DAY 18
(Reading time: 5 minutes)
There is a general belief among taxi service customers that a taxi driver is a professional who knows at least a few words in English, is familiar with the area within his operational range, and—if he suffers from geographical blindness—can follow directions from a mobile navigation system.
Today, however, we witnessed the absolute negation of all three of those claims.
But first, after breakfast that morning, we took the metro from our hotel in Seoul to Incheon so that the following day we’d be closer to the airport. We chose a hotel on Yeongjong Island, as that was relatively as close to the airport as possible, although from the nearest metro stop to the hotel it was still several kilometers. Fortunately, below the tracks, there was a row of taxis, and we hailed the first driver in line.
Panic ensued.
Not ours, but his…
The driver didn’t know a single word of English, we’re used to that, but he also didn’t know the hotel where we wanted to be dropped off, which was rather odd. We showed him a map on our phone with the hotel’s location, but that only caused even greater panic because he couldn’t read maps either. The entirely trembling man ran over to his colleague in the next taxi to consult about his acute lack of knowledge. The colleague knew the area and offered advice; however, our driver still didn’t know the hotel and didn’t have GPS navigation.
Let’s sum up the “unknowns”: lack of English, lack of knowledge of the hotel’s location, and absence of navigation.
The result: he just nodded as if to say he’d get us there somehow.
For the first time in my life, I found myself in the position of a customer guiding a taxi driver to the intended destination. Communication, of course, took place in Korean.
Note on the allegedly high population density in South Korea – see the photo below:
The route to the hotel resembled wide North Korean boulevards with a 10-lane highway that no one drives on and tall apartment blocks around which no one walks. Where is everyone???
We arrived splendidly right in front of the hotel; I was sweating, the driver smiled, thanked me, and he got paid for my hard-earned shift.
It was absolutely essential to reward ourselves with good food. In the middle of an enormous, deserted residential area, we found a tiny Japanese restaurant with seating for eight customers and, overall, four ramens on the menu.
This is exactly the kind of dining establishment where, through years of continuous recipe refinement, a dish is perfected.
I had a clear broth with extra garlic, Mark had a milky broth, and both of us dined like royalty.
The island of Yeongjong isn’t particularly attractive on its own; its importance lies in housing South Korea’s largest airport, which means you encounter more tourists than locals—a situation that naturally drives demand for restaurants, bars, and cafés where people waiting for their flights can pass the time.
There’s plenty of everything here, and on top of that, one curiosity—Seaside Rail Bike, a dual-track rail system for pedal-powered vehicles running along the coast.
It probably seemed quirky only to us because others were cheerfully pedaling in unison at a pace matching the lead vehicle. We weren’t entirely sure why people find it amusing to ride a “bike” that is restricted to movement along a straight track: you ride in a convoy for 2.8 km with your head turned left to enjoy the sea view, then you turn around and ride back 2.8 km with your head turned right. And you pay an absurdly high fee for it.
It may be an exotic novelty for others, but we experienced it on foot (so we were exotic to others then I guess).
We also savored the view of the sea in one of the local themed cafés on the upper floors of a building…
…and later watched the final sunset from a nearby viewpoint.
The next morning, we had a pleasant hotel shuttle bus ride to the airport, followed by the very unpleasant realization that we’d been dropped off at the wrong terminal. According to the airport map, right in the middle between the two terminals a little train ran back and forth—but they wouldn’t let us board it at all, because our boarding pass indicated the terminal we NEEDED TO REACH. Apparently, once again, Korean logic of “it can’t be done, simply because it can’t be done” was in effect, and we were forced to choose a metro route. Fortunately, we have a practical habit of arriving at the airport at least three hours early. Later on we rewarded a bit of that stress with, guess what?
And so, we said doughewell to South Korea…
…and made a promise to ourselves that we’d return…
…and then again…
…until death do us part…
…or until they shut down the direct line from Prague. 😀
-endy- + -mj-