Finding Chongno the Search for the Past in the Present

Finding Chongno The Search for the Past in the Present

In the 1920s Chongno was full of “brick houses, tiled roofs, tin roofs, thatched cottages… men in suits, kimonos, hanbok in black or white … men walking forwards, sideways, stooping, shoving, perched on something, crawling, yawning, smoking, spitting, and even urinating… people speak in Japanese, Western languages, Chinese, and different dialects of Korean… Of course since it is in a metropolitan area, there are foreigners, Seoul people, country people, people who are dressed to a tee, some dressed like beggars" (Chang 71-72, my translation). During the Chosǒn Dynasty, Chongno functioned as the center of commerce; if you could not find something in Chongno, it was a good bet that you would not find it anywhere. During the Japanese occupation, it functioned as a gathering place for revolutionaries, modern boys and modern girls, literary greats, newspaper printers, vendors, and peddlers. It was during this time that Chongno became the heart of the Chosǒn people. Ch’ǒnggyech’ǒn divided the city into the Japanese section in the south and the Korean section in the north. The center of the Korean section was Chongno.

Today Chongno is still a conglomeration of different people and buildings although it has undergone great changes. Chongno sparkles with the light reflected on the windows of tall cement office buildings; tiled roofs of traditional wooden buildings are interspersed between concrete blocks. Men and women in suits run to work, while students walk to class yawning; ajummas shove their way to their destinations, while some stooped or loitering men spit or smoke. Korean is the language that is most audible, but Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian and

1 Yonsei graduate student 128 of course English are not hard to come by. Modern Chongno is a curious place where the past and the present interact.

Gwanghwamun Plaza

Chongno starts with Gwanghwamun (Kwangwhamun) Plaza. As part of the project to restore Gwanghwamun to its former glory, the plaza has been modified and re-constructed by the current mayor of Seoul2. Gwanghwamun Plaza is today a slab of concrete 34 meters wide and 740 meters long, with prominent statues of Yi Sun-sin and King Sejong commanding attention. Currently, however, Yi, the great military leader, is hidden behind the façade of a fitting room awaiting further grooming. The spray from fountains that cool the hot rays of the sun during the summer are now hidden under plastic grass. The somewhat cheap but benevolent-looking statue of King Sejong sits on more concrete; underneath him is a “ubiquitous zone” (whatever that is supposed to mean) presenting Hangǔl and Haechi, the yellow mascot of Seoul. The ginko trees that once served as roadside trees have been uprooted and disposed of because they were planted by the Japanese. Now the plaza lies bare. There is no greenery except that of the artificial grass.

How much this ultra-modern space restores the glory of Gwanghwamun is up to the beholder but the randomly placed Korean artifacts strewn across the plaza seem less suited for the citizens of Seoul than for the tourists who ooh and ahh over the quaint-looking artifacts. Seoulites rarely glance at the historical artifacts or the exhibitions but rather enjoy the fountain in the summer and the skating rink in the winter; most of the time they are too busy crossing the intersections to give the plaza a second glance. Whose interests are served by this supposedly modern but in truth rather kitsch-looking restoration? Certainly not those of the people rushing to cross the intersection or the cars and buses that threaten to squash them flat.

Kyobo Book Center

During the Japanese occupation of Korea, most of the newly-established, westernized schools

2 To be accurate, Gwangwhamun Plaza is actually on Sejongno. The history of this place is rather turbulent and complicated. 129 were located around Chongno. The modern middle and high schools, as well as the forerunners of the universities and the first women’s schools, were clustered on or around this street. The bookstores selling textbooks and modern libraries like Chongno Library were located here as well. Today, most of the schools, apart from Ewha Girls’ High School, have moved to different locations; and the small independent bookstores that used to litter Chongno have all gone out of business. However, the spirit of learning and education can still be found at Kyobo Book Center. The building itself is a tall red brick eyesore, but the underground bookstore embraces the spirit of knowledge that Chongno was known for: it represents a world apart from the rush rush rush of the pedestrians crossing Sejongno and Chongno, amid the even swifter rush of cars. The serene, warm, bright atmosphere of the book store is a welcome oasis after you have waded through the shoving bodies on the bus or subway.

