We arrived in Guangzhou on the 13th and, heading down the stairway from the aircraft, it took about a nanosecond for the embodied sensations of Guangzhou, imprinted after these extended visits, to come flooding back. The air was soupy with moisture and unmentionables, so much so, that as I was engaged in my usual task of guiding the pilot down onto the runway, I was surprised by the bump of the wheels, the tarmac obscured in the haze. Over the next few hours the smells of Guangzhou (Chinese medicinal teas and garlic), the sounds of angry automobile horns, and the humid blanket of air enveloping the skin served as our homecoming. Not explicitly pleasant, but comforting and familiar the way an encounter with an old Procol Harum album might be. Ellen, for one, is greatly relieved
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