The Miracle of Flight

After a chaotic fight to hail a cab that involved my friends begging, pleading, and being half dragged down a hectic Chinese street, I was on my way to the airport last Wednesday for a furious Labor Day excursion to Yunnan Providence.

Traveling to the airport certainly isn’t the worst aspect of living in Asia, but flying in China does involve a little bit of courage and a lot a unpredictability

1. Whether you choose noodles or rice for the in-flight meal, you have about the same likelihood of monopolizing one of the toilet closets while trying to throw up and not get thrown out of the stall in the process. I must have a stomach coated with steel after Kenya and now China. On the way to Yunnan we were served what looked and smelled suspiciously like dog food.

2. Chinese airport security has the same impartiality and consistency as the hall monitors of old. When flying to Huangshan, one of my friends had her jelly confiscated but not her peanut butter. We met someone on top of the mountain that was denied peanut butter but could keep his jelly. This time the brutes of aviation insisted on opening and sniffing everything in my FAA approved toiletry bag. My yellow curly hair gel certainly threw them into “potential threat mode”. They left me the gel but took my small container of contact solution after they let me put some in my contact case (because the liquid is obviously considered a threat if they actually let me use it like directed on the bottle).

Go south of China and security is a little lax. In Thailand someone forgot to lock the slide doors to the runway. Thinking we were late, we rushed out to catch the shuttle bus to the flight. I lead the way, prepared to hold the bus for my friends. The mistake was corrected the moment I stepped outside and realized no bus was available to be caught. The door slid closed behind me and locked. My friends and I stared at each other through the thin glass door before the powers that be at the airport felt sorry for me and let me into the airport.

3. When all else fails, follow the herd of Chinese experts.

My friend and I finally made it to the plane Wednesday, settled into our seats, and half listened as the flight attendants went through the safety protocol. One word caught our attention “Yiben”…specifically, “Your trip to Yiben”. We bought a direct flight to Kunming so my friend and I were confused. Is that the name of the airport? Does the flight go to Yiben after Kunming? Are we just misunderstanding the stewardess?

The name was repeated over and over again to the point that when the plane landed, we had no idea where we were. Even when the flight attendant welcomed us to Yiben, we were dumbfounded.

In typical desperate-foreigner fashion, we glanced around to see what all the other people on the flight were doing. Everyone was getting off the plane so we stepped off as well.

It turns out that Yiben is the Chinese air travel version of Breezeway, Pennsylvania. (Those of you that have made the Ohio to DC trek know what I am talking about.) As soon as we stepped off the plane, we were given an East Grand Canyon ticket as a voucher to get back on the plane that was nowhere near East Grand Canyon (to my knowledge). We were led into a “waiting room” not a terminal.

We took a seat, watching all the Chinese passengers make frantic calls on their cell phones. Somehow knowing the Chinese citizens were just as confused as us was very comforting.

After about fifteen minutes, an assertive older Chinese woman pointed at us before pointing out to the plane. Taking the hint, we were half thrown through a large crowd back onto the runway. A flight attendant took our East Grand Canyon ticket, and we returned to our seats. Completely baffled, we continued on to Kunming.

Even though buying train tickets in China should be considered a combative sport, it’s better than taking a plane.