On Missed Buses and Meditation

So I missed my night bus to Seoul Friday night. As it turns out, this wasn't the only bus leaving my behind on my journey to Andong for the Mask Festival... After an excruciatingly long week of giving and grading written exams for EGA's entire student population, I woke the next morning to find my backpack and everything in it saturated from a water bottle that had leaked slowly throughout the night... The only silver lining (thank God for silver linings) is that my camera, cell phone, and batteries were somehow spared from the flood.

I had planned to take the first express bus Saturday morning to Daejeon, one of the big hub cities in the central-western part of the country, and the place from where I'd catch an onward bus to Andong. I pedaled to the bus terminal, bought my ticket, and settled into a hard plastic seat outside the terminal, underneath the sign posted for Platform 12. While I obviously don't read Korean, the tickets are usually pretty straightforward -- with a little hangul I can manage to double-check the destination I've purchased for, and besides that, the rest is mostly numbers: departing time, ticket price, platform number, you get the idea.

I knew I had a little time to kill, so I got out a book and started reading, watching through my peripheral vision for the bus that was bound to soon pull into slot 12. Minutes went by, then ten, then twenty, and with still no bus in sight, I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. It was 8:11 AM which, for my 8:10 bus, meant it was time to start panicking. Korean buses run like Swiss clocks -- they are extremely precise on departure times, which is more than a little impressive. In my three and a half months living in Korea, I've never been on a bus that has left more than one minute late. So you can imagine my reaction at seeing the time...

The realization somehow I'd made a grave mistake, and my express bus (the only one for the next three hours) had left without me hit with incredible speed. Sure enough, after thrusting my ticket at an elderly woman sitting next to me and sputtering out what could have only sounded like confusing jibberish to her, she shook her head despondently and pointed to the opposite end of the bus terminal. And there it was confirmed, by three chainsmokers employees hovering around the apparently correct Daejeon bus platform. It was still somewhat early Saturday morning, I felt slightly drugged from the events of the past week, and was just handed the bad news that I had missed my bus...

After inspecting my ticket, one of the employees brought me back to his office, where he looked up the bus timetables and pointed out the next departure for Daejeon, which was a 0h45 wait, but an indirect bus at that (meaning that one little minute between 8:10 and 8:11 AM had cost me a minimum of 2 hours). My mind clicked and whirred, as if trying to calculate whether to it was even worth making the trip to Andong, or whether I'd be better off scrapping all of my plans and turning back for the consolation prize of a quiet weekend at home. In the end, though, I willed myself onto that next bus, determined to see the trip through. Mask Festival is one of the events that I had had my heart set on experiencing while in Korea, and I just couldn't give up that easily.

I can't quite put my finger on the moment when my attitude shifted from disappointment to enjoyment, because for sure I spent the first bit on the bus convincing myself that I'd made the right choice to hop on board. But I spent the next seven hours on highways and city roads, winding my way slowly towards the opposite side of the country, peering out tinted windows and the ever-changing landscape and losing myself in thought. Out on the open road again, flying as much by the seat of my pants and with any real itinerary to note, and riding along in the solitude of self-contemplation amid the shuffles and chatters around me, my body began to loosen. My mind began to roam free. And I felt again the raw, visceral sensation which fills me whenever I find myself in touch again with my nomadic spirit. I began to remember my place in the ebb and flow of the world around me, and the freedom that I feel when I let go of time and schedules and just let life be.

As much as I was looking forward to the festivities in Andong and meeting up with some fellow CouchSurfers for the weekend, I was finding an unusual sort of fulfillment in this lengthy bus ride eastward. It was like a meditation of sorts, and a gratitude session, and my own little noraebang (karaoke room) rolled into one, and I no doubt amused my seatmate with the Rascal Flatts melodies I spiritedly emitted (when I'm feeling the music, I just can't hold back!). I felt the energy of being in motion, the childlike wonder of new experiences surrounding me, the recognition of the gifts that my previous experiences in life have bestowed upon me, even the overwhelming emotion of gratitude for all that I have been blessed with and have had the opportunity to learn and experience. It was like a beautiful upward spiral of thought and emotion, lifting me beyond my slightly cramped seat on the bus and out into the universe of possibility.

