For nearly three decades since entering Korea University in 1994, Dr. Kim Shi-dug has frequented Anam-dong, becoming intimately familiar with its evolving landscape. Through his long-term observations, he has cultivated a unique scholarly lens for reading the city. From the economic shifts sparked by the opening of a railway line to memories of overlooked underground passages and the vanishing tiled-roof houses of old—Dr. Kim has traced the subtle and sweeping changes of this urban space. His insights encourage us to look anew at the familiar streets of Anam-dong. Dr. Kim is an urban philologist. He studied in the Department of Japanese Language and Literature at Korea University and at the National Institute of Japanese Literature in Japan. He has served as a Humanities Korea (HK) professor at both the Korea University Center for Japanese Studies and the Kyujanggak Institute for Korean Studies at Seoul National University. His major publications include Japan’s Foreign Wars (2016, designated an Excellent Academic Book by the National Academy of Sciences), Philology of War (2017, selected for the Sejong Book Program), and Seoul Declaration, in which he explores the traces of past urban life in East Asia in order to reconstruct the modern history of the region.

From 1994 to 2005, and again since 2010 (excluding his time abroad), Dr. Kim has frequently visited Anam-dong and its surrounding areas. “There’s a lot to learn when you observe a single neighborhood over the course of 30 years,” he reflects. “Back in my student days, I never imagined I’d one day make a profession of observing cities. Still, as someone living and moving through urban spaces, I couldn’t help but take notice and reflect.” Looking back while preparing the essay below, he realized that it was in Anam-dong that he first internalized the methods of urban fieldwork.

While he was invited to write an essay about Anam-dong, Dr. Kim includes adjacent areas. “You can’t fully understand a place—or the lives of the people within it—by administrative boundaries alone,” he says. “The city reveals itself in layers, through time and movement.”

Anam-dong’s Past and Present Meet in the Process of Change

After entering Korea University in 1994, my daily commute often began at Jegi-dong Station on Subway Line 1. From there, I would walk past Seonnongdan Altar, through the Anam Five-Way Intersection, and finally arrive at the College of Liberal Arts. Because Korea University’s Anam campus and Jegi-dong Station are in different administrative districts—Seongbuk-gu and Dongdaemun-gu, respectively—I was told that running a shuttle or community bus between them wasn't feasible. Upon exiting Jegi-dong Station, I passed through a block of large, affluent homes reminiscent of the well-known neighborhood of Seongbuk-dong. Continuing past Seonnongdan and Jongam Elementary School, I would reach a stretch lined with pojangmacha (street food stalls), extending all the way to the Anam Five-Way Intersection.

A commercial district had naturally formed along this route connecting Korea University and the subway station. When I first enrolled in Korea University, I didn’t expect to be doing this commute for long, since construction on Subway Line 6 had just begun. However, repeated flooding of the construction site caused significant delays, and it wasn’t until I had entered graduate school that Line 6 finally opened. That experience taught me that official completion schedules for railway construction are often meaningless, as delays and unforeseen variables are inevitable.

When Line 6 eventually opened after many delays, two major changes occurred. First, as expected, the commercial zone between Jegi-dong Station and the Anam campus vanished. Second—and perhaps more surprising—was the decline of the university-area businesses themselves. It was originally assumed that the new subway line would bring more foot traffic to Anam-dong. In reality, it simply allowed Korea University students and faculty to travel more easily to other parts of Seoul, siphoning consumer activity away from the local area.

How Transit and Policy Reshape Commercial Landscapes

Then as now, mayors and politicians across the country compete to bring rail lines to their constituencies. But the unintended consequence, seen nationwide, is that convenient transit to Seoul leads local residents to seek services like medical care or shopping elsewhere, ultimately undermining local businesses. I first saw that dynamic play out in Anam-dong in the early 2000s.

The opening of Line 6 didn’t just affect commercial activity; it also changed the atmosphere of Anam-dong. Seongbuk-gu, home to Korea University, was a geographically cloistered area surrounded by hills and valleys, and this terrain fostered a natural sense of slight disconnectedness. But with Line 6, that sense of separateness began to dissipate. The shifts in the local commercial scene before and after the subway’s debut pointed to a broader opening of the district to the outside world.

