April 1999
TAXI TROUBLES
by Cedar Blomberg
I have a love/hate relationship with Korean taxi drivers. Sometimes I find that a ride in a taxi has featured the most interesting conversation of the day. In the so-called “IMF era” you meet some fairly educated and experienced guys behind the wheel. Often I learn tidbits about Daegu, and occasionally new routes through city. Most of my taxi experiences are good. After all, taxis in Korea are cheap compared to back home. They also have the extra benefit of saving you a trip to Oobang Land’s now infamous roller coaster when you feel the need for an adrenaline rush. Just hop in a taxi and say “fast.”
   There are three kinds of taxi drivers: those that I don’t remember ten minutes later, those that don’t understand my Korean, and those that do. When dealing with these road ajoshis, one must remember the mental block many of them have in common: I have white skin, therefore I am speaking English, no matter what the actual words coming out of my mouth are. 
 
   My latest bad verbal connection was in Seoul at 2am at the end of a long bus trip. To my great chagrin, I learned that Korean city planners defy the dictates of logic, i.e. in vicinity of terminals, have lodgings. The Seoul Express Bus Terminal lies somewhere outside of logical reality. After a visual check I asked a woman selling ho-duk, and she assured me that indeed I’d have to take a taxi to find a place to stay. I went to the front of the long line of taxis, got and said, in Korean, “Please take me to the nearest yogwan.” This was met with a “Huh???!” I continued patiently, in Korean, “There are no yogwans here. It’s 2am. I am tired. That woman says there are yogwans in Gangnam. Please take me to a yogwan in Gangnam.” This explanation met with no success either. I slammed the door and tried the next driver but he seemed to be afflicted with a similar disorder. Somewhat testily I asked “Do you speak Korean?” He shook his head no. “Do you speak English?” Another negative. I wonder how he got to be a middle-aged taxi driver in Korea without ever learning a language. 
 
   Fortunately for him, as some typically ugly American behavior was coming his way, another taxi driver came up to the car, and asked in broken English if I needed help. As he seemed reasonably affable, I began to express my dilemma in Korean, and met with resounding success. He turned to the second taxi driver and said, more or less, “This young woman just wants to go to a yogwan and get some sleep. Why don’t you take her to one?” But, as this aberration didn’t understand Korean, he didn’t understand my savior either. The gallant gentleman escorted me away. In his taxi we proceeded to have a lovely conversation all the way to the lowest priced yogwan in the vicinity. 
   My driver pointed out that there are some bad apples in every barrel, and that I shouldn’t let them get to me. When he said good-bye he told me “Take care, keep studying!” He was afraid I would let these guys discourage me from my pursuit of Korean fluency. The next taxi ride almost did. 
 
  I had been napping on the overheated bus returning from Seoul and was in no mood to be awake. At 2 o’clock in the morning the city buses had long since stopped running, so after extricating myself from the guys trying to get bullet fares to Kyungju or Yungchun, I got into what I thought would be a normal taxi. Though the driver understood my Korean, he insisted on talking English to me. I think he heard my Korean but thought he was hearing English and understanding it. I could see him mentally congratulating himself. When I tried to roll down the window he protested, “Window, no. Korea winter, my taxi, summer.” Of course I responded very reasonably in Korean, with “I know, but I’m hot and uncomfortable.” Which he did not understand. I was in no mood for bad English, and really it’s no one’s business what my marital status is. So I turned the tables, exhorting him, “You should speak in Korean! This is Korea!” This worked no better on him than it does on your average EFL teacher. 
 
   These experiences notwithstanding, fully half the taxi drivers I get are great guys to practice Korean with. They are relieved of boredom, and possibly some anxiety about having a foreign fare. As for me, I gain such gems of wisdom as “Don’t date a guy from Daegu. Daegu guys are too conservative. In fact, we are so conservative we don’t say I love you. I’ve been married for 18 years and I’ve yet to tell my wife I love her. You’d be better off finding a nice guy from Seoul.” Or on another occasion, “Don’t tell guys you study Hapkido. They don’t want to know their girlfriend can beat them up.” Or, “You don’t want children?!! Of course you want children. All women want children. Then you can be really busy, uh, happy. Adoption?! If you adopt a child, they won’t look like you!” Hmm... gee, I had never thought of that.
   Sometimes I wish I could call for specific drivers. But after all, I don’t know their names. Do you think descriptions would cut it? “Well, he’s got black hair and he’s in his late forties, and he actually speaks slowly and stops to check if I understand difficult vocabulary words!” Nahh, probably not! Back here in reality I will continue with my crap shoot, sometimes lucking out and thinking Korean taxi drivers are the best, sometimes handing them the fare with my left hand and “neglecting” to say thank you as I mumble “babo” audibly.