Taxi rides

Well, one taxi ride in particular. This weekend, a friend of mine and I went to go see the movie adaptation of Elizabeth Gilbert's autobiographical "Eat, Pray, Love" which I understand is a fantastic book. I would only recommend the movie if you enjoy watching movies that are about 45 minutes too long of pretty white ladies being whiny, neurotic, and self-centered. Or if you happen to be into the delicious travel/food/man candy porn that litters the movie (which I was, for sure).

One scene in particular jumped out at me. It is a smash cut from a lovely Thanksgiving breakfast in Italy to a harrowing taxi ride in India, which, to me, immediately brought to mind every time I have ever gotten in a taxi in Korea. Weaving through traffic, playing roller derby in the streets, ignoring traffic laws and good sense and the looming specter of death - all of these are, to me, emblematic of getting in a taxi in this country. I suppose it comes from a country where cars have really only been around for a generation, and have only very recently become ubiquitous, but it. is. terrifying.

Row upon row of terrifying hell demons.

For me, though, one particular ride stands out as the absolute worst. Two weeks ago, during the Chuseok holidays, some friends and I decided we would take a taxi from our pension to Jeju City to grab a bit of Indian food for dinner (having become thoroughly sick of our personal stash purchased from the Emart upon arrival in Jeju). The ride there was fairly standard - swerving, changing lanes, barreling into oncoming traffic - but it was the ride back that really took the cake. It started out spectacularly from the get-go: our taxi driver clearly had no idea where we were going, so instead of refusing our fare, he spend a good 30 minutes trying to figure it out. While the meter was running. Asshat.

But whatever, he finally figured it out, and we began our journey back to the pension on the beach. As we regaled each other with stories of awkward taxi rides past (I think Mel won with the cabbie who grabbed hold of her ankle for the whole ride), we appropriately decided to let Meg help with the navigation.

A side note about Meg's navigation abilities: I have gotten lost with her ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS as she was walking back to her apartment (where she lives) from the train station in Pyeongtaek (where she goes all the damn time)

To her credit, the ride almost went off perfectly. Aside from the wrong turn that nearly took all our lives. Let me tell you guys: always make sure you are making the correct left turn. Taking the one before can result in an early watery grave.

And that's where we almost ended up, Mel, Lionel, Meg and I. Traveling down winding, completely dark road bordering the beach at high tide with a taxi driver who doesn't know the area or the meaning of the phrase "take it easy", well, that's enough to make a praying man out of anyone. The inky blackness of the ocean lapping at the shore just feet from the road, the midnight blue sky lit only by the milky moon, and the imposing silhouettes of the giant wind turbines on the coast convinced me that the four of us were about to be Mary Jo Kopechne'd (too soon?).

Heart, stomach, and liver in my mouth, making peace with my maker with each death-defying swerve, I closed my eyes and tried to find a happy place. Though the entirety of that section of the journey took perhaps only a few minutes, it felt as though it were going on for literally hours. When we finally escaped the Death Cab (though it had nothing to do with cutie, so don't ask), we collapsed onto the ground heaving a sigh of relief and giving thanks we had survived the ordeal.

And then we collapsed into a stiff drink. And all was right with the world again.