Monthly Archives: November 2009

40 steps and Jagalchi Fish Market (Busan Part 1)

Adventures, Food, trains and train stations, travelling in Korea, , , ,

Daegu is not a coastal city. But some days the wind blows in a certain way and the glare is a particular way and the air has that feeling of moisture that makes me think of the sea. I think that is the reason I’ve thought a lot about coastal towns since I arrived here and have, several times, made vague plans to go and find the nearest beach I know of in Busan (also called Pusan). Plans have fallen through or been shelved several times. I came close to going with friends to the Pusan International Film Festival last month and then decided against it at the last minute. This weekend, in spite of predictions of rain, I finally went to Busan.

I woke up early, thanks to a mosquito launching a concerted attack at 7am so I got my things together and headed off. The 814 bus got me to the station at 10am. A taxi would have been quicker, but I wanted to try the bus. I bought at ticket for the 10:28 KTX (11500 won) and went to find breakfast. After rejecting a ‘garlic glazed’ doughnut, I retreated from all food-related-adventurousness and picked up a sandwich at the 7eleven.

The KTX from Dongdaegu to Busan takes roughly one hour. I sat back and enjoyed the trip through rural-ish areas, watching with joy as we passed autumn vineyards. One of my favourite sites is grape vines in autumn. These could, of course, just have be table grapes but they were still pretty and familiar. Closer to Busan, the train wove it’s way through mountains and alongside and across wide rivers, or perhaps just one river – as far as I can gather, Busan is at the end of the Nakdong river but I’m not sure of that.

Outside Busan station, I wandered around feeling lost . I’m not very good at strange places with lots of people. I was going to take buses because they’re a better way to see a city but at that point I saw the subway and had had no luck finding the right bus, so I retreated to the familiar and easier option. This subway station was very different to those I know in Daegu. If you’ve ever travelled from the Eastern Cape to Joburg by bus, you may have stopped at that slightly dodgy, glaringly out-of-date place where all the buses stop in Bloem. This felt like that. Everywhere was red-brick, too many columns, primary colours and floor-tiles that screamed ‘institution’. And particularly odd murals and décor on the walls. It really all felt very 80s. The Daegu subway stations feels new and modern and efficient. This felt like a relic from a bygone era. The Busan subway system didn’t feel at all efficient and modern and first world. I eventually managed to find the ticket-machine and buy a one-day pass (3500 won). Once I’d figured out how to use the pass, I caught the train (which also seemed far from new) to Jungang-dong station.

When I visit a new place, I tend to start by searching for information. Because I’ve planned to visit Busan several times, I’ve done quite a lot of this information gathering. One of the places I wanted to see, in spite of the reports on several travel websites that it wasn’t worth the effort, was the 40 Gyedan Cultural Tourist Theme Street. The reason the guide books and sites say that it’s not worth a visit is that there isn’t really all that much there except for a few statues on the street and an information board or two. But I have a fairly powerful imagination and an equally strong interest in social history. This little area – which is really just two short streets – has been important at various points in history but the bit that caught my interest was the role it played during the Korean War. During the war, there was a time when pretty much the whole of the peninsula was under the control of the North except for a small area around Busan called the Pusan Perimeter (correct romanisation at the time). This, of course, meant thousands of refugees flooded into the city. Most of them settled, temporarily, on the hills above the port area in Dongwang-dong. These two streets are just below there and would have been an important economic and social area for refugees and residents alike. At the end of one of these streets is a set of 40 steps leading from the lower street to the higher-up residential areas. These are the 40 steps and it is here that refugees would pass to try and find work and food to survive and here they ended up gathering to try to find any information about missing family members. This set of steps became the main place for separated families to seek their loved ones, for some to be reunited and for others to wait in vain and go home sad.

