Cityscapes Celebrating Christmas in Seoul's underground river
An urban explorer dressed as Santa Claus shoots fireworks in the Bone Tunnel underneath Seoul's streets. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun
By Ron Bandun
It's Christmas again, and Santa Claus is somewhere deep beneath Seoul, knee-deep in benzene-polluted water, armed with fireworks and firing bolts of fire at shadows moving in the dark.
Every Christmas, I put on a Santa suit and visit the underground river where the 2006 film “The Host” was set. In the movie, a monster ― mutated by formaldehyde poured into a drain on Yongsan Garrison ― attacks Yeouido, killing and abducting people back to its subterranean lair north of the river. The family members of one girl follow the monster in, and so every Christmas a small group of urban explorers traces their courageous steps.
This ritualistic walk started in 2009, after I learned of the location from an internationally famous urban explorer known for her
. She told me when she visited in the summer, it smelled awful and insects were biting every part of her. I decided winter would be the best time to visit, and ended up getting enough people together on Dec. 25.
I will be vague in details, because I don't want to be responsible for anyone who goes down there unprepared and dies horribly. Places like this are at best uncomfortable and at worst lethal. You can read
to understand more about the risks and see if that doesn't scare you out of it.
Benzene is detected in the water of an underground river downstream of Yongsan Garrison in December 2018. The Korean punk band Benzene, formed in 2000, released the album “Old Shoes” in 2005. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun
Once inside the Host Tunnel, it's so large I've often said a 747 could taxi inside if it weren't for the concrete pillars. As you walk, the tunnel narrows and the sunlight behind you fades. About 500 meters in, you're in the dark, other than occasional beams from drains overhead. Above is a busy street, dating back to 1957 when the stream was buried. Occasionally a car rolls over one of the grates, making two startlingly loud bangs.
A little farther and you find a corrugated metal pipe, about two meters tall and 100 meters long, which has the most amazing acoustics I've heard in Korea ― now that they converted those empty old tanks into Oil Tank Culture Park. I once brought a pansori singer here, but she was too terrified to sing.
Past that, the tunnel curves and you can see light ahead. Our first visit in 2009, it seemed artificial, leading me to think we were approaching a subway tunnel, but after 1.5 kilometers we emerged in glorious sunlight in a weird little concrete oasis.
There used to be a bridge crossing over this area that restricted further passage, so we had to wait for the water to freeze so we could cross under it. In February 2010, I fell through the ice, and another explorer fell into the murky freezing water trying to rescue me. Sometime later, the bridge was renovated and now allows easy passage.
Further along is another tunnel entrance, smaller than the riverside one, with a nasty set of rusted metal gates, always open. This is the Bone Tunnel entrance, and its name only becomes clear once you start making your way upstream. All along the left wall are jawbones, I believe bovine, dozens of them. The first time I saw this, it terrified me enough that I turned around and left quickly. That's why I bring fireworks, booze and friends.
Several jawbones are seen along the wall of the Bone Tunnel, visited Lunar New Year 2016. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun
Upstream, the tunnel separates into about four channels. The left ones head north, opening up somewhere on Mount An uphill of Seodaemun Prison. The right ones run under
, where the stream emerges for a stretch on post, a pleasant but smelly park that runs underneath an old bridge built during the 1910-45 Japanese occupation. Uphill from there it goes back underground, running directly under Gyeongnidan-gil. That branch of the tunnel originates high up on the slope of Mount Nam, somewhere uphill of the Grand Hyatt.
A historic map of Yongsan reveals that there had been a slaughterhouse up there at some point. My best theory is that they dumped unwanted animal parts, such as lower jaws, into the stream. The parts flowed downstream with the fast-running water, then reached that bend where the Mount An tunnel connects, and the bones hit the far wall where they came to rest, the water failing to carry them further. I'm currently working to confirm the existence of the slaughterhouse and what years it was active.
In the near future with the return of Yongsan Garrison to the Korea people, we will have an opportunity to decide what happens to this stream.
Should it be forgotten or restored? Could it become the next Cheonggye Stream?
Ron Bandun is a self-described “anarchaeologist.”