It looked like Fengshen, the typhoon that tipped a ferry and killed people in the Philippines, was headed my way. Now it doesn’t anymore. At one point I prayed I wouldn’t get hit too badly by it – now I’m not sure I like the answer if it involves flooding mainland China instead. I have a sneaking suspicion Taiwan could handle a typhoon better than China. (Taiwanese forecast here.)
NOTICE
Dear guest,
When you use the Internet just plug and play.
The charge is based on the number of computers you use.
We will solve the problem when it occurs.
We hold no responsibility for that.Your understanding is appreciated.
If you need any help,please call the Service Center.Tel:20100.
Have a pleasant stay!
I did have a pleasant stay, but am glad to be on my way home, getting paid to convert kerosene into carbon dioxide, and only a toss of an aluminium tube away from my bed. I got up at 7:45 and stayed in my packing schedule quite well, leaving the hotel at 10:30 in another taxi. The hotel porter was great – answering my “thank you” with “my pleasure” and then wishing me a nice day. The drive wasn’t that great. I remember discussing with a beltway friend how annoying drivers are who can’t take their lumps when the make navigational errors but have to switch lanes at the last moment or wait in awkward positions in the middle of intersections, but that’s D.C. If I let all such misdemeanors annoy me in Beijing, I’d be permanently annoyed, because you can’t drive without seeing people driving on the shoulder, switching lanes without using indicators, and generally opportunistic and aggressive driving. An hour later I was at the airport, and upon walking in the door saw a counter that said “Customs / ATA.” Great, I thought, this should be easy – except that the hall, as usual, was packed with people and carts and suitcases and moving about presented a challenge. I got to the ATA counter only to find it unoccupied, with a note advising me to go to the counter on level two, at gate four, for the Chamber of Commerce to collect 60 RMB and put a stamp on my Carnet. I had just walked through a door number 4, and walking about seemed to indicate to me I was on level two. So where else was I to go? I ended up walking straight to customs and showed them the Carnet A.T.A.
“You had better get it stamped by the Chamber of Commerce,” the official said.
“I tried, but there was nobody there,” I replied.
“I guess it is Saturday,” he said, and I hoped they wouldn’t hold that against me. Instead, his colleague asked me to show her the items on the Carnet A.T.A. list and then stamped and signed it – without the 60 RMB fee.
As usual in China, I set off the metal detector and got patted down, then sat around in the lounge. I may have mentioned before that new terminals are being built in Beijing, and they are overdue. The Beijing Capital Airport is one of the most crowded I’ve experienced. At least I got to skip the line at boarding time with a wave of my magic card.
I sat down in the wrong seat, H instead of G, not expecting the letters to run that high with only seven seats across, but I did feel a little dumb when the rightful occupant pointed it out. He quickly suggested I stay where I was and he took mine opposite the aisle, what turned out to be a wise choice on his part, because my reading lamp didn’t work. For that reason, I watched more movies than I had intended to: 3:10 to Yuma (good), Frantic (still a delight after all the years), and Heartbreak Kid (worse than unsatisfying). It was at the end of 3:10 to Yuma (which felt like it ran for 3:10) I started to bemoan not having an individual control over my movie but only a choice between several channels on a fixed schedule. And then there was a line at the loo…
We got to “see” ourselves land when the pilots turned on the onboard forward camera, which was fun, especially with it being a night landing. But as I said, one more landing and I will be home, so I’m giving my blogging notice until I pick it up again in two weeks.
I was ready on time, because it was one of the few things I could control myself about how the day would go. Everything operated under boundary conditions completely out of my control, starting with my suit jacket not fitting well with my pullover on.
Once we arrived I was glad for my pullover, even if it did generate terrific static electricity every time I took off my suit jacket. The university’s halls were unheated, and Beijing is cold in winter. At least the room was heated, but with all the windows open, it didn’t feel like it. I immediately closed all windows to minimize temperature effects on the measurements and asked for a sun shade, because without the sun would soon beat straight on the microscope for most of the day and distort the measurements or even make them impossible.
The measurements ended up going as well as I could have hoped for. Still not great, but if the tech guys back home wonder why this one thing is even on the brochures, getting a noisy signal is better than none at all. But I couldn’t blame the customer for not yet being entirely convinced when lunchtime came around.
