Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Why Taking a Sick Day in Korea Isn’t That Simple
On paper, sick leave in Korea is straightforward. Employees are legally entitled to take time off when they’re unwell.
In practice, it’s much more complicated.
Sick Leave Exists… But It’s Not Used
Many workers, especially in education, feel pressure not to take sick days.
The reasons are both cultural and structural. Even though the law allows it, the workplace environment often discourages it. Teachers, in particular, are expected to keep working unless absolutely necessary.
That creates a gap between what the law says and what actually happens.
The Substitute Teacher Problem
In many private kindergartens, the system for substitute teachers barely functions.
If a teacher needs time off:
They may have to find their own replacement
They may have to pay for that replacement themselves
In some cases, there is no replacement available
In those situations, teachers often choose to work while sick rather than deal with the disruption.
Even when support systems exist, they are inconsistent. Out of 17 regional education offices, only a handful provide meaningful financial support for substitute teachers.
Cultural Pressure to Keep Working
There is also a strong social expectation to keep going, even when unwell.
Some teachers feel the need to apologize for taking time off by buying drinks or gifts for coworkers. Others worry about how they will be perceived by employers or parents.
The result is a system where people feel obligated to work through illness.
When the System Fails
A recent case brought national attention to this issue.
A kindergarten teacher in Bucheon was diagnosed with the flu and advised to rest. Instead, she continued working under pressure for several days.
Her condition worsened. She was eventually admitted to intensive care and passed away two weeks later.
Cases like this highlight how the gap between policy and reality can have serious consequences.
Calls for Change
There are now growing calls to reform the system.
One proposal is to require teachers to take sick leave when diagnosed with infectious illnesses, both for their own health and to protect students.
The Ministry of Education has begun reviewing the issue, and unions are pushing for stronger protections.
A System That Needs Fixing
Sick leave in Korea is not just a legal issue. It’s a cultural and structural one.
Until the systems around it improve, many workers will continue to face the same dilemma: take a day off and deal with the consequences, or keep working and risk their health.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
The Cherry Blossom Debate in Korea
Cherry blossoms are one of the most recognizable signs of spring in Korea. Every year, crowds gather in places like Yeouido, Jinhae, and Seokchon Lake to enjoy the brief bloom.
But behind the photos and festivals is a more complicated story. In Korea, cherry blossoms are not just seasonal. For some, they are still tied to history, identity, and unresolved questions about the past.
The “Cherry Blossom Ajosshi”
Every spring, a lone protester appears in Seoul.
Dressed entirely in white and often decorated with cherry blossom branches, he walks through crowded viewing areas holding signs with anti-cherry blossom and anti-Japan messages.
He argues that cherry blossoms are symbols of Japanese imperialism and should not be celebrated in Korea. His protests are not just about flowers but about history and politics.
Most people see him as an unusual figure, even a curiosity, while a smaller number sympathize with his message. Over time, he has become a recognizable part of the cherry blossom season itself.
Before Cherry Blossoms Became a Symbol
Cherry trees have long existed in Korea, especially in mountainous regions and on Jeju Island.
Historically, they were valued for practical purposes:
Bark used for bows and instruments
Wood used for tools
During the Joseon period, cherry trees were planted for military use, not for their flowers.
Unlike Japan, Korea did not develop a strong tradition of cherry blossom viewing. Cultural focus was placed on other plants, such as plum blossoms and chrysanthemums.
Colonial Planting and Changing Meaning
The widespread presence of cherry trees in Korean cities largely dates to the Japanese colonial period.
From 1910 to 1945, cherry trees were planted across Seoul and other cities, often in symbolic locations such as parks, roads, and near important cultural sites.
For some historians, this was more than landscaping. It was part of reshaping the visual environment of Korea during colonial rule.
As a result, cherry blossoms became associated with Japanese influence and, for some, still carry that meaning today.
After Liberation: Removal and Acceptance
After Korea regained independence in 1945, many cherry trees were removed.
However, complete removal was not possible. The trees had become deeply integrated into urban spaces.
Over time, they remained, and gradually, people began to accept them as part of the landscape.
The “Korean Cherry” Narrative
In the 20th century, a different idea emerged.
Some Korean scholars argued that cherry blossoms originated in Korea, particularly on Jeju Island. This helped reframe cherry blossoms as something Korean rather than foreign.
