China, day 1: the details
Jul. 24th, 2006 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellarienThis is an expanded version of what I typed into my laptop when I arrived in the hotel in Beijing on the 15th.
All the flight connections (Tucson -- Los Angeles -- San Francisco -- Beijing) went smoothly, though there was a glitch with my supposed-to-be-4.15am pickup, due to the van driver failing to find my apartment and going off again without me. I was still at the airport two hours before the flight.
I got a few glimpses of China from the plane window: a silt-red, flooding river, with fat tendrils of tributaries and elaborate meanders [EDIT: after consulting an atlas, I rather suspect that river is actually in the Russian Federation, as we came in over Kamchatka and Sakhalin]; an agricultural landscape thickly scattered with little communities that seem to have all the streets closely spaced and running parallel to one another, with tiny buildings crowded close; bare sandy-looking patches among the fields; a glimpse of the Great Wall snaking along mountain ridges, punctuated with neat square towers.
The airport terminal was quite new and shiny, though not as big as some people had expected. (Despite the picture on the front web page, it doesn't look a bit like the Temple of Heaven.) They're digging up the front lawn, probably for some Olympics-related installation. The entry procedures were quite unalarming, with most of the forms available with English on one side and Chinese on the other. (The exception was the Customs form, where the flight attendants had run out of the English ones before they got back to me, and suggested that we ask the Chinese passengers to help -- which they cheerfully did.)
There were, as I'd half suspected, several colleagues and aquaintances on the same trans-Pacific flight from San Francisco -- among them, to my delight, a woman in my field and about my own age. We found each other in the baggage claim, and stuck more or less together as we went through customs. Out in a crowded arrivals area full of taxi touts, we spotted a young man in a blue shirt holding up a sign with the name of our meeting. He guided us to a bus outside -- though we still had to keep brushing off people trying to grab our suitcases -- and the bus took us to our hotels.
Along the way, I gleaned more impressions: sticky grey air; plenty of car traffic, mostly small cars, but also lots of cyclists; young couples, and pairs of young girls, riding easily sideways on the pillion of a bike; one family with father pedalling, young son standing in front on the crossbar, slightly older daughter riding pillion; barrows of fresh peaches.; hand and bicycle barrows mingling with ordinary city traffic; Construction workers at the airport, stripped to the waist and wearing straw hats. Ornate toll gate between the city and the airport, all curly-peaked roofs and stylized painted decoration; advertizing with bits of mangled English and (once) French for atmosphere; battered Soviet-style apartment blocks and shiny new glass towers. There were not many flowers in evidence, but I did spot roses and something that looked a lot like lilac --- maybe Buddleia?
Checking into the hotel was a bit of an adventure. The bus dropped us in front of the main building, but when we made, as one does, for the reception desk, we were headed off by efficient young ladies who directed us back outside to a little van. The van stopped at Building 3, but the other people with me had been told they were to go to Building 2, so I stuck with them. At the reception there, it turned out (after much examination of passports and checking of lists) that I was in fact supposed to be in Building 3, and no, this could not be changed to put me near my friend. I insisted on hanging around until she'd checked in, so I could get her room number, and then suffered myself to be driven off to the other building. There I was on the list, and, forewarned by having seen it done, was not too alarmed when they insisted on charging a 'deposit' somewhat in excess of the projected bill to my plastic; I figured it was the local equivalent of American hotels taking a credit card impression.
The hotel room, when I finally got to it, was ... a hotel room, with twin beds and all the usual appurtenances. I've seen fancier, but plenty worse, and the plumbing fixtures were (literally) American Standard. The worst problem with it was the faint smell of tobacco smoke. The electrical outlets didn't match what I had bought as an 'Asia' adaptor, but I did have one that worked.
Greatly daring, I made myself a cup of jasmine tea from the water in the kettle, after boiling it several times. Then I did a little unpacking, and finally wound down enough to go to bed about 9pm.