The Koreans are not all that good at memorialising places like this but they have placed statues in bronze around the area representing ordinary people at the time –  like father sleeping on a traditional A-frame pack at the end of work and children carrying water. One the flight of steps, about half way up, is a statue of a man playing an accordion. The story goes that he is playing a song written about the 40 steps, commemorating that time. When I was there, he was silent but the poignancy of this figure on a deserted set of steps, in a neighbourhood that was almost eerily quiet on a chilly, overcast Sunday morning was not lost. I’m not sure I agree with the way in which the area and it’s history have been commemorated. I certainly wasn’t particularly impressed with the information boards and the wooden lampposts – complete with fake pigeon that would have been right at home at Monte Casino. But that doesn’t change the history of the area and I’m glad that my internet meanderings turned up the info about the history of this place and that I was able to visit it myself so that I could visualise something of what that time must have been like.

After the 40 steps, I heading off to one of Busan’s most well-known spots – the Jagalchi Fish Market. This huge market is really meant for locals but it’s significantly large and interesting enough to make it into all the guide books. I could probably have walked there but I didn’t have a map of the area and I was feeling a little lost already, so I took the subway to Nampo-dong station. I walked out of the station (Exit 2, as per sign indicating Jagalchi Fish Market) and along a road that seemed unrelated to fish, until the first side-road on the left, down which I could see the sea. My first sight of the fish market was rows of tiny covered stalls, each with a table and chairs serving as an outdoor restaurant. Opposite them were various slightly larger restaurants. It seemed as if everyone there was trying to get people to stop and buy their seafood dishes. Turning, I saw the huge multi-story building that houses the main markets. Before I reached it, however, there was an Ajumma on the pavement with a market-cart (stall on wheels) covered in fish. She laughed at me as I stopped to take a picture of her wares – rows and rows of dead fish hanging on spikes with other fish, some filleted, some whole, in baskets on the little concrete pavement stools not far away. In Mozambique, I came across people selling fish on the street but none as enthusiastically or in such  volume as this.

Inside the doors of the first floor of the main building, the world became a blur of lights and crowds, people in yellow aprons and black gumboots and rows and rows of tanks where every seafood imaginable splashed and swam and, in the case of the crabs, tried to escape. The huge hall is arranged a little like an expo – with some stalls along the walls and others back-to-back in two or three rows in the middle. Each stall had at least 10 to 15 tanks of different kinds of fish and other sea creatures. There were eels and crabs and lobsters and shell-fish of all sorts and actual fish of every shape and size, from small lightning-quick flashes of silver to big solid-looking 30-cm swimming-lunches. Some where flat with eyes on the top of their bodies, others were thin and slimy looking. I walked through the huge crowded space. People were examining the fish and bartering with stall-holders. Women standing behind stalls currently without customers were expertly cutting up and filleting. I was a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of seafood swimming around in tanks in that hall. I’m not squeamish about the fact that what I eat used to be alive at all but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much swimming seafood. The wriggling and splashing and looking at me became a little too much. I went outside and found an escalator to the second floor. Here there were people sitting at low tables eating some of the things from the floor below. The tables were clustered in groups around the room, crowded between stalls selling dried fish and fish-related products of every shape and size. I considered sitting down and having lunch but most of the tiny restaurant areas were full and they didn’t seem geared up for a solo traveller.

The other side of the main building faces the sea, with views across the water of bridges and ships and a working port. There were also what looked like Sotdae except that they were fish instead of birds. Perhaps fish spirits guard this coastal town. I watched the seagulls circling for a while and breathed in the scent of the sea.

Back on the street, I joined the throngs walking down the street. I kept stepping out of the way, just to look for one moment – hardly believing my eyes – at yet more seafood-still-swimming, some in tanks as inside the building, others in large plastic basins. At one place a woman was cleaning and preparing a crab taken from a tank of crabs each with a body quite literally the size of the woman’s head. On the other side of the road, a man was selling fishing rods and gear. Little women scuttled out of each little restaurant to try and convince the Korean couple walking ahead of me to stop and have lunch in their establishments. A women on the pavement sat cleaning something beside a plastic basin of large, wriggling octopuses. Further along, a pair of women worked on a table next to a row of basins teaming with splashing fish.

I turned up a side-street, between yet more fish restaurants, and headed towards a main road. The last I saw of the fish market was a basket of filleted fish sitting forlornly on a stool on the pavement, with their owner nowhere to be seen, as crowds of people flowed past without even seeming to notice.

