Bamseom is a small island in the Han River, almost directly beneath Seogang Bridge in Seoul. Today it is uninhabited and protected as an important urban wetland, but to me it has never been just one of the islands in the river.
My father was born on Bamseom, and generations of my family lived there before him. I never lived on the island myself, and when I was very young I did not really understand what that connection meant. As I grew older, however, I learned that my family’s old registered domicile was tied to Bamseom and heard more stories about my grandfather and the life my family had there.
Years later, when I lived in Dangsan-dong in Yeongdeungpo, I often drove across Seogang Bridge. It is not easy to look directly at Bamseom while driving, and I was never crossing the bridge as a tourist trying to see the island. Still, almost every time I passed over it, I had the same vague feeling: somewhere below was a place that was almost like my hometown, the place where my father had spent part of his childhood.
That feeling is probably why Bamseom has always meant something different to me from what it means to most people in Seoul.
Bamseom Before and After 1968
Bamseom takes its name from its shape, which was said to resemble a chestnut. Seoul’s historical records describe the island as a place of exile during the Goryeo period and say that shipbuilders began settling there around the time Seoul became the capital of the Joseon Dynasty.
Over time, it developed into a small community closely connected to the Han River. Residents built boats, operated ferries, fished, farmed vegetables and peanuts, raised silkworm-related crops, and kept livestock. Shipbuilding became one of the occupations most strongly associated with the island.
The modern history of Bamseom changed dramatically in 1968. As part of the development of Yeouido and the Han River, the island was blasted and its stone and soil were used for embankment construction. About 60 households were relocated to Changjeon-dong in Mapo, and the community that had existed on the island disappeared. Seoul records the blasting as taking place in February 1968.
For a detailed account of the old village, shipbuilding community, relocation, and later ecological recovery, Seoul’s Hangang authority maintains an official history of Bamseom.
The residents did not leave every part of the old community behind. They moved their village shrine tradition to Changjeon-dong and continued the Bamseom Bugundang Dodanggut, a communal ritual traditionally held for the peace and well-being of the village. It was designated a Seoul intangible cultural heritage in 2005.
Some of the material taken from Bamseom went into the construction of Yeouido’s embankments. Whenever I think about that, the contrast is striking. One of Seoul’s most developed business districts grew partly through a project that erased the physical village where my family had lived.
My Family’s Life on Bamseom
My family’s connection to Bamseom goes back to the early 1800s, when my great-great-grandfather moved to the island. Among his descendants was my grandfather, who grew up in a family whose livelihood was closely tied to shipbuilding.
My grandfather and his two older brothers operated a shipbuilding business on Bamseom. More than 30 skilled carpenters worked with them building wooden boats along the river. This was not unusual work for the island; boatbuilding had already been one of the occupations for which Bamseom was known.
In 1925, the Eulchuk Great Flood caused enormous damage along the Han River. The homes of my grandfather’s two older brothers were destroyed, and they eventually moved to nearby Yeongdeungpo, where they expanded into businesses including rice milling, lumber, and construction.
My grandfather remained on Bamseom. He looked after the family’s remaining property and operated a general store and ration distribution center there.
The family’s life on the island finally ended during the Korean War, before the government destruction of Bamseom in 1968. Our home was destroyed in an air raid, and my grandfather left the island for his brothers’ home in Yeongdeungpo.
My father had been born on Bamseom and lived there as a child. Because of that family history, our old hojeok, the former family registry, listed our bonjeok, or registered family domicile, in Dangin-dong, Mapo-gu, the administrative area associated with Bamseom.
I did not grow up in the village my father knew. By the time I was old enough to understand these stories, that Bamseom no longer existed.
The Island I Knew Through Family Stories
For me, the strange thing about Bamseom is that it feels familiar even though I never lived there.
