"518 Park," I say to the taxi driver in Korean. It's what I have to say to get back home.
"What?" he says back in Korean.
"518 Park. OK!" he shouts as he speeds off to what I hope is the 518 Park.
The language barrier that exists for me can pose several problems. Like when ten of us head to a bar and order pitchers of beer. Then the server comes back with a single 12 oz bottle of OB Beer accompanied by two glasses. "No, no, bigger!" we say as we enlarge the single bottle of beer through hand gestures that look like we are recreating an explosion. The server eventually understands and comes back with two gallons of beer resulting in the satisfaction of all parties involved.
The theme of partially understanding comes up a lot while traveling in a foreign land. You're not always sure how things are done but you eventually get the hang of it. You're not always sure what's going on around you but you generally know if it's good, fun, serious, or time to get the hell out of there. I view it as part of the adventure. It mixes things up and makes things just a little less ordinary.