For lunch, we went to the same restaurant as the last time. We had various Chinese dishes: spinach with vinegar and peanuts, fish that we got to inspect beforehand, sliced beef, some yummy battered-fried-and-slathered-in-sauce chicken, and finally a fish soup of which I ate no more than a spoonful because in addition to being a bit spicy it was so acidic it burned the back of my throat. The student with the best English said, “It is acid and ˈpē-kwənt.” He was much closer to the correct pronounciation (ˈpē-kənt, -ˌkänt; ˈpi-kwənt) than most Chinese usually are, but even after two repetitions I didn’t understand that he meant piquant. I think I simply never expected a Chinese guy to know that word, but he proved me wrong, explaining: “One can say it is the opposite of ‘bland.’”
I had another encounter with a squatterloo at the restaurant which I won’t relate in deference to my mother not appreciating the overabundance of those incidences in my last Chinese series. If you really want to know, you can ask. I will say this: ever since those posts, every visit to such a toilet has the ABBA song going through my head.
Back at the university, we got treated to a marching drill of the pilots, who study there for two years before going to Australia for their last year for flight training. I asked why Australia, to which he answered that perhaps it was cheaper. Cheaper than China, cradle of cheap? I didn’t pursue the matter.
I spent the afternoon with more measurements and answering more questions. I know I had to hide my irritation at some, when a student who had missed the morning asked for the same instruction I’d already given. In the end, our partner had me write down what I’d done and prepare a space for signatures, the professor came, and after quite some hesitating and asking his students signed that I’d done what I said I’d done. Apparently that means mission accomplished, but I don’t want to celebrate too soon…
Back near the office I took two pictures of funny English I’d mentioned before.
Doesn’t that imply we ought to break it?
The characters to the right, 晩秋, mean “Late Autumn,” but the English reads differently.
While we’re on Chinese characters, the characters for IKEA are 宜家, “good house” or “good home,” which brings me back to my main point: China Southern Airlines still serves peanuts. Allergy? Tough luck.
(So you think this entry was posted past bedtime? Well, I had a certain delightful young lady on skype for nearly an hour…)
Now I know: the driver who brought me to the resort overcharged me 25%. That’s not too bad, considering what he charged was more than fair by Swiss standards.
At breakfast, I once again noticed how much of a disregard for others some smokers have here. One guy puffed right at the buffet, as though that was normal. That was one reason for sitting outside, the other being that I enjoy having breakfast outside, especially in January. This time I sat next to the water lily pond, replete with “bud-weis-er” croaking frogs.
Today’s driver drove better than the one who brought me to the hotel, but at daytime, with more traffic, and seeing more clearly that yes, he did just cross a double solid line, the drive was at least as harrowing. On the dash he had a picture each of Mao Zedong and Lei Fong, though I don’t know if they would have approved of the feats to which they apparently inspired him. We drove past a number of smelly, smoky old cars the motors of which, instead of purring, growled a death rattle that indicated to me they might fling mortal coils or other parts through my open window any time now. I was glad to get to the airport unhurt.
People stood in disorder in front of the check-in counters. Once I figured out that a counter with people in front of it was in fact free, I got checked in quickly, though the mileage card seemed to bewilder the young agent. I showed him my case with my clothes and asked if it was okay as a carry-on. He looked over his shoulder at his colleague, who nodded her head yeah-yeah. Once I saw the line waiting to get on the plane, I realized she’d said “yeah-yeah” to everyone else, too. I sat for three and a half hours with my laptop backpack between my legs.
I read George MacDonald on the flight, too easily distracted by a subtitled Chinese movie that required much less attention. Before we landed, the purser advised us that temperatures in Beijing were -2°C and that we might want to prepare for that. I wanted to until I opened the overhead bin and visualized getting out the case, opening it, and fishing for my clothes. I decided I’d brave a few minutes of cold and change on the tarmac, but it seemed to me I was the only one who decided against changing in a cramped plane. I had a Russian lady’s posterior uncomfortably close to my head for an uncomfortably long time. It was even more annoying when we pulled up to a finger dock and didn’t even have to get out into the cold. I could step out of the way in the terminal and put on pullover and jacket, and it made me feel better to see a few Chinese men doing the same.
At the baggage claim, I was once again confronted with what is fast becoming my pet peeve. Why can’t everyone stand two meters away from the belt? We’d fit more people, see just as well what was coming, and those going for their bags wouldn’t have to worry about injuring those waiting. It hit me that this is how the British must feel about Swiss queuing abilities.
