Korea is like a giant abandoned place.
The culture values the new and the modern above everything. New office buildings go up beside crumbling homes with traditional tiled roofs long left deserted. Entire "downtowns" are constructed beside older city centres scarcely decades old. You would expect the changes to create some visual drama and a sense of energy, but they don't. The blocks blur together in a kind of featureless disposability.
Yeosu offers a change. I take the 20 minute train ride from Suncheon to see the ocean and feel like I'm back on the waterfront of Vancouver or Victoria. The illusion holds as long as I don't look back. The view away from the water puts me more in mind of a Stephen King novel or an episode of The Walking Dead.
Three years ago, Yeosu hosted Expo 2012 and the waterfront is still dominated by its pavilions and pedestrian thoroughfares. It's empty in February, but unlike most areas in Korea the emptiness takes on a sense of scale and story.
The Expo grounds follow a broad arc from the train station to the roadway that connects Odongdo Island to the shore. A scaled replica of Dubai's Burj al-Arab marks the start of the road, while in the middle of the bay the Big O—the non-orgasmic centre piece of the world fair—stands upright like a vast upended hula hoop. The major pavilions are scattered amidst these points, along with a single carousel that turns circles without customers. Rust has already crept into the buildings and hand rails. There is no one around, and the inevitable loneliness of the place is covered over with a garish stream of Kpop music from the public address system.
It's a photographers dream.