It Isn’t What It Isn’t

Dirty and delirious with travel I stumbled through the airport in a haze that comes only with thirty straight hours of flights and cabs and couches and swollen feet and individually wrapped salty snacks. My bags, weighing in at over a hundred pounds altogether, were too much for me to even fathom dragging onto a bus, and so I took the easy way out. Upon arriving in Korea and stepping past the baggage claim and into the waiting area, I looked around like a confused tourist for only a moment before I was offered a taxi. Even though he was the very first person, I accepted. After all, this isn’t Thailand where you are an idiot not to be wary of any local that offers you a kindness, even when in exchange for money.

I had no idea whether or not I should even be nervous, but I was too tired to care. I was scared to not know the language. Not even a word. But as it turns out, this isn’t a problem at all. I said the word “Itaewon?” And then asked “how much?” in English and he told me 70,000-80,000 won without traffic. In Thailand, every dime I had on me would probably be a distant dream as I got swindled by every taxi cab driver I looked at, but as it was, I relinquished the burden of my baggage onto the friendly Mr. Lee as he led me from just outside the baggage claim, down two elevators, and into the parking garage where his airport “limo” was parked. He took me exactly where I wanted to go and even called the good friend I was coming to meet so she could come out and help me with my bags. I didn’t even care that the hour long ride ended up costing me a hundred bucks.

Five days have passed since I was dropped at Marina’s doorstep and I have no complaints. The food is delicious and cheap, the people are friendly (even though you need not speak barely a word of Korean to them) and having such a close friend here has made it feel more like coming home than leaving. But is that a bad thing? For two years I have been waiting to hit the road again, to feel the excitement of the unknown pulsing faster through me than my own racing blood. But instead I have been greeted warmly by close friends and offered a place to stay with my very own room. I have drank in the day and through the night, wandered around a few parts of the city, gone out to dinner and out to clubs, and so far the differences are minute points of interest and not a mass of culture shock as I had been expecting. After years of being trained to be kind to waiters, I don’t think I will ever be comfortable yelling “YOGIYO!” from across the restaurant to get someone’s attention, even though here, it is expected. And tipping is not allowed. If you need something, they will not come to you unless you yell “HERE!” with a hefty heaping of authority. Maybe eventually I’ll get used to that one.

Somehow, in just five days, Korea already feels like a home to me even though I am not even settled in mine here just yet. But I guess that is the big difference between traveling to a country and moving to one. I have almost all my clothes with me here, along with some art and trinkets and even our comforter and pillows from the last bed we shared. I am not staying in a hostel and wandering the streets with nothing but my thoughts and maybe some fast friends. I came here to make a new home and experience another part of the world with the man I love. So I guess the lack of a traveler’s lonely struggle to find meaning and wisdom in the experiences and challenges they face isn’t such a bad thing after all. I will still meet people and explore as much of Korea as I can while I am here. I will travel to Japan and Hong Kong and Palau and still ride the excitement of the unfamiliar. But good friends, cheap drinks, and raucous laughter are just as important, if not more, than any of that other stuff ever could be.