Later scientific studies complicated this narrative.
DNA research showed that Korean king cherry trees and Japanese cherry trees are genetically distinct. While they may look similar, they developed separately.
Modern Controversies
Today, opinions are divided.
Some see cherry blossoms as remnants of a difficult historical period. Others see them as nothing more than a seasonal flower.
There are also debates about whether to replace existing trees with native species or simply leave them as they are.
In practice, most people treat cherry blossom season as a time to enjoy the outdoors. The controversy exists, but it is often quieter than the crowds beneath the trees.
Joe’s brother at Hahoe Hanok Village
Cherry Blossoms Today
For many younger Koreans, cherry blossoms are no longer political.
They are associated with:
Spring outings
Social gatherings
Travel and photography
Efforts are being made to introduce more native cherry species into urban areas, but change is gradual.
Cherry blossoms in Korea now exist in multiple layers at once: as a natural feature, a historical reminder, and a modern cultural event.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
The Gwanghwamun Sign Debate: Hangul vs Hanja
Korea’s most famous gate is once again at the center of a familiar debate.
The question sounds simple: should the sign at Gwanghwamun be written in Hangul or Hanja? But behind that choice is a deeper conversation about history, identity, and how Korea presents itself to the world.
Why Gwanghwamun Used Hanja
For most of Korean history, written language relied on Chinese characters. Even after Hangul was created in the 15th century, Hanja remained dominant in official settings for centuries.
Important locations like Gwanghwamun used Hanja not just for practicality, but because it reflected Korea’s place within a broader East Asian cultural sphere.
The Role of Hangul Today
Hangul is now Korea’s primary writing system and a central part of national identity.
It is easier to read, more accessible, and better suited for modern Korean. For many people, using Hangul on major landmarks represents independence and clarity.
At the same time, replacing Hanja entirely raises questions about how much of the past should be preserved.
Why This Debate Keeps Coming Back
The Gwanghwamun sign has changed before. During the Park Chung-hee era, a Hangul version was used, showing that this isn’t a new issue.
Recently, the topic resurfaced after renewed public attention, possibly influenced by global interest in Korean culture.
That raises another question: are these decisions being driven by cultural values, or by modern branding?
A Question of Consistency
One of the biggest concerns is consistency.
If Korea moves toward Hangul for historical sites, should that apply everywhere? Selective changes can feel less like a principle and more like a temporary trend.
More Than Just a Sign
In the end, this debate isn’t just about language.
It’s about how Korea balances its history with its present identity. Hanja connects Korea to its past, while Hangul represents its modern voice.
The tension between the two is likely to continue—because both are still part of the story.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
This or That: Korea Edition – Food, Hiking, and Cultural Showdowns
Sometimes the best way to understand a place is not through a guidebook, but through the small choices people argue about.
This episode takes that idea and runs with it.
What started as a simple “This or That” game turns into a wide-ranging conversation about Korean food, hiking culture, cities, and history. Along the way, it reveals how personal preferences can say a lot about how people experience Korea.
Bukhan-san vs Inwang-san
The conversation starts in the mountains.
Bukhan-san stands out for its scale, depth, and variety of trails. It feels expansive, with enough routes to keep even regular hikers exploring for years.
Inwang-san, on the other hand, offers something different. It is smaller but culturally dense. Its proximity to the old city walls and historical sites gives it a strong sense of place.
The comparison is less about which is better and more about what kind of experience you want. Immersion in nature or immersion in history.
Bibimbap vs Boribap
Food debates get more personal.
Bibimbap is one of Korea’s most recognizable dishes, but even here, there are strong preferences. The sizzling version gets a lot of attention, but the traditional style without crispy rice has its own appeal.
Boribap, made with barley and rice, adds another layer. It is heartier, more textured, and often feels more satisfying as a full meal rather than a presentation piece.
What comes through clearly is that Korean food is not just about the dish itself, but how and why people choose to eat it.
Taxi Buffets vs Mountain Restaurants
This is where things get very local.
Taxi buffets sit on the edges of cities, built for drivers who need fast, filling meals. They are practical, efficient, and often overlooked by visitors.
Mountain restaurants are the opposite. Larger portions, rustic dishes, and a slower pace. These are places where the setting becomes part of the meal.
Both serve a purpose, but they represent completely different sides of everyday Korean dining culture.
