The Post Office That Witnessed a Revolution

I must have walked past this building a dozen or more times during the years I lived in Seoul. Perhaps even more. Yet, for some reason, I never bothered to stop and take a closer look, much less step inside.

Until recently.

And wouldn't you know it? I discovered that this rather unassuming old building, tucked away in the heart of Jongno, was actually Korea's first modern postal headquarters.

It's called Ujeongchongguk (우정총국), and it stands not far from Jogyesa Temple, surrounded by modern office buildings, busy streets, and the everyday hustle and bustle of Seoul. I suppose that was part of the reason I had never paid much attention to it before. 

Seoul has so many historic buildings, temples, palaces, and monuments that after living here long enough, you sometimes begin to take them for granted. You walk past them on your way to somewhere else. Perhaps you glance at them, admire their architecture for a moment, and then continue on your way. And that's precisely what I had done with this building for years.

But this time was different. Instead of walking past, I stopped.

I took a closer look at the beautifully curved tiled roof, the red wooden pillars, and the intricate patterns painted beneath the eaves. I wandered inside and found myself surrounded by reminders of another Korea, a country that was only beginning to embrace the modern world.

I learned that Ujeongchongguk was established in 1884 during the reign of King Gojong. Its modern postal service began operating that November, but within weeks, the building became the starting point of the Gapsin Coup, a short-lived political uprising that brought the country's first modern postal operations to an abrupt halt. The reformers hoped to transform Korea's government, but their attempt failed after just three days.

Imagine that. Korea's first modern postal service had barely gotten started before history intervened. And there I was, standing in a building that had witnessed those extraordinary events more than 140 years ago.

Yet what interested me almost as much as the history was the realization that I had overlooked this place for so long. I began thinking about my own history with Seoul.

I first arrived in Korea in December 1990, when the city was still enjoying the international recognition that followed the 1988 Summer Olympics. I was a newcomer then, fascinated by almost everything I encountered. The crowded sidewalks, the street vendors, the neon signs, the buses, the subway stations, the little restaurants tucked into narrow alleys, and the constant movement of people all seemed wonderfully unfamiliar.

I remember how much I enjoyed simply walking around the city. Sometimes I would set out without any particular destination, turn down a street I had never explored before, and see where it led me. There was always something new to discover.

Of course, over time, the unfamiliar became familiar. I learned my way around. I developed favorite places to eat, favorite bookstores, favorite neighborhoods, and familiar walking routes. I became comfortable navigating a city that had once seemed so enormous and bewildering. And somewhere along the way, I suppose I stopped noticing certain things. Not because they had become any less interesting or beautiful, but because they had become part of the scenery of my everyday life.

That's what I find so fascinating about returning to Seoul these days. Although I no longer live there, I still feel a powerful connection to the city. So much of my life in Korea unfolded along those streets. I taught there, made friends, experienced countless adventures, and watched the city change in ways I could never have imagined when I first arrived.

Sometimes I return to a neighborhood I once knew well and discover that almost everything has changed. An old restaurant has disappeared. A favorite coffee shop is gone. A familiar building has been replaced by something much taller and more modern. Occasionally, I find myself standing on a street corner trying to remember what used to be there.

But then something wonderful happens. I discover a little alley I never noticed before. A traditional house hidden behind newer buildings. A small museum. An old stone wall. Or, as happened recently, a centuries-old building that once served as Korea's first modern postal headquarters. And suddenly, Seoul feels new to me again.

There's something rather comforting about that. After all these years, after all those countless journeys through its streets and neighborhoods, the city still has secrets to share.

Looking back, I realize that when I was younger, I often walked through Seoul with somewhere to go and something to do. There were classes to teach, appointments to keep, friends to meet, and all the ordinary responsibilities that fill our days. I enjoyed the city, certainly, but I was often too busy getting somewhere to appreciate everything along the way.

These days, I find myself approaching things a little differently. I enjoy slowing down. I enjoy stopping to admire a building, taking photographs of architectural details, wandering into places I've never visited, and learning the stories behind things I once barely noticed.

Perhaps that's simply one of the pleasures of growing older. We begin to appreciate things that might once have escaped our attention. We become a little more curious about the past, a little more interested in the stories that surround us, and perhaps a little more aware of how quickly time passes.

As I stood outside Ujeongchongguk, looking at its traditional tiled roof framed by modern office buildings, I couldn't help thinking about the generations of people who had passed through this part of Seoul long before I ever set foot in Korea. People with lives, hopes, worries, and dreams of their own. People who could never have imagined the city that would eventually grow around them.

And now here I was, an American who first arrived in Korea more than thirty-five years ago, discovering a small piece of the country's history that had been waiting patiently for me to notice it.

I smiled at the thought. All those years. All those times I had walked past this very spot without ever stopping to see what was inside. And now, after more than thirty-five years in Korea, I'm still discovering things about Seoul that I never knew.

As I continued my walk through Jongno, I found myself looking a little more closely at the buildings and narrow streets around me, wondering what other fascinating stories I might have overlooked.

After all these years, Seoul still has a way of surprising me.

And I hope it always will.