I begin typing this at 11:15 pm while sitting in a hot airplane on the tarmac at Dalian Airport waiting to depart for Shanghai. Jackie and I have spent all evening at the airport, and we still wait. I want him to write this with me so I’m sure to get it correct; it is too confusing to retell alone and we are pretty stressed out by now.
First, some perspective. On the eve of joining the World Trade Organization, China hosts meetings of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation. It is currently being held in Manchuria’s Dalian, the self-proclaimed “beautiful city” on the coast. Sessions will also be held in Shanghai. As China lurches through its economic transition, it is clear that such terms as “service economy” and “knowledge worker” remain oxymorons. Customers are still peons in spite of being the source of managers’ salaries, men flaunt their authority but shun responsibility, and the system itself is torn over the inevitable restructuring WTO membership will bring. Still, the entire country is basking in its pride over being chosen to host the Olympics in 2008 although the task and resources required are Herculian.
The day began on an upbeat note as I finally finished my stint in Dalian: five days on, five days off, five days on, and today’s transition day. I had spent a good final day in the hotel, taking a long hot bath, finishing some work, and packing slowly, but now I am getting anxious to leave. Jackie and I meet in the hotel lobby at 3:30 to check out and get to the airport in plenty of time for our 5:45 flight. We’re in front of the line when China Eastern’s Counter 13 opens, and I check my luggage and get two emergency exit seats (because of the space, not to be cautious). After stopping to get something to drink, we go through security and stand by the large screen looking for our flight information. It is displayed but there is no gate given. So we wait some more. The flight seems to be delayed a bit. We continue to wait until we see the flashing message: the flight will leave at 7:20 because there is too much air congestion, and I suspect our plane is coming in from Shanghai and has not yet landed there. Jackie gets some more drinks for us while I do some work on my laptop. Then comes the announcement that we should bring our boarding passes to the service counter in exchange for box meals. Jackie gets my Styrofoam box of rice, one chicken wing, two fried fish pieces, and some green stuff. We are each also given a bottle of water and what looks like a sausage. Having already been to the bathroom several times the past half hour, I munch on the rice and drink some of the water.
We hear the boarding announcement and wend our way towards the shuttle bus sitting on the tarmac. With the shoving crowd jostling for position, Jackie and I are split up and I make it onto the shuttle bus without him. But I notice an odd sight for China: there is no surging crowd behind me packing onto the bus. So the dozen or so of us from the front wave sit and wait. Then we are told to return to the waiting hall (an appropriate name) where I meet Jackie. He explains there’s an air conditioning problem on the airplane. Suspiciously, I guess the earlier rain might have caused this flight delay.
After another long wait we are told we can board again, and this time Jackie and I manage to stick together shoulder-to-shoulder in the midst of the crowd. The shuttle bus has three doors on each side but only the front one is open, so we all jam through but those passengers in the front are determined to hold their spaces so of course everyone must slowly squeeze past them and on to the rear. The front door closes but there is no driver or air conditioning and all the windows are shut. After a while some begin shouting and others pound on the windows. We are imprisoned and I think about the Nazi death trains. After a horrendous wait we are finally released from our torture and begin shouting at whoever looks officious. But of course no one knows anything, and certainly no one will accept any responsibility let alone offer any information. Not surprisingly, when I wave for someone wearing a badge to come over he very quickly goes the other way. There is confusion all about. Some begin smoking on the tarmac in spite of the warning sign that aviation fuel is extremely combustible. I finally get to speak with that guy wearing a badge and carrying a phone but he says he cannot get in touch with the pilot or anyone else for that matter. Besides, he informs us, no one on the ground can speak English, presumably to ask questions of the pilot. I look at Jackie, my Chinese friend and English interpreter, and we both shake our heads. Complete irresponsibility shot through with lame excuses surrounded by apathy and topped off with incompetence.
