made it Monday night... and here's the Tuesday after

First, some highlights from the trip over.

• On the 24th (Seoul time), I was all packed and then, as I was adjusting my backpack, I ripped my shirt, which meant I had to stop and change shirts right before leaving. Of course. This current black button-down is not the shirt I'd wanted to wear. The rip, though, given its timing, was absolutely vintage Murphy's Law—another sign God hates me.

• When the limousine bus arrived, the driver told me not to put my bags in the hold, but to take them on board with me and place them in the space for small bags. Not a problem. The driver put other (Korean) people's bags in the hold, though. I think he just didn't like the idea that I'd beelined over to the cargo doors to sling my bags inside. He probably thought that only he was supposed to do that, not the foreigner. But from experience, I know that passengers reach for the cargo doors all the time, foreigners and otherwise.

• The bus left at 1:30 p.m. It was a long trip through Gangnam before we finally headed out of Seoul. We arrived at Incheon's Terminal 2 a little after 3 p.m. Lots of traffic downtown.

• At the airport, I tried the self-checkin kiosk two or three times with no success. I then tried checking in at the Korean Air counter; they directed me to the wrong Delta counter (Section H); even though this was supposed to be a code-share flight, Delta was running the show, apparently. I figured out where the real Delta counter was (Section K) by looking at the large departure board. Delta check-in was smooth (after a quick TSA screening by an employee who asked the standard antiterrorism questions about whether I had anything flammable, any weapons, etc.). One bag was checked. I felt a lot lighter, not to mention a bit relieved.

• After check-in, I hit the bathroom, then security and x-rays. I separated out my tech items per the displayed safety instructions—laptop, portable charger, wires, cell phone, etc. Somehow, my boarding pass went missing, so I had to ask staff to help me find it. A staffer found it and brought it back. The boarding pass had been tucked inside my passport, but it somehow got separated during the scanning process. It was a few moments of desperation followed by a flood of relief once the boarding pass had been found.

• I tried the automatic passport control to get through to the boarding gates on the other side, but I failed the second step: a fingerprint scan. I was told by a staffer to walk over to Counter 3 to check through manually. Got through, with bored questions about where I was going, what I was doing, and how long I'd be gone. 

• It was then a long walk to my gate (246). There were several rolling sidewalks along the way. I got to the gate three hours early thanks to my bus's early arrival at Terminal 2.

• The flight to Minneapolis-St. Paul was fairly short compared to previous trans-Pacific flights, partly because we were moving with the jet stream, and partly because of the route itself. The flight was only 12 hours and 30 minutes. The flight from MSP to Dulles International (IAD) was only two-and-a-half hours. Unfortunately, because I had tucked my backpack under the seat in front of me during the long leg of the trip, my right ankle developed shooting pains that felt like an intense version of neuropathy or little, irksome lightning strikes; this was because I'd had to cross my ankles awkwardly on account of the backpack's taking-up of leg room. The ankle problem prevented me from sleeping, which I usually do on long flights.

• One highlight of the long leg of the journey was that I sat next to a Buddhist monk who'd been visiting Korea. We didn't talk on the plane, but we both got in line with the Americans at passport control. The monk was dressed in ocher colors (ocher or ochre is somewhere in the neighborhood of brown or red or orange; you've seen these sorts of robes before), so I'd guessed he was a Theravadin, not a Mahayanin (exception: a lot of Tibetan monks, despite being Mahayana, wear ocher robes). This monk turned out to be a Laotian American, and he belonged to a monastic community that had just established a new wat (temple) right there in the MSP area, about twenty minutes away from the airport.

• I should report that the monk sat almost perfectly still for most of the ride, but he did have some human moments involving a little fidgeting and a bit of manspreading (his knee repeatedly bumped my thigh during those moments). I can report that there was no erotic electricity between us despite the repeated contact. The monk also tended to imitate my behavior: if I turned on the seat-back monitor to look at our flight's progress, he would do the same. If I ate food off my tray by lifting a food container close to my mouth so as to avoid leaving bits of food all over my folding tray table, he would do the same. In the passport-control line, I quickly discovered the monk, despite being a US citizen, had terrible English; I'm not sure how much of what I'd asked him had been understood. We both agreed, though, that Mahayana and Theravada shared "the same Buddha," even if the monkish rules, and some concepts, were different. I did ask the monk why he'd been visiting Korea, but I couldn't make heads or tails of his answer. Almost made me wish I spoke Lao.

