit 5

www.jangchunggym.co.kr

Seoul Fortress Trail (서울성곽길)

Exit 5

Straight approximately 200 meters

Jokbal Restaurants

Exit 3

Straight on Jangchungdan-gil (장충단길)

Tags:art, history, Jung-gu, Line 3, monument, museum, park, restaurant, school, sports, temple, transportation
Posted in Jung-gu, Line 3 | 1 Comment »

Sindang Station (신당역) Line 2 – Station #206, Line 6 – Station #635

December 4, 2011

It should be obvious that in a city the size of Seoul there will always be a place that catches you unawares, that opens like a fold of paper in Exquisite Corpse, revealing something at once recognizable and yet utterly, sometimes bewilderingly unexpected. It should be obvious, what with the enormity of Seoul’s population and expanse, but it isn’t. One gets accustomed to their surroundings, often remarkably quickly, and an idea of the city congeals. This is no less true for expats. Our primary motivator for moving abroad may be the promise of adventure, but we also tend to pride ourselves on how rapidly we adapt to the new surroundings, and how quickly we can claim (with varying degrees of falsity) that we ‘know’ the city, that it’s all old hat. Listen to a second year expat talk to a first year. Call it the race to blasé.

But then a fold lifts and you suddenly feel like you don’t know the city at all. For me, Sindang was one of those folds.

I started my canvasing of the neighborhood south of Toegye-ro (퇴계로), which didn’t have such a dramatic effect. The area is like many I’ve come across before. Some clothing stores line the main drag heading east, a large high school sits near the corner of Toegye-ro and Nangye-ro (난계로), and behind those is a neighborhood of low red brick and granite apartment buildings, where some of the streets actually have sidewalks of sorts – stone strips running flush with the road. East of the station and Dasan-ro (다산로), closest to Exits 7 and 8, a couple small warrens of tiny homes sit nestled among the buildings, obviously very low-income areas, though relatively clean and orderly, not like the slums we’ve seen near Geoyeo for example.

Also near these two exits is Sindang Tteokbokki Town (신당 떡볶이 타운) (also sometimes written 떡볶이길 or 떡볶이촌). There’s never a bad time for tteokbokki, really, but it’s undoubtedly best when the weather has gotten cold. That’s when well-lit pojangmachas on dark streets are their most alluring, the steam pouring out of them into the cold air wrapping the carts in an irresistible haze; and when you pull aside the flap and step into the pungent circle the warmth of the hot food, the steaming odeng broth, and the bodies packed in next to you make the cold all but disappear for a few minutes.

Most of the time when you eat tteokbokki it’s something like that: a quick plate on the street, standing up. In Tteokbokki Town, however, there’s only one place like that. The rest are true restaurants where tteokbokki is an entire meal, and the basic pinkie-size rice cakes in spicy sauce are augmented with noodles, veggies, and more. The restaurants, and almost nothing else, take up an entire block, and each has a pitchman or two outside trying to wave customers in to their particular establishment. Approximately ten different restaurants can be found there, each displaying the logos of TV networks on which they’ve made appearances like badges of honor.

A couple co-eaters and I decided to stop in at Maboknim Halmeoni Tteokbokki (마복림 할머니 떡볶이), which purports to be the oldest restaurant on the strip, open since 1953. There’s only one thing on the menu here – tteokbokki – which you can order in various sizes depending on the number in your party or your appetite, or you can simply order a la carte. Add cheese to the mix for an extra 3,000 won. If you’ve only ever had tteokbokki at street stalls, you’ll likely be a bit surprised by what gets put in front of you. More like what you’d be presented with at a tchiggae restaurant, a large cast iron pot filled with water, chili powder, chili paste, tteok, ramen noodles, jjolmyeon, odeng, mandu, cabbage, carrot, green onion, and hard-boiled eggs is placed on a gas burner in the middle of your table. As you cook it, the watery concoction slowly bubbles away, condensing into the familiar red-orange sauce of Korea’s favorite comfort food. To get it go out Exit 8 and take your first left, on Toegye-ro-76-gil (퇴계로76길). Tteokbokki Town starts one block up, past the fire station.

Before turning into the street leading to Tteokbokki Town you may have noticed Chungmu Arts Hall (충무아트홀) across Toegye-ro. Just a few steps from Exit 9, the 8-level center hosts art exhibitions and theater performances – ‘Rent’ was in the middle of a run and an exhibit of photos of Mongolia and Africa by 신미식) was opening on the day I happened to stop by – as well as a fitness center, arts academy, driving range, café, and gymnasiums. While people browsed through the photos downstairs, several girls’ volleyball teams where holding practice upstairs. In front of the Arts Hall you can also take a look at a model of 이순신’s famous Turtle Boat (거북선) housed in a glass case or sit in one of the bright red, green, orange, and yellow chairs shaped like globs of melting taffy that sit on the fake grass out front. This last gimmicky feature was likely meant as an attempt to make the Hall seem ‘greener’ and more inviting, but in fact does little but remind visitors of what the city really lacks.

Continuing northwest from Exit 9 or 10 Sindang Station provides a backdoor entrance to the Dongdaemun fashion shopping area, near the Nuzzon, U:US, and Designer Club malls. A short walk straight from Exit 10 on Dasan-ro will lead to Cheonggye Stream (청계천). It’s a pleasant stretch with a thickly vegetated bank about fifteen feet below the Dongdaemun bustle, and the birdsong from the pet market on the north side of the stream even gives things a bit of a tropical feel. Just before the stream you’ll find the Cheong-Pyeonghwa Market (청평화시장) where in the late afternoon many of the sellers are just starting to roll up the grates and set out their goods for sale.

If you walk to the stream from Exit 11, near the corner you’ll spot a curious little statue of a friendly looking man in a bespoke suit and bow tie sitting down raising his hand in a wave. It’s 장소팔, a famous 만담가, or comedian and story teller, who used to live in the area.

Very modern places like the Chungmu Arts Hall and the restored Cheonggye Stream contrast sharply with much of the rest of the Sindang area, which can be decidedly, stunningly archaic. The first hints you might get of this could come by walking west on Toegye-ro. On the south side, via Exit 8, the road is lined with woodworking shops after about a block, and the smell of sawdust fills the air as you walk over the shavings sprinkled on the sidewalk. On the north side, past the Arts Hall, is a trio of actual blacksmiths shops, which quite literally stopped me in my tracks. Blacksmithing is one of those professions that, living in a first-world country, it’s easy to forget even exist anymore. It just seems so medieval, something from the realm of artisan guilds and apprenticeships. Don’t machines do all of that now? Even the famed Blacksmith Street in Hanoi only has one actual smithy left.

