An American seaman's postcard of Fusan (Busan) from the early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

In the summer of 1884, an unidentified Western promoter — whom I believe was Chesney Duncan — declared that Fusan (modern Busan) was a wonderful health resort — not just for single adventurous men, but entire families. Duncan, an employee of the Korean Imperial Customs Service who had recently transferred to Fusan, seemed to enjoy taunting his friends in China with tales of this relatively unknown location. From his upper room in a Japanese house overlooking the port's beautiful harbor, he basked in the delicious sea breeze as he poetically described the port in a letter to a Chinese newspaper:

"I wish I could bring all who are suffering from the heat in China and place them on 'Park Point' under the shade of the dark pines, with their faces turned towards the east; how quickly would the ills of the past be forgotten while inhaling health and strength from the breeze that shakes the pines above their head, and gives the wheat field in the distance as it passes over it the appearance of a sea of gold."

He assured his readers the port's climate was splendid, even in midsummer when the temperature never rose above 23.9 degrees Celsius — a fairly bold assertion considering he had only recently arrived. He did, however, somewhat grudgingly, acknowledge that at times the sun could be somewhat overpowering. This, however, could be remedied by sitting in the shade and allowing the cool sea breeze to bring relief. One feels "refreshed at once," declared Duncan, who then added that Fusan's weather was "a striking contrast to the sweltering heat of the Yangtze [River area], or the oppressive atmosphere of Shanghai."

A view of the port in the early 20th century / Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

According to his and others' accounts, there was plenty to see and do — especially people watching. When Percival Lowell passed through the port in late 1883, he noted foreign visitors were always "surrounded by a respectful but expectant crowd" of men and mingled amongst them were "a number of young and pretty faces. They belong to persons of less stature than the men, similarly clothed but differing from them in being hatless, and in wearing their hair in one long loose braid down the back, after the fashion of young girls at a certain age with us."

They were not young girls but rather young boys. It was a fairly common mistake as evidenced by the accounts of various visitors — especially sailors, who often ran afoul of the innocent youths' attention. The infatuated sailors soon discovered, most likely when the youths answered the call of Mother Nature, that "the objects of their devotion were only boys; for this manner of wearing the hair is the common practice in boyhood, and simply denotes that the boy is still unmarried."

According to Lowell, a popular place to people-watch was along the seashore. "The beach is the market; and a strolling crowd keep it lively and gay by incessant bargaining and an occasional purchase. While the stranger examines the fish, the crowd examine him."

The beaches were very popular with the small foreign community. The foreign employees of the Korean Customs Service often patronized the beaches to swim in the cool water or search for shells and clams (perhaps they weren't just looking for pretty shells; Korea was quickly gaining a reputation for its pearls and these were popular gifts home and ways to supplement the Western residents' income).

A view of the beach and waterfront in the early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

The wife of the Commissioner of Customs was delighted to hear that "some of the Shanghai people intend coming here [to Fusan] this summer for the bathing." She earnestly wished they would come, but, judging from the lack of further accounts, they apparently stayed in China.

The beaches may have been beautiful but they were also dangerous. In the summer of 1884, Gengoro Enuma, a Japanese university student, drowned while swimming. The local newspaper lauded his scholastic knowledge but criticized his lack of common sense by placing himself in a dangerous situation. It concluded his untimely death was brought on by his own careless acts.

Another popular entertainment venue was Deer Island (Yeongdo Island). Duncan wrote:

"How cool and pleasant are the walks on Deer Island, where the great pines meet over your head, and shelter you from the rays of the noon-day sun; and if you are strong, many a pleasant walk may be had by following the woodcutters' paths. This is the picnic ground par excellence, and in the absence of chapels and churches our Sundays and holidays are very agreeably spent under the shade of some grand old pine; and here we pass the glowing hours with wild romance, or sleepily nod over Tennyson or Longfellow, when in small hours of the afternoon, the birds even keep still, and the wind suddenly ceases to rush through the shrubbery. Then a little later, the wind springs up again, the camp fire is stirred up, and tea is made; and when the sun sinks behind the mountains, throwing his last rays upon the tops and ridges, making his last rays upon the tops and ridges, making them stand out beautifully sharp and clear in the evening light, you pull across the harbour, and you ought to feel, if you don't, a better, happier and wiser man for your quiet Sunday on Deer Island."

This island was a very popular hunting site for the resident foreigners as well as crews from foreign warships and visitors. Ducks and pheasants were readily available and often fell prey to these foreign hunters, but the Korean deer caused much vexation. Many Westerners had a self-inflated opinion of their own hunting techniques and weaponry and spoke disparagingly about Korean hunters. One American missionary, while hunting in the northern part of the peninsula, wrote:

"We had Korean hunters with us when hunting + they presented a strange appearance with their match-lock guns + several yards of fuse wound around their arm which they unwound as it burnt down ready at any moment to put on the powder + thus fire their gun. A gun that would go off without fire was to them a marvel + a repeating rifle was more than they could understand."

Yet, despite the island's name, and the Western hunters' superior rifles, most visitors left Busan empty-handed with nothing more than lame excuses for their failures.

One example was in early January 1882, when crewmembers from the Wanderer, an English yacht, confidently landed on the island in pursuit of fresh venison and failed. The would-be hunters blamed their inability to get a deer on the lack of communication with the Koreans. They claimed they spent most of the day trying to find a place to hunt because the islanders they met could not understand their desires.

Many foreign residents, like William Lovatt, the commissioner of Korean Imperial Customs at Fusan, were fairly successful with their hunts. Lovatt often bagged pheasants, ducks and deer, and was frequently accompanied by his wife, Jennie, and young daughter, Mabel.

In her letters home, Jennie explained that "it is so lonely to stay at home when [William] goes away for the day [hunting, so I always go with him]. It is the only change we have here." However, sometimes her jaunts with her husband provided more excitement than she expected:

"When I started for home I was a little off the road and someway managed to walk into a deer pit. The pit was about eight feet deep and about four across, dug in the hard clay soil. Then little sticks were driven in around the top starting downwards and a few small twigs completely lined across the top and then all was carefully [covered] around with grass and, as all the grass is now a little dry, I never noticed any difference and the first I knew of the pit was to find myself in the bottom of it, fortunately not much hurt, but very much alarmed. Mabel was behind me and I called to her to stop and run back to Papa [William] and call him. The Corean coolie with the tiffin [lunch] basket was some distance behind, but finally came up and, what should he do but tumble in too, be he sort of slid down the side, and I had time to get out of his way, so fortunately was not hurt by him, and by stepping on the rack he had on his back I was able to get out."

Fortunately, she was not injured but she did give up on hunting — at least for a short time — and enjoyed the safety of her bed.

So what else did Fusan have to offer tourists if walks along the beach and failed hunts on Deer Island were not their idea of entertainment? We shall see in our next article.

My sincere appreciation to Diane Nars for her assistance and for allowing me the use of one of her images. For more information about life in Fusan in the mid-1880s, I strongly recommend Wayne Patterson's book, "In the Service of His Korean Majesty."

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.