I used to look forward to trips abroad for months in advance. The anticipation nearly spent me before I even planed stateside. I'd like to think I've overcome this cycle of hassles, jitters, and giddiness by keeping busy until just before it's time to go. Out of focus, out of mind. Though this also means I miss out on quality preparation time with friends like Duane Reade and Target, my method seems reasonable enough to me.
See how easy it is to rationalize what is otherwise known as procrastination? It's so easy. That's right, Mr. P, your friend and mine. He's the reason I am usually weary-eyed and exhausted when I leave for an airport. Long story not-as-long-as-it-could-be, this flight-eve was no different.
In fact, I had a leisurely lunch with Ben in Laguna Beach when I should have been running errands in light of my peter-pan's shadow of a departure deadline. The beach was gorgeous and its guests included more locals than not. It may just be my favorite beach town in the area where I grew up. (Don't worry girls; for now, I still love NYC best)
Anyway, all my procrastination paid off because I was in a mad rush this morning to get out the door. Or at least my parents thought I should have been in such a state. But if it were up to them, I'd have arrived at the airport at 7 AM for a 1:30 PM flight. They like to be early for being early.
I left home a full 45 minutes later than they were happy about, but still with an hour to kill waiting at the gate. Once seated in the enormous 747 (full recliners up front, 10 seats across steerage, and a bubble upstairs where I may go one day when I have enough miles), the flight to Narita (Toyko) was a mere 10.5 hours. Well, if you don't count the two hour delay while we waited, sans AC, for a part to be replaced and tested. Which I'm glad they did and all, but the last thing you want to do to a pan-pacific flight is elongate the time seated. Oh my achy knees and feet that barely touch the floor.
I flew NorthWest, flight 25. Totally against my will. But they had tickets for sale when I needed them, so I didn't really have much choice within my means. It seems almost obvious to say, but If you can avoid it, do not fly American airlines (any of them) for international flights. Strangely, it's only with Americans at the helm of the plane and crew that I feel like a bovine in steerage; Americans are the worst international flight hosts. It's rather embarrassing how rude the flight attendants are, chastising Japanese men for not properly stowing their luggage as if they were prepubescently stupid.
The exiting remark, made by what sounded like a snarky 40 year-old, was, "Just a reminder, next time you fly NorthWest, our check in time for international flights is 3 hours before take off." That's sure to win me over any day. Left me with a warm fuzzy desire never to spend my money with them again. Too bad I'm logging over 13,000 frequent flyer miles on this trip.
The second leg -- Narita (Tokyo) to Pu Dong (Shanghai) -- was a short 2 hours, completely staffed by Japanese and Chinese flight attendants, and remarkably more pleasant. The only funny bit about this flight was the American pilot welcoming us to Shanghai or wherever our final destination may take us.
Having just read some narrative where the protagonist speaks to himself from time to time, I felt liberated to do the same, even though Fred thinks it will make people stare and think I'm crazy if I persist into old age with the habit. So, I smiled to myself and said, "Silly, a final destination doesn't take you anywhere else."
If you didn't smile along, you are not a linguistics geek. But it probably means I am. It's probably (yes it is) the reason I also smiled a little during my first flight when one of 7 blond flight attendants in view asked me if I wanted milk and sugar with my tea, then brought me non-dairy powdered creamer. Oh American idioms, so silly, Trix are for kids.
Aside from sundry moments from the flights (like forcing myself to eat rubbery sausage links because I needed to replete my heme-iron stores), I was struck not a few times by the liberating notion of air travel. I epiphanically (Joyce, Safire, anyone.. is that a word?).. ahem, I epiphanically buoyed myself with the thought that I could go anywhere. Do anything.
Those were my thoughts at 30K above sea-level. Landing and going through customs was a much more grounded experience. I filled out three different quarantine/entrance/customs forms, for which there were three separate lines. The first of which asked if I had handled live birds, had HIV/AIDS, active tuberculosis, or symptoms like sneezing, coughing, or snivel. Yep, just "snivel." The last of which lines (customs declaration) was connected to the scariest form I've ever seen: not because of its length (it's just a one sided 8x4" form), but because I had to assure the government that I was not bringing in any magazines, video, CD, books, etc. that might compromise or corrupt the culture and morality of China. Otherwise, there would be hell to pay.
There's an enormous catch-all for prosecuting at will if I ever heard one. Gurie (sister #2) assured me, though, that if they really wanted to throw me in jail or something, they probably wouldn't even need that semblance of justification. I wondered if the "In Style" magazine I had brought for Suerie (sister #3) would count as a corruptor.
I was also not allowed to bring in fruit, solanacea vegetables, plants or plant products. I worried over this bit on the declaration form because I had packed a vat of homemade salsa that Gurie had requested from our mums, and botanically speaking, tomatoes are fruits. But I decided to take the horticulturalist view and call it a vegetable.
I also misread "solanacea" as "seleniferous," so then I worried about the onions and garlic in the salsa that reeked from my bag like a telltale heart. I was too terrified of being caught with objectionable items to take a peek to check for leakage. After catching my solanacea/seleniferou mistake, I was a little relieved, and decided maybe they were guarding against solanins (possibly carcinogenic); but they can crop up anywhere there are root vegetables exposed to excess UV, so I'm not sure what good it does to stop them at a political border.
As for "plants and plant products," almost everything I was wearing or had in my bags was the result of plants being processed somewhere along the line. I decided that this was not what they meant, otherwise anyone with a cotton shirt would have to declare it.
After making it through the three stops, I entered accessible China. If you've taken an international trip, then you know about the big doors you walk through after customs, and all the people waiting on the other side. This time was only different in that I'd never been greeted by such a large crowd. I searchingly ambled along through a parade of people, several persons deep, lining the sides of our serpentine walkway.
Were one of those name signs being thrust in the air calling for me? Hi Lauren, Oh Jesus, my! United Self-Defense Arts group. Strategic consulting conference. Was I Selena? No, I was not. Sorry to bother you. That's OK.
I reached the end of the throngs when I heard my name from above. There was Gurie. phew.
*
It's hot and humid here, but I was mentally and physically packed for the weather. Summers in New York get you ready for that kind of thing. Plus I'd already experienced the stultifying humidity of a Singapore in October, so I had some idea of what I as in for in a Shanghai June.
It's not so bad if you stay ab.so.lute.ly still. Make a move, and you're asking for trouble.
We took 30 cent buses home, and Gurie treated me to a green bean ice cream bar (one quai, or 12 cents): perfection. What did I want to see: shopping, architecture, historical sites, cultural events, food? Yes. I'm especially looking forward to the food. I love to eat, and there is a cornucopia of fantastic options that survived the Cultural Revolution. Plus meals run about 50 cents/meal: finally, an upside to coming from a capitalist pig of a nation. All the same, I was told I'd be looked upon more favorably if I mentioned I was Korean or Korean-American rather than simply American.
What a shock after stopping over in Japan, where they worship all that is Disney and white in the world. Seriously. It's kind of humorous.
It's 8 AM on a Saturday in all of China (one republic, one time zone, I guess); 5 PM on a Friday in Irvine; and 8 PM on a Friday in New York. Gurie's still sleeping, and I have no idea how to get on the internets (darn Linux), but I hope to post this soon.
I was trying to wait it out for her to get up, but I think I have to go ahead and turn on the AC. Brrr. Chill. Sweet.