A short older Australian Indian fellow becomes quite animated in spite of no one understanding his Indo-Aussie English. After a long wait we march back into the waiting area (an appropriate name and now familiar sight). We begin shouting at the women manning (another oxymoron?) the information area. Some get on telephones and act like they are in control of the situation, but we now know better. We finally ask to see the manager; instead they bring out warm Sprite for everyone. I suppose there’s some logic to it, after all both should be canned. But I insist on beer and so they bring that too. I ask to use the telephone. I’m asked whom to call and I respond the local TV news crew. A woman asks why and I tell her because this is news. She says the telephone cannot dial outside so I ask Jackie for his cell phone. He calls but no one is there to respond to late-breaking news. A bunch threatens to head for the news studio and some government offices but none of the officious looking personnel really care—seems they’ve seen this all before. So many of us head into the main hall determined to try to find someone to speak with. But again no one takes responsibility or will tell us why we are delayed. We block the security entrance and have a bit of a confrontation with the guards. I take out my camera and snap a couple of pictures. We eventually decide to go back into the waiting area (an appropriate name). But as we go through security a young guard asks Jackie for his boarding pass and this time Jackie, who has been pretty calm and silent all along, has had enough and simply refuses. We finally push through with Jackie flashing his boarding pass.
We speak again with the clueless women at the information desk (another oxymoron it turns out). As a man walks into the waiting area, he removes his nametag to remain anonymous and cautiously circles the angry group. I walk over to him and ask if he is in charge; he smiles and nods yes so I take his picture. He doesn’t seem to care but when I point him out to the mob he quickly begins walking back into the safe security area. I grab his arm and try to bring him back out but he manages to break away, run, and hide. I have touched Chinese leadership up close and personal.
Just when things seem hopeless (and helpless) the announcement is made we can again board. We go to the shuttle bus, head for the airplane, and warily board the ancient MD-82 to find no air conditioning. We sweat. Handy-Wipes are passed out. Water is passed out. Passengers are passed out. The stewardesses march up and down, counting the passengers many times but the number stubbornly remains the same. The stewardesses are persistent. They count a few more times. The numbers still refuse to budge. A few passengers are missing in action, presumably on their way to the TV station or one of the government offices—or maybe to another airline, train station, or hotel. For security reasons everyone must now depart with their belongings and identify their luggage. Of course once we disembark several Chinese light up their cigarettes near the plane. This time the little animated Indian Aussie is chatting with a German fellow. I stay away, going to the rear where I find all luggage placed in puddles. I identify my two bags as mine and they are thrown back into the hold.
Most of the passengers get back on the plane but a few refuse. Someone walks the aisle with a suitcase, asking if it belongs to anyone. Someone else walks the aisle with plane tickets checking to see who is on board. Then we are told the problem was the power supply. Someone is outside with a vehicle running wires to the plane. After a while we are given the option of deplaning and getting a refund. The plane that was packed is now two-thirds full and I am the only foreigner on board, brave soul that I am. Jackie and I deliberate about staying. I ask the stewardess if the pilot is Chinese or American. He is Chinese (blowing the earlier excuse that no one on the ground speaks English—neither does anyone in the cockpit!). I ask if it is too late to purchase flight insurance. I’m told the plane doors are already shut. We are now stuck. We are assured that the pilot will land us safely in Shanghai, but instead of arriving at the new international airport as scheduled we will arrive at the older domestic one, which is closer to downtown anyway. We take off at 11:45, exactly six hours late, and the air conditioning goes on. Lights go on. Good-bye Dalian, beautiful city and APEC host. The pilot thanks us for our support and the stewardesses hand out beverages. Jackie and I are sweaty, tired, and hungry. Dinner is served at 12:30. We land in Shanghai at 1:15 am but have to wait (what’s new?) for the luggage to arrive. We grab a taxi and Jackie drops me off at the hotel.
The only bright spot in all this was how many young people who have tasted freedom and economic opportunity were willing to fight for their rights. So I nod off around 3:30 am remaining hopeful that China still has a bright and prosperous future with its next generation of leadership.