Old e-mails
I left Montana on a cold Thanksgiving morning and shuttled from Kalispell to Seattle to San Francisco and then from there caught my last flight to Seoul. Now, normally I will never tell you about the airplane ride...we all know how they are: cramped, uncomfortable, reaking of stale farts and airplane foods, and long, no matter what distance. But, this is an exception. This time, I will tell you about my airplane ride. Or rather, I will list some of the amenities that Singapore Air offers, that make me never want to get on another US flight again. Here it goes: As long as the plane isn't full, you get an entire row to yourself; individual tv monitors with 600 channels that you can stop and start as you choose; 200 music channels including full albums; educational videos where you can learn a language or play games; warm towel to wash your hands/face with as soon as you sit; a menu (mind you, this is coach, not first class); an actual blanket that covers your entire body, not just your legs and is thick and soft like a blanket should be; full pillows; water & orange juice every 10 minutes; foot rests; in the bathroom there are combs, toothbrushes and toothpaste, mouthwash, aftershave, and razors at your disposal, and a full length mirror so you can see how disheveled you look from head to toe; and free socks. It made the 12 hour plane ride bearable. Enough about the plane.
As we were descending into Seoul, the hair on the back of my neck began to stand on end. I swatted at it as if it were some Korean bug nesting in my scalp. Seconds later, I heard the loud, "CRACK!" of thunder and a beam of white light shot just outside the window. An electrical current trickled from my head down to my toes. When I looked around, it was as if I were the only one who noticed. Heads were bent forward in sleep, bobbing up and down with the turbulence. We landed safely in Seoul and I made my way to immigration.
I waited for my bags, plopped them on a cart, and pushed my way through the sliding doors into the arrival area. I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd for someone holding a sign with "SLP Danielle, Welcome to Korea," like they told me in the last e-mail I recieved from Mr. Choi, the school director. Pushing the cart slowly toward the crowd, my eyes darted back and forth, but I didn't see my name. I pushed past the crowd, hoping my ride would be waiting just outside.
No one. Maybe they're late, I thought. Or maybe I'm late. I looked at the clock. 6:43. My flight was scheduled to arrive at 6:20 and it seemed strange that someone would only wait 20 minutes before leaving.
I scanned the crowd again and saw a Korean man with wire rim classes racing toward me. "Miss Mogu?" he asked holding a sign for the Yes English School. I shook my head.
The stench of my body began to rise as I started to sweat.
I waited. I scanned the crowd. I pushed my cart back and forth. I turned down taxi rides. I berated myself for not having a phone number. I waited. I quickly realized after being asked by several taxi drivers where I needed to go, that I had no idea. I had no idea where I was going. I didn't have an address. I didn't have a telephone number. It was Friday night at 7 pm, even if I e-mailed the office they wouldn't get it until Monday. Who does this? I thought. What idiot flies to a foreign country and doesn't have a clue where they're going?
7:20 pm. I walked to a bank of telephones, put my credit card in and waited. The woman on the phone told me to insert my card. I inserted it again. The woman told me (in Korean and English) to insert my card. I am entering my card lady, I told her but she didn't listen. I tried 4 credit cards (don't ask me why I need four credit cards).
7:40 I walked to a calling card kiosk and read the sign: INSERT ONLY 10,000 BILLS. FACE UP. I entered my 10,000 Won face up. It wouldn't take it. I turned it around. I flipped it upside down. Still, wouldn't take it. I looked at a man behind me and he averted eye contact.
7:55 An internet sign blinked one floor above me. Perfect, I thought, I'll check my e-mail, see if they e-mailed me about being late, and get the phone number. I walked toward the elevator, but as I neared, I realized it only went down. I turned around and saw escalators, but they only went down. I walked back to where I could see the computers and realized it was for outbound travelers only.
8:10 I pulled my computer out of my bag and clicked on the internet link. It asked me to enter my credit card number to purchase 60 minutes. I did. Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I thought it must be some cosmic joke.
8:30 Back to the phone stands and pushed the button to make a collect call. I'll call my sister, have her check my e-mail and see if she can get the number. I looked at my watch, it was 3:00 am in Montana. The woman on the phone told me to wait while they connected me with an operator. I waited. It rang twice and when a woman answered, I asked if she spoke English. Nope. I hung up, pushed the button again, was told to wait, waited and then was disconnected. I tried again. Disconnected.
8:50 I walked outside only to have the 7th taxi driver ask me where I was going. I started to laugh, mostly to keep from crying, and tried to breathe in the rainy air.
9:00 I pushed my cart back to the crowd and waited again, but it was getting to be too much. So I pushed my cart to the hotel stand and picked up a brochure. No one was behind the counter.
