My Seoul Story History alive: Royal Asiatic Society walking tours

This is the fourth in a series of contributions about Seoul's charms as seen from foreigners' points of view. ― ED.

By Cheryl Magnant

Hanyang AKA Seoul, the pulsing vibrant capital of the Joseon Kingdom (1392-1910) and of modern Korea, mixes traditional architecture of the past with soaring tower constructions of the present. Vestigial artifacts of the 500-year-long dynasty are virtually hidden amidst the skyscrapers of capitalism. And yet, the old structures whisper history for those willing to listen.

Cheryl Magnant with her cat

In my 20+ years living in Korea, I’ve read books on its history, but it’s been the Royal Asiatic Society (RAS) walking tours led by historians that have opened my eyes to the many historical treasures nestled in Seoul’s downtown landscape.

While I read that Bosingak Belfry was the timekeeper of Joseon and the bell was rung 33 times at 4 a.m. and 28 times at 10 p.m. to signal the opening and closing of the great gates and marketplaces, I learned in walking tours that the belfry was totally destroyed in the Korean War and the bell virtually buried in debris and earth.

The plaque at Tapgol Park reads that the March 1, 1919 independence protest began here, but an RAS historian further explained the top of the 10-storey pagoda had been missing in the early 1900s and Koreans had no intention of reconstructing it. Korean belief was if the pagoda was completed, their nation would fall, which indeed happened. The Japanese learned of the superstition, completed the pagoda, and then ruled the peninsula for 35 years.

Jongno ― the road connecting the belfry, Tapgol Park and running close to the palaces _ was formerly a place where people were executed by hacking or hanging, and the street is said to be haunted by ghosts. It was also the road populated by the noble class with their horses, and peasants were obliged to bow in subservience while yangban processions passed. Pimatgol, literally meaning “avoid horse alley,” was a parallel alley for the peasants to go about their business and literally avoid the horses and forced bowing. Jongno is now a major downtown street and Pimatgol has been mostly reconstructed into a place for business and social dining, but marked rocks in Pimatgol shout that history bled onto those stones.

Why does a nation need five great palaces? Gyeongbok Palace, the greatest of the palaces, was built on principles of geomancy and astronomy. Building it symbolized the establishment of a dynasty, and destroying it in colonial times symbolized the fall. Changdeok Palace had been an alternative palace for a time and then used as a state palace, similar to Changgyeong Palace, which during the occupation was desecrated by the Japanese invaders and turned into a zoo, an overt act of defilement. Deoksu Palace became the royal palace when Emperor Gojong was forced from Gyeongbok Palace by the Japanese; after his death in 1919 the palace became a park and an art gallery, like many of the palaces. Gyeonghui Palace was never a state palace, and during the occupation it was converted to a boys’ high school so the tramping of boys’ feet could smash its energy.

I learned the exterior of the palaces is based on dancheong, literally “red” and “blue.” Dancheong is the traditional painting of the palaces, so the supports are red like tree trunks, and the roof or upper part is green like leaves. And I learned that green and blue were not traditionally viewed as distinctly different in Korea as in the West. The small figures on the roof tiles invoke the power of the Monkey King, and the latticework on doors and windows are wishes for happiness, wealth or good health. Architecturally, palaces, temples and houses were built without nails. Their joinery was the careful hewing and placement of beams at 90-degree angles. There are no flying buttresses and rose windows in Korea, but the graceful sway of the roofs is said to be like the up-turned feathers of a crane in flight. Traditional buildings are in harmony with nature.

Now when I walk the streets of Seoul, I nod my head as I listen to the buildings and stones telling me their little-heard histories. And while I still sign up for the RAS historical walking tours, I’m now a member of the society’s excursion committee planning other tours of discovery. For me, learning of the past is understanding the national foundation on which the present is built.

Cheryl Magnant is an assistant professor at Korea University. Visit raskb.com to learn more

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