Beijing, for 13 hours.

After arriving in Beijing, I quickly began to feel like I had lost my marbles.

What the hell were you thinking, Anoush, everything was going to be in English? Everything was definitely not in English. I was the only non-Asian on my flight, and anywhere I looked for that matter. What were you THINKING it would be like? I began feeling a little overwhelmed. I was exhausted from an 18-hour flight and two failed attempts at knocking myself out with ambien, and I wasn’t imagining it would be like this upon arrival.  My “plan” was to get to Beijing, and then see if I could get a visa to leave the airport and explore the city overnight. My flight for Yangon doesn’t leave until 8 tomorrow morning. But I couldn’t read a sign, and every information kiosk I went to sent me to the next one for information. I accidentally went through Customs before talking to them about the visa, and at that point, every guard I talked to was quite discouraging about my chances of leaving the airport. But I had already essentially left the airport, having somehow walked out of security and customs without obtaining a visa.

OK, don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just stupid, or insanely reckless. I haven’t decided yet, but while I’m working on that one, I beg you to imagine what it’s like to get yourself into some of the situations I do. Like the one I got myself in tonight. Or in Ireland.

It was the day after Saint Patrick’s day, and my flight wasn’t for another day. But I was ready to leave the house of 30-year-old frat boys that had put me up for the last couple of days, as they had turned out to be raging violent alcoholics. I had spent my last couple of Euro on Guinness, and only had 11E left to get to the airport. I hailed a cab.

“I need to get as close to the airport as 11 Euro will get me,” I glumly told the cabbie as I hopped in the back seat behind the driver’s side.

“Oh, that won’t get you very far, I’m afraid, miss. It’s a good half hour away, and I can only take you about 10 minutes with that,” he replied with a thick Irish accent, lined with concern.

“Just take me as far as that then,” I said, fighting back tears. “My flight is tomorrow evening, I have to get there somehow. I’ll walk if I have to.” I had gotten myself into this mess, and I’m gonna get out. I just have to get to the airport, and I can wait there a day until my flight. I tried to coach the confidence into my spirit.

“Your flight isn’t until tomorrow night?” he replied, the concern is his voice increasing. I nodded, and murmured an ummhmm. “But why are you going today? Are you alone?”

“My friends flew out yesterday. I was staying with monsters. I’m out of money.”

After a pause,

“Are you ok, miss?”

Shit, I hate when people ask if I’m ok when I’m not ok. It invariably brings the waterworks. I am fine, I just want to go home.

Tears started streaming down my face, silently. I couldn’t reply. I knew if I said anything, he’d know I was crying. So I just sat there in silence. I could feel him glance at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Oh miss, what’s wrong?”

“Just get me anywhere closer to the airport,” I said through a breaking voice, “I’m sorry, I just have no other choice. You can drop me here.”

He pulled over. I started to gather my things, and get ready to walk.  He motioned for me to stay put. He got out of the car and reached up to where the taxi sign was illuminated and fixed on the roof. He unplugged it and took it down, wedging it between the two front seats.

“Wait just a minute,” he said, reaching for his cell phone. He closed the door and stood outside, but the window was open and I could hear his side of the conversation.

“Listen, Molly, I have a girl here. Yeah, a girl. She’s American, a young girl. Yeah, in the cab. Look, I want her to stay with us tonight, she has no money and doesn’t have a flight home until tomorrow. Yeah, stay with us, for the night. I know, but she is very sweet, I promise she is. Please. Just for the night.” His wife hung up on him.

“Sir, it’s ok,” I said, gaining my composure. “I can figure it out, I’m sure it will be fine. I will find an internet cafe and email my parents. They can wire me some money. I will be fine.” I was starting to feel bad for causing him trouble.

“It’s not a worry, dear. Just come with me, you can stay with my family tonight and I will take you to the airport tomorrow.” He said, starting the car. It didn’t seem to be an option. He had taken me under his wing. I tried to assure him that I would be fine, but he insisted.

I spent that night with him and his family, and although his wife walked through the door with arms crossed and a very unwelcoming expression painted on her face, within hours we were sharing stories over our third bottle of red wine at the dinner table. I had spent the afternoon playing with the kids in the backyard, and helped his wife prepare dinner. By the end of the evening, they were like family. In the morning, I jotted down their address, while thanking them profusely as they dropped me at the Dublin airport. My experience in Ireland had ended better than I ever could have imagined.

So I guess sometimes, I get myself into messes.  But somehow, so far, it’s always worked out for me.  That’s something I learned on the trail: no matter how tired, desperate, hungry, and alone I might get, at the end of each day, I will have the ground underneath me to sleep on and will usually get something to eat.  What more do you need?

Here, in Beijing, the language barrier hit me like a ton of bricks. I was surprised by how few people spoke or understood English.  I needed a visa. I needed help. Someone who understood English.

Finally, I got to a kiosk where the lady spoke English.