9:10 My cart barely fit through the bathroom door, and it took out a cleaning cart on it's way. I pushed my cart to the end, locked myself in the last stall, and started to sob. I put my hands on my knees and took short choppy breaths to stifle the sound of my voice beginning to wail. I was tired. I was hungry. I wanted to go home, I wanted to get back on the airplane, ride the twelve hours back to the states, and crawl back into my familiar life. I wanted someone to tell me what to do, to tell me I would be okay, to tell me I woudn't have to spend the night in the airport. But the bathroom was empty, silent, except for the soft hiccups of my sobs. "I can do this," I whispered to my feet. "I am highly capable of taking care of myself." I turned and unlocked the door, vowing to wait 10 more minutes and then go to a hotel.
9:25 Deep pools of black mascara clung to the bags beneath my eyes. I wiped them dry, splashed some water on my face, and stood up to face the crowd.
I walked back outside, where one of the taxi drivers from earlier asked me if I needed to make a call. I explained about the number. "Go Information, inside." He pointed back toward the sliding doors where I had just escaped . Can't hurt, I thought. I walked up to the desk. "May I help you?" a smartly dressed woman asked. I opened my mouth to respond and glanced at a date book on the counter. And there, in large, clear block letters, was my name.
"That's me!" I said, "That's my name."
"You are Miss Battee?" A short Korean woman was at my side.
"Yes, yes, I'm Danielle." I grabbed her hand, afraid she might turn around and run away.
"So sorry, so sorry. Bad traffic from rain. So sorry late." I didn't care. I didn't care that she was late, that there was traffic, that it was raining, that I smelled like stale farts and BO. Someone had actually shown up and that was all that mattered. In the car, Mrs. Choi handed me a hot coffee in a can (which I later discovered comes from a vending machine) and a water.
She turned on her cd player and Zamphir and his magical flute radiated from the speakers, sending me back to my childhood when my sister and I would listen to Zamphir when we went to bed. On nights when my mom and Jeff didn't read to us, my sister and I would ask my mom to put in a tape so we could sleep. It was always one of three: The Velveteen Rabbit with Meryl Streep narrating and George Winston playing the piano in the background (which by the way, I can recite word for word because I only recently stopped listening to it when I sleep), Bev, the Christian pop star who my sister favored (it's still a mystery why we had this since my family has never had Christian ties), and Zamphir.
We arrived at my little apartment at almost 11. Mrs. Choi showed me around the small room, taught me how to operate the hot water, the heat and the television. I later discovered that my shower is also my sink and my washing machine, or rather, I shower with my sink and my washing machine. Seriously, the shower hangs over the sink, which is right next to the washing machine. It's a strange set up. I also don't have gas yet, so my little stove top doesn't work, so when I went to get take out from next door, I realized when I got home that I would have to cook it and didn't have any way to do that. So, instead, I've been eating crackers and going to the convenient store to get ramen-like noodle plates and using their microwave. Not many places are open on weekends and I'm not yet ready to sit down in a restaurant by myself. I will in time. I am certain I will have more to write soon. I start teaching on Monday, so I will send more stories.
As we were descending into Seoul, the hair on the back of my neck began to stand on end. I swatted at it as if it were some Korean bug nesting in my scalp. Seconds later, I heard the loud, "CRACK!" of thunder and a beam of white light shot just outside the window. An electrical current trickled from my head down to my toes. When I looked around, it was as if I were the only one who noticed. Heads were bent forward in sleep, bobbing up and down with the turbulence. We landed safely in Seoul and I made my way to immigration.
I waited for my bags, plopped them on a cart, and pushed my way through the sliding doors into the arrival area. I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd for someone holding a sign with "SLP Danielle, Welcome to Korea," like they told me in the last e-mail I recieved from Mr. Choi, the school director. Pushing the cart slowly toward the crowd, my eyes darted back and forth, but I didn't see my name. I pushed past the crowd, hoping my ride would be waiting just outside.
No one. Maybe they're late, I thought. Or maybe I'm late. I looked at the clock. 6:43. My flight was scheduled to arrive at 6:20 and it seemed strange that someone would only wait 20 minutes before leaving.
I scanned the crowd again and saw a Korean man with wire rim classes racing toward me. "Miss Mogu?" he asked holding a sign for the Yes English School. I shook my head.
The stench of my body began to rise as I started to sweat.
I waited. I scanned the crowd. I pushed my cart back and forth. I turned down taxi rides. I berated myself for not having a phone number. I waited. I quickly realized after being asked by several taxi drivers where I needed to go, that I had no idea. I had no idea where I was going. I didn't have an address. I didn't have a telephone number. It was Friday night at 7 pm, even if I e-mailed the office they wouldn't get it until Monday. Who does this? I thought. What idiot flies to a foreign country and doesn't have a clue where they're going?
