The West Commences: May 4, 2012

I was relieved and happy to see May and the girls running toward me when I got through customs. Incheon airport is huge and very well organized; it has a subway system to get you around. My luggage arrived intact except for the bran muffins, which I must have had a screw loose even to think of taking on a flight into the future. In the Monty Python skit I saw ages ago, an English biker takes a fall and miraculously, the muffin in his backpack sustains no injury, but after being abused by baggage handlers from two airlines, mine were smashed flat and looked like very dense cookies by the time we unpacked them at Jay’s. It was wonderful to hug the real him when he finally got home from school. May, who’s a very good cook, made a delicious dinner, which we devoured because by this time it was around 10:00pm on May 2^nd for them and 6:00am on May 2nd for me. I had flown into the future and lost a day, but I’d found my family.

When you’re with the ones you love, even a place as distant and intimidating as Korea had seemed to be before I got here is home. Although I don’t even approach feeling at home with the language. My few pathetic phrases haven’t helped me in the least to solve the problem of getting money out of a bank with a debit card. You’d think it would be easy enough, but in Jay’s part of Incheon very few people speak English; bank tellers are no exception. Fortunately, Confucianism still seems to have an influence on people's public behaviour, and that has eased my confusion. I’ve been helped twice by bank employees who looked as if they’d prefer not to get involved but who couldn’t let themselves ignore a woman of a certain age in distress. Now I have one ton of won, over a million actually. With the assistant manager's help and by tapping the options rapidly, Korean bank machines have no patience, the bills finally flipped out of the machine, in ten thousand won notes, a stack that was thicker than my paperback copy of War and Peace. Fortunately, the teller instantly understood the dilemma and exchanged them for fifty thousand won notes, which lightened the burden of wealth.

May and the girls get up early to go to school. Jay and I rise a bit later. We’ve had good long chats over coffee and squashed muffins at the table on the long balcony that goes the length of the apartment. I joined him doing exercises on the first day; I was happy that we were working out in two different rooms because my routine is puny compared to his. He does some domestic chores and then goes to school just after noon. Aside from trying to get money out of the bank, I’ve gone both days for walks on the hill that is very close to the apartment. The leaves are fully out in Incheon and the flowers that I first took to be azaleas and later discovered in my Korean guide book are the national flower of Korea, a type of Rose of Sharon, are everywhere in dense florescent bunches of orange, red, hot pink, mauve and white. It’s warm, and the hills are dry and smell of the fallen pine needles that are crushed under the feet of the many people who walk the paths. Most of the hikers seem to be about my age, although it’s hard to tell because they are completely covered for the activity. Most wear long pants, long sleeved shirts, solid footwear and sunglasses. Many of the women and some of the men even wear masks over their faces to keep the sun out. They rival the Japanese tourists I saw last year in Hawaii for UV protection. Some of them travel in groups, chatting while on the move and when sitting on benches to rest. Others are alone and appear purposeful; all are completely covered. Many of the women and some of the men even wear masks over their faces to keep the sun out. They rival the Japanese tourists I saw last year in Hawaii for UV protection. Consequently, I could hardly see let alone smile at or say hello to the people I passed. When one man did make an effort to say ‘Good day’ to me, I got so flustered that I forgot one of the few Korean expressions that I do know and said ‘Ola’ back to him.