Seoul's Green Revolution

I a

dmire the broad Han River as it flows past Seoul toward the sea and watch as Hyeong Ku-yun absently baits another line. A 30-something technician at a local hospital, he comes regularly after work to fish in the Han now that it's been cleaned up. "Sure there are fish here," he assures me. "Tons of mullet and carp. The mullet make excellent hwae." That's Korean for sashimi. I'm a bit incredulous that one would dare eat raw fish from the Han River. I find it difficult to exorcise memories of the Han's less wholesome days, when the river had all the appeal of dirty dishwater with an odor to match. The sight of several "keepers" gamboling about the river's surface convinces me about one point however: the fish are back in abundance.

Two decades ago the "Miracle on the Han" was in full swing here: South Korea's astonishing rise from developing backwater of Asia to one of the world's major economies. But even miracles come with a price. From 1970 to 1990 the city's population more than doubled to a panic-inducing 10 million. For the South Korean capital this meant a congested and polluted urban landscape, where nature could only be glimpsed in the far-off peaks of Bukhan Mountain—at least on a clear day—and where the city's historical heritage was bulldozed under the rapid construction of modern high-rises.

But times have changed. With the industrial economies of the world making their way into the information age, brains are eclipsing manufacturing brawn. While South Korea tackles this latest challenge with the same single-mindedness it put into factory development, it has also found the will and money to nurse an industrial hangover of Han River proportions.

Naturally speaking, Seoul has always been blessed. Surrounded by mountains and washed by a wide river, it was the site's propitious geomancy that recommended it as the seat of the Choson Dynasty in 1394. If the area's natural beauty has been neglected over the past few decades, the Seoul City Government is now making up for lost time. A visit to the new Seoul Museum of History, located downtown near the recently rebuilt Gyeonghuigung Palace, illustrates Seoul's new attitude. An in-depth (and bilingual) exhibition, "Seoul, 2002: A Vision of the City," details the new policies being implemented to both preserve and expand Seoul's natural gifts while protecting its historical heritage. What it adds up to is an ecological and cultural capital positioning itself to be more than just a place to do business.

A few years ago, a stroll along the Han River would not have been very pleasurable. Long treated as a convenient receptacle for industrial runoff, the Han is slowly being integrated into the daily life of the city's inhabitants. Where I recall apartments and ramshackle shops crowding the river's concrete banks, large tracts have been opened up, running for several miles through flowerbeds and past Seoul's business and government heart. Here is congestion of a different sort: zealous bikers, skaters and joggers compete with more placid lovers and retirees for room on the new pedestrian thoroughfare. A tree-planting campaign is in full swing along the Han—after three years and 15 million new trees, the city's once crushing expanses of concrete and neon are now awash with the pale green of ginkgoes, chosen in part for their golden autumnal livery.

Mr. Kang, a retired schoolteacher, fishes from the embankment while offering me a lesson on the Han River's newfound cleanliness. Forget filtering plants and city ordinances, he says; it's all about working for a common cause. "During the World Cup we all came together. That is how Koreans are strong. We must teach children to treat the environment with respect. In Korea we can do that and succeed." Pulling a cigarette butt from his pocket, he explains, "Even my cigarettes, I collect them and take them away with me." At least he has something to carry home because, today, the fish aren't biting.