Sunday in Seoul

Adventures, Food, Seoul, , ,

After a lovely early dinner/late lunch in Insadong, we decided to head out to Itaewon, the expat ‘party central’ of Seoul. It was, of course, raining. And also Halloween, which although something I have never paid much attention to, is rather a big deal in a country that seems slavishly to follow American trends and definitely a big deal in an area of Seoul frequented by an awful lot of foreigners. As a result the evening was a little strange. I think the best way to explain it – which is unfortunately impossible because I simply don’t have enough pictures – would be a crazy collage of witches and monsters, devils and princesses, crowded pavements, spiderweb decorations in clubs, queues of people everywhere, rushing and wandering, and lots and lots of rain. Given the craziness it was, unsurprisingly, a rather late night, including a 2 hours wait in the rain to find a cab home. We both, consequently, slept in on Sunday morning.

Which was bliss. I was staying in the guesthouse at Anna’s university (where she lives and teaches) and the room was warm and comfortable and a lovely place to wake up on a chilly but (marvellously) not-raining morning.

Eventually we did get and after a cup of coffee, headed out into the world. We were off in search of some sort of yummy early lunch. We initially tried the area around where Anna lives but clearly the local places had all decided that it would be pointless to be open on a Sunday morning if your clientèle was students, so we hopped a bus and went in search of somewhere else. This was the first time I’d really seen the city without rain and looking out from that bus at the beautiful streets and houses, all settled into mountain slopes and dotted between tall trees, this may have been the moment when I started to fall a little in love with Seoul.

We got off the bus and went to look for a restaurant Anna had previously spotted that she was keen to try. It was a very pretty building serving, from what we could gather, Korean food. At the entrance, however, we got caught up in a crowd of other people and it all seemed very busy so we quietly slipped out and headed on down the road, keeping that for another day ‘yet knowing how way leads on to way’…

After walking for a bit we spotted a Chinese restaurant that looked interesting. We also spotted a branch of my bank, which made me happy as I could draw a little more money, just in case. Along the road in front of the Chinese restaurant and the bank were flowers in pots along a fence. This is a fairly common sight here. Korea does pavement gardens and most of them are pretty and, at least at the moment, full of flowers. This bit of pavement had flowers in some of the pots but alternated with them were – I kid you not – very pretty ornamental lettuces or cabbages.

The restaurant was on the second floor and we were led past a mini-garden with water features to a quiet table looking out over the road – a particularly pretty view – and brought jasmine tea and the menu. We decided to try the set-menu (minimum two people). Sets are fairly common in Korea and this one turned out to be a multi-course feast. We started with Wanton soup, followed by Dimsum – some prawn, some spicy vegetable. Next they brought out a seafood hotpot each – packed with all manner of sea creatures and delightfully rich. This was followed by one of my favourite Chinese flavours, sweet and sour pork. Along with this we each got a big bowl of onion and soy sauce noodles. Finally, dessert – sesame-coated sweet balls of something with the consistency of marzipan and a dark, sweet centre which may have had something to do with beans. And of course coffee. A very good meal, far too large to finish everything, at a very reasonable price. We went home happy and settled down to let the lunch digest. At that point, we split up for a while, Anna to sleep and me to wander around her campus with my camera.

I have mentioned before that I have a deep love for university campuses. Apart from the fact that they are generally (barring RAU) beautiful, there is a feeling of being away from the real world that I struggle to find anywhere else. As with so many campuses, this one is tree-filled and full of attractive sets of buildings and has a tendency to have strange sculptures dotted around, sculptures which I’m sure are very meaningful but which generally turn quite quickly into just another quirk of the campus, as with, for example, the bicycles at Rhodes.

This chilly autumn afternoon meander took me along just the roads of the campus. There is a very pretty mountain behind it, but I wasn’t feeling energetic after the large lunch, and anyway, there was so much to drink in, enjoy and photograph right there. I stopped for a few moments and watched a soccer match on astro, enjoying the sensation of normal students doing normal things on a Sunday afternoon. At one point, I found a water-feature near the entrance of the university complete with a statue of two dragons almost intertwined over a large, round ball. All around me, and looking up at the mountains, the autumn colours were brilliant and beautiful. Walking along past some benches, I was shouted at by a large crow, trying to make me go away. At some places on the campus, it is possible to look out over the highway passing below and other, autumn-coloured hills across the little valley. I wandered for about an hour and then headed back to the room.

