From Seattle to Busan

As I entered Korean airspace aboard an American aircraft, I wondered to myself, 'is it wrong to be listening to Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries?'

For those of you that haven’t heard, I am now in South Korea. I am here to teach English in the Jangsan area of Busan, Korea. The trip to get here was pleasant enough. Thankfully, my parents were with me until the security checkpoint before the gate at SeaTac.

Online, Northwest Airlines (Delta subsidiary) listed the size and weights for checked baggage. Unfortunately the information they delivered in person varied from that found online. The maximum weight is really 70 lbs, and the maximum weight to avoid any charges is 50 lbs. I strolled in with an 86 lb suitcase, and a 30 lb suitcase. They were not going to let me on the plane. First, there was an issue with my visa; there shouldn't have been an issue. Second, my bag was way too heavy. The obvious answer would be to take sixteen pounds out of one suitcase and put it into the other. Problem, my 30 lb suitcase was so full that I literally had to stand on it to zip it up, nothing else could be added, and if anything could it would just be a trivial gain. My first idea was to just leave my parents with a parting gift of a little over sixteen pounds. Then came plan B; it wasn’t my plan, I was more than happy to ditch some shit. My mom found a large box, big enough to fit the small suitcase. The box was filled than ceremoniously wrapped up with "fragile" tape. Upon inspection at the baggage claim much later, I have reached the conclusion that either baggage handlers cannot read English, or simply don’t care about the word “fragile.”

The first flight was from SeaTac to Tokyo Narita. It was an 11 hour flight starting at 1400 PST and landing at 1600 Tokyo Time; not once did the sun set. Despite the lack of legroom the flight was not too bad. Transformers 2 sucked; Duplicity sucked; Watchmen was still an awesome movie despite being modified for a plane (Dr. Manhattan was a eunuch); Simon Baker dueled a psychic; Michael Scott ruined Jan's Deposition; Mac, Dennis, Charlie, Frank and Sweet Dee became crippled, went on a Jihad, and then welfare. Aside from staring at flickering lights, I napped sparingly, peed once, ate twice, didn’t learn the name of my neighbor and read several chapters about the history of Byzantium. I was very happy to exit that plane.

I peed again at the Tokyo airport; I try to use the restroom at new places, especially places that have a sign letting you know how to give yourself an enema—thankfully I only had to pee. The next flight was only an hour and forty-five minutes and I had an exit row, it was like heaven. The comforting sounds of The Soloist put me to sleep for the majority of the flight. Once I landed in Korea, I had only about 7 hours of sleep starting from the Sunday night before the flight. I slept maybe two hours during the sixteen hours of travel.

Korean Customs (not the cultural kind) is nothing like in the US, or EU. They are a very trusting people, and will take you at your word. If one felt so inclined, smuggling a tiger into Korea could be possible so long as it was unconscious the entire time and not in luggage that roared. This is not something I made up, there was literally a sign at Customs that had a picture of a full-grown tiger head that was circled and crossed out. I’m not sure how often people try this, but apparently it’s often enough to warrant the picture, if I was cognizant I would have taken a picture.

My luggage wasn’t hard to find, I had the single largest suitcase with an unmistakable floral design that had several bright orange tags letting you know that it was heavy, just in case you couldn’t tell from its size; I could have easily smuggled in an unconscious baby tiger, so long as it didn't weigh more than seventy pounds. Next up was the “fragile” box, which also happened to be the largest box on the carousel, and it was definitely not handled with care. There were only two holes in the box, but all of the corners and sides were soft, it was like if cardboard and jelly got together and make a box.

Then came the cab driver. I was told beforehand that he couldn’t speak any English. As I exited the airport with both bags on my tote cart, there were a couple dozen people holding signs with names on them. I should have known beforehand that my guy wouldn’t be one of these people in business formal attire, or even business casual attire. At first I didn’t see him. I kept my eye on the door, figuring he would walk in any minute. Then, a guy in his late fifties with a haggard face, missing teeth, and a greasy dark green jumpsuit walked in, I knew at first sight, that was the guy. He said, “Hello, how are you?” I replied, “Good, how are you?” That was the extent of our conversation, he never responded; I'm pretty sure it's because he had no idea what I had said.

I wasn’t sure how to spell Guido in Korean, until I met Lee See-Woong. He was nice and we didn’t get into any accidents, despite his best efforts. Driving in Korea was not wholly unlike driving in Greece. Lines on the road are only to be followed when there is another car in-between them; same thing with speed limits and turn signals. Hazard lights are used, as are horns; if you want to enter an intersection during a red light, throw on your hazards and make your way. He drove a rickety old minivan that hadn’t had a smooth drive since before Lee sat behind the wheel. The car ride lasted only 45 minutes or so, but during that time had we been driving in the states, he would have lost his license and spent the night in jail and I would have been charged as his accomplice.

He dropped me off at the high-rise office building in which Avalon operates its Elementary and Middle School campuses; they have both the 8^th and 9^th floors. They drug me through the school introducing me to people, asking questions, shaking hands…all I wanted to do was have a beer and go to sleep. Next I learn that I don’t yet have an apartment, but instead I will be living in a motel for the next few days. Great.