Waiting

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Your attention please. Passengers for the flight CZ6321 to Guangzhou. This flight has been delayed due to the accuedrop. The new departure time will be announced later.

Your attention please. Passengers for the flight CZ6543 to Shanghai. This flight has been delayed due to the accuedrop. The new departure time will be announced later.

Over and over, each flight is announced until the people around me begin to recite the phrase and laugh at each others rote memorization of the passage.

Two hours ago I came for my flight. At the time it was delayed due to fog. "When will it depart?" I asked an airport attendant standing next to a white blackboard with a message scribbled in undiscernable Chinese and my flight number beneath. "I don't know. Whenever the fog clears."

I sat and waited. Only one of the counters was open. Flights to Beijing were still running on time. No flights were being directed through Beijing. I looked outside. I could see flags waving all the way across the parking lot. "They're flying planes to Beijing, an hour from here, but not to Guangzhou? Why?" I thought.

My nose was cold. My hands were so cold, it was hard to write. They had turned the heat to the city off weeks ago. I had learned to sleep with my hands on the warmest parts of my body and my head almost all the way under the covers or else I'd wake up freezing cold.

A loud buzzing came on, the kind you hear when you try to talk too close to the microphone except ten times louder. People around me just sat and waited for it to go away. About two minutes later I covered my ears with my fingers. The buzzing lasted for ten minutes. People started cursing and complaining all around me, including the attendants.

Finally I looked up and my flight was checking in. It took me ten minutes to get my ticket and get through security - it seemed very quick compared to the waiting I had been doing. But then it started again. Waiting. For the plane had yet to arrive.

----Thinking while I'm waiting ----

I remember that day very clearly. "When you travel for a long time you learn not to help people" the Australian man said to me as we sat watching two backpackers clearly lost trying to use their Hindi handbooks to get the rickshaw driver to take them to a particular hotel. I was wearing the traditional punjabi suit sitting on a bench outside my friend's convenient store. We can see they are getting more and more frustrated. "Just see if they come over and ask us" he said. "Why shouldn't we help them?" I thought to myself but I still waited. Sure enough they didn't come over to ask.

The next day I was walking along the street and saw two different backpackers again trying to have a discussion with another rickshaw driver. "Do you need some help?" I asked them trying to check the Australian's theory. They turned around and looked at me like I was a leeper and ignored me. i looked at the rickshaw driver and immediately understood he too was tired of trying to understand their English and trying to help. They thought he was a bad guy for taking them to the wrong part of town. it wasn't his fault he didn't understand them. Practically no one in Benares spoke English except the foreigners and some of the wealthy people, too high in the caste system to be rickshaw drivers.

From that day on I just sat and watched person after person walk up to others around me and ask "Do you speak English?" to the Chinese people. Every now and again I will help the Chinese person if it seems like they might like to know what the person is saying but otherwise I won't butt in. I feel fortunate I can understand Chinese and have no problem trying to figure out why my flight has been delayed. I don't mind helping others. In fact I like it. But now I wait for others to ask me to help before offering my assistance, just like the Australian. It's safer that way, for me and I'm not butting into their lives. Now if only people would realize there are those of us out there who are foreigners willing to help and able to seak the language.

I was teasing Camillo last night about the fact that he sits in the Salon all day with four chairs of people constantly waiting for him to do their hair. One person leaves and another takes their spot while no one else there is nearly that busy. In fact they sometimes sit around reading magazines and yawning! Camillo had just finished telling me he got 1400 kuai that day. Now if Camillo works from 9am-9pm (although he often comes in at 10) and one haircut is 48 kuai that means that if he works 11 hours he cuts 30 people's hair at 20 minutes per head! Now the question is still up in the air. Why does he cut so much when no one else does? The answer is simple. Kast cuts at 100 kuai a head because he's good (as good as Camillo) but also has a reputation and is older - which gets him the money. No one else is as good as the two of them at the Salon. Granted Alex, Eason, Yonson and Rudy cut hair but they're not quite as good as Camillo and Kast. So on good days they're left with the Camillo factory. Smile, cut, talk if they talk and get it done as fast as humanly possible. Once I told Camillo "how are you going to go to the US for two months?! The Salon will shut down!" He told me it wasn't that simple. The others would cut while he was gone. It could be their factory for a little while. After all he had gone to study before and it hadn't shut.

Hence my new adopted way of talking to Camillo. When he's working he'll notice me there and will nod to acknowledge me. If I need something I'll motion to him, if not I'll just nod. Every time I leave I stare at him through the window as I go and he'll usually wave or I'll make a phone motion and he knows to call me later. Yesterday I needed the key to his apartment to get my bag but he was really busy so I kept an eye on him while I got my hair done and he eventually stopped for a second and I made a key motion. He quickly walked to the back room, got his key, gave it to me and went back to cutting. This kind of conversation is best while he works otherwise he gets frustrated that I'm interrupting him. If he has time to take a break he'll go out to eat or just get drinks and have a real chat. Otherwise it's hand motions. That is until night time when we can chill. I try to never call him during the day if I can help it because I know just how busy he is.

---- I spent 3 hours sleeping on the plane to Guangzhou ----

Now if anyone could go back and imagine what you think of when you think of China. Egg rolls? People with wide straw hats with pointy tops? Carrying around umbrellas? Hundreds and hundreds of people? Bikes? That. Is Guangzhou. In Dalian there are no bikes, no egg rolls, nothing at all that one would think of as Chinese food, no straw hats - it's not warm enough, umbrellas - not enough sun. But Guangzhou is our perception of China - and for a good reason. The majority of the Chinese people in America come from this area and speak Cantonese - not Mandarin (what I speak). To me this place is beautiful. And Shamian Island even more so. There is so much greenery here compared to Dalian it's almost overwhelming. Shamian Island is what I would call Guangzhou's sanctuary. A tiny island where one can truly get away from the hustle and bustle of the huge cit. So far I'm extremely glad my boss recommended me to stay here (as he's been here before). There are a bit too many foreigners - I don't normally hang out with foreigners all the time and it's overwhelming to hear English all around. I almost get a headache from listening to every English word around me - whether I want to or not. But the beauty and peace of the place is just what I need and the Chinese here will speak mandarin to you if you wish.

People biking, walking, pushing strollers and wheelchairs. Couples standing staring at the water. Every now and then someone goes running by. There are people of all ages - from babies to cute old elderly folk. For the most part they are all - short. So short that I almost begin to feel tall until the random northerner or foreigner walks by. I'm out walking along the river, just like many people are at this time of night. I just finished a wonderful meal of garlic bread, chicken enchilada and Perrier at Shamian Island's American style bar and restaurant Lucy's. The weather here is beautiful. I'm wearing uniform pants and a long sleeved shirt and I'm almost hot. It's so peaceful - even with the neon lights and roar of cars zooming by. There are lights in the trees here and they seem to symbolize the tradition of walking by the river at night. Unlike Dalian this river runs straight through the city so everything is centered around it. Even the culture. Every now and again an old man walks by clapping his hands - maybe to keep the blood flowing. Maybe to exercise, who knows.

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Photos

Dongfang hotel
This is where the Airport Express dropped me off and where I got onto a metro to Shamian Island.

Carving
This girl carved this image into the stone using the utensil that is in her hand. This was done right next to the hostel I stayed in.

Walking
I found this little park and statue while walking around the Pearl River.