When I was young, the idea of bonjeok or an ancestral place did not mean very much to me. As I got older and heard more stories about my grandfather, my father’s childhood, the shipbuilding business, the flood, and the family’s eventual departure, the island gradually became more concrete in my mind.
That feeling became especially strong when I lived in Dangsan-dong. I frequently used Seogang Bridge, which passes directly over Bamseom. Driving across a bridge is not a good time to turn your head and study an island below, so I usually saw very little of it. But simply knowing it was there was enough.
I would sometimes think, almost without consciously trying to, “That’s where my family came from. That’s where my father lived when he was young.”
It was not nostalgia based on my own childhood memories. It was more like a place I had inherited through other people’s memories. Somewhere along the way, Bamseom became a kind of spiritual hometown for me.
The island itself, meanwhile, was changing again.
After the 1968 blasting, sediment carried by the Han River gradually accumulated around what remained of Bamseom. Plants returned, the land expanded, and it developed into an important habitat for birds and other wildlife. Seoul designated Bamseom as its first Ecological Landscape Conservation Area in 1999, and in 2012 it became Seoul’s first Ramsar Wetland. The city currently records its area at about 279,000 square meters.
Public access is restricted to protect the ecosystem, although authorized research, management, and occasional special visits by former residents and their descendants have taken place. Visitors who want to observe the island can instead use facilities such as the seasonal Bamseom Bird Observatory in Yeouido Hangang Park or the Bamseom Ecology Experience Center. Current ecological and visitor information is available on Seoul’s official Bamseom page.
Bamseom in Castaway on the Moon
Bamseom also has an unusual place in Korean cinema.
The 2009 film Castaway on the Moon (Kim-ssi Pyo-ryu-gi) follows a man who jumps into the Han River and ends up stranded on Bamseom. He is surrounded by one of the world’s largest cities and can see Seoul all around him, yet he is effectively isolated on an island that ordinary people cannot freely enter.
That contrast is what makes Bamseom such an effective setting for the film. It is not a distant deserted island somewhere far from civilization. It sits in the middle of Seoul, beneath bridges used by thousands of people and across the river from apartment buildings and office towers.
The Korean Film Council has also written about how director Lee Hae-jun developed the story around the idea of someone living alone on Bamseom, describing the island’s unusual isolation within a crowded city.
I find that setting particularly interesting because the film uses the island almost in the opposite way from my own family history. For the character, Bamseom is a place to escape from society. For my family, it was once simply home.
What Bamseom Means to Me Today
The Bamseom my father knew is gone. The houses, shops, workshops, and the riverside community where my grandfather and earlier generations of my family lived disappeared through war, relocation, and development.
What stands there today is something completely different. Trees and grasses have grown over the island, migratory birds stop there, and an area that was once a working village has become one of Seoul’s protected ecological spaces.
I do not feel that one story cancels out the other.
I am glad that Bamseom is protected today. At the same time, when I cross Seogang Bridge or think about the island, I cannot see it only as a wetland or a bird habitat. I also think about my father’s childhood, my grandfather’s life, the boats my family built, and a village that disappeared before I was old enough to know it.
Perhaps that is why the phrase “spiritual hometown” feels right to me. Bamseom is not a hometown I remember living in, but it is a place I learned to recognize as part of my own history.
For most people driving over Seogang Bridge, the green island below may simply be part of the Han River landscape. For me, it has always carried another layer: somewhere beneath those trees is the place my family once called home.
About the Author 🇰🇷
I live in South Korea and write about the small details of Korean life and culture that I experience and observe firsthand.
English is my second language, so I sometimes use tools such as Gemini and Google Translate to help with translation and editing. The experiences, observations, opinions, and cultural perspectives in my articles are my own, and I personally review and edit every article before publishing it.
My goal with Korea Core Info is simple: to share everyday Korea from a local perspective and help international readers discover things they might not always find in a typical travel guide.
I hope my stories and guides help you understand Korea a little better — not just as a place to visit, but as a place where people live their everyday lives.