Busan, Korea (Part 1 of 4)
From van life to Asian Adventures
Even before we embarked on van life, we knew it was not going to be forever — the world is just too big; there were places to which taking our little house on wheels was not practical. So after our adventures in Acadia National Park, the 18th national park of our 10-month van life, we spent a couple of months at home making legal, financial, logistical arrangements. We hopped on a plane in early October 2023.
Do you know that annoying thing that adults do, when they see a young person again after a long hiatus and say the most obvious thing in the whole wide world? “Oh, my, how much you’ve grown!”? We know better than to do that to people we haven’t seen in years, especially when we last saw them when they were young. But we can get away with saying the equivalent about a city, I think.
Busan — how much you’ve grown!
On a clear day, as our plane approached this coastal city at the southern tip of the Korean Peninsula (as far away as peninsular-ly possible from the Dear Leader in the North), the horizon was filled with clusters of skyscrapers that packed the spaces between the various tree-topped hills. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and scary, a city on steroids. N. had last been in Busan 18 years ago; I had visited briefly 11 years ago; it was as if the skyscrapers themselves had “grown” taller and wider in the meantime.
For some reason, as Americans, we were surprised. That is the thing about an American point of view: because the United States is continentally so large, militarily so powerful, economically so dominant, it’s sometimes hard to imagine that other countries might match, let alone surpass, it in certain areas. Hence, one of our reasons for traveling — there are other ways of being in the world.
Once we left the airport, we recognized the initiative and determination in the traffic patterns — the myriad cars and service trucks, all with things to do and places to go. The road signs and business store fronts with the lively words in Hangul felt overwhelming, although we recognized words in English and many — too many! — English words phonetically written in Hangul as well. Eventually we made our way to our Korean base — an apartment in the Haeundae neighborhood close to the beach. Like many apartment buildings in Korea, this one came with a staffed front desk — like those in hotels — who managed security, maintenance, and deliveries, so it almost felt as if we were living in a hotel.
***
Right outside the doors of our building was the Haeundae Beach area, the most famous beach in all of Korea. Or so we’re told. Lots of tour buses stopped by, and we didn’t blame them. On a clear day, the contrast between the beach and the buildings was quite dramatic. It also made us hope that the buildings wouldn’t just wobble into the sea.
***
[Timeline: We admit it sounds insane but for personal and logistical reasons, after just three days in Busan, we hopped on a plane and headed to Hanoi, Vietnam. Insert our Hanoi adventures here; see separate blog entries. And yes, we were plane-d out.]
***
We picked up where we left off before jetting off to Hanoi, Vietnam and plunged into the bustle of Busan life.
Because we planned to spend some time in Korea, the first order of business was getting a local phone number. (We already had a SIM card for data.) The young lady at the front desk made a couple of calls. She didn’t like the first place she called, she said, because they didn’t sound friendly or helpful. She directed us instead to a used-cell-phone dealer a few subway stops away; she even made an appointment for us. (A toast for helpful building managers!)
It was in this used-cell-phone shop that we got our first taste of Korean bureaucracy. As the guy at the shop explained, cell phones in Korea acted as wallet, ID, and tracking device, so getting one usually required a 13-digit national identification number, which we did not have. This sounded like both a bureaucratic and technological challenge. What to do?
In the end, we were able to get a pre-paid phone — like the ones that the bad guys in movies get to work their dirty deals — with our passports. How much of a miracle was this? Even the guy who was helping us seemed surprised that the transaction had gone through.
Weirdly, that native bureaucracy disappeared when it came to getting glasses.
In Korea, getting glasses did not require a separate visit — and a separate bill — to an optometrist. One could go into any eyeglasses shop and the person who sold glasses just gave you an eye exam right then and there with the same “red hot air ballon” and “puff of air” machines we see in the US. (N. was getting new glasses.)
I guess it’s pretty obvious why optometrists would oppose such a system in the US, but the easy access to glasses in Korea and their much cheaper prices did make us wonder how many Americans might be suffering from poor eyesight because of the barriers and expenses erected to getting a pair of glasses.
The other adventure of the day was visiting the Shinsegae Department Store, advertised as the largest department store in Asia according to the Guinness Book of World Records. It was a mad house of brands for brand-mad Koreans. My interests were mostly in the basement, where the food court included many restaurants and smaller stalls that sold everything from gimbap, stews, and noodles to desserts, coffees, snacks on sticks.
As for eyes, so for teeth.
One of the reasons for our coming to Korea was medical tourism.
In certain versions of Korean folklore, good teeth are listed as one of life’s blessings (others mentioned are long life, wealth, health). Unfortunately, neither of us were blessed in this regard. And both of us had a lot of experience with dental care back home, not all of it good.
So imagine our surprise when we learned that the dental work that N. required would cost in Korea only about one-fifth of the quote he had received from his hometown dentist. The math was fairly simple: the cost we were quoted in the US would, in Korea, pay not only for the dental treatment itself but also for an apartment, plane tickets, and day-to-day expenses. And we would have money left over.
So again, we ask: how many Americans are suffering because dental care costs in the US are often out of reach for people?
***
One of the weird similarities of life in our hometown and life here in Busan is that, among other things, both have branches of that great institution — Costco.
From our apartment, two bus rides with a transfer easily dropped us off across the street from a Costco that could easily have been sitting in any American suburb — large tan box store with the familiar red lettering. And one of the secrets of Costco membership is that it allows entry to any Costco around the world. So I went through the motions of digging my membership card out of my wallet, flashed it at the door attendant with the dashing vest and Korean name tag, went in and…
… for a second, I felt transported to my familiar neighborhood Costco, except for the signs that we were not in English.