But there, on the same street that goes right in front of Myeongdong, the profession continued. In the largest shop of the three, a man gazed out at the street from a pocked red face, exactly the face you’d expect a blacksmith to have, while behind him the burning embers of the forge glowed orange-red, illuminating the dim interior. All around the blacksmith and on racks outside hung finished products: saws, stakes, hoes, picks, sledgehammers, trowels, rakes, saw blades, and hooks of various sizes, as well as several other things that I couldn’t identify but which looked like their only possible use would be by very bad men to do very bad things. Each languished in various stages of rusting.

If the woodworking and blacksmith shops raised the corner of the fold, the area north of the Line 2 entrances and east of Line 6 pulled it back completely, revealing an area of the city that felt foreign compared to the rest of Seoul, and that made me feel more foreign than I had in a long, long time.

This area is home to Jungang, or Central, Market (중안시장). So, what do you know about Jungang Market? Odds are, not a whole lot. I didn’t, being only vaguely aware of its existence. Despite being the third of Seoul’s big three markets (after Namdaemun and Dongdaemun) and, according to the Jung-gu website, having handled 80% of the rice traded in Seoul at one point it gets scarce media coverage and is largely ignored by the English press and blogosphere. Neither the Korea Tourism Organization nor Seoul city websites have an entry for Jungang Market on their English pages. Whether the reason for or the result of that lack of exposure, Jungang is strictly a locals-only market. You will find no kitschy souvenirs, no I love Seoul t-shirts; in the course of several hours spent at the market on two separate days I didn’t even see another foreign face. What you’ll find is a Korea that hasn’t changed terribly much in the past few decades.

Do I dare to steal a peach? A U-turn from either Exit 1 or 2 will put you in front of the market’s main entrance. I went from Exit 2, immediately outside of which was a small fruit store that had taken up residence in an ex-cell phone shop. As I stood there listening to the stereo pump out MC Hammer’s ‘U Can’t Touch This’ (as suddenly hearing a song that ruled the airwaves in elementary school will make you do) I witnessed an old guy in an outrageously loud shirt – white on red Hawaiian print with a different white on black Hawaiian print collar – steal a piece of fruit in a blatantly premeditated act. As he stood in front of a row of plastic bowls containing peaches that had been set on the ground in front of the store, his wife walked past, pretending to accidentally bump him in the process, whereupon the ajeosshi pretended to be half knocked over, taking the opportunity to bend down and grab a peach before straightening up and casually walking away.

Past the fruit shop and beneath a two-story ceiling the huge Jungang wet market extends far in front of you, motorcycles zipping up and down the aisle ferrying produce. There is pork, beef, and dog meat; chicken breasts and chicken feet; fresh fish and octopi and shrimp a colorless gray; purple eggplant sits on trays next to huge mounds of garlic; and platters of banchan surround firey bags of kimchi, swollen from the gas of fermentation.

Walking through the market I began to have the odd, creeping sensation of being in a foreign country, which may seem like a strange thing to say at first, but by which I mean that my scales of banality about the city were falling away. I didn’t know about this place. Why didn’t I know about this place? It wasn’t like the Seoul I knew; it was earthier, more insular, somehow different. It was strange to me and I felt strange in it.

When I reached the end of the market I turned left onto Majang-ro (마장로). By now it was shortly after dark, and both sides of the street were lined with small places to eat – gopchang, or pig intestine, restaurants, each just a single parasol with three or four plastic tables surrounded by stools, while bare fluorescent bulbs lit up pungent clouds of steam and smoke rising from the grill and drifting into the night air. The single ajumma working at each eatery called out as I passed. Korea has outdoor places to eat, sure, but this didn’t feel like one of them so much as it felt like the improvised night markets in China or Thailand.

Just north of Exit 1 the market is filled with several blocks of furniture stores, signaled by the sign reading Furniture Complex (가구 단자) above the entrance to Toegyero-83-gil (퇴계로83길), and walking through the area my nose would periodically catch whiffs of epoxy. Animal lovers may want to approach from a different street, however, as before arriving at the furniture shops, you’ll pass a small grouping of dog butchers. A handful of stores sit next to each other on either side of the street, with dogs in cages on display outside. The dogs, kept in groups of three to seven to a cage, either slept, curled up next to one another, or gazed out at the street without expression.

Just west of this area are grain wholesalers where huge sacks of rice are piled to the ceiling in small, one-room warehouses. Majang-ro and the nearby streets are crowded with shops selling every possible kitchen good you could imagine – from domestic to industrial – as the pillar at the corner of Majang-ro and Nangye-ro reading 황학동 주방가구거리 (Hwanghak-dong Kitchen Supplies Street) lets you know. Yeoinsuks dotted the passageways. I went by a clothing factory with workers lined up at sewing machines. Stores with gaudy clothes for old women and tiny, gritty restaurants were jammed into miniscule alleyways where the shop awnings created a canopy above the lane.

My sensation of displacement only grew as I walked through the area between Sindang Station and Cheonggye Stream. What was couched away here between the station and the stream felt virtually unrecognizable to the high tech, appearance-conscious picture of the city that expats generally carry, and that many Seoulites do as well. It felt cut off not just from the expat world, but from the rest of Seoul, like a remote island where unique and strange species have evolved.

A bit further north, between Majang-ro and the stream things got even more curious, in the remnants of the old Hwanghak-dong Flea Market, before it was moved to Dongdaemun Stadium to make room for the Cheonggye renovation, from which it was subsequently moved to the new Seoul Folk Flea Market complex to make room for the Dongdaemun History and Culture Park. Here a strange pantomime of commerce takes place, as stalls open every day, though it’s hard to imagine who would buy what’s being offered. A small sampling:

Cameras, computers, fake jewelry, fishing supplies, Super Nintendo game cartridges, fake steer horns, typewriters, rotary phones, golf clubs, two-decade-old stereos, Laurel and Hardy piggybanks, industrial size soup ladles, dirty movies on VHS tapes, burlap in ten-foot long rolls, ice buckets, tacky pirate statues and décor you’d find on the walls of small town American pubs.

These are things that I either can’t imagine any Korean having cause to buy or that anyone I know would buy in the kind of store where the goods were newer by twenty years and came with a receipt. I didn’t notice anyone buying or selling anything and it made me wonder: Who actually shops here? How do these people stay in business? They must own their shop and not hire any staff. And can it be worth it, to come here and open every day to try and sell a video game that’s a quarter-century old? Or is it simply a mix of habit and social obligation and the despair of not having any other options?

