← PreviousPedalling happily towards BusanWe wake up this morning with the feeling of something ending. Today we close a two-week chapter of more than 600 kilometres by bike. This crossing of the country from north-west to south-east has let us scratch slightly below the surface of Koreans' daily lives. Far more, at any rate, than hopping from one tourist spot to the next on guidebook recommendations. We're only thirty kilometres from our hotel in Busan, so we have time to dawdle, as if we wanted to put off the moment a little.
The city is known for the film Train to Busan, in which an epidemic turns people into zombies. A father and his family are on the train to the southern city and must reach it at all costs, as it's the only uninfected zone. It's a reference to the Korean War: in 1950, for several months, South Korea was reduced to a very small perimeter around Busan and very nearly swallowed up entirely by the North. So around noon we enter a land of resistance. The cycle route has the good taste to run under a canopy of trees offering continuous shade. As we approach the city, the path gets busier, even narrower, and we're back in an ultra-urban environment, meaning one devoted to cars.
We slip away to stop for lunch at a small Japanese restaurant. Clémence is given yet another lollipop while we look at the route to the hotel. Naver (the local Google) suggests a route, which we check on Komoot for the climbing. OK, it looks steep but doable. Bear in mind that Westerners aren't allowed to map Korea, and we realise too late that we've embarked on an impossible climb. In almost two kilometres we gain 250 metres. Halfway up we have to admit defeat and get off. The heat is crushing; Clémence climbs out of the trailer to help us by walking. She keeps saying "heave-ho, heave-ho" while sweat drips into our eyes. At the top we take a long break before starting the descent. Busan is clearly not made for cycling.
We check into the hotel, where we'll stay five nights, then go out for a walk around the neighbourhood. We climb up to a viewpoint in the park behind the hotel, have a look round the shopping centre next door and go out to eat at a street market. We'd thought we'd have a quieter day than that.
Friday 6 June
As is often the case with seaside cities, Busan stretches for kilometres, and it's almost impossible to see all the sights. This morning we go up to visit Gamcheon, a former dockworkers' village often compared to Santorini. Run-down until 2009, it was brought back to life by a government initiative. Paint and walls were provided; all that was missing were the artists, who came from all over the country to decorate the walls. You can see the result from all over the city, as the houses are truly multicoloured. In the narrow lanes, you can see the details of the wall paintings more closely.
Surprisingly, Koreans have a real passion for The Little Prince. We'd already noticed it in Seoul and on the cycle route to Busan: a statue here, a mural there. But here it reaches another level. At one viewpoint there's a statue and people queue to have their photo taken with it. Same at another spot. Shops are dedicated to the Little Prince and quotes are written in French. The crowd is getting thicker, so we head down through the maze of lanes to find a bus stop and get to the beach. Clémence is as happy as can be, singing "I'm at the seaside" on a loop and running into the sand as soon as she sees it.
And right in front of us, a cable car spans the stretch of sea. She points it out excitedly when she sees it, not knowing it's next on the programme. After lunch, we join the queue. True to form, Koreans give Clémence sweets. After accepting one lollipop in this winding queue, we have to refuse nearly ten more! And when we settle into the cabin, an old man doesn't understand why we're refusing and stuffs the lollipop into Clémence's hands.
In Korea people eat a lot of sugar, and it's not unusual to see children younger than Clémence already eating sweets. Yet they're generally slim, probably because they walk a lot. The cable car leads to Songdo Park. Here too, every viewpoint comes with a Little Prince photo spot. There's a queue for photos too, and you mustn't get in the shot or people grumble.
Saturday 7 June
Not trying to see all of a city's main sights has a particular advantage: you don't feel the pressure of missing something. We assume we won't see everything anyway, so we take our time. No alarm, and breakfasts drag on in cafés. This morning we take two buses to Taejongdae coastal park.
Perfectly laid out, it lets you walk along a seaside cliff to enjoy different viewpoints. A little tourist train goes round, but since it's the weekend it's mobbed. The walk is only 4 kilometres, so we do it once on foot, with Clémence skipping along almost the whole time. Back at the start, we use lunchtime to buy tickets and take the train. Clémence would have been too disappointed to watch them go by over and over without riding one.
In Busan, Naver never suggests the metro, which surprises us a little. We follow it blindly to Gwangalli beach — by bus, then. What an awful idea! The road is flooded with cars spilling out on all sides, and the bus can't get through. Near the beach it's even worse. Cars are parked everywhere, running red lights and ignoring right of way and zebra crossings. Gwangalli is one of Busan's best-known beaches, but it's also excessively built up. The bay is ringed by hideous skyscrapers, but that matters little to a three-year-old who only sees the sand and the castles to build.
We've come here for the drone show that takes place in the sky at sunset. The bridge lights up, displays a countdown, and a swarm of little craft rises into the air to tell a story. We get "Love Potion", and the drones come together to form a witch, potions and lots of funny shapes linked to the story. Clémence is amazed, and we have to admit, so are we. We take the metro back to the hotel with modern stars in our eyes.
On the road