- I had a direct flight from LAX to Shanghai.
- I purchased one of those oddly shaped neck pillows.
- I got an aisle seat (well, I got to the airport hours early to make sure I didn't get stuck in the middle).
The bad news:
- I was flying China Eastern (apparently notorious for being awful).
- I was alone, sleep deprived, and nervous.
- The flight is 14+ hours and you lose a day while traveling (pesky 15hr time difference!).
When flying on Chinese airlines, it becomes apparent that American airlines, by comparison, are pretty generous with their seat size, leg room, and baggage rules. I'm not being facetious here. Of course, Chinese airlines, do still serve
But back to my journey. My flight was at noon. I pulled an all-nighter packing. I actually got less done than I planned, because packing, weighing, unpacking, and re-packing completely took over my life. But really, two 50 lb bags when you are bringing books, supplies, and clothing to live/work/travel in China? Not realistic, China Eastern. Many clothes and granola bars were left behind. So, as a result of this packing ordeal, I was exhausted and fried. The positive is that this kind of worked in my favor -- I was too tired to freak out in a panic when I was all alone at the airport, and I was ready to sleep the second I got on the plane!
Honestly, the first 11-ish hours of the flight flew by; I had my new "neck-pillow," I had my new kindle, and I even squeezed a throw blanket into my carry-on. Read. Sleep. Eat/drink. Repeat. Once, we hit hour 12, though, I was ready to land. Really, really ready. The cabin lights kept going on and off, so both sleeping and reading were difficult. Plus, those individual reading lights in the ceiling? Yeah, mine perfectly illuminated the seat next to me. So it did nothing to help me read, and quite endeared me to my sleepy neighbor. Awesome.
"But, Reese, weren't there movies playing?"
"Yes. In Chinese. On a monitor hung from the ceiling. 10 rows away."
So, yeah, those last 2 1/2 hours on the plane were kind of rough. I was just waiting to land and wondering what on earth I was getting myself into, and just how swollen my feet were going to get. I was also envious of all the iPad owners on the plane, and wondering why Chinese people didn't seem to use headphones even though they were playing games with sound effects. I deeply missed Jet Blue's personal monitors with the map channel showing your plane's progress. Eventually, we landed. I know that we were late, but by this point I had lost all sense of time. It was evening; we were late. Don't push me for specifics.
So, we de-board the plane and I follow the herd. The airport is hot and humid! Aren't all airports a stone's throw from being refrigerators? Not in China. There is no one at the customs desk; everyone just walks through. Then, it is time to get in line. There are multiple lines, but I assume that the longest, slowest moving line is where I am supposed to be. This is where Visa's are checked. All visitors are also expected to state where they will be staying while in China. I didn't know the address or name of the hotel I was supposed to stay at, so I just wrote the name of the town. Ms. Visa-Checker did not approve. Eventually, she just had me write down the name of the school and waved me through -- there was a line, after all.
Now it starts to get interesting: I am in China! I have no idea where to go/ what I am doing! I follow the herd into a large room with baggage carousels. There are signs in Chinese, there are numbered carousels, no one ever made an announcement regarding where we should pick up our bags ... I start to flounder. There was 1 operating carousel, but neither of the 2 flight numbers it listed matched the number on my ticket and I didn't recognize any of the people there waiting for their bags. Some of the people from my flight went into another room, but that doorway was marked for people transferring to other flights. I paced the room for awhile, and eventually threw my carry-ons into a baggage cart and walked back to the 1 operational baggage carousel. By this point, it was surrounded by passengers from 4 different flights. Still, no other carousels were running. I stood on my tiptoes to see the coming luggage and waited, and waited.
Eventually my luggage came through. I managed to get all bags onto my luggage cart and then I was once again faced with the question, "Where do I go now?"
Someone is supposed to meet me at the airport, but where? How will I know who it is? He will have a sign, right? He should have a sign. Gasp! I don't have a cell-phone. I don't even know the guy's phone number! This could be really awful. Where am I going? He'll have a sign, right?
I followed people from the baggage claim area through a series of doors. I felt like I would never make it out of the airport. Eventually, we encounter a doorway where a walkway is cordoned off and a crowd of people were clustered on the other side of the ropes. While slowly moving forward, I desperately scan the crowd for a sign with my name. No sign. No sign. Not my name. Not my name --
"R-reese?" a stuttered whisper comes from my right. A thin, nervous man with glasses and a phone to his ear repeats my last name. I nod, and he walks along side the ropes, talking into his phone, as I proceed through the exit. This is Richard. He arrived at the airport early because he confused the time of my flight. Then my flight was late and there was no way for him to reach me, so he was pretty worried. He whisks me toward an airport restaurant and proceeds to order me a ham sandwich with no ham, minestrone soup, and a plate of fruit. The fruit plate is covered in a mayonnaise based dressing and barely edible. I eat the garnishes and sip at a room-temperature Sprite. Richard makes phone calls in Chinese. The driver wants more cigarettes. The waitresses seem to tell Richard all of the stores are closed. Richard starts to tell me that my hotel is not very nice and there may be problems. Welcome to China.
After leaving the restaurant, Richard and I get lost in the Shanghai airport. He and the driver parked at the wrong terminal. Eventually, we work our way to the correct parking structure. The driver does not appear. Again, Richard is worried.
After a phone call, Richard directs, "You. Wait here," and marches off in search of the car.
Some time later, he returns, tells me, "The car is broken. The driver is working on it. You must wait." Then he was off again. Just me, my bags, and the policeman loitering on the curb at the Shanghai airport.
Welcome to China, indeed.
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