Away in Roughhewn English

A two-hour commute isn’t uncommon in Beijing.  But a seven-hundred-and-fifty-mile commute is another matter.   They’ve announced this flight will be landing in thirty minutes.  Two-hours vanishes like it was no time at all, on a flight.  Two hours in traffic, on a road, grinds like a dentist drill.  I nodded and smiled when the first young stewardess suggested I should close my laptop in Chinese.  Now a stern, middle-aged stewardess has glared at me and told me electronic devices need to be put away in roughhewn English. 

“I’ll meet you at the Cadillac sign.  This seems is the Di Di meeting point I’ve been trained to use here in Shanghai.  It’s the place in the airport parking lot where everyone seems to go to wait for Di Di’s.  In Beijing always suggest I’ll go to “Di Wu Qu” because there is a sign that says that.  But not every driver knows nor recognizes it.  I call my driver and he says he’s already there. 

I got most of the way to where I’d instructed the guy to go, before I realized I’d entered the wrong location.   This was the location for the subsequent meeting.  I’d cut and pasted the wrong spot.  One call.  No one there.  Another call.  No one there.  “Hey just pull over for a second.”  Texting, calling now, trying to find the name of the destination.  I called myself a “dumb-egg” in Chinese and explained to the driver that our destination would be another location, which he confirmed would be thirty minutes from here.

Later in the afternoon I enter another address in the app.  I’d thought I was going towards the Bund.  It has me sailing up and over to Jing An Temple area.  One thing and then another has meant that I haven’t eaten all day.  On the ride over I pass one and then another neighborhood where I have a mental picture of where I could eat.  But I must start another conference call and decide I’ll get something in the lobby of this hotel. 

I don’t recognize the name of the hotel, but as we arrive I understand that this PuLi hotel is a place I’ve been before.  I met a dear friend here, last year, as I recall.  There’s a long bar in the lobby that approximates a serene view to a garden, though it’s the middle of the city.  I keep muting and unmuting my phone to speak and looking at the menu, I don’t really see anything I can eat discretely while occasionally chatting.  Fine then, a glass of Cotes de Rhone and some olives till I’m done with this call and can organize my thoughts.

Friday, 11/30/18