All the flight connections (Tucson -- Los Angeles -- San Francisco -- Beijing) went smoothly, though there was a glitch with my supposed-to-be-4.15am pickup, due to the van driver failing to find my apartment and going off again without me. I was still at the airport two hours before the flight.
I got a few glimpses of China from the plane window: a silt-red, flooding river, with fat tendrils of tributaries and elaborate meanders [EDIT: after consulting an atlas, I rather suspect that river is actually in the Russian Federation, as we came in over Kamchatka and Sakhalin]; an agricultural landscape thickly scattered with little communities that seem to have all the streets closely spaced and running parallel to one another, with tiny buildings crowded close; bare sandy-looking patches among the fields; a glimpse of the Great Wall snaking along mountain ridges, punctuated with neat square towers.
The airport terminal was quite new and shiny, though not as big as some people had expected. (Despite the picture on the front web page, it doesn't look a bit like the Temple of Heaven.) They're digging up the front lawn, probably for some Olympics-related installation. The entry procedures were quite unalarming, with most of the forms available with English on one side and Chinese on the other. (The exception was the Customs form, where the flight attendants had run out of the English ones before they got back to me, and suggested that we ask the Chinese passengers to help -- which they cheerfully did.)
There were, as I'd half suspected, several colleagues and aquaintances on the same trans-Pacific flight from San Francisco -- among them, to my delight, a woman in my field and about my own age. We found each other in the baggage claim, and stuck more or less together as we went through customs. Out in a crowded arrivals area full of taxi touts, we spotted a young man in a blue shirt holding up a sign with the name of our meeting. He guided us to a bus outside -- though we still had to keep brushing off people trying to grab our suitcases -- and the bus took us to our hotels.
Along the way, I gleaned more impressions: sticky grey air; plenty of car traffic, mostly small cars, but also lots of cyclists; young couples, and pairs of young girls, riding easily sideways on the pillion of a bike; one family with father pedalling, young son standing in front on the crossbar, slightly older daughter riding pillion; barrows of fresh peaches.; hand and bicycle barrows mingling with ordinary city traffic; Construction workers at the airport, stripped to the waist and wearing straw hats. Ornate toll gate between the city and the airport, all curly-peaked roofs and stylized painted decoration; advertizing with bits of mangled English and (once) French for atmosphere; battered Soviet-style apartment blocks and shiny new glass towers. There were not many flowers in evidence, but I did spot roses and something that looked a lot like lilac --- maybe Buddleia?
Checking into the hotel was a bit of an adventure. The bus dropped us in front of the main building, but when we made, as one does, for the reception desk, we were headed off by efficient young ladies who directed us back outside to a little van. The van stopped at Building 3, but the other people with me had been told they were to go to Building 2, so I stuck with them. At the reception there, it turned out (after much examination of passports and checking of lists) that I was in fact supposed to be in Building 3, and no, this could not be changed to put me near my friend. I insisted on hanging around until she'd checked in, so I could get her room number, and then suffered myself to be driven off to the other building. There I was on the list, and, forewarned by having seen it done, was not too alarmed when they insisted on charging a 'deposit' somewhat in excess of the projected bill to my plastic; I figured it was the local equivalent of American hotels taking a credit card impression.
The hotel room, when I finally got to it, was ... a hotel room, with twin beds and all the usual appurtenances. I've seen fancier, but plenty worse, and the plumbing fixtures were (literally) American Standard. The worst problem with it was the faint smell of tobacco smoke. The electrical outlets didn't match what I had bought as an 'Asia' adaptor, but I did have one that worked.
Greatly daring, I made myself a cup of jasmine tea from the water in the kettle, after boiling it several times. Then I did a little unpacking, and finally wound down enough to go to bed about 9pm.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-25 12:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-25 06:40 pm (UTC)I've done enough transatlantic travel with a succession of laptops to know that they speak both 110 and 220 volts, as does the battery charger for my camera.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-25 04:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-25 06:46 pm (UTC)