Fire in the sky

Five massive flaming birds careened across the night sky. They flew like comets, fire streaming from their tail, eventually burning themselves out to reveal their red and blue bodies.

Behind then, a symphony of fireworks exploded. They came from above and below, in the shapes of hearts, cubes, palm trees. Some were fast, rapid-fire bursts, violent in their beauty. Others were slow and meandering. Choreographed to music, it was enough to bring tears to the eyes of the 1.3 million spectators on the Gwangali Beach.

The Fifth Annual Busan Fireworks Festival didn't begin until 8 p.m., but we'd heard about the crowds. So to play it safe, we arrived at 1 p.m. -- a party of foreigners to be reckoned with, along with a few sympathetic Korean friends thrown into the mix. We claimed a patch of sand and spread our blankets and towels at what we hoped would be front and center of the big show -- it was.

Attack on the sand

Around us, the party was just getting started. Food vendors sold the requisite fish cakes and a dozen different types of squid. A three-story-tall soju bottle was inflated, and a few of us took turns posing with our favorite Korean poison. Streets performers showed off traditional drumming and folk dancing. We walked around, finally settling back on the sand with decks of card and new friends.

As evening set in , the crowds came out in earnest, and we were pressed on all sides by fire-loving people. Massive TV screens had been set up on barges just off the beach, and a series of performances and speeches began.

During one speech, I realized I'd been sitting with my legs pretzled under me for hours, and I could no longer feel them. So I stood to stretch. Apparently, I was grossly offending an aw-ju-ma (middle-aged women with notoriously bad fashion senses and even worse manners) behind me because I was suddenly assaulted by slapping, grabbing hands trying to force me back down.

Now, you all know, I don't take well to being manhandled, and I whipped around shouting, "What the hell is wrong with you? Is it so hard to be polite? Is it so hard to say please, juseyo?"

I raged until Shun-mi, being a local, intervened and sent the woman back to her blanket. I, of course, was still incensed, and retaliation was certainly in order. So, each member of our group (now about 30 strong) took turns standing up and doing a little dance while the rest of us wei gooks (foreigners) cheered them on with all the volume we could muster.

Not the most mature move, I know, but relatively benign, and, really, most of the people around us got a kick out of the wei gooks making fools of themselves. It was a gas.

Great balls of fire

At 8 p.m. sharp, the countdown began, and 10 seconds later, the first of 85,000 fireworks lit up the sky. This year's theme was 'love,' and the show was absolutely gorgeous and equally touching. For 45 minutes, more than one million people ooh-ed and ah-ed, their faced turned toward the heavens.

The end of the show left us breathless, exhilarated and in desperate need of a bathroom. Leave it to Becca, tall and blond as she is, to elbow us through the crowds and into a washroom in record time. God bless her.

While others in the group were ready to continue the festivities, I was spent. There was nothing else we could do that night to top that show. Best to end on a high.