I decided to go to Asan today, either going to the Oeam Folk Village south of town or Onyang Folk Museum on the north side of town. Outside the subway station I found the bus stop and considered where I should go. I knew exactly where the museum was, but it was such a nice day I thought I should spend the day outside in the folk village. The first bus that came was bus 100, which goes by the folk village. I looked at it a moment, watching elderly men and women board, after a few moments of quelling my fears, I followed them on. As I stared out the window, I searched for a sign to indicate that I was going in the right direction. After a short detour around town, we headed south, and I spied a sign indicating that the folk village was ahead. I quietly celebrated my success at getting on the right bus, but was still anxiously wondering where I should get off.
I stared out the window hoping for some indication that I was there, but nothing. Then the bus started climbing into the hills, then zoomed down into a valley. Amid the fields of rice tucked away into mountain valleys, I knew I had missed the village. I watched farm after farm pass by. The bus traversed through valley after valley filled with rice fields and shabby huts dotting the landscape. The passengers on the bus were becoming sparser and sparser, as one by one they left the bus at each tiny collection of houses. Suddenly, the bus turned onto a narrow one-lane road. Just ahead, another bus was heading our direction. Miraculously, we passed them (or really, we just bullied the other bus into the ditch on the side of the road), then dropped off a passenger by a hut. In just a few moments, we looped back to the main road.
My options were to stay or go. Stay and see where this bus would take me, or get off, cross the street, and hope that another bus would come soon to take me back to something familiar. In the spirit of curiosity, I decided to stay, but I stayed uneasily, uncertainly, and quite nervously. Soon, the only people on the bus were the bus driver, two elderly men, and me. Then one man got off. The bus driver got up, came to me and spoke. He probably wanted to know why I, a foreigner, was on his bus in the middle of nowhere and where I could possibly be going. I couldn't tell him, because did not know, so he left me be.
I sat in my seat, watching the golden fields of rice go by, deeply hoping that something akin to a town would appear in the next valley, but it didn't. The bus stopped again, and an old lady with three heavy sacks got on the bus, with some help from the other passenger. As the bus drove away, she searched for her bus fare, then slowly hobbled to the front and paid her fare. She came back to her sacks, opened one up, and started pulling out chestnuts. The bus stopped, the bus driver came back, talking to the women in an animated fashion. He suddenly pulled his shirt out of his pants, making a pouch, which the lady filled brimming with chestnuts. The bus driver returned to his seat and we continued on our way. In not too long, the chestnut lady got off the bus with her chestnuts.
Still no town, worried, but resolute enough not to budge. Farther and farther we went. we passed signs that indicated we were headed to Gongju, and though I knew that this bus, an Asan bus, would probably not go so far as Gongju, I could only hope.
Then, the buildings clustered closer together, and got taller, and we were in a town. Not Gongju, I knew, but a town none the less. A cluster of buses parked suggested a bus terminal, and surely, my bus, bus 100, pulled up alongside those buses and turned off it's engine. I was relieved to be in a populated place again, at a bus terminal no less. With surprising brightness, I said "kahamsahapnida" to the driver and went on my way.....
Inside the bus terminal, I was pleased to discover that there were several buses home today. Now I could say I was not lost, because while I did not know precisely where I was, I did know how to get home, so I steeled up my courage again and set out to see this mysterious town that I had landed in, and hopefully to also discover exactly what this mysterious town was called.
I took pictures of the street signs at the intersection where the bus terminal was located, in case I could not find my way back on my own. Or I suppose I could have just said "beh-suh teh-mi-nehl," which is Korean for bus terminal. Anyway, I wandered off, down the road, in search of the identity of this place in the world where I had found myself.
My first hint was the Gongju Tech High School, right by a Gongju city bus stop. However, I knew that I was near Gongju, not in Gongju, so that was not so helpful. Next I ran into Yugu Middle School. Yugu was now definitely in the running of possible town names, but it was also possible that the school was not named after the town. Further along, I found a post office, but I could not find a clear indication of what town this was a post office for.
By this time, I had made a fairly wide circle around town, and was somewhat tired of the stares I was getting. Being here had a completely different feel from being in the city or at a tourist site. Everyone and myself knew that I had no reason to be there, so all parties involved were equally confused as to why a foreigner was wandering through town. Anxious to go home, I found the bus terminal easily (this really was a small town) and checked for the next bus.
There was no obvious ticket window, so I pulled out my phrasebook and memorized how to say "where do I buy a ticket" in Korean. With this new bit of knowledge, I approached the bus driver and was greeted with an enthusiastic "Hello! Can I help you?" Completely taken aback, all the Korean flew out of my head and we spoke easily in English. Next thing I knew, I was comfortably seated on a bus home. I checked my ticket to see if it could tell me where I was. It was a ticket from Yugu. I guess I was in Yugu. Finally, I could relax after a day filled with so much uncertainty, so much so that I almost fell asleep (although I managed to stay awake knowing that the bus was going all the way to Seoul). As the beautiful countryside rolled by, I realized that I had been too nervous on the bus there to take pictures, so I snapped a few to make up for it.
