Fat Kid on the Metro

The metro is the most unbelievable thing! It makes the NYC subway feel like wide open spaces. We are all supposed to get in line and wait for the train to pull in. Getting in line is not something the Chinese understand; however, they are excellent at crowding. The tunnel is blocked by a huge clear plastic wall. (So no stories about falling on the third rail.) There are lines on the floor that show where we are supposed to queue in front of the plastic. On this particular day, I was aiming for the last car and the arrows indicated that everyone wanting to get on should crowd to the right and leave a space on the left for people to exit.
This particular time I had a place pretty close to the front. The crowd was doing a decent job of staying on the proper side. Out of nowhere, this chunky little kid walks right up to the doors on the exit side. Being the aggressive American my first thought was to tell him to get his behind to the back of the line. Alas, I have yet to learn that phrase in Chinese. You better believe I was giving him a dirty look, though!

There are subway monitors. They are very much like hall monitors. They wear sashes and tell people to get in place and have no real authority. The subway monitor on this day approached and told the kid to scoot over. Of course, he scooted over right in front of me.

Finally, the train pulls into the station and people start to crowd in toward the doors. I’m getting pushed from behind and I’ve got this kid right in front of me. To push or not to push? That is the question. On the one hand he is just a kid of maybe 11. On the other hand, the butterball cut in front of me. I’m doing a really good job of not pushing him when I realize that he’s just standing there. Everyone is getting on around him! They’re filling up all the space on the train and I’m about to get left off.

I pushed him. It’s not like I knocked him on his ass. It was much too crowded for him to fall that far! I was wearing my backpack on the front (to keep from getting pick pocketed) and I just sort of ran it into him. He lurched forward into the subway car and landed against a couple of people inside. I jumped into the car behind him.

One of the great things about the Chinese is that they are mostly non-confrontational. The kid just took it! I grabbed hold of the overhead handrail as the train took off. I was deep in thought. On one hand, I was feeling a little bit guilty about shoving the kid. On the other hand, I was thinking, that whole thing about the Chinese not being fat is a load of crap!

The Trip - A Story in Four Parts

Part 1: Pre-departure Ponderings

I don't want to waste my battery before the longest leg of the trip but I am brimming with emotions so I'm just going to jot down a few things.

1. Mom held together surprisingly well though I thing she might lose it when she gets home and sees Rosie.

2. I am incredibly excited; the kind of excited that quickly rotates me through stupid grins, unprovoked giggles and choking back tears.

3. The choking back tears comes when I think of mom. I hate making her sad. I hate it but I know I have to live my life. It breaks my heart to think of her alone. But I won't be like my Memaw who spent 20 years doing nothing but caring for her mother. I know it is so noble and selfless but she missed so much. I won't let that be me. I tell myself that mom will get used to my being gone. I know that if I'm happy at least part of her is happy for me.

4.When airport personell asked my final destination I was excited to tell them and really proud when they called me adventurous. Adventurous! That's a word I like to be called. What is the opposite of adventurous? Nothing comes to me right now but whatever the word is, that's what my life is about avoiding. Maybe static versus dynamic are good opposites. I cannot be static. I must be dynamic.

Part 2: The LAX connection

Take note: the more electronics you pack in your bag, the more likely you are to be tagged by security.

After watching Behind Enemy Lines during the flight (one of the good movies Owen Wilson did before the downward spiral) my neighbor struck up a conversation. He traveled to Asia frequently for business. He gave me some really great pointers. He also said he was envious of the adventure I was having. We all know how much I loved to hear that! I was feeling pretty good when I stepped off the plane.

My ticket to Taipai didn't list a gate so I sought out the information board. Under the 'Gate' column, it read "TBIT". I'm sorry, what? Everything else had something very recognizable like A4 or C20. But nooo, mine is some kind of acronym. I sought out an employee who told me it's Tom Bradley International Terminal. Ohhhhh. So I made the short walk to the separate building and got into yet another security line.

Let me point out that your ability to move through security depends greatly on how tired you are. I was very tired. I laid all my things on the belt and stepped to the guard. "Shoes," she says. Oh right. I take those off and get back in line. She then points to the rectagle shape in the middle of my shirt and asked, "What's that?" (Again, I was really tired.) Instead of saying that it was my travel pouch, I raised my shirt to show her. She laughed and said, "You don't have to show me. Just tell me." She informs me that I can take it off and run it through the belt or get patted down. My choice. Well, since the guard hadn't even bought me a drink yet, I certainly wasn't letting her pat me down. Finally, I walked past the guard just in time to see a large security man stop the xray belt and pick up a bag. Yup. It's mine. He told me he was going to open it. Oh, he opened it alright. Then he took out EVERYTHING. Really, sir? I have a flight to catch! He goes through all of it and I try not to look panicked because I know it will be read as suspicion instead of fear of missing my flight. (At least, in my over-zealous imagination that's what I'm thinking.)