Cooking at Home vs Eating Out
For long-term residents, this becomes a real question.
Cooking at home offers control, creativity, and a way to recreate dishes that are hard to find locally. It can also be a way to relax and reset.
Eating out, on the other hand, connects you to the rhythm of Korean life. It is social, convenient, and constantly changing.
The balance between the two says a lot about how someone has adapted to living in Korea.
Goryeo vs Joseon
History makes its way into the conversation as well.
The Goryeo period stands out for its artistic and cultural depth. It is often seen as more expressive and creatively rich.
The Joseon period, while more widely represented in modern Korea, carries a different tone with its structure and Confucian influence.
Choosing between them is less about accuracy and more about which version of Korea resonates more.
Seoul vs Busan
This might be the biggest divide.
Seoul offers scale, energy, and access to everything. It is where most people start and where much of modern Korea is concentrated.
Busan, though, has its own appeal. The combination of mountains, ocean, and a different food culture creates a slower, more relaxed experience that many people end up preferring.
It is not a clean win either way, but the contrast is revealing.
How Korea Has Changed
The conversation closes with a look at how Korea has evolved over the past couple of decades.
There is nostalgia for an earlier period that felt rougher and more experimental. At the same time, there is recognition that food quality and ingredients have improved significantly.
Like many places, Korea has become more polished. Whether that is a gain or a loss depends on what you value.
Final Thoughts
A simple game turns into something more.
These choices are not just about preference. They reflect how people move through Korea, what they notice, and what they hold onto.
And once you start thinking about it, you may find yourself making your own list.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Pet Burial in Korea: Why You Can’t Bury Your Pet
Pet graves are common in many parts of the world. Some pet cemeteries exist alongside human graveyards, while others are located on family land. In some countries, pets are even buried beside their owners.
In Korea, however, this is extremely rare.
During years of exploring cemeteries across the country, Shawn Morrissey has only encountered pets buried with humans once. The burial was almost certainly illegal, and the location remains undisclosed.
So why are pet burials so uncommon in Korea?
The Rise of Pet Ownership in Korea
Pet ownership in Korea has grown quickly in recent years. Government data suggests about 25 percent of households had pets in 2022. By 2025, that number had climbed to around 30 percent.
Dogs are by far the most common pets, especially small breeds like Maltese and Shih Tzus that fit well in apartment living. Cats, once widely disliked in Korea, have also grown increasingly popular.
Older generations often associated cats with bad luck or evil spirits. Today, however, many people feed and care for street cats, and younger Koreans increasingly treat pets as family members.
Despite this cultural shift, Korea’s legal system has not fully adapted to the new reality.
The Surprising Law About Pet Burial
One of the most surprising facts for many pet owners is that burying a pet in Korea is illegal.
Random burial and unlicensed cremation are prohibited by law. Animal remains, including cremated ashes, are legally classified as waste.
In practical terms, this means that a pet’s body can legally be placed in a standard household trash bag and incinerated along with other waste.
For many people, this idea is emotionally disturbing. Animal rights groups have argued that pets should no longer be treated legally as objects or waste.
Instead, they advocate recognizing animals as living beings, which would require specialized handling of remains similar to human funerary practices.
The Reality of Pet Cremation
Because burial options are limited, private cremation has become the most common alternative.
Pet cremation facilities offer services that often resemble human funerals. Families may gather in a private room where their pet is displayed in a small coffin surrounded by flowers.
Shawn described his experience cremating one of his pets, Cloudy, at a crematorium in Paju. The facility provided a private room with comfortable seating and an altar. Cloudy’s photo was displayed beside the coffin, and the family was given time alone to say goodbye.
After cremation, the remains were processed and the bones turned into small beads that could be kept as memorial objects.
Shawn later went through a similar experience with Lakota, a much larger dog weighing more than 30 kilograms. Due to Lakota’s size, the crematorium had to use a larger cremation chamber.
These services provide closure for families, but they can also be expensive and difficult to access.
The Accessibility Problem
One major issue with pet funeral services in Korea is location.
There are roughly 80 licensed facilities nationwide, but none within Seoul itself. The closest major facility is in the Ilsan area.
Considering that Seoul alone contains roughly 20 percent of the country’s population, this lack of access creates significant challenges for many pet owners.
Local opposition often prevents new facilities from opening. Residents frequently argue that funeral services could lower nearby land values.
