Guangzhou, China
Friday, April 29
I am writing this from somewhere in China. I could put down the name of the city but it is currently in my bag full of random computer wires and electronics charges (when combined with the appearance of my external hard drive and alarm clock look something like a bomb in the airport x-ray machine, if you were wondering). There’s not much point in naming the city though because I am in an airport so the city and even country are really irrelevant.
There is a wall of windows to the left where planes take off about every 5 minutes. I like watching the take-off despite my own inability to not sweat profusely when I am directly involved. I left Seoul at 9:40am, and arrived here 4 hours later (but we went back in time for an hour during the flight).
The flight was mostly ok. The plane itself was the least impressive plane I’ve ever been on. The tiny tv screens would raise and lower randomly through out the flight. I wasn’t feeling very good about being boxed in with NO legroom but I lucked out and the guy who should have sat in the middle of the trio of seats never showed.
I popped a xanax and felt pretty okay for most of the flight, but it didn’t alleviate anxiety enough for me to say that I actually enjoyed it. I was tired and started to doze towards the end, and that’s when I tend to freak out: jerking awake and remembering I am in a plane.
There was an interesting 10 minutes when the plane suddenly dropped more than I had ever felt before. It then bounced to one side and the other. The intercom went off amidst the creaks and thumps of shifting luggage and people. Her voice was tonal and her words were fast. She was talking about turbulance and there was a dash to clip seatbelts in a hurry. I buckle mine as soon as I sit down and I never unbuckle it because I do not get up for anything- I didn’t pee once on the 13 hour flight to Korea.
The turbulance went on and it got pretty bad for a few moments. Over the years I have developed this weird way of dealing with turbulance: I shift around in my seat. If I am moving myself up and down the drops and bumps don’t seem so intense. They left as fast as they came and the guy next to me didn’t notice regardless because he managed to sleep through the entire damn scenario.
He slept through the whole flight. I envy people who can do that. I can’t even sleep in a car. I am also really happy he slept through it because anytime the plane bounced or turned I looked like I was severely constipated with both arms linked under the arm rests and my mouth sealed shut.
I have also developed these weird habits on planes that seem to help with flying anxiety. I don’t really even notice doing these things. I will pinch or scratch myself if I am tired. Sometimes I will pull out a hair. These were tips on some website I read before I came here. A little pain to bring you back to reality. Some people wear rubber bands so they can snap them on their wrists if they start freaking out. I also hate being hot so I almost always end up with my jeans rolled up to my knees to alleviate that hot, itchy feeling you sometimes get.
So, by the time I land I basically look like a moron wearing high cut black socks, nice black shoes, capris pants, and missing a bunch of hair on my arm.
I am exhausted. I am starving. I am thirsty.
This section of the airport is fairly bland. After misunderstanding the immigration official as to where I should stand as an international transfer traveler and looking like a moron standing in the middle of a room for 10 minutes, I made my way to the international departure floor.
I’m not impressed.
It is one long hall with the sort of ugly grey rug with swirls of blue and brown that remind me of cheap clothing stores I went to as a kid. There is only a scattering of a half dozen stores selling nothing I currently want (food, drink, a secret money belt). Further, there is no money exchange here so even if there was a store selling, I don’t know, maybe a triangle kimbap, or candy, or chips, or a soggy pre-made sandwich at this point, I wouldn’t be able to eat.
There are no ajjumas here. Everybody looks pissed off. The entire place smells like stale cigarettes because the “smoking room” is actually just an area on the floor with no walls and little vacuums that fail to suck in much smoke at all.
In each of these smoking areas is a machine that dispenses water. My mouth was dry and stagnant so it was a welcome sight but it took me a bit to figure out how to use it- there were a surprising number of buttons and levers. A woman tried to help me and I thanked her in Korean without even thinking about it. I suppose there are a lot of habits I have picked up over the past year.
