전주시 - Jeonju-si

June 25, 2024

Jeonju – Chocopies, Mulberry Trees, and the Hunt for Johnny’s Shirt

We left Gyeongju at dawn, the morning still clinging to mist and sleep. I don’t think anyone was sad to leave the hotel — let’s just say it lacked... a sense of peace — but a few of us felt a quiet pang about leaving Gyeongju itself. There was still so much to see and do. It’s the kind of place that lingers in the corners of your curiosity. Hopefully, someday I’ll be back to do it right.

Today’s destination was Jeonju — another small city en route to Seoul. The bus ride? Long. Five, maybe six hours of winding roads and picturesque rolling green countryside, broken up by Korean rest stops, which are their own cultural marvel. We’re talking gas, multiple food courts, boutique shops, spotless bathrooms, even nap rooms. Yes, nap rooms. We had lunch at one of these megastops: I went for a basic tonkatsu ramen (safe from shellfish), while others explored more traditional Korean options. It wasn’t fancy, but it hit the spot. I tried to sleep once we passed out of the mountains — two full days on the move were starting to catch up with me.

When we rolled into Jeonju, it felt... familiar. A small town with a big personality, the kind of place that reminded me a little of my own hometown in California. We arrived groggy, blinking in the afternoon light like overcooked dumplings. Our first stop? A Chocopie workshop — yes, really.

The shop was unassuming, tucked into a corner storefront. We asked for a bathroom and were promptly herded up a narrow flight of stairs by the owner barking, “Hurry, hurry!” It turned out she wasn’t just the boss — she was about to be our teacher.

Chocopies, for the uninitiated, are soft, chocolate-coated cookie sandwiches with a creamy filling. They're wildly popular across Asia and the Pacific — I first encountered them in Hawaii, where they are shared amongst co-workers as a term of endearment and team building, as well as being a delicious chocolatey snack. We sat down, listened to the baking demo, and then went to town decorating our own sets of five. My own attempts were a chaotic blend of Sanrio characters and geometric shapes. Let’s just say I’m more of a baker than a visual artist. Thankfully, flavor isn’t subjective.

From there, it was back on the bus and off to our hotel — a short drive through increasingly narrow streets. The hotel was surprisingly modern and spacious, with big windows, heated floors, and bathrooms that actually made you want to shower. That’s a win in my book after the bleakness of our previous accommodations.

Our final activity for the day, after dropping off our ever-growing amount of luggage, was a visit to the Jeonju Arts & Culture Center to learn the traditional art of hanji — mulberry paper-making. We watched the process from branch to pulp, then made our own sheets of paper by hand before crafting bookmarks in the art studio next door. It was quick, meditative, and deeply satisfying in that quiet, tactile way that traditional arts tend to be.

Afterward, we were cut loose — not quite dinner time, not quite lunch. While some headed back to the hotel for naps, I wandered into the shopping district with another traveler to see what we could see of this town. And then came a moment that hit me with a cultural gut-punch: a dog, tied to a tree. Not thin, but clearly in distress. Empty bowls, a handwritten sign, and no humans in sight.

I snapped a photo of the sign and messaged Dr. Woo to translate, while we ran to Burger King (yes, they’re here too) and grabbed bottled water for the pup. We filled his bowl, gave him some love, and waited. The message came back: “The owners will return. He’s not abandoned. People here will care for him.” It was hard to process. In Korea, it’s not uncommon to leave your bag on a café chair or a phone on a table. Things stay put. People trust. But leaving your dog like that? It felt foreign. Heartbreaking. But what could we do? So we walked on, but not without nagging guilt in my gut.

The shopping district was a mashup of American chains and local storefronts. Photo booths were tucked into every corner. Uniqlo stood next to boutiques selling skincare, jewelry, and pet supplies. As we looped back, our group text buzzed: We need burgers.

A month without American food was taking its toll. We found a highly rated burger joint on Naver, but by the time we arrived, it had just closed. Typical. But then came Gulp. We followed a glowing map dot down a sketchy alley and into a dark parking lot, the whole thing feeling like a side quest in a video game. But the reward? Worth it. A two-story burger bar glowing with neon, decked out in vintage tees, blending American diner vibes with Korean minimalism. The owner barely spoke a word of English, but between Papago and pantomime, we figured it out. One shirt on the wall caught my friend’s eye. When she asked about it, she pointed and said, “Johnny. Johnny’s brewery. It’s not far.” She then directed us to the brewery on our Kakao Maps.

And just like that, the night got a second act.

We walked for 15 minutes through increasingly empty streets, past shuttered storefronts that had been bustling and busy less than an hour before, and flickering lamps that were dimming along with the daylight. Just when we were ready to call for help, worried we might be lost, the street turned — and there it was: Nomad Brewing Co. Inside was warm light, exposed brick, and pints poured by friendly hands. The t-shirts were real. So was Johnny — an expat from the Midwest who had been living in South Korea for nearly a decade, running the place with a kind of calm charm that made you want to stay longer than you should. We ordered snacks, swapped stories about life in the States and life abroad, and let the evening soften around the edges.

We left full — of food, of beer, of something intangible.

On the way back, we stumbled into a 24-hour photo booth (because, of course, Korea has 24-hour photo booths). We posed with oversized props, snapped blurry, joy-drenched photos, and laughed until our ribs hurt.

And then, back to the hotel. Morning would come too soon. Seoul was calling.