Geo Urbanism

Hello, citizens! Today, I'm here to introduce you the Jeonnong-dong neighborhood, one of the few areas in Seoul with a relevance that has changed as dramatically as a rollercoaster ride. Initially, it was a land of agricultural importance, but it quickly transformed into the first focal point of the city's railway progress. This is the site of the Cheongnyangni Station, which connects Seoul with the eastern part of the country, and the first line of Seoul's subway system.

During the 1960s and 70s, this area was an epicenter of commerce until the city's rapid growth gradually reduce its importance, making it a neighborhood seemingly frozen in time. In the last decade, the government has invested significant efforts in modernizing the sector, yet its streets still retain an aura of authenticity.

The name of the neighborhood stems from the Joseon Dynasty, when these lands were designated for the King’s personal cultivation and named "Jeonnong" (전농). The grains produced here were sent to Jongmyo Shrine to be used in ancestral rites. After the Japanese occupation, the Japanese renamed this sector Jeonong-jeong within Gyeongseong-bu (the old name for Seoul). However, after liberation in 1945, the neighborhood was annexed to Dongdaemun and its name was changed to the current Jeonnong-dong.

Cheongnyangni station in 1970

Cheongnyangni Station, the heart of Jeonnong-dong

The story of Jeonnong-dong is, in many ways, the very history of South Korea's transportation. The first urban railway line departed from Cheongnyangni Station in 1974, which soon evolved into the current Seoul Subway Line 1. Even now, Cheongnyangni Station is a mega transfer station with six lines passing through it: Subway Line 1, Suin-Bundang Line, Gyeongwon Line, Gyeongchun Line, Gyeongui-Jungang Line, Jungang Line, and the KTX Gangneung Line.

According to records, the first tram began operating in the neighborhood in 1899. Passengers would get off at Cheongnyangni and take the tram to access the city wall. After the liberation from the Japanese in 1945, trams lost competitiveness with the arrival of buses and cars. In 1966, Mayor Kim Hyun-Ok championed the expansion of the city's vehicular and railway systems, and consequently, on November 30, 1968, the Cheongnyangni tram ceased operations.

First tram in Seoul

Following the tram's closure, the first underground subway line was inaugurated on August 15, 1974, with the goal of connecting Cheongnyangni Station with Seoul Station. This line is now the longest in the city, connecting the city of Suwon in the south and Uijeongbu in the north within a single region. The creation of this line had a huge impact on the country's economy and industry. Property prices around the subway stations skyrocketed, and the city’s structure and hierarchy were reorganized.

In the city's 1986 development plan, Jeonnong-dong was highlighted as a key sector for development along with Yeongdeungpo, Sinchon, and Miari.

Smalls pocket meeting points are currently scattered throughout the neighborhood

Soon, Jeonnong-dong became a trendy spot. Following the construction of the Lotte Department Store—or "the clock tower," as it was known in 1994—the neighborhood filled with fast-food restaurants like KFC and Burger King. The area was a source of pride, representing the first modern urban landscape for those arriving in Seoul by train from the outskirts. The station plaza also became a place for student gatherings, large demonstrations, and protests.

At the time of the visit, the plaza no longer seems to be a gathering point for young people, but rather a passageway or connection point between the station and nearby bus and subway lines. Some groups of seniors gather to chat and promote religion. However, the department store remains quite busy as it has a direct connection to the station's interior, generating a constant flow of travelers.

Jeonnong-dong, a Neighborhood full of controversy

Cheongnyangni 588: Seoul's largest red-light district

One of the reasons why the development of Jeonnong-dong was postponed until recently was the various controversies that began to emerge after its peak in popularity. One of them was the rise and expansion of one of the city's largest red-light districts, known as "Cheongnyangni 588."

