It's a simple matter really. You book a flight, you get on the plane, and you go. So, with our newly returned passports in hand and Alien Registration cards we did not need, we were ready for our trip. To China!
At Gimpo, the Busan airport, we reached our gate far earlier than we expected. Security was fairly straight-foward and efficient, so we did not have to stand in any long lines or take off our shoes and so forth. Even with our language limitations, it was easier than O'Hare.
Aside from the pure joy of going to China and the relief of finally seeing Edward in Hong Kong, our day was memorable for two unexpected events.
The Gimpo terminal itself is huge, with departure gates along one side, shops along the other, and a wide center "aisle." We found our gate near a little display of traditional Korean life (more of less) and then dragged our carry-on bags across the aisle to buy lunch.
With lunch in hand, we looked around for a place to sit. The center aisle was dominated by a big screen TV broadcasting what appeared to be an ice hockey game. The benches in front of the TV would accommodate probably sixty people, but they were empty. I suggested we go over to watch hockey while we ate.
Years ago, when we were dating, we went to a lot of hockey games. In person, ice hockey is about as engaging a sport as I can imagine. When it is well-played, it is fast, graceful, and visceral. To see, oh, let's say, a player like Bobby Orr take the puck from behind his own net and rush the length of the ice, weaving in and out of opponents to shoot or set up a shot on goal is about as breathtaking as a sport gets. For the record, we did see Bobby Orr make some of his famous rushes forty years ago at the Oakland Colliseum.
The game on the TV was the 7th game of the Stanley Cup Finals, just after the 3rd period face-off. Boston Bruins, our old home team, verses Vancouver. Boston was leading by a goal. Boston had not won the Stanley Cup since, well, since Bobby Orr was on the team.
This was the kind of coincidence that would raise suspicion if it appeared as fiction. Nevertheless.
Two things came immediately to my mind. One is that I had not followed American sports at all since we left New York in February, so I did not even know the Stanley Cup was in progress, let along that the Bruins were playing. Second is that the Bruins have had disappointing teams for a number of years recently, so how was I to know they had a good team this year?
We were the only people in that airport, apparently, with any interest in this game; but we were glued. We finished our lunch. Then, as if scripted, the game ended, followed within minutes by our boarding call. The Bruins won. We did not need to watch the on-ice celebrations. We tossed our empty lunch bag and got on the plane.
The second unexpected event occurred after we landed in Shanghai to change planes for a connecting flight to Hong Kong. We deplaned, followed the crowd through customs, and then approached an airline counter with two red-uniformed airline agents.
As I recall, it was a big room with nothing in it except a customer counter and these two female agents. No signs, not even in Chinese. I handed my tickets to one of the agents, who glanced at them, tore them in half, and dropped the pieces into a waste basket behind the counter.
"Flight canceled," she said.
We were stunned.
OK, the flight is canceled, but what do we do now? When a flight is canceled, something else is supposed to happen. A new flight, for example. A procedure to follow or a different counter to visit. Words of regret or explanation.
Apparently, however, "flight canceled" was the only English these agents could come up with. Even after a Stanley Cup victory, this was a deflating experience.
After several attempts to explain our plight to someone, to anyone, actually, who could help us out, we found ourselves on another floor in another nearly empty room -- the size of a hangar. We walked past numerous counters with computers and signs but no agents before we came to one that did have agents. From this desk, after another careful and time-consuming examination of our passports, we were sent to yet another floor and another series of counters where other passengers with our particular predicament had gathered.
Unlike us, they had apparently understood the directions and went straight to this gathering point for the bus ride to a second airport and a new flight to Hong Kong. We felt fortunate to have stumbled upon the right spot in time to catch the bus without actually understanding any of the directions given to us.
To compound matters, we were not able to call Edward to tell him our flight had been changed. Our phone would not connect us to his number. And Edward faced a similar problem. When he arrived at the airport in Hong Kong, all he could learn was that the flight had been canceled. We were not listed as passengers on flights arriving from our original airport in Shanghai, so he was not even sure we were coming.
Much to our relief, when we finally proceeded through the gates into the waiting area in Hong Kong, there was Edward, smiling and waving. It was so good to see him, and not just because he ended our hours of uncertain and hesitant wandering and wondering what lay beyond the next set of swinging doors. Edward is a prince of a young man, as the saying goes. He is friendly, kind, generous, helpful, hardworking, funny, and many other good things. He is enough to make even former home-stay parents proud.
And his translation skills aren't too shabby either. Shay shay.
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