![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
niori_1709In Seoul there are five royal palaces that stand, even after all this time. Three are grand, one is small and barely restored, and I’ve covered those four over my years writing these travel guides. It’s time to cover the last one, called Changgyeonggung. Changgyeonggung is somewhere in the middle of those two descriptions- unlike the three biggest palaces, there’s not a big section that makes it stand out, but it’s still in better and grander shape than the smallest palace. I’d say, as palaces go, Changgyeonggung is the simplest. However, don’t take that to mean you should skip it. .
Changgyeonggung Palace was built in 1484 to house three dowager queens (Changdeokgung, the palace at the time of construction, had become overcrowded). While it was constructed on the site of an older palace, Changgyeonggung very quickly took on a life of its own. Part of that was because it was so close to the royal shrine and the other is some historical events that happened on the grounds. When you get to Changgyeonggung, you enter through the main gate, as you do with all the palaces. The gate is like the others, a tall and imposing squareish shaped arch, with bright colours and spikey tops. When entering the palace, it would be easy to think it was no different than any of the others. There is, however, something unique about this palace. It’s something you might only notice if you’re looking closely. Unlike the other four palace halls that face south and then the buildings around it go along an axis that is north-south. The reason for this change isn’t 100% sure, but it’s assumed that it was built that was to flow better with the natural landscape. It made it not only more convenient to build, but to work and live in as well. It’s an interesting quirk to be on the lookout for, especially if you’ve been in the others. I fully admit that I didn’t realize it and only figured it out after reading it in the guidebook. I am also location challenged, matched only by my bad sense of direction, so others would have a better chance of picking up on it than I ever would.
Once you pass through the main gate, you’re going to find yourself at Okcheongyo Bridge. It’s a small stone bridge over a canal (which was mostly empty of water at that point, since it was fall and it hadn’t rained in a while). Near the bottom of the bridge, where it met the edge of the canal, a creature lurked. It’s a creature you find hanging out at the bridges of all the palaces. The carved goblins, called Dokkaebi, are supposed to protect the palace from evil spirits. They’re a common protector in Korean mythology, which is why they’re at the entrance of the palace. I can’t say if they work or not, since I’m not exactly an expert in evil spirits, but I can tell you it didn’t’ keep out mortal evils over the centuries. It also didn’t protect the palace itself from damage, since large swaths of it burned down or were demolished at one point.
When you go over the bridge, you walk through a smaller courtyard, where the king would greet his subjects. This is the place where the king would do his best to appear to be a leader for the common folk, and occasionally it turned out it wasn’t just an act. One king, Yeongjo, met his various subjects here to hear their opinions on the tax law he was going to enact (the nobles hated it because it took more money from them and the poor loved it because it took some of the burden away from them. Somethings never change). After listening, he went through with the tax law since it was popular with the commoners. He also used another occasion (his mother’s birthday) to assemble here to give out free rich to the poor. This is a king who used this place, as unremarkable as it looks, as it was meant to, as a way for the king to answer to his subjects.
The stone pavilion wasn’t only for the king to support his people, but on at least one occasion, the people showed up to support their royal as well. One of those cases was when Sohyeon, crown prince, came home after being a hostage in China for nine years. People lined the way to the palace, the gate, and the courtyard to give him a warm welcome. It must have been a warming sight, to have so many strangers there to cheer for your return. It might have been a little bewildering as well, since Sohyeon wasn’t a hostage in the sense we think of it- less prisoner and being tied up and more Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. While in China, he became a friend and confidante of the Chinese emperor. Being kept against his will was obviously an awful fact, but it was a gilded cage Sohyeon was in. This was Qing China, where Sohyeon’s position put him up close and personal to all the changes that were happening there. For a number of years, the Western powers had been making a nuisance of themselves in China, and one of the consequences of this was that China was being modernized. The modernization would lead to the fall of a dynasty- this was the last one. Up next was the Republic of China. The Korean prince was there to see some of this, and it changed his opinions. It gave him ideas and dreams about how to change Korea- he wanted to open Korea up to the West and modernize it. Korea would have been a different place had he come to the throne, but Sohyeon would never get there. Only a few months later, the prince got sick and died on an unspecified illness (there were rumors that his father had him poisoned, but there was never any proof). The dreams of modernized Joseon died with him, at least until much later. Walking along the same courtyard centuries later, it makes you wonder how different Korean history could have gone. When Sohyeon was walking in this that very place, what ideas was he brimming with? Could he have done it, or would there have been too much pushback? When you walk in his footsteps, you must wonder- how would he have changed Korea and what would it be like now if he had?
Once you’ve gone through the courtyard, you’ll pass through another massive gate and then you’ve come to the biggest draw of the palace. Myeongjeongjeon is the main hall, and the oldest one of all the palaces. This was where the king conducted all the fancy royal affairs. The main hall is designed like the others in the other palaces: they’re a long building built on a stone platform. The building is a burgundy-like colour, with the underside of the roof bright colours and Buddhist inspired designs (think mandalas). The undersides are cut in 3D patterns, half circles that pile out on each other. The roof swoops up, with the black tiles appearing to be a wave rushing up. The front wall is mostly an open doorway, with pillars acting as frames. Inside is open concept, save for the pillars holding the roof up, the king’s throne, and some items (such as incense stands) for either practical or ritualistic use. The art on the walls is stunning, with the brilliant colours catching your eye and drawing you in (they’re often very symbolic). When in the main hall of a palace, always look up- the ceiling is always the most beautiful piece of art in the whole place.
Admittedly, this main hall is a bit different than the others because it does lack a certain imposing grandness. It’s not for a lack of ability on the architect’s part, but because it wasn’t meant to be a main hall. It started as the living quarters for the dowager queens, which is why the area around the hall is also a little different. After the main gate is another open courtyard made of stone. Going around the courtyard is a hallway on both sides, an open air one that is only enclosed by a roof. It’s so people -a lot of them palace workers- could get around and do their duties without interrupting whatever grand ceremony was happening in the courtyard. That’s basically a thing you’ll see in all the palaces. What’s different is that clustered around the hall itself, there are smaller single room buildings that housed royal guards. This shows how the place was set up, how this was meant to be somewhere that needed to be guarded constantly, not only when the king happened to be there. This was essentially a home in the beginning, which makes it odd compared to the others. You can’t go through all the side buildings, but you can get around them. They’re very close together and wandering around them felt like following a twisty maze of alleys made up of hanok buildings. That area was a lot less crowded when I was there, so it was a great place to wander about without people getting in the way. I love it when I can find a place to be by myself without feeling rushed to not hold up the line or accidently photobomb someone’s picture. It gives you time to explore, which I always love.
After wandering through the mazes of side buildings, you pass to the next area of the palace. It’s another hall building -less richly decorated than the main hall- in front of a -smaller- courtyard. The main hall was used for all the flashy matters of state. Here in Munjeongjeon is where the day to day ones went down. This was the council hall. It looked a lot like the main hall, only smaller and facing a different direction (which is another understated but unique aspect to the palace). It’s interesting enough, but not the standout of the area. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s the simple grey stone courtyard, unremarkable at first, where you should turn your attention. There’s one other thing about the area, not that you’d ever realize it without reading up a bit on the history. You might glean a bit from the information in the booklet you get at the entrance, but that’s not going to give you the whole picture. The stone courtyard in front of Myeongjeongjeon witnessed what I’d call one of the most gruesome episodes in Korean history, one that would make a perfect Netflix true crime documentary.
