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Published: April 4th 2012
There comes a point on every cross-continental flight when the passengers have to choose between acceptance of circumstances beyond their control and outright revolution in the air. On a recent flight to China, I was amazed, and touched, to bear witness to a happy medium that set the tone for the rest of my journey.
Two months ago, I started my new job in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I’d finally made the decision to move back to the United States from China and was incredibly blessed to be offered the position only about three weeks after my initial move back. After a few weeks of moving chaos and some reverse culture shock, I’d found my rhythm and was starting to settle in. Then my boss dropped the bomb: he wanted to send me back to China for a week to attend an Overseas Training Program conference in Jinan, a second-tier city located about 250 miles southwest of Beijing.
Without hesitation, I happily acquiesced to his request. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I’d only been on the job for a couple of months and already I had been chosen to represent the University of Minnesota China Center on an international trip.
As an added bonus, I would have a couple of days of meetings in Beijing during which I could catch up with my friends and family.
As my date of departure approached, I felt a plethora of emotions. I was mostly excited about the opportunity ahead, but also uncertain how I would feel once I touched down on Beijing soil. How much had changed in the three months since I’d left? Would I feel out of the loop? Or, alternatively, what if I didn’t want to come back to the U.S. after revisiting my old stomping grounds?
Settling into my seat on the jet bound from Chicago to Beijing, I closed my eyes and mentally readied myself for the 13-hour flight ahead. As the engines roared and the plane took off into the sky, I wondered what the next week had in store for me. Startling me from my ponderings, the P.A. system on the plane crackled and the female purser announced that the video system on the plane was experiencing technical difficulties and they were in communication with the ground crew trying to fix the problem. A few minutes later, she came back on the air, and
Banquet Hall
Jinan, Chinawith great resignation, told us that we would be without audio and visual entertainment for the duration of the flight.
Crickets.
I expected an angry outcry from an incensed mob, frustrated moaning, cries of despair. Instead, it was as if the plane as a whole decided in one breath that it wasn’t worth getting upset over something that couldn’t be changed and moved on. People that may not have exchanged a word under other circumstances chatted amicably while waiting to use the restroom. The flight attendants joked with passengers in the galley in the back of the plane. An entire row pitched in to soothe a crying child. It was the sort of congenial interactions that I hadn’t witnessed since shortly after September 11. It got me thinking about what comprises a community, and made me wonder why it takes a tragedy, or even bad news on the small scale of a dysfunctional video system, to bring people together.
Before I knew it, I found myself standing in the taxi line at Beijing International Airport, the acrid stench of pollution stinging my nostrils. It seemed, for the moment at least, that some things hadn’t changed. It was
still chilly in the capital city, a shock to my system after the 80-degree temperatures we’d been experiencing in Minneapolis. As I waited in line, the same thought kept running through my mind—
I can’t believe I’m really back. I had a 1:30 PM meeting the next day, but naturally woke up at 4 AM. Thank you, jet lag. I sat in the dark for awhile, gazing out at the cityscape through my friend’s living room window and thinking. Beijing seemed so familiar, almost as though I had never left. The frenetic energy of the city, with its cars, construction, and people constantly in motion, was the same. Yet at the same time it was different—or maybe it was I who had changed. I had forgotten that I couldn’t access certain websites due to government censorship. I looked in vain for recycling bins. I assumed I had the right of way as a pedestrian crossing the street in a crosswalk. I smiled at people I didn’t know on the street. The famous “Minnesota Nice” was rubbing off on me—and I liked it.
Since I was already up, I left for my meeting earlier than planned so I could make
an unscheduled stop at my old office in the Central Business District (CBD). When I was still living in Beijing, the office had been located in the outer southwest corner of the city, in Fengtai district. Naturally, about three weeks after I moved back, the office was relocated to the heart of the high rises in downtown Beijing. Still, I was excited to see the new digs, and even more excited to surprise my old coworkers. I strode into the office, noting the nice carpeting and cool blue and green accent walls. It was a very zen space and had excellent Feng Shui. I was impressed.
