Moving On (Train to Busan)

It was touch and go as to whether we would move on from Hongdae, because Nia wasn’t feeling well, but we were able to cancel our tickets and rebook for a time later in the day.

Seoul station was a sprawling hotpot of locals and foreigners alike, trotting along to and from their destinations. After a while we were able to secure our excess luggage in lockers and move much freer. Lunch at a train station food court has never been more delicious; all the menus are posted in one location and your order whichever delicacy and pay for it. Take your receipt to the corresponding restaurant counter and pick up your freshly made to order meal. I made my way to my counter and handed the server my receipt, which he handed back as he pointed to the numbers on it. “2-4-8! 2-4-8! Ding, ding!!!” I understood I was to wait for my number and a bell when the food was ready, so I ‘kamsahabnida’d’ both servers as I backed away. The female server smiled…actually she laughed at me. It was in an emphatic and kind way, but she laughed at me and I could tell what she was thinking; “ah, bless her — the foreigner who only knows one word in Korean!”

The cross country train to Busan took two and a half hours; a bullet that raced at around 190 miles per hour through cityscapes, mountains and rice fields. We arrived at Busan station and even though Busan is the second largest city, I didn’t think the station would look as futuristic for some reason. We got lost a couple of times trying to find the hotel and were standing in the rain trying to pull up navigation on a phone that didn’t want to cooperate. The realization that ‘Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” hit hard. Then once again, he appeared — our most valuable asset in Korea…the helpful stranger! Grocery store guy helped point us in the right direction and we were soon on our way, blood pressure lowered.

We still couldn’t find the hotel, even when we knew where it was supposed to be. We wandered up and down street, finally asking again in a convenience store. We went from excitement to hesitation when we finally arrived. We pushed open the door and walked up a couple of creaky stairs to the musty lobby. A man was sitting behind a wooden ‘reception desk’ and looked at us, before grabbing a piece of paper. “Phillips?” “Yes! Yes, that’s us.” He handed me a worn room key card, “this your room, 205.” And waited for us to go. “Um, so….where?” “Elevator, elevator!” He said and gestured towards the wooden box that was to transport us upwards.

The door opened outwards and we went in. It seemed dark, maybe because of the poor lighting or maybe because of the teeny tiny window that likely opened to a wall. There was an ancient desktop computer on a table and a double bed to the side. We sat down on it and felt sure that Fred Flintstone would’ve been quite happy sleeping on it. “Is there a sheet on the bed?!!” Nia shrugged, and on closer inspection we realized there didn’t appear to be and that it was a mattress liner or pad. I looked for the Wi-Fi password and thankfully was able to connect and went right to Booking.com. We picked up our belongings and walked right back out into the Busan evening and didn’t look back.Baca lagi