I also observed that on domestic Chinese flights, or at least this one, most the checked baggage comes as cardboard boxes or plastic crates, none of those fancy embossed suitcases.
One of our partners in Beijing waited for me at the exit and led me to a taxi. Our driver looked young, but spoke like a Chinese Louis Armstrong with phlegm in his lungs. He honked far less than the Sanya drivers, but at the toll booth, when he tried to switch from one lane to the other, the Chinese girl in her little white Suzuki wouldn’t let him in, to which he reacted not by braking and getting in after her, but by driving closer and closer to her, rear-views touching, until at last he had to give in, but not without his rear-view bumping her car several times as she pulled past. Two things I concluded from this, three I deduced:
(a) Not all Chinese girls are the docile tiger lilies of lore.
(b) My driver was an idiot.
(c) I am still loath to speak a word of conflict even when it is to correct someone who’s obviously wrong. It wasn’t until our driver, still angry, sped after the girl on the far side of the booth and fishtailed around next to her that I meekly said “Stop.” I should have said it much earlier – but I don’t know if it would have changed his foul mood, which made him a scary driver for a good ten minutes after that. I thought Sanya was bad: this was worse.
So, tomorrow I need to prove to a customer that I can get our microscope to do what our brochure says it can but I’ve never personally done and all our tech guys agree is difficult. It’s like trying to prove the top speed of a fast car, but nobody really makes good tires for that model and it takes a special type of road for it to go fast. Oughta be fun…
It’s strange how numbers can tell different stories. By brochure count, today was as bad as yesterday. We had half the brochures left over, and two thirds of that half had gone the first day (not a surprise to alert readers with a mathematical mind). By visitor count, although I don’t have numbers, it felt similar. But if I count the name cards I received, today scored 50% better than the first day. The overall count is still low and a number of things need to change for me to consider exhibiting again, but it wasn’t a total waste.
During the dead times, I got reading and writing done, instead of just loitering about. I also sat in some sessions, though in the one I visited today half the speakers had bailed out. The lure of the beach must have been stronger.
My Chinese partner talked to one of the girls that work for the conference organizers. Apparently, the company managing the event asked a local company for cute girls that speak English, or so, and this local company sourced them from a school where they are studying to become flight attendants. That explains a number of things: their terminal cuteness, their eagerness to speak with foreign me, and why they’re not really local. He said they’re being paid 100 RMB per day for this job. That makes me think I should perhaps have hired a booth girl. You never know what draws the customer. (Although, that said, I didn’t see many delegates hanging out at the registration counter, so if you’re boring, all the cute girls in the world don’t help squat.) He said her study book was on Karl Marx.
For lunch I had a local specialty, Dongshan goat. It was deep fried with cardamom. I tasted of my partner’s local specialty, Wenchang chicken, and regretted my choice. Although not bad, the goat didn’t hold a candle to the chicken and its sweet lemon sauce, perfect for a warm day. We shared rice and stewed veggies with papaya along with our meats. They seem to like papaya a lot here.
One Russian researcher stopped at the booth when I talked to him about his shape memory alloy talk from yesterday. He showed me another material he was working on that was interesting and could have potential for use with an AFM, but it looked like a lot of work is still needed to get the idea to cheap series production.
After the afternoon coffee break I took everything down as quickly as possible, so that I’d get some time in the water. The ocean was warm enough to swim in, but far from exciting, with waves rarely exceeding twenty centimeters in height. I soon got out and switched to the pool with the water slides. It’s been a while since I’ve been down one, and I enjoyed it, although I wasn’t able to dam some water for a quicker ride as I would have liked to because the rides were being watched.
On the way back to my room I met a family of five that looked Chinese. I asked one of the little boys if he was Chinese, and when he didn’t answer right away, I said Nihao. I thought that was the end of it and walked out of the elevator before them and down the hall, when I heard from behind me: “We are from New Zealand.” It took me half a second to realize I’d really heard that, and then I turned around and waited for them. They were Chinese, originally, living in Auckland, and on their summer vacation, though I don’t quite understand taking a long flight to flee your summer for what is essentially also summer.
