Jagalchi Market

Right by the waterfront, the fresh-catch market occupied a strip of land that had not existed before. Before it was reclaimed, water stretched here and large pebbles lay along the shore; Jagalchi’s name may be connected with them, though the word’s ending is explained in different ways. Over time, fish traders formed an association, put up a permanent three-story building, and turned the waterfront rows into an official market. The women fish sellers here have long worn red waterproof aprons; they are recognized by them among the market rows.

In Jagalchi’s seven-story building, trade is divided among the floors. On the first floor, the customer chooses fish or shellfish from an aquarium, the seller weighs and cleans the purchase, and on the second floor it is served raw or cooked for an additional fee. Under one roof, the sale of the catch and its immediate preparation have been brought together.

Before the shore was reclaimed in the nineteen thirties, there was water here and a strip of large pebbles. The market’s name is associated with them. The exact origin of the ending remains disputed. According to one version, “jagalcho” meant “pebbly place” and over time became “Jagalchi.” According to another, “chi,” an ending found in Korean names for fish, was added to the word “jagal.”

After the reclamation, small-scale fishers leaving Busan Port began selling their catch on the new strip of land. Women set up their stalls beside them. They served Korean customers, who found it harder to get into the large fish rows established under Japanese colonial rule. These sellers did not yet have permanent pavilions.

After the Korean War began in nineteen fifty, refugees joined them. There were especially many women who had lost their husbands and were trying to support their children and older relatives. Some went through the streets with goods, while others took up places by the shore. Older traders recalled that to get started, it was enough to put down a basin, lay fish out in it, and trade: there were no assigned stalls or anyone issuing permits.

These women sellers came to be called Jagalchi Ajumma. “Ajumma” is a Busan form of address for an adult woman, roughly “auntie.” For them, it was the name of a livelihood: with the money from fish, they supported their families, raised children, and made a home in Busan. The red waterproof apron became their recognizable attire.

Later, the sellers joined together in a fish and shellfish processing association. At the end of the nineteen sixties, they acquired legal-entity status, built a three-story building, and in nineteen seventy-two Jagalchi was registered as an official market. When the old building was replaced with the present one, five hundred stall owners invested ten billion won in construction—one quarter of the total cost. Almost all returned to their former selling places on the first two floors.

On the waterfront near the building stands a stone woman in an apron, with a weeping boy beside her. The sculpture was installed in two thousand seven. This woman has no personal name: she is Jagalchi Ajumma, one of the women sellers who once set down a basin of fish on the reclaimed shore and supported her family through this trade.