I sauntered into the accounting office where my pals Lan Yun and Mao Yao were busily typing on their computers. They both glanced up and then did a double take. Mao Yao’s
Oh, my God! (his favorite English exclamation) rang through the office, alerting everyone else that something was up. Mao Yao and Lan Yun both rushed to hug me as more coworkers crowded the doorway. It was like a scene from a crazy family reunion, and in a way, it was. I’ve always been of the mindset that ‘family’ doesn’t only refer
Family Reunion
Beijing, China to flesh and blood relatives, but extends to those in our circles who we can count on for unconditional love and support, regardless of their relationship to us. That was certainly the case here.
The best reaction by far, though, came from my former boss, Li. He was in the middle of conducting an interview with someone for the Shanghai office, but was sitting facing the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and door of his office. As I strolled into his line of sight, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a classic expression of total shock and surprise. He sat looking at me for what felt like an eternity, but which was probably only a few seconds, before leaping up and flinging open the door.
Merritt! What are you doing here?! His face broke into an enormous smile and I could feel myself mirroring his expression of joy. It was a great moment.
Alas, I was not in Beijing to catch up with old friends; I had meetings to hold and conferences to attend. The conference in Jinan was to be held March 24-25 over the weekend. I caught the bullet train from Beijing on Friday afternoon
and covered 250 miles in slightly over 1.5 hours. Unusually, though for China, the train was delayed. Why? Gale-force winds of over 80 kilometers per hour! It was truly unbelievable; my luggage felt weightless as it was flying along in the wind behind me.
Jinan is a second-tier city located in Shandong province on China’s central-eastern coast. The most famous city in the province is Qingdao, known for the home brew (Tsingtao in old pinyin). The conference was being held in Nanjiao Binguan, a stately hotel presiding over immaculately manicured gardens and grounds and regularly host to visiting foreign dignitaries. I was pleasantly surprised by the beautiful furnishings and amenities of the room where I stayed. I had forgotten, however, that the government-supplied heating is switched off in China on March 15, regardless of the temperature outside. After one chilly evening spent huddled in my wool coat under the blankets, I asked the hotel staff for an extra quilt. Housekeeping promptly arrived at my door and in halting and painstakingly enunciated English, asked whether I had, indeed, ordered an extra quilt. I replied in Chinese in the affirmative, prompting the nervous young woman to gasp in shock. It seemed that the revelation that outsiders can learn the Chinese tongue had not yet reached tier two cities, and I enjoyed many a similar reaction over the course of the weekend.
As can only happen in China, I attained a level of fame at the conference in Jinan by virtue of being one of six Westerners in attendance and the only one who spoke Chinese. There is nothing quite like being greeted by name by what feels like each and every one of the 400 conference attendees when one assumes one is attending anonymously. My language prowess even won me a spot at the head table during a fancy banquet held Saturday night, an honor shared by two of the more "distinguished" (old) Western gentlemen. I was seated in between two rather dour-looking Beijing government officials who perked right up when they figured out I was inadvertently eavesdropping on the conversation they were having over my head. Suddenly, it was smiles all around and out came the red wine, a special product of Shandong province. Fortunately, I had figured out years ago to feign an allergy to alcohol, so was saved from a night of never-ending toasts (and, I'm sure, enjoyed a much perkier morning than most of my fellow banquet attendees).
As is the case with most whirlwind experiences, my trip to China was over in a flash. In some ways, it feels like I never went. It was quite curious, actually; while I was in Beijing I felt a bit detached. I had moved on and started a new life for myself in Minneapolis, in the United States. But when it came time to say goodbye, it was much more difficult than I had anticipated. Only having left three months earlier, my ties to the city were still strong. Most of my friends still live there, and while I am making friends in Minneapolis, it's not the same as the network I had established over the four years I was in Beijing. Yet I know it will happen, and that old adage
patience is a virtue will never ring truer than it does right now.
I am extraordinarily grateful to have had the opportunity to revisit my past so soon after I left. But these days I am only looking ahead to the future.
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Aunt Tudy
non-member comment
Impressive achievements
Thanks for sharing the thoughts about your past, present and future journeys. You have accomplished so much on such a short time. While we are all so proud of you, just imagine the pride that Grandma Ruth has as she follows you around the world. The lessons that she shared with you during your whole life are helping you shine to others and most importantly to yourself. I am so proud of you! Love, Aunt Tudy