Today, Cheonggyecheon Stream looks like a carefully landscaped walking path running through the heart of downtown Seoul. Water flows between high-rise buildings, people sit on the stone steps, and in summer, trees and bridges provide places to escape the heat.
I also think Cheonggyecheon has become a genuinely useful public space. Compared with its early years, there are far more trees and plants today, and it is common to see fish, ducks, herons, and egrets along the water. But I do not remember Cheonggyecheon simply as a successful story of urban stream restoration.
In May 2005, several months before the official opening, I visited the construction site and took photographs myself. What I saw then looked much less like a restored natural stream than a large artificial channel being built with stone and concrete.
Even after it opened, that impression did not disappear quickly for me. For roughly the first decade, large trees and shaded places were much scarcer than they are today, particularly in the upper section, and I often wondered whether calling it a “restored stream” was really accurate.
More than twenty years later, I view Cheonggyecheon more positively. But I do not think its pleasant appearance today should cause us to rewrite the story of how the 2003–2005 project was actually carried out.
What Was Cheonggyecheon Before the Restoration?
Cheonggyecheon was originally a stream flowing west to east through Hanyang, the capital of the Joseon Dynasty. Water from tributaries descending from the surrounding mountains collected in the stream, which also carried rainwater and wastewater out of the city.
It was never a calm stream with a constant flow like the one visitors see today. Flooding was common during the summer monsoon, while the water level could fall substantially during dry periods. Joseon governments repeatedly dredged and managed the stream, including a major dredging project during the reign of King Yeongjo in the eighteenth century.
After the Korean War, Seoul’s population increased rapidly and makeshift settlements grew around Cheonggyecheon. Sewage, garbage, and poor sanitation turned the stream into a serious urban problem, and the postwar government eventually chose to cover it rather than rehabilitate it as an open waterway.
The covering project proceeded in stages beginning in 1958 and continued into the 1970s. The Cheonggye Elevated Highway was then constructed above it between the late 1960s and 1971, turning what had once been a stream into part of Seoul’s road network.
The official Cheonggyecheon Museum explains how the stream changed into Cheonggyero Road and an elevated highway during Seoul’s rapid industrialization. You can see that history in more detail through the Cheonggyecheon Museum.
It is easy today to condemn the decision as environmental destruction, but I think the historical context also matters. In a poor, rapidly growing postwar city, covering a polluted and foul-smelling stream to create roads probably seemed to many people like modernization rather than destruction.
What Did Seoul Actually “Restore” in 2005?
Cheonggyecheon restoration was a major campaign promise of Lee Myung-bak when he ran for mayor of Seoul in 2002. Construction began in July 2003, one year after he took office, and the 5.84-kilometer restoration section was completed by the end of September 2005.
Removing the elevated highway and creating a public waterway in its place was a dramatic change. I also think returning a large part of central Seoul from automobiles to pedestrians was a meaningful achievement, but I have always hesitated to describe the project as a full restoration of the old Cheonggyecheon.
The natural tributaries that historically supplied the stream, including Baegundongcheon and Samcheongdongcheon, remained largely covered underground. Instead of reconnecting those original waterways, the 2005 project created a managed stream supplied with pumped water, including water brought from the Hangang River and groundwater from subway facilities.
The Seoul Metropolitan Government’s current Cheonggyecheon information still describes the project as a 5.84-kilometer restoration completed in two years and three months and explains the water-supply system that keeps the stream flowing.
What they did was leave much of the natural tributary system buried and complete the visible central section first. Later Seoul administrations again discussed reconnecting tributaries such as Baegundongcheon and Samcheongdongcheon as longer-term projects, which reinforces my view that what opened in 2005 was not a complete ecological restoration of the original stream system.
My Photos From the Construction Site in May 2005
Cheonggyecheon under construction in May 2005, about four months before its official reopening. All three photographs were taken by the author.
I include these photographs because they show what Cheonggyecheon actually looked like several months before it reopened. What matters more to me is what came afterward. For years after the opening, particularly in the upper section, Cheonggyecheon still felt more like a newly built urban channel than a natural stream.
There were far fewer mature trees than there are today, summer shade was limited, and the hard surfaces of stone and concrete were much more visually dominant. Someone seeing only today’s greener Cheonggyecheon might assume that it looked similar in 2005, but that is not how I remember it.