Cheongnyangni 588 by google map archives

As occurred in many major world capitals in the 19th century, the convergence of socioeconomic factors around Cheongnyangni Station provided the perfect environment for the emergence of a red-light district. Moreover, during the Korean War, the station served as a transport center for South Korean troops, attracting women who "catered" to the soldiers. After the war ended, the area's economic boom, coupled with the dismantling of the red-light district in Seodaemun, led to the number of brothels serving lonely men traveling long distances exceeding 200.

Cheongnyangni 588 in Febreruary, 1983

The Cheongnyangni 588 red-light district (the origin of its name is unknown) consisted of a consecutive row of glass storefronts where women were displayed as if they were mannequins or 'Barbies in a box'. The displays were wide on the sides but narrow at the back and had a small door leading to a rear section with rooms on both sides called "beehives." Some middle-aged women would recruit single men in the station plaza to lure them into the businesses. Although people knew what was happening, they turned a blind eye, allowing the district to grow with considerable freedom.

The demolition of the district occurred in 2004 to make way for the "Lotte Castle Sky-L65" project. This is a 4-tower, 65-story mixed-use building that stands as a landmark in the northeast of Seoul. However, the stigma has been so significant that it has affected apartment prices, leading the Dongdaemun City Hall to push for changing the neighborhood's name to "Cheongnyang-dong" to shed its "red-light district" image.

Although there are currently no remnants of the red-light district in the neighborhood, it is common to see a look of disgust on people's faces when the sector is named. It is often seen as a dangerous neighborhood, full of contentious seniors or individuals with mental illnesses. In the alleys surrounding Jeonnong-dong, there are still a few small saunas where the elderly gather to chat or drink soju.

Small saunas can still be found scattered around the station.

An overdue renovation

Several chaebol groups (large industrial conglomerates) attempted to get involved in the area's development but without much success. The first was Hanhwa in 1993, which planned to convert the plaza in front of the station into a shopping mall but faced stiff opposition from the city council and local merchants. By 1997, renovation plans for the area were halted due to the IMF financial crisis.

On the way to Seoul University, there is a row of trendy shops for both young people and elderly, as well as traditional and young style restaurants. This shows the generational difference in the neighborhood.

The scarcity of resources and labor extended into the early millennium, prioritizing other important projects like the construction of the KTX at Seoul Station. Renovation projects restarted in 2004 but suffered many delays due to the simultaneous construction of the double-track electrification projects for the Gyeongchun and Jungang Lines. The postponements, which extended for over 30 years, resulted in unexpected "abandonment" by the local government and rejection from citizens in other Seoul neighborhoods.

In the back, The Sky Castle is being built

Since August 2010, the renovation of the station and its adjacent tracks began, and the Sky Castle project was built in an attempt to renew its image. For the coming years, the construction of 4 new lines is expected to increase the sector's attractiveness: the Great Train Express (GTX-B) line (from Songdo to Maseok); the GTX-C line (from Deokjeong to Suwon); the Myeonmok line (from Cheongnyangni to Sinnae-dong); and the Gangbuk Cross-sectional line (from Cheongnyangni to Mokdong).

The University of Seoul, the brain on Jeonnong-dong

In the center of Jeonnong-dong is the University of Seoul (서울시립대학교), the only point in the neighborhood where citizens can gather, enjoy nature, and get away from the hustle and bustle of the trains. This university began as a public agricultural school in 1918 under the supervision of the Governor-General of Korea and obtained its name, the Metropolitan University of Seoul, in 1973.

Initially, the university only had four departments: horticulture, veterinary medicine, agricultural engineering, and sericulture. However, the university is currently renowned for its programs in urban planning, transportation, civil engineering, and the environment. It is recognized for its participation in various urban and architectural development projects in the city.

Seoul's universities usually do not have modern buildings or grand architectural designs; however, the University of Seoul has become a reference point. Although it is not a large campus compared to other public universities, it is always undergoing constant change and renovation of its buildings.

