South Korea

Seoul

Simjae

Simjae is a Seoul-based photographer, creative director, archive collector and founder of independent bookstore Hugan Books. His work is rooted in patient observation, finding quieter rhythms in a city known for its speed.

For Seoul Sanctuaries, our collaboration with Stone Island, he shares the places where he slows down and resets – from an old-school cafe to a bathhouse and his own bookstore, surrounded by old printing shops and film labs – "places that have been part of people's everyday lives for a long time."

Stone Island 

Hugan Books is the bookstore and publishing space I run myself. Around the bookstore, there are still old printing shops, film labs and small workshops that have been there for decades - it feels very connected to the way I work. 

I never wanted it to feel like somewhere that exists only to sell things, but a place where someone can unexpectedly discover a new book, image or piece of culture, and spend some time without feeling like they need to rush.

I’ve always been more interested in places that have kept their own character over time rather than spaces that are constantly changing to follow trends. 

Chowon has that feeling: the furniture, the people, the atmosphere and even the way the coffee is served all feel different from newer cafés. Places like this are important because they preserve an older rhythm of Seoul, even while everything around them continues to change quickly. 

Songchu Valley is somewhere I go when I want to properly leave the feeling of the city behind.  It isn’t very far from Seoul, but once you arrive, the atmosphere feels completely different: there’s water, rocks, trees and  mountains. 

You can spend hours there without really needing to do anything. There’s something very Korean to me about spending an entire day by a valley, eating food and just taking your time with people. It’s a very simple way of relaxing, but that’s exactly what I like about it.

Jingwansa is somewhere I go when I want to feel like I’ve left the city without actually having to leave. It sits right next to the Bukhansan mountain, so once you walk a little further inside, you start hearing the stream, the wind and the birds more than the traffic. I usually just walk slowly and sit somewhere near the trees or the water. That kind of stillness feels very natural there. Jingwansa is a reminder that Seoul isn’t only made up of concrete and high-rise buildings: you can spend time surrounded by mountains and nature, and then return to the centre of the city quickly. That contrast is one of the things that makes Seoul special.

An old-school Korean barbecue restaurant in Yongsan. It’s the kind of place I like because it hasn’t been overly polished or designed; it still feels very local and lived-in. People gather around the table, grill meat, have a few drinks and spend time talking without really watching the clock. I think that kind of moment is also an important part of slowing down in Seoul. For me, slow living doesn’t always mean being somewhere quiet or surrounded by nature. Sometimes it can simply mean sitting around a table with people you like, sharing food and letting the evening unfold naturally. Seoul moves incredibly fast, but places like this have their own rhythm. 

When shoots and projects start overlapping, there are times when I need to step away from the pace of Seoul. One place I do that is my local bathhouse; I like going early in the morning or later in the evening when it’s quieter, for an hour or two, when I naturally disconnect from my phone and from work. 

I’m much more drawn to older neighbourhood bathhouses than new or luxurious ones. Bathhouses are such an ordinary and familiar part of life in Korea, but for me they’re also a place where I can clear my head and reset my  rhythm. It’s probably one of the simplest ways I slow myself down in Seoul. 

Songchu Valley

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