Published by the Gwangju International Center since 2001
At the southernmost tip of Imja-do, where Korea’s West and South Seas make their murky acquaintance, is an excellent coastal cave called Yongnangul (용난굴). I’d wanted to see it for quite some time so, aroused from my mid-Chuseok torpor by a chance for adventure, I made the pleasant, bucolic drive to nearby Eomeori Beach with the missus to finally suss it out.
While the big cities in Korea get all sorts of attention with their newfangled technology and shiny buildings, some of the most overlooked areas in the country are the southern coastal regions. There is a plethora of destinations along the coast, all within a two-hour drive from Gwangju, that offer unparalleled natural beauty, wide-open spaces, fantastic beaches, and plenty of good times. Shinan, Jindo, and Goheung (but not Yeosu, an area that has become much too congested for my liking) all have many hidden treasures, but if I had to pick one that offers the most bang for your buck (or “wow for your won”), it would have to be Namhae.
Numun-dong, located directly across the Gwangju Stream from Yangdong Market, is one of the city’s more variegated areas and a stellar example of how urban planners used to prioritize density differently through jumbles of mixed-use, low-rise structures. Even as it is now midway through the compensation process, the area is still teaming with grizzled locals and faded mom-and-pop shops that spill out onto the streets between rows of tightly parked cars. It even has a few garish love motels crowned with fake castle turrets and Russian onion domes, though these are mostly abandoned now.
A trip to the DMZ is a surreal one. It is noted for being one of the most volatile regions in the world but is, simultaneously, a popular tourist attraction. Personally, I cannot think of many other places in the world that have such knife-edge tensions but can still be visited by ordinary civilians. This combination alone makes the whole experience truly unique and worth the visit.
After a quick regroup and Google search over breakfast and a strong coffee, I discovered my hotel was only a short walk away from Spa Land, one of Busan’s largest premier spas. This massive spa complex, located in Shinsegae Department Store, has 23 different types of luxury baths, all using 100% hot spring water pumped from 1,000 meters underground, as well as steam rooms, an outdoor foot spa, barbers, nail salon, restaurant, game room, and pretty much anything else you could possibly want.
The long, sandy shore along the northwest coast of Imja-do recently stunned me when I discovered that, even at low tide, the beaches had excellent sand as far as the eye could see.
Korea was a developing country back then – chaotic, construction everywhere, full of bad smells. Korean people were, if anything, kinder and more welcoming to strangers back then. Culturally, it felt geekier than today; I recall a fad at the time being guys wearing their glasses or sunglasses on the back of their heads, for whatever reason. We used to crack up watching “Icing,” a soap opera about a Korean hockey team.
For this issue of Lost in Gwangju, I’ve spent a great deal of my recent free time doing an amateur corpus analysis of messages I found scrawled on the walls of a dozen or so “punishment rooms” (징벌실) within the now-shuttered Gwangju Prison in Munheung-dong. There’s nothing academic about my analysis, and my methodology is spotty, but I think the messages I’ve found nevertheless hold deep value: They lay bare many of the thoughts and emotions that the human spirit conjures up while locked away in a solitary cage.
