A Familiar Mountain, A New Journey
My next adventure on the Seoul Trail (서울둘레길, Seoul Dulle-gil) took place in Seocho-gu — the district where I grew up and where my parents still live.
This time, I walked Course 10: Umyeonsan (10코스 우면산), which runs along the southern edge of Seocho-gu. The trail begins at Yangjae Station (양재역) and ends at Sadang Station (사당역), winding its way over the slopes of Umyeonsan (우면산). After pushing myself a little too hard on my first hike, I chose this route for its convenience and proximity to home.
To my surprise, my father — now almost 90 years old — said he wanted to join me. He’s the reason I fell in love with walking in the first place, and he’s maintained a strong daily routine of movement and care for his health over the years.
It meant so much to walk beside him again, just like we used to.
Though I’ve visited these areas countless times in the past, I had never walked the entire stretch of Umyeonsan between these two stations. That made this trail feel both familiar and new — a path layered with memory and quiet discoveries.
The hike turned out to be more challenging than I expected, especially for my dad. The trail was full of steep staircases that seemed to rise and fall endlessly. But we took it slow, one step at a time.
Watching him walk with such calm determination made this more than just a hike.
It became a walk through time, through memory — and above all, through gratitude.
Beginning at Yangjae Station (양재역)
These days, Yangjae Station (양재역) feels completely different from how I remember it.
I have such fond memories of this place — back when it was the final stop on the southern end of Seoul Subway Line 3. I especially remember the 순대국 (sundaeguk) at Yangjae Market (양재시장). It was my go-to comfort food, but it seems that spot has long disappeared.
Next year, when I return, I want to revisit the places I used to spend time in — take photos, walk around, and see what still remains. Whether it's just the lingering scent of the past or an actual piece of the old structures, I’d like to find traces of those moments again.
Maeheon Citizen's Forest (매헌시민의 숲)
Umyeonsan (우면산)
I arrived just as the flowers were peeking out, shyly testing the cold air — unsure if it was time.
I stayed to enjoy their full bloom, as if they were celebrating the season with me.
And I left when their petals began to fall, like they too had finished their spring break.
진달래꽃
김소월
나 보기가 역겨워
가실 때에는
말없이 고이 보내 드리우리다
영변에 약산
진달래꽃
아름 따다 가실 길에 뿌리우리다
가시는 걸음걸음
놓인 그 꽃을
사뿐히 즈려밟고 가시옵소서
나 보기가 역겨워
가실 때에는
죽어도 아니 눈물 흘리우리다
Azaleas
by Kim Sowol
If you leave because you can no longer bear the sight of me,
I will quietly let you go, without a word.
I will gather armfuls
of azaleas from Yak-san in Yeongbyeon
and strew them along your path.
Step by step as you walk away,
tread gently on those flowers.
Even if you leave me because you’ve grown weary of me,
I will not shed a single tear —
not even in death.
성뒤골은 성(城)이 있던 마을로 부자가 많이 살았지만 도둑들이 활개를 쳐서 모두 떠나버려 일명 골로 불려졌다고 함.
Seongduigol was once a village where a fortress (성, seong) stood and where many wealthy families lived. However, it is said that thieves roamed so freely in the area that the residents eventually left, and the village came to be known by the nickname “Thieves’ Valley” (도둑골).
More Than a Trail — A Moment With My Father
Walking through Umyeonsan (우면산) gave me a different perspective on Seocho-gu — a view I hadn’t seen before. I probably passed by a lot of great photo spots, but my dad kept moving without stopping, and I was more focused on making sure he was doing okay (even though he was doing great).
Spring hiking felt like a whole new experience. I’m used to summer hikes in Korea — surrounded by deep greens, the scent of damp soil, the sounds of insects, and the feeling of rain in the air. This time was quieter, lighter, and filled with the freshness of early growth. I think I’ll come back again next spring to revisit this trail.
But beyond the scenery or the season, what made this hike truly special was walking beside my dad — someone I love deeply and miss even more as I write this now.