A Land Without Color

The final two hours of the flight were pretty uneventful. I felt nearly catatonic as we cruised along. I was too tired to think, but too hyped on adrenaline to sleep. A quick glimpse of Japan as we flew over was a welcomed distraction.

The man sitting next to me got up and walked a lot. When he was seated, I asked him to help me translate a few things on my Visa so I could answer the questions on the customs form.

A third meal was also served. This time it was beef stroganoff with fruit salad. It was all very good but I was even more confused about which meal it was supposed to be (had we just had lunch, dinner, and breakfast…or dinner, breakfast, lunch…and why did we dim the lights between each meal?)

They served one last round of beverages before we began out descent. I kept looking back and forth from the map on my seatback to the view out my window. It looked like we were over brown murky water, but according to the map, we should be over land. As we dropped lower in the stratosphere, I realized, we were over land; the brown murk wasn’t water…it was smog.

The blue sky outside my window gradually disappeared and was replaced by a colorless haze. Looking down, I saw little red-roofed farm houses surrounded by large yards and canals. Soon Pu Dong Airport came into view and it was massive (although I’m not sure it was as big as Schipol or CDG.)

As we touched down, the plane lurched and several of the overhead compartments popped open. Nothing fell out, but several people jumped up to try and reclose them. Looking out my window, I was struck by two things. (1) The haze really was remarkable—I’d obviously expected it to be smoggy and it lived up to every one of my expectations. (2) It looked so normal. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was still in the US.

As we pulled up to the gate, everyone un-did their seatbelts and gathered their things. The man next to me disappeared to the back of the plane (I’m guessing he was traveling with family) so I got up and pulled down my back pack. Re-stowing my travel pillow and double checking that I had everything, I put on my pack and headed off the plane.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, I felt crushed by the heat and humidity. It was hot! I was sweating by the time I got to the top of the jet way. The air was heavy too, and it smelled like a combination of salt and melting plastic.

But the airport wasn’t nearly as crowded as I expected it to be. In fact, I don’t think it was as crowded as the airport in my home town usually is. It wasn’t as tranquil as Vancouver, but it wasn’t loud either. I also noticed that people were very expressive when they talked. There was a lot of smiling and big hand gestures (unlike the Czechs in Prague.)

At the gate, there were rows of little brown shopping carts that people started piling their carryon bags into. About half of the passengers grabbed a cart while the other half just carried their things. All I had was my pack and my tablet case, so I just walked behind the group.

I followed the crowd along a moving sidewalk that went across a bridge over the main terminal. For a brief moment, I saw my reflection in the glass and I was struck at how comfortable and confident I looked. For some reason, even though this was all new to me, I felt like I really knew what I was doing. It seemed so easy.

I think part of the reason it seemed so natural is that there was English everywhere. No one was really speaking it, but all of the signs were in English. There were signs over the water fountains that said “Drinking Water” and the restrooms were all labeled “restroom” with the little man and women caricatures over the doors. I even noticed that most of the advertisements in the airport featured Caucasian models and the brands were all familiar too—Rolex, Accenture, etc. There was more English in that one concourse than there was in all of Prague Ruzyne Airport.

As the end of the bridge, we turned a corner and saw immigration. People with carts parked them—per the instructions of an English sign—and we all rode down on an escalator. At the bottom, there were arrows directing Chinese citizens into one set of lines, Taiwanese citizens into another set of lines, and immigrants into a third set of lines. I followed the other foreigners through the queue.

The line moved quickly and at the front, an officer directed me to wait behind a yellow line for officer 45 to review my passport. I stepped up to the line and waited while officer 45 finished with a middle eastern man. The man must have had a problem with his visa because it took him significantly longer to clear customs than anyone else in line.

When he did, I was waved forward. I slide my passport and customs card under the glass to the customs officer. He wore a blue uniform with black epaulets on each shoulder. Each epaulet had two white stripes on it, and there was a badge that read “police” over his right pocket. As he typed, I looked over the counter at his keyboard. In Prague, the letters had been arranged differently on the keyboard, but here they were the same as back home. In fact, I think he had the exact same key board I have in my office at the Study Abroad office.

He stamped my passport, tore off the ticket on my custom form, and handed them both back to me. I smiled and stepped through the gate.

I looked around for a second to figure out what to do next. There was a baggage claim monitor at the end of the hall, so I headed towards that. Checking the screen, I saw that my bags were coming out at carousel 26. This carousel was just a few feet away so I went to grab my bag. Luckily, it was already out. I pulled it off the tray and started walking

It was then that I realized I didn’t really know where I was walking. Sabrina (the recruiter contact in Shanghai) had said a driver would be at customs with a sign that had my name on it. I just had to figure out where that may be. I looked around and saw a green sign that said “Nothing to Declare” followed by a set of translucent glass doors. It looked like that was my exit.

