京畿道 ，雪獄山》大邱市》光州市>釜山市》濟州島
When Seoul Was Still Called Hanseong
當首爾還叫「漢城」——一家人的韓國春日之旅
Hanseong 漢城 → Incheon 仁川 → Daegu 大邱 → Busan 釜山 → Gwangju 光州 → Jeju Island 濟州島 → Hanseong 漢城 → Taipei 臺北
It was an earlier Korea, when the city now called Seoul 首爾 was still known to Chinese-speaking travellers as Hanseong 漢城.
Chinese characters were then more commonly seen, while the influence of Chinese culture remained evident in Confucian traditions, palace architecture, ancestral rites and classical inscriptions beneath tiled roofs. Yet Korea had long transformed this inheritance into a culture unmistakably its own—restrained and graceful, shaped by its mountains, history and national spirit.
This was not a solitary journey. My wife and I joined an organised tour, taking our two daughters with us. Another married couple from Yanping High School 延平中學 travelled in the same group, adding the warmth of friendship to our family adventure.
Travelling with children gave the journey a special meaning. We were not merely visiting Korea; we were watching our daughters discover a wider world. Their curiosity, laughter and occasional weariness became inseparable from every palace, mountain and road that we encountered.
A Journey Mainly for Our Daughters
此行主要是為了兩個女兒
The principal purpose of this journey was not merely to study Korean history or admire its scenery. Above all, we wanted to take our two daughters to Lotte World 樂天世界, then often called Lotte Amusement Park 樂天樂園.
For the adults, Korea offered palaces, temples, mountains and history. For our daughters, however, the true kingdom of dreams waited within Lotte World.
The moment they entered the park, their faces brightened. Music filled the air, colourful lights shone above them, and amusement rides carried them into a world of childhood fantasy. Their laughter became the happiest music of our entire journey.
My wife and I watched them hurry eagerly from one attraction to the next. Our friends from Yanping accompanied us, sharing the excitement—and the inevitable weariness—of travelling with children.
Palaces preserve the memories of kings,and mountains preserve the memory of the earth;but an amusement park preservesthe laughter of our children.
To them, Gyeongbokgung 景福宮 might have seemed like a palace from an old history book, but Lotte World was a palace they could enter—a kingdom of lights, music, adventure and dreams.
Years later, they might forget the names of the rides, but I would never forget their shining eyes or the way their small hands reached naturally for ours.
Palaces of the Joseon Dynasty
朝鮮王朝的宮闕
At Gyeongbokgung Palace 景福宮, we crossed vast stone courtyards beneath the sweeping roofs of the Joseon Dynasty 朝鮮王朝. Passing through Gwanghwamun 光化門, we imagined royal processions, government officials and Confucian scholars once walking solemnly along the avenue.
At Changdeokgung Palace 昌德宮, the buildings followed the natural contours of the land. Behind them lay the celebrated Secret Garden 秘苑, where pavilions rested beside tranquil ponds and ancient trees leaned over winding paths.
Our daughters walked ahead while we followed with our Yanping friends, talking and laughing beneath the shade. It was a garden designed for royalty, yet its greatest luxury was neither gold nor splendour—it was silence.
At Deoksugung Palace 德壽宮, traditional Korean roofs and Western-style buildings stood side by side, like two different historical eras meeting within the same garden. The scene seemed to represent Korea itself: deeply rooted in tradition, yet already advancing rapidly towards modernity.
An Encounter with Newlyweds
巧遇一對新人
While exploring Hanseong, we happened upon a newly married couple posing for their wedding photographs.
The bride looked radiant in her elegant gown, while the groom stood proudly beside her. Although we were strangers from another land, smiles soon overcame the distance between us. We asked to take a photograph together, and the young couple welcomed us warmly.
Our daughters stood beside the newlyweds, curious and delighted. That photograph preserved more than a chance encounter: it captured youth, marriage and family within a single frame.
They stood at the threshold of marriage;we walked within the house of family life.One photograph brought those moments togetherbeneath the spring sky of Hanseong.
Climbing Namsan
登南山，俯瞰漢城
We also climbed Namsan Mountain 南山, the green hill rising from the heart of the capital.
As we ascended, trees gradually replaced crowded shops, and the noise of traffic softened beneath us. From the summit near N Seoul Tower 首爾塔／南山塔, Hanseong unfolded in every direction.
The Han River 漢江 curved through the city, bridges crossed its broad waters, and countless buildings stretched towards the encircling mountains. My wife and I stood there with our daughters and the other Yanping couple, gazing down upon a city poised between its ancient inheritance and modern future.
Looking at our girls beside us, I suddenly felt that climbing a mountain resembled raising children. Parents may hold their hands and guide them along the steeper paths, but one day they must find their own way—and climb towards summits of their own choosing.
When we descended from Namsan, the city lights were beginning to glow. Hanseong lay beneath us like a vast constellation.
The Living Streets of Hanseong
漢城的市井風情
In Myeongdong 明洞商圈, the city spoke the lively language of fashion, illuminated signs, cosmetics and youthful crowds.
