Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing
Found the NWA ticketing counters. Got in line, which is moving like molasses as passengers seem to be stumped by the check-in kiosks (same ones we have at home). A couple of NWA employees are trying to help, but the passengers don’t seem to understand the questions about how many bags they have, etc. (my impression is that much of the line has never flown).
Finally get to the ticketing window, where they weigh my suitcase (holding my breath again), and run it through the security x-ray, right behind them, before moving the bag to the handling belt.
So of course, it gets red flagged. That’s right. The one that is sucking in its midsection to stay closed.
Something on the x-ray screen is causing concern. Here’s where things get weird, though—they ask me to step behind the counter, into the secured area, to open it myself and show them what’s inside.
Seriously.
So I step over the scale, take the bag off the x-ray machine, put it on a nearby shelf, and pray. This will open—no question there—but close again? Could be iffy.
I open the bag. A couple of agents come over (higher in rank, as I understand it) to poke at things. Everyone looks puzzled–and since they’re speaking Chinese, so do I. They return to the monitor, point, chatter, point, look at me, point, chatter.
I ask (obviously, in English) if I can look at the screen to help them figure this out.
And they say yes.
Seriously.
I step back over the scale to the line area, and am led through a swinging gate that leads to the security monitor. I take a look and see the problem—some AAA batteries I brought as back up for my alarm clock. I smile. I motion to them to come back to the suitcase with me. We make the swinging gate/scale/table trek, and I pull out the batteries. Everyone smiles, nods, and motions to close the suitcase and run it through again. Cool.
So I do. While I pray. Please let this close again, Lord.
Naturally, the thing red flags again, this time over two mysterious items.
???
Yup. They have me do the scale/gate thing again, look at the monitor again, etc. This time, one of the shadows looks familiar, but…the other has me stumped (why it didn’t pop up before now also perplexes me, but who needs more to deal with right now?).
Gate. Scale. Suitcase. This time, the agent starts rooting around in the suitcase. I gasp. No way I’ll get things to fit again if they’re all pulled out and stirred up. And the clock’s ticking. I still need to actually check in, clear personal security, clear immigration, and find my gate before the plane boards.
So what do I do? I put my hands on top of the suitcase contents, and motion for her to stop and let me do that.
In the States, this would probably get me arrested. But given the fact they’ve been escorting me in and out of the security area, instinct tells me I’ve got a shot.
And it works. She smiles. Steps back. Motions for me to find the items. The asthma inhaler turns up first—that’s the one I recognized. The second item has me puzzled, though…until we turn up the small can of oxygen purchased at AAA in Minneapolis. Supposedly, if you inhale a few puffs when “sinking” during a jet lag spell, it helps. Having not had any jet lag on the way over, I completely forgot it was in the first aid pouch. Aha.
She asked me to inhale some (after I acted out doing so in the now-familiar game of charades that comes with international travel). I did. She smiled. I repacked. She re-screened.
Cleared.
Race (race!) to the personal security lines. Unpack the laptop. Take out the liquids. Keep the shoes on. Walk through the x-ray.
Cleared.
Race to the immigration lines (well, as much as one can race while trying to figure out where she should be in a terminal that doesn’t yet have English on the signs…if you can find the signs…). I don’t have the proper papers. Need to fill out an Exit Card, which is on a nearby counter.
Race over there. Dig out a pen. Fill out the card. Jump back in line (thankfully, they let me cut in).
Cleared.
Race to the next passport and laptop check.
Oddly, my passport is taken by a Chinese guard, who disappears into an office about 50 feet away, stays there with it for about five minutes, then comes back.
(No clue what that‘s all about. For all I know, I was red flagged due to my internet activity the first night in Beijing. Which, chillingly, is probably possible.)
Cleared.
Find the gate. Purchase a bottle of water from a vending machine at the gate. About five minutes later, start boarding, which includes yet another security check at the gate, by hand.
Granted, it’s a cursory check. The baby-faced guard who opens my computer bag motions that the bottle of water has to be pitched (then lets me gulp it down, bless his heart) while he just nudges things around inside the bag. Doesn’t take anything out. Doesn’t ask any questions. Doesn’t open the roll aboard carry on at all.
Cleared.
I get on the plane, and settle into my usual seat (somehow, I managed to get the same one on both inbound flights to Hong Kong as well as both outbound flights back home). I’m headed home.
But am not at all ready to leave. Not at all. This all went by far too quickly.
(Photo credit: Anonymous)
Dear Westin,
