I arrived at Incheon Airport in Seoul three hours before my plane was supposed to take off, but instead of checking in early, I would be waiting in line for the full three hours. The check-in line snaked around multiple check-in areas and was comprised of hundreds of irritated travelers. When I first walked through the airport doors I was flabbergasted by the sheer amount of people waiting to simply check-in.
The line was so long it had to be broken up multiple times to prevent foot traffic congestion. The look on peoples' faces when they realized the true length of the line they were about to become prisoner to, was that of sheer frustration and amazement. People were blaming the airport staff, when in reality they had absolutely nothing to do with the rampant delays. Luckily my friend Sam was there to wait with me, so standing in line wasn't as terrible as it could have been.
As we were about to approach the check-in desk, we were shuffled around to a new line. And then another line after that! A man with a laptop came up to me and Sam (speaking Korean) and told us that my transfer flight would be taking off a mere hour after my first flight landed. I figured I could make it work, so I agreed to keep the current schedule. After we finally made our way through the line, I said my goodbyes to Sam and I went to security.
The security lines were somehow not nearly as long as the check-in lines, and I began to wonder where the hell all those people before me went. The lines were moving relatively fast, so before I knew it I was waiting at the gate. When I got on the plane I thought to myself that half the journey back was nearly over. And then we sat on the runaway for over an hour...
This inexplicable delay caused me to miss my transfer flight, which set the course for the return trip from hell. During this adventure of mine I had come down with a terrible headache and body fatigue. I had no appetite, and could barely get myself to eat a simple granola bar. I was now in Shanghai, fully prepared to spend the night in the airport as I had to wait over twelve hours for my next flight.
I happened to look down at another passenger's ticket to see if they were also heading to Siem Reap, and sure enough the flight number and destination matched mine. I took a mental note of this family, whose accents led me to the conclusion they were Russian.
After searching aimlessly for my next location in the gargantuan Shanghai airport, I ended up outside what I thought to be my check-in area. My next mission was to find WiFi, as I had to tell my boss that I would be arriving a day late. As it turns out, you need a Chinese phone number to access the WiFi at airports. I learned this after going to multiple cafes and buying items I couldn't eat to try and access their WiFi. I even asked a Chinese stock trader if I could use his computer to send an email, but I couldn't access Gmail.
Feeling as if my sickness had reached its peak, I slowly made the trek back to my check-in area and sat down defeated. I was afraid to leave the airport, as I didn't want to get lost and miss another flight. All I could think about was getting back to Siem Reap, and if I ever would. I used my "before I know it" tactic and sure enough, here I am weeks later writing about the experience, but in the moment it felt as if I would never make it back.
Earlier in the night I tried waiting for a taxi that was supposed to take me to a hotel. Unprepared for the weather, I waited in the blistering cold with nothing but a sweatshirt and cargo pants for about half an hour. When the taxi still didn't show up, I gave up and went back inside. I was now committed to staying in the airport, until an airport employee with just enough English to communicate with me saw my sullen face. After a long debate about how I didn't want to pay for a hotel or leave the airport, I reluctantly agreed to take his shuttle to a hotel.
The shuttle arrived within minutes, and I hopped on this tiny bus with the only spoken language being Chinese. As the bus drove further and further away from the airport my stressed-out mind started to wonder if I was being kidnapped, or taken somewhere where I'd never see my family or friends again. As we pulled onto this road covered with garbage and rubble alongside a river, I thought for sure my fears were not just paranoid delusions. But as we rounded the corner, the hotel's glow filled me with a sense of safety and security.
When I got inside I was able to message my boss and alert him to the fact I would be arriving a day late. One of the hotel employees brought me to my room, where I instantly froze. The windows were left wide open, leaving the room and bed encapsulated in a frigid night air that would last until morning. I downed some NyQuil, and went to bed fully clothed, trying my best to get warm.
I woke up several times throughout the night, but eventually made it to morning, where a return shuttle was waiting to take me and several other travelers back to the airport. Things started to turn around, as I made it back to my check-in area I was so reluctant to leave. The bus driver tried asking me in Chinese which terminal I was supposed at, and I couldn't answer. I just hoped miraculously I was in the right place. I nervously waited in the check-in line with nothing but my passport and an odd piece of paper I had received the night before, supposedly stating I was all set to take the next flight.
The woman working the check-in counter gave me some interesting looks, which led me to believe I wasn't getting on the next flight. But sure enough, I got my boarding pass and rushed to the boarding gate before something bad could happen. It was here I was greeted by the Russian family I had met previously. This was such a sign of relief, as I knew we were headed to the same place, and the fact we were at the same gate confirmed I was where I was supposed to be. The family consisted of a father (a bear of a man with a thick Russian accent), a mother, and young daughter. The daughter wore these bright pink rain boots that would become a comforting signal that I was in the company of people with a common goal -- to make it to Siem Reap!
After we boarded the flight and took off, the man next to me started making conversation. He resembled my college art professor, Fernando, to a startling degree, so I found it easy to converse with him despite the language barrier. I showed him pictures of my students in Cambodia and was able to make a new friend on the short ride. When the plane landed, I was fully prepared to wait another eight or so hours for the next flight, but my new Russian friends luckily saved the day.
When I got off the plane I came to a fork in the road. Left for transfers, and right for domestic arrivals. Since the flight was domestic, I thought maybe I should go right. But then again, I am transferring eventually, so maybe I should go left. By the grace of the airport gods I chose left, and walked up the ramp into the airport. I was fully under the impression I had to wait for my next flight which wasn't scheduled to depart much later in the day. The Russian woman then tried to explain to me that we were supposed to get back on the plane we just left, and then we would wait the five hours for the final flight.
Confused and unsure, I decided to just go along with it, and had I not, who knows how much longer I would have been stuck in China. Sure enough they were right, and I had only one more flight to go. The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful, with the only notable occurrence being the desperate attempts by one amazing mother to sooth her daughter's popping ears. Unfortunately when I landed in Siem Reap, I lost track of the Russian family before I could say my goodbyes. I was eager to get back in my own bed, so I left without sticking around for too long.
The experience proved to me yet again the power of the common thread. The common thread transcends all barriers, including the formidable barrier of language. I found the experience rather comical considering the recent investigation into President Trump. But current political events and international relations matter not on an interpersonal level (at least in my experience). Especially with the intervention of a common thread. Without their help, I most likely would have been stuck in China another day, maybe two. All I can say is that I am grateful for having crossed paths with this family, and that I will forever seek the common thread in strangers I meet throughout my travels.
Whether it be a common destination, university, or hometown; the common thread can turn an ordinary crossing of paths into a strong, forever-lasting bond.
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