Cityscapes Spotting Santa, the original rooftopper, in Seoul

Santa Claus climbs a ladder on a roof, with Seoul's Changshin-dong visible in the distance, in December 2016. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

By Ron Bandun

An odd transformation overcame global urban exploring networks over the last decade, as the focus shifted to a younger generation and to newer online platforms. The focus turned inward, and the cameras were pointed back at the photographers. Urban explorers began building up personal mythologies, rather than focusing on the sites they visited, the discipline of exploring or the incredible amount of research required. There was also a switch from abandoned buildings to rooftops.

Korea's exploring network, despite being far behind most other countries including its neighbors, still had a handful of online personas pop up. Most were well-meaning, but few lasted. The pursuit of social media validation led away from the rooftop ledge and into Seoul's street scene, or food photography, or plain old product endorsement deals. They were doing what they'd seen other more successful social media influencer explorers doing, and it led away from serious urban exploration.

I've never cared much about coming up with flashy personas, but I do like to play dress-up. There were already a dozen urbex clowns worldwide, but as far as I could tell nobody had ever brought Father Christmas himself into the fold.

So in December 2013, when I bought a Santa suit, naturally my next stop was up to the nearest roof to take pictures. Santa is the original rooftopper, having landed his sleigh on the roofs of homes around the world to deliver gifts to children.

Santa Claus poses on a rooftop near Hongik University in western Seoul, December 2014. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

The concept of Santa Claus on a roof just seemed natural. Of course, when we think of rooftops in Christmas lore, we imagine Santa on a slanted, tiled house rooftop like in North America. Korean roofs instead are quite different ― certainly more room to park a sleigh ― but they look fundamentally un-Santa, full of ducts, communications equipment and miscellaneous other machinery. Not to mention a lack of proper Western-style chimneys for Santa to descend. So posing Santa up on the rooftop presented some logistic challenges that led to creativity.

Santa Claus crosses a gap between rooftops of buildings slated for demolition in North Ahyeon-dong, December 2015. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

I explored to an abandoned neighborhood in North Ahyeon-dong with my Santa suit ― concealed between shoots as I didn't want to alarm anyone still in the area. The idea was to photograph Santa on the tops of residential Korean homes, puzzled, looking for a chimney to help him get inside.

Santa Claus tries to fit down the chimney of a house slated for demolition in North Ahyeon-dong, December 2013. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

What I ended up with was something grim, this red-suited Jolly Old Saint Nick amid a stark scene of urban ruin. The message to me was that Santa hadn't forgotten these now-discarded working-class Korean neighborhoods, or that he had come here to give out presents and couldn't find any children. He's confused and a little sad, but he's still Santa Claus, that religious figure of infinite generosity, even if he's trapped in our real-world problems.

Santa Claus sits on the roof of a ruined house slated for demolition in North Ahyeon-dong, December 2015. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

I've never worn the Santa suit to a Christmas party, or around children, or even gone on one of those Santacon pub crawls. But every December since, I bring it out of the closet, carry it to strange and startling locations around Seoul, and add a few more photos to my collection.

Santa Claus waits for a lift on the helipad of a skyscraper in downtown Seoul, December 2016. / Courtesy of Ron Bandun

I try not to be seen and I'm pretty good at it, but it's possible I'm responsible for Santa sightings high up on a helipad somewhere, lurking in a dark alley, or crawling out from a storm drain. I doubt I've ever made a believer out of anybody.

Ron Bandun is a self-described “anarchaeologist.”