If communities sometimes resist building schools for children with disabilities, opposition to pet crematoriums is even stronger.
Why Pets Cannot Be Buried in Human Cemeteries
Many pet owners wonder why pets cannot simply be buried alongside their humans.
The answer likely lies in older cultural traditions.
In Confucian burial practices, ancestral graves are tied to family lineage and ritual obligations known as myoje. These rites historically applied only to human ancestors.
Animals, even beloved pets, were traditionally excluded from these rituals. As a result, burial customs developed that strictly separated humans and animals.
However, this cultural boundary is beginning to soften as younger generations view pets differently.
The Future of Pet Burial in Korea
Attitudes toward animals in Korea continue to evolve.
Today, many people see pets not as property but as family members. Surveys suggest strong public support for allowing pets to be buried with their owners.
Shawn conducted an informal survey on Instagram asking whether pets should be allowed in human cemeteries. Nearly 90 percent of respondents supported the idea.
If public opinion continues shifting, Korea may eventually revise its laws and funeral practices to reflect this changing relationship between humans and animals.
For now, however, the gap between cultural sentiment and legal reality remains wide.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
SEAblings vs. K-netz: What a K-pop Concert Revealed About Regional Tensions in Korea
A Day6 concert in Kuala Lumpur on January 31, 2026 should have ended as just another night of fandom. Instead, it became a flashpoint.
When Korean fansites were seen using DSLR cameras despite venue rules banning them, Southeast Asian fans pushed back. Within hours, the dispute spread across X, Threads, TikTok, and Instagram. What began as a question of fairness became a regional argument about hierarchy, nationalism, and who gets to criticize whom.
This episode explores what the SEAblings vs. K-netz conflict reveals about deeper structural tensions between South Korea and Southeast Asia.
The Concert That Lit the Fuse
At Axiata Arena in Kuala Lumpur, venue rules clearly prohibited professional cameras. Local fans reported strict enforcement. Yet several Korean fansites appeared to be openly using DSLRs with telephoto lenses.
A Malaysian fan recorded the incident. The video went viral.
Initially, the complaint was straightforward: if locals would be removed for violating rules, why were foreign fans treated differently?
The reaction from some Korean netizens reframed the issue. The focus shifted to the fansite’s privacy, accusations of harassment, and eventually to broader statements about Southeast Asian fans and culture.
From Camera Rules to Cultural Hierarchy
Insults escalated quickly.
Some online comments described Southeast Asian fans in dismissive or condescending terms. In response, SEAblings highlighted Korean social problems including suicide rates, extreme academic pressure, plastic surgery culture, and low fertility.
The dispute stopped being about cameras. It became about respect.
Confucian Hierarchy and the Mental Ladder
South Korean society developed within a Confucian framework emphasizing senior-junior roles and hierarchical order.
Although legal class systems disappeared, relational habits remained:
• Deference to those higher in status • Expectation of gratitude from those perceived as lower • Discomfort when hierarchy is inverted
When Southeast Asian fans publicly criticized Korean behavior, it disrupted an assumed order. For some Korean netizens, this felt like juniors correcting seniors.
Minjok National Identity and “One People”
Modern Korean ethnic nationalism, rooted in late 19th-century reinterpretations of the Dangun myth and reinforced during the Park Chung-hee era, promoted the idea of a unified “one people.”
In a multicultural era, that narrative creates friction:
• Mixed-heritage children face discrimination • Marriage migrants are treated as conditional insiders • Migrant workers remain structurally marginalized
K-pop is often framed as uniquely Korean, even though it relies heavily on foreign idols and international songwriters. When outsiders critique Korean behavior, it can feel like an attack on national identity itself rather than a normal disagreement within a global fandom.
Development Pride and Regional Perception
South Korea’s rapid economic rise reshaped how it views itself. The country moved from war-torn poverty to OECD membership in one generation.
This success created what some describe as ladder thinking:
• Western nations at the top • Korea climbing upward • Southeast Asia positioned lower on the development scale
When language in the DSLR dispute referenced “third-world” stereotypes, it reflected this internalized hierarchy.
Beyond Fandom: Marriage, Labor, and School
The same patterns visible in the concert dispute appear elsewhere.
Marriage migration Rural Korean men marrying women from Southeast Asia, often with expectations of gratitude and adjustment.