Everyone who knows anything about history knows that royal families get into and up to all sorts of nasty things, and Korea was no exception. Conspiracies, assassinations, plotting…all common things the world over for royals. This, however, goes beyond that, in my humble opinion. This is a level of gruesome out of a horror movie. The year was 1776 and the Joseon dynasty still had a couple hundred years of power left. In the courtyard in front of the council hall, a rice storage box sat waiting, surrounded by guards. A man was led to it, though it’s not recorded if he struggled or not, or if he knew what awaited him there. What is known was that he was forced into this cramped box and locked inside, under the king’s orders. The begging probably started immediately, and so would have his desperate struggles to escape his confinement. No one moved to help him, no one gave into his pleas. No one let him out.
The man was Crown Prince Sado and the king who ordered his punishment was his father. To understand what brought them to this point, you must go back, back to this prince’s childhood. He was not meant to be crown prince and the job only fell to him after his older brother’s death. He wasn’t cut out for the job, because even before that pressure, he suffered from mental health disorders, especially when it came to anxiety. We, as a society, still look down on and dismiss the importance of mental health, so you can only imagine how terrible it would have been for him then. His father certainly didn’t care and was very public with his disappointment about how his son handled his role. Not only did he openly criticize his son, but wouldn’t even let him do most of the duties of a crown prince. That brought Sado even bigger shame, and it couldn’t have been any worse for a man in his position. Sado spiraled, down and down. Then other things knocked more and more away from him. The one sister he was close to died, he began to hallucinate, saying he saw the thunder god in a storm and was terrified of thunder from that day forward, and his mother and grandmother died close together. Sado already had a history of being unbalanced, and eventually he broke.
When Sado had what can only be described as a psychotic break, it came out as uncontrollable rage. He began to fly into fits and beat servants. It wasn’t long until his fury became homicidal. He killed one of the palace eunuchs, and then he went full movie maniac by bringing in the servant’s severed head and forcing his wife and her ladies to gawk at it. Killing as a way to vent his frustration became common, and so Sado became a serial killer, one who could get away with it again and again because, to be cynical, who cared about a few servants being killed? When he started assaulting women as well as killing it went the same- a great effort to cover it up and stamp out rumors of the prince having problems, less of trying to get victims justice. I assume someone tried to force Sado to stop, but there’s no account of it. What we do know is that Sado would eventually turn his violence on himself. He tried to drown himself in a well, only to be saved and left to do as he pleased. With no one willing to take any action or apparently actively care their crown prince had lost his mind, he kept killing. Eventually it went beyond servants- he beat a chosen consort to death and then just went about his day, ignoring the bloody corpse in the room with him.
A reckoning finally when came, officially and politically (though the fact it took as long as it did is a horrifying insight to the time period and does not reflect highly on it, regardless of cultural and historical relativism), he actively planned to kill an important official’s son and was caught (thankfully before he could carry it out). This wasn’t something that could be swept under the rug- people in power were now involved, people who actually mattered in the eyes of the elite. Sado’s days were numbered, especially since his failed plan led to persistent rumors that he also plotted to kill the king. There was no proof of that, so it makes you wonder- were those rumors started as a way to finally get rid of a bloodthirsty prince? Had there been people trying to find a way to stop him all along and took the opportunity that came to them? If they existed, were they horrified about a monster or only worried about what a man like that would do as king? Was it intrigue that sent the dominoes falling on Sado?
The king couldn’t deny it anymore and couldn’t ignore it. He had to punish his son, and he had to figure out how. If he killed him like any other criminal, then the law said the rest of his family could have been killed as well (again, horrifying look into the concept of justice that was just yikes) and they couldn’t have the royal family on the proverbial chopping block. There was also a law that a royal body couldn’t be desecrated and being put down as punishment for murder counted as desecration. So, the king came up with a sentence so cruel, so cold hearted, that it would have made him the villain in any other story.
Which brings us back to the courtyard and the chest, where a trapped Sado couldn’t escape. No direct violence could be done upon him, so Sado would be locked in there to die of ‘natural’ causes- he would die a slow, agonizing death, cramped in a small box that was exposed to the heat of the day and cold of night. It would take him eight days to die of dehydration and most likely spent most of those wishing for someone to give him a quick death and just end his suffering. It’s a horrific way to die, even for a murderer. It makes you think back to the mentally ill boy Sado once was and ask what exactly the point of no return was. There’s no excuse for what he did, but when does a person go beyond saving? Those are still questions we have to ask ourselves to this day, with our cultural obsession with true crime and serial killers. The fact that it was ordered by his father made it all the worse.
Two weeks after his death, the king restored Sado’s titles and then forbid everyone from so much as alluding to his son. Was it guilt that drove him? Embarrassment? Political expediency, since Sado’s son was now his heir? What did the king feel those eight days his son was dying? Did he stay far away from the courtyard where his son begged for his life or did he go and face it? Did he regret the way he treated his son or believe any excuse he could make to himself that it had to be this way? Was he haunted by his orders or did he shrug his shoulders and move on? We have no firsthand accounts from the king, so we don’t know. Others at the time commented, but that’s all we have. There are many times I wish that a personal journal from a historical figure would magically appear, and this is one of them. We do know that Sado’s son gave his father posthumous honors once he became king, perhaps because he wanted to downplay or try to rewrite his father’s history (no one in their right mind wants that to be the legacy their parent left them) or maybe because he believed his father deserved the honor, that everything that happened to him was unjust, maybe even a lie (a conspiracy theory did eventually pop up that Sado was completely innocent of all wrong doing (or even having an anxiety disorder in the first place) and was killed via political machinations).
Regardless, when you stand in the pavilion in front of Munjeongjeon, you’d never know about the dark events that happened there. I walked around the area, poking my head into the opening buildings and just taking in the sights, without knowing such a gruesome episode had gone down there. I’m assuming very few of the others in the crowd knew either, if any.
One big thing I’ve noticed in my years in Korea is that the country has a different relationship to the macabre than the western world. In places like Canada we revel in the dark – how many places of famous murders are tourist attractions? In Korea you don’t even see haunted places being advertised in order to capitalize on them. Instead it’s kept hidden, at least on a tourism level. They just don’t do gruesome or dark tourism in Korea (unless it’s describing the horrors of what the Japanese did under colonialism, which fair). They downplay or hide it, or in the case of Prince Sado, conceal enough of the details that it comes across as your basic political intrigue. The guidebook has two tiny font paragraphs at the bottom of the page (and away from the main information) that mentions the ‘tragedy of Prince Sado’ and says he was executed for ‘rumours’ of ‘erratic’ behavior. They label it the greatest ‘tragic incident of the century’. They don’t describe what that supposed erratic behaviour was. What they don’t mention is the whole serial killer thing. Instead, they 100% push the conspiracy theory narrative I mentioned before (despite the fact primary sources from the era -Sado’s wife’s journal documenting her husband’s break and crimes in particular- collaborate the accusations). Were some of those accusations embellished over time? Most likely (accusations always are), but historians generally agree there’s almost no basis to the idea that Sado was an innocent martyr.
