By Andrew Salmon
Should you, kind reader, ever visit southern France this year, and should you have even the mildest interest in history, permit me to recommend two medieval “must sees.” One is the walled town of Carcassone in Languedoc; the other is the mountain fortress of Les Baux in Provence. Both are spectacular ― but for different reasons.
Carcassone, sitting majestically on a plateau overlooking the River Aude, has a fairy-tale quality; it is considered by many to be Europe’s finest medieval walled town. (And local tourism authorities push that branding to the hilt).
The hill has been fortified since the 8th century but by the 1840s the fortress town was so dilapidated that the authorities decided to tear it down. A public uproar ensued, and it was restored in 1853. Controversy arose, however, when it was discovered that the restorers had used various incorrect materials, resulting in a decidedly inaccurate piece of historical heritage.
Today, this issue only concerns experts. Lacking detailed knowledge of medieval embrasures and curtain walls, the average Lonely Planet toter is merely going to be charmed: “Gee, Elmer, ain’t this just the purtiest castle you ever did see?” Carcassone, then is “a living medieval town” ― albeit one that looks suspiciously new.
Les Beaux is a different prospect. It is a robber baron stronghold perched on a rugged crag; a fine stone village lines the track winding up to the portcullis on the summit. There are shops, museums and other tourist facilities ― including modern reconstructions of medieval siege engines ― on site, but the fortress itself is a ruin; it stands largely as time left it.
It has a brooding, menacing ambience; this is the “real thing.” But while ghosts may well be stalking Elmer as he clicks his shutter along the crumbling battlements, he will not have the experience that he is in a living medieval fortress. Nor are movie crews going to film in Les Baux’s streets, as they do in Carcasonne’s.
Of these two models, which offers the better approach to the appreciation of history and the restoration of historical architecture?
In Seoul, the decision has clearly been made. The city’s palaces, temples and hanok (Korean traditional cottage) district follow what might be called the “Carcassone model.”
As with Carcassone, the issue is authenticity. Tourism marketing literature touts Bukchon as a “traditional hanok district,” or sometimes as “a restored hanok district.” It is neither. The vast majority of hanok have been torn down, 100 percent, and rebuilt from the ground up in the last 15 years. To put it another way: the 1980s apartment I live in is older than most of these “traditional” hanok.
And let us turn to last year’s “restoration” of Gwanghwamun Gate. It has been hailed as brilliant, and certainly Gwanghwamun plaza and its statues offer a spectacular line of sight to the gate and its mountain backdrop, granting Seoul the landmark visual icon it has long sought. But gazing upon the spanking-new stone- and woodwork, even Elmer is going to realize he is looking at something that is far from ancient.
I cannot fault Seoul for rebuilding her palaces and hanok. But should any members of the capital’s civil service be reading this, I respectfully suggest that “restoration” should henceforth mean “restoration” rather than simply pulling down something old and replacing it with something that is not old, but is meant to be.
Enough of the city’s heritage has been destroyed by war, colonization and development; the last remaining chunks of it deserve preservation and restoration, not destruction and reconstruction.
Yet there is a big potential plus in all the above. The rebuilding process that hanok and palaces have undergone required craftsmen and craftsmanship. A cottage (forgive the pun) industry now exists that is able to raise buildings that may not be authentic Joseon Kingdom buildings, but are pretty damned good Joseon Kingdom-style buildings.
This raises intriguing possibilities for cultural development.
Take Seoul. The mass of architecture here has nothing to differentiate it from any other modern city in the region, or, indeed, the world; it is a world city, certainly, but there is little in its appearance that makes it a Korean world city.
Given the popularity among both local and foreign visitors of the low-rise districts of Bukchon and Samcheong-dong, with their clusters of hanok, would it not make sense to build other districts along similar lines?
Neo-traditional hanok clusters could be specifically zoned: residential (e.g. boutique hotels or inns); food and beverage (e.g. restaurants, bars and wine bars); or retail (gift and crafts shops). Ten such districts ― each one would only need to be a city block in size ― would utterly change the face of the capital, giving it a uniquely Korean face.
I confess that I personally prefer my heritage stained, cracked and bloodstained. But I’d rather see ersatz heritage than no heritage at all.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based journalist and author. He can be reached at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.