A Germophobe's Return to Asia: GOODBYE SHANGHAI

My 13 hour flight from Shanghai to Toronto was the most enjoyable 13 hour plane ride I've ever had. After all, when you have your own personal jet of air that you can adjust in 1000s of ways who can complain? Just because every 15 minutes the air coming out of this nozzle would suddenly switch from odorless bliss to emergency venting of the pressurized gasses stewing in the sewage tank of the airplane isn't any reason to express dissatisfaction with the flight.

After all, my lungs had already been through worse. I was like a war veteran looking the enemy in the eye and saying "I dare you."

Except I shut off that valve faster than a Walmart super shopper making a run at the last X Box on Black Friday.

I arrived in Toronto at 7pm local time and had an 11 hour layover. I wasn't about to spend that in the airport, and so had reserved a room at a nearby hotel. The plan was to not sleep on the plane (and other than dozing off for about an hour I was fairly successful at that) so that I could sleep in the hotel and kick-start my return to EST sleep habits.

However, like all good plans, reality met it and slapped it across the face, kicked it in the groin and then spat on its quivering remains. I was just starting to doze off a bit when my alarm jolted me out of bed at 2:30 so that I could shower and catch the shuttle back to the airport.

Why so early?

Well, as everyone who is anyone knows, the wise and nobly apathetic TSA says that for international flights a smart fella would get there three (3) hours ahead.

This is how you write the number 3 in Chinese.

Thus, for my 6am flight I'm here at the United Airlines counter at 3:15, calmly standing here with several other compliant passengers, all of us looking around anxiously like we expect the police to bust in from any direction (but really trying to spot the UA personnel from afar so as to reassure our nervous selves that we’re not insane for being here at the airport at 3:15 am).

It was kinda like this except… no, it was exactly like this.

At EXACTLY 4am, and not a second sooner, 3 ladies and 2 men come out of nowhere to the counters like ninjas surprising an unsuspecting pigeon. They settle themselves at the counter. They adjust their chairs. They type stuff. They move stuff around on the counter. They count stuff. (I have reason to believe that they take inventory of the universe before looking any of us pathetic customers in the eye.) One comes out to straighten the cordon lines. Then she goes back to repeat the steps just listed in case any were missed or done below her high standard of quality.

Dear United Airlines. Can you MOVE any slower?

Any sense of urgency they might have is well concealed behind a professional look of apathy and bureaucratic piety.

Finally by 4:12 they start processing passengers. When I get up to the counter (which wasn’t too long because I was there so eyeball-shatteringly early I was #3 in line), after processing my reservation and handing me a boarding pass, I am told to go "quickly" to immigration as there is not much time now before my flight.

Ah, I see. Urgency is one of those things you give to others and are careful not to horde for yourself. Seems wise. In fact I should have thought of this and got here earlier.

Oh wait. I DID.

Properly advised, I scurry along at a pace designed to cater to the sense of urgency I've been given and yet not look like I've just stolen this carry-on I'm dragging behind me and I'm running from its former owner. Since I'm one of the first several people going down this route, customs and immigration and security are happily lightning-fast. The yawning customs officer, checking my passport, asks me how long I have been in Canada. "Oh, about 9 hours" says I. When that look of "get the hell outta here, eh?" gets thrown my way I inform the nice man that I had a layover. His yawn was more than enough to communicate that his interest in my story had sufficiently waned and I was free to move along.

And so I am through and walking to my gate.

Now, like most airports, after you get through security and into the terminal you are greeted by many places where you could stop and shop were you not immensely anxious to get to your gate to get a good seat so you can sit for a long, long time hoping to be the first few standing in line for a long, long time so that you can be the first few on the plane so you can sit for a long, long time.

Plus there’s the added advantage of finding a spot for you carry-on luggage in the nearly unlimited storage space provided on the plane.

I find that I am hungry. However, while the nexus of the terminals naturally has all manner of shops, including many choices where one could get food, none are open at 4:30am.