“Go back to Customs. Here, I will take you. I am just a volunteer,” I guess that meant she could leave her post. She walked with me to the Customs guard. They exchanged some words which sounded like a verbal altercation, but I think that’s just sometimes how Chinese sounds.

He looked at me skeptically, then motioned for me to follow him. I did. We walked back the way I came, and then up to a station that said D2/Business Travel. He left me there. I approached the counter.

“Hi. I want to leave the airport, but I don’t have a visa. I have a flight tomorrow morning to Yangon.” I showed the woman my passport and ticket to Yangon.

“Oh.” She said, and started typing at her computer. She took my passport and looked like she was entering information. Without another word, she stamped my passport and handed it back to me. Then she shouted something in Chinese, which I presumed to be “next,” as the next person in line approached the counter.

“Wait, can I get back in tomorrow?” I asked, hurriedly.

“24 hour visa.” She said impatiently, as the next person assumed my position at the counter.

Sweet. I booked it out of there. I exchanged $40 for Yen, and hopped on a shuttle bus into Beijing. The ride was an hour and a half long. The bus was freezing. I was exhausted.

I woke up at what apparently was the last stop, as there was a lot of shouting and bustling as the bus emptied. I got off. I was immediately bombarded with men asking if I wanted a taxi. I began walking. I walked until 2 in the morning. I walked to Tienanmen Square, and throughout what looked like the Upper East Side of Beijing. I began to feel how hungry I was. My budgeting had started yesterday, so I hadn’t bought anything in JFK airport, and I had forgotten to buy something when I touched down in China. I was ravenous, and the gross airline meal had not done anything for me.

I made my way down an alley-way that seemed to be illuminated at the end of it. There were surprisingly no restaurants where I had been walking, and now the search was on. I wanted to find a cheap little hole-in-the-wall, where I could get some really delicious grub, and that was really all I wanted out of China.

At the end of the alley, my search ended. I couldn’t read what the sign said, but it looked like it served food. I entered.

The smells that engulfed me sent my olfactory system whirling. Everyone seemed to stop eating and talking and looked over at me standing in the door with my backpack. All the tables were filled; there were only 5 tables. A woman came up to me and motioned for me to sit, next to a family, eating some things I had never seen before. Well, this entry won’t go into the food aspect of this journey, see the next entry for that. The point is, I again wandered into a strange situation. After sitting there for a half-hour or so, lips on fire from the chili and fruit vinegar that I was given to drink, a hoard of men in black suits with cigarettes alit came into the restaurant. They all hung around the door, talking loudly and vibrantly. A couple of them walked past me, through a little door, and didn’t come back out. I didn’t really know what was going on. I thought I was in the middle of nowhere?

The little girl next to me wouldn’t stop staring at me. For reasons touched upon in the next entry, I was starting to get used to people staring at me. But her reasons for staring were different, I found out. As one of the men tried to talk to me, in Chinese, she butted in in English,

“Are you here for the games?”

“What?” I said, “Uhm, no? What games? I don’t know, I just wanted food…”

“Are you ready to pay? I will get the waitress for you.” She glanced back at the men, and then back at me before getting up to get the waitress.

Games? What the hell?

The waitress came out, and saw the men. She then looked at me, and hurried over to the counter to add up my total bill, $50 yen. I got the impression that it was important for me to leave. Now. I paid, and left.

Weird.

I walked back to where I had gotten off the bus, and waited. And waited. No buses were coming. I had enough money for a cab back to the airport, but the bus had only been $3 on the way here, and I didn’t want to spend a fortune on a cab ride. Then I saw a man walk into a parked airport shuttle bus. I approached the bus, and went to his window.

“Hi there!” I said, gaining his attention. I was starting to wish I had a Chinese phrasebook or something.  ”When is the next bus to the airport?” I was praying he spoke English. He apparently understood me, as a look of concern came across his face.

“7 am.” He said, curtly. No! I needed to get on a bus at the latest by 4 am.

“Oh man.” I said, beginning to walk away.

“Wait,” he said. “No ticket. Come.”

What? I climbed the steps and boarded the empty bus. Chinese pop-music was blaring through the speakers.

“What terminal?”

“Uhm, Air China?” I said, feeling foolish for not knowing the terminal number.

“International. Terminal three. Cigarette?” he said, as I put my stuff on the seat behind him.

“No, thank you.” I replied.

We drove the hour and a half to the airport. I’m not sure why he did this for me. When he let me off at terminal three, he wouldn’t accept any money, and not another word was exchanged. I walked back through the terminal doors, again feeling empowered by the goodness in other people.  I hadn’t exchanged enough money to pay for a taxi, so had this man not helped me out, I would have been stranded in Beijing center city.

Now, its time to smarten-up and get my big-girl-traveling-the-world-alone-pants on. Beijing treated me kindly, but I don’t want to run out my luck too fast.