That’s another thing I’ve noticed about Korean tourism, specifically whoever makes decisions about how to market the country- they never mention times when Korea wasn’t the good guy, or at least do their best to twist events away from it. I’m not saying this side stepping is Korea in general (there have been multiple protests since I’ve been there when the government tried to release textbooks that downplayed the sins of the former military dictatorship, and the protestors always came out on top), but it seems to be a tourism thing. I’m not exactly sure why, since no one in their right mind thinks a country has never done a bad thing ever, which means it’s not like anyone is suddenly going to hate Korea because the government did awful things in the past (otherwise they would hate every country, Canada very much included). I’m also not saying this is a Korea specific thing, since every country does this to a certain degree (again, including Canada), but the degree that it happens hits almost propaganda levels (and Changgyeonggung isn’t where you see this the most- the biggest example I can think of is the Seodaemun Prison Museum, where they focus on how the Japanese used it to imprison pro-independence activists with nary a mention that the later Korean military government used it in the same way against prodemocracy activists). This is not to call out Korean tourism in general or state they’re doing something evil, because they’re not, even if it’s a bit sketchy from a historical accuracy point. It’s not even to say that Korean tourism does it worse than anyone else, because it happens everywhere. It’s more of a reminder to a person exploring these sites (or living life in general, especially in the digital age)- bias is a thing and be aware of it. If you want to understand a place, tourist location or otherwise, don’t take things at face value. It’s something to keep in mind when learning anything, so here’s your life lesson for the day. I want to make sure to say that this won’t affect your enjoyment of Changgyeonggung, because it’s not something you notice in this particular place (I didn’t even realize it until I did further research later). This is more or less a good opportunity to bring up a point that has been in the back of my mind for a while.
With that, spare one last thought to the palace’s dark history. I didn’t know about it when I went, but you do. If you find yourself there, stand in that courtyard. Wait until the crowd has thinned, and then think about what had happened there. Wonder if those screams you can just make out are just in your head or Sado’s pain reverberating through history, an echo that can only come from places where great pain happened. Ask yourself if a place can remember the bloodshed that stains it or if you’re just imaging it after one too many haunted house movies. Dismiss and move on, with that thought in the back of your mind for a long time to come. Because that is what you do in dark places, and despite my first impressions, it turns out it was a dark place.
From there, Sungmundang is the next part of the palace, the place where smaller royal functions happened. This is where the banquets and royal marketing functions happened. Beside that building is a smaller pagoda-like structure. In that hanok pagoda there’s something that you don’t often see- a plaque/sign written in the king’s (Yeongjo in this case) own hand. It’s the name of the building written in Chinese characters. The sign is in red/brown ink on wood. It’s not all that remarkable looking, something you probably wouldn’t even notice if it weren’t made a big deal of. But, in general, a lot of writing done by kings tends to get lost to history. Their signature is sometimes the most we get, but here we have a more artistic artefact made by one. It’s such a simple thing as well, a sign that didn’t need to be done by the king. In fact, it’s not the only sign he made- in another section, a sign he wrote for the birth hall for his birth existed. This king liked to leave his mark on the spaces he lived in and, in many ways, helped create.
One final aspect of Sungmundang hall is how it plays into the geography of the area. Changgyeonggung is built in a space that has some small hills and knolls. The builders decided to play into this by making the biggest hall here look like it’s built on that sloped ground (when it’s actually flat). The foundation stone’s base and front columns are built high while those in the back were extra low. It’s an optical illusion and it’s an effective one. The building really does look like it’s built up into a hill. It’s another feature rather unique to this palace and unlike most of them, it’s one you notice right off the bat. It’s a small reminder that, despite being less flashy, this is still a palace worth seeing. It’s not the same old, same old. It was a good walk around, one that I really enjoyed.
The next part you wander through is, collectively, the living areas of the palaces, the women’s area in particular. There are three areas, each with main buildings but lacking the side buildings found in the administration areas of the palace. Since women weren’t technically supposed to be involved in politics (actively anyway but whispering from the shadows was the name of the game for women throughout history), these are all basically living areas. One is the area where the royal women lived their lives, from giving birth to dying, a circle of life that is rather poetic if you ask me. For the in between parts of that life, the king and prince’s residences were close by, making marital affairs easy access. This was where royal women lived most of their life and where they were seen to by female royal physicians. And yes, that fact threw me a bit as well. I didn’t expect women in the 1500s to be official doctors. I’m so used to the way medieval European women had (a lack of) opportunities that I didn’t even think about the potential difference in medieval Korea until I read all about it in the guidebook (a note- always take a guidebook they offer you at the entrance). But yes, there were women trained and respected as official medical professionals during the Joseon Dynasty (even if not as respected as the male ones). The reason was it was considered improper for women, especially royal women, to be examined by men. They still needed medical care, so recruiting other women was the logical answer. It was hard work and a great honour because the future of the royal family could rest on their shoulders. It also must have been a lot of pressure to be under and I tip my hat to all those medical professionals (past and present). But it must have been enticing, this opportunity to be outside the traditional role laid out for women in their society. How many of them took it to escape expectations and how many had a genuine passion for medicine and healing? Of all the women who devoted their life to medicine during the Joseon dynasty, there was only one who became royal physician to the king himself. Her name was Dae Janggeum and she rose to prominence after she delivered the queen’s baby and cured the dowager queen’s illness. That earned her the eternal gratitude and confidence of the king, who decided she was the best one for the job of caring for him. This caused an uproar, of course, but he just waved it off and she remained his doctor until his death. I am always here for women being awesome and here’s an example that’s interesting to share, because Dae Janggeum wasn’t an out and out badass. She wasn’t out there kicking butt or fighting for something but taking care of others. She climbed the professional ladder to the highest she could go and was a boss doing it. I love to share stories of lesser known women, ones who usually wouldn’t be at the top of the ‘most interesting women in history’ lists that litter the internet.
A hop, skip, and a jump away from the royal residences is that of the royal concubines. The actual structure is neat because of its shape. Unlike a couple of hanok buildings close together, there is only one building and it’s almost a squareish figure eight. It’s two buildings together, an entrance area that is then two separate sections that are basically sealed in hallways and an outside courtyard in the middle, hidden from sight. It’s an interesting building design, one that really contrasts with the others. It’s a building that conjures up images of elegant women, hidden away in their own world, away from prying eyes. This is in no way the truth of the building (and probably based on thirty years of consuming Orientalist flavoured media). The building is actually rather plain, shape aside, and was used as more than just sexy quarters. These women just lived there, some raised children there, and a number of those children came back to just hang out. They even did a bit of work there. It was just a place, even if it was a particularly cool looking one. Living up to one stereotype, however, is the general area was home to plenty of intrigue.
