Gwanghui-dong's Central Asia Street: One neighborhood, many flavors

[About Town Global]: Gwanghui-dong's Central Asia Street

Korea is no longer the homogeneous nation it once was. The country saw a record high 2.16 million foreign residents as of 2025, accounting for more than four percent of the population. Many of them have found comfort in settling near one another, creating various ethnic enclaves in Korea that preserve culture and language from afar. In this "Global" edition, a spinoff of Korea JoongAng Daily's long-running "About Town" series, we talk to residents, business owners and passersby to explore the beginnings of these communities, their evolution and the ways they navigate life in modern Korea.

Each time a long-handled metal scraper disappears into a clay oven, another freshly baked somsa (flaky meat pastry) peels away from the vessel's red-hot wall. Within minutes, a pile of golden pastries stuffed with minced lamb or beef is stacked outside, beckoning hungry passersby.

Thirty years ago, nothing like this existed in the neighborhood now called Central Asia Street in Gwanghui-dong, central Seoul.

And all it took was one homesick Uzbek.

Amonov Shahriyorkhon first arrived near Dongdaemun Market, one of Korea's largest wholesale and retail shopping districts at the time, in 1996 to work in the textile export business, joining a wave of migrants from Russia and Central Asia drawn to Korea because of its abundant commercial opportunities.

Before long, a small Uzbek community had formed adjacent to the market, but there was little that tasted like home — no somsa, no shashlik (grilled meat skewers), no plov (rice pilaf).

So, in 2003, a year after his son, Amonov Shohjahon, was born, he opened Samarkand, the first Uzbek restaurant on Central Asia Street. 

"Back then, there was only my father's restaurant," Shohjahon told the Korea JoongAng Daily. "Today, there are more than 10."

Today, an entire alley is lined with clay ovens outside Uzbek restaurants, many of which are named after Samarkand, Uzbekistan's ancient Silk Road city, famous for its turquoise-domed mosques and Islamic schools.  The piles of somsa and the smoky aroma of the lamb shashlik draw not only hungry, homesick Uzbeks but also immigrants from elsewhere — and curious locals.

These diners served as a lifeline for immigrants and their descendants from Uzbekistan and other parts of Central Asia trying to put down roots in Korea. Over time, businesses handling daily necessities, such as mobile phone shops and currency exchange booths, started to pop up, and a community took form.

A short, one-minute walk from Exit 12 of Dongdaemun History & Culture Park Station and a right turn brings you to the entrance to Central Asia Street. Despite its name, it is not a single street but a neighborhood covering several streets and alleyways. Though some parts of the neighborhood are residential, much of it is lined with restaurants. 

A neighborhood built by immigrants

In the 1980s, Gwanghui-dong was best known for its entertainment venues and inns. That began to change in the early 1990s after Korea established diplomatic relations with Russia.

Russian traders began settling near Dongdaemun Market, drawn by its thriving wholesale clothing business, and they were soon followed by migrants from Central Asia, including Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, as well as Mongolia.

As more immigrants arrived and communities took shape, businesses catering to their daily needs began to appear one after another, including restaurants serving flavors from home.

That was also the case for Shohjahon's father.

"My dad would serve customers, cook and just do everything," Shohjahon said.

Watching him, Shohjahon naturally came to open his own restaurant too. "I learned how to do everything, including cooking, from him," said Shohjahon, whose restaurant has since become one of the most popular Uzbek diners on the street, drawing long lines on weekends. 

However, many Russian traders left Korea by the late 1990s as economic conditions worsened back home, while the Mongolian community continued to grow. 

In 2014, the Jung District Office designated the area where many of these businesses are concentrated as Central Asia Street, and today, roughly 160 businesses operate along the stretch within Gwanghui-dong, where 1,340 foreign residents live, according to the Jung District Office.

Uzbek and Mongolian businesses occupy much of the neighborhood today, while a few Russian-owned stores remain. Over time, restaurants serving the cuisines of countries such as Vietnam and Georgia also began to appear along the street.