I walked back out to the stream and to the east, where at the corner of Nangye-ro there was an enormous new Lotte Castle apartment complex, complete with an attached E-Mart and Starbucks. This was a more familiar side of Seoul, but after having disappeared into the market for so long it was just as unsettling as the market had at first been. The two – the market and the apartments – seemed to be different countries, as foreign to each other as I am to Korea. I wondered how many people who work in the market live in the high rises, and how many people that live in the high rises ever ventured into the market to do their shopping, and I doubted that it was many at all.

Sindang holds one more surprise, this one underground. As you go into the main Jungang Market entrance back between Exits 1 and 2, you might notice a yellow sign to your right above a ramp leading underground that reads 신당창작아케이드 next to another for the Sindang Hoe Center (회센터) that’s accompanied by a more artistic than usual picture of a fish, painted in bright segmented colors like a stained glass window. Go down the ramp and into the arcade, where you’ll pass a number of small, remarkably clean raw fish restaurants before arriving at Seoul Art Space Sindang (신당창작아케이드).

Seoul Art Space Sindang is part of a series of studios and performance spaces that have been established around the city (We visited another one when we went to Mullae Station.) in an attempt to foster up-and-coming artists by giving them access to a collective community and a place to work. Taking up a long stretch of the arcade, dozens of old market spaces have been converted into bright, clean studios about the size of a large goshiwon room, or approximately 160 square feet. The workshops are occupied by artists who produce work in a variety of media: metal, fabric, ceramic, glass, paint, and simple pen and paper. 안경희 does book artworks, bookbinding, and papermaking at Studio AN, including a lovely and tiny book that was on display that unfolded to show translucent thumbnail snapshots imbedded in the pages. 연고은 creates whimsical household goods designed to confuse – kettles shaped like radios and pencil holders like rolls of toilet paper.

The Art Space is more than just a collection of workshops, though. It actively engages with and tries to give back to the Sindang and Seoul communities. You’re free to stroll past and look at the work, and possibly even at the artists working. You can also participate yourself, as the Art Space holds special classes for kids, and on Saturdays classes in various media – usually of the arts and craft variety – are offered to the public, free of charge. For details and to register, refer to the website. Besides inviting the community in, the artists also try to take their work to the community. They’ve painted walls and murals in the area, and as you walk through the underground arcade you’ll notice their charming tribute to their neighbors that work in the raw fish restaurants. Many of the columns lining the middle of the hallway have holographic images of the workers on them, some switching poses from angle to angle, others turning into Superman or Wonder Woman at the tilt of your head.

Sindang Tteokbokki Town (신당 떡볶이 타운)

Exit 8

Left on Toegye-ro-76-gil (퇴계로76길)

Maboknim Halmeoni Tteokbokki (마복림 할머니 떡볶이)

www.신당동마복림할머니집.com

Chungmu Arts Hall (충무아트홀)

Exit 9

www.cmah.or.kr

Cheonggye Stream (청계천)

Exit 10 or 11

Straight on Dasan-ro (다산로)

Cheong-Pyeonghwa Market (청평화시장)

Exit 10

Straight on Dasan-ro

www.cph.co.kr

Jungang Market (중앙시장)

Exit 1 or 2

U-turn

Seoul Art Space Sindang (신당창작아케이드)

Exit 1 or 2

U-turn, enter Jungang Market, and follow the signs leading to the underground arcade

www.seoulartspace.or.kr

Parts of this post first appeared in the November 2011 issue of SEOUL magazine.

Tags:art, Jung-gu, Line 2, Line 6, market, park, restaurant
Posted in Jung-gu, Line 2, Line 6 | 7 Comments »

Noksapyeong Station (녹사평역) Line 6 – Station #629

November 13, 2011

If you’ve ever been to the top of N Seoul Tower after dusk you’ve no doubt noticed a conspicuous swath of the city to the south where the sparkling metropolis has gone almost completely dark. This is, of course, the Yongsan U.S. Army base, and though it’s not marked on most city maps it most certainly is there, sitting right in the middle of the city.

Tucked between Namsan and the Han River, the garrison occupies some prime real estate, some that has been occupied at various times by Chinese, Japanese, and now American armies. According to the most current deal, the U.S. army will relocate their main base to Pyeongtaek in 2017 (though the move’s date has already been pushed back numerous times), at which time the land will return to the citizens of Seoul and the 2.5 square kilometers that make contemporary cartographers so eager to change the subject will return to the mapped world.

Very few expats and even fewer Koreans have had a chance to go on the base, which requires being the guest of a soldier or military staff member. (Provided that you’re not a citizen of one of the countries barred entry. Pakistani? Cuban? Fuhgeddabouddit.) I’ve had the chance only once, when a reservist whom I’d taken Korean classes with invited me for lunch and a tour. Slip through the MP-patrolled rabbit hole and it’s as if you’ve landed in a small Midwestern town, albeit one where almost everyone is wearing the same outfit.

The base itself is surprisingly pretty. There are more trees than you’d see most anywhere else in Seoul, and the buildings are old and graceful. What’s uncanny are the details, and I don’t mean that most faces you see are white or black or Latino. (I mean, you’ve been to Itaewon. Not much new there.) What I’m talking about and what hung me in a goofy limbo for three hours, caught between nostalgia and befuddlement, are things like all base transactions taking place in U.S. dollars, the smell of 100% genuine Texas barbecue drifting through the air, the aging Randall Cunningham poster taped to the wall outside the gym, or the fact that all Koreans working on base speak good English. Probably nothing excited me as much, however, Wisconsin boy that I am, as the case of Leinenkugel’s beer available at one of the base grocery stores, nor did anything break my heart as quickly as when I realized that I didn’t have enough time to buy it and take it home before going to work.

If you don’t have base access, until the scheduled pullout the best you can do is to get off at Noksapyeong Station and take a wander about, which is increasingly worth it as the neighborhood develops and more Koreans discover its charms.

Noksapyeong Station sits smack dab in between the two halves of the garrison, on its eastern edge. Going out Exit 1 or 4 and walking west towards Samgakji Station takes you down Itaewon-ro (이태원로) as it bisects the base into northern and southern halves. The first sign you’ll see suggesting that this neighborhood is a bit more, let’s say, reclusive, than others are the tall brick and concrete walls topped with concertina wire that run along either side of the street. Despite this fact there’s almost no feeling of menace, as the sense of threat is softened by the ivy climbing up and over the walls, half hiding the razor wire, and by the tall leafy trees on either side that canopy the road. There are even some flowers along the sidewalk. Behind the walls you can make out simple roofs that almost look more academic than military, and if the concertina wire were removed you might guess that it was a leafy college campus and not a military outpost that was hidden behind the walls. Pay attention, though, and you’ll notice the single Korean police officers walking by at regular intervals or the ‘GO HOME’ spray-painted on the sidewalk (in a frankly unintimidating sea green), reminding you that the neighbors wear camo, not tweed.