I opted for the cold water. I filled my Seoul thermos and headed back to my seat / bed. It was about 90 degrees. There is one man sitting directly across from me. He is picking his nose with enthusiasm. He is also wearing white pants and is pretty obviously not wearing underwear.
Only another 6 hours to go and I will be on my way to Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.
There is a wall of windows to the left where planes take off about every 5 minutes. I like watching the take-off despite my own inability to not sweat profusely when I am directly involved. I left Seoul at 9:40am, and arrived here 4 hours later (but we went back in time for an hour during the flight).
The flight was mostly ok. The plane itself was the least impressive plane I’ve ever been on. The tiny tv screens would raise and lower randomly through out the flight. I wasn’t feeling very good about being boxed in with NO legroom but I lucked out and the guy who should have sat in the middle of the trio of seats never showed.
I popped a xanax and felt pretty okay for most of the flight, but it didn’t alleviate anxiety enough for me to say that I actually enjoyed it. I was tired and started to doze towards the end, and that’s when I tend to freak out: jerking awake and remembering I am in a plane.
There was an interesting 10 minutes when the plane suddenly dropped more than I had ever felt before. It then bounced to one side and the other. The intercom went off amidst the creaks and thumps of shifting luggage and people. Her voice was tonal and her words were fast. She was talking about turbulance and there was a dash to clip seatbelts in a hurry. I buckle mine as soon as I sit down and I never unbuckle it because I do not get up for anything- I didn’t pee once on the 13 hour flight to Korea.
The turbulance went on and it got pretty bad for a few moments. Over the years I have developed this weird way of dealing with turbulance: I shift around in my seat. If I am moving myself up and down the drops and bumps don’t seem so intense. They left as fast as they came and the guy next to me didn’t notice regardless because he managed to sleep through the entire damn scenario.
He slept through the whole flight. I envy people who can do that. I can’t even sleep in a car. I am also really happy he slept through it because anytime the plane bounced or turned I looked like I was severely constipated with both arms linked under the arm rests and my mouth sealed shut.
I have also developed these weird habits on planes that seem to help with flying anxiety. I don’t really even notice doing these things. I will pinch or scratch myself if I am tired. Sometimes I will pull out a hair. These were tips on some website I read before I came here. A little pain to bring you back to reality. Some people wear rubber bands so they can snap them on their wrists if they start freaking out. I also hate being hot so I almost always end up with my jeans rolled up to my knees to alleviate that hot, itchy feeling you sometimes get.
So, by the time I land I basically look like a moron wearing high cut black socks, nice black shoes, capris pants, and missing a bunch of hair on my arm.
I am exhausted. I am starving. I am thirsty.
This section of the airport is fairly bland. After misunderstanding the immigration official as to where I should stand as an international transfer traveler and looking like a moron standing in the middle of a room for 10 minutes, I made my way to the international departure floor.
I’m not impressed.
It is one long hall with the sort of ugly grey rug with swirls of blue and brown that remind me of cheap clothing stores I went to as a kid. There is only a scattering of a half dozen stores selling nothing I currently want (food, drink, a secret money belt). Further, there is no money exchange here so even if there was a store selling, I don’t know, maybe a triangle kimbap, or candy, or chips, or a soggy pre-made sandwich at this point, I wouldn’t be able to eat.
There are no ajjumas here. Everybody looks pissed off. The entire place smells like stale cigarettes because the “smoking room” is actually just an area on the floor with no walls and little vacuums that fail to suck in much smoke at all.
In each of these smoking areas is a machine that dispenses water. My mouth was dry and stagnant so it was a welcome sight but it took me a bit to figure out how to use it- there were a surprising number of buttons and levers. A woman tried to help me and I thanked her in Korean without even thinking about it. I suppose there are a lot of habits I have picked up over the past year.
I opted for the cold water. I filled my Seoul thermos and headed back to my seat / bed. It was about 90 degrees. There is one man sitting directly across from me. He is picking his nose with enthusiasm. He is also wearing white pants and is pretty obviously not wearing underwear.
Only another 6 hours to go and I will be on my way to Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam.
