the long, long way around.

Some conversational Korean would have been handy today.

I waited at the stop for bus number three, with the understanding that it was headed down town, as they all supposedly do. It arrived and I jumped on with a false sense of confidence, listening intently to my IPod, as it was not necessary to hear the announcement of where I was headed, given that it was said in Korean.

After a forty minute walk in the grotesquely hot cloudless muggy summer day, I was glad to be sitting in the cool, and taking in some sights of Cheonan I had yet to see, in culturally ignorant bliss. I began to notice early on that we were taking lefts when we should have been making rights, but passengers were still getting on, including a mom and her three sons, so I reasoned that bus number three just takes the long way around.

It turns out that I was taking the long way around, and the reason that the smallest of the sons semi-scowled at the driver when he began to tease him was because the driver was his father, the woman who hopped on was his wife, and this particular bus was done with its work day. I was on a route headed nowhere spending family time with a family I didn't know. The father tried to explain to me that he was headed home for the day..."done", and I tried to explain to him that I was really confused. I was the stupid foreigner.

The oldest son attempted translation, as he knew more English than the other members of his family, while I attempted to be clear about where I had wanted to be. With kindness, understood misunderstanding, and good intention, my former driver and current the man of the house passed me off to the driver of bus twenty-two.

My new drivers' smile of confidence was encouraging, while his attempt to re-communicate to me in Korean that which I thought had been confirmed made me feel contrastingly uneasy. I stayed, and sat, as I had no idea where I was.

I sat, as we passed by buildings and corners I had never seen before. I sat, as more passengers piled on, from stops along to way to wherever were going. I sat as they piled off. I sat, hope hope hoping that bus twenty-two would eventually end up down town.

At a stoplight, while watching people get off the bus, I had a look of concern on my face, and my new bus driver could tell. He tried to communicate to me without words that my stop is just ahead, as if to say, in a divine-like manner, "don't worry, you're going the right direction, and you're almost there."

We turned a corner, I smiled, and sighed in relief when I saw "Heart of the Flower, a huge public artwork depicting seven colorful giant flowers pierced by a gigantic needle," which is also a clear landmark confirming that I am, after an hour, some family time, two bus rides, and a thorough tour of Cheonan, finally where I am supposed to be.

Thank you driver of bus number twenty-two, for the ride, and for your kind, innate, and genuinely reassuring nature. You made the trip worth it.

Not enough to take the trip again, however. I took a taxi home.