VIDEO First time at a Korean sauna (jjimjilbang): More than just a sauna!

“Strangers lay stretched out without the slightest inhibition. A young woman beside an elderly man, teenagers sprawled next to grandparents — nobody seemed to mind. In this space, the so-called 'Land of Etiquette' let its guard down. People lay in zigzags, exposing pale thighs with no shame.”

— Choi Young-chul, Chosun Ilbo (2004), as cited in Culture and Society, Vol. 10 (2011)

Nearly two decades after this observation was made, it still holds true. In Korea’s "jjimjilbang" — public saunas where people gather to sweat, sleep and snack — hierarchies dissolve. Bodies of every age and background lay scattered on tile floors, sprawled together in quiet camaraderie. If Korea is a society built on rules, the jjimjilbang is where those rules seem to soften.

But this softness may carry a weightier meaning. In a country increasingly marked by generational separation, jjimjilbang might be one of the few places where old and young not only coexist but connect.

In a recent episode of Howdy Korea, a YouTube channel produced by The Korea Times, host Yasmin Alaadin visits a jjimjilbang for the first time. Her initial reaction is one of disbelief: outside a room heated beyond 100°C (212°F), men shovel charcoal into a fiery kiln. “This is hell,” she exclaims, sweat pouring down her face.

But what begins as shock soon shifts. In the communal grilling area, Yasmin fumbles with a skewered rice cake over a weak flame. An elderly woman steps in without hesitation, adjusting the grill. “It’s nice to see young people here,” she says. Later, another woman asks for help with her smartphone, and Yasmin helps her reset it.

The help came naturally. These gestures happened simply because they could.

Generations growing apart

These exchanges might seem ordinary, but in today’s Korea, they’re rare.

Historically, Korean society was organized around multigenerational households and community-centered neighborhoods. Today, more than 1.8 million elderly Koreans live alone. Family structures have changed, and daily life — especially for younger people — has moved online. Casual interactions between different age groups are no longer routine, either in homes or public spaces.

This generational gap is also reflected spatially. Tapgol Park in central Seoul, which appears in the first episode of Squid Game 2, is commonly viewed as a gathering place for older adults. Younger people frequent places like Yeouido Hangang Park or café-dense neighborhoods, where seniors are rarely seen.

Some spaces explicitly exclude certain age groups. “No Senior Zones” — establishments that limit entry to those under a certain age, sometimes as low as 49 — have emerged in recent years, following the rise of “No Kid Zones.” While often framed as customer service policies, these restrictions reduce opportunities for different generations to share space or interact informally.

The jjimjilbang: One of Korea’s last shared spaces

Unlike many other urban spaces, jjimjilbang are not segmented by age, occupation or income. They are relatively affordable, open 24 hours and contain both private resting areas and shared common rooms. The combination allows for quiet coexistence without forcing interaction.

There are few expectations beyond basic etiquette. Visitors can be alone or with family, social or silent. The absence of technology and formality makes it possible, if not guaranteed, for people to observe and occasionally assist one another across generational lines.

These features make jjimjilbang increasingly unique. Public libraries and community centers serve similar scenarios, but often in structured or limited ways. Meanwhile, cafés and malls increasingly rely on demographic targeting and algorithm-driven digital spaces often reinforce rather than bridge generational divides.

Why shared spaces matter in an aging Korea

In a country where shared space is fading, the jjimjilbang offers more than heat and rest — it offers visibility.

While welfare expansion and elder care programs have received attention, the creation of inclusive, everyday environments that support intergenerational contact remains a blind spot in Korea. Without many alternatives, places like jjimjilbang serve a residual but important role in sustaining what little spontaneous generational exchange remains.

As the population continues to age, the question is not only how to care for older people but also how to keep them integrated within everyday social life. The ability to simply exist side-by-side in comfort, even in silence, is not a minor detail — it is a basic function of a cohesive society.

As Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once wrote, “Always, the field and the forest, the rocks and the gardens were only space — until you made them a place.”

Spaces do not become places on their own. They require presence, interaction and a trace of warmth — both literal and human. If Korea hopes to bridge its generational divide, it must preserve the spaces where such moments can still occur — like the jjimjilbang.