I dried off, changed, and headed over to the farewell celebration. My food intake was limited to a little snack sandwich and a baby pizza, along with a Hainan beer (ordinary) and a coke (coke), because I spent most my time chatting with Vishnu, Ayse, and Birgit, when we could hear each other over the resident band. Soon everyone wanted to take a picture of the band, so I joined in.
Look at that band!
I forgot to ask if they could use an oboist.
With the cameras out, there was no stopping: all the reception desk girls and other helpers wanted to have their picture taken with me and other foreigners. I had none taken with my camera, because I alread take too many pictures, but if they make good on their promises my work e-mail should soon be overflowing with the ones they took.
Vishnu and I got to talking to Wendy, and Vishnu asked who picks the English names the Chinese have. Wendy said she’d picked hers herself at the beginning of college, when her teacher said they all needed to have one, and she picked hers because of Peter Pan, even though (to her regret) Wendy and Peter don’t end up together. We told her now all she had to do was find herself a Peter, to which she replied she already had one, but his name wasn’t Peter. It turned out he had no English name, so we urged her to give him the name of Peter.
Vishnu turned away for something, and Wendy said to me: “You are human!” I must have looked puzzled, because she repeated it: “You are human!” I must still have looked puzzled, because she rephrased it: “You are humorous. At the booth you are very serious. Now I get to know real you.” I thanked her and told her selling microscopes was serious business, but now I wonder if I would have had more people at my booth with a juggling act…
I have a note that says “important information,” but I can’t remember what I wanted myself to remember to write. I guess it was less important than I thought.
I also have next to me the laundry bill. I’d given my pyjamas to be laundered, but they didn’t recognize them as such and split them into a T-shirt and underpants, which actually saved me 2 RMB. Now that’s serving the customer!
As I expected, today was much slower. Either people had already left, or were hitting the beaches, or had decided the coffee wasn’t good enough to bother. The tea was bad enough I tried the coffee, which was either bitter or, when I added too much condensed milk, tasted like that icky stuff. But the fruits – starfruit, dragonfruit, papaya – are fresh and tasty, so I get those, and force down the tea because I don’t want to fall asleep.
I walked in on some nanomaterials presentations. The first I heard was by a Chinese guy. All he did was read verbatim what was on the overheads, clearly struggling with the English language and, I suspect, at times unsure of what it was he was saying, a bit like me in some of my Japanese presentations. When the chair opened the floor for questions, he couldn’t understand what the audience members were asking until they switched to Chinese themselves. The chair, as chairs do, asked a question himself, but the chair’s Scottish accent was even more lost on the poor speaker. The experience also revealed to me the disadvantage of abbreviations, because several speakers kept referring to their figs and tabs. Furthermore, I noticed that some speakers even when speaking English revert to their native language for their “ums.” (Or is that “um”s?) Toward the end of the day, an American gave a talk on nanoswords, and although it was easier for me to follow him, I doubt the Chinese could. I also noticed how often he went ahead and used “go ahead and” or “went ahead and” as fillers. That alone must have thrown many a Chinese for a loop.
Back at the booth, another one of the organizing staff walked up to me with “Hi, you want a candy?” They mean well, they’re just being kind, I know, also when they ask if I’m not going to lunch, and then warn me that I “will miss something delicious.” I think that deep down what bugs me is that I think of myself as self-sufficient, and their constant care sometimes seems to imply I’m not. In this case it is I who needs to learn.
I took some pictures of the resort again, this time with a little more light.
A nice little swing under the palms trees.
Sanya’s Yalong bay beach after sundown.
The naval vessel and its lookalike rock out in the bay.
After the pictures I went to the conference banquet. It wasn’t my Korean neighbor’s fault I was bored, nor was it the fault of the professor who presented the best paper awards, although he should have had amuch tighter rein on the proceedings. It was that all I was doing was waiting to sneak out and call Janet on skype. So I snuck out and despite partially poor connection we got to hear each other and my, was that ever good. After Janet had to leave for class, I got the added bonus of a short chat with Alain before he leaves for India, which brings me back to my original point: Mannheim Steamroller loves his fudgemaker.
And, by the way, someone must have stuck a Durian in my minibar fridge. It reeks.
Well, for a conference it was par for the course. The exhibition table stands right next to the coffee table, so half the delegates queued in front of our microscope for their coffee, and by the end of the day, a third of our brochures was gone. An unrealistic linear extrapolation would have all our brochures gone by the end of the third day, but I think the lure of the beach will be too strong for many a delegate.
