Following Michael Portillo’s railway journeys to South Korea
Away from the K-Pop beats of Seoul, south west Korea offers natural beauty and quiet contemplation.
Lucy Thackray - 28 April 2026
As we pull the white fabric from the steel tank, the colours begin to soak upwards. Dark inky indigo flows into royal blue, bleeding to a bright cobalt. The breeze ruffles a row of brightly-dyed textiles pegged up in the garden, vivid against a backdrop of the 2,650ft Wolchulsan mountain – the world’s prettiest laundry line.
Following in the train tracks of Michael Portillo, whose Great Korean Railway Journeys on BBC2 takes him here this week, I’m in Yeongam County, southwest Korea – learning about the art of indigo dyeing at Yedeun, a workshop-cafe-shop in the middle of nowhere. Since I only had a couple of days to tack onto a four-day Seoul trip, tour operator Inside Asia (insideasiatours.com) has prescribed this pocket of rural calm, near Gwangju city, for a hit of natural beauty and creativity, far from the skyscrapers and K-Pop beats of Seoul. Gwangju is a two-hour KTX (high-speed) train from the capital, with the highlights of Yeongnam an hour’s drive onwards.
Koreans have been colouring fabric with natural dyes for over a thousand years. The master dyer here is Lee Hye-sook – a grey-haired, beatific lady – but it’s her husband, Soh Sung Yong, who shows me the ropes. I stroke the tiny shoots of the jjok plant, which ferments in water for two weeks, along with crushed oyster shells to bring out the dye. Stirring the shimmering oil-slick of indigo on the surface with a stick, we get to dipping. Mr Soh shows me how to crimp and twist the delicate Banyan-fibre fabric – a throwback to the tie-dye T-shirts of my ’90s childhood – to get the desired effect.
As my souvenir scarf dries, I share a cup of omija tea (a hot-pink, tart brew made from dried magnolia berries) with Mrs Lee. She decodes the meaning behind the colours she works with. Korea’s five main shades are black, white, blue, red and yellow, she tells me – each tied to north, south, east and west (with yellow representing the centre), but also the seasons and moods, such as passion. Since 2008, she’s worked to make this humble hanok (traditional house) a tempting tourist spot: at its café, garden and workshop, visitors can pre-order a bright lunch platter, or enjoy coffees in the garden.
Until recently, tourists were mainly interested in the modern side of Korea, my guide Brian Heo explains. Now, led by younger Korean visitors and social media trends, visitors increasingly crave the old and offline – things that are slower, more mindful. It’s a “retro phenomenon”, says Heo.
After a nearby stop for the local speciality, yukchoe (beef tartare) bibimbap, Brian takes me to Baegun-dong Garden, built in the 17th century by a local scholar. We stroll its abandoned hanok buildings – traditional cottages of white and wood beams with those distinctive elegant winged rooftops, then follow a small forest trail to a fairytale bamboo grove. Hardly anyone else is here, even in Korea’s peak tourism month of April. Westerners, it seems, are a rarity. “We had another British visitor last year,” my Mrs Lee had told me proudly.
In nearby Gangjin, the footslopes of Wolchusan are striped with immaculate rows of green tea hedges. Brian takes me to a teahouse owned by Baegunokpancha: Korea’s first tea brand, founded in the 19th century.
Ms Lee, whose four-times great-grandfather founded the company, shows me how to make dak-cha or ‘ricecake tea’ – named for its Polo-mint shape, resembling Korean ricecakes. In a whitewashed room beside windows filled with mountain scenery, we press fermented tea into circular bamboo frames, sculpting them with a chopstick as traditional music plays. If visitors are looking for a mindful moment, this is surely it.
Pouring me a dainty teapot of the tea, Ms Lee tells me that she and her grandfather used to sit on the floor here to drink it – he’d tell her to gaze at the mountain as they drank in companionable silence. It’s certainly a world away from mile-a-minute Seoul, with its beats blaring from every corner and more bars and barbecue spots than you could tackle in a year.
There’s more to see around here: pottery studios where you can sculpt your own ceramics; sleepy hanok accommodation like Gurim Hanok Stay, with a micro-art-gallery; not to mention hikes up into Wolchulsan National Park. Inside Asia has added Gwangju and Yeongam County to a new 14-night ‘Majestic Korea’ rail itinerary from October 2026; meanwhile Virgin Atlantic (virginatlantic.com) recently launched direct flights from Heathrow to Seoul. If you get in there quickly, you could be Yeongam’s third British visitor in two years.