Migrant labor Workers tied to employers under restrictive visa systems, facing documented cases of exploitation and unsafe housing.
Multicultural children Students bullied for darker skin or foreign parentage, despite being born and raised in Korea.
The concert controversy compressed these broader dynamics into a viral moment.
Can the Narrative Shift?
Activists continue pushing for comprehensive anti-discrimination legislation in South Korea. NGOs support migrant workers and multicultural families. Scholars increasingly analyze hierarchical multiculturalism and regional prejudice.
Online fandom spaces amplify nationalism. They also create space for resistance and dialogue.
The SEAblings vs. K-netz conflict may not be remembered for DSLR cameras. It may be remembered as a moment when Southeast Asian fans openly questioned the expectation of gratitude and asked for equal respect.
Conclusion
A single concert violation revealed more than bad etiquette. It exposed underlying tensions in how Korea understands development, identity, and regional relationships.
The question moving forward is whether cultural export can coexist with cultural humility and mutual respect.
With the grass dead, snakes gone, and sightlines open, this is when Korea’s hillside cemeteries quietly reveal their stories. In this episode, Joe and Shawn talk about what they see every year while wandering through Korean burial grounds: traditional mounds and stone guardians, Christian symbols mixed with Confucian motifs, rare Western-style graves, pet burials, collective graves, and the occasional unsettling sign of vandalism.
This isn’t a guide to death rituals. It’s an exploration of how memory, belief, class, and modern pressure quietly reshape how Koreans remember the dead.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Winter Is Cemetery Season in Korea
In Korea, winter is the best time to visit cemeteries. Vegetation dies back, snakes disappear, and graves that are inaccessible in summer suddenly become visible.
Every year, this is when patterns emerge. Some are ancient. Others are surprisingly modern.
Table of Contents
The Structure of a Traditional Korean Grave
Most Korean graves are mounded, usually circular or rectangular. Modern graves tend to favor rectangular shapes.
Common stone elements include: – Honyuseok, the offering stone – Mangjuseok, guardian stones often carved with animals – Hyangnoseok, the incense stone – Stone flower vases
Stone lanterns, known as jangmyeongdeung, are much rarer today and often appear decorative rather than functional.
Symbols Carved in Stone
Motifs matter. Common designs include: – Rose of Sharon – Bamboo – Chrysanthemums
Mangjuseok often feature squirrels, symbols of diligence and abundance. Tigers are rare. Dragons are even rarer. Finding a tiger on one side and a dragon on the other is almost unheard of.
Cremation, Columbariums, and Modern Reality
Cremation is now the most common funerary practice in Korea. Burial is not illegal, but it is discouraged and tightly regulated.
Columbariums, both indoor and outdoor, are widespread. Other options exist, including communal ash burial and memorial stones, but traditional mounds still dominate the landscape.
When Styles Collide: Rare and Unusual Graves
Occasionally, a grave breaks every expectation.
One example discussed in the episode belongs to a young Korean woman born in the late 1940s who died in Hawaii in the mid-1970s. Her grave features: – No mound – A flat stone slab – Traditional Korean stone markers – A Western-style headstone – Bilingual inscriptions in Korean and broken English
This blending of traditions is exceptionally rare in Korea.
The Brief Experiment With Flat Graves
In the 1990s, Korea briefly experimented with flat, lawn-level gravestones similar to those common in the United States.
The result was poor maintenance. Stones tilted, ground sank, and sites aged badly. The practice never caught on and remains uncommon today.
Christian Graves and Blended Belief
Christian motifs are surprisingly common in Korean cemeteries.
Crosses, images of Mary or Christ, and carved Bible verses appear regularly. Psalms are most common, though verses from the Book of John have been seen.
Many Christian graves still include traditional elements like honyuseok or mangjuseok. These are rarely used ritually, but remain as cultural markers rather than religious ones.
Pet Graves and Collective Burials
Pet columbariums exist, but pets buried near human graves are unusual. When they appear, they stand out immediately.
Collective graves are becoming more common, though they often surprise visitors unfamiliar with Korean burial practices.
Chinese-Korean (Hwagyo) Graves
Hwagyo graves, belonging to Chinese Koreans often from Shandong, appear in specific sections of public cemeteries. These communities have maintained burial traditions more consistently than many Korean families.
When Graves Look Disturbed
Vandalism in cemeteries is rare, but it does happen.