As you drift from shelf to shelf, eyeing the many books, some filled with practical knowledge, some philosophical, some empirical, others just amusing, the urge to race as fast as you can to your next destination begins to dissipate. Finding the book that you came for seems a little less important now that you know it is within reach. Every corner you turn, strangers sit next to each other on benches or the carpeted floor, engrossed in reading books that are perhaps worth the time but not the money. Many wear earphones which suggest the need for solitude away from the yap yap yap of family, friends, employers, co-workers and lovers; it is alright to be alone here.

In the foreign language section, the voice of Barrack Obama booms out, as the salesperson tries to persuade a middle-aged man to buy an expensive PMP. Ten minutes of persuasion later, the man pulls out his credit card, while the salesperson dashes madly to the storage room. Coming back with the new gadget, he almost trips over the cleaning man’s rickety trash cart. The only people rushing around are the employees. For them, the world underground is as much about survival as the world above ground is for the rest of us. Like the scholars of yesteryear who spent hours poring over modern books in order to forget the pain of the occupation, the customers at Kyobo Book Center can find a book to stick their noses in while forgetting about the vicious, visceral real world outside.

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T’apgol Park

On March 1, 1919 citizens gathered in what was then called Pagoda Park and a Declaration of Independence was read. Men and women, young and old, cheered for the independence of Korea and waved T’aegǔkgis. They then proceeded to march down Chongno. It was the start of the first nationwide independence movement. The Japanese swiftly responded with violence.

Where once the spirit of patriotic rebellion burst forth forth, there now are mostly male octogenerians. In front of the Samil Gate, a group of well-dressed old men crowd around a man handing out petitions to repel the abolition of hojujae, a remnant of Korea’s patriarchal Confucian conservatism, outlawed two years ago. Once you cross the threshold of the park’s main gate, busy, bustling Chongno is lost. Where history meets the present, the traffic goes by, unconcerned. The park is a time capsule where old people come to escape a present that dismisses them as outworn relics.

In the pavilion in the center of the park, forlorn-looking men sit around talking about their past glories. Others huddle around a stone bench, gazing into oblivion. Two men stand in front of the ten-story stone pagoda at Wǒngaksa Temple which gives the park its name. The pagoda is encased in a plastic house to protect it from the elements. Metal buttresses help it stand in its old age. Time imitates the slow gait of the men who inhabit this place. The only reminder of the fast-paced world outside is the sound of traffic and the skyline of Fraser Suites and the Green Computer Academy looming above. Yellow wilting marigolds add the only color to the park’s drab black and white. Even the greenery is a desultory hue, almost grayish. T’apgol Park has become the secluded sanctum of the defeated and abandoned and those who seek even more solitary solace amongst themselves.

YBM

Perhaps because Chongno was the site of the onset of modern education, it can still boast of its educational modernity through its foreign language academies. Across the street from T’apgol Park is the main building of YMB Si-sa, one of the largest foreign language hagwons

131 in Korea. The building is not beautiful to look at: a rectangular cement plot with blackened rectangular windows and unimaginative rectangular classrooms.

There are four different entrances to the building. One of them has a reception booth staffed by kind-looking young women. Students mill around the lobby and the computers situated along the wall as they wait for classes to begin.

A second reception booth entrance has more kind-looking young receptionists, but this one also has a lobby with large tables for study. As you approach, you note a group of six students discussing the pros and cons of the G20 summit in English. Two students practice writing and reading hiragana. Three students review Chinese pronunciation. Interspersed among the groups are more solitary-looking individuals wearing earphones: some are madly writing down English words, others are reading TOEFL passages, others listening to TOEIC listening tapes. Some speakers are repeating a speech by Barrack Obama. The solemn faces of the students reflect the gravity of the situation; it is all about survival.

The next entrance leads to the IBK Bank, while the last lobby goes to the elevators that take the students to the cement cubicles they call classrooms so they can prepare for the various language proficiency exams will help build their “specs”: TOEIC, TOEFL, JPT, HSK, OPIc, and TEPS. The capital letters attest to the importance of the exams. Students flock towards the elevator or gather in small groups to talk and joke. So much shuffling takes place within this rectangular building that one has to wonder whether some of these poor souls ever see the light of day. Can they possibly learn anything important in this dreary and sterile atmosphere?

