Seoul’s ruined Jumbo Jet, the Juan T. Trippe

Mike GristHaikyo, Planes / Tanks, South Korea, World Ruins

The Juan T. Trippe Jumbo Jet was once the crown jewel of the Pan Am fleet, built in 1970 as the world’s first commercial jumbo jet. Now it’s the shabby ruin of a high-concept restaurant in Seoul, South Korea.

I visited in the summer of 2009, with SY. This is the story of our explore, and the story of how such a historic plane ended up in such bizarre circumstances.

Nose cone of the Juan T. Trippe

I was in Korea to visit SY’s family and get to know something about her country. On our trip we visited all the major tourist highlights- the War Museum, the Seoul Tower, various ancient palaces. and of course, this plane.

The Juan T. Trippe is hardly on the Korean tourist trail, nor does it feature in any guidebooks or promotional brochures, but it’s after glimpsing it on the internet I knew I just had to visit this amazing sight for myself. It did not disappoint. To say the vision of a jumbo jet parked beside a city is incongruous is an understatement. It’s downright bizarre, and intriguing. That’s clearly what the owners hoped for when they bought it in California, had it chopped into 62 pieces and shipped in giant containers across the Pacific.

What owners? Time for a little history.

Easy to spot.

This jet was built in 1969, and named after Juan T. Trippe, one of the leading aeronautical pioneers of his time. He was a Howard Hughes figure who invented the very idea of the Jumbo Jet. He also and founded the company Pan American Airlines, which in the 1930’s and 40’s was the biggest airline company in the world.

However modern times were not kind to Pan Am, and after Trippe’s death in 1975 it began to ail. In 1991 the company filed for bankruptcy and was not bailed out by the US government. As a result it was broken up and all its planes sold. The Juan T. Trippe flew a few more routes between Nigeria, California, and Somalia for various owners, before being put out to pasture in 1999. However in 2001 a South Korean couple bought it as their dream-retirement package, shipped it to Seoul, and converted into a high-concept restaurant.

On dry land again they rebuilt it, fashioning new stubby wings for it to keep the image complete, gutting it to add in Asian-style floor-dining at the level of the windows, a kitchen, and an executive suite up where the pilots once steered the giant craft.

The restaurant didn’t last long though, failing in the mid-2000’s, leaving the couple living in a hut beneath the hull to serve as security guards to keep out vandals. We met them, when they popped out from their shack under the plane to chase us away.

More on that now.

Bold against the city.

Giant nose.

SY figured all the logistics for this trip, not surprisingly since she’s Korean. It meant taking a combination of several trains and buses out of central Seoul 40km or so.

“We’re nearly at the end of the line,” she said, as the bus pulled round another twisting turn amongst Korea’s tall green mountains.

“I see it!” I cried, as for a moment the nose of a bright blue jumbo jet poked its head out at me, before another green mountain blocked it from view.

We got off the bus and hurried to see it, and there it was. The Juan T. Trippe in all its jumbo glory, clearly abandoned, gorgeous against a gorgeous blue sky.

Ready to take-off, again. Here the stair-case and hut under the belly are clear.

After arriving and wandering around a bit in awe, we approached. There was a shabby looking hut beneath the jet’s belly, and an access stair going up the side. We climbed up it, only to be halted at the top by locked glass doors. Down the stairs, seemingly roused by our footsteps, an angry old man appeared out of nowhere and spat some aggressive Korean at us. SY told me he was basically telling us to get lost, get off his property, which I suppose was fair enough.

A noodle shop under its wing.

Fair enough, but we’d not come all that distance to give up so easily. SY took point and I stood in back smiling and flashing my camera as we went down to the shack the old man lived in, squatted underneath the hull. He called out into the house and an old woman emerged, presumably his wife, who seemed pretty unimpressed with us, though perhaps amenable to suggestion. SY flashed her press credentials and pushed through the woman’s negativity with some semi-true exaggerations (this is a photographer from England, I’m from a magazine in Tokyo, we’ve come only to see your plane, we really had hoped to see inside, please don’t say we’ve come all this way for nothing), not really false but neither totally true.

The woman persisted, but SY just started walking forwards and saying ‘thank you thank you’ and before I knew it the woman had relented and we were in the fuselage (where it was baking hot) and taking shots.

At the entrance, looking in.

Dining zones.

Tables, windows.

It was obvious the woman was only just tolerating us, so SY kept her busy with a barrage of questions (taking notes all the while), while I took photos as fast I could. I hurried towards the cock-pit but the woman signaled for me to stop. SY said ‘thank you thank you’ a few more times and we both made a dash onwards, unobstructed.

