One Hour Out: Seoul

[프란치스코]

Seoul is a city of mountains that feels like it goes on forever. At the other end of every tunnel is another neighborhood, another set of restaurants, another school. You can easily drive for an hour to get a haircut, reach a doctor's appointment on the other side of the Han River or meet someone for lunch.

Where 30 years ago were rice paddies, today there are highways, apartment complexes and still more restaurants. The rice paddies are few and far between. So it was hard not to be skeptical about a "folk village" just one hour outside the city. But full of faith, I loaded up the kids and headed off.

The drive is anything but quaint, and you can save some aggravation by taking the subway, which gets you most of the way. A free shuttle runs to the folk village from Suwon station; technically, the village is in Yongin, but everyone refers to it as being in Suwon.

That said, if you have a car, you're up for the drive, and you can leave by around 10 on a weekend morning, it's interesting to see just how far the reach of Seoul extends. It's hard to tell where it ends and Suwon begins, but at some point the highway widens and the buildings, now a little squatter, get a bit farther apart. The continuing construction is impressive.

Assuming you don't hit a lot of traffic, the first part of the drive is easy. The signs can be a little confusing, especially as you near the folk village, so bring along your own set of directions. (We found a serviceable map, bus and subway information and some basic information about the folk village itself at www.koreanfolk.co.kr.)

Unless you're in a group of 20 or more—in which case you get a slight discount—admission to the village ranges from 14,000 won to 18,000 won (around $11.65 to $15) for the all-inclusive package (includes access to the haunted house, the folk museum and the mini-amusement park). We paid 64,000 won (a little more than $53) for four of us, two adults and two children.

Also along were two friends who had seen the village in the early 1980s, less than a decade after the Korean government had begun setting the area aside, seeking to hold off urban development and preserve the nation's heritage. Back then it was surrounded by rice paddies, and felt walled-off from the rest of the countryside. Now, after additions over the years, it is a fenced-in anomaly totaling about 135 hectares.

As you walk through most of the village, you can't see the concrete buildings just a few blocks away. Astonishingly, all that's visible are the ubiquitous Korean mountains. (Visit during cherry-blossom season and you'll see them blanketed by blooms.)

The folk village was created to preserve Korean culture and educate Koreans and foreigners in Korean folk history. But a visit to Suwon village brings to life roots of traditions that remain integral to much of Korean society even today. In the village kitchens, for example, you see how Koreans kept kimchi a hundred years ago; today they have kimchi refrigerators. The storage technology has changed, but kimchi has kept its status as the ubiquitous national food.

The first thing you'll pass after entering are 15 or so folk statues carved into tree trunks. Called jangseung (village guardians), they were once used to mark village boundaries and scare away demons. With their bright colors and long features, they seem whimsical during the day, but standing guard at night the totem poles must look a little creepy.

Hold off on the souvenir shops by the front entrance. Although they're better than average, with some fun and relatively inexpensive crafty items, you'll see a lot more of them before you're done. And you'll pass the ones at the entrance again on your way out anyway. Unless you're starving, also go right past the restaurants at the entrance. You'll do better waiting until you reach the food court in the middle of the village.

Walking along the dirt paths doesn't feel like make-believe—nothing is kitschy or theme-park-like (except for the little amusement park at the other end of the village proper). Women wearing traditional hanbok walk quickly to their various activities and performances, their voluminous skirts rustling. In all, 270 structures have been brought to the folk village from all parts of South Korea, then restored and furnished as they would have been during the latter part of the Joseon (or Choson) Dynasty (1392-1910). They represent levels of society from wealthy merchant to poor peasant, and are clustered by region of origin—although to the untrained eye the styles are remarkably similar (only the houses from Jejudo, in the south, looked markedly different).

At one of the farmhouses, children were petting the roosters and pigs (though I was later told the animals are not actually meant for petting). Most of the animals—there were also dogs, a cow and a calf—looked a bit forlorn. Across the dirt road, visitors could help weave mats and sandals from straw.

The houses are designed like giant dioramas, opening onto courtyards, the interiors visible through the doorways. A little more English-language description would have added to the experience, but the little bit of English text in front of each house is enough to help a visitor imagine what it would have been like to live there. You see the mattresses laid out on the wooden floors, heated from underneath, and the kitchens with—of course—at least one kimchi pot and a sot, a traditional iron cauldron, as well as a furnace. The family rooms look unfurnished to Westerners accustomed to tables, beds and chairs. People sat on the floor and the food-laden tables were carried in from the kitchen for meals.

In the village square, there are scheduled performances—music and dances, and a tightrope walker. If you time it right, you can watch a traditional Korean wedding (noon and 4 p.m. at House 22 during the spring, summer and early autumn). Our children loved the village square where visitors can play traditional Korean games such as yutnori (a board game) and a type of extreme seesaw on which the person on each end stands rather than sits, making each other jump as their side rises. An older Korean couple showed our children how to do it and they jumped high. (Made me nervous.) Keep walking and you'll come to the traditional market—where the pipe maker and the fan maker, among others, look like they're still plying their trade. You can buy their goods on the spot.

Skip the haunted house and go straight to the food court. The food stalls take a little figuring out, but they're worth the effort (at stands without English signs, you can peer in to see what the food is). Just buy your meal tickets at one of the central concession stands (we didn't see anything that cost more than 10,000 won, or about $8.30) then work your way around—food available includes everything from beef kebabs (Korean style) to mung-bean pancakes, and tofu soup.

Save some energy for the folk museum. Dioramas, accompanied by English explanations, cover aspects of traditional life from the foods eaten on holidays to roles assigned to different family members to customs surrounding birth, marriage and death. (Births weren't celebrated until after 100 days, in recognition of high infant mortality, and 60th-birthday celebrations were huge, since not so many people reached 60.) You even get a pictorial lesson in making kimchi.

If you're driving, try to head out by 3 o'clock, especially on Sundays, when evening traffic into town can be heavy. If not, check out the amusement park—billed as a "Traditional Korean Amusement Park," though the carousel and Viking ship don't seem particularly Korean. That said, just knowing the amusement park is a possibility can help get kids through the village if they start fading. Finally, there is even a small garden devoted to modern Korean sculpture—reminding you how much the country has changed, even if much has remained the same.

Peggy Edersheim Kalb is a writer based in Seoul

[프란치스코]

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