Kindness of Strangers…Maybe (Part II)

This is a continuation of my February blog:

https://romancingthegenres.blogspot.com/2025/02/my-kindness-of-strangers-experience.html

 Here’s a quick summary of Part I:

·       I thought I had a cheap (free) flight to the Philippines

·       Ended up in rural South Korea, lost, unable to communicate, and won-less

·       Was recused by an American missionary

·       Boarded a train headed for Seoul (I hoped).

So…

On the train ride, I tried to make small talk with my rescuer, which turned out to be more difficult than you’d think.

ME: Where are you from?

MISSIONARY: All over.

ME: What made you choose Korea?

MISSIONARY: Where they sent me.

 

The conversation continued in this vein until I decided my rescuer was being very evasive. Or just didn’t want to talk.

Alrighty, then.

The young Korean girl sitting next to the missionary was much more conversational. She jabbered nonstop, only…well, language bearer.

Then, things took a turn for the bizarre.   The young girl, grabbed the missionary’s hand.  He put his arm around.  She looked about ten, but Korean’s are gifted with youthful appearance.

After much sign language (pointing and gesturing, not ASL), I conveyed to the girl I wanted to know her age.  After five-fingers flashed three times, I presumed she was fifteen.

I knew I shouldn’t ask (“ask” being tongue-in-check since this was pre-Google-translate and before rural-Koreans were taught English in school), but ask did. After all,  I was only twenty myself and still in my early-stupid phase (not to be confused with subsequent stupid phases).

Much later in our charades game, I understood one word: hudbond.

Dear lord.  I looked at the sign at the front of the car, unable to read hangul, but praying it said Seoul and I’d not made a mistake with my leap of faith.

I began to feel queasy. Not only was I a tad uncomfortable with the couple across from me, I noticed the train had begun a steep incline. A curvy, jolting uphill chugging. Who knew Korea had mountains?

Did I mention I’m prone to motion sickness? And by prone, I mean a guaranteed event with the slightest vehicular turn. Also, the Dramamine I’d taken for the plane ride had long since expired it’s effective time.

To set the background for this woozy-stomach day, remember this was in the pre-internet days, and

rural Korea was not as knowledgeable about American culture. Red curly hair was rare sight indeed. Because of this and my British-white skin, I suspected most of the other riders were observing me. And touching. I wasn’t offended with the constant patting of my head—I was a curiosity.

Unfortunately, I was a curiosity with a churning stomach. With each wind around the steep countryside, more of my breakfast rewound my esophagus, determined to return to the point of entry.

I sat stiffly determined I would not regurgitate.

Then, the sweet little Korean wife opened a locally-produced snack and kindly offered it to me.

Unfortunately, she waved it under my nose.  Even more unfortunate, it was dried crayfish.

I lost my battle with regurgitation.

Even in my nauseated state, I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s clothing and turned quickly (violently?) toward the aisle.

Immediately, 20 magazines and newspapers covered the floor.

The kind strangers knew I didn’t want to mess up their train. 😊

In the end, all’s well that end wells.  The touching of my hair, transformed to gentle pats on my back. Even without words, I knew my fellow passengers wished me a quick recovery, and somehow, I arrived in Seoul without further incident.

Wishing you happy travels and the kindness of strangers.

Robin