One of the most emblematic buildings is the Faculty of Law and Sports. It is a large, glass-fronted building without a main entrance, which breaks spatial barriers while allowing fluid communication between the interior and exterior through a spacious plaza. The wooden platform in this plaza, conceived as a communication space, is now used as a rest area for both students and local residents. This modern building creates an interesting contrast with an adjoining brick building where art or scientific exhibitions are now held. This type of contrast can be appreciated throughout the Metropolitan University of Seoul campus.

Future Convergence Building

Another outstanding building is the recently inaugurated "Future Convergence Building," whose design is similar to the Amore Pacific building in Samgakji. The avant-garde design showcases the university's new vision in its centennial year, in addition to providing more open public spaces for the local community. This building is definitely the new face of the university and has recovered lost meeting spaces within the campus.

Baebongsan, the lungs of Jeonnong-dong

Behind the Metropolitan University of Seoul, you can walk to Baebongsan (배봉산). It is a small, nature-filled mountain with a trail of approximately 9 km. Originally, the mountain reached the Dapsimni neighborhood, but urban development cut it into three parts.

In the past, many royal tombs were located there before being relocated, which is why people used to bow to the mountain when passing by. It is a beautiful route surrounded by trees and perfect for running. Along the 9 km, there are badminton courts, a rabbit farm, climbing walls, an artificial waterfall, reading spaces, outdoor gyms, and some stone markers indicating the locations of the ancient tombs of the kings. There are also some exhibited remains of an old fortress that surrounded the mountain.

Urban Development in Jeonnong-dong

The neighborhood is mainly made up of single-family homes, low-rise buildings with one-room flats for students, some run-down hanok (traditional Korean houses), the "Remian Class T" apartment complex, some modern commercial premises and traditional Korean food establishments, and mixed-use premises.

The visual horizon consists of low-rise buildings with student “one rooms” and traditional single-family homes.

In the neighborhood, you can find these types of old hanoks that have been slightly modified.

The houses were built and improved over time, which resulted in the creation of narrow alleys and intersections. The population is mostly University of Seoul students and elderly residents, creating a stark contrast between the new and the old in the neighborhood.

There are also newer single-family homes.

The diversity of the houses creates intricate alleyways.

Some areas and facilities show more neglect than others, especially those near the train station. The neighborhood also has a small, old market where people gather and buy groceries.

Local market entrance

Around the market there are many street vendors, traditional restaurants, and various shops that cater to the needs of the elderly.

Healing urban scars beyond the surface

The history of Jeonnong-dong serves as a powerful reminder that a city is more than just its infrastructure; it is a living hub of memories, both glorious and painful. As we have seen, historical circumstances can leave deep scars on a neighborhood’s reputation, often overshadowing its immense potential as a socio-economic and cultural center and hiding a social problem is not the same as solving it.

For decades, the shadow of the red-light district stunted the growth of a sector that is the gateway to eastern Korea. Today, the arrival of luxury skyscrapers like Lotte Castle Sky-L65 attempts to "sanitize" the area’s image. But urban revitalization should not be about erasing the past to comfort the present. When we demolish a neighborhood to cover its history, we risk displacing the very soul of the community.

This struggle is not unique to Seoul. A striking comparison can be found in King’s Cross, London. Much like Jeonnong-dong, King’s Cross was once a massive industrial and transportation hub that fell into extreme decay. By the 1980s and 90s, it had become notorious for crime, poverty, and a visible red-light district.

Instead of purely "erasing" its gritty history with generic glass boxes, London opted for a mix of heritage preservation and social integration. They repurposed old Victorian industrial buildings (like the Coal Drops Yard) into vibrant public spaces. While gentrification remains a challenge there, the lesson is clear: true revitalization happens when you honor the neighborhood's dynamics.

Analizing the Jeonnong-dong development I ask myself: Are we building a neighborhood for the people who are already there, or are we just trying to make the past invisible?

Inclusive urbanism doesn't mean keeping the "bad," but rather healing the wounds through education, public space, and a respect for the local rhythm. Only then can Cheongnyangni station stop being a place people merely "pass through" and become a place where they truly want to stay. What do you think?

