Vignettes of the World
By Paul French “Even the Albanians described North Korea as an ‘unbelievably closed society.’”[i] Famine, credit default, constant blackouts, economic collapse, failed piecemeal reforms, nuclear weapons, repression – the indicators of a failed state are no longer hidden from the world now, despite North …
By Han Kang Ah, what a surprise. I thought this would be a lighthearted and fun book about a Korean woman who decided to turn vegetarian in a culture where meat is consumed as much as air is breathed. As it turned out, not only …
On my last full day in South Korea, I booked a 1st class room at a hotel in Incheon, as I was hoping to see the MacArthur Landing. Once I checked in the hotel, however, I realized that I would be going backward on my journey. I thus decided to check out the islands instead. There was no taxi at the hotel, and that was the first sign that I would owe it to pure luck if I eventually made it to Muuido.
At the bus stop I knew only one word, Jamjindo, the pronunciation of which I picked up from the hotel concierge. I tried my luck with the bus. The line 233 came by and I asked the driver. He told me, “no jamjindo!” Then out of nowhere a Korean man chimed in, “Jamjindo, go to airport and change.” So I took 223 at the other direction and changed at the airport. At the airport, bus 306 and the driver dropped me off on a main road. It was not a populated area, seeming like there were just many huge warehouses around. There was hardly ever any water to be seen, moreover. People were pointing me to different directions, and I wasted much time trying to find the island, or any sights of water.
Only upon arrival and seeing the sign in Hanja did I learn that Muuido meant the Island of the Dancing Dress. The beautiful name strengthened my resolve. I must see it. Eventually, I found the tourist information center. I was told that, first of all, I was already at Jamjindo, and secondly the last ferry would leave Muiido at 6pm. It was already 4:15pm then. I hopped on the ferry at 4:45pm, there was little time but I was assured that I would certainly see Muuido.
The long bridge to the Muiido wharf was very picturesque. There were many pleasing sights of a rural South Korea that gave me peace, sceneries that one would have to make a special effort to see in South Korea. It was a rustic and menial life that was tied to the ocean. I saw people working with their own hands with sea catch. They immersed half their body in that bitter cold water to dock their fishing boats, unloading the rewards of their hard work, of fish and harvested oysters. Women carried goods on top of their heads, slowly walking through that mile-long bridge.
Once at Muuido, I rushed through the paths hoping to see the main attraction: the Silmido Islet, off of the beach. Although I saw few souls on my way, signs of the seafaring life were readily felt. There were many fish hung on wooden poles, salted and dried for preservation. I breathed in the fresh air freely, taking in the distinctive smell of seafood. It was tranquil despite the pain in both of my strained knees. I was hungry and I went into a restaurant wanting octopus pancakes. The owner did not understand me and so I left without eating.
I continued to rush through the island, but after a rigorous hike up to Silmido Resort I was told that it was high tide so I would not be able to walk to the Islet. Nor would I make it in time to see the sunset at the beach. The advice was to make the journey back right away, otherwise I would miss the last ferry altogether.
On my way back I noticed a small path, and I decided to check it out. There I saw the sunset and the islet on a vista point. I spent exactly four minutes at the spot and hurried down the hill, limping on my way. It seemed like in every turn I took there was no end. Finally, I saw the ferry docked at the wharf and I made it back to civilization.
In the second day of my journal I said that I wanted to spa on my last day in South Korea. Instead I went to Muuido with my bad knees acting up and limping. No regrets though, who could pass up the rare opportunity to see a different aspect of Asia’s soul?
I had dinner close to the airport at a strip with many restaurants to choose from. At that time I had enough money for a pork bulgogi. As I was dining alone, the owner invited me over to join them for their meal. I declined food, but accepted the soju. I heard the waitress say “one thousand dollars” in Mandarin, and we started a conversation. She was from Changchun, Dongbei in China. Just two years working in South Korea and she could speak Korean. Although I did not understand what they were saying at the table, it was a big, happy, warm family.
I left the cold of South Korea the next day with the warmth of its people lingering in my heart.