• I discovered my GlocalMe WiFi hotspot didn't work despite my being sure I'd read that the 15GB plan I'd bought for my time in America would start as soon as I turned on the GlocalMe device. So I had no way to contact Mike while I was en route; I simply trusted that I'd make it on time. Luckily, I did. But as I describe next, there were hitches.

• When I got to Minneapolis-St. Paul, I did get a bit turned around. I had to go through passport control (where I talked with the monk), pick up my check-in bag, check it in for the MSP-IAD leg of the trip, then hoof it to my next departure gate. Everything up to hoofing it went well. A nice lady told me to take the tram instead of trying to walk the distance to Gate C21 because Terminal C was so far away; I didn't see the tram's platform, though, and I ended up accidentally leaving that part of the airport instead of getting to Terminal C. I had to check myself back in through security; the X-ray area was run by a smartass of a guard who spoke to us as if we were all five years old. Stupid fucker. I got back into the gate area, found the tram this time, then wondered whether I had only a few minutes until boarding. I checked my phone's "world clock" and realized that Minneapolis was an hour behind DC, so I actually still had more than an hour to go; there was no need to rush to the gate.

• I got to Gate C21 in plenty of time for boarding. Since my seat was almost in the very back of the plane (row 19; it was a small plane), I was listed as part of "Zone 7," i.e., more than six groups of people (plus "Premier" and "Star" members, not to mention veterans and the disabled) got to board before I had the chance to line up. That was fine; I'm wearily patient when it comes to lines at the airport; these days, I get that it's an inevitability, so I don't fight the process by chafing and pouting.

• The flight to Dulles (technically, it's Washington Dulles International Airport, named for John Foster Dulles, who served under Eisenhower as secretary of state; his son, Avery Dulles, became a famous cardinal in the Church) was fairly short, but my ankle chafed and flared the entire time, manifesting every thirty seconds or so. It was more annoying than truly painful.

• Mike, whom I caught walking toward my baggage-claim area, drove me from Dulles to his home in Fredericksburg—a fairly long drive to be done after midnight. By the time we got home, the Missus and Mike's son were fast asleep, and I was given one of the daughters' former rooms as a bedroom for the night. (The two daughters are both old enough to have left the nest; they're currently living together in an apartment across town.) My bed, according to Mike, was a fairly recent purchase; the mattress was pleasantly firm, and I noticed with delight that the mattress had no springs in it, which seems to be trendy among well-designed ergonomic mattresses these days (see an example here).

• I knew I had to wake up early enough to take an 8 a.m. shower, so I set my cell phone's alarm for 7:45 a.m., got up, laid out the various humble gifts I had bought for the family, showered, briefly saw Mike's son Iain (so tall now!), then accompanied Mike on my several errands: we went to the local PNC Bank, successfully got my debit card from a young and friendly Thai-American dude, then went over to Mike's place of work (his company manages large properties, like a company-sized landlord). While there, Mike printed out a very detailed "boilerplate" lease agreement that we both signed. The lease amount is for a ridiculously cheap "friend price" of a dollar per year for five years; I hope all of this passes muster with the DMV. Mike is confident I'll renew my driver's license, but neither of us knows whether I'll be able to get a REAL ID. After that, we drive to the nearby Enterprise Rent-a-Car to pick up my Nissan Altima, which thankfully doesn't have a lot of the bells and whistles of modern American cars. Mike's newest leased car, for example, has a feature that cuts down on emissions by shutting down or "sleeping" the engine such that you have to start the car back up right before the traffic light changes. I find this to be an aggravating feature, and possibly dangerous to the engine with all of that onning and offing (just like how you're not supposed to constantly turn your computer on and off, an act that abuses the circuitry).

• After that, Mike and I parted ways: he went back to work while I headed to my hotel. Mike gave me a paper map of Virginia that showed the route I needed to drive since I couldn't rely on my phone for GPS navigation. So I was old-schooling it. 95 north to 234 north and east, with the hotel being on Balls Ford Road (go ahead and laugh at the name; I did).

Let me switch, now, from the above bullet-point format to repeat part of an email I had sent to Mike earlier today (Tuesday the 25th) describing both my navigation and most of the day I had today. (The rest of today was about writing this blog post.)