For Shohjahon, however, Central Asia Street is simply where he grew up.

Uzbek, Mongol and more

Enkhtungalag Javkhlantugs runs one of the dozens of Mongolian restaurants that make up a large part of Central Asia Street.

Like many businesses in the Central Asia Street, Javkhlantugs' Mongolian restaurant Mongol Nomadic is staffed almost entirely by people from the country. Some at Mongol Nomadic include chefs from Mongolia hired through recommendations and Mongolians married to Koreans.

Inside the restaurant's ger, the circular felt tent that has served as the traditional home of Mongolian nomads for centuries, bowls piled high with sliced lamb arrive at the table, while steam rises from baskets of freshly made buuz, Mongolia's signature meat dumplings.

Unlike Shohjahon, Javkhlantugs wasn't born into this community. He chose it.

Javkhlantugs first came to Korea in 2004 to study Korean. He returned to Mongolia about a year later but found himself wanting to come back.

"I loved living in Korea," he said. "I kept thinking about how I could stay here. I regularly came back on tourist visas. But I wanted to stay in Korea for the long term, and for me, it was to own a restaurant."  

The opportunity finally came in July 2021, when he took over an existing Mongolian restaurant on the street.  Taking over the restaurant gave him a chance to stay in Korea by turning the cuisine he already knew into a business, rather than pursuing professions that required formal qualifications or specialized skills.

"The first year was the hardest," he said. "The language was the biggest challenge at first because I couldn't speak Korean well. The culture was also different, but it's much easier now."

The restaurant has since become one of Seoul's most popular Mongolian eateries, thanks in part to television programs that introduced Mongolian cuisine to a wider audience.

About 60 percent of its customers are Mongolian, while most of the rest are Korean. Khuushuur, or crispy deep-fried meat pastries, and khorkhog, a traditional dish of lamb slow-cooked with potatoes and vegetables, are among its most popular menu items.

Today, he lives near the neighborhood with his wife and two children, who joined him in Korea after he settled there.

One street, another world

For the immigrants who live and work on the street and nearby, these businesses are more than just a way to earn money. They are a community. They double as gathering places, and neighbors from different countries rely on one another for everything from friendship to practical support.

Shohjahon grew up in that community, where friendships were shaped less by nationality than by simply living in the same neighborhood. 

"My parents are from Uzbekistan, but I was born here," he said. "I have a lot of Mongolian friends because we all grew up together in this neighborhood. We used to play at the neighborhood playground […] Whenever the community center holds events, we all try to participate." 

The first signs of the neighborhood's multicultural identity and community appear near Exit 5 of Dongdaemun History & Culture Park Station.

A tall pole sprouts dozens of arrow-shaped signs pointing toward Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan; Samarkand, Uzbekistan; Ulan-Ude, Russia; and more. Beneath each destination is its distance from Gwanghui-dong, stretching thousands of kilometers toward the homelands of many who now call this neighborhood home.

Cross the street, and signs in Cyrillic begin appearing occasionally between familiar Korean storefronts such as Mega Coffee. A wide alley at the end of the block leads into Central Asia Street.

Within a few steps inside, the pavement beneath your feet turns bright blue, bearing the words "Central Asia Street"in Korean alongside traditional Central Asian-inspired patterns and illustrations of horse riders.

Soon, Cyrillic and English signs become almost as common as Korean ones. Around lunchtime, office workers wander through the alley in search of exotic food, while others seem to know exactly where they're going, stopping by grocery stores, mailing packages home or chatting outside businesses where everyone speaks their language.

Many of those purposeful visitors eventually make their way to a 10-story building named Mongol Town, the unofficial gathering place for the Mongolian community.

"There are many Mongolians living across Korea," Javkhlantugs said. As of 2025, 60,008 Mongolians were living in Korea, according to Korea's Ministry of Justice's immigration office.

