Feet are firmly planted in 2008. Memories are catching up with reality and moving into the cold year ahead. But Seoul does not hibernate. Continued from before, and from even earlier:

Act Three: A Chinese Connection

Someone in front of me was speaking Chinese. Three someones, on second look, middle-aged or better, and not from Dalian or Shandong judging by accents.

Arriving in South Korea means going back to the beginning. New country, new language, a month of playing charades just to order a meal. Such is travel.

I sat on bus 24. The woman who changed my USD to KRW told me this line goes to the subway, just before I noticed the large pile of RMB to her left, meaning yesterday was a wasted exercise. And so I forgot to ask where to get off this bus and onto said subway, which goes from Incheon to Seoul in 45 minutes for 1500 won. A bargain any way you look at it.

For the time being, my outdated copy of Lonely Planet Korea would have to get me through. Incheon, while geographically next to and largely indistinct from Seoul, is buried on page 128 of that edition in the Gyonggi-do chapter (and should not be confused with Icheon, a page prior and 60 km southeast of the capital). Nothing in the brief description of the city or what to do there included getting between the ferry terminal and the subway. Apparently, not many people take the boat from China.

So I leaned forward into the Chinese conversation in front of me.

“请问，你们是中国人吗?” Best to be polite, I thought, tapping the woman on the shoulder. They were from Shenyang, it turned out.

It’s funny, the conversations most irritating in China so often involve variations on the phrase, “你汉语说得很好.” Back in a country where I don’t speak the language in any form unrelated to ordering a beer, I find myself waiting for it, like our conversation hasn’t really begun until I get that false compliment. My psyche needs that, y’know?

But fragile egos would have to wait a bit. More immediate questions needed answering: Were they going to Seoul as well? Were they taking the subway? Did they know where to get off? Affirmative on all counts. I had guides.

The man doing most of the talking was an old Korea hand; the other two as green as me, likewise just off the boat. At the appointed stop, we piled off the bus, me with my backpack and laptop, them with over-sized sacks on under-sized dollies, which I helped them lug up and down stairs to the station. It felt a bit like traveling with my grandparents might, except that I’ve never traveled with my grandparents.

We rode the Number One line together to Sindorim. From there, I headed to Sinchon alone. Before we parted, the man leading us unfolded a nearly destroyed subway map and handed it to me. Korea in Chinese, just to keep things interesting.

On the steps outside the first station, while the other two new arrivals from China sorted the pile of bags they’d pushed out the bus door, there was a lull in the conversation, and he finally said it: “你汉语说得怎么好啊.”

It’s still not true.

Coming up, reality, or at least life in the here and now. Try to stay warm.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 3rd, 2008 at 12:37 am and is filed under roadside blogging, the Dalian life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.