The Noryangjin Fish Market

It makes you wonder how there is anything still left in the ocean. This weekend I experienced the Noryangjin Fish Market. 

Getting off the subway, I had a hard time believing we were in the right place.  We passed over a highway on a plain looking bridge made of concrete with no signs of fish anywhere--let alone a famous fish market.  All of a sudden the wind picked up, and I knew we were in the right place.  There is no mistaking the smell of fish.  We went through an unassuming door, went down a flight of stairs, and suddenly found ourselves looking down on the madness.

This 66,000 square foot warehouse is filled with dried fish, live fish, sharks, manta-rays, crabs, lobster, and every shellfish known to man.  It has been in business in 1927.  "And," added Rachel, "you can pick a fish yourself, and they'll cook it upstairs in the restaurant."  We spent the next hour or two trying to avoid questionable puddles, peering into different tanks, buckets, or boxes to see what was being sold inside.  Prior to moving to South Korea I did occasionally eat fish, but seeing every other booth skinning fish, or chopping into a crab, or throwing different animals on scales for a price to be bargained for reminded me I'm not in Kansas anymore...or New York, for that matter.  As I watched the vendors digging through piles of flopping fish I wondered if they would even know what I meant were I able to explain why I didn't eat meat or dairy on purpose for so long.  It would be like that moment in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, where the mother yells out at a party: "What do you mean he don't eat no meat?"  There is silence, and in order to accomadate him and at an attempt at friendly hospitality she smiles and says: "Okay. I make lamb."