"But some don't speak Korean well. They come here [to Mongol Town] because here there are Mongolian workers and they can use services in Mongolian. If they go to a bank near where they live, they may have trouble communicating, so they come here instead."

Virtually every one of the roughly 40 businesses in Mongol Town caters to the Mongolian community. Signs and posters are written almost exclusively in Mongolian, and conversations spilling out of restaurants are in the language. At one grocery store, even the cashier speaks very little Korean.

Further down the street, the businesses reflect the practical needs of immigrant life.

Mobile phone shops stand beside money-transfer offices and cargo companies. Their signs are a mix of Korean, English and Cyrillic, while their windows are plastered with the flags of countries such as Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, Armenia and Tajikistan, signaling the wide range of immigrant communities they serve.

"Many foreigners living in or visiting Korea come here because phones are cheaper," said Uujin Besud, a Mongolian student who has worked at a neighborhood mobile phone shop for five years. "Many Mongolians come here to buy SIM cards." 

These businesses help newcomers settle into life in Korea while keeping migrants connected to families thousands of kilometers away by shipping clothes and gifts and helping workers send money home.

A community under one roof

If Mongol Town is largely for Mongolians, Mandakh Market belongs to everyone.

"It's like the neighborhood's living room. Many go there," Shohjahon said.

Past a narrow alley where a mural of children in traditional Mongolian clothing holding hands stretches along one wall, connecting the Mongolian and Uzbek sections of Central Asia Street, sits the market, no larger than a typical convenience store.

More than anywhere else, it embodies Gwanghui-dong's dual role as both a global marketplace and a neighborhood gathering place.

Inside the store, shelves are packed with products from across Central Asia and Eastern Europe: vodka and sweets from Russia and Ukraine, pasta from Kazakhstan, canned fish from France and snacks that remain difficult to find elsewhere in Seoul.

Outside, plastic tables and chairs are set up on the porch, where people exchange news from home, reconnect with old friends and, if only for an afternoon, feel a little less far away.

"People come here, have a drink and just talk," said Amaraa, a Mongolian who has lived in Korea for 10 years and worked at the market for the past three.

Customers come from "Russia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Asia, really, from everywhere," she said.

After two customers speaking Russian left, a Mongolian customer also walked out carrying bags filled with pasta, imported ham and other groceries.

"I come here often to buy groceries," said Goyo Khatagin, who has lived nearby for four years. "They have products that bring a sense of home."

Next to the market sits Russian Cake, one of the few remaining traces of Russia in Gwanghui-dong. Here, too, a sense of community lingers.

On a recent afternoon, a group of Mongolian women shared a Napoleon cake over coffee, while Korean and Russian couples, along with a group of Korean students, also came for desserts.

Irina Moroz, who moved to Korea in 2000, has run the bakery with her husband since they opened it in 2018. Every morning, she arrives at 7:30 a.m. to bake every cake by hand alongside her cousin, who is also from Russia.

Thanks to the neighborhood's authenticity, Central Asia Street is also increasingly crowded with Koreans seeking cuisines and cultures they cannot easily find elsewhere.

"In the past five years, many more Koreans have started coming here," Shohjahon said. "They didn't know much about Central Asia before, but now there's much more information online, and many people have traveled there. They come because they want to try dishes that are difficult to find anywhere else in Korea."

But Shohjahon hopes that curiosity eventually extends beyond the restaurants.

"I hope people will walk around the neighborhood, take in the Mongolian and Uzbek atmosphere and try the food," he said. "But I'd also like to see it become about more than just restaurants."

To do that, he believes the neighborhood needs more cultural spaces.

"If you go to Myeong-dong or Itaewon, they have landmarks at the entrance that tell you you've arrived. We need a symbolic gateway because first-time visitors don't know where the neighborhood begins or what they're looking at. It would be great to have places where visitors can experience the culture or take photos."

BY WOO JI-WON [[email protected]]