Sabuk and Sindong, October 13–14, 2018

I admit to having wasted a few hundred dollars on the lottery when I lived in the USA, but I am not a gambler. I had never been to Las Vegas or any other casino and now, in a 24-hour span, I would visit two. I researched the matter before heading to the small town of Sabuk (home of Kangwon Land Casino) on the southern edge of Gangwon Province; much of what I learned was alarming.

From coal fields to casino high life

This region was the center of Korea’s coal-mining industry in the 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s. Coal mining almost overnight became economically unfeasible, and the effect was devastating. The jobless rate in Sabuk soared just as the population dropped from 55,000 to one-tenth that. Local people who remained became convinced that only a casino would save them. They begged, pleaded and demanded. In such a remote area, it could not be like Korea’s 17 other casinos which cater exclusively to foreigners. (As a foreigner myself, I am not sure whether to be flattered or outraged by such a paternalistic and discriminatory policy.) This one would have to welcome every person of sound mind, age 19 and above. It opened in October 2000 and now consists of a 676-room hotel, two condos with 403 more rooms, a ski resort, a golf course and a water park. Our focus, of course, is the casino with its 27,000 square meters of floor space, 200 tables for roulette, baccarat, blackjack, poker and tai sai, and 1,360 slot and video gambling machines. Operated by the Ministry of Trade, Industry and Energy and its subsidiary, the Mine Reclamation Corporation, it is open every day from 10 a.m. until 4 a.m.

The government had good reason for not wanting to allow a casino for natives—Koreans have a propensity for gambling. According to the Korea Center on Gambling Problems, 5 percent of adults (nearly 2 million people) have a gambling addiction. That’s considerably more than their Chinese and Japanese counterparts, who are also said to enjoy games of chance. Gambling addicts, of whatever ethnicity, are likely to suffer financial and employment problems, and psychological and physical stresses. Their suicide rate is considerably higher than the norm, and some female gamblers in Sabuk have fallen into prostitution. Families have been broken up, homes lost and careers ruined. Now that I have recited this laundry list of woes, I emphasize that I am no prude who self-righteously states how people should live their lives; not everybody is equipped to work on the front lines of cancer research. This gambling stuff is not for me, but some truly like it and can keep it in bounds. I have a friend in Texas whom I will call Ms. CW. She and her friends periodically visit WinStar across the Red River in Oklahoma. At 56,000 square meters, it is the world’s largest casino. Another friend, Don, flies to Vegas whenever he can and just raves about how much fun there is to be had at the Bellagio, the Red Rock, the Cosmopolitan or Mandalay Bay (where a hard-core gambler named Stephen Paddock used automatic weapons to kill 58 people and injure another 546 on October 1, 2017).

A non-playing visitor

Traffic was light on the 167-kilometer bus trip. I checked into a hotel, took a taxi to the casino, walked in and presented my passport. In the lobby was a series of Shinhan Bank ATMs—handy for those who need to make quick withdrawals of cash—and the Kangwon Land Addiction Care Center. This is where people are advised to “gamble responsibly.” I took a few pamphlets, one of which showed a man in the throes of gambling addiction. He has passed the losing stage and the despair stage, and is now at the bottom: the giving-up stage. But, it says, he can gather himself and move forward to the resolution stage, the rehabilitation stage and the growth stage.

The three-level casino itself was windowless and slightly dark despite a plethora of multicolored lights. On the walls were screens featuring 30-second-loop videos of good-looking young men and women, all happy and prosperous—obviously winners in life and at the casino. A sound system was in operation, to help generate the sense that this was a happening place. It was not music but some kind of rumbling noise. I wandered among the tables and slot machines, observing and doing my dead-level best to understand casino culture. There were undoubtedly some Chinese and Japanese customers, and a few Middle Easterners but the majority seemed to be Korean. If there was another person of European descent in the casino besides me, I missed him or her. Cameras and security men were unobtrusive and yet omnipresent. I do not know the terminology, rules, strategy or etiquette of baccarat, for example. Most of the people playing such games appeared to be intelligent and focused. But OMG—those guys and gals at the slot machines! I could only pity them as they sat, glassy-eyed, playing for as little as 5 won at a time. They would lose, hit the button, lose, hit the button and so on. I shudder to think of doing that for 18 straight hours. Would they not risk carpal tunnel syndrome from just hitting the button so many times?  It is estimated that 12,000 people visit Kangwon Land more than 50 days per year and about 2,000 are there more than 100 days per year. Gambling by its very nature is predicated on a few winners and many losers, and if you are going to the casino that often you are a stone-cold loser. Even an outlier like me is familiar with the saying “the house always wins.”

