Three Hours at a South Korean Love Hotel

I’ve driven by their flashy neon lights along the highways on Jeju Island, and walked past them in the middle of the city in Seoul. I’ve been curious how the Korean love hotel works, what they look like inside, and lets face it, it’s a bit of naughty fun in a foreign land.

The abundance of Korean love hotels seem so curious in a seemingly modest and conservative country. A country that censors internet pornography and decriminalized adultery in only 2015.

But then again, they do have a park dedicated to all things sex and another filled with penis statues.

Korea: I can’t quite figure you out…

It’s about 9:00 pm when me and my nighttime lover drive through the entrance of the Korean love hotel, with what can best be described as big strips of fabric, similar to the things you drive through during the drying stage of a gas station car wash, drape over the car intended to shield it.

Safely behind the love hotel curtain, I drive into one of the open garage doors under a lit sign, indicating a vacancy. Before we even step foot outside of the car, the garage door closes behind us. They don’t leave anything to chance, incognito, discreet; there’s no way a spouse, nosy friend or neighbor can catch a peek at that license plate.

What's the story behind these Korean love hotels?

Before I get into it, or rather be gotten in to, let me tell you a bit about the Korean love hotel.

Originating in Japan, the concept of low budget places that you can rent for an hour, or for the night, exploded in Korea just after the 1988 Seoul Olympics. There were big economic incentives to build hotel accommodations for the surge in visitors, and after the visitors all left, there was disproportionate supply. Owners became a bit creative to get clients and offered hourly options.

As the country grew and became more dense, couples needed some private space, unmarried, adult children living with their parents needed some private space, people getting some action on the side needed some private space, and those who pay for sex needed some private space. So birthed the Korean love hotel, spreading from Seoul all throughout the country.

Meanwhile, back at the love hotel...

Two pairs of feet were walking up the stairs to check-in for a couple of hours. But nary a human in sight.

Love motels are anonymous, built with discretion as priority numero uno. No reservation required or accepted; first come, first served. At the top of the stairs is an ATM-like machine, except it doesn’t accept credit cards (see anonymous above). Cash only. One hour is ₩10,000 ($8). 3 hours ₩30,000 ($25). All night is ₩50,000 ($41). All the instructions are in Korean, so we were just kind of pushing buttons, as my lover attempted to jam his credit card in the money slot (not so good foreshadowing for the night), only to halfway shit his pants when it almost got stuck. Luckily, we figured it out, fed it some bills, pushed some random buttons, and pop went the lock. Our feet scattering over the threshold, making our way into our love motel room.

At the beginning, love hotels had the unsurprising reputation in Korea as shady places frequented by adulterers, prostitutes, and unseemly folks that respectable people wouldn’t want to be associated with. But times are a-changing.

Many Korean love hotels are trying to go mainstream, trying to capture the tourist market, not just the love market. There are some crazy themed love motels, and groups of young Koreans rent rooms that are fitted with flat screen TVs and karaoke machines to drink together and chill. But the room at Queen Hotel was definitely intended to be used for one sole purpose.

Walking into the room, I was surprised by the decor. I’d call it “brothel chic.” A deep red Cleopatra sofa in the corner matched by a red, soft leather sex sofa (that’s what it’s called, I Googled it) at the foot of a queen size bed, outfitted with optional vibrating settings.

A black, studded leather accent wall behind the bed with a mirror to the right and a frosted glass door leading into the bathroom to the left. And the pièce de résistance, a laminated visual of 12 acrobatic sex positions made possible by using the sex sofa. The lamination was a smart touch, easy to wipe down; I don’t want to think of all the hands touching it with the other hand doing who knows what.

With laminated visual aid in hand, yada yada yada, our three hours were up.

Post Korean Love Hotel

Right up there with the Korean sauna, the love motel is a pretty cool concept that I wish could be exported to the states. It just wouldn’t quite work in America though, we’d ruin it somehow. But it works in Korea. It creates some excitement getting down in a different locale, while still being able to wake up in your own bed. Clean up is someone else’s problem and you don’t have to worry about your neighbors hearing your business (they know what they’re getting into at a love hotel).

If you find yourself in Korea, make sure to experience a love hotel. But you won’t find them on Kayak or booking.com.

They still exist on a separate plane than traditional hotels, but again, things are a-changing: two websites specifically for finding and booking love motels are gaining popularity. Yanolja, a double-entendre for “Hey, let’s play” and “Let’s have nighttime fun” is the most popular one with 17,000 hotel partners and 8 million app subscribers.

There’s a push to make them mainstream, which is kind of a shame. There’s something so kitch, a little grimy, a little taboo about an authentic love hotel. I’d hate to see them all turn into another touristy, Pinterest board inspired locale. I think there’s still some time before that happens, and I’ll be sure to take advantage of the ones still around while I’m here. And you should too.