Well-placed signage directs me to the right for my gate. To the right is a long hallway that gently curves out of the line of sight to the right. It is well lit, and wide, with white walls and various posters and advertisements all the way down each side. And there is no one as far as the eye can see except for a lonely janitor pushing a cart at a reckless mile or two an hour. One of the wheels on the cart has a squeak.

I begin my journey toward the gate, my footsteps echoing. The janitor’s wheel squeaking.

A light flickers.

In the distance, a dog yelps suspiciously.

I continue walking, and what with a normal walking pace for an average-sized biped using no means of assisted locomotion, I pass this jackrabbit of sanitation engineering as though he were standing still.

After about 2 minutes, I come to the end of this well-lit corridor where there is a T intersection. The sign points me to the left for my gate, and I head down that way. There’s a junction between the section I’m in and the next section of long hallway with a sign that reads “7 minute walk to the next gate.”

Yikes. Fortunately I arrived here weeks before the plane is scheduled to depart, so 7 minutes seems like it would not be a problem. Except that the next corridor looks, well, scary.

If I a woman by myself I'd be nervous. Ok, I’m a man and I was nervous.

You’ll note that the forbidden corridor to the right of the glass wall has lights, whereas my corridor does not.

Such long and scary walks only serve to increase my hunger. So imagine my hope and expectant joy upon seeing a sign for a bagel place ahead, allegedly located at the gate next to mine! I’m especially enthused since the sign says BREAKFAST ANYTIME. That certainly has promise.

Except it is not open yet.

Ah Canada. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways... Done.

I take a seat, whip out a book and start burning time. There’s one other dude here staring intently into a laptop. He does not even look up at my arrival, and I’m perfectly fine to share his belief that interaction with a human being in a creepy out of the way gate with no security and inadequate lighting and lots of places for one to stash a body is simply asking for more trouble than one needs.

After about 10 minutes of this silence, a lady arrives at the gate, complaining about the lack of open breakfast places and the "creepy" walk to this gate. Part of me wants to burst into creepy laughter so she will decide not to talk to me again, but wisdom prevails. (I did not do so.)

Which brings me to the end of my Asian Adventure. It’s only been a little over two weeks but I miss the comforts of home, and look very much forward to things like ice in my drink, pizza, vegetables that I can spell, meats not still stuck to entrails, high speed internet that is reliable and just works, signs and verbal communication in Spanish with a little English sprinkled in for old times’ sake, and most importantly my wife and kids, whom I miss more than any of those other things. And when I get home, I plan to order REAL Chinese food to celebrate my return to the free world.

In the meantime, here are some other random pics from my adventure that didn’t quite fit in the narrative. Enjoy. Or not.

Bangalore

The glass standing between me and The Mist-inspired flying insects outside this window is slowly eroding away. I was given cause to fear having discovered this on day one.

A view out of my hotel room window. That's just a little bit of the poverty here that puts American poor people to shame.

The sink. One must stick their head into the bowl to see this. Why would I have done so? How else would I have seen this???

The Moldy Orchid shows yet more of its finer qualities. This is another part of the sink.

That's not dust up there. If you get close enough the furry hairs of the mildew and mold reach out toward you as though hungry for meat.

Here's where I kept my stash. That's like 20,000 rupees in there, man. I would have been rolling in it had I thought those rupees were freshly printed and untouched by billions of unwashed hands.

That's my shoe. I wanted proof that I was in fact there in Bangalore. It's blurry because I walk fast.

Rubble. Why not?

Part of my walk from the hotel to the office. In general the area is pretty nice, if you ignore the smell from the river.

More of the walk to work. Some of those spots on the street are things you don't want to step in and track into your hotel room or the office. I had mentioned the plethora of canine gang members about. This is how they mark their territory.

I was always afraid when walking under that bar that it would fall on my head. Every time.

Guards in front of the golf course entrance next to the hotel. You can decide if I talk of the humans or the canine.

Hotel lobby is deceptively nice here at the Musty Orchid. I've heard from others who have stayed here that if you're lucky enough to get a room on a lower floor you can hear the rats scurrying about in the walls and ceiling.

They must know that visitors from places like America are likely to need more than the normal amount of toilet paper in any given day. I respect their wisdom.