Why I Think the Project Was Also a Political Race Against Time
This is where my own interpretation becomes important. In my view, the 2003–2005 project placed greater importance on when Cheonggyecheon would be completed than on how fully the historic and ecological stream could be restored.
Lee Myung-bak denied criticism that he was using the project for his personal political ambitions. I cannot prove what was inside his mind, and I do not think it is responsible to present a politician’s private motivation as an established fact. But the political context surrounding the project was hardly invisible.
Even before construction was finished, Korean media and political observers were already discussing Cheonggyecheon in connection with Lee’s possible presidential ambitions. After the stream opened in October 2005, his political popularity rose sharply enough that the phrase “Cheonggyecheon effect” appeared in discussions of his presidential prospects.
He eventually ran for president in 2007 and won. None of this proves that the only reason he built Cheonggyecheon was to become president, because large public projects usually have several motives and effects at the same time.
But having watched both the construction and the political developments around it, I have long believed that Cheonggyecheon also functioned as a huge public demonstration of Lee Myung-bak’s political image. It showed a politician who could remove an elevated highway, overcome strong opposition, and finish a highly visible megaproject within a single mayoral term.
That is why I think speed mattered so much. Reconnecting the original tributaries, conducting more extensive historical investigation, and fully resolving cultural heritage issues would have required much more time, while the visible project was completed in just over two years. For me, describing that political dimension does not erase the benefits Cheonggyecheon later brought to Seoul. It simply means that I do not believe the project should be understood only as an environmental restoration story.
The Bridges and Stones That Did Not Return Home
The word “restoration” can also create the impression that the historical Cheonggyecheon was reconstructed in its original form. That did not happen.
Archaeological work during the project uncovered remains connected with old bridges, stone embankments, Ogansumun floodgates, Supyogyo, Gwangtonggyo, and other structures. But modern road widths, infrastructure, and the redesigned channel made it difficult or impossible to restore everything in its original location.
Gwangtonggyo is one example. The bridge visitors see today was reconstructed slightly upstream from its historic location rather than exactly where the original bridge stood. Supyogyo has an even more complicated history. The historic stone bridge had already been removed to Jangchungdan Park in 1959 when Cheonggyecheon was covered, and it was not returned to its original location during the 2005 project. Among the practical problems was the fact that the width and structure of the reconstructed stream did not match the old bridge.
What bothers me more is what happened to some of the excavated stones. During the restoration project, 1,407 stone components associated with sites including Ogansumun, Supyogyo, and old embankments were transferred to the Jungnang Water Recycling Center for storage.
Years later, Korean media reported that many had spent nearly a decade outdoors without proper roofing or protection. They were surrounded by weeds and exposed to weather while experts continued to raise concerns about long-term preservation and the possibility of future restoration.
This was not merely an old problem that disappeared after those reports. Seoul budget documents years later still listed the same 1,407 stones in storage and included measures such as weed removal, drainage maintenance, and protective coverings.
I think this tells us something important about the priorities of the original project. The visible stream was completed on schedule, while parts of the historical heritage uncovered during construction remained elsewhere waiting for a more satisfactory solution many years later. That makes it difficult for me to say that Cheonggyecheon’s history itself was fully “restored” in 2005.
What Happened to the Merchants?
Another part of the restoration story concerns the merchants, shop owners, manufacturers, and street vendors who had worked around Cheonggyecheon for decades. The area around the covered stream had developed into a dense commercial district, particularly for tools, machinery, electronics, lighting, clothing, and small manufacturing businesses.
Removing the elevated highway and rebuilding the stream meant disrupting this existing economy. Seoul held extensive negotiations with merchants and developed a large commercial complex in Munjeong-dong as one relocation option, which eventually became Garden 5.
But the outcome was far from simple. Many small merchants argued that the actual cost of moving into the new complex was far higher than the inexpensive relocation they had originally expected, while the different location and commercial environment meant that moving a shop did not necessarily mean moving its customers or business network with it.
Later figures showed that only a minority of merchants identified for relocation actually settled in Garden 5. Redevelopment inevitably changes urban economies, but the costs borne by existing merchants are also part of Cheonggyecheon’s restoration story.
But I also do not want to describe the project only as “removing an ugly highway and giving nature back to the people.” There were people earning their living there before the new walking path appeared, and a cleaner and more attractive city does not make the costs paid by those people disappear.
