Above the midday streets of Seoul, a narrow ribbon of polyester stretched between two buildings near the ancient Gyeongbokgung palace, and a man stepped onto it — not as a stunt, but as a kind of dialogue. Jaan Roose, Estonia's three-time slackline world champion, walked 160 metres at 120 metres of altitude, drawn to this city by an encounter with jultagi, Korea's centuries-old tradition of singing and joking on a rope above a crowd. In choosing Seoul, Roose placed himself at the intersection of the ancient and the extreme, reminding those who looked up that the human impulse to balance above
Estonian daredevil completes death-defying 160m slackline walk above Seoul
Just looking at him makes my legs go weak
Mark
Why does Roose keep choosing these specific locations? Is it just about the height and the distance?
Mimi
It seems like there's something deeper. He visited Seoul in 2022 and encountered jultagi—the traditional Korean tightrope walking. That experience stayed with him. When he came back to walk the highline, he was engaging with that cultural tradition, not just chasing a bigger number.
Luke
But we should be careful here. The source says his 2022 visit "inspired" the walk, but we don't have a direct quote from Roose explaining that connection. It's the reporter's interpretation of why he chose Seoul.
Mark
Fair point. So what we know for certain is that he did the walk, he's done other extreme slacklines before, and he encountered jultagi on a previous trip.
Mimi
Right. And the crowds' reaction tells you something about the gap between watching someone do this and understanding how it's possible. People were genuinely frightened, even knowing he was a professional.
Luke
The source does give us specific quotes from two people in the crowd, which grounds that reaction. But we don't have Roose's own words about what he was thinking or feeling during the walk itself.
Mark
Does that matter? We see what he did—the sitting, the lying down, the hanging by one arm.
Mimi
Those actions speak. They show he wasn't just crossing; he was performing, playing with the line, testing his control. That's closer to jultagi than a simple point-to-point crossing would be.
Luke
True, though again, we're inferring that connection. The source doesn't explicitly say he was mimicking or referencing jultagi during the Seoul walk itself.
The Pulse
- At 1pm on a Thursday, Seoul's lunch hour stopped — office workers mid-stride, phones raised, necks craned toward a figure stepping off a rooftop onto a line thinner than a thumb.
- Spectators admitted their legs went weak just watching; the traffic below moved on indifferently while the crowd above held a collective, involuntary breath at every wobble.
- Midway across, Roose sat cross-legged, then lay flat on his back, then on the return journey hung by one arm and dangled by his feet — each gesture a deliberate escalation of the impossible.
- When he finally stepped back onto the rooftop, applause broke out below — less celebration than relief, the crowd exhaling something they had not realised they were holding.
- A second crossing was planned for 4pm, and at street level, members of the public were invited to try slacklining just 30 centimetres off the ground — a gentle, humbling echo of what they had witnessed in the sky.
Above the midday streets of Seoul, a narrow ribbon of polyester stretched between two buildings near the ancient Gyeongbokgung palace, and a man stepped onto it — not as a stunt, but as a kind of dialogue. Jaan Roose, Estonia's three-time slackline world champion, walked 160 metres at 120 metres of altitude, drawn to this city by an encounter with jultagi, Korea's centuries-old tradition of singing and joking on a rope above a crowd. In choosing Seoul, Roose placed himself at the intersection of the ancient and the extreme, reminding those who looked up that the human impulse to balance above the ordinary world is older than any record it might break.
The lunch hour in central Seoul paused on a Thursday when a polyester ribbon appeared between two buildings near Gyeongbokgung palace — 160 metres long, suspended 120 metres above the street. At 1pm, Jaan Roose, a 34-year-old Estonian and three-time slackline world champion, stepped off the Koreana hotel roof and began to walk.
Roose is no stranger to audacity. He has crossed the Strait of Messina on a 3.6-kilometre line, survived a fall caught only by his harness, and last month spent 12 hours walking 14.7 kilometres above the Danube in Bratislava. For the crowd gathering below with phones raised, they were watching someone for whom the impossible had become a working method.