The cockpit was set up like an office, with a few chairs looking out of the glass over the city blocks, an old PC in back. Down the spiral staircase beneath it was a conference room kind of space, a nice long table and chairs fitting perfectly in the narrowing fuselage.

Conference zone.

Conference zone windows.

Refurbishing.

Cockpit.

Suite area.

Looking down on clouds.

Low tables and seating cushions.

We dashed around a bit more, took a few more photos, then that was it, and we were out in the cool fresh air again. SY was able to fill me in on all that she’d learned: the two old folks were the owners, they’d bought it with their own cash as their dream-retirement package, the first commercial Jumbo Jet ever in their possession as a restaurant. It was a big dream, and one can only respect their ambition.

For the few years it managed to survive, I can imagine all the locals coming to check it out at least once, just to say they had eaten there, but after you’ve used up that pool, and the middle-era Jumbo Jet fan pool, what do you have left? A rather expensive, sad folly in the middle of nowhere.

Down the side.

Out the back.

The wife also told SY that numerous film and TV crews had come by asking for permission to come aboard and do interviews, but she’d always refused, including refusing a crew from NHK (the Japanese BBC) who had come especially to shoot it. Why she let us in is a mystery, but probably has to do with SY’s determination. Kudos to her for that!

She further told us the plane would be shipped off elsewhere, and would become a museum, which seems a fitting third life for such a storied plane. (note- it has since been demolished, though I can’t say whether it ended up as a museum or simply scrap metal).

Juan T. Trippe, the aviator.

seouls ruined jumbo jet restaurant25

One of the sections preparing for transit, back in 2001 after the couple bought it.

Here’s a video of some highlights. Its quite basic, as once inside it was pell-mell to get what photos I could. There were much longer sections with SY talking to the lady beneath the plane, I just left a few seconds in so you get the impression.

Seoul’s ruined Jumbo Jet- Clipper Juan T. Trippe from Michael John Grist on Vimeo.

You can see more photos of ruin in the galleries-

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Building New Atlantis

Mike GristScience Fiction, Stories

building new atlantis1by Michael John Grist

The first stage in the construction of New Atlantis went quietly, and the world scarcely noticed. It looked enough like a new ship or oil drilling platform on the satellite photos that no other nation would pay it too much mind.

It was only after that first stage was completed, and the second stage begun right next to it, that the world sat up and took notice.

“Is this a new fleet then?” asked the United Nations.

“Whose property is this?” asked NATO.

“How did you finance this?” asked the WTO.

“What shipping rights have you declared?” asked UNESCO.

“What about all the little animals?” asked the WWF.

New Atlantis sidestepped the questions. Lawyers were sent to spill nothing answers over the courts and demands. “Wait,” they said. “Give us time. We’re building something amazing here.”

Image from here.

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Awesome abandoned theaters in the USA

Mike GristEntertainment, USA, World Ruins

Cinema is the American cultural export, a clearinghouse genre jam-packed with iconic images, historical rewrites, and the changing face of the Western hero. For over 100 years movies have documented and dominated the zeitgeist, giving rise to a whole new culture of popcorn and hot dogs, glamour, romance, and the glittering stars of Hollywood’s Hall of Fame. Everyone wants to be someone, and “here’s lookin’ at you kid.”

Then the merry-go-round stops. The dream factory dies. It sits alone, becomes squalid. Its plaster rots and its grand facade chips, its halls of fantasy chink open to daylight, and depredation rolls in.

Loew’s King’s Theater, New York

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Ruins of the Queen Chateau Soapland, HDR

Mike GristHaikyo, Ibaraki, Sex Industry

It was my second time to visit the ruins of the Queen Chateau. It’s a bizarre abandonment, a giant soapland in the midst of a cluster of still-functioning soaplands presiding over them like the towering castle in the suburbs in Edward Scissorhands. Within its walls sex was transacted for money on a grand scale, on 6 floors of executive suites, four per floor, each kitted out with a large bath, private bar and a bed.

3 Venuses in the lobby, behind the fountain

It’s a little odd to talk about going to a soapland, even one in ruins. Perhaps it’s stranger to go to one in ruins than one that is still functioning. Why would you want to go there? Surely it’s just a sad place. Whether you think it was once a place of just-good-fun or a place of exploitation, you’d have to agree the ruins would have a bad vibe.

Well, yes. They do.