And seven hours later, as I pulled into Andong, my spirits were high, and I felt a smiling beaming out from somewhere deep within me. I would never have imagined that a missed bus could have resulted in such a thing... maybe I should miss my bus more often...

Backpacking Begins: The Bullet Train to Busan

Despite nearly cancelling my travel plans due to complications from my nasty Fido attack, I decided Thursday afternoon that I was well enough to still make the most of my one-week vacation (which began Saturday morning). It was cutting things close by Thursday when I made the final call, close enough that all hostels in Busan were booked, and I had to reserve my second-choice bullet train from Cheonan, as all seats on Saturday morning's first train to Busan had all been reserved.

The next few days were a bit stressful as I sent off multiple CouchSurfing requests in hopes of finding someone who would be willing to host me. I hadn't realized until far too late that the weekend of my intended arrival was also the beginning of a huge month-long beach festival in Busan proper. And everybody, it seemed, was planning to attend.

I managed the good fortune of getting in contact with a sweet girl named Marina, originally from the Ukraine, and on teaching contract for a year in Busan. Although she wouldn't be back from the Rock Concert until Sunday afternoon, she offered to leave me her keys so that I could help myself in to her flat and crash at her place for the night. This is the spirit of CouchSurfing, which is something that, try as I might, I simply can't seem to successfully explain to friends and acquaintances curious about this worldwide travelers-helping-travelers community.

Yes, Marina and I were complete strangers. Yes, she was leaving me the key to her place. Yes, I have done the same. And yes, people really can be that trusting.

Saturday was a long one -- I was up Friday night until far too late (2 AM!) catching up with a few close friends, tying up loose ends, and packing up for a week of backpacking. It had been a while since I was last in "backpacking mode," and I have to admit that my efficiency was terrible. But finally, a few slim hours before my bus would pull out of Seosan's terminal and route me to Cheonan (where I'd catch the high-speed train to Busan), I managed to fall into bed and passed out without a moment's hesitation. Finishing up all the odds and ends (watering my lily, taking out the trash, etc. etc.) took me longer than I had planned and, after running to the nearest taxi stand, flagging down an empty cab, and flying down the quiet Saturday morning streets of Seosan, I made it on the bus with just a minute to spare before my one chance of making my connections slipped out of my reach.

Several hours later, I was in Busan, standing in a mob of people waiting to purchase subway tickets in one of Busan's busiest metro stations. Marina had called me while I was en route on the train, and I had quickly scrawled onto a corner of my guidebook page her detailed directions on how to reach her apartment somewhere in the middle of Korea's second-largest city. After managing to get my metro ticket and board the right metrorail train, I settled in for what turned out to be another 45-minute commute uptown to the Oncheonjang stop. As it turned out, Marina's directions were flawless; within the space of another 20 minutes, I had unearthed the key from a potted plant one flight up from her apartment entrance, and was sopping the perspiration off of my face with the hem of my blouse. I had forgotten how oppressive high-summer humidity can be, especially with a 20-pound backpack strapped to my back.

After settling in, repacking the bare essentials into my daybag, rehydrating myself with some cold water, and giving my guidebook a quick once-over, I decided that my best plan of attack would be to head to Beomeosa, a Buddhist temple set in the mountains of Busan, and one of the city's finest attractions. Navigating a foreign country with little to no language skills always proves to be an interesting undertaking -- depending on the amount of patience involved, it can be either humorous or irritating. Fortunately, even with sideshow of a toothless man dressed in camouflage and combat boots who insisted on blowing me kisses for the entire bus ride up in the mountains, I was able to keep everything in a pleasant perspective. That is, until I walked onto the temple grounds, drew out my SLR to take my first photo... and discovered that I had failed to install the battery...