A king falling for a lady-in-waiting, her having his child, him trying to make that son heir over the kid with his wife, making the concubine queen, the original queen’s followers putting her back on the throne, the new queen demoted and then cursing the original queen via puppets and dead animals, and then being forced to commit suicide by poison after being found out? Check. Another king claiming he didn’t trust the medical staff and dying fifteen days later, using his last words implicating his queen (and political opponent) in poisoning him? Also check. I want an HBO budget series for all these things. Changgyeonggung has homed so much intrigue and mystery that would make amazing television.
Close by all these residences is my favourite area of the palace. The day I went to the palace was a crisp fall day, cold enough for sweaters but still nice enough that it was still comfortable to spend a few hours outside. This cool day was the perfect time to explore because it meant that the leaves were all out in full colour. Bright oranges, glowing yellows, searing reds- all the fall foliage was decorating the trees throughout the palace. The best place to see them was around Chundangji Pond. The pond is divided into two sections, a larger square one and a smaller round section, divided by a small stone bridge. This used to be the centre piece of the royal garden, though a lot of the garden no longer exists. You can walk all around the pond and it’s lovely. There were weeping willows all around the water’s edge. The occasional breeze would pop up and the branches would rustle majestically as they swayed like a curtain. It was beautiful and relaxing, even with the murmuring of the crowd around me providing background noise. My friend and I took our time here, just enjoying the stroll. I understand why the royals of the past spend their leisure time here. It was a lovely spot, perfect for a fall day. There was a small island in the middle of the big pond with twisty evergreen trees covering it. In one corner were old rice paddies. It’s clear that these aren’t actually used. It’s an odd addition to a pleasure garden because cultivating rice is hard work. Why put it here? Who was even using it? Was there actual farming in the palace, and for who? The paddies were small -there would only be a handful of shoots per row- and the yield would never be enough to feed people. Those were the questions that ran through my mind as we walked around. The answer turned out it was the king, it was his private rice paddy, it wasn’t actually going to be feeding anyone, and it was symbolic. The king was expected to toil like his subjects, so that he could understand, and the gods were more likely to hear his prayers for a good harvest (the queen raised silkworms for the same reason). Which, that’s a very rich person thing to do (working eleven rice paddies isn’t exactly toiling in the field on a hot day), but that’s symbolism for you. It’s symbolism that means enough that, once the Japanese took over, they dismantled the paddies and turned the pond into a boating pool and botanical garden. Taking away the symbolism of a conquered people is colonialism 101 and taking away the king’s ‘way’ to helping his country is one way to chip away the identity of a people. Taking out the rice paddies wasn’t the only thing the Japanese took over and changed in the palace. They built a greenhouse at the end of the pond. Unlike other parts that the Japanese added to the palace (they razed an area of offices to the ground and turned it into a zoo. The zoo was demolished quickly after restorations post Korean independence), the greenhouse is still there. It’s a white building, made mostly of windows, and off the main path and behind some trees. I didn’t go inside (it was a bit of a way away from the main trail, and the pond was such a nice walk that I didn’t feel the need to deviate away). The building itself was still pretty cool, because it’s a starkly modern and sleek building in the middle of all this tradition. We continued around the pond and just followed the path.
Eventually we wandered past the buildings and into the far emptier part of the palace complex. It’s mostly trees here and there as you followed the blue/red paper lanterns lining the path up and down. There were some statues here and there, but it seemed pretty empty, especially when you compare it to all the front areas of the palace. It’s because a lot of the palace is gone, with only painted maps left to show how it once was. Lots of it is just gone, because of time, fire, occupation, and the palace becoming less prominent. Entire swaths of buildings are gone or been repurposed into Changdeokgung Palaces (which was a wild thought, since it meant I had already been there without realizing it). They had the occasional sign that would have a picture of an old map that showed the old layout, including all the missing buildings and natural areas. It gives you a good hint at the expanse of the place in its heyday. It really makes you wish you could see it in all its glory, just snap back in time for a moment to see Changgyeonggung as it once was. It’s a loss, maybe one that will be restored through restoration work further down the road, but I’m glad we have what’s there. While the buildings are gone, there are still things to see along the emptier paths. At the top of one hill there’s a cluster of statues (or least they seem to be jut statues at first). The first and biggest one is a stone pillar with a rocket-like point at the top that’s surrounded by a stone fence. It’s not all that large -smaller than me- and not all that wide either. It reminded me of how traditional burial mounds are designed, with the pillar standing where the mound would usually be. This is the monument where they would bury/store the placenta of a future king. I fully remember standing beside it, reading the little information plaque, and going ‘huh’. It’s certainly one of the odder things I’ve come across in my travels. Right beside it is a memorial tablet. They’re always designed with a rounded top, rectangle middle space where the writing would be chiseled in, and then the base is usually a turtle. That’s nothing new, but the design of this particular one still stands out in my mind as one of the most adorable things. In general, if you see an art depiction of a turtle in Korea, you came away asking yourself if the artist has ever seen a real turtle before. They are designed as some weird mixture hybrid of a lion/snake that has a turtle’s shell. It’s not only kind of weird looking, but rather terrifying. It is something that would send you screaming in the other direction if you happened to come across one in the wild. So that is what is usually holding up the tablet, but not here. No, this tablet is on the back of a turtle, a real looking turtle. It’s normal proportions and rounded edges, and to be honest, looks like a turtle out of a cartoon. I adored it for being different and then fell a little in love with it because it is the happiest looking turtle in all Korea. It has this dopey looking smile on its face, like it’s one of those surfer dude turtles from the film Finding Nemo. Words cannot express how delightful that happy little face made me. When I noticed it, I had to point it out right away and gush a bit about how cute it was. I think my friend thought I was nuts, but I stand by my opinion. I want a stuffed animal version of that turtle.
The last two things to see there were practical tools, at least once upon a time. The first was an old-fashioned sundial on a pedestal and then a stone used to indicate the speed and direction of the wind. The sundial was a large black bowl with a line sticking through the middle to measure the shadows. It’s not the sun dial design I’m most used to, but I was still able to figure it out at first glance. The second one threw me for more of a loop. There’s a tall stone pillar, carved as a thick octagon. It’s made taller by being on a podium as well. Curvy patterns are carved all over it for decoration and there’s a finger sized hole about a quarter of the ways down from the top. There’s a metal pole out the top. I’m not going to lie- I still have no idea how it actually works. My best guess is that the air blows through the hole near the top and makes it spin. However, that’s only my best guess and I wouldn’t put money on it. The stone looks like it’s cemented onto the podium and it wasn’t windy enough to set the wind gage off anyway. Therefore, I have no idea if I am just 100% off in my estimation or maybe it’s now glued down because it’s no longer in use. It shall remain a mystery, I guess, since the sign that said what it was (I never would have figured it out myself) but not how it worked.
After passing through there, there wasn’t much new to see. The path that takes you back to the entrance continued past a few more buildings here and there, but there weren’t any more showstoppers. It was a good walk around and wasn’t one I felt the need to rush. I just enjoyed the calm of the day, something I really should do much more when I’m traveling. Changgyeonggung was a great place to take it slow. It would be easy to skip this palace in favour of the bigger ones, but you’d be missing out on something. Take a nice day, one you want to spend outside, and head there for a lovely walk. All the while you can take in some history, which is always a win in my book.
