By John Sheridan
A Swiss couple visiting Seoul regaled me with the building boom they had observed during their whirlwind tour of China, adding that 90 percent of the world's construction cranes are in its cities. Still, I told them that I'd seen it all before, just not on the same scale.
The few tall buildings that dominated central Seoul were landmarks when I arrived here in the summer of 1981. When construction began on a tall building it was an architectural event, with everyone watching it go up. We'd watch the next one and the next one, too.
Soon buildings began to spring up like mushrooms. And you'd notice that hidden behind a new building there was another one under construction and one behind that one, as well. It was the beginnings of a building boom that transformed Seoul, continuing unabated to this day.
Sometimes, a new building seemed to appear out of the blue, as if it were lowered overnight by helicopter. But I stopped observing the building boom because the buildings were without architectural merit and looked the same.
Booming Seoul caught the eye of Newsweek, which put its new glass buildings, in full luminescence at night, on a mid-80s cover, with the cover story having to do with South Korea's rapid economic growth.
Prior to the building boom, a lot of Seoul was still painted austere gray. This is because it was down-at-the-heels and certainly not the affluent, cosmopolitan city that it is today. A Fulbright scholar who was in Seoul in the mid-80s said that walking around the gray city used to depress him when he was a G.I. here in the early 70s.
There are still a few gray buildings left in Seoul. The most prominent one, a narrow six-story building across the street from the Westin Josun Hotel, was demolished a couple of years ago to make way for yet another tall building. It was a derelict haunt of pigeons, a gray eyesore that had dodged the wrecking ball until a real-estate deal was finally brokered.
What I liked about Seoul's cityscape before the building boom was the unobstructed view, from any location, of the small mountains the ancient city are built around. Along with blocking this view, the new buildings also obstructed a clear view of expansive Seoul at night and its many glowing orange crosses that were atop humble Christian churches.
If you were at a high location at night and gazed at the open expanse of Seoul in all directions, the glowing crosses gave the impression of Seoul being a veritable Christian city.
The building boom then spread to Gangnam, south of the Han River, and further afield, replacing vegetable fields and farmland with a glass and concrete sprawl. There was a time when a twin steeple church was a prominent Gangnam landmark; its steeples clearly visible from Namsan across the river. The steeples are now lost in the shadows of the building boom.
Since I was a free-spirted world traveler used to roughing it when I washed up in Seoul in 81, I tried my best to continue living an "authentic" lifestyle while adapting to the booming city's frenetic pace. My escape from it all was a Samcheong-dong hanok that I had moved into. The hanok struck me as authentic; its basic amenities were all that I needed.
When I moved out of the hanok in 83, Samcheong-dong was a quiet place. By the new millennium, however, the neighborhood had become one of Seoul's trendiest, with real estate skyrocketing and boutiques, jewelry shops, art galleries, stylish restaurants and cafes having moved in. And traffic got really bad, driving the residents crazy.
I didn't set foot in Samcheong-dong again until around 2000, following a hike along a newly-opened stretch of Seoul Fortress Trail that took me to Samcheong Park. It was culture shock. I couldn't believe my eyes. I felt like Rip Van Winkle awakening from a 20-year sleep, bewildered by all that had transpired during my absence.
My humble hanok was now a Cordon Bleu restaurant, with the steep, stone steps leading up to it being used for a fashion shoot. Everyone had a camera and was taking pictures of every nook and cranny. And then there was the jewelry shop that had replaced my ol' ping-pong parlor.
Although the destruction of traditional Seoul was already underway by the time I had arrived in 81, all had not been lost. I used to like wandering around a warren of narrow streets and alleyways behind Sejong Center for the Performing Arts. It struck me as authentic and was all that was left of a larger traditional area that had been bulldozed to build the center. Alas, it's all gone now, replaced by more glass and concrete.
Many of Seoul's expat residents often wondered why nothing of archeological value was ever discovered while much of ancient Seoul was being dug up. Nothing at all. We thought it was suspicious, believing that bosses at building sites were ordered to turn a blind eye to anything of archeological value that might be unearthed and, therefore, halt construction.
After all, there's always something Roman being unearthed in London's foundation, but nothing Korean in ancient Seoul's. Suspicious indeed. And not for nothing was former President Lee Myung-bak known as "the bulldozer" when he was the CEO of Hyundai Engineering and Construction.