Please stay out of the VIP room, sir

Among the posted rules at Kangwon Land was “no photography,” but I managed to take a few surreptitious shots while pretending to text. On my way to the (free) non-alcoholic drink stand, I met a guy in his mid-50s. A Korean, he had moved to Los Angeles long ago and so spoke good English. Although I liked him, he was world-weary in the extreme, admitting that he knew of gamblers who had snuffed it. He moaned about Kangwon Land’s poor service, not staying open 24 hours a day and a host of other perceived problems. Maybe he was mad because he had not been invited to the VIP room.

I expected, for the sake of participatory journalism, to spend a negligible amount of money. But I could not and did not. Haughty as it sounds, I was bored from start to finish. I’d had enough. A taxi took me to Sabuk Train Station rather than the bus terminal, and despite it being a small mountain town, they were far apart. This was an interesting area. In fact, it seemed quite lively with shops open, and kids here and there. For better or worse, Sabuk is economically dependent on a casino that generates 1.7 trillion won of annual revenue; 40 years ago, it was dependent on coal mining. I came expecting to see pawn shops, brothels (OK, there were quite a few massage parlors), telephone poles papered with ads for loan sharks and desolate gambling addicts walking aimlessly. Such a portrait of Sabuk is a caricature because it’s not nearly that bad.

I went into a police station and asked for directions to my hotel. Once again, I got special treatment. Two officers escorted me to the back seat of their patrol car, and they peppered me with questions about my life in Korea and in the USA as we drove. I said thanks by giving them a copy of A Seoul Miscellany. Another small town, Sindong, was 15 kilometers to the west. I knew nothing of it but rode a bus there and traversed its main street. I was in no hurry since the autumn weather was ideal, bringing to mind that this is the time of year when Koreans of old said, “the skies are high and the horses are fat.” I saw some women sorting and grinding nuts, and greeted them; stopped into a mom-and-pop hardware store and bought a tool for my apartment in Seoul; went into a church and put 10,000 won in an envelope; saw five stone-and-mortar buildings that resembled jails but had in fact served as dormitories for coal miners in the 1960s; and took a quick walk through Sindong’s “art village.”

For some reason, no bus was going back to Sabuk. But Yemi Train Station was nearby, and a kind man offered to give me a ride—just as those two cops had done a few hours earlier. On the wall was a poster about an American soldier named Dean Hess. A pastor from Ohio with aviation experience, he trained South Korean pilots and flew more than 250 combat missions during the Korean War. But he was best known for leading, along with Russell L. Blaisdell and Merle Strang, something called “Operation Kiddy Car.” They first created an orphanage in Seoul to take care of 1,000 hungry, homeless and parentless children. But with the North Koreans about to retake the city, Hess et al. commandeered 15 planes and airlifted the frightened boys and girls to Jejudo where a less dangerous orphanage had been set up. A 1957 movie, Battle Hymn, was filmed on the basis of these events with Rock Hudson playing Hess.

I got back to Sabuk and adjourned to a cozy restaurant next to my hotel. While eating doenjangjjigae, I watched news on the television which featured two ex-presidents—Lee Myung-bak and Park Geun-hye—in handcuffs, being led to and from their respective judicial proceedings.

On to casino number 2

The next morning, I wasted no time in buying a return bus ticket to Seoul. My trip was not quite over, you see. I went to Samseong Station, walked through the mammoth COEX Mall and located the Seven Luck Casino. Having experienced the one in Sabuk, I had to check this one out too. It was smaller, and the clientele was different as mentioned before—no Koreans. Again, there were gamblers of the blackjack/baccarat/roulette/poker/tai sai variety and the hapless souls on the slot machines, hitting the button again and again. It, too, had an office where those with gambling problems could drag themselves. But I noticed how many incentives people have to play more, spend more and dig themselves into ever-deeper holes. Seven Luck Casino is open 24 hours a day, and I doubt that it can compete with the best of Las Vegas, Atlantic City, Monte Carlo or Macau because I later read some reviews that were downright brutal.

Some people walk into casinos for the first time and get hooked. They rack up big losses and see their lives crumble, faster than you can say “another round, bartender!” There was no chance of that happening to me. In Sabuk and again in Seoul, I was anything but enthralled. It’s amusing to realize that some government database now lists me as having visited two casinos back to back. If they want to know, I would tell them it will be a very long time before I go to a third.