Running the River
Witnessing changes around the river over the years
When I first pulled up to LA River by Elysian Valley about four years ago, it was as if I was in a different place. The long stretch of paved bike path, actual water(!) despite the recent drought and greenery that surrounded the area looked different from your typical LA neighborhood. And maybe that was the most different thing about it. It was a neighborhood. It wasn’t my first time enjoying nature in LA. As an active hiker and runner I’ve walked the trails from Azusa to Malibu. But they were always isolated state parks. Here by the river, there were housed dotted along right next to the path.
I went back week after week to train for my half marathon. The bike path was long enough for logging miles and surprisingly deserted. Thinking back, it was more than the wide-open road or my training that kept me going back there. It was because it reminded me of Seoul. I used to live by the river too.
My first memory of Han-Gang, or Han River was walking down with my grandfather to feed the pigeons. He was an old fashioned man who always wore a newsboy cap or a fedora whenever he left the house. Every time we came to visit my grandparents, he would take my sister and me down to the river. It had a large grass area and open spaces, a rare site in a dense city like Seoul. And surprisingly, it never felt crowded.
On the way, he would pick up a bag of birdfeed from a street vendor and spend the afternoon feeding the birds. He probably told me stories, as he always liked to do, though I can’t really remember them now. What I do remember is my sister screaming in a way kids do where you can’t quite tell if they are ecstatic or horrified. She did this while flailing her arms around when the birds came too close. I remember walking by a giant boathouse where you can ride little boats out into the river. When I went back few years ago, I saw how small and dingy it was and wondered if it had shrunk.
Boathouse by Han River
On our way back, we would stop by a cobbler or the post office. He always had some errands to run, which now I’m certain he was saving it to do them with us. He was retired after all. My grandfather was always courteous with his loud “Thank You!” or “Have a Good Day!” in Korean. Sometimes, he bought us sugar cookies from a street vendor, even though my grandmother lectured him about that. It was the same routine with every visit, but we were always looking forward to it.
Just as I was entering third grade, we left Seoul for New York. When we came back to Seoul four years later, I was a moody pre-teen. I wasn’t interested in going down to the river with my grandfather.
Until my sophomore year of high school I went down by the river often. My house and the school were both near by. It was only a 10-minute bus ride, but some afternoons I would walk home by taking the path along the river. It was a good 30-minute walk, but I enjoyed it. When my parents told me I was going back to US permanently soon after beginning of my sophomore year, I ditched school the next day and hung out on the river feeding pigeons.
It smelled of sewers, and it was loud with freeways and bridges. But in a city as packed as Seoul, it was a break I was always willing to take.
The little strip of LA River by Elysian Valley isn’t as nearly as wide and vast as Han River. It’s not the type of river you can spend time watching the water flow by. But it smells of sewers and it’s loud with freeways and bridges. It’s a river in the middle of where people live, waiting with open arms for people to enjoy it. It was deserted and unappreciated… same feeling I used to get about Han River when I was a teenager.
Last time I saw my grandfather, I was in college. He looked at me, held my hand and called me by my mother’s name. His mind was fading from old age. I looked at his eyes and knew he won’t be the same anymore. By then, the river had changed a lot. Lands were well developed and parks were built. It felt more friendly, warm and communal. It looked like people had finally decided to appreciate it.
There is a delight in finding a place where you can retreat. When I first started running by LA River, I told everyone I knew about it. It was like finding a delicious sugar cookie and I wanted to share it with everyone. But no one seemed to be as excited about it as I was. And now I realized the reason that cookie is sweeter to me than anyone else is because it’s linked to old memories. It’s like that scene in Ratatouille where the food critic takes a bite of the humble dish and is transferred immediately back to his childhood.
Granted, finding LA River wasn’t as dramatic for me. But it did stir up something I had left behind. I was excited for all the attention it was receiving. I witnessed the changes. The rarely used bike path and overgrown shrubs at first had one pit stop called the Frogspot. It was a project of Friends of LA River, and it provided free water and bathrooms. Within a year a bicycle café opened up, serving coffee and bike repair services to increasing cyclists in the area. Soon, the news of Los Angeles River development came out and the little strip by LA River received a lot of attention. I wondered if this was what happened to Han River while I was gone.
Revitalization is an exciting word, but I also felt something slipping away. I wanted to capture the people in this point in time when the river will it’s journey to become something different from what it is now. Perhaps witnessing the changes happening here will help me fill the gap in my old river.
LA River on Instagram
all photos by Iris Lee