By this time, Anna was up and we set off again to see a little more of the city. We did attempt to see another palace but it was closed, so we walked through a market instead. This market, like so many here, is really just an alley between buildings, or a road with hawkers on it – I’m never quite sure how to describe them. The shops sold everything from underwear to party-hats and the hawkers a range of socks and shoes and street-foods. We walked for a while, popping in and out of shops, and then decided to grab some early dinner at a Korean restaurant. I had crumbed pork-cutlets with cheese and spent most of the meal fighting with the chopsticks. I really am trying to become proficient with chopsticks but I still feel silly whenever I pick them up.

And then it was time to head home. We got a little lost and – because I was cold and ready to give up – took a taxi home instead of continuing to look for the bus and spent a very happy few hours drinking coffee and chatting. A lovely gentle Sunday in a lovely gentle city, and one I could happily repeat very soon.

The next morning I we got up and had an early lunch at the restaurant on campus – I had yummy seafood bibimbap with all sorts of sea things including delicious baby octopuses (octopii?) – before catching the bus back to Seoul station, buying a ticket and hopping on the KTX back to Daegu. All in all a super weekend with a lovely friend in a city I definitely plan to visit again.

Insadong and bossam in the rain

Food, Seoul, ,
Insa-dong and bossam in the rain
After a lovely visit to Chungdeokgung Palace in the rain, and rather damp, Anna and I headed off to find something to eat and a good glass of wine. Anna has been in Seoul for about 2 months, so she has started to do some exploring and find her way around. The two little streets of Insa-dong, all lined with tiny little traditional Korean restaurants (and the occasional motel), are a delightful find.
The bus from the palace took us the short distance to the area we were looking for. We could probably have walked but to be honest it was quite nice to be out of the rain for a little. By this stage the heavens had opened and it was pouring and rather cold.
We got off the bus and walked past the immigration office and headed down a little alley. One of the things you learn fairly quickly in Korea is that some of the best spots are down a little alley – and also that the alleys are safe enough to wander down with very little chance of anything going wrong. This little alley opened into a little pedestrian street of restaurants. The first place on the left had a few chairs and tables on the veranda of a little place. We looked for a second and then there was another place on the other side of the road. And another and another. We looked into widows and doorways, at water-features and tiny indoor gardens. Although it was only about 3 in the afternoon, the sky was dark and low with rain and cloud and the lights of the places we passed were inviting but we decided to look around before we picked a place.
About half way down the first little road, we stopped to look at the signboard outside one little restaurant. Anna’s words of wisdom that we should pick a place with pictures and prices outside being a good bet, we were looking for a place like this. At the time, however, the fairy lights outside one of the restaurants further down the little streets lured us on. We kept walking, enchanted over and over again by the glimpses through doorways of the places we passed.
Down the road and around the corner, we wandered back up a parallel road, filled with more these delightful little places. On the right, we passed the entrance to an indoor market, filled with lights and people on a Saturday afternoon. There was also a wine bar with tables and chairs outside, looking a little forlorn in the dark afternoon rain. At the the end of the road was a place almost totally hidden by creepers and trees and flowers, except for a little doorway and a place with a large sign proclaiming it a vegetarian restaurant.
After walking for a bit in the rain and the cold, we found ourselves back outside the first place with the pictures and the prices where we’d stopped. It seemed that this was fated to be our stop for the afternoon. It was a good choice.
The restaurant was delightfully small. The waiter (or perhaps the maitre de) asked if we wanted a room or a table, simultaneously letting us know that we didn’t need to take off our shoes. We followed him to a little table for two next to a row of floor to ceiling glass windows looking out onto a rainy garden with lights scattered through it, a wild garden with plants climbing over each other like a place enchanted.
We ordered some wine (which turned out not to be as lovely as we’d hoped – more proof that Chilean wines are not to the taste of South African girls) and sat chatting over a glass while we considered the menu. Eventually – it really did take us a while to get around to it – we ordered Bossam. As usual in Korea, the meal began with many dishes being delivered to the table – soups and side dishes and dipping sauces and of course kimchi. After that, the main dish – steamed pork with leaves of lettuce and sesame to wrap it in, arrived. We ate slowly and enjoyed the conversation and the wine (a little). The meal was good but, as with most Korean foods, the combinations of flavours are sometimes a little odd. This is not to say we didn’t enjoy it but, as my friend pointed out, it’s not necessarily a cuisine that could be called delicious. It was good enough, when combined with a red wine on a rainy autumn day and the wonderful conversation of a good friend, all in the delightful little corner of the world that is Insa-dong, to make for a delightful afternoon.

