Crazy Taxi.

On Thursday night, I had made my way to the camp where Mac is stationed, and crashed with him that evening. The next morning I awoke when he did, and we made arrangements. I would stay in his room through the morning, to do laundry and repack my luggage, and we would meet for lunch. I'd give him back his room key at that time, and then off I'd go to the local train station to catch the train back to Busan for a couple more days in the big city before I flew back to Hong Kong and then on to Jakarta.

I took my time getting ready throughout, and also spent about an hour catching up with Mac's wife, Mallory, by Skype video chat. Mallory is an old and close friend from my Mercer days, and we chatted about Korean customs, how things were going in Texas, and how our Mercer friends now scattered throughout the US and the world were doing.

I did laundry, carefully repacked my bag for the trek, and used Skype to call Mac and get his lunch order. I went to Country Kitchen, and then we met in the picnic pavilion next to the base's small library. Mac got Bulgogi Rice, and I had ordered Bulgogi Kimbop for myself, a sort of Korean sushi roll, but filled with cooked slices of beef and various vegetables, as well as the Korean equivalent of Sushi rice. I'd also bought Yakimandu, the fried potsticker-like stuffed dumpling dish that factors so heavily into the plot of Old Boy.

When we were done with lunch, I hit the local ATM and picked up some American cash to serve as a safety net and some Korean Won to replenish the my dwindling supply. As a bartender, there are little OCD habits that one picks up about bills, and they generally stick around when you're done. One is that I usually orient all my bills so that the faces are on the same side, another is that I generally put bills in my wallet with them arranged by value, largest bills on the left (nearest the fold) smallest bills on the right, nearest the outside. In a hurry, I put the 10,000 won notes (light blue) in my wallet carelessly, to the right, alongside the 1,000 won notes (light green).

I then took a taxi from the entrance of the camp to the small train station in town. You see what's coming, right? Of course, in a hurry to try to catch the upcoming train, I clamber out and hand the driver three 10,000 won notes (about $25) instead of three 1,000 won notes (about $2.50). Whoops!

Of course I only realize it as I'm entering the train station. When I do, I stop in the doorway and look back over my shoulder to see my taxi driver, having rolled down his window, showing the bill to another driver in the pickup line with a mixture of surprise and glee. I decide against doing the undignified thing and running back across the pavilion to try to stop him. So he has a great day and I learn a valuable lesson about making sure that if I make habits, I maintain them. Oh well.

I shrug, walk into the station and buy a ticket for the Osan train. In order to try to make it to Osan before dinnertime, I decide to take the KTX high speed train, based on the TGV technology that I experienced back in France in 2005. That ticket actually involves waiting around at the station for about 30 minutes for a connecting train to the next KTX pickup station--so much for hurrying!

It's a good thing there is a delay though. I sit down on the platform and pull out my day bag, so that I can start reading again--I'm currently enthralled in one of Isaac Asimov's lesser works--a half brilliant, half terrible bit of space intrigue called "The Stars, Like Dust". Before starting though, I ritualistically tap each pocket, a compulsive habit I develop when I travel. Passport in pouch beneath my clothes, check. Wallet in buttoned down pocket, check. Phone and knife in front pocket, check. Keys, slightly heavier than normal in other front pocket. . . oh crap, I still have Mac's only room key!

I look at the time and realize I can make it all the way to the camp and back with about 10 minutes to spare. If I can get Mac to meet me near the gate, I can still make it back to the station.

I grab my day back and backpack, decide against taking the time to recombine them. and throw them independently in the back of the first taxi in the line. Off we go, back to the camp!