That discovery put an immense damper on my explorations, but soon I was reveling in the silent peacefulness of the temple grounds, craning my neck upwards to the tops of the bamboo shoots springing up alongside a temple wall, eavesdropping respectfully on the chanting and song of monks and worshippers kneeling barefoot in the inner chambers of many of the prayerhouses. A monk dressed in simple brown clothing stepped out from behind a closed gate and began sweeping the stone steps leading up to the entranceway, and a gaggle of school children, dressed in matching yellow tee-shirts, pattered through open courtyard, both bringing a unique energy to the scenery and stillness surrounding me.

After soaking up the whole experience, I managed to make it back to Oncheonjang and rounding up a few days' worth of fruits and vegetables before my body all but caved in from exhaustion. I had Marina's flat to myself and, despite the charms of Busan beckoning from just beyond her windowpane, I knew that what I needed more than anything was some quality sleep. So I curled up on the hard wood floor with the novel I had borrowed from Tahira just before leaving, and let the written words lull me to sleep. And despite my best intentions to venture out again later that evening, I managed to sleep almost straight through til morning on that hard wood floor. My vacation had officially begun.

Solo in Seoul

One of the ten largest cities in the world? ... Intimidating.
A metro system with arms like tentacles reaching across landspace housing millions of inhabitants? ... Overwhelming.
A lack of language skills or even a phrasebook to afford me a shot at the most basic of communication? ... Stressful.
But impossible? Absolutely not. I've dealt with worse.
I simply couldn't let another weekend pass by without taking the plunge and attempting to day-trip to Seoul. It didn't have to be anything large-scale... it's been a while, after all, since I've flexed the ol' backpacker biceps. Just to spend a full day walking around the city, see what I see, and hopefully meet up with an old friend in Seoul, that was my plan. I had my chance to explore Seoul just this past Sunday, despite ugly weather forecasts and foreboding skies. Granted, I almost got stranded at the bus terminal... but that's another story.
I biked to the bus station in a gray drizzle, and managed (with the help of an absolute stranger) to buy a ticket and find myself on the road northward, aboard a comfy if tattered bus. I had intended to sleep on the trip, but excitement for the day's adventure kept my mind spinning as I leafed through one page after another of my "Lonely Planet Korea" book. By the time I arrived in Seoul, a mere 1h33 had elapsed. It pays to take an early morning bus... little or no traffic to contend with. I spent the next hour hopping along Seoul's many metro lines and walking in circles through busy city streets, trying to get my bearings. (It really sucks not having my trusty sidekick compass...) But finally, it all started to click and before long I was standing outside the entrance gate to one of Korea's ancient palace complexes, Changyeonggung. The air was buzzing as young women, dressed in vibrant blue dresses, scampered across the stone bridge leading to another palace hall. As I poked my head inside, I was delighted to find billowing bundles of flags, dragon-bedecked drums, and carefully arranged plates laden with colorful fruits and other offerings. I spent the next three hours meandering along shady, forested trails, admiring the gracefully sloping rooftops of one palace structure after another, marvelling at the beautiful wood craftsmanship and balance of nature and structure that the Koreans seem to have perfected.