Unfortunately, most people just took brochures and left no means to contact them, which means a significantly reduced chance at something coming of this contact. That said, at least we’re getting our name out to folks who, for the most part, have never heard of us.
During the sessions, nothing happens at the booth, except that the registration gals start talking to you. It goes something like this (my thoughts in italics):
“Hi Stephan!”
“Hi?!” How the – oh, right, I’m wearing a badge.
“Where are you from?”
“Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Switzerland.” Better draw the Chinese characters for Switzerland – I’m not sure she knows what I’m talking about.
“Yes, yes, I know, Switzerland.” I guess she did know.
“I have a friend in Switzerland.” Oh no. Not that one. I feel like a Canadian.
“There must be too much snow in Switzerland.”
“No, where I’m from, there’s no snow. It’s only cold.”
“Really?”
Later, in the afternoon, it continues:
“May I have your e-mail address?” How can I say no? I can’t, can I?
“Here,” I say, and hand her my business card with a look of bewilderment. “Do you want to visit Switzerland?”
“Yes, my friend say is very beautiful country.” The unanswerable statement.
I nod and say something non-committal like “I like living there.”
One of the guys on staff is wearing a T-shirt with a droopy peace sign and the lettering beneath:
Dieu est amour
Il dio è amore
The label of the shirt said Révolution Française.
I went for an early lunch with the thought of being around when the delegates go for lunch break. I only got in because the conference manager showed up and told the hotel staff it was okay for me to go early. I’d almost finished eating when a Chinese delegate stood up form his table, placed his soup next to me and sat down, introducing himself. So I gave him my business card and made a little smalltalk before extricating myself. I needn’t have. On the way to our booth I think I met the better part of the delegates walking toward the food. I spent a very quiet lunch break.
After the second coffee break we took down our booth. At least we could store our goods in the secretariat room, because I didn’t want to lug the heavy suitcase across 300 meters of flagstone again. It was half past five, and I hoped I could get a swim in one of the fancy pools, but I had in mind that they closed at 7:30 pm, which turned out to be wrong. 6:00 pm is the cut-off. So, unless the show is super-slow, no pool for me.
I went for dinner at the bar, once I found out that I could order sandwiches there. When I asked what kind of sandwiches were available, the young lady called across the bar to her colleague, who said “beef sanwich an ke-rab sanwich,” as far as I understood. “Crab?” I asked, making the Japanese sign for crab, two hands like scissors. “Huh-rab,” he said, mimicking my scissors.
“I’ll have crab, then!” I said, which had her call her colleague over. He explained again. “We have beef sanwich and horizon sanwich.”
“What’s in Horizon?”
He ran off a list of ingredients that ran far too long, and I ordered the beef sandwich, with soda water.
The sandwich came with fries and just barely enough ketchup. After the fries, i realized that I had no napkin, and raised my hand. The girl came over.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yesyou.” Odd, but never mind, just keep on going, Stephan.
“Could I have a napkin, please?”
She laughed and turned to get one, and suddenly it clicked. It wasn’t “yesyou,” it was “tisyou.”
After dinner I took a few pictures of the pool and of a gecko that got lost in my room. Here are two:
The pool by night, one second exposure, handheld.
The gecko, and a corner that avoided the cleaning lady.
I walked out to the welcome reception, where i found an assembly of mostly Chinese delegates and a few whose faces gave away that they must be English speakers. I chatted with four or five different people about things like quantum-dot cellular automata and modeling interferometry measurements, ate a few spring rolls and some dessert, downed an ill-advised coke, heard the same Hawaiian tune multiple times, and returned to my room. There I changed into my trunks and a T-shirt (sans cussword) and walked outside for a dip in the pool.
It was easily warm enough for walking around in shorts and a T-shirt, even after 7pm, but the big news I want to brag about is that I walked barefoot. Yes, I too can walk barefoot, though I suppose walkways, boardwalks, and manicured lawns don’t really count as heroics. I hoped to get in the ocean, but the lifeguard was off duty and even though it’s a public beach and I suppose technically I could go in whenever I wanted to I obeyed and went to the pool instead. The water was a bit of a shock at first, colder than expected, but it didn’t take long to get used to it. Unfortunately, the fun pools were closed, so I puttered about, with the sounds of the Russian Christmas dinner droning in my ears whenever I came up. I hadn’t known that “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” belonged into the Christmas karaoke repertoire, but you never stop learning.