Sometimes it is not random. Scratched lettering, displaced stone caps, or unusual piles of rocks may suggest family conflict rather than outsiders. Cemeteries can preserve resentment as clearly as reverence.
What Cemeteries Quietly Reveal
Korean cemeteries are not static places. They reflect migration, religion, class, modern pressure, and shifting ideas of memory.
Winter simply makes it easier to see.
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South Korea became a super-aged society in 2025. The effects are showing up everywhere, but nowhere more visibly than on the roads.
In this episode, Joe and Shawn talk about the sharp rise in accidents involving elderly drivers, including several deadly incidents in Seoul and beyond. They dig into the numbers, the government’s largely ineffective license return programs, and why simply telling seniors to stop driving ignores deeper issues like poverty, work necessity, and isolation.
This is not a blame episode. It’s about how Korea went from automatic respect for elders to open ageism, and how fear-driven policy risks making the problem worse instead of safer.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Table of Contents
Seniors Behind the Wheel: Korea’s Driving Dilemma
South Korea officially became a super-aged society in 2025. That shift has triggered urgent questions about labor, welfare, and healthcare. But one of the most immediate and visible problems is happening on the streets.
Elderly drivers are involved in more accidents than ever, and the conversation around them has turned sharp, emotional, and often deeply ageist.
Recent Accidents That Shook Public Confidence
Several high-profile crashes have pushed the issue into daily headlines.
In January, a taxi driven by a man in his late seventies jumped a curb near Jonggak Station, killing one pedestrian and injuring fifteen. He was not intoxicated, but had taken cold medicine known to cause drowsiness.
In November 2025, a truck driven by a man in his late sixties plowed through shoppers at Bucheon’s Jeil Market, killing two and injuring nineteen.
In July 2024, another elderly driver went the wrong way near City Hall, mounted a sidewalk, and killed nine pedestrians.
Each incident intensified public anger and fear, often directed at seniors as a group rather than at systemic failures.
What the Numbers Actually Say
According to the Korea Transportation Safety Authority, accidents involving drivers aged 65 and older rose from 31,072 in 2020 to 42,369 in 2024.
Their share of total accidents increased from 14.8 percent to 21.5 percent. Elderly drivers also consistently record the highest fatality rate, more than 40 percent higher than the next age group.
In 2024 alone, 761 people were killed in crashes caused by elderly drivers, roughly 30 percent of all traffic deaths.
Reaction time, cognitive decline, and situational awareness are contributing factors, but they do not exist in isolation.
Why Seniors Keep Driving
The government encourages elderly drivers to voluntarily return their licenses. Seoul offers transportation credits worth 200,000 won to drivers aged 70 and over. Other regions provide taxi vouchers.
The result is a return rate of just over 2 percent since 2020.
The reason is simple. Many seniors cannot afford to stop driving.
Korea’s elderly poverty rate stands at nearly 40 percent, double the OECD average. Many seniors still work in agriculture, delivery, recycling, and informal labor. Vehicles are tools, not luxuries.
Taking away licenses without providing real alternatives risks cutting off livelihoods.
The Rise of Ageism
Korean society has swung hard from Neo-Confucian respect for elders to open suspicion and blame. Seniors are increasingly framed as incompetent, dangerous, and disposable.
Research shows ageism worsens physical and mental health, increases loneliness, and can even shorten life expectancy. Policies built on fear rather than support risk creating new social crises.
Possible Solutions Beyond Blame
Experts suggest following Japan’s lead. Japan introduced stricter safety systems, mandatory vehicle features that prevent sudden acceleration, and conditional licenses.
Other proposals include: – Annual cognitive screenings instead of three-year cycles – Conditional licenses for daytime or local-area driving – Using national health data to assess driving fitness – Substantial transport subsidies that actually replace driving
The goal is not punishment. It is risk reduction without abandoning people who still need to survive.
A Problem With No Simple Answer
Korea’s elderly driving issue sits at the intersection of safety, poverty, dignity, and demographic reality.
Taking away keys is easy. Building a system that protects everyone without deepening inequality is much harder.
In Part 2 of Where Have All the Soju Tents Gone, Joe and Shawn trace how Seoul’s soju tents went from survival spaces to cultural nuisances, then to nostalgic props. From Olympic-era crackdowns and hired enforcers to violent evictions, gentrification, and sanitized “sensibility pocha streets,” this episode looks at how modernization erased a vital part of everyday life.
