Pride of Korean culture is resurrected

The travails of Seoul's Gyeongbok Palace is a reflection of the nation's tragic history

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I recently used Google's satellite imagery to look at an aerial view of Seoul's traditional heart. As one might expect, the city's growth had made deep inroads into the mountains and valleys of the north. But what struck me was the image's familiarity. It immediately recalled maps of 18th and 19th century Seoul.

Dominating the landscape, and clearly commanding the heart of the city, was the palace of Gyeongbok. All the roads seemed to lead to its gate. I imagine that an 18th-century Korean official, if shown this contemporary image of his city, would recognize it immediately.

In the symbolic landscape of Seoul, Gyeongbok Palace has always held pride of place. Begun in 1395 as the primary royal residence of Korea's Joseon dynasty (1392-1910), it has been weathering the storms of Korean history for more than six centuries. According to geomancy -- theories on the interplay of geography and universal energies -- Gyeongbok sits on some prime real estate. Surrounded by mountains, the site was specifically selected for its potential to benefit from propitious energies.

I've visited Gyeongbok Palace an untold number of times over the past decade, vicariously experiencing its return from the verge of extinction. Not only is it one of the most recognized symbols of traditional Korea, but in many ways it may stand as a metaphor for Korea's 20th century odyssey: renovated with new hopes in the late 19th century, dismantled by Japan, and now reconstructed by a nation looking forward but grounded in its past.

Hearing that the major renovation project of Gyeongbok Palace was underway -- the restoration of its main gain -- and several others had recently been completed, I was curious to see it once more.

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The megalopolis of contemporary Seoul is a far cry from its humble dimensions as the traditional capital of Korea's Joseon dynasty (1392-1910). It now has an estimated 23 million inhabitants (a quarter of the South Korean population) and covers an area of nearly 250 square miles. The city's historical heart is now only a few districts hemmed in by hyper-growth. But despite the social and political transformations of the last century, the locus of traditional Seoul is easy to find and recognize. Just read the landscape. Mountains have a stubborn resistance to change.

Gyeongbok Palace Anytime of year is a good time to visit the Gyeongbok Palace, though it looks most resplendent in spring and fall when the changing foliage complements the vibrant colors of its traditional structures. Restoration work continues, with current work being done on the Gwanghwamun Gate and the royal kitchens. » Getting there: Catch subway line No. 3 to Gyeongbokgung Station and take exit No. 5. » Tours: Visitors are free to roam through the palace's alleyways and structures. One-hour English-language tours are also offered (included in the admission) four times a day, at 9:30 a.m., noon, 1:30 and 3 p.m. Group tours can also be arranged. For the guided tour, meet just inside and to the right of the ticket entrance. » Admission and hours: $3 for adults; $1.50 for ages 18 and younger. The palace is open 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. daily except Tuesdays, from March through October, and to 5 p.m. from November through February, and to 7 p.m. on weekends and national holidays from May through August. » Alternative tours: Every so often the Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society in Seoul offers a guided tour of downtown Seoul, which may or may not include Gyeongbok Palace, depending on the itinerary. Even if it doesn't include the palace, the expertise of its guide Peter Bartholomew will make this walking tour worthwhile. Wear sturdy shoes. The foot tour can cover seven or eight miles and take six hours. There is a nominal fee and reservations are required. Visit raskb.com/ for details. Another walking tour is offered by renowned Korean architect Insouk Cho. The tours, sponsored by the Seoul Foundation for Arts and Culture, are free of charge, but reservations are recommended. The tours are offered every fourth Sunday from March to October and last about three hours. Themes vary. Past walks have included the royal palaces, Seoul on the eve of modernization, and the city's contemporary architecture. The royal palace walk includes Gyeongbok Palace. Contact the Seoul Foundation for Arts and Culture, sentinel@sfac.or.kr.

Seoul, or Hanyang as it was traditionally called, was a planned city. When the Joseon dynasty succeeded the Goryeo in 1392, the new monarchy sought a new capital befitting its place in the world (as well as to escape the entrenched political interests of the Goryeo capital). The site of Seoul was selected for its propitious position. In terms of feng shui (what the Koreans call pungsu), Seoul was prime real estate. With the coveted four mountains in the four directions to protect and channel qi, or energy, and a copious river to its south, the location offered the perfect setting for a royal capital.

