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For millennia, the islands of Korea were places of exile and punishment. They have been a dumping ground for criminals, lepers and political dissidents; the haunt of pirates and refugees.
Island residents lived difficult, isolated lives on the edge of what is possible, enduring hard physical labor and meager diets. More recently these outposts have been the scene of clashes, kidnappings and confrontations with the DPRK. This negative history has left a significant imprint image on the mindset of the nation.
In recent years the government has tried to stem the flow of outbound tourists in order to generate domestic revenue. The ``See Korea First" campaign aimed to keep Koreans, and their money, within Korea. The islands were assigned a crucial role in this.
Early on, it was realized that Koreans preferred to visit somewhere ``famous". It was no accident that dozens of islands suddenly began to feature in movies, dramas, and TV shows, sparking a sudden craze for island tourism. Deokjeok Island featured in the romantic melodrama ``Lovers Concerto" in 2002. Mueui Island was popularized in "Stairway to Heaven" in 2003, while "Sad Love Story" ensured the immortality of Si-do.
Seungbong Island, so named because its topography ― which resembles the head of a phoenix, rises from the inshore waters of Jawol-myeon. It has apparently been settled since the 1600s.
When I began visiting here in 2006, things were quiet. Apart from a few fishermen, you rarely encountered another soul. Some features remain unchanged from that time. For example, an enchanting forest of black pines which seem to stagger through the mist. Then there are the sunlit south-facing glades, the orange sandstone cliffs, and the brooding willow swamp ― the only place that still resounds of frogs. Wading through damp grass up to my waist, a water snake suddenly slides away. It is a magical moment: a frisson of nervous excitement. Along the seashore, nobody else notices the oystercatcher, delicately turning over shells. I alone, it seems, have glimpsed the real spirit of Seungbong.
Only six short years later, other scenes are dramatically different. As I disembark and follow the long line of cars snaking away from the pier, a host of unsightly new infrastructure comes into view: waste dumps, piles of gravel and sand, storage depots, greenhouses, pensions, boardwalks, advertising banners, new roads, exercise machines, gazebos, minivans and concrete.
The scenic ring road has become a racetrack as dozens of cyclists spin by. A procession of day-trippers litters the landscape. In 2006 there were three minbaks, now there are 48. The forest echoes to announcements from the new tannoy system and the screams of picnickers, their discarded white napkins fluttering through the trees.
An absurd new 150-room condominium has broken the ancient skyline. Speculative, unbridled development does not take into account aesthetics or the environment. Tower blocks may fit the center of Seoul, but they look incredibly ugly on islands.
Many people visit islands to escape the city, yet developers are rapidly bringing urban sprawl to them, destroying their character and charm. The natural experience has been replaced by an artificial one.
Since the late 1990s, a vast amount of public money has been committed to the island’s comprehensive infrastructural development. Long-term advertising all over Seoul now promotes even the smaller destinations. Two trillion won has been spent on the islands of South Jeolla Province since 2010. In 2011 it was announced that 910 billion won would be spent to develop the five islands near the sea border with North Korea.
It is depressing to realize that of the 2900 Korean islands, only 170 are officially protected from this wave of tasteless development.
The writer is a conservationist associated with various environmental organizations in Korea. He can be reached at gymnojene@yahoo.co.uk.