Busan

Welcome to Korea: desolate shops and sewer smell

It was Sunday morning around 8:30 when I left the ferry terminal and began to walk to my hostel, the Apple Guesthouse. The route from the ferry terminal to the hostel runs along a subway line, but I had no won and I like to walk, so I walked there. I walked in the underground malls that surround the stations, much as they do in Japan, but the contrast with Japanese subway malls was striking. Japanese subway malls are always brightly-lit, busy, and the stores are typically convenience stores, food stores (bath takeaway and with seating) and the odd boutique. In contrast, these Busan subway malls were dead. Stores were shuttered, and there were lots of stores that looked like they were selling discount clothing and cheap shoes. In Japan I think these locations are high-rent and demand high turnover. In Busan, they looked like the stores you see in ghost malls, and in all honesty the effect was almost communist, as though these shops were propagandistic proof that Korea could achieve the same things as Japan. It was very weird.

Subway mall during one of the busier times.

Apple Guesthouse was brand new when I visited, and it had accent walls painted in an attractive apple green colour. The rooms were a little small, but everything was nice, they had a couple of laptops that guests could use, and the location was great. The toilets gave me a bit of pause, however, as there was a persistent sewer smell in one of them, exacerbated by a steel access door in the wall that wouldn't close properly and which seemed to be the source of the smell.

I soon learned that sewer smell wasn't a hostel problem, and it wasn't an isolated problem. Indeed, you're likely to encounter sewer smell everywhere in Korea. It turns out that they basically have open underground sewers—think of storm sewers that contain actual sewage and not simply runoff water. I began to notice this when I started walking the surface streets, as you notice odoriferous hotspots as you walk around. You then begin to correlate these hotspots with sewer gratings, and then notice that most of these gratings have been covered with heavy rubber mats. These mats are intended to minimize the odor leakage, but they don't do as good a job as one would hope. As a result, sewer smell is persistent throughout Korea.

Korea feels rougher and wilder than Japan. Less inhibited and less refined. Definitely less regulated, both socially and legally. Lots of restaurants near Jagalchi seem to do part of their food prep in the alleys next to and behind their shops, which is definitely not something you would see in Japan.

Dishes of hot coals in the alley, ready to be delivered to customers so they can cook their food.

Jagalchi Fish Market

Koreans love fresh seafood, and they seem to place a greater premium on it being freshly-killed than the Japanese do. One of the most notorious examples of this would be the famous squid-eating scene from the original Korean version of Old Boy:

Jagalchi offers a huge variety of live seafood in tanks and tubs, in a fairly compact multi-level market (it's about the size of a football field, and not the sprawling wholesale complex that Tsukiji is). There are restaurant areas with food-court style seating where you can eat your freshly slaughtered food. From a tourist perspective, I think it's much more interesting than Tokyo's Tsukiji fish market, which is more about the massive volumes of limited varieties of largely dead and frozen seafood. Tsukiji gives you a glimpse inside the business of seafood restaurants, while Jagalchi shows you a broad spectrum of seafood and what they look like alive. if you actually wanted to eat seafood, perhaps you might be concerned about the hygiene standards at some of these shops—especially if you were coming from Japan—but it's not something I had to think about.

Outside of the market you can also find stands full of dead fish and seafood. Although I'm sure it is fresh, I would be wary of buying from these stands in the afternoon of a hot summer day.

Jagalchi market.

Baskets of small octopus and molluscs on the floor.

Crabs.

Molluscs, both familiar and exotic.

You've got to keep a tight lid on the octopus tanks.

I always feel self-conscious taking pictures in markets, especially when using a DSLR. To a certain extent it feels like you're treating you subject as though they are some exotic display in a human zoo, or that you're interfering with their business. In these contexts I think a decent smartphone would actually be better, as people everywhere (at least everywhere there are smartphones) take smartphone pictures of everything, and no one thinks anything of it. This explains why my pictures of markets—and people—are typically pretty crappy.