As we pull the white fabric from the steel tank, the colours begin to soak upwards. Dark inky indigo flows into royal blue, bleeding to a bright cobalt. The breeze ruffles a row of brightly-dyed textiles pegged up in the garden, vivid against a backdrop of the 2,650ft Wolchulsan mountain – the world’s prettiest laundry line.
Following in the train tracks of Michael Portillo, whose Great Korean Railway Journeys on BBC2 takes him here this week, I’m in Yeongam County, southwest Korea – learning about the art of indigo dyeing at Yedeun, a workshop-cafe-shop in the middle of nowhere. Since I only had a couple of days to tack onto a four-day Seoul trip, tour operator Inside Asia (insideasiatours.com) has prescribed this pocket of rural calm, near Gwangju city, for a hit of natural beauty and creativity, far from the skyscrapers and K-Pop beats of Seoul. Gwangju is a two-hour KTX (high-speed) train from the capital, with the highlights of Yeongnam an hour’s drive onwards.
Koreans have been colouring fabric with natural dyes for over a thousand years. The master dyer here is Lee Hye-sook – a grey-haired, beatific lady – but it’s her husband, Soh Sung Yong, who shows me the ropes. I stroke the tiny shoots of the jjok plant, which ferments in water for two weeks, along with crushed oyster shells to bring out the dye. Stirring the shimmering oil-slick of indigo on the surface with a stick, we get to dipping. Mr Soh shows me how to crimp and twist the delicate Banyan-fibre fabric – a throwback to the tie-dye T-shirts of my ’90s childhood – to get the desired effect.
As my souvenir scarf dries, I share a cup of omija tea (a hot-pink, tart brew made from dried magnolia berries) with Mrs Lee. She decodes the meaning behind the colours she works with. Korea’s five main shades are black, white, blue, red and yellow, she tells me – each tied to north, south, east and west (with yellow representing the centre), but also the seasons and moods, such as passion. Since 2008, she’s worked to make this humble hanok (traditional house) a tempting tourist spot: at its café, garden and workshop, visitors can pre-order a bright lunch platter, or enjoy coffees in the garden.
Until recently, tourists were mainly interested in the modern side of Korea, my guide Brian Heo explains. Now, led by younger Korean visitors and social media trends, visitors increasingly crave the old and offline – things that are slower, more mindful. It’s a “retro phenomenon”, says Heo.
After a nearby stop for the local speciality, yukchoe (beef tartare) bibimbap, Brian takes me to Baegun-dong Garden, built in the 17th century by a local scholar. We stroll its abandoned hanok buildings – traditional cottages of white and wood beams with those distinctive elegant winged rooftops, then follow a small forest trail to a fairytale bamboo grove. Hardly anyone else is here, even in Korea’s peak tourism month of April. Westerners, it seems, are a rarity. “We had another British visitor last year,” my Mrs Lee had told me proudly.
In nearby Gangjin, the footslopes of Wolchusan are striped with immaculate rows of green tea hedges. Brian takes me to a teahouse owned by Baegunokpancha: Korea’s first tea brand, founded in the 19th century.
Ms Lee, whose four-times great-grandfather founded the company, shows me how to make dak-cha or ‘ricecake tea’ – named for its Polo-mint shape, resembling Korean ricecakes. In a whitewashed room beside windows filled with mountain scenery, we press fermented tea into circular bamboo frames, sculpting them with a chopstick as traditional music plays. If visitors are looking for a mindful moment, this is surely it.
Pouring me a dainty teapot of the tea, Ms Lee tells me that she and her grandfather used to sit on the floor here to drink it – he’d tell her to gaze at the mountain as they drank in companionable silence. It’s certainly a world away from mile-a-minute Seoul, with its beats blaring from every corner and more bars and barbecue spots than you could tackle in a year.
There’s more to see around here: pottery studios where you can sculpt your own ceramics; sleepy hanok accommodation like Gurim Hanok Stay, with a micro-art-gallery; not to mention hikes up into Wolchulsan National Park. Inside Asia has added Gwangju and Yeongam County to a new 14-night ‘Majestic Korea’ rail itinerary from October 2026; meanwhile Virgin Atlantic (virginatlantic.com) recently launched direct flights from Heathrow to Seoul. If you get in there quickly, you could be Yeongam’s third British visitor in two years.
Great Korean Railway Journeys
Monday 6.30pm BBC Two