Changgyeonggung Palace was built in 1484 to house three dowager queens (Changdeokgung, the palace at the time of construction, had become overcrowded). While it was constructed on the site of an older palace, Changgyeonggung very quickly took on a life of its own. Part of that was because it was so close to the royal shrine and the other is some historical events that happened on the grounds. When you get to Changgyeonggung, you enter through the main gate, as you do with all the palaces. The gate is like the others, a tall and imposing squareish shaped arch, with bright colours and spikey tops. When entering the palace, it would be easy to think it was no different than any of the others. There is, however, something unique about this palace. It’s something you might only notice if you’re looking closely. Unlike the other four palace halls that face south and then the buildings around it go along an axis that is north-south. The reason for this change isn’t 100% sure, but it’s assumed that it was built that was to flow better with the natural landscape. It made it not only more convenient to build, but to work and live in as well. It’s an interesting quirk to be on the lookout for, especially if you’ve been in the others. I fully admit that I didn’t realize it and only figured it out after reading it in the guidebook. I am also location challenged, matched only by my bad sense of direction, so others would have a better chance of picking up on it than I ever would.
Once you pass through the main gate, you’re going to find yourself at Okcheongyo Bridge. It’s a small stone bridge over a canal (which was mostly empty of water at that point, since it was fall and it hadn’t rained in a while). Near the bottom of the bridge, where it met the edge of the canal, a creature lurked. It’s a creature you find hanging out at the bridges of all the palaces. The carved goblins, called Dokkaebi, are supposed to protect the palace from evil spirits. They’re a common protector in Korean mythology, which is why they’re at the entrance of the palace. I can’t say if they work or not, since I’m not exactly an expert in evil spirits, but I can tell you it didn’t’ keep out mortal evils over the centuries. It also didn’t protect the palace itself from damage, since large swaths of it burned down or were demolished at one point.
When you go over the bridge, you walk through a smaller courtyard, where the king would greet his subjects. This is the place where the king would do his best to appear to be a leader for the common folk, and occasionally it turned out it wasn’t just an act. One king, Yeongjo, met his various subjects here to hear their opinions on the tax law he was going to enact (the nobles hated it because it took more money from them and the poor loved it because it took some of the burden away from them. Somethings never change). After listening, he went through with the tax law since it was popular with the commoners. He also used another occasion (his mother’s birthday) to assemble here to give out free rich to the poor. This is a king who used this place, as unremarkable as it looks, as it was meant to, as a way for the king to answer to his subjects.
The stone pavilion wasn’t only for the king to support his people, but on at least one occasion, the people showed up to support their royal as well. One of those cases was when Sohyeon, crown prince, came home after being a hostage in China for nine years. People lined the way to the palace, the gate, and the courtyard to give him a warm welcome. It must have been a warming sight, to have so many strangers there to cheer for your return. It might have been a little bewildering as well, since Sohyeon wasn’t a hostage in the sense we think of it- less prisoner and being tied up and more Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. While in China, he became a friend and confidante of the Chinese emperor. Being kept against his will was obviously an awful fact, but it was a gilded cage Sohyeon was in. This was Qing China, where Sohyeon’s position put him up close and personal to all the changes that were happening there. For a number of years, the Western powers had been making a nuisance of themselves in China, and one of the consequences of this was that China was being modernized. The modernization would lead to the fall of a dynasty- this was the last one. Up next was the Republic of China. The Korean prince was there to see some of this, and it changed his opinions. It gave him ideas and dreams about how to change Korea- he wanted to open Korea up to the West and modernize it. Korea would have been a different place had he come to the throne, but Sohyeon would never get there. Only a few months later, the prince got sick and died on an unspecified illness (there were rumors that his father had him poisoned, but there was never any proof). The dreams of modernized Joseon died with him, at least until much later. Walking along the same courtyard centuries later, it makes you wonder how different Korean history could have gone. When Sohyeon was walking in this that very place, what ideas was he brimming with? Could he have done it, or would there have been too much pushback? When you walk in his footsteps, you must wonder- how would he have changed Korea and what would it be like now if he had?
Once you’ve gone through the courtyard, you’ll pass through another massive gate and then you’ve come to the biggest draw of the palace. Myeongjeongjeon is the main hall, and the oldest one of all the palaces. This was where the king conducted all the fancy royal affairs. The main hall is designed like the others in the other palaces: they’re a long building built on a stone platform. The building is a burgundy-like colour, with the underside of the roof bright colours and Buddhist inspired designs (think mandalas). The undersides are cut in 3D patterns, half circles that pile out on each other. The roof swoops up, with the black tiles appearing to be a wave rushing up. The front wall is mostly an open doorway, with pillars acting as frames. Inside is open concept, save for the pillars holding the roof up, the king’s throne, and some items (such as incense stands) for either practical or ritualistic use. The art on the walls is stunning, with the brilliant colours catching your eye and drawing you in (they’re often very symbolic). When in the main hall of a palace, always look up- the ceiling is always the most beautiful piece of art in the whole place.
Admittedly, this main hall is a bit different than the others because it does lack a certain imposing grandness. It’s not for a lack of ability on the architect’s part, but because it wasn’t meant to be a main hall. It started as the living quarters for the dowager queens, which is why the area around the hall is also a little different. After the main gate is another open courtyard made of stone. Going around the courtyard is a hallway on both sides, an open air one that is only enclosed by a roof. It’s so people -a lot of them palace workers- could get around and do their duties without interrupting whatever grand ceremony was happening in the courtyard. That’s basically a thing you’ll see in all the palaces. What’s different is that clustered around the hall itself, there are smaller single room buildings that housed royal guards. This shows how the place was set up, how this was meant to be somewhere that needed to be guarded constantly, not only when the king happened to be there. This was essentially a home in the beginning, which makes it odd compared to the others. You can’t go through all the side buildings, but you can get around them. They’re very close together and wandering around them felt like following a twisty maze of alleys made up of hanok buildings. That area was a lot less crowded when I was there, so it was a great place to wander about without people getting in the way. I love it when I can find a place to be by myself without feeling rushed to not hold up the line or accidently photobomb someone’s picture. It gives you time to explore, which I always love.
After wandering through the mazes of side buildings, you pass to the next area of the palace. It’s another hall building -less richly decorated than the main hall- in front of a -smaller- courtyard. The main hall was used for all the flashy matters of state. Here in Munjeongjeon is where the day to day ones went down. This was the council hall. It looked a lot like the main hall, only smaller and facing a different direction (which is another understated but unique aspect to the palace). It’s interesting enough, but not the standout of the area. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s the simple grey stone courtyard, unremarkable at first, where you should turn your attention. There’s one other thing about the area, not that you’d ever realize it without reading up a bit on the history. You might glean a bit from the information in the booklet you get at the entrance, but that’s not going to give you the whole picture. The stone courtyard in front of Myeongjeongjeon witnessed what I’d call one of the most gruesome episodes in Korean history, one that would make a perfect Netflix true crime documentary.
