American We Are

Monday morning we started to walk out to the main road near my friend's apartment (in China). She had to head off to school, so her husband was going to accompany us to the bus station and make sure we got off to Beijing. "What luck!" we thought, when a taxi stopped right in front of their apartment building. We were all ready to get in, but after a little bit of dialogue the taxi drove off. Apparently, we had "too much luggage". I remembered my sister's experience in Europe, where she nearly missed a train while dragging her large suitcase and some kindly gentleman poked fun at her American habit of packing too much stuff. It seemed the Chinese would have a similar opinion. Two or three more times the same thing happened - a taxi would pull over for us, see our luggage, and drive away. Finally my friend and her husband enlisted the help of a young Chinese lady who was waiting for a bus, and together the three of them managed to cajole a driver into letting us and our apparently massive amount of luggage into his car. A short drive later and we were at the bus station. My friend's husband procured our tickets for us, and soon we were on our way back to Beijing.

The airport in Beijing is an absolutely massive structure. We first got off at terminal 2, which was an international terminal. But when we couldn't see our flight listed on any of the screens, we double checked our itinerary and realized we should have gone to terminal 3. No matter - we had enough time, and it was a simple shuttle ride to get to the correct terminal. We got on the bus, and I was expecting a short ride of a few minutes to get to the terminal. If I hadn't known for sure that this was an airport shuttle to terminal 3 though, I would have thought we were on the wrong bus! The ride was 10 or 15 minutes long and it seemed like we were driving far away from the airport. But sure enough, we finally stopped in front of the enormous terminal, most likely improved with the coming of the Olympics several years ago.

Even though it was 2 1/2 hours before our flight when we checked in, we were informed that our flight had already been delayed by 45 minutes. Sigh! My friend had confirmed John's suspicion that the Chinese airlines are indeed infamous for delayed flights. Well, at least now we had time to catch a bite to eat before our plane took off. After a dizzying series of escalators and shuttles, we finally reached the area where our gate was located. And quite providentially, there was a Pizza Hut there in the airport. I was thrilled! In PNG there are no pizza restaurants of course, and I'd recently been craving a good Pizza Hut fix. We sat down in the booth and opted for the most standard pizza we could find on the menu, skipping over those laden with shrimp and other toppings seemingly incongruent with my idea of pizza. And boy, did that pepperoni pizza taste good! I marveled that even here in China it could taste exactly like I remembered Pizza Hut pizzas tasting back home. Ahh, the wonders of American exports, spreading our unhealthy eating habits to all these poor skinny nations around the world! Anyway, the familiar taste made this pregnant tummy very happy.

Our flight to Seoul took off at least an hour after the scheduled time, but we still had enough time to catch the bus once we landed in Korea. We settled into some rather comfortable seats for the 3 or so hour journey to Gumi, South Korea, where John's sister and her husband live. I didn't pay much attention to the Korean man with a bag of Dunkin Donuts (those American exports again!) sitting across the aisle from us. He seemed plenty busy with his computer and other electronic gadgets. But Tikvah wasted no time in giving him some rather endearing smiles. And sure enough, they proved quite effective. The next thing I knew, the man was handing Tikvah a chocolate donut hole from his bag, which she was more than happy to receive. I just laughed and told her to say thank you, shaking my head at her wheedling abilities. After Tikvah finished her chocolate treat, she again turned to her recent benefactor with an outstretched hand. I didn't think much about it, and turned for a few seconds to talk to John. But sure enough, when I turned my head back toward Tikvah, she held a new glazed treat in her greedy little hand. I was thoroughly impressed! At this rate, I wouldn't have to feed her the whole time we would be in Korea. She'd take care of herself just fine!

We were happy to see John's sister, Kristen, and her husband, Mark when we reached the bus station. After I changed a rather stinky diaper, whose smell we had endured for the last half hour of our bus ride, we all headed out to grab a taxi. Once again our piles of luggage proved an issue, but thankfully one guy had a big trunk and we were able to stuff our things and the 5 of us into one taxi. We reached their apartment building, which doesn't have the luxury of an elevator, but fortunately they only live on the 4th floor. But, they explained, their apartment number was 501, because the number 4 is bad luck in Korea. I had actually remembered that random fact from when we first went to Ukarumpa. During an orientation to the Ukarumpa center our instructors were explaining the emergency numbers - 4222 was fire, 4333 was for security incidents, and 4444 was for a medical emergency. A friend going through the orientation with us had spent several years teaching English in Korea, and he asked if anyone had thought about the fact that '4' was the "number of death" in Korean culture. Ooops - even with a rather large Korean contingent on center, no one had made that connection before apparently. I'm sure I wouldn't appreciate dialing the "number of death" when making a call for medical emergency!

Mark and Kristen fed us a tasty supper and then we all crashed for the night. And once again, John and I crashed onto a mattress that had about as much give as the concrete floor beneath the bed. Rats! A few more days of tired bones for us. But Mark and Kristen have only been in Korea for a few months, whereas my friend in China has been there for a few years. So Kristen actually thought to mention the mattress and apologize for it's lack of comfort. "Our mattress is the same way," she assured us, so we knew they weren't giving us the 'unwanted company mattress' or something. "Sometimes I wake up with a sore back because the bed is so hard!" she said. We survived, but I have to admit that the first bed we slept on once back in America felt quite heavenly.