As the afternoon wore on, I took a walk along the pedestrian-only thoroughfare known to tourists throughout Seoul as souvenir headquarters, Insadong. Shopfronts, food stalls, and kitsch-covered carts beckoned to the thousands parading along this busy merchant quarter. I eyed a set of traditional-looking clay bowls and plates with longing, before my attention was caught by yet another, then another enticing display. Certainly this was no place to hurry through -- the din of voices in myriad languages, the abundance of solid bargains, and the joyful exuberance of shoppers anxious to take back with them a little piece of Korea all melded into an atmosphere that almost insisted you linger. Only, I couldn't. I had a timed-entry ticket to another of Korea's old-world gems, the UNESCO palace known as Changdoekbang.
By this point, my feet were growing tired. But I felt another wave of energy overtake me as I entered the palace grounds and walked again among centuries-old wooden masterpieces. Something about Asian design, its simplicity and gracefulness, resonates with me. I couldn't seem to get my fix of the contoured rooftops and the harmony of all elements, both natural and manmade. The highlight was a walk through a secluded area known as the "Secret Garden," complete with a lily-pad topped pool and octagonal pavilion. The earthy green of abundant foliage bled across the scene, and the serenity I felt was inescapable.
Afterwards, I followed one street after another past a huge English bookstore (I'll definitely have to make a return visit there!!), and into a very artsy section of town. A right turn across from Changbukgong (yes, another palace!) landed me smack dab in the middle of... Greenwich Village? Some little European plaza? Where was I?? This place reeked of class, with boutique after cafe after cutesy coffehouse spilling one after another in succession down an ambling sidestreet. Old-world buildings butted up against others boasting a modern design, and vines and flowerboxes peppered the walkways and window sills. This was definitely a happening area, and I was already planning my return visit to Samcheongdong.
Before evening came, I made connections with a friend from the U.S. that I haven't seen in years, another brave soul who decided to break from the norm and come to Korea in search of teaching work. After two years teaching in Busan (Seoul's little sister on the southeast shore), she decided to make her stay here a bit more permanent when she accepted the marriage proposal of her soon-to-be husband Sung Jin. We met at the Daeheung metro station and walked to their flat, a cozy little space on the 8th floor of their high-rise, overlooking a beautiful section of the city. Over rice, quail eggs, and some yummy vegetable banchan, I got to know her husband and hear a bit about their lives over the intervening years.
And before I knew it, time had run away. Literally. So I found myself running to the metro in hopes that I could make my 18 metro stops and line transfer to the Nambu Bus Station in time to catch my bus to Seosan. For the next 40 minutes, I eyed my watch impatiently, counting the seconds between stops as though life depended on it. I had seriously underestimated the time involved to traverse Seoul's metro system, and that lesson hit home with a decided bang as my clock chimed 8:00 PM. I was still 3 stops away. At this very moment, my bus -- the last bus of the night -- was pulling out of the station. I knew I could ride the metro back to Dionne's place, wake up early, catch a morning bus back to Seosan and make it in time for my noon staff meeting. But I was tired, grungy beyond reason, and wanted a warm shower and a good night's sleep in my own bed.
And then, the silver lining shone through. I remember Terry, my boss's wife, telling me that there were two bus stations in Seoul. Maybe, I told myself, I still have a shot of getting on a bus from the other terminal. A mere 40 minutes later, I was cruising out of town on yet another cross-country bus. I had to eat that ticket leaving from Nambu, of course. But at W6,800 (approx US$7), it fortunately didn't set me back too much. By 11 PM Sunday night I was back home again, reliving the highlights of a spectacular Sunday in Seoul. I have a feeling it won't be long before I find myself kicking around the big city again...