Why would I come a second time, then? It’s a good question. I started going to ruins about 2 years ago looking for some sense of adventure, and at times I certainly found it, along with camaraderie with friends, a new hobby, and a new (if small) audience for whatever I had to say about such places. After a while though the excitement of such explorations tended to fade away and be replaced with a desire to document them well on my blog, to get hits, and to add to the collection. Now I’ve visited around 50 ruins locations, and regularly wonder if I can get a book published. I’ve had brief feedback from Kodansha (a big Japanese publisher) that my idea was interesting but my photos weren’t up to it. I sent off a few more pitches to other publishers in the States, Chrysler was one, Things Asian another, and got some positive feedback but no buy-in.

So I started to work on my photography. All the while though I see other ruins posts on other sites far out-strip the kind of readership that my posts get. I suppose this is because they are posted on larger sites that take multiple articles from multiple blogs, and so have a much wider reader-base. You can’t argue with that. In fact, the only thing to do is to try to get on board. So I sent off pitches for some ‘Ruins of Japan’ compilation articles to various off-beat interest e-zines. I heard back from one who may yet take me on to some extent, so I’m excited about that.

So that’s basically why I went back. Simple really; to get better photos. In fact I killed two birds with one stone by bringing a visiting friend along, Maxx, who had never been in a ruin before.

Ladies with crude graffiti.

Before I get into explaining what a soapland is, and showing the photos, know that you can see my first post and original photos here. The text is more florid, the photos a bit starker, but it’s the same place alright.

So, what is a soapland? Well, it’s basically a Turkish water brothel. Until about 10 years ago they were just called ‘Turkish Baths’, until the Turkish ambassador made some formal complaint and the names were changed en masse. It’s a place to ostensibly get washed by a girl, with all kinds of other bits and pieces thrown in.

In Japan a certain degree of quasi-prostitution is generally and regularly overlooked. Massage parlors in the red-light district, ‘extra services’ available at hostess bars and love hotels, and of course soaplands, they all just about pass muster and manage to continue functioning, probably because the politicians who fail to go after them are all men and frequently use their services themselves.

As to the failure of the Queen Chateau, one can only think it was too grand a vision for the consumer base to sustain. There just wasn’t that much demand for it. Even all the smaller soaplands in the area, there’s probably 5 or 6 of them, won’t have as many rooms put together as the Chateau did alone. Certainly none of them as grand. So, it failed.

The bright red roof really makes it stand out.

The Queen.

Sad eyes, I think.

The lobby, fountain and mural to the right.

Lewd graffiti, the lobby.

‘You’ll die if you go up’ reads the graffiti.

A steam-chair and mural in one of the lower rooms.

Steam chair and mural in a higher room.

Up on the roof.

I realize now I didn’t take a single photo of one of the bath-tubs. How remiss of me. I guess they just weren’t very photogenic, looking much like a jacuzzi in any room, with a few leaves thrown in. You can see tubs though in photos from my first post.

You can explore more Japanese ruins (haikyo) in the galleries:

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You can also read SF & Fantasy stories inspired by ruins.

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Mack’s Kids

Mike GristZine

image1by Michael Brown

“I had a life once,” the trucker said pushing away the unfinished food on his plate. He downed the coffee. He ate late in diners. Slept in his truck or in motel rooms. Hazards of his occupation. “Why so sad tonight?” Cherise said, pouring another cup.

“Maybe I’m thinking about my ex a little too much lately.” Truth was he could not stop himself thinking about her these days. After hauling another load of farm products from the midwest to the east coast Mack had returned to Plainsville drawn by what, he could not quite say. He had passed through this place eight or nine times in the last three years, usually sleeping in the truck’s upper berth. Once again, however, he had decided to splurge and rent a motel room. He figured he could charge it off to the shippers.

He went out of his way to stop by at Cooney’s Diner, always hoping Cherise would be on duty there. It was not that she ever said much. Serving his food, she smiled. Small comforts, perhaps, but he yearned for them. But something else troubled him. His two days in Plainsville had passed quickly and still the kids had added nothing new to the truck. He glanced out to where Bertha sat apart from other vehicles, quiet, yet brightly illustrated. Cherise followed his gaze.

“Something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mack. Did you paint those kids on the side of your truck?”

