Usually I like to talk about a trip starting at the beginning, but this last trip clearly had the most dramatic end (at least in the way that I experienced it…)
Our tour consisted mostly of people who flew to China from the US. Only one other person flew from Israel and we traveled together. On the night we left China, a driver from our local tour company came to the lobby of the hotel to pick us up at 3 a.m. It worried me a bit that when I came downstairs, he was sleeping. I had hoped that he would be sufficiently awake to transport us safely. However, he woke up as soon as I got within about 6 feet of him, so maybe he really wasn’t asleep, but just resting his eyes.*
Aside from the take-off motion he made with his hands when he saw me and my nod in the affirmative, we did not really communicate (his English was not as good as my Chinese– and I know fewer than 15 words).
The other traveler joined me and we went out to the car while the driver piled our luggage into the car. He got into the car and started driving toward the airport.
Our local guide, whose English was very good, had told me that we were leaving from another terminal, not the main one which was recently opened and is very beautiful, but I didn’t remember the number he told me. When we got to the terminal, it was not at all reassuring that the building was dimly lit and the sign outside it said “Domestic departures.”
I was traveling with a large suitcase (in the trunk of the car), a small carry on (on the front seat of the car) and my backpack (that contained, among other essentials, my notebook computer.)
When we got to the terminal, I said to the other traveler, “I’m not sure we’re at the right place and I don’t want to be stranded at 3:30 a.m. in a place where no one speaks English. Please wait with the driver and I will go in and see if we are in the right place.” It took me a few minutes to ascertain that we were in the right place. I walked back out to the car. Meanwhile, the driver had called our local guide and was reassured that we were in the right place and the driver and the other traveler had gotten our bags out of the car. I tipped the driver and he left.
And then, about 3 seconds later, I realized that my backpack was not on me and not with the suitcases and that the driver had left with it. I could still see the lights of the car leaving the airport.
I was certain that there was no chance I could get the backpack back. Oh no. It was gone. Forever.
But then I remembered that our guide had given me the driver’s telephone number and I even remembered where I had written it down. With my Chinese cell phone I called the number. He answered, in Chinese, of course. I said, “I left a bag.” He answered. I, of course, had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded like he didn’t understand. “My bag is with you.” Still, no sense that he had understood. “Bag in car!” Still nothing. “Come back!” Finally, it seemed as if he understood, because he seemed to had an “aha” response and then hung up. But I was not certain. I called our local guide and apologized for waking him a second time. He was very kind and said he would call the driver.
We waited. And waited. Like most modern airports, it can take several minutes to return to the drop off point at the Beijing airport as a network of roads swirls around the airport. We saw one car after another approach. Then, finally, there was the car that had brought us.
The driver stopped the car. He brought me my backpack and apologized for leaving with it. Of course, I was feeling guilty for not checking before he left, so I gave him a second tip and off we went to check in at Aerosvit for our journey home (via Kiev.)
The end.
(OK– except for my adventures in the airport in Kiev)
*My father didn’t suffer from jet lag. When we would find him sleeping, he insisted he was just resting his eyes.
There was a long line of people waiting to get in. I went to ask how much a ticket was. It turned out that today, entrance to the museum was free.
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