The four mountains that protected traditional Seoul still delineate the city's old heart. Its compact nature has definite advantages for the modern explorer, who can cover the whole area on foot.

To the north of the old city was Bukak Mountain, which sat behind the main royal palace of Gyeongbok. To the south was Nam Mountain, better known today as home to Namsan Tower, Seoul's answer to Eiffel. To the west and east, respectively, are the lesser known "mountains" of Inhwang and Naka (the latter little more than a hill).

Five royal compounds graced the traditional capital: Changdeok, Changgyeong, Deoksu, Gyeongbok, and Gyeonghui palaces. Though each palace enjoyed the patronage of different monarchs, Gyeongbok Palace was designed as the main royal residence, seat of royal authority, and accordingly sat astride the city's main north-south axis. The other palaces served the Joseon dynasty as the residences of lesser princes, or, in the case of the humble Deoksu Palace, as the chosen home of King Kojong for several years in the late 1890s. Today, all five compounds are open to the public, and best of all, within walking distance of one another.

THE TWO BEST known of Seoul's royal palaces are Changdeok and Gyeongbok. They both attract their share of tourists, but with more than 3 million visitors a year, Gyeongbok Palace is perhaps the most visited historical site in Korea.

Built as the kingdom's central palace, Gyeongbok enjoyed this privilege for only about half of the Joseon dynasty period. Despite its name, which means "be blessed and prosper," Gyeongbok's history has been anything but that. During the invasions of the Japanese warlord Hideyoshi in the 1590s, Gyeongbok was largely burned to the ground. As a result, the monarchy relocated to nearby Changdeok Palace. An ambitious renovation of Gyeongbok was undertaken in the 1860s. The task was so ambitious, and so expensive, that it sparked riots. But the work got done, and in the 1867 the adolescent King Kojong -- or rather, his very willful regent -- moved the monarchy back to its traditional seat.

But the return was brief. This was the heyday of imperialism and Korea in the late 19th century was increasingly hemmed in by aggressive foreign interests: Chinese, Japanese, Russian and European. During the Sino-Japanese War over Korea in 1894-95, the Japanese seized Gyeongbok Palace and, with it, control of Korean affairs. Gyeongbok again entered dark days.

Following Korea's annexation by the Japanese Empire in 1910, Gyeongbok Palace was largely dismantled. Recognizing its propitious feng shui, as well as its cultural symbolism, the Japanese constructed their colonial headquarters on the palace grounds, while destroying most of the former structures. At the time of Korean liberation in 1945, only five of Gyeongbok's structures survived, among them the throne hall and the stunning Gyeonghoeru pavilion. The palace's main gate, the Gwanghwamun, which the Japanese had relocated to the eastern wall in 1927, survived only to be burned down in 1950 during the struggle for Seoul during the Korean War.

"DURING THE Japanese period between 1910 and 1945 about 90 percent of all the structures in Gyeongbok Palace were destroyed," Ha Seon Ung tells me. Ha has been put in charge of the daunting task of restoration work at Gyeongbok Palace for the country's Cultural Heritage Administration.

A decade ago, the Korean government laid out ambitious plans to restore the palace to its 1910 appearance, a goal that carried a 25 billion won ($25 million) price tag. Work is now about halfway complete, and the grounds of Gyeongbok offer the visitor a valuable glimpse into the life of the old royal capital.

Gyeongbok is reminiscent of Beijing's Forbidden City (though Ha says that the renovated Gyeongbok will be larger). The resemblance is no accident. Both compounds were built to reflect imperial authority and the heavenly laws that informed it. The great throne hall sits at Gyeongbok's center like the sun in a solar system. The primary axis of the palace is north-south, with the royal living quarters north of the throne hall.

One of the first places I visited in Korea as a soldier was South Korea's National Museum. At the time, it was housed in an austere granite structure that seemed out of place on the grounds of Gyeongbok Palace. I wandered through its stone halls and up its grand central staircase not realizing I was roaming through the former Japanese Colonial Headquarters building, built in the 1920s with deliberate intent on the palace grounds.