Everyone who knows anything about history knows that royal families get into and up to all sorts of nasty things, and Korea was no exception. Conspiracies, assassinations, plotting…all common things the world over for royals. This, however, goes beyond that, in my humble opinion. This is a level of gruesome out of a horror movie. The year was 1776 and the Joseon dynasty still had a couple hundred years of power left. In the courtyard in front of the council hall, a rice storage box sat waiting, surrounded by guards. A man was led to it, though it’s not recorded if he struggled or not, or if he knew what awaited him there. What is known was that he was forced into this cramped box and locked inside, under the king’s orders. The begging probably started immediately, and so would have his desperate struggles to escape his confinement. No one moved to help him, no one gave into his pleas. No one let him out.
The man was Crown Prince Sado and the king who ordered his punishment was his father. To understand what brought them to this point, you must go back, back to this prince’s childhood. He was not meant to be crown prince and the job only fell to him after his older brother’s death. He wasn’t cut out for the job, because even before that pressure, he suffered from mental health disorders, especially when it came to anxiety. We, as a society, still look down on and dismiss the importance of mental health, so you can only imagine how terrible it would have been for him then. His father certainly didn’t care and was very public with his disappointment about how his son handled his role. Not only did he openly criticize his son, but wouldn’t even let him do most of the duties of a crown prince. That brought Sado even bigger shame, and it couldn’t have been any worse for a man in his position. Sado spiraled, down and down. Then other things knocked more and more away from him. The one sister he was close to died, he began to hallucinate, saying he saw the thunder god in a storm and was terrified of thunder from that day forward, and his mother and grandmother died close together. Sado already had a history of being unbalanced, and eventually he broke.
When Sado had what can only be described as a psychotic break, it came out as uncontrollable rage. He began to fly into fits and beat servants. It wasn’t long until his fury became homicidal. He killed one of the palace eunuchs, and then he went full movie maniac by bringing in the servant’s severed head and forcing his wife and her ladies to gawk at it. Killing as a way to vent his frustration became common, and so Sado became a serial killer, one who could get away with it again and again because, to be cynical, who cared about a few servants being killed? When he started assaulting women as well as killing it went the same- a great effort to cover it up and stamp out rumors of the prince having problems, less of trying to get victims justice. I assume someone tried to force Sado to stop, but there’s no account of it. What we do know is that Sado would eventually turn his violence on himself. He tried to drown himself in a well, only to be saved and left to do as he pleased. With no one willing to take any action or apparently actively care their crown prince had lost his mind, he kept killing. Eventually it went beyond servants- he beat a chosen consort to death and then just went about his day, ignoring the bloody corpse in the room with him.
A reckoning finally when came, officially and politically (though the fact it took as long as it did is a horrifying insight to the time period and does not reflect highly on it, regardless of cultural and historical relativism), he actively planned to kill an important official’s son and was caught (thankfully before he could carry it out). This wasn’t something that could be swept under the rug- people in power were now involved, people who actually mattered in the eyes of the elite. Sado’s days were numbered, especially since his failed plan led to persistent rumors that he also plotted to kill the king. There was no proof of that, so it makes you wonder- were those rumors started as a way to finally get rid of a bloodthirsty prince? Had there been people trying to find a way to stop him all along and took the opportunity that came to them? If they existed, were they horrified about a monster or only worried about what a man like that would do as king? Was it intrigue that sent the dominoes falling on Sado?
The king couldn’t deny it anymore and couldn’t ignore it. He had to punish his son, and he had to figure out how. If he killed him like any other criminal, then the law said the rest of his family could have been killed as well (again, horrifying look into the concept of justice that was just yikes) and they couldn’t have the royal family on the proverbial chopping block. There was also a law that a royal body couldn’t be desecrated and being put down as punishment for murder counted as desecration. So, the king came up with a sentence so cruel, so cold hearted, that it would have made him the villain in any other story.
Which brings us back to the courtyard and the chest, where a trapped Sado couldn’t escape. No direct violence could be done upon him, so Sado would be locked in there to die of ‘natural’ causes- he would die a slow, agonizing death, cramped in a small box that was exposed to the heat of the day and cold of night. It would take him eight days to die of dehydration and most likely spent most of those wishing for someone to give him a quick death and just end his suffering. It’s a horrific way to die, even for a murderer. It makes you think back to the mentally ill boy Sado once was and ask what exactly the point of no return was. There’s no excuse for what he did, but when does a person go beyond saving? Those are still questions we have to ask ourselves to this day, with our cultural obsession with true crime and serial killers. The fact that it was ordered by his father made it all the worse.
Two weeks after his death, the king restored Sado’s titles and then forbid everyone from so much as alluding to his son. Was it guilt that drove him? Embarrassment? Political expediency, since Sado’s son was now his heir? What did the king feel those eight days his son was dying? Did he stay far away from the courtyard where his son begged for his life or did he go and face it? Did he regret the way he treated his son or believe any excuse he could make to himself that it had to be this way? Was he haunted by his orders or did he shrug his shoulders and move on? We have no firsthand accounts from the king, so we don’t know. Others at the time commented, but that’s all we have. There are many times I wish that a personal journal from a historical figure would magically appear, and this is one of them. We do know that Sado’s son gave his father posthumous honors once he became king, perhaps because he wanted to downplay or try to rewrite his father’s history (no one in their right mind wants that to be the legacy their parent left them) or maybe because he believed his father deserved the honor, that everything that happened to him was unjust, maybe even a lie (a conspiracy theory did eventually pop up that Sado was completely innocent of all wrong doing (or even having an anxiety disorder in the first place) and was killed via political machinations).
Regardless, when you stand in the pavilion in front of Munjeongjeon, you’d never know about the dark events that happened there. I walked around the area, poking my head into the opening buildings and just taking in the sights, without knowing such a gruesome episode had gone down there. I’m assuming very few of the others in the crowd knew either, if any.
One big thing I’ve noticed in my years in Korea is that the country has a different relationship to the macabre than the western world. In places like Canada we revel in the dark – how many places of famous murders are tourist attractions? In Korea you don’t even see haunted places being advertised in order to capitalize on them. Instead it’s kept hidden, at least on a tourism level. They just don’t do gruesome or dark tourism in Korea (unless it’s describing the horrors of what the Japanese did under colonialism, which fair). They downplay or hide it, or in the case of Prince Sado, conceal enough of the details that it comes across as your basic political intrigue. The guidebook has two tiny font paragraphs at the bottom of the page (and away from the main information) that mentions the ‘tragedy of Prince Sado’ and says he was executed for ‘rumours’ of ‘erratic’ behavior. They label it the greatest ‘tragic incident of the century’. They don’t describe what that supposed erratic behaviour was. What they don’t mention is the whole serial killer thing. Instead, they 100% push the conspiracy theory narrative I mentioned before (despite the fact primary sources from the era -Sado’s wife’s journal documenting her husband’s break and crimes in particular- collaborate the accusations). Were some of those accusations embellished over time? Most likely (accusations always are), but historians generally agree there’s almost no basis to the idea that Sado was an innocent martyr.
