The 13 hour plane ride, which also had the added bonus of nearly 2 hours of sitting in our seats before we taxied away from the terminal in Chicago, was just as tiring and unpleasant as 13 hours in a plane normally is. I was glad I paid extra for the economy plus. I could crawl over my sleeping sister to go to the bathroom without having to get her to wake up and stand in the aisle. My eyes were so tired that reading or watching TV wasn't very appealing, so there wasn't much else to do but drink water and go to the bathroom. I don't want to be vulgar, but by the 10 hour point my bottom hurt so badly that I was ready for any excuse to walk down the aisle and stand in line for the toilet. There was usually a line, but for once, standing in line by a bathroom seemed pleasant. The alternative was sitting in my seat and wondering if I would have permanent nerve damage from sitting too long.
The flight was completely full, and we had a nice Chinese guy sitting in the window seat next to us. We got to visit a lot on the flight and I enjoyed talking to him. He was on his way home to see his parents for the first time in 2 years, and is a student at a university in Canada. I always have a soft spot in my heart for foriegn students, after my experiences in college and then teaching ESL. It is always interesting to find out what people are doing and what they think about things. Cultural differences are an endless source of fascination.
We got off the plane in Beijing, arriving to a foggy, humid day, with limited visibility. The airport seems very spread out. We went through a temperature check, then passport check, then rode a train for a mile or so to another terminal where you collect your baggage and then go through customs. I always heard that Chinese people don't stand in lines, and it was very true in our airport experience. I used to laugh at the seeming inability that Germans have, to stand in line, but the Chinese are the same way. And they have a lot less need for personal space than the Germans. When no one makes orderly lines for things like customs, you have a giant funnel of people, all trying to merge into the mouth of the checkpoint. Armed with baggage carts, they ram you in the back of the heels.
The suitcase that the wheel fell off of when the United guy flung it onto the scale came out missing one of the handles. That poor bag has been through a lot.
We were swept through customs in the funnel vortex of people, and when we came out we quickly found a young man with a sign that said Great Wall China Adoption. He had on girlfriend jeans and carried a murse, so I assume he is an example of a sophisticated young Beijinger. We followed him to where we had to take an elevator to the parking garage level where a driver was waiting. Trying to get in the elevator would have made a great comedy routine. It was very hot in the airport, and the last part of the airport felt like a greenhouse. You walked through the door and felt sticky all over. The environmentally friendly cooling unit, that was proudly labeled in English and Chinese, Fogchine, just blasted slightly cooler moist fog at everyone. It was designed to blast just above people's heads. Since I am not Chinese, the fog was ideally lined up to hit me right in the face, particularly my glasses. I was standing there with my luggage cart, with some woman behind me keeping her luggage cart right up against my heels, and people on either sides trying to merge in from the sides so they could get ahead of me. I don't think you can call it cutting in line when there is no effort to make lines. Anyway, the elevator arrived and the people trying to get out were struggling to get out past the people who were surging in like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. Hannah was right behind our guide and held her heavy baggage cart steady as she made it into the elevator. She would have hit the woman in front of her in the heels, but instead the cart hit her below the knees, because she was very short. I was unable to get into the elevator so waited for the return trip. When it came back there were even more people in it, wanting out, and I couldn't move to let them out, because the woman behind me was ramming my heels, and some guy from the side was trying to squeeze himself and his wheeled bag through a 4 inch space that was left. I had a straight shot at the door and the advantage so I was the first cart in.
The parking garage was unbelievable. Hannah said that it was one of the most scary driving experiences she has ever had. Of course this was just the first day so it is probably premature to award it that label, but it was amazing. I have never seen so many cars in such a small underground space, with carts, attendants, and hapless pedestrians mingled with very assertive Beijing drivers. The driving lane was very narrow, and cars were parked so close together on either side that crawling out through a sunroof looked to be the only way the drivers could exit their vehicles after parking. Every driver was honking their horn and flashing their lights. Some would suddenly back out of the tiny parking spaces and insert their cars into the melee. Our leader indicated a black sedan that did an astounding turn to whip into the loading zone, we stowed our bags, and joined the fray. Human beings who are on foot are at a serious disadvantage in this situation. It is one thing to have a luggage cart pressing into you from behind, but here it was cars doing it to the people! Perhaps one of the most amazing things is that while Hannah and I were amazed by the scene, all the locals acted like it was completely normal, and no one seemed concerned, even the poor guy trying to retrieve the luggage carts with our car's bumper 2 inches from his body.
When we got onto a street, the driver turned to look and Hannah and I, grinned, and said, "hello!" We figured out later that he really didn't understand anything we said, but he grinned happily while leaning on his horn and flashing his lights at the other drivers. He pointed at the double stroller which had been stowed in the front with him, and chuckling, said, "scooter". He then indicated the motorized scooters that were on the road. Even though I had only been in China for about 2 hours at that point, I found myself switching to Special English, and said, "but no motor," making my reply as concise as possible. He gestured to a CD and said, "music, OK?" We agreed, and he happily honked his horn as we watched a scooter go the wrong way at an intersection. Our first time on the road to China, and our background music was a pop song, which was endless repetitions of, "I want to make love right now, now, now, now." Later another song was a rap, with variations of, "I was born in the ghetto." Both were strange selections for our first venture onto China's roads.
Chinese drivers use the horn constantly. There are short beeps just to let people know you are there, or just because you feel like honking your horn, then there are long ones when you stuck in traffic, with the front of your car kissing the exhaust of the car or bus in front, and the drivers just keep their elbows on the horns continuously. I think if there was that much horn honking on a road in the Midwest, I would be concerned that people were yielding to road rage and that gunfire might follow. The drivers didn't seem particularly mad. They deal with the traffic all the time and they are used to the horns, so it is all part of the job. Lanes are optional, and drivers feel free to create their own on the shoulder or in between the other lanes. I don't know how there are not more accidents. A police car came by with sirens and lights and no one did anything or pulled over. Of course it was hard to hear the siren over the horns honking.
Our hotel is the Poly Plaza, which on the lower floor is a theatre where you can watch flamenco or ballet or other productions. There were women in formal gowns going in the doors when we pulled up, narrowly missing a grandmother who was crossing the street. She barely even looked up, and the car just missed grazing her as she stepped to one side. Hannah and I were feeling very foriegn, and very sticky and disheveled after the long flight and funneling through checkpoints in the airport and playing bumper carts with luggage. We were the only non-Chinese people in sight. We are supposed to tip the driver, and I had just enough, thanks to the Chinese money that some friends gave us this spring after their trip to China. Our guide came and we got checked into our hotel, changed some money, and bought a couple of bottles of water. This all took several trips to the lobby since we have trouble being understood, and it is easier to talk to the front desk people in person than on the phone. We couldn't get the internet to work, but after our final trip down for help, a man came to our room and got it working. It was like being thrown a lifeline, to be able to communicate with our family.
Hannah and I are already using Special English, so I thought I should explain the term. Special English is what Peter Hessler uses to describe the simplified English that people use to communicate when you are trying to talk to people who are not fluent. His book, River Town, describes his two years teaching English in China, and I have used the term ever since reading it. Basically to use Special English, you make sentences shorter, speak more slowly, and drop idioms that would confuse your listener. When you find yourself saying to someone at the hotel desk that "internet not working," you are using special English. Cutting out extra verbs and modifiers makes it easier to get your point across. I may forget and use Special English with other Americans by the time I get home.
