Traffic crawls through the sprawling concrete, dragging us towards our hotel. Busan looks better by night, in a veil of multi-coloured lights thrown across its hills and valleys, giving little clue to the urban mess beneath.
A new morning brings bright blue skies again and the sea sparkling like a jewelled blanket. We head to Jagalchi Fish Market to wander through an astonishing selection of fish that has Sooka gasping with delight and hunger. Everything is carefully and prettily laid out to attract buyers. Long silver belt fish dazzle in rows in the sunlight; dried skate, emptied and skewered open like kites; squid and octopus of every size, tentacles hanging down like bizarre wigs, some still alive in basins of water, squid aiming darts of water at the curious who get too close. All as fresh as can be, clean smelling and surrounded by countless stalls ready to cook up your purchases in an instant.
The stall holders are all women, middle-aged or older, with the typical bonnet of tight curls denoting ‘ajumadom’ and tanned faces with ruddy cheeks that tell of a tough outdoor life. They’re mostly cheerful, tolerating gawping unproductive tourists and clearly take pride in presenting their catch as neatly as they can. Now and then an argument erupts as a grouchy grandma takes offence at an unheard slight and spits insults and imprecations at the offender in a voice sure to fright the days’ catch back to life.
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