Smooth Sailing into Seosan

IMG_2906, originally uploaded by mizmoxie.

I am lying on a cotton-quilted bed in my host family’s guest room, trying to convince my body that it really is 10 AM Friday morning, and no longer 9 PM Thursday night. But I can’t blame myself for being a bit confused. It’s been 2½ days now since my last “real” night’s sleep, and 31 hours since leaving my parents’ house now half a world away… With too much left to finish Tuesday night before my flight the next morning, I opted to pull an all-nighter. Plus, I had reasoned, I’ll crash on the plane and rest on Korea’s clock while being catapulted over the Pacific. It could have been that simple, but naturally, getting myself to this firm-yet-comfy little bed on the other side of the world took more than a little doing.
First, I was held at the check-in counter in Harrisburg for the better part of an hour, while the airline agents confirmed that no, they wouldn’t let me board the plane until I had in my hand an onward or return ticket from Korea. Having an E2 visa (good for 1 year) pasted inside my brand spanking new passport did absolutely nothing to convince them otherwise (forget that plane tickets can’t be bought more than 330 days in advance!!). So $1800 later, I held a one-way ticket returning from Seoul sometime next May. Fortunately, this cloud had a silver lining – the ticket is fully refundable. Somehow I’ve just got to arrange to mail it to my parents, who will have to make a trip back to the airport to get their $1800 back. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for fronting the money for that unexpected little wrinkle 
The flight from Harrisburg to Chicago was uneventful, and 2 hours after arriving, I was again wrestling my carry-on luggage into an overhead bin, this time heading for Tokyo, Japan. 13 hours airborne meant plenty of time to sleep, learn a few words of Korean, and, as it turns out, make friends with the young Korean girl seated to my left. Halfway through the flight, after waking from yet another neck-paralyzing mini-nap and pulling out my Lonely Planet Korea book, Su Min introduced herself to me. As it turns out, she had been living just a few miles from my parents in Harrisburg for the past year, where she had stayed with a host family while attending high school. This seems to be a rite of passage for a large portion of Korean teenagers, an opportunity to further ensure gaining entrance to a good university, and hence, have a successful life. Su Min and I talked about her family back home, her dreams to be a singer. She warned me about the recent protests in Seoul against the government’s agreement with the U.S. to buy American beef. Her eyes sparkled as she told me of the places she longed to travel to, how much she loved to meet people from different places, to learn about the culture. Well, that pretty much sealed the deal – we had officially “bonded...” which turned out to be a blessing in disguise
After landing in Tokyo, we were informed that our flight to Seoul had been delayed by 4 hours. Thanks to Su Min and her Korean calling card, I was able to get that message to Harrison, my new boss, who would otherwise have had a very long evening at the Incheon airport. It was unfortunate to be in Tokyo on a rainy evening, weighed down with heavy baggage and no real chance to venture out from the belly of the airport. So I did the next best thing – I slept. Hard plastic seats were no match for my profound exhaustion, and I somehow managed to surrender to the dream world – that is, until the left side of my body woke me up with a loud protest of discomfort. It was a short time later that Su Min found me, along with another Korean boy, who had also been studying at a high school in Harrisburg… this was turning out to be a ridiculously small world. The three of us walked the length of the terminal, until we managed to find the airport’s food court, and treated ourselves to dinner. I enjoyed a plate of Japanese-style beef curry with rice and earned a compliment for my chopstick performance from my new Korean friends.
Before too long, we were airborne again, and I tried to entertain myself with the in-flight magazine while sandwiched in economy class between two sleeping strangers. It would have been the ideal time to sleep, as we didn’t pull onto the tarmac until minutes before midnight. But of course, that meant 11 AM to my very confused body clock, and I was completely alert (though, unfortunately, no match for the crossword puzzle on page 75). We landed into thick Korean fog, scuttled through the terminal to pass through Immigration, and waited with growing impatience for our luggage to surface in Baggage Claim.
Finally, I walked beyond Customs, my cart loaded down with two packed-to-the-max duffle bags, and gazed out at the gentle swarm of eager faces awaiting our arriving flight. How would I find Harrison?, I began to wonder. Will he recognize me? And then, I saw it – my unmistakable larger-than-life-size head glued to a pole, staring back at me. It was my passport photo, blown up to obscene dimensions… ughh! Attached the other end of the pole was Harrison, smiling, bright-eyed, despite the terribly late hour. He had made a welcome sign to greet me, and held it energetically. As soon as I recognized him and made my way to where he was standing, we exchanged warm handshakes and expressions of “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” I hugged Su Min goodbye and wished her a happy stay with her family. And Harrison and I started on our way.
“You look so different from your picture,” Harrison told me, moments later. Thinking perhaps he was somehow disappointed, and reminding myself how disheveled I must appear to him after so many hours of travel, I shrugged it off with a reference to my recent haircut. “No, it’s not that,” he continued. “You look so much friendlier in person!” And at that, I had to chuckle. He was right, my straight-faced passport photo did absolutely nothing for my personality. I am much more at home with a smile on my face, and a sparkle in my eyes, and it didn’t take Harrison long to see that. For the next three hours as we lugged my baggage across the airport, loaded down his van, then drove south through the wet, cool fog to Seosan, Harrison and I had time to talk. I found myself settling into a happy awareness that I was finally here, in Korea, seated next to the man who had become a friend through months of emails and visa updates. I felt a positive and peaceful wave of energy overtake me as Harrison told me how very glad he was to have me here. I felt the genuineness in his voice as he told me how happy he was with his life – how fortunate he felt to have a family he loved so much, a job he enjoyed so much, and a home in a city he loved so much as well. He exuded such a positive energy, which seemed to coalesce with mine, and it was one of those moments when everything just felt right in the world. The challenge of arriving here, the long process for my visa… all of that was behind me now, and all that mattered was that I was here, that I had come, that Korea had beckoned to me, and I had answered.

