Wednesday
Should I be describing Beijing
airport in some great detail? What can I say? It’s an airport. (Although
possibly that’s a description in itself – no big difference from Heathrow
except the signs are all in Chinese – that and the fact there were lots of fit
girls wearing long military jackets, standing about not doing much and I think
they were airport staff).
To be honest, having not had a
cigarette for over a day and having been bored off my arse on a plane with no
in-flight entertainment, I was too busy searching for a smoking room to take
any of it in. Robotically following the other passengers to baggage claim and
the rest of it, still with no luck on the smoking room front, I found myself at
the place where I was supposed to be being picked up, looking for my name amongst
the cardboard signs held by a scattering of dishevelled looking Chinese men.
Looking for my name. My name.
First name, last name, then the name of my school. Possibly the name of my
country would be enough? But no, nothing.
I wandered amongst the
thinning crowd, feeling ever so slightly at a loss, confused and dazed, but not
quite willing to take in my situation just yet; I decided to instead resume my
search for a decent place to have a cigarette; then noticed that half the men
in the airport were indeed smoking exactly where they stood. In fact, there was
so much smoke in the air that I could hardly believe I hadn’t noticed this
before.
It was a short time later that
Anna and who I assumed to be her family came into view, marching together in a
bustle of delighted exhilaration. Grandparents, parents and a couple of sisters
I imagined, babbling away in enthusiastic tones. I drew on what must have been
my third cigarette, watching them, wondering if I could, if I should break up
the happy reunion to ask for help – and yes, this is exactly what I should have
done, but instead, as I caught her eye I simply waved, and she waved too, and
that was it.
This was, however, the moment
when I threw my cigarette down and decided that enough was enough and something
had to be done. Searching through my rucksack I found the name and address of
my school written in Chinese. How hard could it be to get there? All I needed
was a taxi.
And that’s exactly what
happened. Walking towards the exit, I was all at once being hassled by a number
of “drivers.” I use inverted commas here because rather than a taxi, the car I
ended up in was a black unmarked car. But I got a good price I reckon. He had
pulled out a little cardboard sign with prices on and insisted that 800 yuan
was the cheapest he’d go, but I knocked him down to 300, which I was quite
proud of.
The drive there was fairly
non-eventful. No paddy fields or rice farmers outside because we were after all
in the heart of the city. He offered me a cigarette, asked me where I was from:
“English teacher!” he shouted.
“Very good!”
Then he went into Chinese and
the rest of our conversation became guess work, with me nodding my head and
saying, “Hao,” at what I hoped were the appropriate moments.
*
This day comes in two parts.
The first, which you’ve just read, was written outside the building of what
should have been my school. Rather than going in straight away I sat on a bench
by some rock gardens to gather myself together and write about the little
disaster that I’d so cleverly overcome. I thought that was it; that I was home
and dry; about to meet new friends and colleagues, start my new life and that
pretty soon I’d be going out to dinner, few beers, telling the story of how
briefly I’d been stuck in Beijing, a stranger in a huge city, not knowing
anyone, unable to speak the language, and with very little survival experience.
Ahhh, shit! You’ve guessed it.
That’s exactly where I’m at now.
Must have gone in every room
of the building. The odd looking foreigner with his piece of paper and broken
Chinese:
“Where the hell is this
school? Face to Face English. School. Xiue Xiao. English school. Face to Face.
Wo shi yinguo laoshi. I’m an English teacher. Face to Face. School. Help.”
Gave up finally because what
else could I do? Need to find a hostel, find someone who speaks English. Some
other foreigners like myself. That’s my job for tomorrow.
As for now I’m sat in the most
amazing hotel room you could imagine. View from the double windows is like some
sort of sci-fi movie. Had McDonalds for dinner, which I took up here and ate on
the balcony. Then watched a Chinese dating show on telly, had a bath, and have
been drinking green tea and reading my book, feeling like a king on this huge
double bed.
So I guess it’s not all bad.
Just a little scary.
*
Okay, one more entry for
today. The most beautiful, and let’s face it, the sexiest girl I’ve ever been within
spitting distance of has just knocked on my door. When I opened up and saw her
I just sort of stood there gawking, and probably dribbling at the mouth; but
then reminding myself that she was in fact a real person and had probably got
the wrong room, I politely told her as much. Didn’t speak Chinese, just said,
“No,” and, “Sorry,” and pointed to my room number, gesturing with my arms that
it wasn’t this number that she wanted.
Anyway, thought I’d write this
down. Having trouble sleeping to be honest.
Also, the thought has hit me
that possibly she did have the correct room after all and I just turned away
the girl of my dreams.