That’s another thing I’ve noticed about Korean tourism, specifically whoever makes decisions about how to market the country- they never mention times when Korea wasn’t the good guy, or at least do their best to twist events away from it. I’m not saying this side stepping is Korea in general (there have been multiple protests since I’ve been there when the government tried to release textbooks that downplayed the sins of the former military dictatorship, and the protestors always came out on top), but it seems to be a tourism thing. I’m not exactly sure why, since no one in their right mind thinks a country has never done a bad thing ever, which means it’s not like anyone is suddenly going to hate Korea because the government did awful things in the past (otherwise they would hate every country, Canada very much included). I’m also not saying this is a Korea specific thing, since every country does this to a certain degree (again, including Canada), but the degree that it happens hits almost propaganda levels (and Changgyeonggung isn’t where you see this the most- the biggest example I can think of is the Seodaemun Prison Museum, where they focus on how the Japanese used it to imprison pro-independence activists with nary a mention that the later Korean military government used it in the same way against prodemocracy activists). This is not to call out Korean tourism in general or state they’re doing something evil, because they’re not, even if it’s a bit sketchy from a historical accuracy point. It’s not even to say that Korean tourism does it worse than anyone else, because it happens everywhere. It’s more of a reminder to a person exploring these sites (or living life in general, especially in the digital age)- bias is a thing and be aware of it. If you want to understand a place, tourist location or otherwise, don’t take things at face value. It’s something to keep in mind when learning anything, so here’s your life lesson for the day. I want to make sure to say that this won’t affect your enjoyment of Changgyeonggung, because it’s not something you notice in this particular place (I didn’t even realize it until I did further research later). This is more or less a good opportunity to bring up a point that has been in the back of my mind for a while.
With that, spare one last thought to the palace’s dark history. I didn’t know about it when I went, but you do. If you find yourself there, stand in that courtyard. Wait until the crowd has thinned, and then think about what had happened there. Wonder if those screams you can just make out are just in your head or Sado’s pain reverberating through history, an echo that can only come from places where great pain happened. Ask yourself if a place can remember the bloodshed that stains it or if you’re just imaging it after one too many haunted house movies. Dismiss and move on, with that thought in the back of your mind for a long time to come. Because that is what you do in dark places, and despite my first impressions, it turns out it was a dark place.
From there, Sungmundang is the next part of the palace, the place where smaller royal functions happened. This is where the banquets and royal marketing functions happened. Beside that building is a smaller pagoda-like structure. In that hanok pagoda there’s something that you don’t often see- a plaque/sign written in the king’s (Yeongjo in this case) own hand. It’s the name of the building written in Chinese characters. The sign is in red/brown ink on wood. It’s not all that remarkable looking, something you probably wouldn’t even notice if it weren’t made a big deal of. But, in general, a lot of writing done by kings tends to get lost to history. Their signature is sometimes the most we get, but here we have a more artistic artefact made by one. It’s such a simple thing as well, a sign that didn’t need to be done by the king. In fact, it’s not the only sign he made- in another section, a sign he wrote for the birth hall for his birth existed. This king liked to leave his mark on the spaces he lived in and, in many ways, helped create.
One final aspect of Sungmundang hall is how it plays into the geography of the area. Changgyeonggung is built in a space that has some small hills and knolls. The builders decided to play into this by making the biggest hall here look like it’s built on that sloped ground (when it’s actually flat). The foundation stone’s base and front columns are built high while those in the back were extra low. It’s an optical illusion and it’s an effective one. The building really does look like it’s built up into a hill. It’s another feature rather unique to this palace and unlike most of them, it’s one you notice right off the bat. It’s a small reminder that, despite being less flashy, this is still a palace worth seeing. It’s not the same old, same old. It was a good walk around, one that I really enjoyed.
The next part you wander through is, collectively, the living areas of the palaces, the women’s area in particular. There are three areas, each with main buildings but lacking the side buildings found in the administration areas of the palace. Since women weren’t technically supposed to be involved in politics (actively anyway but whispering from the shadows was the name of the game for women throughout history), these are all basically living areas. One is the area where the royal women lived their lives, from giving birth to dying, a circle of life that is rather poetic if you ask me. For the in between parts of that life, the king and prince’s residences were close by, making marital affairs easy access. This was where royal women lived most of their life and where they were seen to by female royal physicians. And yes, that fact threw me a bit as well. I didn’t expect women in the 1500s to be official doctors. I’m so used to the way medieval European women had (a lack of) opportunities that I didn’t even think about the potential difference in medieval Korea until I read all about it in the guidebook (a note- always take a guidebook they offer you at the entrance). But yes, there were women trained and respected as official medical professionals during the Joseon Dynasty (even if not as respected as the male ones). The reason was it was considered improper for women, especially royal women, to be examined by men. They still needed medical care, so recruiting other women was the logical answer. It was hard work and a great honour because the future of the royal family could rest on their shoulders. It also must have been a lot of pressure to be under and I tip my hat to all those medical professionals (past and present). But it must have been enticing, this opportunity to be outside the traditional role laid out for women in their society. How many of them took it to escape expectations and how many had a genuine passion for medicine and healing? Of all the women who devoted their life to medicine during the Joseon dynasty, there was only one who became royal physician to the king himself. Her name was Dae Janggeum and she rose to prominence after she delivered the queen’s baby and cured the dowager queen’s illness. That earned her the eternal gratitude and confidence of the king, who decided she was the best one for the job of caring for him. This caused an uproar, of course, but he just waved it off and she remained his doctor until his death. I am always here for women being awesome and here’s an example that’s interesting to share, because Dae Janggeum wasn’t an out and out badass. She wasn’t out there kicking butt or fighting for something but taking care of others. She climbed the professional ladder to the highest she could go and was a boss doing it. I love to share stories of lesser known women, ones who usually wouldn’t be at the top of the ‘most interesting women in history’ lists that litter the internet.
A hop, skip, and a jump away from the royal residences is that of the royal concubines. The actual structure is neat because of its shape. Unlike a couple of hanok buildings close together, there is only one building and it’s almost a squareish figure eight. It’s two buildings together, an entrance area that is then two separate sections that are basically sealed in hallways and an outside courtyard in the middle, hidden from sight. It’s an interesting building design, one that really contrasts with the others. It’s a building that conjures up images of elegant women, hidden away in their own world, away from prying eyes. This is in no way the truth of the building (and probably based on thirty years of consuming Orientalist flavoured media). The building is actually rather plain, shape aside, and was used as more than just sexy quarters. These women just lived there, some raised children there, and a number of those children came back to just hang out. They even did a bit of work there. It was just a place, even if it was a particularly cool looking one. Living up to one stereotype, however, is the general area was home to plenty of intrigue.
