Dongdaemun

Listen first. Engines idle at the lights, a scooter weaves past with a stack of fabric bolts strapped behind the rider, and somewhere a shop shutter rattles open. Above all this traffic sits a wooden pavilion with sweeping tiled roofs, painted in deep green, red and ochre. It looks almost too calm for where it stands. This is Dongdaemun, the Great East Gate of old Seoul, and the whole neighbourhood around you carries its name.

The gate's formal name is Heunginjimun, which means the Gate of Rising Benevolence. It was one of the main entrances in the stone wall that enclosed Seoul when the Joseon dynasty made the city its capital. Joseon was the Korean royal dynasty that ruled for about five centuries. The first gate here was built in the 1390s, under the dynasty's founder, King Taejo. What you see today, however, is mostly a rebuilding from 1869, during a period of royal construction in the late nineteenth century.

Now look closely at the name board on the gate. Most of Seoul's great gates have names of three Chinese characters. This one has four. According to a long-told explanation rooted in geomancy, the traditional practice of reading the energy of land, the eastern side of the city was low and weak. An extra character was added to the name to strengthen it. Whether you believe in geomancy or not, it is a small detail that most people walking past never notice.

Here is a second thing to notice. Wrapped around the front of the gate is a curved stone wall, shaped like a half moon. This is called an ongseong, a defensive enclosure. An attacker who broke through the outer opening would find himself trapped in a stone bowl, exposed to defenders above. Among the old gates of Seoul, Dongdaemun is the only one that still has this protective wall. Walk around the gate and you can follow its curve with your eyes.

The gate holds a special place in Korean heritage. For decades it was listed as Treasure Number One in the national system of cultural properties. The numbering system has since been retired, but many Koreans still remember it that way. It is worth remembering, too, how much the city around it has changed. When this gate was rebuilt, oxen pulled carts through its arch. Today it stands on a traffic island, and cars flow around it like water around a rock.

From the gate, the old fortress wall climbs north toward Naksan, a low hill whose name refers to its camel-hump shape. Seoul's city wall once ran for roughly eighteen kilometres along the ridges around the capital. Long stretches survive, and you can walk them. The path up Naksan is gentle and popular in the evening. From the top, you look down over tiled roofs, apartment towers and the gate itself, and you begin to understand how the wall followed the land.

South of the gate, the mood changes completely. This is one of the largest clothing and fabric districts in Asia. For decades, Dongdaemun has been the place where Korean fashion is cut, sewn, bought and shipped. Wholesale buildings hold thousands of tiny stalls. Many of them open late in the evening and trade through the night, when buyers arrive from shops across the country and abroad. If you come after dark, you will see trolleys of plastic-wrapped bundles rolling along the pavement.

There is a harder story here, too. Along the Cheonggyecheon stream stands Pyeonghwa Market, the Peace Market, where garment workshops once packed young workers into cramped rooms. In 1970, a young tailor named Jeon Tae-il set himself on fire near this market, protesting the brutal working conditions. His death became a turning point for the Korean labour movement. Today a bronze statue of him stands on a bridge over the stream, a short walk from here.

Now turn toward the silver curves rising beyond the shops. That is Dongdaemun Design Plaza, designed by the architect Zaha Hadid and opened in 2014. Its flowing aluminium skin has no straight edges you can easily find. It replaced an old sports stadium, and during construction, workers uncovered remains of the city wall and a water gate. Those stones were kept and displayed in a park beside the building, so the newest architecture here sits directly on top of the oldest.

That park is called Dongdaemun History and Culture Park. Look for the low arches of the old water gate, where the stream once passed through the wall. It is a strange and quiet contrast. A few metres away, the plaza's curved panels catch the light, and people take photographs on its sloping lawns. At night, the grounds fill with small glowing lights and the building turns pale against the dark sky.

If you are hungry, walk west along the stream to Gwangjang Market, one of Seoul's long-running traditional markets. Under its covered lanes, cooks grind mung beans on stone mills and fry them into thick, crisp pancakes called bindaetteok. You will also find small rolls of seaweed rice, plates of raw beef with pear, and bowls of noodles served at narrow counters. Sit shoulder to shoulder with office workers and shopkeepers. It is one of the most honest meals in the city.

Think about the layers you have walked through. A royal gate built to guard a capital. A wall that once marked who was inside the city and who was outside. A garment district built on long hours and hard labour. A futuristic plaza resting on excavated stone. Dongdaemun is not a single monument. It is a crossroads where six centuries of Seoul sit side by side, often in the same view.

Before you move on, look up at the gate one more time. Notice the painted patterns under the eaves, the small clay figures lined along the roof ridges, and the grey stone base worn smooth at its edges. The traffic keeps moving, the shops keep trading, and the gate stays where it has always been. As you walk away, listen again — the engines, the trolleys, the voices — and remember that this has always been a place where people came and went.