The Seoul-Incheon Airport was a shocking place to arrive Wednesday at 6:15 a.m. local time, for several reasons. Coming from the Phnom Penh airport, Seoul-Incheon is positively space-aged. A description of the departure process at PP may help explain this shock value: you pull up in a beat-up-old car that’s been converted into a taxi-cab, pay the driver more than you know it should cost, and then push your way through at least a hundred Cambodians waiting outside for people to exit. The whole process of getting through the check-in line, customs, and security takes about 30 minutes at most. (That is, unless your name is Samantha Sondag, which the Korean Airlines representative recognizes, remarking that you’re the one who kept calling about re-routing to Los Angeles even though she told you every time the flights are full. Then they give you a little more grief.) There are 10 gates, 4 of which I’ve never seen in use.

Incheon, on the other hand, was designed to function as a self-contained city. There are designer stores everywhere, coffee shops, restaurants, lounges, educational cultural centers, spas, and even “transit hotels” for overnight travelers.








I can drink the water, not buy it?? Yay!!

















Hold up, toilet paper can go IN the toilet? It's official: I've entered heaven.





I emerged into this foreign world of stainless steel and potable water fountains completely delirious. The night before my flight I hardly slept for nerves about leaving, then, on the red-eye flight to Seoul, I was placed in a seat that refused to stay reclined, forcing my neck into odd positions not complementary with the constant turbulence.

Thus, my sleep debt grew such that I was unable to contemplate the best way to exit the gate when I arrived in Seoul. I blindly walked into the transfer area, only to realize I’d entered a clean quarantine area from which I’d never be able to find my friend who was also arriving in Seoul an hour later for a long layover he intended to spend with family. I slept-walk through the terminals to find a rabbit-hole exit until I literally smacked into a group of scary Korean security guards who did not understand who or what I was looking for and yelled at me.

At this point, I gave up on finding my friend—I’m sure he met up with his family just fine. Seeing as I was unable to avoid angering the authorities in a clean, quarantined airport, I decided my plan to go into the city for the 14 hour layover could result in some possibly negative outcomes, not excluding Korean prison. Instead I checked into one of the “transit hotels” mentioned above. I paid $54 to sleep in a very nice room with TV, AC, and shower for 6 hours. Best 54 dollars I’ve ever spent, and significantly less, I am sure, than a bail-out from Korean prison.

I emerged from the dark room realizing I hadn’t eaten for many unknown hours and was ravenous. However, I was also still hungover from the Nyquil I’d taken and had difficulty choosing anything except a Starbucks soy latte, and this after an exhausting exchange with the barista about the USD to Won exchange rate. A few hours later I was competent enough to enter one of the Korean foodcourts AND to identify a dish I’d read about in the literary masterpiece that is the Korean Airlines in-flight magazine. It’s this cold buckwheat noodle soup that’s very popular in North and South Korea during the summer, composed of a pile of noodles topped with beef, a boiled egg, and pickled fruit and vegetables. The buckwheat noodles were delicious, although the slab of gray beef made an immediate departure from my bowl, and I never became wholly comfortable with the slight sweetness of the broth, deriving from the fruits and vinegar.

















A few hours later, I was making my way through the entire airport, as I do during every long layover, repeatedly encountering my security guard friends madly waving me away from certain doors and gates. During this exploration I found a restaurant featuring a much better looking picture of the noodles, and a much better price. Fail.