I'm on a boat: Hiroshima to Busan by fast train and slow boat

I didn't make a seat reservation on the shinkansen to Shimonoseki: I simply showed up and sat in an unreserved car. The shinkansen is really expensive, but with the combination nikkan kyodo kippu ticket, the price was more reasonable. I also wanted to be able to compare the Shinkansen to the Korean (and possibly Chinese) fast trains. The train is fast and comfortable. In a flat and open environment the shinkansen would be OK for actually watching things go by, but in mountainous and cramped Japan, where there are few open vistas to enjoy, the sheer speed makes too much of the scenery a blur to properly enjoy. It's still a pleasurable experience —much better than flying, in my opinion—and like so much of Japan it's calm, quiet, and efficient.

Still in the station and already a blur.

The shinkansen doesn't actually stop in at Shimonoseki station. To get there, you have to either get off at the stop before (Shin-Shimonoseki, if coming from the north) or at the the stop after Shimonoseki (Kokura, which is actually in Kyushu), and then take the local train to Shimonoseki. From the station it's a short walk to the ferry terminal, on an elevated walkway. You will pass by a department store (there's always a department store next to a train station of any size), which is a good place to spend your remaining yen and pick up snacks (department stores always have supermarkets in their basements). But be sure to keep some yen to pay the port fee and fuel surcharge (the port fee is currently ¥610 per passenger, and the fuel surcharge is ¥1,200—when you buy your ticket you should clarify with your booking agent whether you'll have to pay the fuel surcharge when you check in), as they will only take cash. You could also check in first then go back to the department store to spend your remaining yen.

Map from Shimonseki station to port.

Ferries also run from Shimonoseki to Qingdao (close to Beijing) and Suzhou (close to Shanghai). If you have a Chinese visa and don't mind skipping Korea, these may be interesting options.

Second-class cabin for men. The wall on the right separates this room from the other second-class cabin, and is open at the top. I believe there is only one female second-class cabin.

I was the first in my cabin, and was later joined by two Koreans. On the other side of the room, across the partition that divides it into two cabins, are three or four Japanese. I suspect that they segregate passengers based on nationality: Koreans in one cabin, Japanese in the other. As a foreigner, the Japanese staff in Shimonoseki put me in with the Koreans. I wonder if I would be put in with the Japanese had I been traveling in the other direction (actually, I suspect Korean staff would care less, and might not even segregate at all, as Japanese strike me as more insular).

I don't believe the two Koreans in knew each other before the trip. Nevertheless, they somehow decided that it would be a good idea to get up at 3:30 am and have a loud chat. I actually woke up from this, and even me sitting up and staring at them had no effect. I finally had to point at my (non-existant) watch and complain that it was three O'clock in order to convey my displeasure at their conversation. Weird.

The Kaikyo Yume Tower, supposedly the tallest in Western Japan. I believe the word you're looking for is 'meh.'

The main island of Honshu (left) and the southern island of Kyushu are surprisingly close.

Looking back over the top deck of the ferry.

Leaving the channel separating Honshu from Kyushu.

Darkness falls.

The ferry was virtually empty. They had a restaurant, but I had managed to spend all of my yen before leaving Japan, and I had no won.Thankfully, I spent my last yen on food and drink.

The ferry has Japanese-style o-furo baths:large communal tubs of water, with spigots, stools, and hand-held showers surrounding it so you can clean yourself before getting into the pool to soak. I think I was the only one to use it. It was quite nice to soak in the bath and look out the window while the ship gently rocked.

The on-board bath.

If you wake up early enough, you'll find the ship laying in anchor outside of Busan harbour. The ferry must arrive in the middle of the night and then wait, allowing passengers to sleep, before entering the harbour and docking at a more sensible hour (about 8:00).
 

A cargo ship steams past as we lay anchor.

Entering Busan harbour.

Bridge in progress.

You're constantly reminded that this is an industrial port.

Near the dock.

Busan Tower looks more like bamboo than the Taipei 101 does.

Customs and immigration at the port was quick and easy, and the port is in the middle of town. It was a 30 minute walk to my hostel, and maybe 5 minutes to Busan station, and about 2 minutes to the nearest subway station—the port is very conveniently located.