Korean inns in the 19th century

Samgang Inn (jumak), dating back to about 1900, was a popular place for people to stop while waiting to cross the Nakdong River. September 2017. Robert Neff Collection

For Westerners, traveling in the interior of the Korean Peninsula in the late 19th century was very uncomfortable and dangerous – especially as night fell. The Korean roads and desolate paths were the hunting grounds for the numerous highwaymen and brigands who preyed upon small parties of travelers. Tigers stalked invisibly in the underbrush, waiting for the opportunity to gorge upon the flesh of the unwary.

And, according to the superstitious, ghosts, demons and goblins hid in the shadows or behind rocks waiting to pounce upon those whose pride or foolishness compelled them to neglect to make offerings. Thus, it is easy to imagine the relief travelers felt when they were fortunate enough to stumble upon an inn with a vacancy. But, according to various accounts, these sanctuaries were often the dens of a denizen that one missionary claimed was a descendant of Cerberus (the three-headed hound of Hades).

Not many years ago a historical publication described Korean inns “as places which sold alcohol and food and lodged wanderers. The rooms were at best dirt floors covered with straw mats and furnished with only five or six pillows. The innkeepers were not cold-hearted; if one paid for food, a room was free, and poor vagabonds who only wanted a night’s rest were offered a place to sleep. Inns became meeting places for wanderers, where they could stay and trade stories.”

A view of the kitchen of Samgang Inn in September 2017. Robert Neff Collection

It is a fair description but it is somewhat whitewashed when compared to contemporary accounts by Westerners in the 19th century.

George Heber Jones, a missionary who traveled extensively throughout the Korean Peninsula in the late 19th century, insisted (in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner) that the only way to truly know a Korean inn was to travel through the countryside, because the inns and hotels in Seoul and the open ports were all tainted with foreign modern ideas. Jones, however, acknowledged that inns were far fewer in number than most people thought – or at least it seemed that way.

“You have no idea how scarce they are until you make up your mind that you want to go a few miles further, while the chief mapu [horse handler] has made up his mind that he doesn’t. If the latter gentleman wants to stop at a particular place, it is absolutely certain there are no inns for the next twenty miles. And the villagers will swear themselves blue in the face to that effect. In the far interior, however, where the wilds are trackless and the mountains sky high, and the Korean unfamiliar with the foreigner, the inn is always ‘three miles farther on.’”

Lillias Underwood, when describing her travels in the 1880s, claimed: “The Korean inn is second only in filth, closeness, bad odors and discomfort to those in the interior of China.” Those may have been her initial impressions but she also acknowledged how difficult it was to find an inn and judging from her writing, she eventually came – somewhat reluctantly – to appreciate them.

A view of the Nakdong River from Samgang Inn in September 2017. Robert Neff Collection

Isabella Bird Bishop, an English travel writer, spared no ink when she described the inns she encountered while traveling. According to her:

“There are regular and irregular inns in Korea. The irregular inn differs in nothing from the ordinary hovel of the village roadway, unless it can boast of a yard with troughs, and can provide entertainment for beast as well as for man. The regular inn of the towns and large villages consists chiefly of a filthy courtyard full of holes and heaps, entered from the road by a tumble-down gateway. A gaunt black pig or two tethered by the ears, big yellow dogs routing in the garbage, and fowls, boys, bulls, ponies, mapu hangers-on, and travellers’ loads make up a busy scene.”

In all fairness to Bishop, she also described the inns in more flattering ways, depending upon the location and her mood – as did the other writers.

Jones was especially enamored by the innkeepers whom he claimed were “the most remarkable thing about a Korean inn” and were as “conservative as antiquity itself – conservative in politics, religion, morality – in fact in everything except dogs, insects, smoke and red pepper.”

Yoo Yok-yeok was the innkeeper of Samgang Inn from the early 1920s until her death in 2005 at the age of 90. The inn is still a very popular place to stop and enjoy a cool drink while viewing the river, as of September 2017. Robert Neff Collection

For some reason, Jones seemed to imply that all of his innkeepers were men, but many of the innkeepers were women. According to an article published in The Korea Review in 1901:

“Many women of the middle class are innkeepers. Travel on Korean roads is so slow that inns are very numerous and women of the middle class very frequently find this a successful means of livelihood. The hostess has little trouble about keeping the accounts. All she has to do is to watch the rice bowls and the bean bag; for food and fodder are the only things charged for in a Korean inn. Sleeping room and stable room are thrown in gratis. If the hostess had to keep an eye on these things as well it would be impossible for her to preserve any semblance of seclusion.”

Food and drink was an essential part of the inn – one that many of the Westerners reluctantly experienced. Bishop described the charges at Korean inns as ridiculously low – paying only about 12-15 cents a night (depending on the exchange rate) for room and board.

“In most inns rice, eggs, vegetables, and a few Korean dainties, such as soup, vermicelli, dried seaweed, and a paste made of flour, sugar, and oil, can be procured, but tea never, and the position of the well, which frequently receives the soakage of the courtyard, precludes a careful traveller from drinking aught but boiled water.”

She also noted that, depending on the season, chickens, pheasants and even dog meat could be purchased.

Jones’ description was a bit more caustic.

“I generally order the servant to take all but the rice, and bury it as quickly as possible behind the house. But possibly before the funeral you have the hardihood to try one of the dishes; here is one – shrimps with a red sauce like catsup on them. You try some and then you wish you hadn’t, and the intensity of your wish will be as the quantity you were so unsophisticated as to tackle.”

Jones apparently did not like Korean chili peppers but he did appreciate the rice – provided he did not notice the servant girl packing it into the bowl with her dirty hands. I guess he made it a point not to look into the kitchen to see how his food was being prepared – in fact, he was not alone, as many travelers were convinced that ignorance was bliss in regards to their food.

With food, there was drink but surprisingly the number of violent incidents in the inns involving foreigners is smaller than one might anticipate. There were thefts, brawls and even murders, but for the most part, Westerners were not involved. According to Bishop:

“The Korean inn is not noisy unless wine is flowing freely, and even then the noise subsides early. The fighting of the ponies, and the shouts and execrations with which the mapu pacify them, are the chief disturbances till daylight comes and the wayfarers move on.”

Once the alcohol was gone – or the innkeeper’s patience exhausted – the inn settled down for the night and the patrons surrendered themselves to sleep. At least they tried to, for it was in darkness that the descendant of Cerberus reigned – the subject of our next article.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including "Letters from Joseon," "Korea Through Western Eyes" and "Brief Encounters."