Exit 3 puts you near the intersection at the west end of the Itaewon neighborhood, and if you continue straight, following Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로) south will take you past the giant blue glass ark of the Yongsan-gu Office (용산구청), the rather unpromising-looking location of Club Volume, and the Yongsan Baptist Church where you can get your clap on, all on the east side of the street. A couple of unique shopping opportunities present themselves around here as well. The small street running at an angle behind Noksapyeong-daero , Noksapyeong-daero-26-gil (녹사평대로26길) has several small antique shops, and Noksapyeong-daero-32-gil (녹사평대로32길), the alley just after Savile Row Tailor if you’re coming from Itaewon, is lined with a bunch of surprisingly fashionable women’s boutiques. Aside from English-speaking tailors, Itaewon is not particularly known for fashion, but the small shops here were full of interesting, chic pieces for what I’ll call the brunch demographic: women with confidence and cash, a bit too old for shopping in Edae, but only just.

While there might be some increasingly good shopping available, the thing that the Noksapyeong neighborhood is most known for, Seoul’s version of the Forbidden City aside, is the large contingent of foreigners living there. Spending a Saturday in the neighborhood I heard – in addition to Korean and English – French, Arabic, Portuguese, and an African language I was too ignorant to recognize, and there’s much in the area that caters to this population, making things available here that can be tough to find elsewhere: overseas call shops, Filipino grocers, and Western sports bars. A sure sign this part of town is a bit…different: you’ll see people jogging on the street.

If you’re jonesing for a good read and don’t want to trek to Kyobo or wait for Amazon to deliver, you might want to head to the Foreign Book Store (외국 Book), a used book shop that’s been buying, selling, and exchanging since 1973. The small place is filled to bursting (though, rather heroically, is reasonably well organized) with books lining floor to ceiling shelves and tucked in the recesses below steps. Unfocusing your eyes the brightly colored spines resemble rectangular pixels, like a game of Breakout on, like, level 2 billion. In the grid you’ll find everything from back issues of National Geographic to books in Russian, from the ‘Complete Slow Cooker Cookbook’ to the collected Shakespeare to ‘For Young Women Only: What You Need to Know About How Guys Think.’ You’ll also find a reasonable collection of Korean learning books. To get there, go out Exit 2, walk to the pedestrian underpass, cross, exit out the right side, and walk straight approximately one block. The bookstore is just before the Lexus dealership.

The area around Noksapyeong is often, pejoratively, referred to as a foreigner ghetto. If there’s any truth to this – and after spending the better part of two days hanging about the area I find there’s very little – it’s due simply to the fact that lots of expats have chosen to live near lots of other expats, as expats of every nationality tend to do all over the world, not because Koreans have chosen to pull out. In fact, large expat presence aside, the area ticks almost all the boxes for what you’d want for an ‘authentic Korean neighborhood.’ Despite the large foreigner presence, almost all of the convenience stores are small mom-and-pop shops, not chains, and the community is filled with simple restaurants, dry cleaners, and clothing repair shops. The landmark most frequently used when giving directions is the famed kimchi pots that line the wall at the entrance to Haebangchon. You think Canadians or Nigerians are buying those?

Noksapyeong’s Korean demographic mostly divides along two lines. One is the older working class people who’ve lived and worked here since long before foreigners started making the area their home in large numbers. The other is the young, cosmopolitan generation that’s grown up internationalized and appreciates both the opportunity that Noksapyeong offers to escape the often rigid social structures of Korean society and the chance to hit up its globalized food and drink scene.

This ranges from pan-Asian noodles at Bao to fish and chips at Sydney Seafood to Philly cheesesteaks at, uh, Phillies. Your best bet is simply to walk around and find something that strikes your fancy. If you need a pick-me-up to fuel the search, grab a cup of java to go at Standing Coffee, just outside the pedestrian underpass en route to Foreign Book Store. The name is close to literal, as it’s just an oversized stall where baristas dish up takeaway coffee. In warm weather the place bends the rules a bit, placing five small tables on the sidewalk out front. The place has been busy every single time I’ve passed, a fact that might be attributable to its exceptional people-watching opportunities, to its Coffee Prince-esque strategy of hiring only handsome guys in tight white shirts, or simply to its excellent coffee. As a matter of sociological observation, a casual accounting recorded an approximately ten to one ratio of Korean to expat customers, measured over the course of a tall iced Americano.

Because of the expat presence, Noksapyeong has long been a popular spot for nightlife, though much more restrained than its next door neighbor, Itaewon. And thanks to two relatively new places catering to the more sophisticated drinker it’s now a better spot than ever to spend a weekend night.

I will be the first to admit that, growing up in Wisconsin, I was spoiled when it came to beer. It’s not even the most miniscule stretch to claim, however, that the expat chorus will back me up when I say that Korean beer is, to put it generously, pitiable. I’m not sure if you can apply the adjective ‘scared’ to beer, but that’s exactly what Hite, Cass, and the rest is: afraid to actually be real beer with anything resembling hops or flavor and to trust its drinkers to learn what’s good. (And they would. You’ve seen how the country has made the transition from instant coffee to real espresso.) Korean beer is, simply, the worst I’ve ever had in my travels to more than 30 countries. Actually, sorry, that’s a bit unfair; I should clarify: South Korean beer is the worst I’ve ever had. I’ve had Taedong beer from the North and it’s better, and not just by a little bit.

There is hope, though, and I’m actually optimistic. A number of fine microbreweries have opened in Korea in the last several years, brewing their own beer, and it’s only a matter of time (and perhaps some liberalized trade legislation) until brewing catches on among Koreans the way coffee roasting and the barista profession has. And when that happens, goodnight nurse. Koreans’ single-minded perfectionism , which has resulted in some coffee as good as I’ve had anywhere, is going to produce some very fine brewskies.

Until then, there is Craftworks Taphouse & Bistro. Arguably the best beer in Korea is here, again, under the pedestrian underpass from Exit 2, and just a few steps from the left-hand exit. Craftworks brews six different types of beers – IPAs, pilsners, Hefeweizens – at their brewery in Gapyeong. Each beer is named after a different mountain on the Korean peninsula and each is excellent. If you can’t decide, and it’s hard, the pub offers a sampler paddle with a shot glass of each for 9,000 won. Sadly, it did not come on an actual paddle. Running behind and along one side of the pub is an outdoor patio with some small trees, perfect for warm weather drinking, and the music selection is almost as good as the beer: the Black Keys, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, TV on the Radio.