I jump out, grab my bags and run inside the tiny guardhouse. "Hi", I say. "I need to call a soldier on base. I have his key. But I don't know his desk phone, I only have his cell phone number, and my cell phone doesn't work here." This is because Verizon had failed to correctly enable international roaming for Korea--I'd get this fixed later, in Indonesia, and my phone would work fine. Oh well. The female gate guard, one of three native Koreans that work for an independent civilian contractor for the US Army, starts to hand me the desk phone. Due to the automated base check in system in place in Korea, guards here need almost no English in order to perform their daily tasks, so their conversational English is very limited. She pauses, trying to break through the language barrier, and suddenly realizes what I've said, and shakes her head. "This phone only for base numbers." After a momentary hesitation she graciously allows me to use her cell phone to call Mac ("thank you so much!") and Mac walks up to the guardhouse to meet me.

I give him the key and another goodbye hug, thank the guards, and hop back in another taxi (my third of the day) to go back to the train station. I notice that my taxi driver this time is female, the only female driver I've seen during my time in Korea.

I get to the train station, climb out with less than ten minutes to spare, and hustle back to my platform. I sit down, take a deep breath and reach for my book. It'll be in my day bag, which is . . . not in the top of my backpack.

I pause, and I can feel my eyes dilate and my heart rate increase a little. I've left it, probably at the guardhouse when I stopped to use the phone. I remember placing it against the counter and I don't remember picking it up.

Well, back to the camp! I stop by the ticket office and cancel my ticket for a 90% refund, sure that I'll miss my train. The ticket salesman has the presence of mind not to sell me a new ticket until I get back, and I take my refund and go back to the taxi stand. I feel glad that there are so many taxis on the street that you almost never see the same one twice in 24 hours, as I don't feel like trying to explain to a driver why I keep making the same 7 minute trip over and over again.

I get back to the guard house and the Korean guards greet me again with the same polite attempt to break the language barrier.

I tell them I have forgotten my bag, and enter the guardhouse. No bag. I ask them about it, and look around. They look in the corner that obviously serves as the lost and found, where a couple of other small items are stored, no bag.

My heart sinks in my chest and my mouth is suddenly very dry. I can feel my eyes widen with the horrible panic that accompanies a really wretched travel moment.

The bag is not a huge loss. I can buy another over the shoulder bag, though it may be less comfortable than the one I had, no big deal. The books inside, while impossible to replace while I'm in Asia, and sentimentally important, are only a few dollars, and can be easily repurchased in the states.

However, also within my bag is my Canon Digital Rebel. A few years old now, its street value is still perhaps $350 used, and will be a major purchase if I want to replace it with a new camera while I'm here. Thankfully, the photos I've taken have already been offloaded to my portable hard drive, which is in my backpack. Still, the loss will be a major blow to my trip budget, and disheartening as hell.

I look at the two gate guards, who look at me somberly. They want to be helpful, but obviously the bag isn't here. I try to explain. "I think I left my bag. . .in a taxi."

"Ah." They say.

I remember having my bag at the guardhouse, so the only taxi I could have left it in (I think) is the one on the way back to the train station--the one with the female driver. I ask them if it is possible to call the taxi company.

"Ah. Which taxi company?" they say. Taxis in Korea are governed through a standard rate policy, but there will be several major companies with identical rates in each city. The taxis all look similar, and use the same top lights, and generally identical silver sedans with leather interiors, the only distinction typically being the logo and phone number on the door. I had not made note of the company I'd used when I'd returned to the train station, and with four taxi rides in the past 30 minutes, I would have had little hope of remembering which was which even if I had done so.

"I don't think it was the Taxi company that serves the camp" (there is one company with exclusive permissions to get its drivers on and off base, allowing soldiers to be picked up and moved both around base and off base in one convenient call). "It was an official company though, with a logo on the door as well as the taxi light." I've made it a rule to only travel in branded taxis while abroad. If I was fluent in the languages of the countries I was visiting, maybe I wouldn't--but I like not being abducted, so I make a strict "branded taxis only" rule to decrease the odds of that happening.

The female guard looks at me, and asks me if I remember the taxi company's number? "No. I took four taxis. . .I don't remember which was which."

"Ah." She says.

She and her male cohort discuss for a moment in Korean. They give me the number of a local taxi company, and suggest I call. I remind them my phone doesn't work, so the guard once again lets me use her cell phone to make a call.

