I arrived at Incheon International Airport (ICN) at approximately 5:15 in the morning. After getting off the plane, we were hearded into a hallway and instructed to turn in our health forms and submit to authorities taking our temperature via our ear canals. I was pretty sure I would pass, but there was a little apprehension in the back of my mind thinking that one little thermometer beep could really ruin my day. I chuckled to myself at the first of many “what the hell” moments that will be Korea.
Having passed this first test, I proceeded to choose the slowest moving customs line in the airport. I started somewhere near the middle of the pack yet managed to be the fifth to last person passing through through immigration from our Chicago flight. I guess this is Murphy’s law of travel, although perhaps it could be explained by the foreign kid who doesn’t understand anything and doesm’t want to do anything idiotic to mess up his immigration process (more on this later).
The immigration official asked one or two half hearted questions as she pretended to look carefully over my information. “First time in Korea” she asked me as she flipped to check that I had the correct visa in the back of my passport. “Yes” is all she required as she didn’t concern herself with such trifling matters such as my employer, address, etc. Not that I am complaining, as I would have probably struggled through this information and given her the wrong answer. In fact, I still don’t know how to tell people where I live other than “Choenho Emart-uh”. Choenho is the subway station I live by, and emart the direct copy of Super-Walmart, Meijers, or any one stop shopping centers. If you add "uh" to any english word, Koreans seem to understand it much better (i.e. the restaurant Bennigans-uh).
The “Pig Flu” paranoia didn’t end there, as we had to pass by thermal cameras so that we could be scanned once again for elevated temperatures. I think I was one of the few people that was aware of this. I almost didn’t notice them, but as we walked from immigration to baggage claim there were a couple of oddly placed camcorders on tripods. Their location and out of place look was in stark contrast to the incredibly well designed and orderly airport. I sat there for a minute or two watching thecolorful people shaped blobs floating across the monitors. Having made it through the gauntlet myself I sort of half hoped to see someone get carted off for carrying the plague over to the hermit nation.
I picked up my bags at the baggage drop and proceeded to customs. When you are trying to pack a year's worth of everything into two suitcases, you know exactly what you have brought and what you had left behind. My only question was the two bottles of Jack Daniels that I had picked up in immigration at the request of my two friends. This is, of course, Illegal. However, after talking for a minute or two to the customs official, I convinced her that I would in fact give one of the bottles away fifty feet beyond the door. A slight lie, but luckily she bought it. I had violated some sort of International trade law, sure, but all she made me do was promise to follow the rules next time.
I continued on. I had seen airports before, I had gone through the visa process before. This was the end of the familiar. I stepped through the double doors ahead ready to accept whatever it was ahead of me.