I took a dip in the other pool that was still open, over toward the reception area, and felt a little sorry for the lifeguard, sitting on his chair doing nothing besides watching a mediocre swimmer make waves. At least he got some action when his colleague inadvertently turned off the lights and he had to yell to get him to turn them back on. He never left his perch.
Tired of swimming and tired of Hawaiian muzak, I dried off and walked back to my room. Here’s hoping I find sleep soon.
I figured out a few things.
First, I am the only exhibitor. That could be either really good or really bad. The trouble is that only in the former case do I deserve to enjoy lazing about the Horizon resort, but only in the latter case do I have any time for it. The resort sprawls across a large area and includes several swimming pools, tennis courts, spas, and beachfront, not to mention the restaurants and souvenir shops. A number of service personnel speaks some English, and some speak enough for more complex discussions than “Where are you from, sir?” Not all staff members are local – Byron, for instance, is from Shenyang and probably more than happy to be here instead.
Second, all the Russians. Of course the Russians are out in force. It all makes sense, ever since discovering the sign above the large array of plastic tables and lawn chairs that said “Рождественский Ужин” (I hope that displays correctly – let me know otherwise). Now I don’t know enough Russian to figure out on my own what it means, but I remember enough to be able to remember two words and chuck them through Babelfish. “Christmas supper” is what I got, and it all fit into place – the orthodox activities, the head count, everything.
Third, the internet. There’s no wireless in the room. I need to unplug the LAN cable of the room’s desktop PC and stick it into my laptop to access the internet with a computer with a reasonable kezboard. It’s still pretty slow, so I don’t know how well stuff like skype will work.
Fourth, the food. It’ll be a regular challenge to get small portions of something somewhere around here.
Fifth, the logo. The Horizon resort has its logo everywhere. It’s even stamped in relief in the ashtray sand.
Sixth, the time difference. I thought it would be 6 hours to Switzerland, but it’s 7.
Well, I ought to get offline.
First things first: Happy New Year and welcome back. A lot has happened that would merit an entry, but this is a travel blog and such it will remain.
I’ll admit to less than perfect planning of this trip. I didn’t for instance double-check the flight reservations but just assumed they’d all be on Star Alliance partner lines. It turns out China Southern Airlines, the carrier that got me from Guangzhou to Sanya and will get me to Beijing on Thursday, is a Skyteam member. In fact, they just recently joined, beginning a new challenge which, as their on-board magazine editorial had it, required “bold stratagem, deep wisdom, and a large bosom,” whatever that means.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The trip started with a misunderstanding. My parents had offered to drive me to the airport, which I thought was remarkable, considering the distance and how traffic in Zurich can get snarled up at times. They did drive me there, which was even more remarkable, because they’d thought I was flying out of Basel.
I checked in at the business counter but wondered if it was worth it. The economy queue seemed just as short, and at least there people queued. After I had checked in both suitcases, but retained the large one to have the Carnet A.T.A. stamped by the Swiss customs, I realized that I’d mistaken the latest time for check-in as the departure time. I was a good two hours too early.
At least that provided a convenient excuse to invite my parents and Janet, who’d also come along, for a drink each on the company tab. After all, they’d saved me the train costs. We chatted about languages, barefoot running, and pressure cookers. Of course, they couldn’t stay much longer. I accompanied them to their car, mostly because I’d forgotten my hat there, and said goodbye. For the first time in a long time, I was leaving someone extra special behind.
The Carnet A.T.A. formalities went well, although I think I passed for an incompetent because I didn’t know I had to fill in a certain form. The official was kind enough and helped me through it. He didn’t check the contents.
I went to the lounge, where I drank plenty of liquids, ate some peanuts and the Faschtewäije Mom had given me, and read George MacDonald’s wife’s adaptation of the second part of the Pilgrim’s Progress. It’s an odd bird of a dramatic piece. I wanted to like it better than I did.