The items on this month’s promotional sale were stacked high by the entrance. Across were the electronics — giant TV’s, computers and laptops, headphones and tablets. The novelty began in the next session where the snacks usually sit, deviously close to the checkout lines to entice FOMO purchases. It was here that the cookies and chips and candy and nuts were replaced by unfamiliar snacks: sweet potato chips, dried and buttered squid, green onion-flavored chips.
In the middle of the store were the socks and sheets and clothes — who doesn’t like 10-pair bundles of socks? Walking by, I actually heard a lady say, “Wow, these are nice socks!”
On the outside shelves of the store’s perimeter were the usual suspects: the pharmacy and health products — K-skincare, anyone? — and then the cereals and rice, flours, oils and vinegars and spices, peanut butters and jams and honeys (although weirdly, no laundry detergent; I asked).
In the fridge and freezer cases, lots of processed foods — ready-to-eat soups, dumplings, chicken nuggets, and kimchi. On the fresh produce and fruit section, lots of apples and persimmons, but not many berries (Korea is far from Chile or Mexico). Because it’s Busan, lots of seafood; because it’s Korea, lots of marinaded bulgogi.
On the opposite aisles, home improvement supplies, bedding, and more appliances — there was a sale on Cuckoo brand rice cookers (we have one in our apartment; it does its job, but search online to hear how annoying this talking rice cooker is).
At the food court, the hot dog and soda special took pride of place in the sign — for 2,000 won or the equivalent of $1.50. They also have bulgogi pizza and pork bake — not chicken, like at home — both of which N. liked against his better instincts.
For our 32nd wedding anniversary last year, we spent it hiking the Great Smoky Mountains, where N. insisted we take cheesy selfies with him sticking out 3 fingers and me with 2 fingers.
We spent our 33rd wedding anniversary eating bulgogi pizza and pork bake at the Busan Costco. For some reason, N. did not suggest selfies this year.
***
Years ago our family enjoyed Boublil & Schonberg’s production of Les Miserables at the West End in London. So why not in Busan? A musical about the French Revolution with Korean actors speaking and singing in Korean. How could we resist?
As people arrived at the theater venue, they lined up next to the decorative lamp posts with the Les Mis banners to take pictures. Inside the very large theater — similar to such venues in any big city — we found our seats in the second tier, a bit far from the stage. The weirdest thing was the announcements by the ushers, about 10 minutes before curtain call. One could hear the same message recited by the ushers sprinkled throughout the theater: no videos allowed during the performance including the final curtain calls; turn phones off; no texting; phone screen lights prevent other viewers from enjoying the performance, etc. I was not sure why they didn’t just spare the poor ushers — who were trying to find that fine line between being loud enough to be heard in their section and avoiding screaming at the audience — and record the message instead.
In case we missed their message, when the lights dimmed and everyone could feel the frisson of anticipation, the Les Mis logo appeared in the curtain and a booming voice announced, “Les Mis takes place in the 19th century; there were no cell phones in the 19th century, so please turn off your phones and enjoy the show!”
And so began the familiar music: the overture with the energy of the ensemble, the introduction and conversion of Jean Valjean, the tragic solo from Fantine. Because we were far from the stage, it was difficult to note with any sense of certainty that the actors were Korean. It didn’t help that something was off about the lighting. It was so dark and dim N. and I kept rubbing our eyes thinking it surely must be our problem and not the lighting design, but no, it was the lighting design.
The novelty and sense of cognitive dissonance came with the language. My Korean is rudimentary enough that I get by in day-to-day conversations; understanding the vocabulary of the story of the French Revolution — in Korean — was beyond me. In certain portions of the songs, it felt no different from listening to the lyrics of an opera in Italian or German or French. The only reason I enjoyed the show is that there was a period in the distant past when the Les Mis soundtrack was on repeat in the house, so both N. and I had pretty much memorized the lyrics. Before the show, we had speculated, how would Valjean’s prisoner number sound in Korean in the song, “Who Am I?”? Well, in that key section of the song when Valjean reveals his prisoner number, in that soaring crescendo, it sounded like, “Ee-Sah-Ryuk-Gong-Il!”
***
We were happy to reconnect with a friend we had met during our van life days on a stop in Los Angeles and who happens to live in Busan. She was kind enough to introduce us to great restaurant in town — grilled pork — and a quaint coffeeshop by the coast with beautiful sea views. (And for some mysterious reason, N. took no pictures whatsoever; the resident photographer seems to be getting a bit lazy…)
***
Our exploration of the city led us to Suyeong Sajeok Park, erected — as far as we could tell from what we could understand from the informational plaque — in memory of a band of local citizens who took upon themselves to protect their corner of the city when official government heads abandoned their posts upon attack by the Japanese. Traditional Korean rooflines and gates marked the outlines of the old residential and governmental compound, and stone markers had been erected in honor of the heroes.
The park was quiet on this Friday afternoon, with a few groups here and there gathered for a picnic or just a walk around the few meandering paths from one traditional gate to another. The park also included an outdoor auditorium, but nothing was scheduled for this afternoon. As we turned a corner, we discovered the biggest excitement was in an area of the park reserved for activities for senior citizens. Today, a large gathering of Korean harabojis were quietly focused on several badook boards. N. tried to take some pictures quietly, so that he wouldn’t bother their games, but one spectator kept hamming it for the camera, doing all the distracting himself.
***
Today’s special city event was the Busan Fireworks by the GwangAn Bridge. We found it a bit of odd timing — far from Korean Independence Day or New Year’s — but fun: huge crowds had gathered by the waterfront, some staking out their spots with picnic mats while others were holding children on their shoulders. The music blared, the rockets shot up and, for a moment, we felt like proper Busanites.
***