Running the risk of being too much of a good thing, Noksapyeong is home to not only what’s possibly the best place for beer in town, but also what’s arguably one of the best for makkeolli. Go out Exit 2, walking towards the glowing arrow of N Seoul Tower on Namsan directly ahead of you. This time, however, continue past the pedestrian underpass a few meters to the aforementioned kimchi jars and follow them to the left. This is Sinheung-ro (신흥로), the street leading into the Haebangchon neighborhood. After a few minutes you’ll come to a small makkeolli bar on your left, just a couple doors before Phillies.

Here is the rather awkwardly named 다모토리 ㅎ [:h] (Damotori ㅎ), where you’ll find 25 different kinds of makkeolli that come from every one of Korea’s mainland provinces. The walls of the bar are painted a deep shamrock, offset by the dark wood trim and tables. Shelving displays small ceramic bottles, jars, and cups in earth-toned glazes, and the music is kept low so the focus remains the conversation and the drinks, which are served in heavy ceramic bottles. It’s classy enough to be the kind of place where you could take a date, and casual enough to be the kind of place where you could pass an entire night pouring cup after cup of the rice-based drink and swapping stories with old friends, which much of the clientele – mostly Koreans, along with a few in-the-know expats – seemed intent on doing.

Even better, a night like that is affordable. Prices are between 5 and 7,000 won per bottle, or you could get the sampler of cups of five different makkeollis of your choice for the criminal price of 2,000 won, which means you could sample every single makkeolli on offer for just 10,000 won. An assistant drinker and I got a sampler with one makkeolli from each province before ordering a bottle of 찹쌀 누룽지 (chapssal nurungji) from Gangwon Province, which carried the delicious burnt rice flavor of nurungji, and was completely unlike any makkeolli you’d buy in a Seoul grocery store. One of the biggest pleasures of drinking makkeolli is experiencing the enormously varied flavors the drink has from brand to brand and province to province, which is why Damotori is such a fun place to drink. This being a makkeolli jip, there’s of course jeon (전) on the menu, but I strongly recommend their galbi, served with barbecue sauce.

Lastly, if you don’t mind a bit of a walk, Noksapyeong Station offers access to one of the largest green spaces in Seoul: Namsan Park (남산공원). Again, cross the pedestrian underpass from Exit 2 and exit to the left. Take an immediate right onto Hoenamu-ro (회나무로), more often referred to as Kyeongnidan, along with the neighborhood around it. Hoof it all the way to the top, approximately one kilometer, gazing out over the rooftops spreading across the valley below Namsan, and you’ll arrive at Sowon-gil (소원길) in front of the Hyatt Hotel. Turn left there to find one of the many entrances to the park, this particular one surrounded by large beds of wildflowers in lavender, white, and yellow.

The park covers much of the mountain, and an extensive series of walking paths wind through it, with special attractions scattered throughout. One that’s quite near this entrance is the Lotus Pond (연못), just 150 meters in. This peaceful, reed-filled pond offers a great chance to escape from the city a bit and maybe to relax with a bottle of wine, like a group of expats at a nearby picnic table were doing. Just don’t pet the animals that live in the park, as a rather wishfully thinking sign depicting a person giving a rabbit a pat on the head warns. You’ll pay 100,000 for your Bambi moment, or, to put it in more relevant terms, 50 sampler sets at Damotori ㅎ.

Yongsan U.S. Army Garrison

Exit 1 or 4

Women’s clothing boutiques

Exit 3

Cross Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로), east on Noksapyeong-daero-32-gil (녹사평대로32길)

Foreign Book Store (외국 Book)

Exit 2

Straight on Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로) to pedestrian underpass, cross and exit to the right, straight approximately one block

02) 793-8249

Standing Coffee

Exit 2

Straight on Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로) to pedestrian underpass, cross and exit to the right

Craftworks Taphouse & Bistro

Exit 2

Straight on Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로) to pedestrian underpass, cross and exit to the left, straight on Noksapyeong-daero, the bar will be a few steps past Hoenamu-ro (회나무로) on your right.

다모토리 ㅎ [:h]

Exit 2

Straight on Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로), left on Sinheung-ro (신흥로) into Haebangchon, straight about 300 meters

070-8950-8362

Namsan Park (남산공원)

Exit 2

Straight on Noksapyeong-daero (녹사평대로) to pedestrian underpass, cross and exit to the left, right on Hoenamu-ro (회나무로), left on Sowon-gil (소원길)

Parts of this post first appeared in the October 2011 issue of SEOUL magazine.

Tags:Line 6, market, nightlife, park, restaurant, shopping, Yongsan-gu
Posted in Line 6, Yongsan-gu | 5 Comments »

Wangsimni Station (왕십리역) Line 2 – Station #208, Line 5 – Station #540, Jungang Line – Station #K116

October 2, 2011

Seoul Sub→urban would like to thank Meagan Mastriani for inviting us to and showing me around her work neighborhood of Wangsimni. Meagan writes about food, mostly, and you can check out her take on the local dining scene at her column, Savoring Seoul, in the online magazine Honest Cooking.

I met Meagan on a recent Sunday outside Exit 9 and, being a bit of a foodie, naturally one of the first places she took me was to a small bakery, Bonnie’s kitchen (바니스), that specializes in cakes and cupcakes.

Hanging a U-turn from the exit and then a right on Wangsimni-gil (왕십리길) brought us to the bakery, which looks like the manifestation of a very domestically-minded eight-year old girl’s fantasy: the interior is all whites and pastel pinks, and is decorated with paper chain ponies. Cakes on display in the window ranged from one decorated with the nearby Hanyang University insignia to one topped with a Barbie doll to one bearing the goggled visage of Pororo. Unfortunately the bakery was closed so I couldn’t sample the goods, but Meagan vouches for their deliciousness.

If your interest in cupcakes is as constructive as it is destructive, Bonnie’s also offers baking classes. Your Korean need not be impeccable either, as Bonnie spent time living in New York, where she learned how to bake, and speaks excellent English.

Update from Liz: When I stopped by, Bonnie’s Kitchen was open! Bonnie, who prefers to go by her Korean name, Seo-Young, is super nice and informed me that the kitchen no longer sells cupcakes on the go. You can call and pre-order a minimum order of six cupcakes. She was surprised Seoul Sub→urban was interested in her store, but appreciated the opportunity and voiced her apologies that she no longer sold cupcakes on the fly to the foreigners who used to stop by frequently. We chatted for a little bit while I admired her handiwork and assured her I would be linking her bakery up to our post. For information on how to order her adorable cupcakes or sign up for a cooking class, please visit Bonnie’s Kitchen Blog.

