ARRIVAL Sunday April 6th, 2008
We arrived to the international
airport in Shanghai late afternoon. We emerged from the plane in a bit of a
daze. Just as we often stood out in Africa, we also stand out in China. While I
do not feel threatened or exposed, I am very conscious of the many eyes that
watch me as I wait for my suitcases. Some stare in confusion, some smile shyly
and others giggle and avert their gaze as I pass.
Despite the throngs of
people, the airport was spotless. A pungent smell slowly unveiled the truth
behind the initial appearance and I was hit by a wave of commercial bleach
coupled with the odor of decaying rags. (With time we would find that – cliché,
cliché – things were not always as they appeared in China.) To my right a man
drinks his soda eagerly and then shakes it a bit. Empty. He tosses it to the
floor and I watch, astonished, as a woman dressed in a generic issued cleaning
outfit scuffles over and discreetly scoops the can into her garbage sack. While
waiting for our suitcases I realize that he is not an anomaly and that many people
drop their garbage on the floor, not even feigning interest in finding a
wastebasket.
We swam along in a sea of
people, not exerting any effort to move forward. This was slightly amusing and
culturally mesmerizing until I realized that I was stuck, I had lost sight of
Andy, and a stranger was grasping onto my belt buckle. Was he tickling my waist
or was I being paranoid? As a New Yorker, I am not a stranger to a bit of
scuffling on the streets when people are eager to arrive at their destination. In
this airport however, I was taken aback by the aggressive bustling-forward-pushing-shoving-butting-and-grunting
that took place. I quickly saw that the street rules that apply in New York - flash
an abashed smile and mouth excuse me towards
the person you pushed as you race past - do not translate, culturally or
linguistically to China.
I am a character in a
cartoon, simultaneously dodging elbows, suitcases, and strangers intent on
passing me. I take refuge near the wall when I realize a group of migrant workers,
heaving forward sacks of rice and boxes tied with twine, are barreling towards
me. Children are being dragged behind, one holding onto the coat tails of the
next but they dawdle upon seeing me, leading to a barrage of curt shouts from
their impatient parents. They are not smiling. And in fact, I am plastered to
the wall.
People in uniform mill
about but their function seems limited. Does each headshake, nod and glare hold
a cryptic yet authoritative meaning to which foreigners are not privy? Even those
who were not wearing official costumes seemed to be officials of sort. I
wandered off in search of the toilet, following the universal signs, and
entered a narrow passageway towards the back of the airport. I giggled when, in
the distance, I spotted a tall Aryan man who stood out just a wee bit.
Breathing deeply I felt as
if I had been transported back in time to Eastern Europe during some of its
darker days of communism. My shoes click clacked and for some reason, I began
to walk on my tiptoes down the dank and gloomy hallway. The hallway was lined
with tiny windowless offices packed with women frantically typing on their
keyboards. I stood at their door for a moment but no one even glanced in my
direction and I wondered if anyone had even noticed me. It was a bit surreal.
The rest room heralded
three Western style toilets and three Turkish style toilets. The doors to the
stalls of the three Turkish toilets were open and women were squatting and
conversing with their friends, pausing occasionally to concentrate on their
endeavor. I opened the stall door to one Western style toilet and a woman was
crouched on top of the toilet seat, pants around her ankles. When getting a
sense of the other two Western toilets I realized that her improvisation was
actually quite hygienic and well, her pant cuffs would not get splashed. But,
as one woman sat down in front of a squatting friend and handed her a bucket of
water in a plastic orange bucket, I suddenly found myself rushing
out walking backwards from the loo.
I simply shook my head at
Andy since some things are better left unsaid and some images should be deleted
from ones memory base. Our driver was waiting outside for us and we entered the
car, ready for adventure.
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