This isn’t a story about food. It’s about power, class, gender, and who gets to stay visible in a global city.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Table of Contents
Gentrification, Crackdowns, and Plastic Nostalgia
By the mid-1980s, life in South Korea was finally stabilizing.
Economic growth brought electricity, running water, and beer to neighborhoods that once relied on soju tents as social lifelines. And then Seoul decided it wanted to look modern.
That decision changed everything.
Olympics, Image, and the Beginning of the End
The 1986 Asian Games and the 1988 Seoul Olympics triggered a new obsession with global image. Roads were widened. Streets were cleaned. “Environmental beautification” became policy.
Pojangmacha were suddenly reframed as problems.
They were accused of illegal road occupation, poor sanitation, criminal activity, even being responsible for the smell of the Han River. Most of these claims were exaggerated or outright false, but they worked.
The real issue was visibility. Orange plastic tents didn’t fit the image of a global city.
Violent Urban Displacement
Local governments didn’t just regulate vendors. They hired private security firms, known as yongyeok, to remove them.
Chains were cut. Carts were flipped. Equipment was smashed while police stood by. This wasn’t enforcement. It was displacement.
The same firms reappeared across districts under different names, avoiding accountability while securing new contracts. This pattern repeated throughout Seoul.
The Myth of “Unfair Competition”
Brick-and-mortar restaurants complained that pojangmacha didn’t pay rent or taxes.
What they didn’t mention was that most restaurants closed early, while soju tents served people after midnight. Vendors also had far less stability, never knowing if they’d be allowed to open the next night.
Restaurant associations had power. Street vendors didn’t. Governments listened accordingly.
Nostalgia After Destruction
After the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis, something strange happened.
Pojangmacha returned in the public imagination, not as infrastructure, but as nostalgia. They became symbols of sorrow, failed fathers, laid-off workers, and quiet resilience.
K-dramas embraced them as shorthand for exhaustion and vulnerability. Romantic confessions happened over soju. Breakups unfolded under plastic tarps. A brick-and-mortar bar could never do that work.
Demolition as Policy
In December 2000, Bangbae-dong’s famous pocha village was demolished. Others followed at Seokchon Lake and Misari.
Crackdowns escalated.
A crackdown in Anyang in 2003 involved thugs showing their genitalia to vendors and threatening them.
In 2007, 200 hired enforcers destroyed stalls in Goyang. A vendor whose family livelihood was wiped out hanged himself the next day.
In November 2014, less than one month after Anthony Bourdain filmed his show “Parts Unknown” at a pojangmacha in Gangnam, Seoul’s newly elected “progressive” mayor Park Won-soon broke a signed agreement with vendors and had thugs trash their stands.
In 2016, Ahyeon-dong Pocha Street was dismantled after complaints from residents of newly built apartments. Vendors who believed they were legal were dragged out. Structures collapsed. Citizens were injured.
Sanitized Survival
Today, Seoul corrals remaining vendors into designated zones with standardized booths and permits. The result looks like preservation, but feels like a museum.
Brick-and-mortar “pocha-style” bars are booming, selling nostalgia without the vulnerability. Most real pojangmacha were run by elderly women and couples. Their disappearance mirrors broader class and gender politics in the city.
What Remains
Despite constant removal, pojangmacha refuse to vanish entirely.
Recent crackdowns, like the 2025 Konkuk University Station incident, have sparked renewed backlash. The anger isn’t just about culture. It’s about method, violence, and dignity.
This story isn’t over. But it’s no longer about saving soju tents.
For decades, the pojangmacha was the last line of defense against going home hungry, broke, or blackout drunk. It was cheap, social, messy, and human. And then it slowly disappeared.
In Part 1 of Where Have All the Soju Tents Gone, we trace the origins of the pojangmacha from Japanese yatai and Joseon-era taverns to its explosion after the Korean War. We talk about why these tents mattered, who ran them, what people ate there, and why they became one of the most important informal social spaces in modern Korean history.
This is not just a story about street food dying. It is a story about how Seoul systematically removed the spaces that ordinary people built for themselves.
Angel Earl Joel Bonomini Devon Hiphner Gabi Palomino Steve Marsh Eva Sikora Hunter Winter Cecilia Löfgren Dumas Ashley Wright Edward Bradford Boram Yoon Chad Struhs Stewart MacMillan Louise Dreisig
Table of Contents
There is no Waffle House in Korea. And for decades, the pojangmacha filled that role.