Anywho, I was finally given all my possessions back and allowed to repack them. I checked the clock and walked quickly toward my gate. The currency conversion station caught my eye. Did I have enough time? Maybe. I wasn't sure how much farther it was to the terminal. While I debated this, they called my name overhead and told me to report to the terminal. Oh god. Was it because of the security check? Were they going to tell me my ticket was not good because American Airlines issued it to me instead of China International? I'm sure if I hadn't been so incredibly tired this wouldn't seem to hold such potential for disaster as it did in that moment.

I arrived, panting, at the terminal to find all they wanted to do was give me a different boarding pass that has my gate printed on it. Now? Now they wanted to let me know what my gate was?

As they're handing me my pointless, after-the-fact, tree killing, new ticket, they started announcing that the flight had been delayed. Of course it had. I broke a sweat getting there so I could wait longer. I guess it really didn't matter. I had a six hour layover in Taipai. Anything that would take away from that was for the best.

So now the boarding has begun. I'll give you an update in Taipai. I very much hope my update is something to the effect of, "Slept 10 hours straight. Don't remember a thing!."

Part 3: 5 Hours in Taipai

I'm going to be hungry for the next 365 days. I'm stuck in the airport and I don't recognize any of the food on the menu. I know, I know. I need to put on my big girl panties and start trying new stuff. I'll start tomorrow. Ha! I guess I'll start tonight if I plan on eating any dinner! Haha! I can't believe I've gotten myself into this.

I packed my electrical converter kit so I could charge my computer in the airport. Well, I just went through a rather complicated process of connecting the computer to the power cord and the power cord to the '3 to 2' plug and the '3 to 2' plug to the converter and the converter to the adaptor and the adaptor to the outlet. It didn't work. Who knows what went wrong. Eiether way, the end result is that I won't have my computer much longer. I guess that's alright. My e-reader and iPod are pretty well charged.

I slept for less than half of my 14 hour flight. That was much less than I had hoped for. They served dinner the moment we were at altitude. I was starving so I held my eyelids open long enough to scarf it down.

I was feeling pretty lucky about my seating. It was on the isle in the middle set of seats - very front row. Just as I was patting myself on the back for this accomplishment I put no effort into, I started to realize the faults. The primary difficulty was the lack of a seat in front of me, i.e. no place to stow my bag. Then the couple next to be sat down with a tiny baby. Then the flight attendant proceeded to attach a basinet to the wall in front of us. The basket attached directly to the wall directly in fromt of me - so much for all that space gained by being in the front row. Of course, the baby was still nursing so the mother was throwing a blanket over herself every hour. I know it's an unavoidable law of nature but I'd really rather that law be carried out further away from me. The final challenge was that the reading lights were over the head of the mother and infant. I couldn't turn it on without blinding the baby. Stupid Sony eReader with no back light!!!

The only other challenge was my own fault. There were screens on the walls in front of my row. I spent the majority of the flight assuming they didn't work so I wasn't going to get to watch any movies. Only in hour 10 did I realize that I had my own screen tucked into the arm of my seat. Arrrrrghghghgh! (I was torn about sharing this story because on the one hand, it's funny and on the other hand, I look like a complete moron!!)

So here I am in the terminal with 4 and half hours to go. I'm feeling rather cranky but I think that's reasonable. I'm very much looking forward to my hotel this evening. Until then, at least the terminal is lit so I can use my e-reader!

Part 4: Arrival

I'm here. I'm exhausted. Goodnight.

Packing and Parents

Packing is a strange beast. It is really fun and completely frustrating all at the same time. I've had a little trouble sticking with a single approach. On Sunday, I made a really great list of everything I wanted to pack including each specific shirt, pill bottle and Hershey bar. On Monday, I began to pull everything out of the closet. As I placed the clothes into neat piles, I couldn't imagine what I had been thinking on Monday when I made the list. I tossed the list and decided to make it up as I went. On Tuesday, I tried to put everything into the suitcases. It didn't fit. I dug through the trash and pulled the list out. I started marking off things I could do without. (Sadly, the Hershey bar was cut.) I pulled the non-essentials out of the bags. On Wednesday, I decided my list (the one rescued from the trash) was too messy so I rewrote it - with changes, of course, Both bags zipped and meet all airline regulations. At least, I assume they meet regulations. You trying comprehending the impressively complicated and wordy international luggage guidelines for, not just one but, two airlines.

Of course, not everything is in there yet. I've still got to pack socks and chones (that's what my sister - and most of Mexico - calls panties). I'm kind of still using those things! I'm pretty sure there's enough room for everything. I mean, if you eyeball a pair of socks and then multiple that by 15 and try to determine if there's that much space still in the suitcase . . . I think it's gonna fit. Maybe I should go check again.

Gotta go!