It did not feel routine to those watching. "Just looking at him makes my legs go weak," said one office worker. Another admitted to worry despite knowing his credentials. Midway across, Roose sat cross-legged on the line, then lay flat on his back, drawing gasps. On the return journey he hung by one arm, then dangled by his feet. When he finally stepped off the rooftop, the crowd applauded — some visibly relieved.
A second crossing was scheduled for 4pm. At Cheonggye plaza, members of the public were invited to try slacklining on lines set just 30 to 50 centimetres above the ground — a humbling contrast to what they had witnessed overhead.
Roose's choice of Seoul was not arbitrary. In 2022 he had encountered jultagi, Korea's traditional tightrope walking — a UNESCO-recognised art form in which the performer sings, jokes, and dances on the rope while trading banter with a clown below and musicians play accompaniment. That encounter had stayed with him. His return above Gwanghwamun square was, in some sense, a conversation across centuries: a modern extreme sport meeting an ancient performance tradition, both built on the same essential act of trusting one's balance above the ordinary world.
The lunch hour in central Seoul was interrupted by something that made office workers pause mid-stride and lift their eyes skyward. Between the Koreana hotel and the Dong-A Media Center, a few hundred metres from the ancient Gyeongbokgung palace, a narrow polyester ribbon stretched across the sky—160 metres long, suspended 120 metres above the street. At 1pm on Thursday, a figure stepped off the hotel roof and onto that ribbon. Jaan Roose, a 34-year-old Estonian aerial athlete and three-time slackline world champion, had come to Seoul to walk what organisers were calling South Korea's first high-altitude slackline performance.
Roose has built his reputation on the audacity of his choices. He has slacklined between Qatar's Katara towers at 185 metres high. In 2024, he became the first person to cross the Strait of Messina between mainland Italy and Sicily—a 3.6-kilometre traverse that ended with a fall caught only by his safety harness. Last month, he spent 12 hours walking 14.7 kilometres above the Danube in Bratislava. Seoul's crowds, gathering below with phones raised, were watching someone for whom the impossible had become routine.
Yet routine it was not for the spectators. As Roose moved across the line, the traffic below continued its ordinary flow, but the people watching held their breath at each wobble. Kim Young-sook, an office worker who had stepped outside to see the performance, found herself unnerved by the sight. "Just looking at him makes my legs go weak," she said. "I can't imagine how he can do that without being scared. It's incredible." Choi Eun-jung, another observer, admitted to worry despite knowing Roose's credentials. "I know he's a professional, but it's still a little frightening to watch."
Midway across, Roose sat cross-legged on the line. Then he lay flat on his back, drawing gasps from the crowd below. He rose again and continued toward the Dong-A Media Center. On reaching the far building, he turned around for the return journey. At the halfway point on the way back, he dropped down again and waved at the crowd, this time hanging from the line with one arm before dangling by his feet. When he finally stepped off onto the hotel rooftop, the crowd applauded—some visibly relieved that the crossing was complete.
The performance was not Roose's only act of the day. A second crossing was scheduled for 4pm. Nearby, at Cheonggye plaza, members of the public were invited to try their own hand at slacklining, though on lines set just 30 to 50 centimetres above the ground—a humbling contrast to what they had just witnessed overhead.
Roose's decision to perform in Seoul was rooted in a visit four years earlier. In 2022, he had encountered jultagi, Korea's traditional form of tightrope walking, which UNESCO recognised as intangible cultural heritage in 2011. Jultagi is distinct from tightrope walking elsewhere: the performer sings, jokes, and dances on the rope, trading banter with a clown positioned on the ground while musicians provide accompaniment. It is as much comedy as acrobatics. That encounter had stayed with Roose, and his return to Seoul to walk the highline above Gwanghwamun square was, in some sense, a conversation across centuries—a modern extreme sport meeting an ancient performance tradition, both demanding that a person trust their balance above the ordinary world.
Notable Quotes
I can't imagine how he can do that without being scared. It's incredible.— Kim Young-sook, office worker watching the performance
I know he's a professional, but it's still a little frightening to watch.— Choi Eun-jung, spectator
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