China or Bust

I'm currently in transit to China, roughly above the North Pole, on my way to give a speech at China Storage Forum 2007 in Beijing. I'm told 2000 of my closest Chinese friends will be anxiously awaiting my arrival and pearls of wisdom. I'm a tad concerned how I'll translate, but have not left my popularity to chance – I've got a secret weapon. In 2004 I was in Beijing to pick up some take-out – my baby Lily. Lily today is about as Americanized as Apple Pie, but she sure is adorable, so slide 2 will be the photo of the first time I held her (she was 10 months old) and slide 3 is the money shot – her absolutely electric smile beaming out at the unexpecting crowd. Cheap, but effective. Lily, now 4, asked me on the phone this morning if I showed China "her picture" yet. She is apparently as anxious as I am to see how that plays.

Like many ideas I have, travelling to Beijing by getting on a flight to Toronto from Boston at 6:15AM seemed like a good one at the time. After attending the Patriots game in the evening, enjoying the thrill of smooshing the Steelers with a wee bit too much wine, 3:30AM smacked me right in the head. I dressed, kissed my wife (or the dog, I was delirious and do remember her looking at me funny), grabbed my bags and headed out into the cold, black night, only to step onto the porch steps to find them covered with an inch of sheer, smooth ice. How I didn't end up in the neighbor's pool is still a mystery, but somehow survived and plopped myself in the back of the waiting town car. Thank god for waiting town cars. I promptly passed out in the back seat.

You never know how long it is going to take to get to Logan airport, and people who run town car services really don't like it when you cut it too close and they have to drag you back to where you started, so they tend to suggest a good buffer. Even having to drive on a virtual skating rink the entire way, my driver somehow got me to the airport by 4:30AM. Lucky me. I don't even like Vegas at 4:30AM, let alone an airport. I dragged my sorry self up to the Air Canada ticket counter and handed over my passport.

You know it's not going to be your day when at 4:30AM you hear, "nobody called you?" as the first words from the mouth of the airline, followed of course with, "that flight is cancelled due to weather." Of course no one called me. Why would you? The excessively chipper lady then let me know the airline had already rebooked me – for a flight that evening at 9:10PM, which is almost precisely when I was due to step off of the stage to raucous applause. I let her know that wasn't going to cut the mustard. She found a flight at 9:45AM to DC that connects to a direct flight to Beijing at 12:20. It would get me in only 2 hours after my original arrival. She did that airline person mad typing thing for a while, then tried calling United – a fellow Star Alliance member, who wouldn't answer the phone, because it was 4:30 in the morning. She booked me a business seat, hand wrote some kind of transfer voucher thing, and sent me to United. Now it was roughly 5AM. United, of course, is nowhere near Air Canada at Logan. Worse, one must physically exit the terminal and go outside to get to it. It was approximately 8 degrees (Fahrenheit – that's like -87 Celsius) and there was even more ice everywhere. I dragged my tired, really irritated self outside and in to the next terminal. Then I walked, roughly 8 miles I figure. I walked past the American ticket counter, where even at 5AM there were clear signs for allowing the free market system to do its Darwinist thing. There were 11,000 people crammed into endless lines trying to get a boarding pass or check a bag. There were 3 American employees that I could see, two furiously typing airline type, and one literally yelling at a passenger who was apparently told to get into the wrong line by one of the other crack American employees and now he was about to miss his flight. She had zero sympathy for Mr. Executive Platinum. I felt for him.

After eventually arriving at United, where I discovered a similar frenzied situation and that I had worn inappropriate shoes, I got myself in line. When I got to an agent just to make sure that my friend at Air Canada dotted her I's, I found out that she hadn't. Of course. It seems I need 2 vouchers, not one. She spoke with Air Canada, who unlike United was nice enough to answer the phone, to receive confirmation that it was "ok" to allow me to get on the plane. The United lady told the Air Canada lady that she had to follow my previous expedition and bring the other voucher pronto. Apparently I was the only one who thought it odd that both agents could see "me" in their respective computers, but still relied on crack efficiencies such as making a 58 year old Canadian woman in heels walk through cold and ice on an 8 mile trek to deliver the much required piece of paper. To add insult to injury, my United friend refused to book me in business class without that magical Canadian paper, thus making my ticket the most expensive coach/steerage passage in modern history. She checked my garment bag to Beijing.

My Air Canada friend showed up a while later and was able to straighten out the ordeal. Had she not been 58 and a dead ringer for "Flo" from the show "Alice" in 1978, I might have kissed her. Instead I yelled thanks and went on my way to the next adventure. The good news is all that activity killed time; it was now 6:15AM, only 3 ½ hours from my flight. I headed for security, and the Red Carpet club where I intended on passing out.