On your way to the bakery you’ll pass the Seongdong Culture Hall (성동문화회관) and the Soweol Art Hall (소월아트홀), but the real attraction is just outside, in the adjacent park where, at all hours of the day, you’ll find old men gathered to play baduk (바둑), the Korean version of Go, and janggi (장기), a Korean version of chess derived from the Chinese Xiangqi. It’s strictly an old boys club, but the dress code is relaxed, ranging from suits to utility jackets. The men congregate around park benches in groups of three or four or half a dozen, but there’s very little chatter. Almost to a man they’re focused on the games, and the most prominent sound in the park is left to the gentle clicking of stone on wooden board.

By far the most dominant feature of the Wangsimni area is the enormous Bit Plaza (비트프라자) complex at the east end of the station, and it’s easy to get your bearings from anywhere in the vicinity by looking for the huge tower with the mother-of-pearl-esque sheen on it. The complex covers a large area and different parts are accessible from different ways, so we’ll break things down by their nearest exit.

In front of the complex proper is a bifurcated plaza, and as you come out of Exit 4, directly across the small access road is a bust of 김소월 (Kim So-Weol), which was the pen name of 김정식 (Kim Jeong-Shik), one of early modern Korea’s greatest and most influential poets. Kim died by his own hand in 1934 at the young age of 32, having published only one book, Azaleas, when he was 25. His poem entitled ‘Wangsimni’ is engraved on a stone slab next to the bust. For a bit more on Kim’s life, you might want to read this short piece in the Korea Times by the always excellent Andrei Lankov.

Behind the memorial is a small black and gold clock tower called the Lover’s Clock, which was erected to commemorate Seongdong-gu’s sister city relationship with Cobb County, Georgia, the placement of the apostrophe suggesting that it’s a rather one-sided relationship. On the same side of the plaza and just in front of the complex is the 빛-물-바람의 길 or 걷고싶은 비트거리 (Road of Light, Water, and Wind or Bit Street That You Want to Walk), depending on which sign you refer to. Just in front of Exit 6-1, it’s a small pathway behind a waterfall sculpture where water tumbles over staircase-like green glass slats. Much better as an art installation than someplace you can actually take a stroll.

Behind Exit 4 or just around from Exit 5 the other half of the plaza features a dancing fountain, where about ten kids were taking advantage of one of the last days that was warm enough for splashing, and behind that is a mural wall with one of those rather cheesy sets of painted angel wings for trick photography that seem to be popping up everywhere in Seoul these days.

Both Exit 5 and 6-1 put you right in front of Bit Plaza, near where there was some kind of car promotion going on and people sifted through bins of discount jeans on the day I visited, but Exit 12 connects directly into the middle of the complex.

Bit Plaza has a huge E-Mart and several floors of everything you’d expect at a big Seoul shopping complex: phone shops, cosmetics boutiques, salons, candy shops, shoe stores, Vietnamese noodle restaurants… The fourth floor has a pretty wide ranging food court – bagels, sushi, hamburgers – and the fifth floor is home to both an indoor waterpark and the CGV with Korea’s largest Imax screen.

On the fourth and fifth floors you also have access to outdoor plazas looking west, from which you can see N Seoul Tower and Doota in Dongdaemun popping up above the apartment complexes.

A sign near the elevators advertised the Sky Plaza on the 15^th, 16^th, and 17^th floors, but when we tried to go up the lift wouldn’t take us any higher than the 9^th. An attempt to sneak onto the service elevator was also unsuccessful, as the up button from the ninth floor did nothing.

So what’s on the ninth floor if you get stuck there in your attempts to sneak upstairs? That would be the Golf Dome, a four story (6^th, 7^th, 8^th, 9^th) driving range that’s also part of the complex. If you haven’t been, hanging out in one of these indoor driving ranges for a few minutes can be a pretty Zen experience. Almost no one talks, directing all of their focus to the small white orb set between their slightly more than shoulder width feet. There are barely perceptible rushes as clubs split the air, and an almost regular and gentle tick…tick as clubs meet balls, like the dripping of a water clock.

Connected to the main part of the Bit Plaza complex, near Exits 5 and 6-1, is the Enter 6 Fashion Square, a clothing mall with a rather odd Renaissance-y, medieval-y theme. The merchandise is decidedly 21^st Century – Nike, Converse, Basic House – but the décor is a mashup of Italian Renaissance, Arthurian and Victorian England, and just anything that looks old and European really. A central atrium holds a red-lit fountain of four topless maidens, around which runs a wall with Renaissance-esque paintings, and a random bust placed next to the Starbucks sign. There were also several people in costume: a girl in a dress that made her look like Little Bo Peep, a guy who was supposed to be a court jester but looked more like a circus clown, and a woman in a red gown with white ruffles who turned back and forth like a robot mime. And, of course, the big screen above them played K-pop videos.

Behind Bit Plaza, via Exit 6, is an area of small streets filled with restaurants, bars, convenience stores, DVD rooms, and lots of goshiwons (고시원) and goshitels (고시텔) (small rooms, about three square meters, that students often rent); in short, everything a college student could want. Nearby is Hanyang University (한양대학교) and this little nook is a lively nightlife area, alive in the evenings with students blowing off steam.

Walk straight back from the exit and from Bit Plaza and you’ll come to Majang-ro (마장로) where, near the intersection with Wangsimni-gil, there is a buzzing arcade filled with video games, Dance Dance Revolution, and a singing booth where you can record yourself onto CD. There’s also a line of punching and soccer ball kicking games lined up outside if you need to take out your aggression on something. Idiosyncratically, you’ll also find a small market tucked in the middle of the area. No more than a dozen stalls, it’s an island of seniors in the sea of twenty-somethings around it.

If all goes well and your score on the punching game or dexterity with the crane is sufficiently impressive, you may then wish to avail yourself of the strip of love motels near Exit 1. Take the first right, on Wangsimni-ro-20-gil (왕십리로20길), and pick your pleasure. Just don’t answer the phone if mom calls.

