In China, there are many Chinese. Nowhere is this fact more apparent than in Shanghai and Hong Kong.
My trip to Shanghai began, and nearly ended, in the visa line at the Chinese Embassy in Manila. After two weeks of figuring out paperwork and fees, I was finally ready to apply for my visa. I arrived Friday morning, six days before my flight to Shanghai, at 8:15 AM. I stepped through security into the waiting room and took a number from the desk. I looked at the slip of paper in my hand. It read 755. I looked up at the glowing number above the visa counter. It read 632. I took a seat.
At 11:15 AM, I stood up again and walked to the counter. The visa officer looked at my paperwork and promptly denied my application. There are only two possible explanations:
1. They saw Princeton twice on my application and thought, "Man, not another Free Tibet protestor!"
2. China's one-child policy has left the country dangerously short of girls. If they let me in, all the remaining girls will fall in love with me, leaving a country of frustrated young men, which political scientists have determined to be a necessary, though not sufficient, condition for increased radicalism in other countries (see: Saudi Arabia, Egypt, etc.).
Either way, I panicked. I took one of the slowest cabs in all of Makati back to my office and promptly sent Jon (Shanghai) an email that read something like this:
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Hey Jon,
How's it going? Not to bother you at work this afternoon, but I GOT DENIED FOR A FRICKIN' VISA AND I ONLY HAVE SIX DAYS BEFORE MY FLIGHT LEAVES AND I NEED THREE EXTREMELY IMPORTANT PIECES OF PAPER, WHICH NO AMERICAN DIPLOMAT IN MANILA HAS EVER HEARD OF AND WERE NEVER MENTIONED ON ANY WEBSITE, FROM YOU BY MONDAY OR I CAN'T COME VISIT YOU AND SEE THE PANDAS!!!!
So yeah, if you could send me that stuff by Monday, that would be great.
Have a good one,
Tom
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Jon (Shanghai) got me the stuff, and on Monday I stepped through security into the waiting room at the Chinese Embassy in Manila, paperwork in hand, and took a number from the desk. I looked at the slip of paper in my hand. It read 48. I looked up at the glowing number above the visa counter. It read 930. I took a seat.
Then, at around 11:30 AM, something unexpected happened. All the consular officers, six in total, stood up and left their respective windows. They disappeared into a back room. No one in the waiting room moved. I waited in my seat for 20 minutes. Then, for no real reason in particular, I turned around and looked at the sign behind me. It read:
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Embassy of the People's Republic of China
Visa Office
Application Hours 9:00 AM - 11:30 AM
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I returned to the Chinese Embassy at 7:30 AM Tuesday morning. I stepped through security and blah blah blah stepped up to the window around 11:00 AM. The visa officer shuffled through my paperwork for about ten seconds and told me to come back the next morning to pick up my visa.
On Wednesday morning, I paid $160 for my four day trip to Shanghai. On Thursday morning, I flew to Shanghai.
China was much different than I expected. The weather was warmer and more humid than in Manila. The locals weren't very nice. The chopsticks were tricky. The streets were crowded. Thankfully, the pandas were cuddly.
I only talked to one Chinese girl the entire trip. She was selling milk tea at the Shanghai airport. Right after I said "hello" to her in my very best Mandarin, she giggled and a huge smile flashed across her face. There are only two possible thoughts that could've crossed her mind at that moment:
1. OMG, that cute American boy speaks perfect Chinese! I'm in love.
2. OMG, did that guy just call me a horse?
Either way, the plane landed safely in Manila.
The next weekend, the rest of the interns and I took a Hong Kong. The trip started off well, until we got to the airport in Manila. As I was checking-in with the ticket agent, she suddenly interrupted my day-dreaming about pandas:
"Excuse me sir, is that yours?" She pointed to my three foot long black golf umbrella.
Of course it was mine. Knowing it was rainy season in Manila, I bought it at the Target in Ames before leaving home. The next day, that Target was underwater. For obvious reasons (including this, this, this, and this), I've taken that umbrella everywhere this summer, China included.
"Yes."
"Sir, you cannot carry it on the plane with you."
"Why not?"
"Because sir, it could be used as a weapon." She tapped the blunt tip with her finger. Thoughts raced through my mind. I chose my next words carefully.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes sir, I am serious."
Hong Kong was much different than I expected. Our hotel was absolutely beautiful; they even gave us free cheesecake. The Super Ferry from Hong Kong Island to Kowloon Island was very cheap and a great way to see the city skyline. You can even ride the world's longest escalator through the central part of the city.
But not everything was wonderful. After a half hour, you realize that the world's longest escalator is really still an escalator. I was looking forward to climbing Victoria's Peak, only to discover that you ride up the side of the mountain on a train. There are two shopping malls at the top, and the employees inside the Burger King there look at you funny when you ask for a massage.
Massage or not, I was ready to come back to the Philippines on Monday evening when we arrived at the Hong Kong airport. We walked inside the terminal to our ticket counter, looking forward to a nice, relaxing flight back to Manila. I handed my ticket confirmation and passport to the ticket agent.
"Excuse me sir, where is your final destination?"
"Manila."
"No, sir. Your passport says you are an American. Where is your final destination in the US?"
"Des Moines."
There was a long pause.
"Yes, sir. And where is your ticket confirmation to....Des Moines?"
"Well, I don't leave for three weeks still. I didn't bring that confirmation with me because it's part of a different trip."
"Yes, sir. But I need to see your onward reservation in order to book you for your flight to Manila. Immigration will not allow you back into the Philippines without a copy of your onward reservation."
"But I have a valid visa. And I just went to Shanghai last weekend and re-entered with no problems."
"Sir, the rules say that you must have a copy of your onward reservation." I chose my next words carefully.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes sir, I am serious."
She directed me to the information booth, so I could find the Japan Airlines ticket counter and print off a copy of my flight itinerary three weeks in advance. Not surprisingly, Japan Airlines did not have any flights departing that evening, and all its staff had gone home for the day.
I ran back to the ticket counter. The agent informed me that I could go to the nearby coffee shop and use their internet to email my ticket confirmation to the desk agent. I checked my watch. My flight boarded in a half hour.
I past the coffee shop counter and sat down at the computer. It didn't have a mouse. I tried, in vain, to open my email and find the ticket confirmation using only the keyboard. I heard giggling from behind the counter. A sign above the computer read: "Computer only for customer use. Mouse available at counter." I ran to the counter and ordered a $3.50 bottle of water. After emailing the confirmation to the only email address listed on the airline website, I ran back to the ticket counter.
I stopped to catch my breath. The agent looked at me, then scribbled down a different email address. I stared at the blunt tip of my umbrella for a moment, then took the piece of paper and ran back to the coffee shop.
A few minutes later, I ran to the ticket counter for a fourth time. The old ticket agent had gone on break. The new one took my ticket confirmation and passport, and ten seconds later she wished me a happy flight. I stared at the blunt tip of my umbrella for a moment, then thanked her and ran toward my departure gate.
Tomorrow night, most of the world will watch the opening ceremonies in Beijing. I think I'll just go to bed early.
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