A king falling for a lady-in-waiting, her having his child, him trying to make that son heir over the kid with his wife, making the concubine queen, the original queen’s followers putting her back on the throne, the new queen demoted and then cursing the original queen via puppets and dead animals, and then being forced to commit suicide by poison after being found out? Check. Another king claiming he didn’t trust the medical staff and dying fifteen days later, using his last words implicating his queen (and political opponent) in poisoning him? Also check. I want an HBO budget series for all these things. Changgyeonggung has homed so much intrigue and mystery that would make amazing television.
Close by all these residences is my favourite area of the palace. The day I went to the palace was a crisp fall day, cold enough for sweaters but still nice enough that it was still comfortable to spend a few hours outside. This cool day was the perfect time to explore because it meant that the leaves were all out in full colour. Bright oranges, glowing yellows, searing reds- all the fall foliage was decorating the trees throughout the palace. The best place to see them was around Chundangji Pond. The pond is divided into two sections, a larger square one and a smaller round section, divided by a small stone bridge. This used to be the centre piece of the royal garden, though a lot of the garden no longer exists. You can walk all around the pond and it’s lovely. There were weeping willows all around the water’s edge. The occasional breeze would pop up and the branches would rustle majestically as they swayed like a curtain. It was beautiful and relaxing, even with the murmuring of the crowd around me providing background noise. My friend and I took our time here, just enjoying the stroll. I understand why the royals of the past spend their leisure time here. It was a lovely spot, perfect for a fall day. There was a small island in the middle of the big pond with twisty evergreen trees covering it. In one corner were old rice paddies. It’s clear that these aren’t actually used. It’s an odd addition to a pleasure garden because cultivating rice is hard work. Why put it here? Who was even using it? Was there actual farming in the palace, and for who? The paddies were small -there would only be a handful of shoots per row- and the yield would never be enough to feed people. Those were the questions that ran through my mind as we walked around. The answer turned out it was the king, it was his private rice paddy, it wasn’t actually going to be feeding anyone, and it was symbolic. The king was expected to toil like his subjects, so that he could understand, and the gods were more likely to hear his prayers for a good harvest (the queen raised silkworms for the same reason). Which, that’s a very rich person thing to do (working eleven rice paddies isn’t exactly toiling in the field on a hot day), but that’s symbolism for you. It’s symbolism that means enough that, once the Japanese took over, they dismantled the paddies and turned the pond into a boating pool and botanical garden. Taking away the symbolism of a conquered people is colonialism 101 and taking away the king’s ‘way’ to helping his country is one way to chip away the identity of a people. Taking out the rice paddies wasn’t the only thing the Japanese took over and changed in the palace. They built a greenhouse at the end of the pond. Unlike other parts that the Japanese added to the palace (they razed an area of offices to the ground and turned it into a zoo. The zoo was demolished quickly after restorations post Korean independence), the greenhouse is still there. It’s a white building, made mostly of windows, and off the main path and behind some trees. I didn’t go inside (it was a bit of a way away from the main trail, and the pond was such a nice walk that I didn’t feel the need to deviate away). The building itself was still pretty cool, because it’s a starkly modern and sleek building in the middle of all this tradition. We continued around the pond and just followed the path.
Eventually we wandered past the buildings and into the far emptier part of the palace complex. It’s mostly trees here and there as you followed the blue/red paper lanterns lining the path up and down. There were some statues here and there, but it seemed pretty empty, especially when you compare it to all the front areas of the palace. It’s because a lot of the palace is gone, with only painted maps left to show how it once was. Lots of it is just gone, because of time, fire, occupation, and the palace becoming less prominent. Entire swaths of buildings are gone or been repurposed into Changdeokgung Palaces (which was a wild thought, since it meant I had already been there without realizing it). They had the occasional sign that would have a picture of an old map that showed the old layout, including all the missing buildings and natural areas. It gives you a good hint at the expanse of the place in its heyday. It really makes you wish you could see it in all its glory, just snap back in time for a moment to see Changgyeonggung as it once was. It’s a loss, maybe one that will be restored through restoration work further down the road, but I’m glad we have what’s there. While the buildings are gone, there are still things to see along the emptier paths. At the top of one hill there’s a cluster of statues (or least they seem to be jut statues at first). The first and biggest one is a stone pillar with a rocket-like point at the top that’s surrounded by a stone fence. It’s not all that large -smaller than me- and not all that wide either. It reminded me of how traditional burial mounds are designed, with the pillar standing where the mound would usually be. This is the monument where they would bury/store the placenta of a future king. I fully remember standing beside it, reading the little information plaque, and going ‘huh’. It’s certainly one of the odder things I’ve come across in my travels. Right beside it is a memorial tablet. They’re always designed with a rounded top, rectangle middle space where the writing would be chiseled in, and then the base is usually a turtle. That’s nothing new, but the design of this particular one still stands out in my mind as one of the most adorable things. In general, if you see an art depiction of a turtle in Korea, you came away asking yourself if the artist has ever seen a real turtle before. They are designed as some weird mixture hybrid of a lion/snake that has a turtle’s shell. It’s not only kind of weird looking, but rather terrifying. It is something that would send you screaming in the other direction if you happened to come across one in the wild. So that is what is usually holding up the tablet, but not here. No, this tablet is on the back of a turtle, a real looking turtle. It’s normal proportions and rounded edges, and to be honest, looks like a turtle out of a cartoon. I adored it for being different and then fell a little in love with it because it is the happiest looking turtle in all Korea. It has this dopey looking smile on its face, like it’s one of those surfer dude turtles from the film Finding Nemo. Words cannot express how delightful that happy little face made me. When I noticed it, I had to point it out right away and gush a bit about how cute it was. I think my friend thought I was nuts, but I stand by my opinion. I want a stuffed animal version of that turtle.
The last two things to see there were practical tools, at least once upon a time. The first was an old-fashioned sundial on a pedestal and then a stone used to indicate the speed and direction of the wind. The sundial was a large black bowl with a line sticking through the middle to measure the shadows. It’s not the sun dial design I’m most used to, but I was still able to figure it out at first glance. The second one threw me for more of a loop. There’s a tall stone pillar, carved as a thick octagon. It’s made taller by being on a podium as well. Curvy patterns are carved all over it for decoration and there’s a finger sized hole about a quarter of the ways down from the top. There’s a metal pole out the top. I’m not going to lie- I still have no idea how it actually works. My best guess is that the air blows through the hole near the top and makes it spin. However, that’s only my best guess and I wouldn’t put money on it. The stone looks like it’s cemented onto the podium and it wasn’t windy enough to set the wind gage off anyway. Therefore, I have no idea if I am just 100% off in my estimation or maybe it’s now glued down because it’s no longer in use. It shall remain a mystery, I guess, since the sign that said what it was (I never would have figured it out myself) but not how it worked.
After passing through there, there wasn’t much new to see. The path that takes you back to the entrance continued past a few more buildings here and there, but there weren’t any more showstoppers. It was a good walk around and wasn’t one I felt the need to rush. I just enjoyed the calm of the day, something I really should do much more when I’m traveling. Changgyeonggung was a great place to take it slow. It would be easy to skip this palace in favour of the bigger ones, but you’d be missing out on something. Take a nice day, one you want to spend outside, and head there for a lovely walk. All the while you can take in some history, which is always a win in my book.