We arrived at the infiltration tunnels as our last stop on the tour. There was to be no cameras on this part of thetour. We watched a film about the specific history of the infiltration tunnels. All was good and well, and I enjoyed the …
Military subsistence at the DMZ was supported by the Panmunjom Village. Villagers did not pay any taxes to the Korean government as it did not come under its administration. They grew food in their fields, and one important crop was ginseng. The area being off-bounds …
Although in principle the soldiers in the DMZ did not bear arms (therefore they were all black belts in martial arts) there had been armed confrontations at the DMZ. There was the Axe Incident, where 2 UN commanders were killed when the UN side tried to trim down a poplar tree that was blocking the view from the UN.
Originally when the DMZ was set up, the soldiers from the two sides could roam freely within the zone. After the Axe Incident the UN instituted a strict border. Thus even in the conference room the polymers on the table denoted the actual border. Half the table in South Korea, the other half in North Korea.
Another incident happened where a Soviet defected to the “free world” and there was shooting. Some people died but the Soviet managed to accomplish his personal mission. After that, an executive order was issued to the effect that the North Korean soldiers would guard facing each other. The South Korean soldiers guarded the border facing the north. The North Korean soldiers guarded facing each other, for if anyone, including the guarding soldier, was to defect, the other will shoot. That means they guarded the border, as well as each other.
In many parts of the DMZ we could not take photographs. I imagined that was done to protect us, as photo-taking was considered spying and could subject the whole group to danger. As I toured the area, I certainly felt the sense that I was being watched, by unseen and unknown faces in the bushes. That was the classic tension of the Cold War in the 1980s, the fear that I remembered when I was younger.
After the Bollinger Hall the tour arrived at Checkpoint 3. There we saw North Korea from afar. In that vast expanse we could see the enormous North Korean flagpole and the statue next to it celebrating North Korean communism. The guide introduced the Propaganda Village, where North Korean propaganda was made and broadcasted to the country’s population. The village was now uninhabited and we could see the blue tops, the little houses that were the machinery of the state. Even at its mere appearance there was something haunting about that view of the North. A huge flagpole, a statue and a village that was deserted was the first impression of North Korea that I encountered.
The flagpole was 160 meters high hanging a flag of 30 meters in length. It would take 60 grown men just to hold the flag. The flag would be taken down during rainy days, for it would rip. The North Koreans built this flagpole in response to the South Koreans’ building of a huge one. I noted that it was within my own lifetime that national rivalry could be taken to this literal extent.
It was on a beautiful day that I visited the DMZ. Yet visibility seemed to have ended where North Korea began. My pictures of the Propaganda Village turned out hazy, as if even nature would stop the outside world from peering into the North, by descending a shawl of fog that shielded the one truly communist country remaining in East Asia. It stood afar in an unreachable mysteriousness, the only clarity was the classic Cold War tension that could still be felt.
At Checkpoint 4 we saw the Bridge of No Return. The Bridge of No Return was where the Prisoners of War (POWs) were exchanged when the Korean War ended. Although this was not the famous original site where the soldiers were shown the option of either choosing the red North or the free world, its historical significance was amply conveyed. Once the choice was made, there would be no second chance. There was no longer any guard at Checkpoint 4 now, because in that zone the North Koreans could shoot.
I could not remember how many soldiers stationed at the border then, but the United States has cut down its military presence there, as such 96% of the guards at the border were South Koreans. I read on the newspaper a few days later that the South Koreans wanted to install remote controlled mines because they also wanted to cut down the military, in the belief that the advances in defense technology would provide adequate security against invasion by the North.
This is part of a series on the Demilitarized Zone at the 38th Parallel separating North and South Koreas. Please visit the other entries in this series below:
South Korea – The DMZ and the Bollinger Hall.
