Having been tied down by a pandemic for the past year and a half, many of us are dreaming of the trips we will take when we finally emerge into the new normal. But what if, instead of a tropical beach or an old city, your next destination were an area destroyed by a recent earthquake, a city swept away by a tsunami, or even a community sucked into the earth by a sinkhole? This is the premise of Yun Ko-eun’s novel, “The Disaster Tourist,” in which the protagonist, Yona, works for Jungle, a company that organizes just such package trips.
Why on earth might one want to visit a disaster zone? Jungle’s customers aren’t necessarily lovers of the macabre or those who revel in the misfortune of others. Some, like a college student, see an opportunity for “ethical tourism” to help devastated communities. Others, like an elementary school teacher who brings along her five-year-old daughter, hope the experience will be an educational one. Sometimes it can be as simple as the desire for something different from one’s dayto-day life. But there are deeper forces at work as well, Yona knws; being in such a shattered place reinforces the ever-present threat of disaster and also reaffirms that the traveler is indeed still alive. It’s the joy of not having been chosen in the lottery of natural disasters. This hits rather close to home for this group of travelers, whose trip comes shortly after a tsunami crashes into the coastal Korean town of Jinhae, a disaster never witnessed by the reader through the eyes of any of the characters but whose horrible aftermath is felt throughout the book.
Turning their backs on the calamity at home, the travelers embark on a trip to the island of Mui, off the coast of Vietnam. Yona is unique among the group in that she isn’t there of her own accord. Having been sexually assaulted by her boss and realizing she’s been marked as undesirable at her workplace, she submits her resignation. To her surprise, though, she is given a month off and sent on one of the company’s holiday packages – not as a customer, but to evaluate whether the package should be discontinued. So she travels to Mui with the others, where she encounters an old sinkhole, a rather unimpressive volcano and a reenactment of a massacre perpetrated by one tribe on another, and stays in the home of a member of the victim tribe.
Yona’s story would have been relatively unremarkable had she returned to Korea as planned to submit her report. But a moment of carelessness separates her from her group on the way to the airport, and she finds herself stranded in rural Vietnam. Another such moment leaves her without her wallet and passport, stolen by a pickpocket. Berating herself for being the incompetent traveler she has always so despised, she makes her way back to Mui – where she uncovers a chilling reality beneath the surface of life on the resort island.
The novel combines an unsettling tale of twisted plots with cutting social commentary that will leave you haunted and contemplative, especially if you’ve ever traveled abroad on holiday. What exactly do we want when we look for a “genuine” experience, and what lies behind the facade that has been carefully constructed to satisfy our desires? What happens when a community finds itself wholly dependent on an industry that threatens to swallow it whole, like a gaping sinkhole? As the story barrels toward its conclusion, still shrouded in its own gravity, you will find yourself simply trying to hold on. Even after the last page is turned, the book and the questions it raises will stay with you.