One event shortly before the millennium speaks to the cultural atmosphere of the time. I recall that sometime in the mid-1990s a new café opened on the main street connecting the campus’s rear gate to the Anam Five-Way Intersection. It featured a pool table, which prompted a student organization to protest in front of the café, accusing it of promoting commercialism. A few years later, when a global fast-food chain opened a branch in the International Building, I realized that even this once-insular neighborhood was slowly beginning to change.

The commercial zones around the Anam campus have historically clustered around various campus entrances—the Main Gate, Rear Gate and Side Gate, and the Law School, the College of Education, and the College of Engineering Building—each with its own distinct character. What always struck me was how the commercial activity near the Humanities and Social Sciences area was more vibrant around the Rear Gate than the Main Gate.

One reason, I believe, was the lack of a pedestrian crosswalk at the Main Gate at the time. To reach the shops across the street, one had to use an underpass. A mentally unstable individual frequently loitered in the passage, yelling at passersby—particularly those who appeared vulnerable. Many female students were understandably reluctant to use it. Because there were already crosswalks at the Korea University Intersection and the current Korea University Station, installing one directly in front of the Main Gate was considered redundant. In hindsight, this seemingly minor inconvenience—a missing crosswalk—had a ripple effect on the commercial vitality of the area.

On the other hand, the Side Gate zone enjoyed a period of prosperity due to regulatory quirks. In 1990, during President Roh Tae-woo’s administration, a national crackdown on crime led to the restriction of late-night business hours except for traditional markets, which were exempt. Because there was a crosswalk near the Side Gate, foot traffic naturally gravitated there instead of the Main Gate, and the markets in that area benefited.

쪽I used to frequent a pajeon (Korean pancake) restaurant across from the Side Gate. On a recent visit, I found it had been replaced by a business catering to international students. With international enrollment rising steadily across Korean universities—including those in Seoul—it was a small but tangible sign of broader demographic change.

Urban Fossils: The Traces of Tiled Hanok and Stone Architecture

Around Korea University, one can still find blocks of modernized tiled-roof houses, also known as urban hanok, that were built in the early 20th century. Urban planning in Seongbuk-gu in the late 1930s resulted in many residential areas in the district being established. As a result, Anam-dong and Bomun-dong were once known as significant hanok neighborhoods within Seoul. One of the most fascinating things to me upon entering university was the presence of these traditional houses near campus. Only later did I realize that they were not merely quaint old homes, but remnants of a vast sea of hanok that once blanketed Anam-dong—urban fossils left behind in the wake of development.

But those tiled-roof houses aren’t the only such residues of a past era around Korea University. In front of the College of Liberal Arts stands a stone auditorium building from the 1950s. Structures built in the aftermath of liberation and war during the 1950s and 60s are increasingly recognized as historically significant throughout Korea.

There are places I used to pass by without much thought during my Anam-dong days, only to later revisit them with a new appreciation for their importance, and a desire to document them. Among these were the 1920s-era blocks on the way to Cheongnyangni Station, the sprawling Gyeongdong Market, and the produce market and residential backstreets south of Cheongnyangni. Then there are discoveries I made only after those years, places I never noticed during my regular visits to Anam-dong. These include the Goryeo Market complex just north of Korea University Station, as well as the Hongneung Buheung Housing and Jeongneung Buheung Housing developments, both constructed in the 1950s.

I often feel regret that I didn’t recognize the historical significance of these urban relics earlier, when I could have made more detailed records. I encourage readers of this article to casually capture the blocks and streets you pass by every day with your smartphone. Road view features in mapping apps can no longer offer reference images once redevelopment begins. Everyone takes pictures of the Main Hall at Korea University, but the cityscapes that are meaningful to you—those might vanish without anyone else recording them.

“The everyday cityscape you barely notice today may become an irreplaceable record tomorrow.”