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

Saying goodbye… to my family, my friends, my home, my community, my state, my whole freaking country… and even to some cherished sentimental touchstones, which have been stuffed in drawers and closets and boxes for years and have managed to pass through my hands at some point during this hectic week as I sorted out what to take, what to leave behind, and what to let go… These past twelve days have been one goodbye after another, growing steadily in intensity, like the climbing decibels of a quickening drumbeat as it rises with crescendo against the lilting melody of life.

Yet here it is. This is my life. These are my dreams. My ambitions are coming into focus, in vivid, brilliant Technicolor, blinding neon lights flashing inexcusably right before my eyes. My foresight, desire, and gut-level decisions have brought me to this fork in the road. It is here, on the edge of morning, June 11, 2008, that I sit in my corner bedroom on the top floor in my parents’ home for the last time, my back sunk against the pillows three rows deep between me and the periwinkle-painted walls behind me, pondering where the road will carry me next.

The concrete facts I know: five hours from now, a plane will whisk me from Harrisburg to Chicago to Japan to Korea. 23 hours after touching off from Pennsylvania, I’ll be collecting my bags and looking out into a sea of Asian faces to find one that hopefully I’ll recognize from the handful of photos I’ve exchanged with my now-employer, Harrison. A few hours later, we will have arrived in Seosan, my home for the next twelve months, my eyes fighting to stay awake long enough to meet the family gracious enough to be my hosts during the week ahead, and to try out, for the first time, the cursory and obligatory Korean phrases I’ve practiced during the long trans-Pacific flight that has brought me here.

I’m feeling oh-so melancholy as memories rack up on top of one another in a paralyzing jumble, and I remind myself again how much I hate goodbyes. We’ll meet again, I’ve told many a friend in the last several days, because after all, I say, the world’s just not that big. Today we can crisscross continents in high-speed planes, bridges thousands of miles in milliseconds with emails and webcams and VOIP calls. We’re not so disconnected as we used to be, which is a comfort as I consider the fact that my favorite Italian meal is going to be one hell of a long haul away for the next calendar year.

Still, I gaze out the window, past the weeping willow with boughs sweeping the ground where I took “glamour shot” photos of Natalie, past the white picket fence and the spot where Emily and I played Boggle on that faded yellow blanket two summers ago. I look out over the magnolia tree where Mom and I found the panicked bird whose nest was endangered after an overambitious gardener cut back its branches a bit too sparsely. I pause on the flowerboxes that have always been overflowing with the bright colors of springtime, thanks to Mom’s green thumb, and the patio table where we’ve eaten many a breakfast during the warmer months. I walk my eyes down the steps to the pool and dip my gaze into the cool, crystal blue water, envisioning Michael and Daniel catapulting themselves off the diving board into jumps that earned top marks by our panel of family judges. I hear Lorelie’s laughter as she surfaces from her snorkel trip across the length of the pool in the aqua boots and fins I brought back from Florida. I smell the succulence of charcoal and marinade as Dad tends to the barbecue, cooking up a mouthwatering plate of pork steaks for dinner. And this is just one little portion of the memories I have wrapped up in this place that my family has called home for the past seven years.

It’s time to say goodbye, time to move forward with courage and hopefulness, time to keep believing in all the great and amazing reasons I chose this road less traveled in the first place. I’m a Robert Frost kind of girl at heart. I want the world to be my oyster, and I want to make my own path across it, one uniquely mine. I want to believe that the world will be different because of the journey I’ve taken to leave my mark. And it doesn’t start here anymore than it ends here, because there isn’t any end to this journey, this passage, this trailblazing, which is so essentially me. But I do know this: somewhere south of Seoul I continue my discovery. And somewhere between this place and wherever the roads next leads me, I’ll find part of myself and leave part of myself, adding another equation to the complex formula that is the universe. I suppose it’s time to dust off my compass and start moving my feet… Hello Korea, here I come.