Bonnie’s kitchen (바니스)

Exit 9

U-turn, south on Wangsimni-gil (왕십리길)

070-4135-0030

www.bonnieskitchen.co.kr

Seongdong Culture Hall (성동문화회관)

Exit 9

U-turn, south on Wangsimni-gil (왕십리길)

Bit Plaza (비트프라자)

Exits 4, 5, 6, 6-1, 12, 13

Enter 6 Fashion Square

Exits 5 and 6-1

Hanyang University nightlife area

Exit 6

Love Motels

Exit 1

Right on Wangsimni-ro-20-gil (왕십리로20길)

Tags:art, history, Jungang Line, Line 2, Line 5, monument, nightlife, restaurant, Seongdong-gu, shopping
Posted in Jungang Line, Line 2, Line 5, Seongdong-gu | 3 Comments »

Noryangjin Station (노량진역) Line 1 – Station #136, Line 9 – Station #917

September 4, 2011

The Noryangjin area of Seoul, which nestles against the eastern end of Yeouido, is known above all else for its enormous fish market, one of the country’s largest. And we will certainly get to that, but first we’re going to go on a brief tour of the surprisingly nice neighborhood around the market.

‘Around the market’ actually means, for all intents and purposes, across the street, on the south side of Noryangjin-ro (노량진로), as apart from the market, the north side consists pretty much just of train tracks and highway. This was actually, I’m a bit embarrassed to say, my first time going to Noryangjin in almost three years of living inSeoul, and my assumption was that the neighborhood surrounding a huge fish market would be correspondingly wet, grimy, and smelly. Not so. (Even if you’re simply transferring here and not actually going out into the area you’ll get a glimpse of the neighborhood, as Noryangjin is one of the more unique transfer points on the rail system. Due to whatever tricky logistics they encountered with the market, highway, and rail lines when linking Noryangjin to the new-ish Line 9, one has to actually exit onto the street and make a short walk down the sidewalk to get from one line to the other. It’s less of a hassle than it might sound.)

To my surprise, the air wasn’t filled with the dank smell of fish but with the scents pouring out of the long row of street food stalls (포장마차) lining the south side of the avenue outside of Exit 3, each one with a cartoon bear and sign proclaiming ‘Happy Dongjak!’ at its top. While the usual tteokbokki-mandu-twigim-sundae suspects were all there, the fare here was widely varied and tilted more towards quick lunches than snacks. I passed carts offering bibimbap, bulgogi hot dogs, deopbap, omurice, hamburgers, bokkeumbap, and something that one cart called poktanbap (폭탄밥), or ‘bomb rice.’

This last one was something new to me, so I definitely had to give it a try, especially as the sucker for anything that screams ‘spicy!’ that I am. What I got was a decent-sized bowl of rice with ground beef, sesame oil, a slice of ‘cheese,’ a fried egg, two different kinds of dried seaweed, some fish roe, two generous dollops of gochujang, and a sprinkling of sesame seeds. Total cost: 2,000 won, less than a plate of tteokbokki will cost you at most stalls. A large serving is just an extra 500. And how was it? Pretty much as you might imagine all those ingredients thrown together tasting – which is to say it falls squarely under the rubric of comfort food.

In general, Noryangjin-dong seems to be a hungry neighborhood, as among the hagwons, cafes, noraebangs, and gosiwons, there was a preponderance of simple lunch joints seemingly popping up every few meters.

If it’s coffee you’re after, however, there’s plenty of that as well, including the place that has wrested away the title of ‘Best Monikered Café in Seoulin Charlie’s Very Authoritative Opinion on the Matter’ from Won’s in a While in Yangjae. Leave Exit 4, hang an immediate left on Jung-angcha-ro (중앙차로), and just a few meters up on your left will be (drumroll)…Coffeesh Café and Roastery. Hey, it’s Noryangjin.

The 2 ½-story café has concrete walls painted a dark gray, some exposed brick, simple wood and black metal chairs and tables, and tall windows looking out over the street. The first and second floors have plenty of seating along the windows in addition to the tables scattered about, and a sizable smoking room occupies that extra half floor, where there’s also a roasting room. One knock on the place, and it’s not a small one, was that when I tried to order the Ethiopian hand-drip I was told that they were out of that blend. When I said, OK, the Kenyan instead, I was told that every single one of the hand-drips were unavailable. I settled for a latte instead. Not exactly the sort of thing that should be happening at a place that does its own roasting, but with that name I’m willing to forgive quite a lot. It helped too that their endearing logo of a fish with a dopey smile reminded me of Goldfish crackers, a childhood favorite.

One more thing before we get to the fish market. Walk east down Noryangjin-ro from Exit 1 of Line 1 (Because of Noryangjin’s unusual configuration, each line has its exits numbered separately instead of the numbers of one station following sequentially from the other. Line 1 only has one exit, however, so this isn’t really an issue.) and after about a quarter-kilometer, just before a pedestrian overpass, you’ll come to Sayukshin Park (사육신공원).

Loyal readers will recall our visit to Changsin Station when we came across Jeongeobwon (정업원), the place where Queen Jeongsun (1440-1521) lived mourning her husband, the boy-emperor King Danjong (단종), after he was usurped, exiled, and murdered at the age of 16 by his uncle Prince Suyang (수양대군), by then known as King Sejo (세조). AtSayukshinPark the sordid little tale comes full-circle. Danjong became king at all of 12-years old after his pops, King Munjong (문종) (The son of some guy named Sejong. Maybe you heard of him.), fell ill and died only two years after taking power. Prepubescent kings have a tendency to suffer complicated relations with their relatives and Danjong was no exception. After his usurpation in 1455 and before his murder, though, an attempt was made by six ministers to restore him to the throne. Their plot was betrayed, however, and while one committed suicide rather than face the inevitable consequences, the other five were tortured and executed, along with many of their family members. They subsequently became known as the Six Martyred Ministers (사육신).

Four of them were buried on the southern banks of the Han River, where the park now stands, and in 1681 King Sukjong (숙종) (r. 1776-1800) ordered Sachung Seowon (사충서원), a Confucian school, to be built there as a memorial to the men’s loyalty and valor. Today the tombs are recognized as Seoul Tangible Cultural Property No. 8.

Entering the park the main path leads directly to a gate marking the entrance to the Shrine to Sayukshin (사육신사당). A traditional Korean building, red and blue lanterns hang out front and inside on a long burgundy altar six simple wood tablets rest. You can’t go in, but just inside the entryway is a table where you can light a joss stick to place in an urn if you so wish. A half-dozen were burning when I visited and their sweet aroma complemented the tranquil setting nicely. A large stone stele (비각) in a wooden pavilion stands in front of the shrine to the north, and across from that, to the south, the hexagonal memorial erected in 1955.

