There’s a lot of fish.
Korea in the summer is a sort of wide, hilly crock-pot. The humidity is high and soupy, and walking is basically no different from swimming. The warmth is incredible and only endurable for the regular and everlasting thunder storms which gush and guzzle for weeks at a time. In such a hot, sweaty apparatus, things start to waft. Summer in Korea is a time of duality, of scents that repel and attract. Down one street, something gently ushers into your nose, calling you forth to embrace it, to eat it, or drink it, or roll in it; down just another alley is an ungodly stench that may as well be personally assaulting you and stealing your wallet.