After a lovely visit to Chungdeokgung Palace in the rain, and rather damp, Anna and I headed off to find something to eat and a good glass of wine. Anna has been in Seoul for about 2 months, so she has started to do some exploring and find her way around. The two little streets of Insadong, all lined with tiny little traditional Korean restaurants (and the occasional motel), are one of her great finds.

The bus from the palace took us the short distance to the area we were looking for. We could probably have walked but to be honest it was quite nice to be out of the rain. By this stage the heavens had opened and it was pouring and rather cold.

We got off the bus, walked past the immigration office and headed down a little alley. One of the things you learn fairly quickly in Korea is that some of the best spots are down a little alley – and that the alleys are safe enough to wander down. This little alley opened into a little pedestrian street of restaurants. The first place on the left had a few chairs and tables on the veranda. We looked for a second and then there was another place on the other side of the road. And another and another. We looked into widows and doorways, at water-features and tiny indoor gardens. Although it was only about 3 in the afternoon, the sky was dark and low with rain and cloud and the lights of the places we passed were inviting but we decided to look around.

About half way down the first little road, we stopped to look at the signboard outside one little restaurant. Anna’s words of wisdom that we should pick a place with pictures and prices outside being a good bet, we were looking for a place like this. At the time, however, the fairy lights outside one of the restaurants further down the little streets lured us on. We kept walking, enchanted over and over again by warm glimpses through doorways.

Down the road and around the corner, we wandered back up a parallel road, filled with more of these delightful little places. On the right, we passed the entrance to an indoor market, filled with lights and people on a Saturday afternoon. There was also a wine bar with tables and chairs outside looking forlorn on a rainy afternoon. At the the end of the road was a place almost totally hidden by creepers and trees and flowers, except for a little doorway, and a place with a large sign proclaiming it a vegetarian restaurant.

After walking for a bit in the rain and the cold, we found ourselves back outside the first place with the pictures and the prices. It seemed that this was fated to be our stop for the afternoon. It was a good choice.

The restaurant was delightfully small but all wood and warmth with two chandeliers. The waiter (or perhaps the maitre de) asked if we wanted a room or a table, simultaneously letting us know that we didn’t need to take off our shoes. We followed him to a little table for two, next to a row of floor to ceiling glass windows looking out onto a rainy garden with lights scattered through-out, a wild garden with plants climbing over each other like a place enchanted.

We ordered some wine (which turned out not to be as lovely as we’d hoped – more proof that Chilean wines are not to the taste of South Africans) and sat chatting over a glass while we considered the menu. Eventually – it really did take us a while to get around to it – we ordered bossam. As usual in Korea, the meal began with many dishes being delivered to the table – soups and side dishes and dipping sauces and, of course, kimchi. After that, the main dish – steamed pork with leaves of lettuce and sesame to wrap it in – arrived.

We ate slowly and enjoyed the conversation and the wine (a little). The meal was good but, as with most Korean foods, the combinations of flavours are sometimes a little odd. This is not to say we didn’t enjoy it but, as my friend pointed out, it’s not necessarily a cuisine that could be called delicious. It was good enough, when combined with a red wine on a rainy autumn day and the wonderful conversation of a good friend, all in the beautiful little corner of the world that is Insadong, to make for a delightful afternoon.