Sorry not to have written before now. It gives the impression that I got lost, but you and I are from the pre-GPS generation, so I was able to use your map to get myself 90% of the way to the hotel, then I used good old logic and common sense to go the rest of the way. I knew the hotel was on Balls Ford Road (any chance to use balls in a name is good by me, like the UVA dorm "Balz"), and I knew the location was just off 66, but south of it, so once I got on 234, I waited until I saw signs for 66, then started looking for Balls Ford Rd., which logically had to come before the exit to 66. Like clockwork—I found it just fine. The only question, then, was whether to turn left or right, so I arbitrarily went right (east), thinking that if I'd made a mistake, I'd know in a few miles, and the only other choice would be to go in the other direction. I went to a 7-Eleven's parking lot and took out my printout of the hotel receipt to confirm the address number; the way to know whether I was going in the right direction would be to look at building numbers and see where they started and whether they were going up or down. After turning right, I saw the numbers started at 11000-something, and the hotel's address was 10820. I then noticed the numbers were going down, so I knew turning right was the way to go. Right guess on the first try. I'm glad I still possess enough common sense to be able to navigate old-school this way, to Luke Skywalker my way to my destination without needing a GPS. Thanks for the map; it confirmed the directions I had emailed to myself when I was still in Seoul.

For good measure, while I was looking over the hotel receipt in the 7-Eleven parking lot, I went into the store and got an Amurrican Cherry Coke Zero and—you guessed it—two Jamaican beef patties. The Cherry Coke tasted different from what I get in Korea—not necessarily better, but definitely different. The beef patties were, of course, divine. I had a spiritual experience while I was daintily consuming them in an effort not to get crumbs all over my rental.

After I got to the hotel and set up WiFi for both my phone and my laptop, I went to GlocalMe.com to see why my GlocalMe WiFi hotspot hadn't started up yesterday. I had thought the 3-month service period would start upon activation of the device, but no: as it turned out, there was an activation procedure. So I went through that procedure, and my device now works the way it usually does in Korea. I have 15GB that I can use internationally, but only 8GB for use in America during the 90-day period. So most of this data will go to waste, alas: I'm here for barely three weeks, and I won't use the GlocalMe device except when driving and hiking, so there's no way I'm going to use up 8GB. Still, it wasn't too expensive of a package, so there we are. I do need to think about upgrading my hardware, though, to a 5G device; this one [i.e., the GlocalMe portable WiFi hotspot] is only 4G. (And 6G is coming, isn't it?)

When I'd resolved the GlocalMe issue, I decided to look up and drive to the local Walmart. Driving again proved to be okay; it didn't take long for old habits and reflexes to return. I'm still a little too forceful with the brakes, but otherwise, I'm no longer the old speed demon I used to be. A stroke and a heart attack will gentle you that way. No more stunts or theatrics. I stayed mostly in the right lane for all of my driving today, hanging behind cumbersome buses and trucks instead of impatiently speeding around them. Most of the drivers seemed courteous enough, or maybe I didn't notice the assholes.

I took my sweet damn time shopping at Walmart and taking it all in. I got about 95% of what was on my shopping list; the rest is stuff I can get via Coupang or a big-and-tall store when I get back to Korea (or via Amazon while I'm still here!). The remaining 5% of my list is maybe two or three items. No biggie.

Not only did I try Cherry Coke Zero: I also am trying Orange Cream Coke Zero. I've long had a soft spot for cream sodas, which had their heyday in my dad's generation (soda jerks)—not so much in Generation X's. Cream sodas make me feel nostalgia for a time I didn't live through. Like today's navigation, they feel kind of old-school.

Anyway, along with my shopping list, I also got food. The Walmart is only 2.3 miles away, and it's got an extensive salad selection. I also got olive oil and balsamic vinegar; if I'd thought further ahead, I'd have gotten some xanthan gum to be able to emulsify the two, but whatever. I also got some meat to accompany the salad, and my room has both a fridge and a microwave, so I can theoretically buy a 'wave-friendly plate and anti-splatter cover and make sausages. So tonight: 2 boxed salads and some meat (I also got low-carb sliced deli meats, so I'm all set for protein for a few days). Walmart, being close, will be my go-to spot for meals. They have a gigantic section devoted to all the carbs—bread, cake, cookies, you name it. I didn't bother with any of it. I was, however, tempted to get a big bag of beef jerky, but the label said even the plain jerky was about 20% carbs. Maybe one day, I'll get a dehydrator and make my own jerky.

