There are two types of people in the world: those who like
to get to the airport excessively early and those who would rather minimize
wasted time stuck in the airport. I fall into the second category whereas Joseph
falls into the former. This difference in airport preferences is a source of
jest between us.
We were departing from Beijing on separate flights. Joseph was
to fly to Houston and I to Nashville. My flight was before Joseph’s and since
we were flying separately we were free to choose our own airport arrival
styles. On this day, my laissez faire style almost backfired.
My flight was at 1230 so I budgeted an hour of time to get
to the airport and two hours of airport crap being an international flight. I
left the hotel just after 0930 and grabbed a cab to take me to the most convenient
subway station. Due to the extreme gift giving of our Chinese friends I had my
roller suitcase, my carry on backpack, and a huge hiker backpack we purchased
just to fit all the gifts. Lots of stairs were not going to work out with my
load. We were running low on cash so Joseph gave me all of the cash we had ($40
Yuan) to cover the taxi and subway pass. He had extra time so he would hit the
ATM on his own before his flight.
Due to traffic, the taxi went slightly over budget. I couldn’t
remember how much the ticket to the airport would cost but I descended the subway
stairs hoping it was not more than 14 Yuan, because that was all I had left. I
navigated the myriad of tunnels and stairs with my ridiculous luggage and made
it to the ticket counter. The ticket I needed was 25 Yuan making me 11 Yuan
short. On a normal day without a household worth of luggage and an international
flight to make in 2 hours it would have been no big deal. But it was not a
normal day and in addition to the pressure of catching my flight home, I needed
to prove to Joseph that my airport timing style was adequate. I tried to give the
ticket clerk a credit card but it was cash only. I pulled my desperation move.
I laid out all my money on the counter and my credit card and put my hands up
to signify this was all I had but he was not cutting any deals. I asked him
where I might find an ATM and he indicated upstairs.
Several hallways, tunnels, and flights of stairs later I
arrived at the street level of the train station where I found three ATMs. None
of these machines would function with my ATM card. Time was ticking and I didn’t have time for
games. I switched out of wife of international businessman mode and strapped
into full scrapper mode. I had two old dogs waiting for me on the other side of
the globe, a flight style reputation to maintain, and just a general desire to
go home. I would not miss this flight. I began propositioning people at the ATM
to trade me 20 Yuan for 20 US dollars which would actually provide that person
with 132 Yuan. No one was interested until a sweet little Chinese girl stopped
her transaction midway, told me I needed to go to the bank, and offered to walk
me there. I agreed. She also tried to help me with my bags. She was the nicest
Chinese stranger I had met and she really blew it out of the park. We walked
outside to a busy intersection where she indicated that across the street was a
bank. I told her I could take it from here and she asked me if I was sure I
didn’t want her to walk with me. I thanked her and told her no, and then re-assessed my situation.
Walking across a street in a normal city would be no big
deal, but this was Beijing. Some of Beijing’s intersections are so large and
complicated that the only way to cross is to go underground. To prevent you
from breaking the rule there are gates and policeman around the intersection.
This intersection was one of those. I didn’t have the time it would take to
find the appropriate tunnel and mule the luggage to the bank that might not
even exchange my money. I guesstimated the venture would cost me at least 30
minutes and 300 units of physical and mental strain. There was no way I would
catch my flight with the across the street bank plan.
I spotted a somewhat shady looking convenience store right
outside the train station on my side of the street and headed in to make
a deal. The first person I saw was a worker stocking shelves and he denied having
the ability to change money. I then looked at the clerk behind the counter and
the people in the checkout line plotting my next step. I saw a youngish Indian/Middle
Eastern man in the line and asked him if he spoke English because something
told me he was fluent. “Yes” he said with pretty much no accent. I looked at
his wallet and propositioned him 20 US dollars for 11 Yuan. He told me I could
just have the 11 Yuan and refused my money. He found 10 Yuan in his wallet and
then asked me “how much do you need?” I told him 11 Yuan and he asked his
friend for 1 Yuan to complete my very specific request. I thanked him profusely
and again tried to give him my dirty US money which he declind telling me it was
o.k. I was curious to know where he was from so I asked. “Pakistan” he said and
the asked the same of me. “U.S.” I said, somewhat ashamed. He made the faintest
sound of “ahh” and looked at me like I was a very ugly amphibian he felt pity for. At this point
I started to stammer that I wasn’t “one of them” and he very softly said, "it’s
o.k. just remember me". I said I would and told him he just saved my life. He
laughed a little and then his friend asked me if I was hungry and wanted some
of his cookies. I thanked him and told him I would be fine if I could just get
to the airport.
The U.S. has a strained relationship with Pakistan and
according to the internet most Americans think very little of Pakistan and
consider it a harbor for terrorists.. In short there is not trust between
America and Pakistan. But that day, in Beijing I’m happy to announce that there
was trust and kindness between Pakistan and America. A Pakistani man saved my
butt with 11 Yuan and I ended up getting to the terminal gate as my flight was
boarding. I made it safely home where I was greeted my human and canine family.
To thank him I will not forget, and I will tell everyone the story of the kind
Pakistani man who acknowledged my distress, gave me what I needed and asked only
that I remember the kindness of a man from Pakistan.
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| So long China |
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