In Frankfurt I got a bit annoyed that we were sent through a door with a No Entry sign on it. I can’t just ignore such a sign, so I stood perplexed in front of it and walked to and fro, confused, until someone else just walked up close and it opened. I then followed, but I do wonder who’s responsible for that signage. Otherwise it was pretty smooth sailing, except that I had to inquire at four different stores until I got earplugs. The plane was going to leave on time, but five people were turned back for lack of proper visa documents and their luggage had to be unloaded, resulting in a delay of about fifteen minutes. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I was a bit worried about the Guangzhou connection, where I had to get my luggage, go through customs with the Carnet A.T.A., and check in again for my last leg. Fortunately, I was tired enough to ignore those worries and go to sleep.
The customs official in Guangzhou was at first confused why I was in the “goods to declare” line when my official form showed a “no” to all the pertinent questions. Then I pulled out the Carnet A.T.A. sheet and he understood. I now knew how to fill in my part, but they made me write “Exhibition” above where our chamber of commerce had pre-printed “Ausstellung – Messe.” They, too, didn’t check contents.
I transferred to the domestic side of the airport and took my luggage to the transfer desk, where I expected to have to pay a significant weight surcharge fee because the microscope suitcase alone weighs over 20 kg. The woman at the counter involuntarily suggested another idea by asking how many cases I was checking in. My clothes were in a suitcase small enough to pass as carry-on, and by moving scissors and tweezers from that case to the microscope case I could check one bag at legal weight and saunter on the plane with a ridiculous allowance of carry-on luggage. While re-packing I also discovered a letter that had been secreted in my suitcase. Like I said, someone extra special.
By that time it was getting dark. I hadn’t had a lot of sunlight and wouldn’t enjoy much more. Leaving Europe at 10pm has the advantage of making me sleepy, but the disadvantage of arriving just before local nightfall. The flight to Sanya took place in the dark, in an MD 82 with hardly any leg room. It was short, and I read the inflight magazine (see insightful quote above) and the China Daily while periodically trying to re-arrange my legs.
In Sanya, everyone’s luggage came out on the same belt. As soon as I had mine, had it verified, and walked out into the main entrance hall, a man walked up to me and asked if I needed a taxi. I remembered Beijing in 2002 and told him I needed the taxi line, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. I could spot no signs pointing to the taxi line, so when some other guy walked up and confirmed that the first one was indeed a taxi driver and I saw the badge around his neck, I relented. They might rip me off, but I’d get to the hotel.
We walked outside, across the street and through a screen of palm trees. Sanya is the southernmost city in China and on the latitude of Puerto Rico, which is why I was quite warm in my jacket. I’d at least had the sense to pack my sweater in my carry-on before the last flight. As I waited near the parking lot exit for my “taxi” I spotted cars with lit triangles on their roofs – real taxis. They had been hidden by the palm trees, and I wonder if the signs are no clearer and the taxis out of sight for the express purpose of charging tired foreigners arbitrary sums for their hotel ride.
It turned out I paid about 25 francs for a 40-kilometer ride – certainly overpriced by Chinese standards, and pretty harrowing, too, though I suppose one could argue it was reasonable by Swiss standards and a free sampling of local thrills. The roads are mostly well lit, but not the pedestrian crossings, some trishaws drive without lights, buses pull out at will, and everyone honks in blatant disregard of the no honking signs. My driver drove fast, slowing down for places where he knew there were speed cameras, and at one point buckled his seat belt, crawled past a zone lit by spotlights, and unbelted again.
I made it to the Horizon Resort & Spa in one piece, but tired enough to be less than thrilled that I had to change rooms after one night. Tired enough, again, to just go to sleep and care about the rest in the morning. I slept well for a few hours, but the rest I spent tossing and turning until the alarm went off. For a short moment, I tried to see if anything was on TV that would make me tired, but when some lady on HBO stabbed the deputy to death with an ear of corn, I’d seen enough to no longer watch.
I feasted for breakfast. Not all the food stood out, but there was more than enough to keep me happy, and I hadn’t eaten in a long time. After that, I bathed, then changed rooms. As far as I know there are no international churches in Sanya, though I saw an announcement for an orthodox church activity, probably aimed at all the Russians. Instead of visiting a 9 am service in Chinese half an hour away, I lay in a hammock and read two sermons by George MacDonald. They might have been English, but his language isn’t at its most fluid in his sermons, and I was getting a little dozey.
So I went back to my room, noticed it was a smoking room, but after moving once I can’t be bothered to move again. Instead, I unpacked and wrote this entry, and now I ought to have some lunch before registering for the IEEE-NEMS where I begin to exhibit tomorrow.