Six thousand people fled to a sandbar in 1950 expecting to go home within weeks. Seventy-five years later, their children still live there — and the neighborhood they built by accident is now one of Gangwon Province's most quietly moving places to visit.
Most travelers who make it to Sokcho are there for Seoraksan's granite peaks or the fresh seafood along the harbor, and Abai Village barely registers as a footnote in the itinerary. That's a mistake. Tucked onto a narrow sandbar across the water from downtown Sokcho, this small fishing neighborhood carries one of the more unresolved stories in modern Korean history, plus a squid dish nobody outside Gangwon Province makes quite the same way. It rewards the kind of traveler willing to slow down for an afternoon.
A Sandbar That Was Only Supposed to Be Temporary
Abai Village exists because of a single, brutal winter. During the Korean War's "1.4 Retreat" in January 1951, as Chinese forces pushed south alongside North Korean troops, roughly 6,000 refugees from Hamgyeong Province in the North fled with United Nations forces and ended up settling on an undeveloped sandbar just outside Sokcho. Nobody planned to stay. The armistice that followed in 1953 froze the border along roughly where the fighting had stopped, and the temporary shelters these refugees built never stopped being their homes — because going back simply stopped being possible.
The Boat That Has No Motor and No Oars
The most distinctive way into Abai Village isn't a bridge — it's the gaetbae, a flat wooden raft that residents pull hand-over-hand along a fixed steel cable strung across the narrow channel, with no engine involved at all. It's slow, it's a little wobbly, and it's exactly the kind of low-tech transportation that shouldn't have survived into a country known for high-speed rail and 5G everything. It has anyway, partly because locals still use it daily and partly because the 2000 K-drama "Autumn in My Heart" filmed a pivotal scene aboard one, turning the crossing into a minor pilgrimage site for drama fans long before it became a general tourist stop.
A pedestrian bridge now connects the village to downtown Sokcho, so the gaetbae isn't strictly necessary anymore — it survives because people choose it. Go in the late afternoon when fishing boats are returning and the light hits the water; the ride only takes about a minute, but it's the most atmospheric minute in Sokcho.
Squid Sausage: The Dish With Almost Nothing Squid About It
Abai sundae takes its name from "abai," a Hamgyeong-dialect word for an elderly man, and it was invented by refugees improvising with what was actually available on the coast rather than the ingredients they'd grown up cooking with back home. A whole squid is stuffed with a mixture of glass noodles, tofu, minced pork or beef, and vegetables, then steamed and sliced into rounds that look more like sausage than seafood. It's heartier and less overtly "fishy" than most squid dishes, which makes sense once you know it was built to stretch scarce ingredients into something filling for a displaced community rebuilding from nothing.
Order it at one of the small restaurants directly along the village's main alley rather than at the more touristy stalls near the bridge entrance — the versions cooked further in tend to use house-made dipping sauce instead of bottled, and the difference is noticeable. Pair it with a bowl of hamheung-style raw fish naengmyeon, another dish this same refugee community brought south with them.
A Village Frozen Between Two Countries
Abai Village, 1951
A cluster of makeshift shelters on an undeveloped sandbar, built by refugees who expected to go home within months once the fighting stopped.
Abai Village, Today
A permanent fishing neighborhood of a few hundred residents, sustaining itself through seafood restaurants, tourism, and the gaetbae crossing.
Personal Take: what makes Abai Village different from most "historic neighborhood" stops in Korea is that its history isn't really finished. The generation that fled in 1951 mostly built lives here rather than returning, and their children and grandchildren are the ones running today's restaurants — this isn't a preserved museum piece, it's a living community still shaped by a division nobody involved ever agreed to. Walking the narrow alleys between houses, it's easy to forget you're only a few dozen kilometers from a border that's been closed for over seven decades.
Making a Day of It
Intercity buses run from Seoul's Express Bus Terminal in roughly 2 to 2.5 hours; Sokcho also pairs naturally with a Seoraksan day trip.
Catch the gaetbae from the downtown side near Sokcho Central Market — the ride is about a minute and costs roughly 1,300 won one-way.
Try abai sundae and hamheung naengmyeon in the village's main alley, then walk the waterfront for grilled squid and fresh catch stalls.
Late afternoon gives you working fishing boats, better light for photos, and shorter lines at the small family-run restaurants.
📌 Key Takeaways
- Abai Village was settled in 1951 by roughly 6,000 North Korean refugees who fled south during the war's "1.4 Retreat" and were never able to return home.
- The gaetbae, a motorless raft pulled by hand along a cable, is still the most atmospheric way to cross into the village even though a bridge now exists.
- Abai sundae, squid stuffed with glass noodles and vegetables, was invented by refugees improvising with available coastal ingredients rather than traditional Hamgyeong recipes.
Is Abai Village worth visiting if I'm already going to Seoraksan?
Yes — it's a short trip from central Sokcho and pairs easily with a Seoraksan day, especially in the late afternoon before or after a hike.
Do I have to take the gaetbae boat?
No, a pedestrian bridge connects the village to downtown Sokcho, but the raft crossing is inexpensive and adds real atmosphere to the visit.
What is abai sundae, exactly?
A whole squid stuffed with glass noodles, tofu, minced meat, and vegetables, steamed and sliced — distinct from the pork-intestine sundae found elsewhere in Korea.
How many people still live in Abai Village?
Only a few hundred residents remain today, down from the roughly 6,000 refugees who originally settled there in 1951.
Abai Village won't overwhelm you with scale — it's a handful of narrow alleys and a short boat ride, easily covered in two or three hours. What it offers instead is weight: a neighborhood that exists purely because of a war that technically never ended, kept alive by descendants who turned displacement into a place worth visiting. Add it to your Sokcho plans, and give yourself more time there than the map suggests you'll need.
Let me know in the comments, and share if you've tried abai sundae before.