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7 Bizarre Monuments of Saddam’s Iraq

Mike GristIraq, Statues / Monuments, World Ruins

When Iraq lost the war to Coalition Forces back in 2003 the iconic image was one of American soldiers tearing down a great bronze statue of Saddam Hussein in Firdos Square. Soon after giant busts of his head were removed from the Palace of the Republican Guard. These destructions were symbols of victory, symbols of an end to tyranny. But in the half-war half-rebuilding period that followed, Iraqis were faced with hundreds more remnants of Hussein’s 24-year rule, monuments written in bronze and stone across the country. Was it right to tear them all down, thereby erasing any memory of the brutal dictator and his Baath regime, or should some of them remain to commemorate a past that really did happen?

Monuments of Saddam’s Iraq

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Relics of the Keishin Hospital 3. Graffiti

Mike GristGrafitti, Haikyo, Hospitals, Kanagawa

Often ruins have a few tags littering their walls, messages and names left by some dumb-asses in their bid for eternal glory. Scrawls, defacements, junk. Well, not so the Kesihin hospital. It is a gallery of gorgeous, skilled, vivid art that Banksy would be proud of. Fantastic Celtic patterns, grotesque monsters, beautiful sexy women, Warhol-esque renderings of famous models, comedic talking heads, and on. The place is a treasure trove of ever-changing art, as new artists come in and add to, alter, replace the work done by their forebears. Spread over 6 floors and the roof, every wall a blank canvas waiting for the lick of aerosol paint. Phew. Wow.

She reads the gothic text, comes up blank.

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Waterfall

Mike GristStories, Surreal

by Michael John Gristwaterfall1

I cut open his brain because he needed help.

“Help me,” he’d whispered, banging at my fly screen in the middle of the night, his wet shirtsleeves slapping against the cracked glass of my back porch slide door. “I need help.”

So I’d let him in. Set him down. Listened to him talk.

“There’s a waterfall,” he’d said, lying there in the dark kitchen slumped across my table. “I see it when I dream. And the dark creatures. There are dark creatures in the waterfall. Slithering in the cold, behind the falls.”

“Oh?” I’d said, keeping my voice low and steady and calm. “Is that so?”

“And there’s fish,” he’d said. “In the water. Falling down the falls. And they think they’re happy. Hoop de hoop. They think falling in this water is so much fun fun fun. But when they pass the cave, the cave behind the falls, it’s not so fun. They start to panic, they flail and twist, because they know. And sometimes, yes, they do die. The dark creatures, they reach out, and they catch the fish.”

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Birthed by a hurricane, killed by a hurricane- the SS Hurricane Camille

Mike GristShipwrecks, USA, World Ruins

In August 1969 Hurricane Camille struck the Gulf Coast with a slam hard enough to presage the destructive powers of future hurricanes. Buildings were swept off their concrete slab foundations, cars were carried into the marshes, and boats were lofted out of the Gulfport docks and dropped down in the middle of nowhere like Dorothy’s wooden house out of Kansas. The “Ease Point” 80 foot tug was one just such boat, one that found a second life named after the Hurricane that upended its world, a second life that ended sadly but fittingly in a second hurricane.

Pummeled after Katrina

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Relics of America’s youth: Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas

Mike GristMilitary Installations, USA, World Ruins

Way back in 1825, with the revolutionary war 49 years past and the purchase of Florida from Spain only 5 years gone, America still very much feared attack by a foreign power. Inspectors were sent to the Dry Tortugas in the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico to source sturdy islands for fortification. 21 years later Fort Jefferson was built on sandy Garden Key, designed to consolidate the young country’s coastal defences and secure her lines of naval trade.

Fort Jefferson, over 100 years ‘abandoned’

For only 42 it saw active military service, in Federal hands for the Civil War, then serving briefly as a prison for naval deserters, common thieves, as well as the suspected assassins of President Lincoln. In 1888 the Navy handed it over to the Marine Hospital Service to be operated as a quarantine station. 47 years later in 1935 President Franklin Roosevelt visited and designated the area a National Park.

So now it remains, visited by tourists and maintained by Rangers, still the largest masonry structure in the Western hemisphere (with over 16 million bricks), a gorgeous hexagonal structure that both speaks to history and to the mentality of Americans, a people who only recently (compared to others) won their country from colonial powers and have ever since defended it to the hilt.

4 long walls and 2 short, set at sea level

Flanked by coral, a lighthouse within the grounds

Within the walls, parade ground, lighthouse

Looking out on the ‘moat’

Endless arches

On and on

Moat retaining wall

Moat/swimming pool

In retrograde

Ancient

If you know of any cool ruins, please drop me an email- outofruins@hotmail.com

Photo Links- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

See many more abandoned places in the ruins gallery.

Explore more Japanese ruins (haikyo) in the galleries:

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You can also read SF & Fantasy stories inspired by ruins.

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