“There ain’t no D in the DMZ.”[1] It was a privilege for those from the West to be able to see the DMZ and Panmunjom via a U.S. tour organized by the USO. If I kept my Hong Kong identity, I could not have gone. …
The Jackfruit Festival of Kwong Ban Tin Village in Tsuen Wan has become a popular event amongst the Hong Kong locals as a family-friendly occasion to celebrate the jackfruit harvest in the fall each year. In October 2016, I went there to learn the story …
Yun-hak, the young man that I met on the plane, rather insisted that I saw the Gyeongbokgung Palace. Although that was not what the Lonely Planet recommended, I went because a Korean native told me to.
Once I was there, however, I began to understand why. Gyeongbokgung Palace was the first palace in Seoul. It was constructed in 1395 by Yi Seong-gye, three years after his founding of the Joseon Dynasty. The location was carefully chosen because the surrounding mountains provided symbolic anchorage to the Dynasty. With Gyeongbokgung Palace as the seat of power, the new dynasty moved its capital from Gaeseong to Seoul (known in ancient times as Hanyang.) It was burned down many times throughout its long history. Some of the current structures were bare because they were built anew or restored during the 1990s. Yet the history there would serve as the perfect vantage point from which to view the Joseon Dynasty.
In 1873, King Gojong built Geoncheonggung between the garden hill of Noksan and Hyangwonjeong Pavilion. He lived in the bed chamber of Geoncheonggung with his queen, the Empress Myeongseong. Korea was embroiled in conflicts and animosities with Japan. Japanese expansionist policies (and Russian influence as well) rose with the first Sino-Japanese War and its attendant consequences for East Asia. A fire broke out in Gyeongbokgung Palace in 1876, and King Gojong moved to Changdeokgung Palace. He came back to live in Geoncheonggung in 1885 for ten years.
Perhaps the most fascinating story at the Gyeongbokgung Palace was the assassination of Empress Myeongseong by Japanese assassins in 1895. Empress Myeongseong was a staunch force against Japanese influence during the late 19th century. Her enemies in Korean politics, including her father-in-law, the father of King Gojong, were complicit with the then Japananese Minister to Korea in bringing about her assassination in Geongbokgung Palace.
In the early hours of October 8, 1895, insurgent Korean regiments surrounded the palace and overwhelmed the royal guards. They then allowed Japanese assassins in, who then ravaged the Okho-ru (the reconstrcted building of which is pictured above in this entry), where the Queen was. The murder was brutal and against international law. Koreans and foreigners alike were appalled.[1] The Empress’ assassination came to be known as the Eulmi Incident. It would be fair to say that it ushered in Korea’s modern history, the next chapter of which was modern-time colonialism under Japan’s rule beginning in 1905.
The Gyeongbokgung Palace taught me the part of Korean history that would pave the way for Korea’s struggles in the next century. The stories there gave color to the otherwise bare structures, still under reconstruction when I visited. I absolutely adored the poetic motifs hung on both sides of the mainway, in Hanja (which I read as Chinese).
Outside the Geongcheonggung, I saw the beautiful Hyangwonjeon pavilion and the lake surrounding it, frozen and with children playing and many Koreans hanging out. Finally, having reached the main hall, which has been restored, I could imagine the palace in its former glory. As I exited the Palace through its front entrance, a procession of Korean royal guards dressed to the occasion did a round of Lunar New Year salute.
In the afternoon I did a walking tour in Seoul, and saw on the streets the bustling city life that gave this city its lively vibe. I visited the Bosingak bell tower, which was closed. I then walked along the Cheonggye Stream, and ended at the Lotte Department Store for souvenirs.
Dinner was samgyetang (ginseng chicken soup in a hot pot), a much-needed nurture in the bitter cold. Outside of the restaurant I walked into Myeongdong. Its breathtaking night market scene bore every feature of South Korea that I imagined it to be: prosperous, boisterous, glamorous and a big party for all. I bought Korean hip hop music as souvenir for myself.
I got back to the hostel as quickly as possible, to calm myself before the big excursion. The Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) was for the next day.
[1] The Wikipedia has a very good account of the history.
On the first day of the Lunar New Year I spent much of the day celebrating the occasion with many other South Koreans at the Namsangol Hanok Village. I heard the word “gugak” spoken, and eventually figured that it was referring to the traditional dance …