The pojangmacha was never just a food stall. It was a place where students, laborers, office workers, and drunks sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing soju, stories, and exhaustion. It was cheap, warm, and open when everything else was closed. And then it slowly disappeared.
This is the first part of a two-part exploration of how Seoul lost one of its most important everyday spaces.
What Is a Pojangmacha?
A pojangmacha is a mobile street food tent, traditionally made of a simple frame, a vinyl or canvas cover, folding shelves, and plastic stools. It serves simple food and alcohol late into the night.
But socially, it functioned as something much bigger. It was a pressure valve. A meeting point. A place where hierarchy softened and strangers talked.
Origins: From Yatai to Jumak
The modern pojangmacha grew out of two traditions.
The first was Japanese yatai culture, mobile food stalls that date back to the Edo period. The second was the Joseon-era jumak, roadside taverns that served travelers and locals.
By the 1930s, Korean-style stalls began appearing near factories, docks, and train stations. They sold gukbap, noodles, fish cakes, and cheap liquor to workers finishing long shifts.
Post-War Explosion and Survival Economy
After liberation and the Korean War, pojangmacha spread rapidly across Korean cities.
Post-war refugees and the urban poor converted carts and wagons into cooking stations. These stalls became a social safety net for people with little money and few options.
North Korean refugee food reshaped menus. Mul-naengmyeon, sundae, bindaetteok, buckwheat jelly, dumplings, and later Busan-style seafood entered the pojangmacha world. This was not culinary innovation for tourists. It was survival cooking.
What People Ate and Drank
Early menus included items most people today would never expect.
Alcohol was sold in small amounts. Soju by the glass. Makgeolli by the bottle. Food was salty on purpose.
Many stalls had no formal names. Places were known by nicknames like Wangdaepo or Seontangjip. Daepo referred to a large glass, not a brand.
Menus have barely changed since the 1980s. Pig’s feet, chicken gizzards, grilled eel, live octopus, mussel soup, fish cake soup, kimbap, noodles, tteokbokki, and fried foods still dominate what remains.
The Physical Structure of the Tents
The structure stayed consistent for decades.
Originally, four wooden poles held up thick cotton fabric. Floors were wooden. Walls were made from scrap materials. Lighting came from carbide lanterns, whose smell and sound became part of the atmosphere.
Over time, wooden poles became metal. Floors became vinyl. Carbide lanterns gave way to incandescent bulbs, then fluorescent lights, then LEDs. The form stayed the same. The materials modernized.
Who Ran the Pojangmacha
Most pojangmacha were run by women.
There was often no running water or sewage. Dishwashing and handwashing were improvised. Clean dishes were sometimes covered with clear plastic bags. Hygiene existed in practice, not regulation.
Despite this, the stalls were trusted. People returned night after night.
Pojangmacha During Authoritarian Korea
In the 1970s, pojangmacha became informal refuges during authoritarian rule.
Rapid industrialization, centralized power, and economic pressure weighed heavily on ordinary people. At night, workers gathered on wooden benches, drank together, and talked.
These stalls became vital communication spaces in a society where open speech was limited. Stories, frustrations, and solidarity flowed across plastic tables.
This role was captured in Park No-hae’s poetry, where the pojangmacha appears as a place where resentment melts and people become human again after work.
Modernization and the Beginning of the End
By the mid-1980s, Korea’s economy stabilized. Electricity and water reached new districts. Beer appeared on menus. Upscale stalls emerged.
Suddenly, pojangmacha were no longer seen as survival infrastructure. They were framed as problems.
They were labeled illegal road occupation. Unsanitary. Smelly. Dangerous. Unsightly. Brick-and-mortar businesses complained of unfair competition, despite not operating late at night.
Governments found it politically easier to remove informal vendors than to preserve them.
This Was a Policy Choice
The decline of the pojangmacha was not inevitable.
It was the result of deliberate policy decisions about what kind of city Seoul wanted to be, and who it wanted visible within it.
This is not a story about nostalgia or food trends. It is a story about power, space, and whose lives are allowed to leave a mark on the city.
In Part 2, we will look at crackdowns, gentrification, media romanticization, and what replaced the soju tents after they were pushed out.
