Arrival

The Boeing 777 airplane was filled to the brim with Koreans. I sat by the window with the head of a Korean teenager bouncing on and off my shoulder as he fell asleep and woke up, apologizing every few seconds. Any attempt to explain that the headrest will actually bend to keep this from happening was misunderstood, so I just stopped trying. As the plane began its descent to the Seoul Incheon Airport, I slid open the shade to the round window and looked down. White boats dotted the ocean. The shadow of the teal plane swam over the waves like a great whale swimming for shore. Dark green islands mounded out of the water, each surrounded by a ring of beaches.
The plane landed with the usual bumps and thumps, inciting the girl in the seat directly in front of me to begin puking up her lunch and dinner. Despite the Sea-bands on my wrists, I felt my stomach clench. She filled up her bag, her father's bag, and I hastily handed her my bag, which she also managed to fill. I hadn't been able to sleep on the plane, so I stood in a daze, gathered my two bags, and stumbled off the plane.
Wet heat settled on my head, shoulders, back, legs, and arms. Breathing was a struggle. My lungs were not accustomed to separating the oxygen from the water in the air. The loudspeakers in the airport kindly directed the passengers in Korean, Japanese, Chinese, and English. I followed the crowd down the hallway, eschewing the walking sidewalk, glancing at the "Korea Sparkling" posters on the wall, and trying to remain steady on my feet. What felt like three miles later, I saw the glass-cubed walls of the customs desks.
I stood in the line for foreigners and readied my passport and declaration card. The line was long and slow-moving. I heard people speaking French, German, Japanese, and English, although the majority around us spoke Korean. I looked over the heads of the (relatively) short people ahead of me and watched as the man checking passports sent people to the back of the line or to another line. Sweat dripped down my neck and face, plastering my T-shirt to my back and pulling my jeans low on my hips. My shoulder bag pulled on my right shoulder and the book bag couldn't manage to release its strain. I kept glancing at my watch, wondering if I would be in line so long I would miss my flight from Gimpo to Gwangju. But, no, finally it was my turn.
"Annyeongseyo," I said, trying out one of the two Korean words I know as I handed him my passport and declaration card.
He scowled at me and flipped open my passport. Immediately, I felt stupid. Had I said it wrong? Had I just insulted him? Was he going to kick me out of Korea because he knew I couldn't speak Korean?
He flipped to the Visa page. "You are here to teach English?" he barked.
Startled, I nodded and treated his question as a request. "Yes, please."
He scanned my passport number and then peered at the picture. "Hat off."
I reached up and took off my hat. I'm sure it looked as though I had a hot, wet washrag on my head. I could feel the hair sticking to my forehead, temples and neck. My hair dripped.
"Hmm," he looked at the passport, looked at me, looked back at the passport.
I smiled. He frowned and shook his head. I stopped smiling. My had crept into my shoulder bag, searching frantically for the contract in case he didn't believe my very believable Visa.
He flipped my passport onto the counter and jerked his head. "Goodbye."
"Ah, yes," I scooped it up and bowed slightly. "Kamsahamida."
I took the stairs to the lower level and snagged a cart for my luggage. After loading the two fifty-pound suitcases onto the small wheeled cart, I exchanged money at the money counter and made an attempt to find the bus to Gimpo Airport. I held the instructions from Canadian Connections in one hand and the envelope of money in the other as I pushed my cart, looking for gate B4.
"You take a taxi?"
Startled, I jerked to a stop. "Um, no. A bus."
The Korean man looked up at me and shook his head. "Taxi better. Get you there faster."
"Yeah, I'll just take the bus," I said. "Do you know where gate B4 is?"
"Taxi cheaper. Taxi better."
"That's okay," I said and wheeled away.
"You take a taxi?"
"What?" I snapped, certain he followed me.
"You take a taxi?"
It was a different guy. He gestured to my luggage and pointed outside. "Taxi cheap."
I was hot, tired, and looking for gate B4. I frowned at him, straightened my shoulders, and loomed.
"I'm. Taking. The. Bus." I pointed outside as a bus zoomed by. "The. Bus. Not a taxi."
He actually backed up a step or two. "Buses outside," he said, helpfully, and scurried away.
I managed to catch the bus, make it to Gimpo Airport, and arrive in Gwangju safely. Once we checked into the hotel room, I showered, fell onto the firm bed, and passed out.