Today’s Cheonggyecheon Is Not the Cheonggyecheon I Saw in 2005
My view of Cheonggyecheon today is much more positive than it was in 2005. Trees have matured, vegetation has filled spaces that once looked hard and newly constructed, and wildlife has become a normal part of the stream. Farther east, reeds, grasses, and riverside vegetation make sections of the waterway feel considerably less artificial than the upper downtown section did in the early years.
The city now manages more than 250,000 square meters of greenery around Cheonggyecheon, and Seoul’s official information describes extensive landscaping and habitat along the corridor. It is still a managed urban waterway that relies on an engineered water supply, but visually and ecologically, the Cheonggyecheon of 2026 is not the same place I saw soon after its opening. That improvement did not happen instantly on October 1, 2005. Trees needed years to grow, vegetation developed, wildlife arrived, and the city continued to adjust and manage the environment.
This is why I separate my assessment of the 2005 restoration project from my assessment of Cheonggyecheon today. In 2005, I often thought, “Can we really call this restoration?” Today, my view is closer to this: the project began as a highly engineered and, in my opinion, overly rushed reconstruction, but over two decades it has developed into a public space that many Seoul residents genuinely use and enjoy. Those two judgments do not contradict each other.
How I Would Walk Cheonggyecheon Today
For a first-time visitor, there is little reason to walk the entire stream unless you particularly enjoy long urban walks. I would start at Cheonggye Plaza and head east, passing Gwangtonggyo and continuing between Jongno and Euljiro toward Gwangjang Market or the Dongdaemun area.
That route can take roughly one to two hours depending on how often you stop. It also lets you see how the character of the stream gradually changes as you move away from the office towers around the western section.
If you want to continue farther east, the Cheonggyecheon Museum is worth visiting. Its permanent exhibition covers the old stream, the period when it was covered, the elevated highway, the restoration project, and criticism of the project itself.
Interestingly, even the museum’s own description acknowledges criticism that the project did not sufficiently restore the ecological environment or historical heritage and that the waterway is maintained through an artificial water-supply system. That makes the museum particularly useful for understanding Cheonggyecheon as something more complicated than a simple urban-renewal success story.
At night, lighting gives the stream a different atmosphere, and seasonal festivals and installations are often held around the upper section. As a walking route alone, Cheonggyecheon is certainly worth visiting.
One important safety point is rain. Cheonggyecheon also functions as an urban drainage channel, so access to the lower walking paths can be restricted quickly during heavy rain or when flooding is expected. If rain is heavy or a warning has been issued, follow the barriers and on-site instructions rather than entering the streamside path. For subway routes and walking navigation in Seoul, I normally use Naver Map. I explain why in my Korea Travel Apps guide.
For Me, Cheonggyecheon Is Neither Simply a Success nor a Failure
Discussions about Cheonggyecheon often fall into two opposite stories. One describes it as an international model of urban regeneration: Seoul removed an elevated highway, reduced automobile-dominated space, restored water to the city center, and created a public walking environment. The other describes it as an artificial canal supplied by pumps, rushed through for political achievement and then presented as ecological restoration. I agree with a substantial part of the second criticism.
I believe the 2003–2005 project prioritized a visible completion date over fully restoring the natural watershed and historical heritage. Considering the political circumstances surrounding the project and Lee Myung-bak’s subsequent presidential career, I also find it difficult to view Cheonggyecheon as completely separate from his national political ambitions.
That is my interpretation rather than a claim that I can prove his private intentions. But I also do not think Cheonggyecheon in 2026 should simply be called a failure.
People really do walk and rest there. Trees that were once tiny have grown, vegetation has spread, fish and birds are present, and removing the elevated highway created a kind of public space that did not exist there before. So for me, Cheonggyecheon is neither a perfectly restored natural stream nor a meaningless failed project. It is a place that shows how quickly Seoul has repeatedly destroyed, built, and rebuilt itself.
A Joseon stream was covered by roads, and those roads were later demolished to build an engineered waterway. Over the following two decades, that artificial-looking waterway gradually became a greener place used by people and wildlife.
I saw part of that transition myself when I photographed the construction site in 2005. That is why, when I walk along Cheonggyecheon today, I do not see only the water and trees in front of me. I also think about the old stones that still have not returned to their original places, the merchants who had to leave, the political ambition surrounding the project, and the remarkable speed at which Seoul continues to remake itself. That is probably why I cannot introduce Cheonggyecheon simply as a pretty walking path in Seoul.
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.