My recent trip to Gunsan, North Jeolla Province, began with a surprisingly luxurious ride. Boarding an express bus with two friends on a hot summer morning, we were struck by its high-end, almost first-class interior — reclining seats, privacy curtains, personal screens and even complimentary bottled water. It was hardly the bus ride we had expected. Upon arrival, our first stop was Iseongdang, the city's legendary bakery. Even in the sweltering summer heat, waiting in line for fresh pastries and coffee felt like a joyful ritual before heading out for brunch. Our afternoon walk took us to the historic Gyeongnam-dong Railroad Village, where the nostalgic atmosphere and old-fashioned shop fronts felt strangely reminiscent of a Japanese “omatsuri,” or festival. It was fascinating yet surreal, as though a time machine had transported us to another country while we remained firmly in Korea — a true paradox of nostalgia and historical pain. That superficial charm, however, quickly gave way to a sobering reality at the Gunsan Modern History Museum. A neon sign bearing the words, “A n