Pusan, Take ?????

Once again, I awoke to my alarm clock ringing at the ungodly hour of 6 am. Ugh. I am so not a morning person. I threw a book in my purse, made sure I had my passport claim slip, and headed to the train station. I felt a drowsy sense of deja vu as I said to the ticket clerk, “Pusan ju-ship-shee-yo.”

I boarded the train, noticing it was unusually cold in the car. As the conductor passed through, several people commented to him how cold it was. He went to a control panel at the front of the car, adjusted some knobs, then continued into another car. At each stop the same thing would happen. The car would stop. Passengers would exit, enter. The cold air would once again blast down upon us. The conductor would eventually walk through the car, people would complain, he would open the control panel, make adjustments.

About halfway through the trip this climate control battle was accompanied by a new passenger’s screams. He probably was 3 or 4, and was completely unsatisfied with everything. And very vocal about it. In the 6 months I’ve lived here I’ve been very surprised at how quiet children are here. The babies generally don’t cry; the children I’ve seen in public seem to be very quiet and well-behaved. This terror compensated for all the others.

Sleep was impossible. Reading was impossible, due to the fact I was using my hands to vigorously rub my arms to try to warm myself. I was very happy when the automated voice came over the loudspeaker and announced, “Next stop. Pusan. Please collect your valuables and have a safe trip,” in 3 languages.

This time getting to the Chinese consulate was, proverbially speaking, a piece of cake. My “taxi talk” is quite good. As I entered the consulate, I noticed only 3 of the 4 windows were open. Window #3 had a very long line, but everyone in line held the visa application form I had completed so hastily last week. There were a few people in line at window #2, so I pulled out my passport claim ticket and walked up to window #1. The lady smiled, took my ticket, and said, “Sam man o chun won, jushipshee-yo. Thirty-five thousand won.” What? Ugh. I should have known better when the English speaking man on the telephone told me there was no charge for the visa. Nothing is free. I opened my purse and pulled out 4 10,000 won bills. Then gasped as I realized that was all I had with me. Oh, no. I didn’t have enough cash to purchase a train ticket to get back to Daegu. Now I’m going to have to find an ATM. That either has pictures on it, or English subtitles. This could be an adventure.

The kind lady who took my last won motioned for me to get in line at window #2. Once there, another smiling lady offered me a receipt and my passport. I looked at the visa. Oh, no. They had issued the visa under my married name, not my current, legal maiden name.

After I got divorced, I started the process of changing all important papers, licenses, etc. back to my maiden name. It was a pain. Do you realize how many relatively important documents contain your name? Your driver’s license. Your credit cards. Your hotel frequent stay programs. Rental car accounts. Frequent flyer accounts. Telephone bills. Utility bills. Car titles. Your passport. For each I had to submit a name change application form, a “legal” copy of my divorce decree, and usually, a fee. I was very surprised when I applied to change my name on my passport. It was one of the easier changes to make. Download the form off the internet, complete it, mail it, along with my passport, to a passport agency, expect it back in a couple of weeks. No fee, relatively little hassle. What I didn’t realize is that my passport looks exactly the same, except at the back, on page 23, in very small type, someone typed, “This passport was amended on Jan. 26, 2001 to change the bearer’s name to read Lori Alison McLeese.” No one ever looks at page 23. In hindsight, I wish I had just said I had lost my passport, paid the $75 fee, and gotten a new one. It would have made things much easier. Over the past eighteen months I’ve constantly had to explain to airline personnel why the name on my ticket supposedly doesn’t match the name on my passport (as I said before, no one looks at page 23). And I’m usually trying to explain in another language. I don’t know any Chinese. It’s going to be an interesting trip.

Luckily, I found an ATM with relatively little hassle. Just a few attempts at machines I *couldn’t* figure out how to operate, desperately pushing the cancel button, and praying my card would come back out.

The return trip to Daegu was scream-free, normal temperature. As I entered my apartment and realized I only had a few minutes before I had to get ready for work, I felt I had already put in an entire day. But, I have a (hopefully) valid visa for China and will be on vacation soon. Life’s not so bad.