👉I recommend checking out this blog post to see more pictures of Cheongnyangni 588 before it was demolished.

December 17, 2025 No comments

SINOPSIS

The siege of Leningrad, which the Germans held for 782 days, from September 1941 to January 1944, was one of the most heroic episodes of the WWII and one of the most terribles sieges in history. The Germans bombed the city consecutively in days, forcing the inhabitants to starve and resort to cannibalism to survive. In January 1942 they left the city without electricity or water. Hitler had ordered that no surrender proposal should be accepted. His purpose was to exterminate all the inhabitants, as he did not want any survivors to feed. The collective will of its inhabitants not to be crushed by the Germans, at the cost of almost a million dead, was what prevented them from being occupied. Michael Jones has reconstructed this extraordinary story based mainly on the testimony of the survivors.

REVIEW

Hello citizens! This time I would like to review a book that surprised me a lot in different ways. There are many books and documentaries about WWII regarding what happened in cities in Poland, France, Germany, Japan, etc., but little in Russia. Few events in history expose the fragility and resilience of cities like the 872-days siege of Leningrad during WWII.

Michael Jones' The Siege of Leningrad is a meticulously reserched yet deeply human account of one of the most brutal episodes in modern warfare. Through diaries, survivor testimonies, and historical records, the author reconstructs the suffering of a city that endured starvation, bombardment, and unimaginable deprivation.

This book is more than a historical record, it is a meditation on the limits of human endurance and the precariousness of urban life under siege.

The fragility and resilience of cities

Cities are often seen as bastions of civilization-hubs of innovation, culture, and economic power. Yet, the siege of Leningrad laid bare their vulnerability. When supply lines were severed, the electricity failed and the bureaucratic machinery collapsed, the city's thin veneer of modernity crumbled like a house of cards. The siege proved that urban life is not a given, it is a delicate balance that depends on functioning infrastructure, stable governance and, most importantly, the cooperation of its citizens.

"Neither transportation nor communication systems work, and conveniences such as light, water, electricity or gas have become legends. Staying in the streets for a few hours one comes across dozens of corpses, lying in the snow, and carts loaded with the dead. Food prices on the black market have reached exorbitant levels, and people feed on the most chilling filth, from jelly made from carpenter's glue to the innermost portions of corpses. The squalid inhabitants of the city, driven by sheer desperation, are turning into savages."

Before the war, Leningrad was a thriving metropolis, a symbol of Soviet progress. But under the siege, public services disappeared, law enforcement eroded and survival became a personal struggle. The collapse was not instantaneous but a slow unraveling: first came food shortages, then transport breakdown, and finally the failure of heating systems during one of Russia's coldest winters.

The city fragility lay not only its material needs, but in its "social pact". When famine came, some resorted to theft, hoarding or even violence, while others organized communal kitchens, shared scarce rations and maintained makeshift hospitals. The difference between social collapse and collective resistance was a human choice.

"Death has become an everyday ocurrence and people have grown used to it. Everyone is apathetic, aware that this is the fate awaiting us all. If not today, then tomorrow. When you step outside in the morning, you find lying in the street. They remain there for a long time - no one comes to take them away"

Resilience is often discussed in contemporary urban planning as a city's ability to "bounce back" after disaster. But Leningrad's story complicates this idea. The city did not simply recover, it adapted in real time to unthinkable conditions. People burned books, and turned public spaces into mass graves. This was not resilience in the sense of restoration, but resilience as radical improvisation.

Thanks to this book, I was able to realize that the resilience of a city also depends on its institutions. Leningrad's rulers, through flawed and often ruthless, managed to maintain some appearance of order. But real resilience came from below: from the teachers who taught in freezing classrooms, from the musicians who performed symphonies in the midst of air raids; and from the ordinary people who documented their suffering in diaries.

This duality, control from above and resilience from below made me question modern urban resilience strategies. Can a city survive a catastrophe without strong institutions and an engaged citizenry?