I walked under the sign and through the doors.

On the other side, there was a mob of people. It was funny because even though there were a lot of people, there weren’t as many as I was expecting. A lot of drivers held signs and kept waiving them to get my attention. Some had names on them and the holder would enthusiastically motion towards me. I shook my head as none of them matched. Others had hotel brands and those drivers would call out a little. One even approached me and said “Sir what hotel are you staying at?”

“Actually, I should have a driver,” I said

“Oh okay,” he said, and returned to finding his next client.

I followed the roped path that led through the pickup cars. None of the drivers had my name on their sign. At the end of the line, was an arrivals board. I walked up to it and stared at it. In my head I thought ok, don’t look lost…just look like you have a plan. In reality, I didn’t have a plan. In fact, I didn’t even care that I looked lost (it wasn’t like I was blending in as a local anyway.)

I turned and looked around. I saw a pay phone. This time (unlike in Europe) I’d brought a list of contact numbers for Sabrina, John, and the apartment building I was living in. I walked to the pay phone and saw that one only accepted calling cards while the other only accepted one yuan coins. There was a booth to exchange currency and I thought I would try to get some coins.

On my way to the booth, I saw a Tourist Information desk with the iconic “i” that filled airports in Europe. Now I had a plan!

I walked up to the information desk. “Excuse me,” I asked. “Can I make a phone call?”

“Yes,” the lady behind the counter said. “Do you have Chinese money?” I pulled out a fifty yuan bill. “I only have this?” I lied.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Is enough.” She turned and said something to the other lady behind the counter.

That lady got up and said, “Follow me.” I walked around behind the counter and she took me into the back room. The back room looked like something out of a jail with phones mounted on the wall in little privacy booths.

“Do you have the number?” she asked. I pulled the sheet out of my pocket. “Start after the 1,” she said pointing a few digits in.

I picked up the phone and dialed Sabrina’s cell phone. There was a message in Chinese and then in English. “We’re sorry, but the person you have called cannot accept calls at this time. Please try again later.”

The woman was standing by the door talking to someone else. I went over and showed her Sabrina’s office number. “What about this one?” I asked

She looked at it. “After the 8,” she said.

I went back to the phone and dialed again.

“Ni Hao,” a falsetto voice on the other line said.

“Hi,” I said. “My name is Zach. I’m an intern and my flight just got in. I was trying to reach Sabrina.”

“Sabrina is not at her desk right now,” the voice said. “Do you have her cell phone?”

“Is it…” I started to read the number.

“Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!” she said. Then the line went silent. After a few seconds she returned. “Read it to me again?”

I did. “Yes that it is,” she said. “Try calling her cell phone.”

“Thank you,” I said and hung up. I re-dialed.

“Ni Hao,” another young voice answered.

“Hi Sabrina,” I said. “This is Zach. I just got off my flight and I didn’t see the driver here to pick me up.”

“Oh Hi!” she said. “Your flight was a little early?”

“It was,” I said.

“Oh okay,” she said. “He is on his way. I will call him and tell him you are there.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Make sure to go back through the line to look for him a few times,” she said. “Maybe you missed him.”

“I will do that,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Ok. See you soon,” she said.

I hung up. The lady by the door came over and looked at her computer monitor. “Three calls is three yuan,” she said. I handed her my green fifty yuan note. She went back out to the main counter. When she returned, she had a handful of yellow and blue bills. “Twenty seven yuan,” she said handing me my change.

“Thank you,” I said, and went back outside.

I was again struck by how uncrowded it was. I looked at the signs of the drivers I could see, before plunging like a salmon upstream through the roped off lines. I looked at one side of signs as I went up towards the customs door and then at the other as I followed the crowd back out. Still no driver.

I walked back over the arrivals board and found a place to stand. It occurred to me that even though I didn’t “blend in” I didn’t seem to stick out either. I got more nasty looks in my first weeks in Europe than I had today. Nobody seemed to even notice I was there.

A young guy with black and green tennis shoes walked by. He looks like he might be an American. I thought. He was pulling a big rolling suitcase and looked about as confused as I felt. We made eye contact a few times, but I was pretty busy scanning the crowd.

When we made eye contact for a third time, I almost went over to say something. He probably speaks English. I figured. His shoes were brighter than anyone else’s, so he must not be from here.  As soon as I thought of doing so, he started walking off. He was making a bee-line for something, and I looked ahead to see where he was going. As I did, my eye caught something.

It was a sign with my name on it.