Kwangjang Market

During the heyday of the Chosǒn Dynasty, Chongno was the site of one of its largest markets. After the occupation, the commercial district moved from Chongno to Chungmuro, the center of the Japanese district. Chongno did not fade away, though. Instead, the night market became its trademark. Stalls were set up all the way along T’apgol Park to Tansǒngsa from April to October. Peddlers sold cheap household goods, while the smell of food filled the air. Up until a few years ago, the food stalls or pochas which sold kimttŏksun (kimchijŏn, 132 ttŏkpokki, and sundae) populated the roadside of Chongno-sam-ga after dusk; they were reminiscent of the night markets of the past. Since then, however, these pochas have disappeared from sight, moving into the more obscure alleyways. The night markets have now been replaced by specialized shopping buildings. For musical instruments, one now goes to Nakwǒn Sanga behind T’apgol Park.

The one traditional market that has withstood the test of time in Chongno is Gwangjang Market. First built in 1905 and destroyed during the Korean War, it was rebuilt to its present state in 1960. There are several ways to enter Gwangjang Market, but the main gate is on Chongno-o-ga. At first, you might be surprised at the sheer amount of people who can fit under the roof of this smallish building. Everywhere there is noise: the noise of sellers shouting bargain prices, ajummas asking for discounts, others arguing over quality or quantity. The vibrancy of the market is stunning. Suddenly, the odors hit you: chŏn cooking in oil, freshly caught fish, dried fish, sweets, textile, sweat, sundae, rubber, ttŏk, kochujang. Everything translates into a smell here.

To the left, there are imported goods, everything from peanut butter to Marlboro cigarettes. To the right, a mountain of shoes: big, small, mostly black but some white, all practical and without embellishment, workmen’s shoes. How the owners can find anything in the chaos is amazing.

In one of the alleys on the left, there is a store selling traditional funeral garments made out of hemp. It looks like papyrus yellowed with age. A grassy smell pervades this corner. Across the lane and some way down is a textile unit. Heaps of textiles, some rolled, others folded, are stacked along the walls and down the lane. In places the stalls located in the dead center obstruct the way so that only one person can pass at a time. As you walk by, your hands graze the soft velvety cloth, the coarse cotton, the slippery satin materials. The textiles of the suits are mostly drab in color with only the occasional bright shiny grey. Yards and yards of colorful laces drape in front of one store.

After exiting the textile section, you are faced with a seemingly endless row of stores selling hanbok. Ready-made long pastel toned skirts and matching short jackets hang from the

133 store ceilings. There are alleys dedicated to children’s hanbok, miniatures with even more detail than the adult counterparts. Tiny embroidered fur-trimmed vests for little girls are meant to protect against the sharp winds of winter outside. The colors are more vivid here; the primary colors more prominent. All your needs, from birth to death, can be found at Gwangjang Market.

The main attractions in Gwangjang Market is the people and the food. The older men milling around T’apgol Park sit in threes and fours eating chŏn and bibimbap (pibimbop), while drinking makgŏlli. All these are slow foods served like fast food. The younger set come to eat boiled pig’s feet or chicken feet or the suspiciously savoury kimbab, purportedly laced with drugs. Gwangjang Market marks a strong contrast from Gwanghwamun’s glamour. The people who inhabit the market are low-income people who live off their day-to-day earnings.

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Chongno seems to be on a one-way journey towards progress, away from its history, both glorious and painful. But where does that history now lie? Covered in asphalt, under concrete buildings and plastic covers remembered only by defeated old men, while the future builders slave away in fluorescent cubicles? The rich cultural repository that was Chongno has been mostly repaved with concrete and brick blocks, constructed and reconstructed by both private and public money. Although its history lives on in different ways, it is becoming ever harder to connect the past and present. We sometimes say that the present must embrace the past, but in the Chongno of today, only the present seems of importance.

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WORKS CITED

Chang, Kyu-sik. Seoul, Its History of Space (Sǒul, kongganǔiro pon yǒksa). Seoul: Hyean, 2004.

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