The First Floor

It’s official. I’ve been in China for 2 weeks! 

I’m practically Asian. In fact, if you listen closely, I will amaze and wow you with fluent Chinese expressions like, “hello,” “thank you,” “this,” “where is the bathroom,” and “I want to eat food.” See? I’m an expert. 

It’s crazy how long it feels like I’ve been here already. 2 weeks? It might as well be 2 months. (But I’m glad it’s not, because if my Chinese is still at this level in 2 months I might as well just hire an Asian to walk around with me and be my translator, cause then I’d be hopeless). 

Now that I’ve been here 2 weeks, I think it’s time to describe my first (I’m sure of many to come) traumatic experience in China. An adventure that was thrust upon me as soon as I arrived in China 2 weeks ago: getting lost in the airport…for almost 2 hours.

We begin this tale at the Detroit airport on October 24 of this year. I had just taken my first connecting flight from Charlotte in the wee hours of the morning, and I was waiting in the airport terminal for 3 hours until the Beijing flight was ready to take off. 

Already I could tell that this flight was going to be different from my previous flight. For starters, I was one of 12 Americans out of the 150 passengers who were going to Beijing. What? You mean to tell me that I’m flying to China with a bunch of Chinese people?! I know, shocker. So at this point, I’m surrounded by many, many individuals who do not speak English. 

At the time, I thought this was one of the coolest things ever. I was appreciating this cultural difference because it was new and mildly exciting. Reality was beginning to sink in: I was really going to China. 

The plan ride was pretty uneventful. Fortunately, although I was surrounded by Asians in the adjacent seats, I was seated next to one of the Americans on the flight. AND we had an empty seat between us so we could spread out a bit. Let’s just say on a 13 hour flight, sometimes one needs to spread out.

I tried to get some sleep, but my body just wasn’t having it. I did pee on the plane though. Ok, rephrase: I used the airplane bathroom (something I told myself at the beginning of the flight I WASN’T going to do. But 5 hours in nature called, and if I didn’t answer the phone…well, you can probably imagine what would have happened). 

Anyway, 5 free movies, 3 meals, 2 snacks, and 13 hours later, I arrived in Beijing. Exciting, right? Well, I did what any other world traveling expert would have done when I got there: I followed the giant mass of people who looked like they knew where they were going. Luckily for me, they knew exactly where to go…the baggage claim. 

My bag was one of the last ones to be popped out onto the conveyor belt, but I had a pretty good idea of where to go next. The customs/domestic transfers area was directly behind me, and that’s where everyone else from my flight was headed, so why not me, right? With luggage in tow, I wheeled over to the security desk and showed the guard my ticket only to be promptly told in broken English that I was going the wrong way. 

“Upstairs. You need to go upstairs.”

“Ok…thanks. How do I get upstairs?”

*some gesturing and vague finger pointing*

“Ok, thanks.”

Slightly daunted, but happy to be corrected before I erred, I started walking in the direction she pointed. 

PAUSE: A few things I should mention first….I haven’t flown by myself ever, and the last time I flew on a plane was in 1998 (for all you non-math people out there, I was 6 years old). Second, I was toting around heavy and awkward luggage (a heavy duffle, a backpack, and a wheelie thingie…yes, that is the technical term). Third, the section of the airport I was in resembled a football field. I am not exaggerating. It was large and about as big as the track that runs around a football field. Oh, and a very important thing I also should mention, there was no air-conditioning. It was probably about 87 degrees, at least, and there were a couple office fans by no AC. 

At this point in our tale, I had taken a lap around the airport, trying to locate an escalator, stairs, or an elevator that would take me to the next floor. I had been awake for about 22 hours, was tired, and feeling a little worried. I tried to ask someone else for help and was directed to a baggage claim office nearby. I waited there for about 20 minutes before I was told that I needed to go upstairs, but I was not given directions on how to get there. 

I took another lap and asked 2 ladies at a money exchange for help. They couldn’t help me. I took another lap, partly feeling like I was missing something and partly feeling like the upstairs didn’t exist. I must have walked in circles at least 5 times in that airport, and by this time everyone from my flight was long-gone, so the area was pretty empty of fellow travelers. 

At last, I saw some stairs. This must be it! I started dragging my bags toward this sweet freedom when another female guard stopped me and pointed me away while jabbering in Chinese. I almost cried. At this point, I was over the “cuteness” of the cultural differences between Asians and myself. I wanted a white person to speak English to me. Nothing would have made me happier at this moment. 

I start to take another lap when I notice something that should have been pretty obvious to me. About 40 feet away from the stairs was a sign that read “Customs.” I had never seen this sign in the many pilgrimages I took around the airport, so obviously they erected it while I was heading for the stairs.

I sheepishly approached the guards at the entrance and asked them if this was how to get upstairs. It was! I was saved and wouldn’t die in the Beijing airport! I was rejoicing to myself, at least I was until I arrived on the second floor.