At Dongdaemun 東大門商圈, commerce seemed unwilling to sleep. Shops and markets remained awake beneath electric lights, their stalls overflowing with clothing and fabrics.
Inside Gwangjang Market 廣藏市場, Korea revealed itself through fragrance and flavour. Steam rose from bowls and iron pans; vendors called to passing customers; and the air carried the aromas of mung-bean pancakes 綠豆煎餅, rice rolls 紫菜飯捲, spicy rice cakes 辣炒年糕 and many varieties of kimchi 泡菜.
Along Hangang Park 漢江公園, our daughters watched the city lights trembling upon the water. The adults talked of work, schools, families and the uncertain future.
The Han River had witnessed dynasties, invasions, division and war. Now it flowed peacefully through a modern capital, carrying the reflections of a nation being reborn.
Across the Korean Peninsula
一家人走過韓國半島
From Hanseong, we travelled to Incheon 仁川, Korea’s historic gateway to the Yellow Sea 黃海. Ships, travellers and foreign influences had long entered the peninsula through this port. The sea breeze carried a feeling of departure and discovery.
Our coach then passed through Gyeonggi Province 京畿道, where cities gradually gave way to fields, villages and mountain roads.
Because we travelled with a tour group, the itinerary was often hurried. We rose early, packed our luggage, counted the children and returned to the coach. Yet the company of our Yanping friends made even the long drives enjoyable. We shared snacks and conversation, helped watch over the girls and transformed unfamiliar roads into shared memories.
In Gangwon Province 江原道, Seoraksan 雪嶽山 rose above deep valleys and wooded slopes. Clouds wandered among its granite peaks, while clear streams hurried over the rocks below.
The name itself—Snowy Peak Mountain 雪嶽山—suggested purity and remoteness. Against that magnificent landscape, our daughters appeared so small, and the bond of family seemed all the more precious.
Daegu, Busan and Gwangju
大邱、釜山與光州
In Daegu 大邱, the warmer southern air introduced us to a gentler rhythm of Korean life. Surrounded by mountains, the city seemed to rest within a great natural basin.
Then came Busan 釜山, where mountains descended towards the sea and houses climbed the hillsides as though competing for a glimpse of the horizon.
At the harbour, fishing boats rested beside great ocean-going ships. Seabirds circled above the waves, and the salt wind carried the restless spirit of a port city.
Our daughters looked towards the open sea, while we adults wondered what distant countries lay beyond the horizon.
Busan possessed the freedom of a maritime city—energetic, open and slightly unruly. Here, Korea no longer looked inward towards its palaces and mountains; it looked outward towards the ocean.
In Gwangju 光州, we encountered a city remembered for courage and its struggle for democracy 民主. Beneath its ordinary streets lived the memory of sacrifice, reminding us that freedom is not merely inherited—it must be protected and passed from one generation to the next.
Cherry Blossoms over Jeju
濟州島的櫻花
At last, we crossed the sea to Jeju Island 濟州島, an island shaped by wind, waves and volcanic fire.
Jeju appeared almost like another country. Black volcanic stone walls bordered the fields, the sea glittered beneath an immense sky, and Hallasan Mountain 漢拏山 rose silently from the centre of the island.
We had arrived during the season of cherry blossoms.
White and pale-pink blossoms lined the roads. When the wind passed through them, petals drifted around our daughters like spring snow.
For parents, the sight carried a special tenderness. Flowers bloom, children grow, and neither waits for us. At that moment, however, our girls were still walking beside us, and we could almost believe that such days would last forever.
The flowers would fall,and the journey would end;but our daughters beneath the Jeju blossomswould remain untouched by time.
We also descended into a long underground passage—the Manjanggul Lava Tube 萬丈窟熔岩洞. It was not an artificial tunnel but a natural passage formed long ago by flowing volcanic lava.
The damp walls had been twisted into strange shapes by volcanic fire. Water fell steadily from the ceiling, and our footsteps returned to us as echoes. We stayed close together, guiding the children over the uneven ground.
It felt as though our two families had entered the hidden memory of the earth—a place where fire had once flowed like water and time had hardened it into stone.
The darkness made our companionship more vivid: parents calling to their children, friends waiting for one another and small hands reaching instinctively for ours.
Returning to Hanseong and Taipei
重返漢城，飛回臺北
From Jeju, we returned once more to Hanseong 漢城. Its palaces, markets and crowded streets now felt strangely familiar.
Then came the flight home to Taipei. From the aircraft window, the Korean Peninsula gradually disappeared beneath a sea of clouds.
Yet we carried home far more than photographs and souvenirs:
Most of all, I remembered travelling with my wife and our two young daughters, accompanied by another couple from Yanping. We journeyed as two families—sharing meals, watching over the children and helping one another through the demands of a tightly scheduled tour.
Years later, the names of hotels and restaurants may fade. Even the exact order of roads may become uncertain. But certain images remain perfectly clear:
