What Went Wrong at the 2025 World Ramen Festival in Busan

Busan, South Korea — Billed as a celebration of ramen, community, and climate action, the 2025 World Ramen Festival promised much more than food. Posters and press releases painted it as a “clean festival,” a global culinary experience with a conscience. But for the thousands who showed up expecting 3,500 varieties of instant noodles from 15 countries, it quickly became clear that this was not the event they had imagined.

Within hours of its May 2 opening at the Osiria Tourism Complex in Busan, the festival was facing harsh criticism. The venue was dusty, unfinished, and poorly equipped. Hot water dispensers failed, booths were disorganized, and ramen options were surprisingly limited. By the weekend, online ratings had plummeted and attendees were comparing the experience to a "₩10,000 disaster."

The festival was launched with high ambitions. Organisers, working in partnership with a local federation for disability support, presented it as a convergence of food, sustainability, and social outreach. Visitors would cook international ramen themselves, enjoy tech-driven contests like an AI-powered karaoke show, and vote on the best noodle brands — whose products, they were told, would be donated to disadvantaged communities.

Press materials declared it a “Clean Festival,” promising eco-conscious sanitation and a donation of ₩200 million worth of ramen. Some media outlets heralded it as a milestone in Busan’s journey to becoming a global cultural city.

When visitors arrived, the reality bore little resemblance to the glossy promotions. The venue, more gravel pit than global showcase, lacked basic infrastructure. Booths were sparsely set, signage was inconsistent, and the main attraction — the ramen — was served with neither clarity nor care. Hot water was unavailable or tepid; preparation areas were few or non-functional.

Images quickly spread across Korean social media. A child with a dry cup noodle and a non-working kettle became an emblem of discontent. Reviews described empty shelves, scant noodle selection, and long waits for amenities. Disappointed families and groups left early. Others called it “a refugee experience for a fee.”

By the festival’s second day, it was clear that word-of-mouth had become a liability. Forums and local community groups warned others to stay away. Some ticket holders posted resale offers. The event’s public image, so carefully crafted, had begun to unravel.

As negative reactions surged, the festival’s organisers offered little in the way of explanation. No public apology or clarification was issued. Its official website remained silent, and social channels — active during promotion — fell quiet.

The city of Busan, featured prominently in festival marketing, distanced itself from the event, stating that it had only supported the concept as part of a tourism campaign. But critics noted the city’s implicit endorsement had lent the festival legitimacy.

This lack of accountability frustrated many. “You can’t borrow the language of sustainability and charity without backing it up,” one local journalist wrote. “It makes people doubt all future efforts that do mean well.”

To the organisers’ credit, some elements of their promises were fulfilled. During the opening ceremony, they donated ₩100 million in cash to the Busan Association of People with Disabilities, and ₩100 million worth of ramen to 16 district-level disability groups. A regional company, Muhak, also contributed ₩10 million worth of noodles.

Yet questions lingered. The public vote to choose brands for donation was never followed up on. No details emerged about further distributions or partner organisations. Critics called it reactive rather than planned — a gesture too late and too vague.

Beyond the dust and broken kettles, the festival became a lesson in modern event culture. Organisers had borrowed the language of global good — climate action, inclusivity, poverty alleviation — but had not invested in the systems or transparency to support those claims.

What could have been a quirky, culturally rich event turned into a cautionary tale. For Busan, which is campaigning for global recognition and preparing for international expos, the episode raises uncomfortable questions. And for audiences everywhere, it’s a reminder that real credibility is not won with slogans, but with delivery.

As one attendee put it, holding a cold cup of instant noodles: “They said it was about the world. But it barely handled the basics.”