Being a professional traveler, I am no longer even remotely fazed by the lunacy of airline security. I get to the belt and have my laptop out, my shoes off, my belt, wallet, glasses, phone, gum, watch in a bin, my jacket off with my passport and boarding pass in my hand, ready to go. I'd spit my fillings out if I could. The 260 pound woman in front of me, however, is not only a tad less "seasoned" in the art of airline screening, she still has not learned that fighting is futile. She proceeds to set off the metal detector 7 times, each time removing one chunk of metal. She does this after having to go back and remove her shoes and jacket. She does this after my life has already gone through the X-ray machine, just sitting there waiting for random folks to help themselves to some holiday goodies at my expense. Finally, she is dragged off to the corner of shame, and I zip right through without even a chirp. "Boarding pass please" is said, and before she can finish, I have proudly displayed my credentials, making the "can you believe these amateurs?" kind of face that us travel professionals make to those in the "trade". "Please step over here sir" is not what I expected to here next. I am ushered three feet to the secure ribbon "box" to face my next indignity – the random mega-screening lottery.

Standing in the "box" while waiting on a "male security check", I could almost hear the comments of my fellow passengers as they passed by me. "Loser", "idiot", "amateur" thoughts were directed my way. Me, standing practically naked, feeling like they made me wear the "dunce" cap, still no closer to stop the pilfering of my stuff. How ironic. Eventually, a very nice young man took everything I had packed and placed in on public display (thankfully this wasn't a trip to or from Vegas, as its anybody's guess as to what might end up in my bag for all to enjoy), to be swabbed, scanned, and violated. Eventually I made it through; still feeling like everyone was keeping an extra close eye on me.

Have you ever noticed that airline clubs act like they are the most important places on the planet? God forbid the poor slob who tries to sneak past those two sweet looking ladies, as they clearly have been through advanced Mossad training and will take a would be Premier member down hard lest he forget his credentials. Who do they think is hanging out in these places, royalty? Airline clubs are slightly fancier uncomfortable places to sit and wait for your flight to be postponed, not the U.N. A free Coke and two inch slice of cheese is nice, but do we need the Studio 54 doorman mentality? Anyway, it sure beats sleeping on the floor of the terminal, so I found the one couch and patiently waited for the it's occupant to leave – and by patiently I mean I sat right next to him, bypassing dozens of open individual seats. It took him 3 minutes to run away. I was unconscious in 5. I woke to the sound of my own snoring, which thankfully appeared to offend no one but myself, although it is quite possible that the noise scared off others. I headed for the gate.

United flight 897 is listed as Boston to DC (Dulles) continuing to Beijing, so I was feeling pretty good that no matter what happened, as long as I got on this plane, I would end up in Beijing. I boarded, only to notice that it was a 757, which means A: if that plane were going to Beijing, it wasn't going to make it without stopping somewhere, and B: First/Business class consisted of 12 seats that if you had to sit in for 15 hours you would go mad. I hate to fly, my butt kills me within 20 minutes, and these seats didn't even recline close to flat, which means there would be zero sleeping. Not good. The pilot informed us that our short one hour flight would be commencing anytime now, but first we need a little de-icing. I'm a fan of de-icing, so no issue. We leave 45 minutes late, now set to arrive at 11:50AM. The Beijing flight is listed at 12:19PM. The good news is this is the plane so I won't miss the flight; the bad news is this is the plane. Prior to landing, the flight attendant reads the connecting gate information. We are landing at gate D7. She lists "Peking" at gate C3. Due to my vast international experience and unapologetic love of Chinese food, I know that Peking is really Beijing. So, even though the flight is a continuation, and I hold a "re-boarding" pass instead of a standard boarding pass, I realize that I shall be flying on a real plane, presumably with real seats. I also realize that I will again be running in inappropriate shoes, but can only hope it's not far. Silly hope. Gate C3 is the furthest gate possible. I'm not sure it is even still in Virginia. I get halfway there when the PA system announces the final and immediate boarding call for Beijing. There is no customer service kiosk between where I am and where I am going – I am on my own. I am sweating. I'm fairly confident my small toe is bleeding on my right foot. I am committed.

I somehow made the plane. I was the last person on it. I am in the very first seat of a giant 747, in my "pod". I slept for the first four hours, and now I have awakened to share this with you. I haven't done anything yet I've been awake for days it seems. I now realize that the odds of my bag being on this plane are not good, unless by pure luck it was sent out of Boston on an earlier flight. I am not enjoying my own scent. My toiletries are in my bag. I have a dinner this evening I am hosting for 20 members of the Chinese media, about 2 hours after I land. I am to be on stage early in the morning, perhaps having many of my new media friends on hand. I may be wearing the same clothing. More to follow…..