For the Wrong Direction

Had the best of intentions this morning to fly home early.  I’d originally booked a flight back later in the day.  No need, it became clear, searching a travel site.  I could head home late afternoon.  There on line I searched and found plenty of planes heading out and I picked one that was leaving at 4:00PM and cancelled the one I had for 9:00PM.

Saturday at the trade show has a wind-down groove to it, certainly.  Few people, less urgency.  But I got to spend time with a great friend and chat about Egypt and Iran and what we should do to collaborate.   Catching a Di Di when half the streets are brand new and blocked off for the convention, has drivers riding around in circles before they pick you up.  And I still needed to get my luggage from the hotel, but the driver (A Mr. Fang!) was a good bloke who drove quick enough and we got out to the airport with plenty of time  

Up at the counter she asked to see my flight number.  “You don’t see the 4:10PM to Beijing?”  “No.  I don’t.” “Hmmm.”  I pulled out my flight reservation and showed her the receipt, which clearly said a 4:10PM flight . . . from Beijing to Hangzhou.  Right.  I am in Hangzhou.  I had quickly canceled my previous flight and bought a ticket for the wrong direction.

The next flight is a few hours out.  Next flight on the carrier I wanted, was four hours out . . . the flight, of course, I’d earlier cancelled.  Lovely.  They sent me to the wrong terminal, and then the wrong counter.  A guy I reached who was rude and impatient couldn’t use a foreign credit card, only cash.  And yes, eventually I got a ticket on Shandong airlines for 5:00PM, which was a waste of money but only an hour more of my time.

Back of the plane now, considering the rudimentary graphics which Shandong Airlines is forcing me to watch with cartoon people who don’t look especially real evacuating the plane.  The People’s Airforce is looking out for us and because no commercial aircraft is allowed to change its flight pattern for fear that they would operate outside of the PLA’s guiding hand, and accordingly we are forced, as all Chinese planes are, to sail along as planned without any options to adjust the flight pattern, through the turbulence outside is strong. 

I’m buckled up, considering the ground, thirty thousand feet blow.  To my right is a lady with a small child.  I asked how old he was and she suggested he was seven, which would be impossible unless he has a rather dramatic stunted growth case.  He is kicking smashing and lurching and elbowing me and the people in all 360 degree directions.  It’s all right.  I’ve been there.  Most of us have.  And its’ only a two-hour flight, half of which has already passed.  There’s a nice sunset out there.  I’m ready to be home. 

Saturday 9/22/18