Sunday, September 25, 2005

Shanghai I

This broadcast is being transmitted on time delay from my laptop, which is currently about 39,000 feet over the pacific ocean someplace a few hundred miles east of Japan.

I had figured my blog-worthy experiences would start when I arrived. But they started on the plane.

I think part of humans' tendency to be culturally suspicious comes from our inner animal and the fact that folks who live differently from us (have different behaviors, rituals, products and foods) are going to smell different.

So the Chinese gentleman next to me, whose grasp of English exceeds my grasp of mandarin by 2 words (He knows "beer" and "coke"), is traveling with others whom I can only assume are business companions. Early in the flight, he’s got the munchies, and a companion offers him a strange yellow package. It’s Chinese, so it could have contained spaghetti or it could have contained dynamite, and I’d not have had a clue from the packaging. Turns out it had cookies. The cookies looked good.

Then his companion handed him a foil package about three times the size of a Gu packet (energy gel used by endurance athletes). I thought, "Oh, it's like a Chinese power bar or something".

This wasn't wholly inaccurate, as power bars (especially when they first came out) had no redeeming flavor value whatsoever. They were human food pellets. They tasted like ass, but they kept you alive and were easy to take on the trail, so we ate them. Then they came out with oatmeal raisin and peanut butter, and things got better. Given that I'm a fan, and even I think they don't taste good, I'm sure to a non-Western palate, a power bar is vile.

When my seatmate tore into the foil packet I was immediately affronted by the scent of vinegar and cabbage. A very pungent smell, like the middle of an egg roll. Only stronger. Whatever he was eating, it was spinach green in color, and oh so fragrant. It smelled Chinese.

I'm sure to him, my Odwalla vitamin B monster smoothie is vile. "Pureed fruits and vitamins in a blue beverage? Weird American."

The adventures continued when a flight attendant had to admonish my third seat mate that using his video camera on the plane was against the law.

Why would that be? Because it’s how you document dimensions, spaces, standard operating procedures of the crew.

I figure, hey, the guy's just excited. Big trip to China. Or big trip back. Whatever.

Now most of us would just ditch the camera. But not this guy. He keeps it out. And keeps filming. And he's not just interested in what's out the window. He's trying to be nonchalant. Like he’s reviewing footage. But I can see what he's doing. He's still taking footage. Of the layout of the plane, the behavior of the flight crew.

Then the time comes to fill out our customs/ entrance forms. I figure, I'll just see if my suspicions are out of line. Is he American? Nope. Has an interesting passport. I keep an eye on it, and he flips it over to reveal his homeland is… Morocco.

I’ve got a Moroccan taking illegal video footage of the plane layout and crew behavior on a 747 that leaves SFO with enough jet fuel to fly non stop to Shanghai.

Call me a racist. But I think I'm right to be concerned. Not sure what to do.

"Hi, thanks, yeah, um, may I write down your passport number so I can send it to the CIA? Thanks."

Now this is my first trip to Asia. And my first time across the International Date Line. What a mind fuck that is. I left SFO at 2:30 PM Sat and arrive in Shanghai at 6:30 PM on Sunday. I lose 28 hours going. The flight lasts 12 hours. Coming home I leave at noon on Sunday, and arrive at 8 am the same day. I arrive before I leave. Yeah. Right. You say tomato, I say toemahtoe. You say Thursday, I say Saturday.

So my plan is to get to Shanghai pretty exhausted, hit the hotel and fall happily asleep by 8PM local time, and I'll wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed Monday morning at 6am ready to start my day. The key is not to sleep on the plane.

Yet it seems everyone on the plane wants to sleep. Now maybe it’s a cure for boredom, but I don’t get it. Stay awake, suck it up, deal, push through this day and: instant time change. Bang, done.

Since I have the window, I control the shade. Needless to say, my Chinese buddy ain’t thrilled that I keep it 3/4 open so I can keep my brain tricked: 'Nope, there’s daylight. Not sleepy time, nope.'

I've set my watch to Shangahi time from early on in the flight. I really have to think hard about what time it is in SF, so I'm hoping the confusion helps keep me moving towards the new timezone. I just set my computer clock. Damn, now I know what time it is in SF. Daylight trick is working. Only 4 more hours till we touch down.

(posted from hotel room upon arriving in Shanghai)