A ginger cat approaches prudently on a snow-laden side street of Uiwang's Gocheon-dong, south of Seoul, stopping and then disappearing into the vacated spaces of this liminal place, once a flourishing neighborhood now awaiting its own destruction. In the depths of winter, mid-January, broken windows, death-rattling pipes, severed wires and hazard tape tell the story of Gocheon-dong's ponderous demise, but there is still life in this fading community, albeit one stuck in limbo.
Not far from Mount Morak, the site of a decisive battle during the 1950-53 Korean War which enabled U.S., South Korean and Turkish allied forces to take control of nearby National Highway No. 1, Gocheon-dong is packed with a mix of red-brick villas, small apartment blocks, older hanok-style houses, industrial blocks and architecturally distinct structures. Remnants and memories of a once-flourishing and youthful community full of children's bookstores, stationery shops, hair salons, hapkido schools, cram schools, butchers, locksmiths, cleaning stores, metal shops and more, fade and crack in and on lifeless buildings.
In 2011, the area was partitioned into two zones — identified by the Korean syllables "Ga" and "Na" — as part of a redevelopment project. The largely residential Na area was vacated after disposal approval in 2022. However, development administration of the more commercial Ga area has stalled, leaving merchants and small businesses stuck in limbo waiting for due process and compensation, as their customer base, once largely residents of Na, has already moved on.
The development, involving heavyweight Korean companies, is part of a broader urban renewal plan underway in Uiwang connecting several redeveloped districts across the city. Mayor Kim Seong-je — who has been central to the easing of the city's green belt regulations — envisions the transformation will turn Uiwang into "the most livable city in the country by 2030."
Passing through
Walking through the Na area, there's a subtle cosmopolitan mélange of architectural styles, shapes, forms and facades that still manifest the stories and relationships between brick-and-mortar and the people who once called this place home. These traces will be erased to make way for the new concrete behemoths that are to come, optimized to sell modern convenience and luxury. Still, for now, European-inspired dormer roofs angle sharply into the sky. A great many buildings feature tiled exteriors with rounded corners, and beautiful ornamental railings depicting cranes, pines, deer, turtles and mountains. Cylindrical glass features run like spines up narrow corner buildings that split the little roads in two. Most dwellings are no higher than a few floors or the still-abiding trees that command pride of place throughout.
The abstract "joh-eun ssal" building reaches its height at five floors with an idiosyncratic trapezoid shape dotted with a circular feature window. A friend from Australia suggested it had been designed by a heroin addict. Beside it, narrow staircases zig-zag to rooftop terraces skirted by little arches and pillars, and hanok-style tiled roofs. Neatly patterned brickwork in browns, oranges and reds fills walls. These are the most energy-efficient, the most "eco-friendly" homes of the country — homes that have already been built.
The piping at Sinyang Village APT is making death rattles in the icy cold. There's a quaint hair salon lined with floral wallpaper, turquoise cabinetry, large mirrors and faded posters showing yesterday's styles.
In the midst of it all, and at the center of some allegations leveled at authorities over delays, is Gocheon Elementary School painted in bright blocks of yellow, orange, green and red. The school is still in operation, but students will need to move temporarily to alternatives before resettling at a school to be rebuilt nearby. Opposite it was once the Korean Women's Construction Union, the "Dreaming Workshop" and "Joseph's Bookstore."
Nestled beside the silent villas of Sageunae-gil sits a brick Presbyterian church. A dormant creeper is tightened over the building's facade, a white cross on the roof and a steel tower that reaches into the sky with loudspeakers and another cross at its top. The main hall is empty, the basement flooded. Three or four of the area's parochial steeples which jut out against the skyline will soon go too, as will the flags of two Buddhist buildings and the beautiful red "manja" that greets motorists on the main road.
Life goes on
Life goes on in Gocheon-dong. A large community of cats squat in lonely homes and prowl in the snow. A caring local leaves open cans of tuna and bowls of food for them. They watch from fence tops and poky holes. None of the cats I reached out to for comment responded. Nor did the occasional pedestrian passing quietly through the streets offer much more than a forlorn glance of acceptance. Young couples seem to drift about giggling in the dark of the night here. A locksmith remains open, but the art supply shop is finally being emptied. Removalists heave a washing machine out onto the road and light up cigarettes under the falling snow.
The "Good Day Good Trophy" shop seems to be closing too — one of the last signs of activity in Na. Outside its front door are cabinets, books, tables, a running machine, a shovel, frames, jars and a sewing machine sitting unresolved.
Further toward the national highway in the Ga area, there's the old hof (beer house) still serving good times under its cosmic-themed painted ceiling to a few faithful clientele. A few shops down is Obongjujo, established in 1974. It's a makgeolli brewery rendered with bold and bright orange paint. If you call ahead, you can still have a tour while sipping on their product.
In a few years, this spot will be leveled under the principle of "might is right." After that, maybe there will be a Starbucks here to keep you warm under the long cold shadows cast by 100-meter-high conforming blocks of concrete.