Well, one more thing before I return to my current obsession. My parents are making leaving rather stressful. A few months back my father was sent home on disability for back pain. My mother, during this time, started suffering knee pain. She ended up needing surgery. Not to be outdone, my father went to the knee doctor and was scheduled for surgery a week after mom. Just as I got my mother on the path to recover, my father's surgery went poorly and he is now on crutches for a month. So I'm taking care of him when my mother gets a nasty upper respiratory infection. I'm nursing her back to health when my father falls from his crutches in the middle of the night and knocks his head on the counter. Seriously?!?!?! How am I supposed to leave these people by themselves?

I know it's not the norm and they're not doing it on purpose so I shouldn't be frustrated about it. Still . . .

You know, back in the day, I'm fairly certain my mother told my Air Force recruiter I was gay in an attempt to keep me from joining. (This was before "Don't Ask Don't Tell".) Is it really such a far stretch to believe that she scheduled surgery now to sway my decision to leave? Nahhhh, that's ridiculous. She wouldn't do that. I'm sure she wouldn't do that. I am mostly sure she wouldn't do that.

I have to go eyeball my luggage now.

slightly obssesed

I got an email from my English First contact. It said the final paperwork I needed to apply for my visa had been mailed. My heart began to race until I saw the last sentence. It included a DHL tracking number. Then, instead of feeling like I was flying, I felt like I was sitting on the runway and realizing the dumbest member of the refueling crew had been assigned my plane.

I have a bit of a history with DHL. They have messed up - no, no, 'messed up' is too mild - they have completely FUBARed deliveries on three separate occasions. (Don't think I'm the one who kept going back to them. All of these deliveries were initiated by international organizations.) DHL has left me hanging with military paperwork, financial paperwork and an 'overnighted' credit card while I was in a foreign country. You try tracking down a package in Spanish! I convinced the lady I was living with to call DHL for me. She got into a yelling match with the customer service rep. I wasn't entirely sure what she was saying but I wanted her to know that I appreciated her efforts. I repeatedly leaned over her shoulder and hollered into the phone, "Si! That's right, senora!" I said these things with what was intended to be a Spanish accent as if that was going to somehow make my words more comprehensible. Additionally, I'm fairly certain that my accent wasn't so much Spaniard as it was Mexican gangster.

I had taken to spitting every time I saw a DHL truck.

Because of their pathetic record, I thought it best to follow this package's travels closely. I had already found the customer services number so that I could call as soon as I saw the package heading to Istanbul. You think I'm exaggerating? When they were supposed to deliver my credit card to Seville, Spain, it was deposited in Nashville, TN. I kid you not!

I copied and pasted the tracking number into the online tracking system. The listing said that the package had already traveled from Guangzhou to Honk Kong. Good start. A few hours later, I checked it again and found that the package already left Hong Kong and was headed for the US. Somewhere around this point, I became slightly obsessed. I started checking it's progress almost hourly.

8:00 - no change
9:00 - no change
9:15 - forbade myself from checking again
9:30 - no change!
10:57 - package arrived at sort facility in Cincinnati
11:30 - left house in attempt to not check tracking status
12:30 - stopped at public library to check tracking status
13:30 - package processed at facility in Cincinnati
14:30 - handed laptop to mother in attempt to break vicious cycle
15:30 - threatened mother to give laptop back or else!
16:30 - no change
etc, etc, etc. . .

Anyway, long story short, I signed for the package at 10:30 this morning! Despite their poor history, they actually delivered the paperwork to me in a very timely manner. I was completely shocked and pleased. So I guess that moves DHL up in the ratings to a -2.

Happy New Year From the Girl Without a Visa

It is January 1st and I have no visa and no plane ticket. It is mildly frustrating. If you've ever planned a big event you know that having too much time to think about it is a bad thing. Little thoughts creep into my mind. Maybe I should be looking at graduate work instead. I wonder if that photography venture with my dad would work out. Don't get me wrong. I want to go to China. I very much want this adventure.

I want this adventure so much that I sit and worry about all the things that could keep me from going. You have no idea how many scenarios I've dreamed up about what could go wrong. I've got a military background. What if the Chinese government doesn't let me in because they think I'm a spy. I've worked with a church group. What if they won't let me in because they think I'm a missionary? I've got Rheumatoid Arthritis. What if they don't let me in because they think I'm a medical burden? This week I smashed my leg into a fixture at work (I know, very talented) and my father had me convinced that the bone was fractured and I would need a cast. Now I'm obsessed with avoiding random injuries that may prevent my departure. If you know me, you know that's a pretty big feat!

My leg is fine, by the way, in case you were worried.

Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to live by the immortal words of Ferris Bueller. "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." My life is going on right here and right now. It doesn't start if and when I get to China. I've got family to love and friends to spend time with and books to read and, of course, Rosie the Pug.

Waiting sucks. But I'm going to make sure I'm living and not just waiting. Call if a New Year's resolution if you want.