"The theatre became an island of joy in a sea of suffering... And yet, it grew harder and harder to go on. Outside, the temperature was forty-eight degrees below zero. Inside, there was no heating. An operetta began. The performers wore light costumes — their faces pale and gaunt, but smiling. The dancers were so thin they looked as though they might snap in two. Some collapsed between scenes. When the curtain fell, the audience rose from their seats. Too weak to applaud, they showed their gratitude by standing in silence — briefly, for several minutes"

The Leningrad ordeal may seem like a distant historical tragedy, but its lessons resonate today. Modern cities depend on supply chains, centralized utilities and digital networks, systems that can be disrupted by war, weather or cyberattacks. The COVID-19 pandemic hinted at this fragility as supermarkets shelves emptied and hospitals were overwhelmed. Meanwhile, crises like Hurricane Katrina or the Syrian siege of Aleppo have shown how quickly urban order can collapse when systems fail. Are smart cities enough to deal with such situations?

However, Leningrad also offers a counter-narrative: resilience is possible, even in the worst circumstances. It requires infrastructure (alternative food sources, decentralized energy), strong social networks (community organizations, mutual aid) and, perhaps most importantly, a shared civic identity that forces people to resist together rather than fracture.

War as a catalyst for urban transformation

Examing the long-term impact of war on urban spaces reveals not only the immediate horrors of conflict but also the unexpected ways cities adapt, rebuild, and even redefine themselves in its aftermath.

The most visible legacy of war is physical destruction. In Leningrad, incessant aerial and artillery bombardment reduced entire neighborhoods to rubble. Basic infrastructure such as water pipes, power grids, streetcar lines were destroyed, making survival a daily struggle. But beyond the material damage, war corrodes the social fabric of a city. Institutions such as hospitals, schools, etc., meant to protect citizens collapsed under the pressure, leaving individuals to survive on their own.

How much suffering can a city endure before it ceases to function as a society? Leningrad came close to that threshold. Yet, even in the depths of despair, the city did not fully collapse.

"Famine has settled in Leningrad. Many people are becoming indifferent to the suffering of others, and some have even become predators...A wonderful spirit of cooperation began to blossom. The main thing was not to try to survive, but to keep one's own humanity intact. Those who isolated themselves from others would eventually collapse. Something else was coming to life: a deep desire to help each other in adversity"

Paradoxically, war can also force cities to evolve in ways that peacetime complacency might never allow. The siege of Leningrad spurred innovations in survival—makeshift hospitals, communal kitchens, and improvised fuel sources—that kept the city alive. After the war, the reconstruction effort was not merely about restoring what was lost but reimagining the city’s future.

History forces us to acknowledge that some cities have emerged from conflict with unexpected gains. London’s postwar rebuilding led to revolutionary social housing projects. Rotterdam’s destruction birthed daring modernist experiments. Even Hiroshima, the ultimate symbol of annihilation, became a global beacon for peace and innovation

Post-war Leningrad (later St. Petersburg) saw the rebuilding of key landmarks, but also the redesign of public spaces to honor collective memory. Monuments to the siege’s victims, such as the Piskaryovskoye Memorial Cemetery, became sacred sites of remembrance, embedding the trauma into the city’s identity.

"Thousand died each day, and yet somehow Leningrado stayed alive... but those who sent us so much death made a fatal miscalculation. They underestimated our fierce hunger to live"

If there’s one takeaway for urbanists today, it’s this: A city’s survival depends less on its walls than on its people’s will to live together. So as we design “smart cities” and “sustainable hubs,” we’d do well to remember Leningrad’s darkest winter—when the only thing keeping the lights on wasn’t a power grid, but the stubborn refusal of ordinary humans to let their city die.

That’s resilience. Not in steel and concrete, but in solidarity. And in an age of climate crises and political fractures, we’ll need more of it than ever.

July 29, 2025 No comments