7:20 pm. I walked to a bank of telephones, put my credit card in and waited. The woman on the phone told me to insert my card. I inserted it again. The woman told me (in Korean and English) to insert my card. I am entering my card lady, I told her but she didn't listen. I tried 4 credit cards (don't ask me why I need four credit cards).
7:40 I walked to a calling card kiosk and read the sign: INSERT ONLY 10,000 BILLS. FACE UP. I entered my 10,000 Won face up. It wouldn't take it. I turned it around. I flipped it upside down. Still, wouldn't take it. I looked at a man behind me and he averted eye contact.
7:55 An internet sign blinked one floor above me. Perfect, I thought, I'll check my e-mail, see if they e-mailed me about being late, and get the phone number. I walked toward the elevator, but as I neared, I realized it only went down. I turned around and saw escalators, but they only went down. I walked back to where I could see the computers and realized it was for outbound travelers only.
8:10 I pulled my computer out of my bag and clicked on the internet link. It asked me to enter my credit card number to purchase 60 minutes. I did. Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I thought it must be some cosmic joke.
8:30 Back to the phone stands and pushed the button to make a collect call. I'll call my sister, have her check my e-mail and see if she can get the number. I looked at my watch, it was 3:00 am in Montana. The woman on the phone told me to wait while they connected me with an operator. I waited. It rang twice and when a woman answered, I asked if she spoke English. Nope. I hung up, pushed the button again, was told to wait, waited and then was disconnected. I tried again. Disconnected.
8:50 I walked outside only to have the 7th taxi driver ask me where I was going. I started to laugh, mostly to keep from crying, and tried to breathe in the rainy air.
9:00 I pushed my cart back to the crowd and waited again, but it was getting to be too much. So I pushed my cart to the hotel stand and picked up a brochure. No one was behind the counter.
9:10 My cart barely fit through the bathroom door, and it took out a cleaning cart on it's way. I pushed my cart to the end, locked myself in the last stall, and started to sob. I put my hands on my knees and took short choppy breaths to stifle the sound of my voice beginning to wail. I was tired. I was hungry. I wanted to go home, I wanted to get back on the airplane, ride the twelve hours back to the states, and crawl back into my familiar life. I wanted someone to tell me what to do, to tell me I would be okay, to tell me I woudn't have to spend the night in the airport. But the bathroom was empty, silent, except for the soft hiccups of my sobs. "I can do this," I whispered to my feet. "I am highly capable of taking care of myself." I turned and unlocked the door, vowing to wait 10 more minutes and then go to a hotel.
9:25 Deep pools of black mascara clung to the bags beneath my eyes. I wiped them dry, splashed some water on my face, and stood up to face the crowd.
I walked back outside, where one of the taxi drivers from earlier asked me if I needed to make a call. I explained about the number. "Go Information, inside." He pointed back toward the sliding doors where I had just escaped . Can't hurt, I thought. I walked up to the desk. "May I help you?" a smartly dressed woman asked. I opened my mouth to respond and glanced at a date book on the counter. And there, in large, clear block letters, was my name.
"That's me!" I said, "That's my name."
"You are Miss Battee?" A short Korean woman was at my side.
"Yes, yes, I'm Danielle." I grabbed her hand, afraid she might turn around and run away.
"So sorry, so sorry. Bad traffic from rain. So sorry late." I didn't care. I didn't care that she was late, that there was traffic, that it was raining, that I smelled like stale farts and BO. Someone had actually shown up and that was all that mattered. In the car, Mrs. Choi handed me a hot coffee in a can (which I later discovered comes from a vending machine) and a water.
She turned on her cd player and Zamphir and his magical flute radiated from the speakers, sending me back to my childhood when my sister and I would listen to Zamphir when we went to bed. On nights when my mom and Jeff didn't read to us, my sister and I would ask my mom to put in a tape so we could sleep. It was always one of three: The Velveteen Rabbit with Meryl Streep narrating and George Winston playing the piano in the background (which by the way, I can recite word for word because I only recently stopped listening to it when I sleep), Bev, the Christian pop star who my sister favored (it's still a mystery why we had this since my family has never had Christian ties), and Zamphir.
We arrived at my little apartment at almost 11. Mrs. Choi showed me around the small room, taught me how to operate the hot water, the heat and the television. I later discovered that my shower is also my sink and my washing machine, or rather, I shower with my sink and my washing machine. Seriously, the shower hangs over the sink, which is right next to the washing machine. It's a strange set up. I also don't have gas yet, so my little stove top doesn't work, so when I went to get take out from next door, I realized when I got home that I would have to cook it and didn't have any way to do that. So, instead, I've been eating crackers and going to the convenient store to get ramen-like noodle plates and using their microwave. Not many places are open on weekends and I'm not yet ready to sit down in a restaurant by myself. I will in time. I am certain I will have more to write soon. I start teaching on Monday, so I will send more stories.
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