I bought a bus ticket to Cheongju and then walked along the lake in the crisp morning air. Along the way I found a windmill, an "Opera House" (actually a motel), and an amphitheater that seemed to be sinking into the lake.
Back at the bus station, I waited the last few minutes for my bus. A man came up to me and asked me where I was going. "Cheongju, then Cheonan," I replied. I showed him my ticket and he was satisfied that I knew what I was doing. The bus came and I showed my ticket to the driver. "Cheongju," I said. "Chungju," He replied. "Cheongju?" I said again. "This bus Chungju," he said, then indicated switching buses with his hands and said "Cheongju." The man I had spoken to in the bus terminal now came on the bus and told the bus driver (in Korean) that I was trying to get to Cheonan, and the bus driver said that I could get a bus from Chungju to Cheonan and I did not have to go to Cheongju. The man took my ticket stub from the driver and the other half of the ticket from me, and ushered me back into the bus terminal where he exchanged my Cheongju ticket for a Chungju ticket and gave me money back for the refund of the difference in ticket prices. He put me back on the bus to Chungju, and I began my scenic drive among mountains and along the shore of Chungju Lake.
In Chungju I was greeted by a large apple statue alongside the highway. Chungju fancies itself famous for apples, so they have apple statues, apple shaped signs, and they sell huge boxes of apples and big bottles of apple syrup in the bus terminal. I arrived at the bus terminal 5 minutes too late to catch the Cheonan bus, so I wandered the bus terminal then took a look outside.
Outside I found an older man wearing a straw hat and pulling a huge cart. He stopped to talk to me, excited to be speaking to a real American, and using all of the English that he could think of. He told me about how much he loves both America and Korea, and how he does not like terrorists or Libya. Concerned that I would get lost, he made sure that I knew where I was going. I showed him my bus ticket and pointed to the bus terminal. He was glad to know that I knew where I was going, said good bye and continued on his way.
I ate noodles in the bus terminal across from a table filled with young military man, then got on the bus to Cheonan, in the home stretch. Time to relax, almost home.
Back at the bus station, I waited the last few minutes for my bus. A man came up to me and asked me where I was going. "Cheongju, then Cheonan," I replied. I showed him my ticket and he was satisfied that I knew what I was doing. The bus came and I showed my ticket to the driver. "Cheongju," I said. "Chungju," He replied. "Cheongju?" I said again. "This bus Chungju," he said, then indicated switching buses with his hands and said "Cheongju." The man I had spoken to in the bus terminal now came on the bus and told the bus driver (in Korean) that I was trying to get to Cheonan, and the bus driver said that I could get a bus from Chungju to Cheonan and I did not have to go to Cheongju. The man took my ticket stub from the driver and the other half of the ticket from me, and ushered me back into the bus terminal where he exchanged my Cheongju ticket for a Chungju ticket and gave me money back for the refund of the difference in ticket prices. He put me back on the bus to Chungju, and I began my scenic drive among mountains and along the shore of Chungju Lake.
In Chungju I was greeted by a large apple statue alongside the highway. Chungju fancies itself famous for apples, so they have apple statues, apple shaped signs, and they sell huge boxes of apples and big bottles of apple syrup in the bus terminal. I arrived at the bus terminal 5 minutes too late to catch the Cheonan bus, so I wandered the bus terminal then took a look outside.
Outside I found an older man wearing a straw hat and pulling a huge cart. He stopped to talk to me, excited to be speaking to a real American, and using all of the English that he could think of. He told me about how much he loves both America and Korea, and how he does not like terrorists or Libya. Concerned that I would get lost, he made sure that I knew where I was going. I showed him my bus ticket and pointed to the bus terminal. He was glad to know that I knew where I was going, said good bye and continued on his way.
I ate noodles in the bus terminal across from a table filled with young military man, then got on the bus to Cheonan, in the home stretch. Time to relax, almost home.
APPLES!!!! :-)
ReplyDeleteP.S. MEG - I love your descriptions of people!