Gangneung: The City of Pines and Blue Tiles
Where literature isn’t just remembered. It’s folded into daily life.
Located on Korea’s eastern shore, Gangneung is a midsize coastal city in Gangwon Province, home to just over 200,000 residents. Nestled between the Taebaek Mountains and the East Sea, the city feels suspended between ridgelines and waves. As a sub-host city of the 2018 PyeongChang Winter Olympics, it welcomed global visitors for short-track, speed skating, and other ice events — the very sports where Korea shines the brightest.
Before the Yeongdong Expressway opened in 1975, reaching Gangneung meant crossing the snowy curves of Daegwallyeong Pass. That distance preserved something: a rhythm untouched by haste and a cultural clarity still present today. Since the arrival of the KTX line, Gangneung is now just 90 minutes from Cheongnyangni Station in Seoul, making it easier than ever to visit — though the city still moves with its own steady cadence.
Gangneung is often called “the city of pine scent (솔향 강릉).” Tall pines rise along the coast, around temples, and through residential neighborhoods — especially around Gyeongpo Lake and the path leading into Chodang Village. One of the most memorable walks winds behind Ojukheon, where black bamboo and pine trees stand tall beside the home of Shin Saimdang and her son Yulgok Yi I. The trees don’t just fill the skyline — they define it.
So does the city’s architecture. Gangneung is a place seen through blue — from traditional ceramic tiles to indigo-painted rooftops and awnings. These cool-toned surfaces reflect harsh sunlight, help snow slide off in winter, and withstand salt-laden sea winds. They’re not just aesthetic — they’re quietly functional, poetic by design.
Gangneung’s literary heritage is both historical and ongoing. It is the birthplace of Shin Saimdang, artist, mother, and scholar who appears on the 50,000-won bill — and her son, Yulgok Yi I, a Confucian philosopher whose face adorns the 5,000-won note. The poet Heo Nanseolheon and her brother Heo Gyun also lived here. Heo Gyun’s novel Hong Gil-dong Jeon — often described as Korea’s Robin Hood story — laid the foundation for fictional heroes in Korean literature. That literary spirit continues through contemporary voices like Yoon Hu-myung, Lee Soon-won, and The Glory screenwriter Kim Eun-sook. Near Gyeongpo Lake, the ‘Hong Gil-dong Character Road’ features sculptures and storytelling elements that celebrate Korea’s original fictional hero, adding a playful layer to a landscape already steeped in literary legacy.
But literature in Gangneung isn’t something confined to statues or museums. It moves through daily life. At GO.re Bookstore, a section called “Blind Book” offers titles wrapped in brown paper, marked only by a single sentence. At Budnamu Brewery, the menu includes carefully selected books — buy one, and you receive a beer with your read. Their ingredients reflect the region, and their product names tell local stories. This is storytelling by way of brewing.
These places aren’t exceptions. They reflect a broader way of doing things in Gangneung — with care, clarity, and pride. Terarosa, now known across the country, is a kind of compact history of Korean coffee culture. You understand its influence the moment you step into the original roastery. Red Mangchi, a home goods shop tucked on a corner, offers world-class curation and spatial design. And places like Budnamu Brewery remind you — Gangneung doesn’t just create; it crafts. People here do things properly.
Gangneung doesn’t seduce you with perfection. It’s not Kyoto or Florence, where every corner gleams. It’s more like Takamatsu — modest, grounded, full of local character. Or Verona, a place where literature still quietly governs the atmosphere. Gangneung opens slowly. It invites you to stay curious.
This is a city where details do the heavy lifting. A bar name. A bowl of soup so spicy you hesitate, then finish every drop. Fish hung to dry by the sea, each one hinting at the rhythm of the fisherman’s day. A flower-filled pond that might have once caught Shin Saimdang’s eye. These aren’t attractions — they’re the kind of moments that linger.
You start walking, not because it’s required, but because it feels natural. Gangneung isn’t large, and much of it is best discovered on foot. Buses exist, but come infrequently. A rental car helps open up the city’s wider textures — places like Terarosa’s original site or the quieter edges of Jumunjin.
The food here doesn’t shout. It speaks with gentle confidence. Sashimi at Jung-ang Market, jang kalguksu near Gangneung Station and jjambbong sundubu in Chodang. Coffee bean buns and tofu ice cream that appear unassuming but surprise you. Even hoddeok paired with vanilla. Gangneung knows how to feed you without fanfare.
It also knows how to host you — even when you’re alone. Solo travel isn’t just accepted here. It’s common. Most restaurants and cafés have single-person tables. Eating alone, drinking alone, moving through the city without explanation — no one gives it a second glance.
What Gangneung offers is space. Space to notice. Space to wonder. Space to feel.
And if you stay long enough, it just might start writing through you, too.