By the time of my visit in 1993, democracy in South Korea was growing stronger and with it, popular agitation to remove the structure, a daily symbol of Korea's half-century of subjugation. A comprehensive plan for the restoration of Gyeongbok Palace was drawn up by the government, and the first step was the removal of the former Japanese Colonial Headquarters building in 1998. By 2000 the imposing throne hall -- Geunjeongjeon, or "Hall of Diligent Government" -- could boast a face lift, and by 2001, the original throne hall gate, Heungryemun Gate, had been rebuilt.

The most recent accomplishments are the reconstruction of the Taewonjeon, where royal funerals and ancestral rites were once performed, and the Geoncheong compound, a royal residence, as well as the renovation of the Jibokjae, the royal library, in 2006.

The Jibokjae is perhaps my favorite among the palace's many structures. It served as the old royal library and foreign reception hall. Nestled in a quiet corner of the palace, it survived the Japanese period intact and in 2006 was renovated to its 1890s appearance and opened to the public. Here, Korea's penultimate King Kojong was fond of greeting foreign envoys. Standing under the Chinese-inspired dragon motif ceiling within its humble main room, I wonder what critical diplomatic exchanges occurred here during the Joseon dynasty's final years.

Next to the Jibokjae is the newly rebuilt Geoncheong. These were more "humble" quarters, modeled after the home of a gentleman official and without the vibrant dancheong coloring that characterized royal structures. King Kojong and his consort Queen Min were found of passing time in these buildings, where they were also known to greet foreign guests. It was here on a cool October night in 1895 that Queen Min was cut down by Japanese troops, resulting in King Gojong's flight from the palace. For the next year, fearful of the Japanese, he was holed up in the Russian Legation building before relocating to Deoksu Palace.

ONE OF THE MOST ambitious restoration plans for Gyeongbok is under way: the replacement of the palace's main gate, the Gwanghwamun. The Gwanghawmun, or Gate of Bright Enlightenment, was one of the most recognizable of the palace's structure and, as the main entrance to the palace, it was for many Korean commoners the only prominent palace structure they were likely to see. Like the palace, the gate has had its share of trials. Indeed, more than the palace itself, the Gwanghwamun can be taken as a symbol of the fortunes of 20th-century Korea. Like the palace, it was renovated in the 1860s by the Korean monarchy, only to be dismantled and moved by the Japanese in 1927. It was destroyed during the Korean War in 1950, though its stone base survived. And then the story gets interesting.

In the early decades of the Republic of Korea (South Korea), the military dictator Park Chung Hee constructed his new presidential quarters north of the Gyeongbok Palace, intentionally sharing the north-south axis of the former seat of Korean monarchs. Not to be denied the potent national symbol of Gwanghwamun, Park rebuilt the gate in 1968 using the surviving stone base, though instead of the customary wooden architecture he chose to mold its many pieces from concrete.

Ha explained, "Of course, it was really ridiculous to build it from concrete. But at the time, Park was in the middle of promoting his New Village Movement, which emphasized rapid development and modernity." And apparently plenty of concrete.

But Park centered his gate on the former Japanese Colonial Headquarters building rather than on the Korean throne hall as was intended. The latest restoration efforts will change all that. The new Gwanghwamun will be built in the traditional manner, out of thousands of individual pieces of hand-crafted wood assembled without nails.

The restoration of the gate will also come with the creation of a new Gwanghwamun Plaza in front of it, reminiscent of traditional days when the area in front of the palace sometimes served as a gathering spot for subjects seeking a royal hearing. The project is estimated to be complete next year.

In the back corner of the palace one finds the newest renovation, and perhaps the most intriguing structure of the palace: the Geoncheong. These were more "humble" quarters, modeled after the home of a gentleman scholar and without the vibrant dancheong coloring that characterized other royal structures.

Korea's King Gojong preferred these quarters to the formality of the palace's other structures. He and his consort Queen Min liked to pass time here. In 1887, the grounds of Geoncheong were the first Korean structures to be illuminated by electric lights.

During my most recent visit, a group of middle school boys were reading the information sign before the Geoncheong's modest front gate. I ask them how they feel to see it rebuilt. Only the most precocious answered.

"Good. I think Korea is advanced so the palace should be rebuilt to show our advancement," a seventh-grader named Dong Hyun said. "It's also very important to remember the tragedy of our history."