John Sheridan (sherbo77@yahoo.com) calls himself an "urban flaneur" living in Seoul. The views expressed in the above article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.
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The few tall buildings that dominated central Seoul were landmarks when I arrived here in the summer of 1981. When construction began on a tall building it was an architectural event, with everyone watching it go up. We'd watch the next one and the next one, too.
Soon buildings began to spring up like mushrooms. And you'd notice that hidden behind a new building there was another one under construction and one behind that one, as well. It was the beginnings of a building boom that transformed Seoul, continuing unabated to this day.
Sometimes, a new building seemed to appear out of the blue, as if it were lowered overnight by helicopter. But I stopped observing the building boom because the buildings were without architectural merit and looked the same.
Booming Seoul caught the eye of Newsweek, which put its new glass buildings, in full luminescence at night, on a mid-80s cover, with the cover story having to do with South Korea's rapid economic growth.
Prior to the building boom, a lot of Seoul was still painted austere gray. This is because it was down-at-the-heels and certainly not the affluent, cosmopolitan city that it is today. A Fulbright scholar who was in Seoul in the mid-80s said that walking around the gray city used to depress him when he was a G.I. here in the early 70s.
There are still a few gray buildings left in Seoul. The most prominent one, a narrow six-story building across the street from the Westin Josun Hotel, was demolished a couple of years ago to make way for yet another tall building. It was a derelict haunt of pigeons, a gray eyesore that had dodged the wrecking ball until a real-estate deal was finally brokered.
What I liked about Seoul's cityscape before the building boom was the unobstructed view, from any location, of the small mountains the ancient city are built around. Along with blocking this view, the new buildings also obstructed a clear view of expansive Seoul at night and its many glowing orange crosses that were atop humble Christian churches.
If you were at a high location at night and gazed at the open expanse of Seoul in all directions, the glowing crosses gave the impression of Seoul being a veritable Christian city.
The building boom then spread to Gangnam, south of the Han River, and further afield, replacing vegetable fields and farmland with a glass and concrete sprawl. There was a time when a twin steeple church was a prominent Gangnam landmark; its steeples clearly visible from Namsan across the river. The steeples are now lost in the shadows of the building boom.
Since I was a free-spirted world traveler used to roughing it when I washed up in Seoul in 81, I tried my best to continue living an "authentic" lifestyle while adapting to the booming city's frenetic pace. My escape from it all was a Samcheong-dong hanok that I had moved into. The hanok struck me as authentic; its basic amenities were all that I needed.
When I moved out of the hanok in 83, Samcheong-dong was a quiet place. By the new millennium, however, the neighborhood had become one of Seoul's trendiest, with real estate skyrocketing and boutiques, jewelry shops, art galleries, stylish restaurants and cafes having moved in. And traffic got really bad, driving the residents crazy.
I didn't set foot in Samcheong-dong again until around 2000, following a hike along a newly-opened stretch of Seoul Fortress Trail that took me to Samcheong Park. It was culture shock. I couldn't believe my eyes. I felt like Rip Van Winkle awakening from a 20-year sleep, bewildered by all that had transpired during my absence.
My humble hanok was now a Cordon Bleu restaurant, with the steep, stone steps leading up to it being used for a fashion shoot. Everyone had a camera and was taking pictures of every nook and cranny. And then there was the jewelry shop that had replaced my ol' ping-pong parlor.
Although the destruction of traditional Seoul was already underway by the time I had arrived in 81, all had not been lost. I used to like wandering around a warren of narrow streets and alleyways behind Sejong Center for the Performing Arts. It struck me as authentic and was all that was left of a larger traditional area that had been bulldozed to build the center. Alas, it's all gone now, replaced by more glass and concrete.
Many of Seoul's expat residents often wondered why nothing of archeological value was ever discovered while much of ancient Seoul was being dug up. Nothing at all. We thought it was suspicious, believing that bosses at building sites were ordered to turn a blind eye to anything of archeological value that might be unearthed and, therefore, halt construction.
After all, there's always something Roman being unearthed in London's foundation, but nothing Korean in ancient Seoul's. Suspicious indeed. And not for nothing was former President Lee Myung-bak known as "the bulldozer" when he was the CEO of Hyundai Engineering and Construction.
John Sheridan (sherbo77@yahoo.com) calls himself an "urban flaneur" living in Seoul. The views expressed in the above article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.
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