I'll be trying one of my sodas this evening. I've already eaten one of my BochaSweet "BochaBars." The taste was fine, but the texture reminded me too much of those chewy/gooey protein bars. Overall, I think I like the product, but I wish they did something about the texture. (The bar I tried was lemon poppyseed. I also have chocolate peanut butter and vanilla almond crunch. Bochasweet products are good, but they're also expensive.) I'll report back later re: how the soda tastes once I've had both (BochaSweet's cola and its Dr. Pepper "clone").

And that's pretty much how today (Tuesday the 25th) went. Tomorrow, I'm up early, then celebrating my victory or loss by stuffing my face at Young Chow. There will almost certainly be pictures, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, here are some pics from today:

the new bed in Emma's former bedroom

I photographed this to have a pattern for making the bed in the morning.

here as well

I didn't do a very good job of mimicking the bed linens' original pattern. In my own studio, I simply throw everything onto my mattress and halfheartedly align it; I never learned my father's military discipline when making beds. I told Mike he might want to undo the covers and remake the bed from scratch to get it right.

The front of Mike's house. I'd thought that that was a kind of back-the-blue flag, but Mike said it was a Serapis flag.

At Mike's office, his boss has this pic of Ted Williams, supposedly autographed close to the crotch.

a shirt autographed by Carlton Fisk (Mike says "HOF" = Hall of Fame)

a closeup of Fisk's signature and note

Mike will need to reexplain this moment for me, but the above is an original photograph that got altered by a paper. And as you see by the reflection, I'm not even trying to hide myself.

I can't recall the names of the players in the picture or the year this moment happened (Mike will surely explain in the comments), but the story is apparently that the paper that published this photo added a picture of a fictitious baseball off to the side to reinforce the idea that the baseman didn't have the ball in his glove when he tagged the runner. So the original picture already shows the runner was safe; the added baseball was meant merely to reinforce this idea. It's a weird instance of a paper lying in order to tell the truth. Par for the course with journalism, which has been a dirty business for far longer than most of us might suspect.

a 65 million-year-old adding machine used by Triceratopses

The boss also has a replica of a commemorative brick given to people who contributed funds to the rebuilding of Fenway Park. The original brick is on display at the stadium itself.

Disappointingly, the above brick has no vocative comma. Also: serial commas. 

the top of the brick

part of my setup at my hotel

Gotta say... the walls here are super thin. I hear talking and coughing and pooping. And in a few moments, I've gotta poop, too. The humanity.

One of these bars is terrible: vanilla-almond crunch. Ugh. I like lemon poppyseed and chocolate peanut butter.

the vanity/sink area of the bathroom

my bed and what has become my meds drawer

a closer look at some of the stuff in the meds drawer

As you see in the drawer, I've got my BP cuff, blood-sugar tester, and pills. No insulin.

a wide angle of my hotel room

a suite door that lets in all the noise (see the gap at the bottom)

the suite door on the other side

my rental car, with its "ESB" license plate (Empire Strikes Back?)

Nissan Altima, side view

Altima, front view

BochaSweet colas, before I tasted them

diet sodas, fridged

Orange Cream Coke Zero

Orange Cream Coke Zero was excellent for about three bottles, then it began to lose its charm. Cherry Coke Zero was good the entire time, like Cherry Coke Zero in Korea, which I'm still not tired of. The BochaSweet sodas, both Chill Out Cola and Dr. Quench, proved to be disgusting. I'm not drinking any more of them. BochaSweet is good at making its artificial sugar, and it might be good about making cake, pancake, and brownie mixtures (we'll see when I get back), but it sucks at soda. Never again.

Anyway, it's been an eventful two days, and Wednesday's going to be a biggie on several fronts. To think: I'm here until April 13. Wednesday's agenda: hit the DMV (test out the GlocalMe navigation now that the WiFi works), hit Young Chow, shop for some Korean items in Annandale, do some catch-up blogging and Skillshare course-viewing, then do some resistance-band exercises. Thursday and Friday will be walking days at Skyline Drive. To that end, I need to get a pass to be able to enter the park/Drive multiple times. I guess this means an annual pass that will expire before I ever get back to the States (if I ever get back), you gotta do what you gotta do.