Behind the shrine and through a door in a stone wall is the cemetery (묘역) for the martyred ministers. Four tumuli sit on a grassy knoll surrounded by fir trees, while a few steps northwest sit three more, each with a small stone marker in front of it. Yes, your math is correct. Six ministers, seven tumuli. Here’s the deal: the six martyred ministers were established as being 박팽년, 성삼문, 이개, 유응부 (who are actually buried beneath their tombs), 하위지, and 유성원 (who are not). But later scholars raised doubts about the veracity of 유응부’s inclusion in the group, positing that the sixth man was actually another minister named 김문기. The question could never be answered definitively so in 1977, as a sort of compromise, a seventh tomb was constructed.

Elsewhere in the park you’ll find all the usual facilities – rest areas, an outdoor stage, exercise machines – but there’s also a wildflower garden (야생화정원) and Prospect Point (조망명소) a viewing platform looking northwest out over the river with views of Baeknyeon Mountain (백련산), Bukhan Mountain (북한산), and the golden 63 Building just to your left.

And now, the fish. Ah yes, the fish.

An elevated walkway over the rail tracks connects the subway station to the Noryangjin Fish Market (노량진수산시장), which is housed in an airplane hangar-like warehouse. You enter the market from the second floor, and before descending into the market it’s worth pausing here to take in the spectacle from above, in order to get an idea both of the market’s size and its method.

Noryangjin is Seoul’s biggest fish market and, taking into account the limitations imposed on perspective by the building’s mezzanine and overhead lighting, stretches as far west as you can see when standing at the east end, near the overpass to the subway. From up here it resembles nothing so much as the grid of an urban marine metropolis, divided into blocks by the wet concrete aisles and those blocks further subdivided into lots of individual stalls and those lots divided again into apartments housing all manner of fish and sea squirts and clams and cockles. Men pulling dollies weave in and out of the blocks moving seafood around in uniform white Styrofoam boxes, and small flatbed trucks piled high with huge bags of ice periodically drive by, unloading the material that keeps the entire system in equilibrium. (One wonders how many kilograms of ice the market uses in a single day.) And just like a city, underneath all of this the market has its own sonic hum composed of the faint bubbling of aerators, the squeak of Styrofoam, the rip of packing tape, and the continual chatter of the men and women overseeing it all.

A word on those men and women. If you should ever find yourself desponding at the more superficial aspects of Korean society – the double-eyelid surgeries and the whitening creams – an hour at Noryangjin will serve as a powerful detoxifier, a reminder that those things are but one part of a culture that’s much more complex and varied. Here the dress code tends toward fishing vests,Wellingtons, and rubber gloves. Vanity and the transport of cephalopods may not be mutually exclusive, but they are certainly infrequent associates.

Down on the floor, the wet city comes into full relief. It’s surprising to witness just how neatly the amorphous forms of squid and octopi can be laid out by professionals, and these along with the geometric tanks and tidy piles of clams and oysters make Noryangjin more orderly than you’d expect a fish market had any right to be. Above each little stand hang several lamps and a sign or two with the stall’s name. There are prawns the size of bananas, pulsing squid, and lazily waving octopi. Crabs like bumpy Frisbees that sit so thick in some tanks you wonder where the water is. At some stalls recycling water cascades from one tank to the next like wedding champagne over tiered flutes, and the air is so moist that it feels not so much as if water has been added to every available container that could hold it, as it feels that the space you’re in has somehow had the water removed from it, Moses-like.

Everywhere around you the rubber-armored brigade is busy at work. An elderly woman knifes open clams. Vendors use flat wooden mallets to pound and smooth out the ice. A man uses a band saw to cut frozen fish steaks into fist-size chunks. Middle-aged women operate small stands selling instant coffee and ramen to the workers. Crowbar-shaped picks get swung to lift, to drag, to open boxes, to move fish. Men driving trucks and mopeds zip around, taking things from Point A to Point B, and sinewy porters pulling heavily-loaded dollies do the same. They move quickly and don’t stop, so if you’re wandering through the market it’s imperative that you keep aware of your surroundings. Few deaths would be so ignominious as to be run over and crushed beneath a cascade of frozen herring.

Not all of the warehouse is fish stalls. On the building’s northeast side is the market’s most odiferous corner, where several stands sell various shrimp pastes and fermented fish sauces. Just west of them is a small forest of stacked Styrofoam boxes, each about the size of three shoe boxes lined up alongside each other. This is where seafood gets packed up for its final journey to the various restaurants and supermarkets in the city. And at the west end of the market, in a large open space, is the auction area.

As you’re walking around you’ll likely notice some guys wearing plain baseball hats with a number on their front. These are their IDs for the auction, where the day’s catch is sold off. About 2:30 a.m. a large clatter begins at the west end of the warehouse as hundreds of identical yellow bins start getting unstacked, tossed onto the floor, and filled with water. This is where the lots get placed – one flopping fish each if it’s big; three, four, five of them if they’re smaller; mesh bags filled with dozens of eels. Elsewhere large octopi are laid out alongside sleek, beautiful, meter-long tunas. Unfortunately, if you want to watch the auction you have to either stay out really late or get up really early, as it runs from approximately 4-6 a.m.

Of course what the average person usually comes to Noryangjin for is to eat. Several restaurants line the second floor. Simply buy a fish from one of the vendors in the market and take it upstairs where it’ll be sliced into hoe (회), raw fish, and the leftover bits made into maeuntang (매운탕), a spicy soup. Do bargain over the price of the fish, as this is expected; otherwise you’ll end up paying too much. You do have to pay the restaurant a small amount for the side dishes, prep work, and any drinks, but the larger cost will be the fish itself. Late at night most restaurants are closed, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still eat. Quite a few stalls are more than happy to slice your purchase up right then and there, and more than a few have plates stacked up ready to go right next to the tanks.

Noryangjin-dong street food stalls

Exit 3 of Line 9

Coffeesh Café and Roastery

Exit 4 of Line 9

Left on Jungangcha-ro (중앙차로)

Hours: M-F 8 a.m. – 10 p.m.; Sat, Sun, and Holidays 10 a.m. – 10 p.m.

Phone: 02-812-2812

Sayukshin Park (사육신공원)

Exit 1 of Line 1

East on Noryangjin-ro (노량진로)

Hours: 9 a.m. – 5:30 p.m.

Noryangjin Fish Market (노량진수산시장)

Exit 1 of Line 1

Take pedestrian bridge over the railroad tracks

Hours: Open 24 hours; Auction approximately 4-6 a.m.

Parts of this post first appeared in the August 2011 issue of SEOUL magazine.

Tags:Dongjak-gu, history, Line 1, Line 9, market, monument, park, restaurant, temple
Posted in Dongjak-gu, Line 1, Line 9, Uncategorized | 9 Comments »

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