The taxi company's operator knows only enough English to direct a car to a location, that's all, and after a few moments of miscommunication, gives up and hangs up on me while I'm trying to explain that I might have lost a bag in one of their taxis.

I look back at the guards and tell them what happened. At this point, I figure I'm pretty much screwed, but I can throw myself on the mercy of whatever aid these two can offer me at least, before I give up hope. The male guard nods and calls the company back himself, explaining in brisk Korean what has happened. The company suggests he call another company (probably because they have no female drivers), and he repeats the ritual with the second call.

This company tells him it will call back.

"Is your bag important? Passport? Wallet?" asks the girl.

"No, I have those. But my camera is in the bag. The bag and the books I can replace, but the camera was very expensive." I say, blowing out my cheeks at the thought of the cost I'm likely going to incur.

"Ah." She says, drawing out the sound to mimic understanding and empathetic pain. She does not look hopeful.

I wait, anxiously, for about ten minutes. The guards are kind, and offer me some of the iced coffee poured from a thermos delivered a few minutes before by a friend from a nearby restaurant. As my water was in my day bag, I accept gratefully. I have very little hope of my bag being found. After all, even if my driver is contacted, she might decide to keep the contents of the bag, hoping simply to fence the items herself for more than she would get for returning them to me.

The guard looks at me sadly. "Maybe, they will not find your bag." He says.

I nod. "I know. Thank you so much for trying to help."

After dealing with a few other entrants to the base, he takes a moment during a break to call back the taxi company, a quarter hour having passed without a response.

While he's on the phone, the older guardhouse commander, a smartly uniformed woman in her early 40s arrives, and is apprised of the situation by the younger woman.

"Ah." she says. She also does not look hopeful.

A moment later, the guard sticks his head back into the guardhouse with his hand over the cell phone. The three of us look at him expectantly.

"They find your bag." he says. "Ten Minutes."

I sigh with relief and the younger woman cheers with glee. The guardhouse commander laughs and smiles, pointing at the guard still on the phone. "I think maybe you should buy him Ice Cream!" she says with a laugh.

I nod vigorously. I have no idea where there is good ice cream near the entrance, but I know for a fact that Country Kitchen directly across the street offers several cold drink options that are very nice on a hot day.

The guard finishes the conversation and says "They say you pay the taxi fare." (2,200 Won, less than $2 US). I nod enthusiastically. "Of course. I need to go to the train station also, so I will use that taxi, too."

I head across the street to buy drinks while we wait. When I come back I have a Chilseng cider (the Lotte brand version of Sprite) a peach tea, and a peach flavoured water. I gesture to the two guards that have helped me out and offer them each a drink. The girl shrieks with the kawaii enthusiasm that all young Asian women seem to have in abundance when she spies the peach tea, and picks it immediately. The guard is torn between the Chilseng and the Peach water, finally settling on the Peach. I give it to him gratefully.

"Cheers!" I say, and we drink our drinks while we wait for the taxi. When it comes, I confirm that my bag (complete with all its contents) is still sitting in the dark of the black leather backseat, and I yell my thanks to the guards again before climbing in.

"The Train Station, again!" I say with a laugh as the driver looks at me quizzically.

She nods, probably thinking this means she'll get stiffed out of the fare she should have gotten for driving all the way from wherever she was to the camp, since I'm using the taxi to take me back to the station.

When we reach the station I hand her 5,000 won to cover the ride, plus the basic fare for coming back with my bag. "This is for the taxi." I then hand her an additional 10,000 won note. "And this is for you. Thank you so much."

She looks at the bill with surprise, and accepts it without a word. When I open the back door she watches carefully to make sure I grab both bags this time.

I thank her once more and head inside, buying a ticket for the next KTX connector to depart in a few minutes.

I'm off to Busan.

Tonight: The Lotte Giants kick some major Kia Tiger Ass, and I wear a plastic bag on my head.