공 항 (airport)
When the plane landed in Incheon, I had been awake for six hours (sleeping like the dead for the first eight). My body ached, my pulse raced, but my mind eased into a funnel of focus. “It’s an airport”, I thought, “how hard could it be?”
Things were posted fairly clearly alongside the Hangul in English. I navigated the terminal using a bit of instinct, and of course the little pictures of a suitcase. Slowly I came to realize that eyes were beginning to follow me. I became excruciatingly aware of my steps, my facial expressions, my size (packed in amongst groups of Japanese, Chinese and Korean most of whom stood below my shoulders), and my passport blatantly announcing my homeland. In the Asian nations where their economic growth, military might, and technological advancement are poised to overtake if not already overtaken that of the U.S., we are an anomaly for the senses only.
After passing through immigration, a process involving a yellow ARRIVAL/ DEPARTURE card that's filled out on the airplane, and several lines of Asian travelers with the occasional vertical jut of a European or American, you walk the main concourse. It is mostly an average looking concourse, but on either side, encased in protective glass, are pieces of Korea’s history. I’m not suggesting a mere clay pot or two, but ornate crowns from the Shilla kingdom, swords, paintings, etc. It was fantastic, and derailed me briefly. Then I remembered I was in Korea, and somewhere in this mess of luggage and people, would be my husband.
We couldn’t miss each other . . . just look for the anomaly.
Things were posted fairly clearly alongside the Hangul in English. I navigated the terminal using a bit of instinct, and of course the little pictures of a suitcase. Slowly I came to realize that eyes were beginning to follow me. I became excruciatingly aware of my steps, my facial expressions, my size (packed in amongst groups of Japanese, Chinese and Korean most of whom stood below my shoulders), and my passport blatantly announcing my homeland. In the Asian nations where their economic growth, military might, and technological advancement are poised to overtake if not already overtaken that of the U.S., we are an anomaly for the senses only.
After passing through immigration, a process involving a yellow ARRIVAL/ DEPARTURE card that's filled out on the airplane, and several lines of Asian travelers with the occasional vertical jut of a European or American, you walk the main concourse. It is mostly an average looking concourse, but on either side, encased in protective glass, are pieces of Korea’s history. I’m not suggesting a mere clay pot or two, but ornate crowns from the Shilla kingdom, swords, paintings, etc. It was fantastic, and derailed me briefly. Then I remembered I was in Korea, and somewhere in this mess of luggage and people, would be my husband.
We couldn’t miss each other . . . just look for the anomaly.
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