Back in the city, I treated myself to a sweet potato bubble tea as a reward for my courage. It was purple, and oh so delicious.
I stared out the window hoping for some indication that I was there, but nothing. Then the bus started climbing into the hills, then zoomed down into a valley. Amid the fields of rice tucked away into mountain valleys, I knew I had missed the village. I watched farm after farm pass by. The bus traversed through valley after valley filled with rice fields and shabby huts dotting the landscape. The passengers on the bus were becoming sparser and sparser, as one by one they left the bus at each tiny collection of houses. Suddenly, the bus turned onto a narrow one-lane road. Just ahead, another bus was heading our direction. Miraculously, we passed them (or really, we just bullied the other bus into the ditch on the side of the road), then dropped off a passenger by a hut. In just a few moments, we looped back to the main road.
My options were to stay or go. Stay and see where this bus would take me, or get off, cross the street, and hope that another bus would come soon to take me back to something familiar. In the spirit of curiosity, I decided to stay, but I stayed uneasily, uncertainly, and quite nervously. Soon, the only people on the bus were the bus driver, two elderly men, and me. Then one man got off. The bus driver got up, came to me and spoke. He probably wanted to know why I, a foreigner, was on his bus in the middle of nowhere and where I could possibly be going. I couldn't tell him, because did not know, so he left me be.
I sat in my seat, watching the golden fields of rice go by, deeply hoping that something akin to a town would appear in the next valley, but it didn't. The bus stopped again, and an old lady with three heavy sacks got on the bus, with some help from the other passenger. As the bus drove away, she searched for her bus fare, then slowly hobbled to the front and paid her fare. She came back to her sacks, opened one up, and started pulling out chestnuts. The bus stopped, the bus driver came back, talking to the women in an animated fashion. He suddenly pulled his shirt out of his pants, making a pouch, which the lady filled brimming with chestnuts. The bus driver returned to his seat and we continued on our way. In not too long, the chestnut lady got off the bus with her chestnuts.
Still no town, worried, but resolute enough not to budge. Farther and farther we went. we passed signs that indicated we were headed to Gongju, and though I knew that this bus, an Asan bus, would probably not go so far as Gongju, I could only hope.
Then, the buildings clustered closer together, and got taller, and we were in a town. Not Gongju, I knew, but a town none the less. A cluster of buses parked suggested a bus terminal, and surely, my bus, bus 100, pulled up alongside those buses and turned off it's engine. I was relieved to be in a populated place again, at a bus terminal no less. With surprising brightness, I said "kahamsahapnida" to the driver and went on my way.....
Inside the bus terminal, I was pleased to discover that there were several buses home today. Now I could say I was not lost, because while I did not know precisely where I was, I did know how to get home, so I steeled up my courage again and set out to see this mysterious town that I had landed in, and hopefully to also discover exactly what this mysterious town was called.
I took pictures of the street signs at the intersection where the bus terminal was located, in case I could not find my way back on my own. Or I suppose I could have just said "beh-suh teh-mi-nehl," which is Korean for bus terminal. Anyway, I wandered off, down the road, in search of the identity of this place in the world where I had found myself.
My first hint was the Gongju Tech High School, right by a Gongju city bus stop. However, I knew that I was near Gongju, not in Gongju, so that was not so helpful. Next I ran into Yugu Middle School. Yugu was now definitely in the running of possible town names, but it was also possible that the school was not named after the town. Further along, I found a post office, but I could not find a clear indication of what town this was a post office for.
By this time, I had made a fairly wide circle around town, and was somewhat tired of the stares I was getting. Being here had a completely different feel from being in the city or at a tourist site. Everyone and myself knew that I had no reason to be there, so all parties involved were equally confused as to why a foreigner was wandering through town. Anxious to go home, I found the bus terminal easily (this really was a small town) and checked for the next bus.
There was no obvious ticket window, so I pulled out my phrasebook and memorized how to say "where do I buy a ticket" in Korean. With this new bit of knowledge, I approached the bus driver and was greeted with an enthusiastic "Hello! Can I help you?" Completely taken aback, all the Korean flew out of my head and we spoke easily in English. Next thing I knew, I was comfortably seated on a bus home. I checked my ticket to see if it could tell me where I was. It was a ticket from Yugu. I guess I was in Yugu. Finally, I could relax after a day filled with so much uncertainty, so much so that I almost fell asleep (although I managed to stay awake knowing that the bus was going all the way to Seoul). As the beautiful countryside rolled by, I realized that I had been too nervous on the bus there to take pictures, so I snapped a few to make up for it.
Back in the city, I treated myself to a sweet potato bubble tea as a reward for my courage. It was purple, and oh so delicious.
You are so brave Meg! What a fabulous adventure story. I can only imagine how scared I would be desperately wanting to communicate. Way to go!!!
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