The Quest is Engaged

On departure day, King PITA was a king more than just in title. While waiting for my (air)ship to depart, I was treated to the Air France lounge, complete with French wines and cheeses, fruit and pastries, gourmet sandwiches, and a small buffet with smoked salmon and tandoori chicken. Then on the plane, I experienced what seemed like a waking dream. The China Air Eastern crew treat business class folks like, well, kings. It was as if I were surrounded by delicate fairies, catering to my every need, softly speaking a fairy tongue (OK, it was probably Chinese, but I couldn’t help but think of Keats’ knight and his fairy child; thankfully, my fate was far better than Keats’ knight). More wine, more food, dimmed lights, and I was in a fairy dreamland. I slept for about twelve hours (yeah, insane), woke up to more food, and then we landed. Sweet.

Getting to the hotel was a trip. The driver was very nice, but couldn’t speak a word of English. Thankfully, my sovereign gave me the address of the hotel written in Chinese. We drove through Pudong morning traffic in silence, while I gawked and snapped pictures from the rear of the van (you’d think King PITA had never seen a city before…). When we arrived at the hotel, no porters awaited his lordship (bad form, you know), so the taxi driver made a fuss, clapping his hands, and shooing two porters toward the van. As I settled the taxi bill, the receipt printer freaked out and started to print apparent nonsense (it was all nonsense to me, since I can’t read a bit of Mandarin, but judging by how the driver was smacking the machine, turning it off and on, and waving his hands in frustration, I’m pretty sure he thought it was nonsense too). Some other taxi drivers took interest in the possessed machine, but their smacks and hand gestures didn’t work either. Finally, after we exchanged some made-up sign language that neither of us understood, he found his paper receipt book and wrote a receipt. I bid him farewell and tried my hand at saying thank you in Mandarin. He made a bit of a face, shook my hand, and drove off.

After a nap (believe it or not, even though I slept twelve hours on the plane, I was again exhausted--maybe I should have done some more quest-endurance training before I left) and a shower, I was off to find more food. When in China…so I ate some authentic spicy beef noodles with hot and sour soup. Wonderful. Finally, my quest had begun. I was on a walkabout around Shanghai, and I was certain I was going in the right direction, toward the People’s Park where I wanted to scout out some attractions. I walked and walked and walked. My map didn’t have many streets listed, but I was sure I was going the right way. Nope. After several blocks I realized I was going in the opposite direction than I wanted. (When in doubt, look up at that big gaseous ball in the sky--I was heading west when I should have been going east.) I stopped at a Starbucks (yep, they are everywhere, even in the medieval wall surrounding Canterbury Cathedral in England), and had a medium caramel macchiato that cost more than my bowl of spicy beef noodles. Go figure.

I finally found People’s Park, and guess where it was. Directly across the street from my hotel. Oye. At least I got to see a lot of Shanghai. Wandering through the park and snapping pictures like a tall, goofy American on holiday, a young Chinese man asked me to take a picture of him and his friend. I obliged and thought that would be that. But, they started asking me questions about my visit in Shanghai and before I knew it, we were on our way to a traditional Chinese tea ceremony. Two had joined my quest for the afternoon. It turns out Peter is a middle school English teacher working for an education company training teachers, and Liu Fei (that is her simpler name) is his friend and colleague. When they found out King PITA is an English professor, they fell over themselves showing me honor and respect (wow, how different than in my country…). The tea ceremony was very interesting. We learned about six different types of teas and how tea drinking is deeply cultural and philosophical, drawing from Buddhist, Taoist, and Confucius thought. Very interesting and tasty. Our host did not speak any English, so Peter translated for me, and he was excited to be “the professor’s professor” for the afternoon. Even when clinking our tea cups before each round of drinking, they made a point to hold their cups lower than mine out of respect for my rank of professor. It was astounding. As we were leaving the tea house, I felt like I was one hundred years old and feeble--they were cautioning me down the stairs and holding my arm so I wouldn’t fall. That was sweet, but come on, I’m a professor, not an ancient relic… Anyway, we are set to attend an acrobatics show tomorrow evening, and that should be fun.

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